REVERSES.
In the streets of London, about this time, might be seen two sunburnt
Tyrolese, rather bewildered at the strange sights and sounds around
them, accompanying an Englishman to Lord Sidmouth's office.
Their names were Müller and Schonecher: their errand was soon told, in
earnest, homely phrase. England was the home of the free. England was
rich and sympathetic; the Tyrolese were fighting for liberty, but they
were poor; they could not even muster enough money to buy gunpowder
for their rifles. The present lull could not be expected to last long,
for the enemy were already marching on South Tyrol. Would not generous
England help them?
Of course such a question as this roused the British soul; and the
deputies were received as we are wont to receive the latest comers,
with hospitality and distinction. They were feasted, they were praised,
they were encouraged; but--nothing more was done for them. People
sated their eyes with gazing at them, their ears with hearing them,
and then--one man went to his farm, another to his merchandise; saying
Government should take it up; and Government said it was dangerous, and
thought it had better be done by private subscription. And so, nothing
was done at the time; and when the grant of thirty thousand pounds was
afterwards announced to them by Lord Sidmouth, it was too late--the war
was ended.
The war burst out afresh in October. General Peyri, at the head of six
thousand men, advanced upon Trent, summoning the Tyrolese to lay down
arms. Twelve hundred Tyrolese and Austrians met his advanced guard at
Ampezzo, and were repulsed with great loss. A sharp action took place
at Lavis, in which the French were victors, and many Tyrolese fell; but
they rallied under Eisenstecken, who drove the enemy back to Trent, and
re-occupied Lavis for some time.
A dismal reverse awaited Speckbacher in the pass of Strub, where he was
completely defeated, with the loss of three hundred brave men. His dear
little boy, now just eleven, was hanging over him as he lay terribly
wounded on the field, and trying to suppress the large tears that
blinded him, while he made a kind of _turniquet_ for his father with
his twisted handkerchief, when a French soldier came up, and laid his
hand on the little fellow's shoulder.
"Ah, cruel!" cried Speckbacher, half starting up on his elbow, and
sinking back again as the blood welled from his wounds. "Spare my
child!"
"_Il faut étrangler les petits louveteaux_," replied the captor
hoarsely; and unaware of the value of the wolf he was leaving behind
him, while he dragged away its young.
Speckbacher groaned, and closed his eyes. "Maria!" faintly murmured
he--that name, so sacred to a Catholic, made him feel for his crucifix.
He pressed it to his lips, but could not utter even "ora"--hollow
sounds, like the humming of innumerable bees, rang in his ears; he
became insensible.
When consciousness was restored, he found himself in his own dear home,
with Maria ministering to him. Directly she saw him recognise her, she
began to shed tears; but, like a brave woman as she was, dashed them
away.
"Where's Anderl?" asked Speckbacher faintly.
"I don't know, dear--hanging about somewhere, looking after you--he
will soon find where you are, rely upon it."
Speckbacher _could_ not; he knew more of his fate than she did, but
said nothing. What a heavy day it was to him! He mourned for himself,
he mourned for the men he had lost, he mourned for his country, and he
mourned for his dear little boy, marching to a French prison. He could
talk to his wife of all but the last, but she would not let him--he was
weak from loss of blood, and she insisted on his silence, and on his
hearing her talk to him.
She told him that the Tyrolese, as soon as they saw him cut down,
without being able to rescue him, retreated in disorder to the heights
of Melek, from whence they afterwards fell back to Innsbruck, fighting
as they went; that Rudolf had found him lying insensible, and borne
him off the field, and that Father Joachim had bound up his wounds,
and sent him home in a bändl (or low cart on two fore-wheels), well
cushioned with trusses of straw, and in charge of two men.
When Speckbacher saw her performing her various little domestic duties
thoughtfully, yet cheerfully, and then remembered Anderl, his heart
sank within him.
Maria could not account for the nervous fever that consumed him. His
wounds were well dressed, and she thought he ought to be doing better
than he was.
The next morning, after a dreamy, light-headed night, Speckbacher, in a
half stupor, heard, or seemed to hear, a voice, a little way from the
cottage, somewhere about the stables, say cheerily--
"Hallo! here I am!"
"So I see," grumbled, or seemed to grumble, Zoppel, in return; "what
account hast thou to give of thyself?"
"I've been taken prisoner, and run away. Does any one know anything of
father?"
"Ay, surely; he's ill in bed, as bad as can be."
"Oh, how glad I am that he's at home! I left him all in a bath of
blood. Zoppel!" (in an eager, under-voice,) "has mother fretted much
about me?"
"How should she? She never wist harm had come nigh thee."
"Heaven be praised! Father, then, did not tell her! then, I'll not,
Zoppel. I'm so hungry."
"Go in-doors, boy, bless thee, and get something to eat."
