THE GORGE OF THE EISACH.
The Baron, vexed and provoked, next tried his rhetoric upon
Speckbacher. Now, Speckbacher was like the Passeyr in a high wind
up-current, "driven to and fro, and tost." He had of late been very
unprofitably spending his time in endeavouring to reduce the strong
fortress of Kufstein, and was a good deal humbled at finding it too
hard a nut for him to crack. Therefore, when Baron Hormayr, with all
his force of elocution, painted the hopelessness of the Tyrolese
cause, and the certainty of their making things considerably worse
for themselves if they were vanquished--Speckbacher lost his spirits
and became convinced that the case was desperate. Hormayr, seeing
his advantage, then hinted on Speckbacher's being particularly and
personally obnoxious to the Bavarians as a formidable insurgent
chief, observed on the desirableness of a temporary withdrawal from
public notice, and finally offered him a seat in his own carriage if
he would accompany him into Austria. Eisenstecken was on his way
thither already. Speckbacher's heart hovered over his cottage among the
beech-trees; but he was desponding and irresolute; a few coaxing words
settled the matter--he would but make a hasty visit to his home and
return, if the Baron would be so kind as to wait for him.
The Baron would do so by all means, but hoped he would be quick; so off
sped Speckbacher at a swinging pace, but with a heavy heart.
Arrived at his cottage, what should he see but his little boy at the
threshold, intently watching the farm-servant, Zoppel, making him a toy
rifle. Directly he looked up and saw his father, he joyfully cried out,
ran towards him, and clasped his knees; then seizing him by the hand,
dragged him towards the house, capering as he went.
Maria, meantime, had come to the door with a child in her arms and
another holding her apron.
"Home at last," said she with fond reproach.
"Home; soon to depart again," said Speckbacher, entering the house.
"No doubt," said she, pouting a little, as she gave him the baby to
kiss; "that's what we must expect as long as the war goes on; however,
you know, we talked that all over and counted up the cost at the
beginning, and decided not to mind it."
"We did," said Speckbacher in a melancholy tone.
"So you must not mind," pursued Maria cheerily, "if I do give you a
grumpy word or a pouting look now and then, because it is over in a
moment; for I assure you, I remember all you said to me too well to
think seriously of minding it at any time."
"But, Maria! Don't you know there has been an armistice proclaimed?"
"Between whom?"
"The French, Bavarians, and Austrians."
"To be sure I do," said she with curling lip; "but what have _we_ to do
with that?"
"Oh, what a question!" groaned Speckbacher.
"It hardly amounts to one, I think," said Maria. "Why, have not
all the Austrian soldiery deserted to us, and is not the Sandwirth
Commander-in-Chief?"
"My dearest Maria, Baron Hormayr has been using all his influence with
us both to forbear from shedding blood in a hopeless case. And he has
promised to take me with him in his own carriage to Vienna to be out of
the way a little, till the affair has blown over.
"What, and give up the cause?" cried Maria in blank dismay.
Her look smote her husband to the heart.
"Then you don't approve of it?" said he, inquiringly.
"Why, _do you_?"
"Well, I don't know--Eisenstecken has given it up for one--"
Maria dropped the baby into the little wooden cradle on the dresser,
and began to furbish a brass skillet very vigorously.
--"But, if you don't," faltered he, "neither shall I; for, if my life
is worth nothing to _you_, to me it is not of the value of a kreutzer."
"O Speckbacher!" cried she, suddenly flinging her arms about his neck.
"Well, what now?" said he; his eyes beginning to grow misty.
"How _can_ you say such things?" sobbed Maria. "Not worth a kreutzer,
indeed! You, the best Tyrolese that lives!--the father of a family--a
married man--a responsible person--known and beloved by all--to talk of
not being worth a kreutzer!--"
Here Anderl increased the effect by beginning to weep aloud, and with
perseverance.
"Well," said Speckbacher, in a stifled voice, and drawing her very
close to him, "you seemed to think I was deserting the cause--"
"Yes, only--no--that is--If Baron Hormayr says right,--and he ought to
know,--why, the cause is deserting _you_, not you it--at least--Ah, it
is not so! O Speckbacher, I am pulled two ways! why have you made me
think the cause so important all along, if you are going to forsake it
now?"
"Why, so it is--"
"Then, why desert it?"
"Because, dear, they say it's hopeless. I wish you would not use that
uncomfortable word 'desert.'"
"I will not--I feel persuaded that a brave man may forsake a hopeless
cause--nay, I think he owes it to those who love him. What sleepless
nights have you given me, Speckbacher! But now, if I think you are
safe, my rest will be sweet."
