The broad sheet of ice between the main land and the island had been
for many a week an immense bridge. People no longer reflected that they
were walking on frozen water, and that the hoofs of the horses were
ringing so loud because they were trotting over a vast abyss. What fear
they might feel was easily dispersed as they looked at the gigantic
blocks of ice which the fishermen had placed as warning-posts around
the large holes cut for the fish, provided they did not carelessly
drive or walk right into them, which was not likely, at least in the
daytime. And as long as the slanting rays of the sun shone on the
bright ice, which covered the sound for miles and miles east and west
of the town, there were crowds of pedestrians to be seen among numerous
sleighs, which were often drawn by two and not unfrequently even by
four horses. But when the sun had set and the mists were thickening,
the moving black thread which connected by day the town with the little
village of Ferrytown became thinner and thinner. The fishermen, who
have been out fishing miles away, come in on their low sledges; or,
standing upright on their sleighs, and pushing them with a long
iron-shod pole, they sweep by, one by one, drifting with marvellous
swiftness through the gray fog, like ghosts of the desert, like spirits
from the northern regions. And now lights are seen on both sides of the
sound: a few on the island, many more on the side of the town; now the
stars also, which until now have peeped stealthily here and there only
through the dark evening sky, begin to sparkle and shine in groups, so
that the eye cannot see enough of their great splendor. But no one
minds them. The moving black thread is no longer seen; only here and
there a belated wanderer, who hastens his steps, although knowing full
well that nothing can happen to him if he but follows the path; or a
sleigh, one of those small, light one-horse sleighs which are fitted up
in vast numbers during winter by fishermen and ferrymen in order to
serve the restless public.
Such a sleigh was just trotting past through the dim twilight as night
was sinking lower and lower every moment, and fogs and mists began to
cover the fields of ice. There was but a single passenger sitting in
the sleigh by the side of the driver; he had a fur cap drawn low over
his face, and the collar of his cloak was drawn up high.
As long as they were meeting near the harbor sleighs and
foot-passengers on their return, not a word was said by passenger or
driver; but when they rode out on the wild desert of ice, when the
lights in town were looking dim, and the trot of the crop-eared hack
was sounding loud and clear, the gentleman raised himself in his corner
and said:
"All in order, Claus?"
"Yes, sir," replied the handsome youth, turning, half round on his
seat.
"Have you heard from your cousin?"
"I saw him yesterday myself. He will be on the strand near Barow
punctually at five. He has his two best horses. They will trot with you
until to-morrow at the same hour."
"That is more than I want, if you know the track to Barow?"
"If I know it? I drive it every day. But I should not advise any one
who does not know it as well as I do to drive alone."
"Why not?"
"The Barow people have cut hole upon hole into the ice; and where they
stop the Ferrytown holes begin. You see nothing but blue water on your
right and on your left. Cheer up, Fox!"
The crop-eared horse went faster, and the two men relapsed into
silence. Both listened carefully, but with very different feelings.
Claus Lemberg enjoyed the adventure, because it stirred up his strong
nerves most delightfully, and brought out his cunning and his courage,
the two qualities which he was proudest of in his whole nature. The
other man looked at it more thoughtfully. He knew he was taking a step
which he could never retrace, a step which was to decide not only his
own fate--that mattered little--but also the fate of another being, a
woman, who had won a right to his love by her own sacrificing love, a
woman who had given up rank and riches, and every advantage which her
birth and her social position gave her, for the sole purpose of being
his, and who now was waiting for him in anxiety and anguish on yonder
shore, from which the lights began to beckon to him. His heart was
naturally full of anxious care. He had broken off the bridge behind
him; he was hastening toward a future as black as the night by which he
was surrounded, but by no means lighted up by as many bright, sparkling
stars. But no matter--the die is cast; he cannot go back. Forward then,
forward! What is that? A sleigh coming behind us?
Oswald raised himself and listened, but Claus's sharp ears had already
discovered the direction from which the sound came.
"It is a two-horse sleigh from over yonder," he said, turning a little
to the right. "They have fine horses; they'll be here directly."
Almost at the same moment they saw the sleigh--a dark mass, which
slipped through the darkness like a flash of lightning. As they passed
each other the driver checked the horses a moment, and a voice asked:
"This is the track, isn't it?"
"Straight ahead?" was Claus's reply.
Then again the same voice:
"The ice is strong enough for two horses?"
"Oh, for four!" replied Claus.
"Thanks!"
"Welcome!"
And the sleigh moved on swiftly again.
"Strange!" murmured Oswald; "I thought I heard Oldenburg's voice. What
strange tricks our fancy can play us!"
The rest of the journey to Ferry town was accomplished in silence. They
reached it in a few minutes, rights were shining in the houses up on
the bluffs. Below, near the ferry, where an inn was standing, there was
much life; the windows were bright; music was heard; sleighs were
standing before the door.
