Refreshments at a village inn--The town of Rastadt--A civil
traveller--Good accommodation--Baden--Awkward rencontre with a
royal party--An alarm about passports--A genteel inn dangerous to
fugitive travellers--The advantages of a drunken landlord--The town
of Hornberg--To Kriemhieldsach, after passing the Black
Forest--Banditti--The murder of a French general--A German inn and
a rustic dance--The town of Tütlingen--A concealment of eight
days--Vain attempts to smuggle passports--Progress of our
journey--Crossing the Iller--Leaving Würtemberg and entering
Bavaria--The progress of our flight--Kaufbeuern--An inquisitive
landlord and frightened guests.
“Come what come may,” we were out of hated France, and our pulses beat
with joy that the glorious river intervened between us and the land of
our bondage and sufferings. “Flow on, thou shining river,” I repeated
from the song of Erin’s modern poet, “flow on; for neither French
_gendarmes_, French spies, nor French laws can reach us across thy broad
and noble expanse of flowing waters. Here French chains cannot corrode
the body, nor can French despotism and tyranny prostrate the spirit, and
eat, like the canker-worm, into the heart.” Such were our reflections as
we left the banks of this river of salvation and proceeded to the
neighbouring village.
It was about seven in the morning that we entered into a tavern--if so
it could be called. A servant-maid and child were the only people up. We
gave ourselves out as French travellers from Prussia going into France,
and who wanted their breakfast.
The landlady was forthwith roused; breakfast was prepared; a barber, who
was also a surgeon, was sent for, and we got shaved, had our clothes
brushed, and again made ourselves look “somewhat like gentlemen.” We
found the house very well calculated for our purpose, and this barber
and surgeon proved to be an intelligent sort of a man. Rastadt, he told
us, was but three leagues off; and from different questions we put to
him, we found that we must have crossed the Rhine close to Durlach.
Rastadt was on the river Merg, and about four miles north from Baden,
the capital of the margravate.
We quitted our village inn at about nine, having well satisfied our
landlady for our excellent breakfast and timely accommodation. We had
fed like cormorants upon coffee, and delicious bread and butter, and
felt all the refreshments of shorn beards, washed skins and tolerably
well-brushed clothes.
We now directed our course towards Rastadt. Batley was very lame.
Everybody that passed took notice of him, and it became too evident that
it was impossible for him to continue the journey many hours longer. As
I have before observed, we had intended to leave him and the doctor the
moment we had got across the river into Germany; but we now agreed not
to quit our other friend. The great and difficult point was, where to
place the invalid, so as to secure his safety until he should recover
the use of his limbs. He regretted not having remained where we had
breakfasted.
Rastadt then appeared to us an open town. We thought it too dangerous,
however, to pass through it; we therefore made a _détour_, and struck
off the road to a small village about two leagues distant, where we went
into a public-house. They could not speak French, nor could we
sufficiently explain in their language what we wanted respecting our
sick friend. An old man was sent for as interpreter, who happened to be
a shoemaker. We began by ordering a pair of shoes for Batley; and then
observed that we were Frenchmen from Prussia, going to Strasbourg; that
our comrade, Batley, was knocked up, and we wished it explained to the
people that we meant to leave him with them a few days until he had
gathered strength. We requested he would pay every attention to the
guest and act as his interpreter. They agreed to our wishes; a bed was
immediately prepared for him; we dined together, and then took our leave
of this poor fellow, and a painful leave it was.
We continued our pretended route, until we lost sight of the village,
and then changed our course. We commiserated greatly the misfortunes of
our poor companion, and feared that even the shoemaker would discover
what he was, as he spoke French so very indifferently.[27] The day was
closing very fast, and it behoved us to look out for a lodging for the
night.
