THE SECOND ASSAULT.
On the following day Burgomaster Schönleben took his way to the
council-chamber, which now, indeed, fully deserved its name. Both
before and after the commencement of the siege, the magistrates had
enough to do in devising necessary plans, even had not their time been
fully occupied in carrying their plans into execution. Among other
duties, they had to arrange for the accommodation of the wounded, the
burial of the dead, and the bodily needs both of those who were
defending the city and their families; while not neglecting, on the
other hand, to guard against a wasteful use of the provisions, to
preserve the strictest order in the city, and to arrange for many other
things beside.
Schönleben did not give his fellow councillors the slightest hint about
his quarrel with the commandant, but took care quietly to make out
their several opinions, and he did not find one man among them who,
either from fear of the Swedes or from personal inclination, was
disposed to support his views.
After quitting the council-chamber, he could not help noticing, as he
passed along the ranks of the auxiliary troops in front of the town
hall, what an eager and even restless desire was manifest among them to
be led against the enemy. He betook himself to the cathedral, where
the church-superintendent, Dr. Paul Glaser himself, was conducting the
daily service, and heard this aged servant of the Lord encourage his
great audience to a brave resistance against the foe, and patient
endurance of such trouble as the siege might bring. 'Call to mind, my
brethren,' the good man was saying, 'what was done by the children of
Israel when the wicked King Antiochus and his soldiers troubled them,
and each one had to take refuge in the caverns and rocky clefts of the
mountains. My hearers, Antiochus and his fierce soldiery did not
torture the Jews of old one whit more unmercifully than these Swedes
have tortured our Saxon brothers and sisters. And it is vain for you
to think that you, at least, will escape torture and death by resigning
yourselves into their hands; for their hearts are like the nether
mill-stone, and they find an evil pleasure in hearkening to the groans
of those who perish under their torments. Therefore defend yourselves,
as did the Jews in the days of the Maccabees! And let not strong men
alone bear their share in the work, but do you aged men, you women and
children, aid with all your feeble might. Think of the brave women of
the ancient days! And while you think of them, do not forget that in
our very midst there dwells to-day a brave woman who has had to defend
hearth and home against a murderous foe; not less truly a woman because
this hard task was assigned to her, or because she was found, in the
hour of need, capable of discharging it. While we pray to God that
such terrible work may never fall to our lot, we cannot but honour this
our brave, and now, alas! our bereaved sister.'
As it happened, the miller's wife from Erbisdorf was herself present
among the worshippers, without the clergyman's knowledge. As the
glances of those around turned naturally towards her where she sat, she
endured their friendly scrutiny with blushing cheeks and downcast eyes.
The preacher's words had produced a deep effect in the mind of the
worthy Burgomaster. 'If a Christian minister,' said he to himself,
'sees it his duty on this special occasion to encourage the weak, that
they may make a valorous deface, surely I, who rule over strong men,
should be the last to think of surrendering into an enemy's hands the
city entrusted to my care.'
The thunder of the Swedish cannon, as it echoed and re-echoed through
the lofty carved-work of the cathedral roof, made the Burgomaster too
ill at ease to stay longer in the church. On reaching the open air, he
found that the enemy had never yet poured in so heavy a fire as that of
to-day. 'By it every building was shaken,' says the chronicle, 'and
there was as great alarm in the town as if heaven and earth had been
rolled together.'
This time the enemy did not content himself with merely letting his
heavy guns play against the walls and gates, especially the Peter Gate,
but used his mortars to pour large quantities of stones, balls, and
shells directly into the town itself.
The sights and sounds that saluted Schönleben almost put his
newly-formed resolutions to flight. He hastened back to the
market-place.
'The enemy is pressing hard on the Meissen and Erbis Gates,' shouted a
breathless messenger, sent in haste to summon assistance from the town
hall, and immediately detachments of the auxiliaries drawn up there
started at the double to strengthen the threatened points. As they
went they uttered loud shouts of joy, and clashed their weapons till
the market-place rang again.
The crash of bursting shells could now be distinctly heard above the
thunder of the artillery, but happily most of these deadly missiles
fell in the more open spaces and did but little harm. The miners were
acquitting themselves of their dangerous duties courageously and well
under the able leadership of their brave captain, George Frederick von
Schomberg, and the master miner, Andreas Baumann. Whenever a column of
smoke rose, or shells fell on a house, or the fearful cry of 'fire' was
heard, their aid was speedily at hand. Beneath a continuous shower of
stones and bullets they climbed upon roofs, handed buckets of water,
and extinguished flames, heeding neither fire, choking vapour, nor
falling rafters. Like boys playing at ball, they sprang on the
smouldering shells the moment they touched the ground, and
extinguishing the fusee, rendered them harmless before they had time to
do their fatal work of death and destruction.