Claus stopped; Oswald got out.
"I'll drive along the beach as far as our house," said Claus, "and wait
for you there. But make haste. In half an hour the moon rises, and then
they can see us two miles on the ice."
"Don't be afraid. We shall not keep you waiting."
Oswald went past the inn, up the steep village street; then he turned
to the right and hastened along the low cottages, which there line the
beach, until he came to the last of the row. Through a crack in the
shutters which protected the low window there came a faint ray of
light. Oswald gave three measured knocks against the shutter.
Immediately the door was opened cautiously. Oswald slipped in. In the
hall he was met by an old woman of tall stature and large frame,
holding a light in her hand; by her side stood a frail, youthful
person, who fell into Oswald's arms as he entered.
"At last! at last!"
"At last! Emily? Why, I come at the minute!"
"Maybe! I am nearly dead with impatience."
"Is everything ready?"
"Yes."
"Did anybody see you when you left?"
"No one, except Jager's wife; she insisted upon coming with me. I could
not get rid of her. She is in the room there."
"The fool!"
"Don't scold her. We owe her much; be kind to her!"
"She will show our enemies the way."
"I am not afraid of that. Cloten is quite unsuspicious. I told I him I
would not be back till night. Come in!"
Emily drew Oswald into the little low room, where Primula was standing
by a table, making tea. As soon as she saw Oswald she rushed into his
arms.
"Oswald!" she cried, "this is the last moment! A cup of tea, some rum,
and you must go! Be brave and firm!"
"Time is precious," said Oswald, disengaging himself from Primula's
embrace. "We must go, Emily."
"Not without having drained this cup," said Primula, pouring the tea
into a cup. "You know, Oswald, it is cold without, and in the night air
we shiver; even we immortal gods."
Primula's effort to be jocular was a failure; tears drowned her voice,
she sat down on a settee, pressed her hand on her face, and sobbed. But
a moment and she jumped up again.
"No womanly weakness, Primula," she cried; "we must be strong now.
Drink, friends, drink; and then out into the dark night and the
star-crowned life!"
"Come, Oswald," said Emily, who stood there ready for the journey;
"Mrs. Jager is right; a cup of tea will do no harm, and a few minutes
more or less can make no difference."
"I wish we were off," said Oswald, taking the cup she was offering him
from her hand.
He had hardly uttered these words when somebody knocked violently
against the shutter.
All looked at each other frightened.
"Hallo!" cried a voice.
"For heaven's sake! That is Arthur!" said Emily. "We are lost."
"Farewell, my friends!" cried Primula, and dashed into the adjoining
chamber, after having in vain tried to break open the door of a huge
wardrobe.
"Hush!" said the old woman. "We are not so easily caught here in Ferry
town. Not a word!"
She went to the window and said, "Who is there?"
"Is the Baroness Cloten here? I have important news for her."
The old woman turned round and whispered, "Make haste and get away; I
will try to keep him here. What do you want of her?"
Oswald and Emily did not hear the reply. They slipped stealthily,
holding each other's hand, through the hall to the back door, which
opened upon the sea. A flight of steps led down to the beach. Below was
the sleigh. Once in the sleigh they were safe.
"Stay behind me," said Oswald when they came to the door.
The door was closed by an iron clasp. Oswald opened it cautiously.
Everything was quiet. The wintry sky looked down with its bright stars.
"There is nobody here," whispered Oswald. "Come!"
They had no sooner stepped out than the door was closed violently and
with a bang, evidently by somebody who had been standing behind it, who
now, as if to cut off the retreat of the fugitives, was leaning against
it with his broad shoulders.
In such moments the mind acts promptly, and Oswald recognized instantly
by the aid of the starlight and the sheen of the snow that the
broad-shouldered form before him was that of Baron Barnewitz.
"We are betrayed," he whispered; "but they shall pay for it. Quick
Emily, step into the sleigh; I'll follow."
"But not just now!" said Barnewitz, leaping upon Oswald, and seizing
him by the shoulders with both hands.
Oswald tore himself away, and jumping back a little distance, so as to
have elbow-room, he seized one of the iron-shod pikes which the
fishermen use in propelling their sleds, and of which several were
standing in the corner. He struck his adversary with it so terrible a
blow that the latter, in spite of his gigantic size and enormous
strength, fell down without uttering a sound.
In an instant Oswald had overtaken Emily, and putting his arm around
her waist he bore her down the steep steps.
Below, on the snow of the narrow beach, stood the sleigh.
He put Emily in and followed her.
"We are betrayed, Claus," he said; "drive fast. It is a matter of life
and death."
Claus clacked his tongue and the crop-eared hack went off.
"Thought so!" said Claus, turning half round. "A minute ago a sleigh
came and stopped not a hundred yards from here. I saw two men get out
and climb up the bluff. I was just going to follow them and to warn
you, when you were coming out a the door. Now it's all right. I should
like to see the horses that can overtake Claus Lemberg and his Fox."