We advanced towards a large village, situated in our direction. It was
quite dusk. We passed through it to the opposite extremity, by which
time it was about eight o’clock. We were undecided how to act, and it
began to rain very hard. We were met by an old man genteelly dressed,
walking on very fast, to avoid getting wet. He stopped, evidently with a
design to speak to us. We accosted him in French; asked him what
distance the palace of Baden was from us, and if we were likely to fall
in shortly with any place at which we could put up for the night, in the
direction we were then going. He replied in broken French, which we were
pleased to hear, that it would be midnight before we could arrive at any
sort of place that would answer our purpose; and as the weather was bad,
and the hour so very late, he advised us to turn back with him to the
village we had just passed, where there were excellent accommodations;
and he would take upon himself to show us to a decent tavern, where we
should be well attended to and made comfortable.
The kind and disinterested manner in which the old gentleman accosted us
induced us to accept of his services. He accordingly conducted us to a
genteel house, close to a glass manufactory, where the workmen lodged.
We ordered supper, invited the old gentleman to partake of it, which,
after some hesitation, he agreed to. I apprehended they might demand to
see our passports, which lessened my enjoyment until nearly bed-time;
but I then made myself quiet upon that head. We spoke to each other, and
conversed with such of the workmen as could speak French. I am certain
they took us for Frenchmen, which was a fortunate circumstance, and
perhaps prevented their making any further inquiries. Shortly after
supper our good friend departed, and we were shown to our chamber, where
each had an excellent bed. The hail and rain which beat against the
windows, convinced us of what we should have suffered had we not taken
the good old man’s advice.
We agreed to be off very early, lest any accident should prevent our
proceeding altogether. This point being settled, each soon composed
himself to sleep, and in a few minutes were most soundly in the arms of
Morpheus; nor did I open my wearied eyes, until I had been repeatedly
called by my comrades the next morning. The weather was still very bad.
However, we got our breakfast, and proceeded _en route_ without asking
to be directed to any particular place, in order that they might not
suppose that we were unacquainted with the country. I knew it was
necessary to keep to the southward, in order to avoid a chain of almost
inaccessible mountains that would prevent our advancing into the
interior. We were now surrounded with woods and deserts, and could not
tell which way to turn or proceed. In this state of perplexity we
luckily saw, at a distance, a peasant and a little boy loading a cart
with wood. We made towards them, but it was a long time before we could
make them understand that we had lost our way and wished to be directed
towards Friburg, which we well knew to be to the southward of us. At
length we succeeded, and the civil fellow left his boy and cart, and
went with us nearly two miles in order to put us on the right road. We
paid this honest and good creature for his trouble, though it was some
time before we could prevail upon him to accept of anything.
About noon we passed the palace of the Margrave of Baden, and owing to
the intricacies of the mountains that surrounded it, we were obliged to
border upon it much closer than we wished. It had a romantic appearance.
In one of the avenues through which we had to go, we perceived two
officers on horseback. We immediately darted amongst the trees, and
concealed ourselves until they had passed. We soon got on an immensely
broad high road, when we saw a number of horsemen dressed in scarlet
going before a carriage. The whole cavalcade was at full speed. We
rapidly turned off towards some huts, and barely escaped confronting
this formidable party. The peasantry were all uncovered as the carriage
passed, and from this we of course inferred that it was the royal
equipage; and, on inquiry, we were told that the person in the carriage
was the Duke of Baden’s son, who had already assumed the title of
king.[28] We were informed that we were in the proper direction for
Friburg, and proceeded in great spirits.
We had to pass through several respectable villages on the highway.
About six in the evening, in going through one, Barklimore being a good
way in the rear, I heard him call out to us to stop, as there was a man
who wanted to see our papers; but naturally we were in too great a haste
to be retarded. The man certainly was looking very eagerly at us; but if
he had been a police-officer he would not have hesitated to pursue us.
He did not; and as our companion did not understand German, we inferred
that his fears had made him misconstrue the fellow’s meaning.