"I think I must." And Speckbacher, whose hearing was quickened by
fever, presently could distinguish the boy's stealthy footsteps in the
adjoining room. Meanwhile, his wife, waking, and leaning over him to
peer into his face, and see how he fared, perceived a bright smile on
his lips, though his eyes were shut.
"You're shamming," said she cheerfully; "what art smiling so about,
Speckbacher?"
"Thoughts of my own," said he, smiling still.
"Come! tell me."
"Look into the kitchen, Maria; I think Anderl has come back."
"Ah, the young rogue, trust him for that!"
She did not dress one bit the faster; and, when she entered the
kitchen, greeted her boy just as usual. He sprang in to his father,
gave him a bright, intelligent look, kissed him, and then laid his head
beside him on the pillow.
"Mother knows nothing," whispered he. "How capital of you, father! Are
you getting better?"
"Yes, dear boy: now you are come home, I shall get well very fast."
He did get well very fast; and was soon up and doing, fighting with the
enemy at Waldrung, where he nearly fell into their hands.
The overwhelming force of France and Bavaria was dispersing the
Tyrolese in every quarter. In the midst of this struggle, in which the
mountaineers were so willingly pouring out their life-blood, Austria
concluded a treaty of peace with France, and the Tyrol was made over to
Bavaria!
Conceive the feelings with which a revolted slave, escaped back to
his native chieftain, would find himself consigned by him to the
slave-dealer again! Conceive, moreover, that the native chief had, in
the first instance, hired the slave to return to him, and had openly or
secretly encouraged him all along!
Eugène Beauharnois published a manifesto, promising the Tyrolese pardon
and peace if they would immediately lay down their arms. In consequence
of this, many hundreds of peasants, stunned at their fate, submitted at
once, while those who still continued in arms were bereft of spirit and
hope.
Hofer, for a few days, was paralysed. He left Innsbruck, now nearly
deserted by his men, and returned to the Passeyrthal, to consider what
was to be done in this strait.
As he approached _am Sand_ by the little winding road among meadows
that nearly passes the church, he heard a loved voice on the other side
of the hedge; and another, neither loved nor lovely, but of unpleasant
quality, alternating with it. They were not close to him, but drawing
nearer, and every word, through the clear air, was distinguishable.
"I don't think so, father."
"You will find it so, daughter. And if Hofer has any sense in his head,
he will do as I say. It is decreed by Providence that the French shall
be victorious; and if he opposes that decree, he will find himself
knocking his head against a stone wall. He might even do this and
welcome, if his own head only were concerned; but when his refusing to
lay down arms, or to call on his countrymen to do so, compromises their
safety, it is nothing short of selfish cruelty."
"Can it be so?" thought Hofer, pressing his hand to his brow, in
painful reflection, as the voices now retired from him. He sat down
under the hedge to try to settle his mind; but he could not. While thus
sadly engaged, his faithful dog flew up to him, and leaping gladly
upon him, prevented him from further reflection; so he rose and walked
towards _am Sand_. Just outside the house stood Theresa, and the
companion he had heard talking with her, a priest,--of a very different
sort from Father Joachim. This man, with whom Hofer had had some
previous acquaintance, had a narrow brow, a cunning eye, and something
subtle in his gait and voice. As for Theresa, it could be seen by a
very slight motion of the back of her neck, that she was displeased
with him, and would not assent to what he said.
"Ah! here's father!" joyfully exclaimed she, as she turned round and
saw Hofer. Running to embrace him, she hastily whispered into his ear,
"Here is a tiresome, cunning French priest, who wants to unsettle us
all."
Hofer's reverence for the church made him give a respectful reception
to Father Donay, who, while supper was preparing, drew him into the
gallery running round the first floor of the house, and there talked to
him long and earnestly.
"Is the soup nearly ready, mother?" said Theresa impatiently.
"Nearly, child."
"Then I shall call them in, for it will be quite ready by the time they
are seated, and I don't like that priest to talk to my father. He's a
bad one!"
"Hush, child!--"
"He _is_, mother, I can tell you.--Father! supper's ready!--"
Hofer came in, looking gloomy, and began unlacing his boots, saying his
feet had swollen. Theresa drew off his boots, and tenderly chafed his
ankles. There was a subdued, glittering light in the priest's stealthy
eye.
"Thou hast lost thy relish, may be, Anderl, for country bread and
cheese," said Anna, smiling.
"When I do, I hope the first mouthful of it will choke me," returned
the Sandwirth, vehemently cutting up the loaf in huge slices.
"Cincinnatus, returned to his plough," observed Father Donay ironically.
"I don't know aught of Saint Senatus," remarked Anna, after a moment's
thought; "is he in our calendar, father?"