As Schönleben turned the corner by the butchers' stalls, some ponderous
iron object fell with a heavy thud just in front of him, sank into the
earth, and disappeared. At the same moment, two young people came out
of a neighbouring house and ran across the street to the newly-made
hole; they were Conrad Schmidt and Dollie. Close at their heels
followed a man in a dusty coat, the miller of Erbisdorf.
'Out of the way directly!' he shouted to the thoughtless youngsters.
'Do you both want to be killed? This is no child's plaything.' So
saying, he carefully poured into the hole a large bucketful of water he
had brought with him, and then set about digging out the expected shell.
'Well, upon my word!' he cried, in a tone of such astonishment that the
Burgomaster paused in curiosity. 'How long have they used bombs with
iron rings to catch hold of them by? Why, as sure as I'm here, it is
nothing in the world but a lumbering old iron hundred-weight, that the
Swedes must have stolen out of some good Saxon's shop to batter our
heads in Freiberg with.' While the worthy miller was still expressing
his astonishment over this new kind of missile, Dollie's father, the
miner Roller, appeared coming down the street, grasping some heavy
object with both hands. When he recognised the Burgomaster, he let his
burden drop on the ground, and proceeded respectfully to remove his hat.
'What have you got there?' cried the miller, who was near enough to
hear Roller's salutation of the magistrate. 'A blacksmith's anvil?'
'The end of one, at all events,' replied Roller. Then, turning to
Schönleben, he added, 'Only half a yard more, respected Herr
Burgomaster, and my poor head would have been shattered by this same
anvil. But it tells a welcome story too; for if the Swedes have to use
things like these to feed their cannon with, they must be running
pretty short of ammunition.'
'That seems to contradict you,' said Schönleben pleasantly, indicating
the tremendous noise of the cannonade that filled the air on all sides.
'Ah, but it's beginning to slacken now, respected Herr Burgomaster,'
shouted the miller joyfully the next minute. 'Don't you hear that the
siege-guns have ceased firing?'
Roller looked thoughtfully up at St. Peter's Tower, from which a
blood-red flag now floated in the air. In a moment, from all the
hitherto silent towers and steeples, the bells clashed out an alarm.
'That is the signal of an attempt to storm,' said the Burgomaster; then
concealing his own agitation as best he might, he hastened from the
spot.
'A storm!' said Dollie wonderingly to Conrad. 'But there are no
clouds, and no wind; how could there be a storm?' At this point the
questioner was sent into the house by the miller, who followed her
himself as soon as he had put the iron weight and the anvil away in a
place of safety. Roller, although not on duty, hastened off to join
his comrades at their work, and Conrad betook himself with all speed to
the home where he knew his poor mother was left alone in her blindness.
The minister had just brought his service to a close, and was leaving
the church; but on hearing the clang of the alarm-bells, he turned back
into the sacred building with the women and children, who poured into
it to beseech divine help in this new and pressing danger. Just as
Schönleben was passing by the church door, such a frightful and furious
shout arose at the Peter Gate as almost to curdle the Burgomaster's
blood in his veins. This terrible shout was uttered by the Swedes,
who, two brigades strong, with flying colours and rolling drums, were
now advancing with their storming-ladders towards the moat before the
Peter Gate. The determined energy with which the advance was made was
as great as the noise of the battle-cry. The besieged watched the
enemy's approach with stedfast and unshaken courage. They tightened
their belts, and each man prepared his weapons to give the foe a warm
reception.
'Always bellowing, you Swedish oxen!' shouted a soldier jestingly. 'Do
you expect to frighten us with your noise, or do you think the walls of
Freiberg are going to fall down like those of Jericho?'
A well-aimed cross fire was now poured into the ranks of the besiegers,
as, in dense masses, they filled the moat and struggled to mount the
breach. A murderous fight then began, in which neither side would
yield an inch. Although successive volleys of balls decimated the
Swedish ranks, their losses did not in the least deter them from
pursuing their object with the most supreme indifference to death.
Fresh men continually took the place of those that fell, and the forces
of the besieged being thus either divided or broken, the Erbis and
Meissen Gates were both assaulted at once. The storming-ladders of the
Swedes, a hundred times hurled back into the moat, were as often
replanted against the walls; and although every man who had as yet
succeeded in setting foot on the ramparts had paid for his success with
his life, others were continually ready to follow the same example.
While the enemy kept up their furious battle-cry, the besieged, on
their side, did not fail to encourage one another with joyful shouts.
There were even some rash spirits, who, deserting the sheltering
breastworks, sprang into the breach, and saluted the dense ranks of the
enemy with 'morning-stars'[1] and heavy broadswords. During this
attack, which lasted a full hour, the Swedish fire was steadily
maintained against gates, walls, and towers, occasionally even against
the breach itself, where it inflicted some loss on besiegers as well as
besieged. The former, under the command of Generals Wrangel and
Mortainne, were led by these officers in person to storm the breach.