"I declare I know not what to do," cried Speckbacher, tossing his
arms upwards, and then starting up and pacing the room in an agitated
manner,--then, throwing himself into a seat,--"I'll be guided by you."
"Then go with the Baron," said Maria, after a moment's pause--"yours
is too precious a life to be thrown away. When I felt it useless to
remonstrate, and my mind was convinced besides, I wound myself up to
a sort of false composure; but now, that has all dissolved away; the
necessity for it is gone, and I can only see you, hear you, think of
you as the dearest of husbands, the best and tenderest of men."
Speckbacher wept. But his wife was firm. She packed up a little supply
of linen for him, bade him remember the Baron was waiting, kissed
him cheerfully, and watched him till he was out of sight. Speckbacher
trod much more heavily on his way back than when he came. Dejected,
solitary, slow, dragging a lengthening chain as he went, he tardily
returned to the Baron, who was getting fidgety.
"Your adieux took you a long time," said he, rather peevishly.
Speckbacher made no reply, but silently followed him into the carriage,
and they drove off towards Sterzing.
Baron Hormayr felt it would not do to neglect his companion; and, being
a man of considerable information and address, he began an agreeable
conversation with two aides-de-camp, who were of the party, relating
several anecdotes likely to interest Speckbacher, and beguile the way.
Nothing could win from the dispirited Tyrolese, however, more than a
divided attention. He assented absently to questions that were put to
him, sometimes quite at cross purposes; and so clearly betrayed his
dejection, that Hormayr at length ceased to waste his time on him, and
entered into discussions exclusively interesting to himself and the
aides-de-camp.
The road was at this time winding up a steep hill, and proceeded very
slowly; being choked with stones and brambles that had been cast across
it during the recent contest. Every inch of ground had been a scene of
struggle; to Speckbacher it was mournfully suggestive. Suddenly there
appeared on a rocky path immediately above the road, a man in green
with a red waistcoat, who gave a gesture of surprise when he saw them.
It was Hofer.
Stretching out his arms to Speckbacher, he cried in heart-rending
tones, while tears fast coursed his cheeks,--
"Ah! my friend! my comrade! my brother! whither are you going? they are
carrying you to ignominy! Return, ere it is yet too late! Return, my
friend! my brother!"
"Drive on!" cried Baron Hormayr passionately to his coachman, while
Speckbacher buried his face in his hands. But, close his eyes as he
would, he still saw the gestures, and heard the plaintive tones of the
man on the rock.
His resolution was taken.
On reaching Sterzing, where some trifling delay occurred, he slipped
away from his companions, and, procuring a horse, rode at full speed
after Hofer, while the Baron and his party waited for him in vain.
After a fruitless search, Hormayr perceived himself outwitted, and
pursued his journey in no very good temper; though, being on the whole
a kindly disposed man, he soon ceased to be annoyed, and even made a
joke of it.
Meanwhile, Speckbacher, spurring along the mountain road, came up with
Hofer on the Brenner, and hastily threw himself off his horse, leading
it towards him. Hofer, hearing his approach, turned about, and seeing
who it was, paused, stretching out his arms to him. When they met, they
mutely embraced.
"Escaped! Thank God!" said Hofer.
"Thank God," said Speckbacher, "I feel I've done right."
"Rely on it. The wonder to me, brother, is, that you could ever have
been over-persuaded. What! is our love of our country a mere dream?
How many have already laid down their lives for it! For my part, I can
die for freedom, but I cannot live a slave. Will Austria, think you,
be angry in her heart, that we continue the defence of the cause? On
the contrary, she will secretly rejoice in every success. Are you not
certified of it?"
"Yes."
"Every nation in Europe but one will rejoice in it. The English will
sympathize with us, so will the Swiss, so will the Italians, so will
the Northern nations. They will sympathize with us in our success,
because we deserve it--and, should we prove unfortunate, they will
sympathize with us all the more!"
"Hofer, go on talking--"
"First, let us pray, brother. Oh, how much we have to pray for! First,
our country,--that our poor, dear Tyrol may be delivered from all her
enemies; then for our emperor,--that he may look kindly on us; and
surely for our beloved Archduke John, whose heart is ever with us. Then
for ourselves. Oh, we have much need to ask for direction,--we are
poor, unskilled men, pitted against the cleverest man in the world; and
how can we hold our ground without supreme aid? Then for our wives,
children, and homes. See how much there is for which to pray."