"No, my good woman,--no, daughter, no--A good Roman--"
"That's to say a good Catholic, I suppose," said Anna: but the priest
did not answer her--his mouth was full of soup.
Hofer could not get on with his bread and cheese. He sank sorrowfully
back in his chair, and covered his eyes with his hand.
"Take courage, son," said Father Donay; "consider what a noble
sacrifice thou art about to make--"
"What sacrifice?" cried Anna hastily.
"The sacrifice of his will, daughter; the hardest sacrifice man or
woman can make."
"Something more than that," groaned Hofer.
"What's that?" cried Anna sharply. "Your will was always a good
one--why should you give it up?"
"For the good of all--Hist, dear; these are not women's affairs--"
"No, no, better change the subject," said Father Donay.--"Tell me the
meaning of those targets on the wall."
"Boys' playthings, of old, father," said Hofer sadly. "Dangerous ones,
too."
During Father Donay's short stay at _am Sand_, he never ceased urging
on his host the imperative duty, as a Christian patriot, of sacrificing
his own views, interests, and safety to the safety of his countrymen;
and even to place himself in the hands of General Drouet.
Regulus could not have been more willing than Hofer was to devote
himself for the common cause; and, with his judgment obscured by
Jesuitical casuistry, he drew up a proclamation to his countrymen,
advising them to lay down their arms, and consider their cause as lost.
The proclamation was received with despair by Speckbacher; with disgust
by a Tyrolese named Kolb. He, meeting the Sandwirth near Sterzing,
whither he had accompanied Father Donay, and where the unfortunate
proclamation had been penned, hotly remonstrated with him, and declared
his conviction that the document which contained the intelligence of
the peace was a forgery. Hofer was confounded, and hastened home to
re-digest his thoughts; while Kolb proceeded industriously to spread
the impression of the forgery among the other chiefs.
Speckbacher and Rudolf were at _am Sand_, impatiently awaiting him.
"My friend, what is this you have done?" said Speckbacher. "You have
given boldness to the vile and base, and discouraged those who were
ready to die for their country. It matters little whether we and
our weapon-brothers live a few years longer, but it matters a good
deal whether their descendants, generation after generation, shall
be freemen or slaves. You say, 'We cannot maintain war against the
invincible forces of Napoleon.' Who made them so, pray? In the majority
of instances we have not found them invincible, as long as we had
powder and bullets. 'Entirely abandoned by Austria,'--why, so we
have been all the summer, but what success we have had! 'A power of a
superior order guides the footsteps of Napoleon.' O Hofer, Hofer! that
_you_ should write that! It smacks of Father Donay, certainly. 'It is
the immutable decree of Divine Providence which decides victories and
the condition of states.' Doubtless it is, in a large way of speaking;
but Divine Providence takes into account the actions of men possessed
of free will, which it foresees, but does not prevent. And as we have
free will, if those wills are bent on freeing the land, under the
blessing of God, from its enemies, doubtless it _will_ be freed!"
"Speckbacher, you make my heart burn!"
"_Let_ it burn, Anderl. Take up your pen and write something
better--something that will rejoice us."
"I hoped to do this from the first, but feared to bring the blood of my
countrymen on my head--"
"Your countrymen are ready to shed it,--not on _your_ head. Your cause
is the cause of all."
"You are sure I am justified."
"Certain. Write!"
Hofer sat down, flushing deeply; and wrote quickly. The next day the
following proclamation was dispersed among the Tyrolese. Many wept over
it; many rejoiced.
"I felt inclined to lay down my arms, prevailed upon by men whom I
considered friends to my country, but who, as I now have reason to
suppose, are its enemies: I therefore call on you, brethren, to rejoin
me. Were we to surrender to the enemy, we should soon see the youth
of the Tyrol dragged away from their homes, our churches and convents
destroyed, divine worship abolished, and ourselves overwhelmed with
lasting misery. Fight, therefore, in defence of your native country; I
shall fight with you and for you, as a father for his children."
The Tyrolese rose to arms immediately, and the enemy was defeated with
great loss. Generals Rusca and Baraguay d'Hilliers were despatched into
the Pustherthal on the third of November, and on the following day were
gallantly encountered by the Tyrolese, who were, however, driven back.
Rusca eagerly pursued them to Mulbach Clause, where he met with most
determined resistance; and, in his endeavour to penetrate into Hofer's
own valley,--the Passeyrthal,--he was repulsed with the loss of two
thousand men, in killed, wounded, and prisoners.
This warfare raged throughout the month of November, with various
success; but the conquest of the country became inevitable, though the
peasantry might retain possession of particular passes and fastnesses.
Early in December, the struggle was over. The peasantry were
scattered; Father Joachim had escaped to the Grisons; Peter Mayer was
shot; Speckbacher, who was the last to lay down arms, found himself
deserted; Hofer had disappeared.
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