Field-Marshal Torstenson, a martyr to gout, could only sit at the
window of his quarters in the hospital, directing the attack, and
chafing inwardly at its continued want of success. While the battle
still raged round the Peter, Meissen, and Erbis Gates, and the Swedes
fancied the Freibergers a prey to anxiety and fear, the undismayed
miners made a sortie through the Donat Gate, destroyed the Swedish
siege-works that lay in that quarter, slew a number of the enemy, and
returned into the city, bringing with them several prisoners.
The general fight was still raging; the shout of battle, the thunder of
the guns, the confused din of the storming-parties, and the showers of
great stones and shot still filled the air, as the Burgomaster,
agitated by growing anxiety, and unable to find rest anywhere, turned
his uneasy steps towards the Peter Gate, the most threatened point of
all. It must be remembered that to a brave man like Schönleben it was
a far harder task to stand by, a mere spectator of this important
battle, than it would have been to take an active share in its turmoil
and danger. To him the assault on the gates, which had perhaps lasted
an hour, appeared to have been going on for ever, while those who were
actually engaged in the strife would have sworn it had been an affair
of a few minutes at the most.
In no small danger of his life, the Burgomaster forced his way, through
a storm of bullets and falling masonry, into the strong tower that
protected the Peter Gate. Having at last succeeded in ascending the
narrow stone stairs and reaching the vaulted guard-room, he was able to
make out indistinctly, through the smoke and dust that filled the room,
the forms of a number of men who were keeping up an incessant and
almost deafening fire on the enemy through the narrow loop-holes with
which the thick walls were pierced.
'They fly!' shouted one of these marksmen in a stentorian voice.
'Hurrah! Now to give them something to help them on their way.' So
saying, he lighted one hand-grenade after another, and hurled them with
all his force through the loop-hole. 'Now, here with the double
arquebuses! Dippolt, have you loaded them all?' As he spoke, he
seized one of the pieces that stood in readiness, and fired it after
the flying Swedes.
The face was so blackened with gunpowder and smoke as to be almost
unrecognisable, but Schönleben knew the voice at once for that of the
brave Commandant von Schweinitz, who thus both by word and action
encouraged his men to do their utmost against the enemy.
Hastily turning round, and catching sight as he did so of the
Burgomaster's face, the soldier frankly stepped up to the new-comer and
shook him kindly by the hand, saying in a hearty tone:
'So you are here, Burgomaster! There,' and he pushed the visitor
good-humouredly towards a loop-hole; 'have a look at the vagabonds
showing us their heels. They'll not carry more than a third of their
storming-ladders back with them. So, now you have come, you can help
us make merry, Schönleben. I feel so pleased I scarcely know how to
contain myself.'
A great shout of joy rose from the ranks of the besieged at sight of
the flying Swedes.
'Right, my children!' cried their commander. 'Shout "Victory" to your
heart's content. Schönleben, I am proud of commanding your
Freibergers. They have behaved like veteran and brave soldiers. I
must give the palm to your City Guard, who have held the most dangerous
post, the one at the breach by the Kreuz Gate, with such calm
determination that the Swedes never once set foot on the ramparts.
Victory, victory!' he shouted, as the jubilant cry rose again from the
ranks below.
Then Schönleben spoke out honestly and heartily. 'Colonel von
Schweinitz,' he said, 'I trust you will pardon the speech I made to you
not long since; it might well annoy you. Henceforth I say with you,
"Welcome death rather than surrender to the Swedes!"'
'Why, what is all this about?' said Schweinitz heartily; 'I was every
bit as much to blame as you were. I'm a rough soldier that doesn't
stop to pick his words. You mustn't take too much notice of my
speaking out a bit hastily now and then.'
While the two worthy men were making up their quarrel, Schönleben
noticed that the skirt of the other's coat was smeared with blood.
'You are wounded,' cried the Burgomaster in alarm.
'I had not noticed it,' answered Schweinitz carelessly, looking down at
the splash of blood on his coat. 'Possibly a chip of masonry or some
ball that has glanced aside may have grazed my hip. The Swedes have
paid for it dearly enough, anyhow.'
With a brightened and almost joyful heart Schönleben took leave of the
commandant. As the former left the tower and gate, he saw the besieged
clambering down into the city moat to make prisoners the wounded Swedes
who lay there, and to bring in the firelocks, pikes, and
scaling-ladders the enemy had left behind. At the same time, men were
set busily to work to repair and rebuild the walls and other defensive
works that had suffered injury. The bells were silent, and the
glorious words of the Te Deum--'We praise Thee, O God! we acknowledge
Thee to be the Lord'--could be plainly heard as they sounded solemnly
forth from the various churches,--words in which the Burgomaster joined
with a most devout and thankful heart.
[1] The mediaeval 'morning-star' was a heavy war-club thickly studded
with short iron spikes.