Speckbacher reverently uncovered his head, and knelt. It was not the
first time they had thus sought heavenly guidance together. They arose
strengthened, calmed, and resolved.
On the second of August Father Joachim issued forth from his cell. He
heard that Lefevre, Duke of Dantzic, had seized Innsbruck, and had
boasted that the Capuchin's red beard should get well pulled; on which
he grimly observed, "The Redbeard may be too strong for him yet." From
that hour Father Joachim was known as "The Redbeard."
He met, by appointment, Hofer, Speckbacher, and their three worthy
weapon-brothers, Martin Schenk, Peter Kemmater, and Peter Mayer. These
men had all pledged themselves to free the Tyrol, or perish. Peter
Mayer was he, who being afterwards shot by order of Beauharnois at
Botzen, removed a small crucifix from his heart, and handed it to
a bystander, as the soldiers were preparing to fire, "lest," as he
quietly observed, "it should turn the shot."
Hofer's indecision was gone. "I have received an invitation," said he,
gaily, "from the Duke of Dantzic, to deliver myself up to him before
the 11th. I have sent him word he may expect me, with ten thousand
sharpshooters."
It was decided that Father Joachim should open the campaign. The
general rising took place on the fourth of August,--a day to be much
remembered.
The post to be contested was a bridge across the Eisach, which the
enemy were resolved to pass, and the Tyrolese were resolved they should
not. Father Joachim had prepared a tremendous barrier to their doing
so. He had caused enormous larch-trees to be felled, on which were
piled huge masses of rock, and heaps of brushwood and stones, the
whole being held together by strong cords, and thus suspended over the
precipice.
At one end of this fearful avalanche he stationed Rudolf, knife in
hand, ready to cut the ropes the moment he received instructions from a
comrade named Heisel, who commanded a view of the scene of action far
below.
When the enemy began to enter the pass, they found themselves only
opposed by small bodies of Tyrolese, who continued to fall back after
desperate but short attacks; and they began to think that though many
warnings had been given them of the danger of this pass, they should
find its difficulties exaggerated, and clear it without much loss.
Suddenly an old man, at least eighty years of age, with hair as white
as snow, but with the fire of youth in his dark eyes, levelled his
piece from behind an almost inaccessible crag, brought down his man,
reloaded his piece, and continued his deadly fire, never wasting a
bullet, yet without receiving the least hurt in return. His execution
was so fatal, that a couple of Saxons were detached, and privately sent
round by a circuitous path to seize him. As soon as they rushed upon
him, he shouted "Hurra!" shot the first, seized the second in his arms,
and, crying "In God's name!" precipitated himself with him into the
abyss below. The combatants looked on for a moment aghast.
The next instant, however, the word "Forward" was given in a voice of
thunder, and the invaders impetuously advanced, eager to get out of
this dreadful place. But there seemed to be fighting, or some other
obstacle, in front; the van did not advance, and the body of troops,
jammed together between those who came on from behind, and those who
did not or could not proceed in front, came to a stand.
Everything was so still at this awful moment, that a crow could be
heard cawing in the air, high aloft. This dread pause was broken by a
clear voice far up above, but immediately over them, crying--
"Heisel! shall I cut yet?"
"Not yet," replied another voice, that came wildly through the air.
The Saxons, who heard these ill-omened words, were occupying a little
basin, about two hundred and fifty paces across, hemmed in by rocks,
except where the narrow road crossed a bridge. The day was intensely
hot, and they were almost stifling. Suddenly they beheld flames in
advance; the covered bridge had been set on fire!
"Shall I? Shall I?" cried the eager voice.
"Now then!" shouted the other. "In the name of the holy Trinity!"
"Forward!" almost shrieked the officer in command; but it was in vain.
"_Heisel, cut loose!_" A few quick ringing strokes of an axe were
followed by a thundering crash, as though the very hills were giving
way, and down rushed rocks, trees, and masses of earth, darkening the
air, and the next instant burying the affrighted Saxons in heaps, or
sweeping them down into the river.
Cries of agony and wild despair echoed the next instant through the
defile, mingled with hoarse shouts and the tramp of cavalry. A trooper
dashed madly along the bridge; but before he could gallop over it,
the burning beams gave way under him, and he was swept with them down
the river. Some of the Saxons attempted to force a passage; others
to ascend the rocks; but, weakened in numbers, and daunted by the
formidable nature of the warfare, they finally gave way and retreated
up the valley of the Eisach, while the Tyrolese harassed them with
scattered shots, and finally retired to Brixen.
[Illustration]
[Illustration]