About seven we discovered another village in the direction we had to
take. We approached a public-house, called for some beer, and inquired
if we could be supplied with beds? “No,” was the reply; but they
directed us to another house where all the beds happened to be occupied;
and these people sent us to a third, with no better success. We knew not
what to do, and regretted much at not being able to remain in this
little village for the night, as, from its appearance, we had no reason
to be under the slightest apprehension. A person, whom we took for a
publican, seeing us in a state of suspense, addressed us in French, and
said, “Gentlemen, you appear to want lodgings; there is a small town,
about two or three miles farther on, where you can get good
accommodation.” We returned him thanks and appeared pleased at the
intelligence; though, in fact, we dreaded being accommodated as he had
described, lest, in the sequel, we might find ourselves accommodated
_gratis_, with sundry extra cares and civilities forced upon us, much
above our wants, and against our inclinations. I asked him if he did not
suppose that the gate would be shut before we arrived. The sinister
object of the question he did not see through, and to our great joy he
replied that there were no gates at all, as the town was perfectly open.
Upon this intelligence we resolved to proceed, although we determined to
approach the place with great circumspection.
At about half-past nine we arrived at the town and it did not appear to
be a place from which we could have much or anything to apprehend. We
looked out for an inn, and, as usual, we resolved not to go to the first
we should see, if we possibly could avoid it, nor in any case to enter
any one that was not of an humble description.
At length we discovered one, and, from its appearance and locality, we
were induced to enter it. We were disagreeably surprised; for we were
shown into a genteel coffee-room, and, from the appearance of the
guests, landlady, and servants, it was evident we had got into the very
sort of inn which of all others we ought to avoid. However, it was too
late to retreat. Hesitation would infallibly have exposed us to
suspicion; and had we evinced any confusion, detection and apprehension
would undoubtedly have ensued. We therefore put a bold face on the
matter, and with an air of nonchalance, as if we had got into the sort
of place we had been accustomed to, and wished to find, I called for
some wine, and my friends ordered supper.
I was, however, indisposed, and ordered the chambermaid to light me to
bed, informing my companions that I did not intend to undress until they
should come to bed; and that if they happened to discover the slightest
symptoms of danger, I would be ready at an instant to decamp. One very
fortunate circumstance was, that “mine host,” Master Boniface, was
disgustingly drunk, and although he often looked earnestly at us, as if
he wished to ask us some questions, he was so far gone that he could not
utter a syllable. I lay down on the bed full of anxiety; nor could I
forget Barklimore’s fears of the man who, as he supposed, had challenged
him for his papers.
After their supper my friends came to bed. They informed me that they
did not think that we were in any imminent danger, nor did they suppose
that we were perfectly safe, as our security chiefly depended upon the
state of the intoxication of the landlord. It was not very pleasant to
have our liberties or lives dependent upon another man’s drunkenness;
and we came to the determination to rise before the fellow could become
sober, to pay our reckoning, and be off. At twilight we dressed
ourselves, and awakened the servants, who instantly went and informed
their master that we were preparing to depart. It was evident that we
were in imminent danger. The landlord soon appeared, and, to our great
joy, was in such a state of stupefaction that he could scarcely open his
eyes. He demanded whither we were going so early? “To Strasbourg,” was
my reply. He observed, we should be there very soon, it being only five
leagues distant. We were aware of that, and wished him a good morning.
By ten we were in sight of Offenburg--made its circuit, and got on the
road to Gigenbach, which we saw about six o’clock. We then crossed the
river Kinzig, and proceeded on the direct road towards Tütlingen. I now
perfectly recollected our route, from having so recently passed it with
the Bavarians. At midnight we halted in a small poor village; got
supplied with refreshments and a sort of bed. Barklimore had a severe
fit of the fever and ague.
On the morning of the 22nd of September we got some breakfast, and
proceeded. At about six we discovered a kind of fortress on the side of
a mountain, over a small town. We advanced with all possible precaution;
but as we approached, it appeared to be a place of little consequence,
and we therefore walked forward boldly. We found ourselves close to the
gate of a snug little town; and seeing no military or police-officers,
we proceeded right through it. After passing the opposite gate, we
stopped at a wine-house, refreshed ourselves, and were informed the name
of the town was Hornberg. The next halting-place was Kriemhieldsach,
where there was a post-house; it was about three or four leagues off,
and on the verge of the Black Forest, which we had to march through
before we arrived. All travellers, they informed us, preferred stopping
at Hornberg, to going through so lonely and disagreeable a place as the
Black Forest, and at so late an hour. However, we were exceptions to the
general rule, and we marched on.