"You might soon have that satisfaction," said Oswald who had been
looking behind; "there they are coming. It seems these bulls do not
fall at one blow, and want to make the acquaintance of a bullet. Where
is the box I gave you, Claus?"
"Just behind you, in the straw."
Oswald opened the box, took one of the two pistols that were in it, and
cocked it.
"For Heaven's sake, Oswald, what are you going to do?" said Emily, who
had not uttered a word since they were in the sleigh.
"Shoot down the first man who dares touch you."
"Oh, God! oh, God!"
"For whom do you tremble; for me? or for him? You have time yet. He
will forgive you, I am sure, if you turn back now;--perhaps lecture you
a little in Barnewitz's presence."
"How can you talk so? I turn back? Rather dead at the bottom of the
sea!"
"That may come too," murmured Oswald.
Oswald thought the crop-eared hack, however swiftly he cut with his
rough-shod shoes into the ice, could certainly not long keep up the
speed so as to escape from the two thoroughbreds before the sleigh of
his pursuers. He had a start of a few thousand yards, but that could
not avail much, as the distance from Ferrytown to the village of Barow
was over a mile. There they were to find another sleigh, provided by
one of Claus's cousins, who was overseer on one of the Breesen estates,
and ready to do and to risk anything in the world for Miss Emily.
"Once more, Emily: what do you want me to do if they overtake us?"
asked Oswald, bending down to the little woman, who sat there silently,
wrapped up in her furs.
"Defend yourself like a man!"
"And if I succumb?"
"Then I jump into the first air-hole we meet with! Better at the bottom
of the sea than in his power!"
"Are you quite sure?"
"As sure as I live, and as I love you."
Oswald bent down and kissed the beautiful, pale face.
"Now it is all right," he said; "now come what may." Those were
terrible minutes, and the gloomy surroundings only heightened the
impressive character of the situation. All was perfectly silent around
them; nothing was heard but the ceaseless striking of hoofs on the
ringing ice, and that peculiar sound, resembling a long-drawn sigh,
which is produced when an object moves with great rapidity over a plain
of ice. As far as the eye reached nothing but the fearful solitude of a
plain covered with a thin layer of snow, and the dark night lowering
over it like a leaden cover. Even the stars were now hid by a light,
drizzling fog, and yet it began to be lighter and lighter every moment.
A reddish streak on the gray sky announced the rising moon. The sleigh
of the pursuers could already be seen more distinctly, like a great
black spot, which grew every instant greater and blacker as the light
on the sky grew brighter.
Only a few minutes had passed since they had left Ferrytown, but they
appeared to Oswald an eternity. He looked ahead for the shore, but
nothing could be seen yet; he looked behind at the pursuers, and the
great black spot bad again grown larger and blacker.
"We can't do it, Claus," said Oswald.
"What will you bet, sir?" replied Claus. "I will eat Fox alive if he
does not win. Why, sir, there is no such horse to be found far and
near. We are some twenty sleigh-owners in Ferrytown, and thirty over in
Grunwald, and all of us have good horses in our sleighs, but Fox beats
them all. Eh, Fox?"
And, as if Fox had been cheered by the praise of his master, he shook
his cropped mane, and cut with his sharp hoofs faster and faster into
the clear ice.
"But those are uncommon horses."
Claus laughed.
"And that's exactly why I don't trouble myself. They can't stand it;
and then they are afraid of the air-holes. In a few minutes you will
see they will fall behind, or I will eat Fox alive."
Perhaps Fox was afraid of the terrible fate with which he was
threatened if he should allow himself to be overtaken, and made
desperate efforts; perhaps Cloten's horses began really to be tried by
this unusual chase on the smooth ice, or to be frightened by the black
water of the air-holes; at all events, Clauses prophecy began to become
true almost as soon as he had uttered it. Although it was dawning
brighter and brighter on the horizon, the black spot became perceptibly
smaller and less distinct; and when at last the full moon rose over the
gray edge of the ice, and poured her pale light over the vast level
plain, the black spot was no longer to be seen on the white surface.
"Well, didn't I tell you?" asked Claus, turning round and showing his
white teeth, "that there isn't a horse that can overtake Fox? Up, Fox!"
Claus had turned round towards his horse. On, on they flew, with the
swiftness of an arrow, over the low thundering abyss, past the weird
glittering of waters, on which the pale moon cast an uncanny sheen. The
icy north wind whistled around their ears as it swept mournfully and
plaintively over the snow-covered fields. Oswald and Emily held each
other in close embrace. Glad to have escaped the danger, they enjoyed
the bliss of a love whose sweet flowers they were gathering on the
brink of a fearful abyss, and willingly forgot for a few moments how
deep that abyss was, and how full of unspeakable horrors.