The Black Forest, so celebrated of late for Moreau’s retreat through it
before the Austrians, is a name very appropriately given to this
dreadful region, for I never in my life beheld a country so mountainous,
dismal, and barren. It used formerly to be infested by banditti, and in
the late wars, the Germans, lying concealed, used at convenient moments
to issue forth and inflict the severest losses on the French troops;
cutting off stragglers, capturing convoys, and making prisoners of all
small detached corps. I was told that a French General, whose name I now
forget, had been shot in his carriage whilst passing through the Forest,
and that the postilions, who had heard the report of the rifle, never
discovered his death until their arrival at Hornberg. We met with only
two or three people before we got to Kriemhieldsach. The road on each
side was lined with trees, and was admirably calculated for the tactics
of banditti.
At about eleven we reached the post-house, rapped at the door, and
demanded admittance.
“Who is there?--and what are you?” was asked by a person within.
“Three French travellers who want lodgings,” was my reply.
The door was immediately opened, and we were readily shown upstairs into
the public-room. We could willingly have dispensed with publicity, and
have put up with “a room in private”; but, happily, the appearance of
the guests inspired us with confidence. We called for supper, and
desired they would prepare our beds. They complied, and without asking a
single question, or betraying the least signs of suspicion or
inquisitiveness.
Our friend Barklimore had been very much indisposed all day, but the inn
was not the best calculated in the world for a sick man’s slumbers;
for, as we demanded our beds, the family of the innkeeper and all his
guests began to dance. The music was what the Germans call a
“doodle-sack”--a species of that harsh and discordant instrument that we
call a Scotch bagpipe. Waltzing was introduced. The scene became
animated. The doctor forgot his illness, engaged a pretty partner, and
began to dance with great glee. This company all observed, “What a
lively, merry people you Frenchmen are!” I could not help smiling at the
remark, nor could I refrain from reflecting upon the vast difference
between waltzing at night with a pretty German partner, and sleeping in
the mud in the open air, or in the still worse dungeons of Bitche. My
other companion, Hewson, caught the spirit of the scene, and joined the
dance. I, however, remained an exception to the general company, and
never moved from the table until the dance was over, and then we all
retired to bed.
On the 23rd, in the morning, our invalid friend was not the better for
the inspirations of Terpsichore. He was scarcely able to move. I then
found the benefit of having remained quiet, whilst they had been
displaying their agility on the light fantastic toe. However, weak as
the doctor was, we paid our bill and pursued our route. Early in the
afternoon, having fallen in with a small village, we halted, refreshed
ourselves, and went to bed very early. The doctor was extremely ill, and
sorry for having so strenuously supported the French character.
_24th._--We departed as early as usual, and passed round several towns,
and at eight in the evening stopped at a small village, and got
refreshed. The people were particularly attentive, speaking often in
praise of the French nation: they had very frequently some of our
countrymen billeted on them. We left Rothweil upon the right, and were
told we should be early the next day at Tütlingen, where I was in hopes
of being favourably received. We were in great spirits, passed the
evening pleasantly, and imagined that our principal difficulties had
been surmounted.
On Sunday, the 25th, we breakfasted, and passed on towards the
much-wished-for town. At eleven we were in sight of it. I proposed to my
companions to remain concealed in an adjacent wood, while I went into
the town to try what could be done; they agreed to it; and we only
regretted not having our companion Batley with us.
I entered the town about noon, and went where I expected some
assistance, from my former knowledge of the place when conducted thither
by the Bavarians, and the hopes then held out to me; but, to my great
mortification, I could obtain none. I returned with these doleful
tidings to my companions, assured them there was no danger, and went
back again to use every effort to procure passports.
The second time I met with some people who promised to assist as much as
they could in promoting my wishes. They got my companions into the town,
and placed them upstairs in a friend’s tavern; there, in daily
expectation of being supplied with what we wanted, we remained concealed
until Tuesday, 4th October, a period of eight days, when, with depressed
spirits, gloomy faces, and light purses, we were conducted before
daybreak on the direct road to Memmingen, as we had determined to take
that course to Saltzburg. We had been regularly deceived by some of
those who had promised me assistance in the event of my ever coming
again that way, and had only to thank our stars that we had not been
betrayed.
During our stay in this place we procured an old German map, which we
found of very material service to us. About noon we passed Mosskirch,
keeping about two miles to the right of it. After nightfall we crossed
the river Andalspach, and determined to stop at the first safe place we
could find. We soon discovered a house on the roadside, and it appeared
to be an inn. We entered, and called for bread and wine, which we found
was all the provision that the miserable place afforded. This was good
enough for us; but a light-horseman acted as waiter, and he spoke
French, which created many unpleasant apprehensions in my mind. We asked
for beds, and they declared they had not any; but the light-horseman
told us that there was clean straw in the stable, to which we were
welcome. We quitted the place, although we had been informed that the
next village was more than a league distant, for I was not at all
pleased with my military waiter. He was too kind and inquisitive.
We pursued our route at least a league through the centre of a forest.
The road was very good. At last we heard a prodigious shouting ahead,
and could not account for such a noise at so late an hour; however, it
announced the proximity of a village--perhaps the one that had been
described to us. We advanced apace. The shouting, singing, and confusion
of noises still continued. We shortly discovered an immense concourse of
people, of both sexes, on the road, coming towards us. They passed us
decorated with ribands and cockades, from which we concluded it was a
festival or wedding. We now saw the village very plainly, and soon
arrived at it. We went to the first public-house we could discover, but
it was so thronged that they could not receive us. By a great deal of
persuasion we prevailed on them to direct us to another, where we got
beds and refreshments. There were a great number of police-officers and
soldiers in the first house, but they were so much elated and amused
that they could not attend to make any observations upon us.
We paid excessively dear here for everything; and in the morning we
quitted it, and proceeded towards Waldsee, a town of Suabia, with a
castle. At about six in the evening we passed it, leaving it at a
respectable distance on the right. At eight we stopped at a small
village, where we got beds and supper. At daylight we recommenced our
journey, and about four in the afternoon we discovered the river Iler,
which we had to cross. We were quitting the territory of Würtemberg, and
entering Bavaria. We saw a bridge, but imagined also that we could
distinguish a look-out house or turnpike on it, which alarmed us not a
little; so we concealed ourselves in a wood until dusk, and then
advanced, and crossed the bridge without any difficulty. There were
several houses on each side, but, fortunately, we saw no police-officer,
or any person that could cause the least apprehension. We continued our
route above a league, when we came to a tavern thronged with waggoners;
but we got a private room and went very early to bed.
Our friend Barklimore was now seized with a very severe fit of fever,
and it behoved us to be very circumspect in Bavaria, lest we should be
obliged to quit our sick companion. The stimuli of danger and necessity
enabled him the next morning to attempt the day’s fatigue. We walked
very slowly in consideration of his illness.
At night we slept at a village; and not only were the people civil, but
our landlady got our shirts washed for us, and dried by the next
morning. This was not a slight task, considering how long we had worn
them. We were much annoyed, however, by the landlord. He was in the last
stage of consumption, and the short remainder of his life seemed to be
devoted to inquisitiveness. In vain did we tell him we were French
travellers going to Kaufbeuern, where we had many friends. His “whys”
and “wherefores,” and his “what-thens” and “where-nexts” were most
inconvenient to travellers in our suspicious circumstances. We assured
him that from Kaufbeuern we should, in all probability, proceed to
Saltzburg, but nothing would satisfy his curiosity; and whilst his wife
was in the act of contributing to the refreshing of our bodies by
washing our shirts, he was tormenting our minds by questions, one-tenth
of which had we answered, or at least answered honestly, we should
infallibly have seen ourselves in a few days on the high road to
Bitche.