During the next hour a pause occurred in the fight near the barricade
in Broad street. The regiment of the line, which had charged it five
times in vain, had been reinforced by several battalions of the Guards
who had been fighting in King street, and successfully taken several
barricades. These troops followed different tactics; they did not
advance in close columns, but in small detachments on both sides of the
street, as much as possible under cover, and keeping apart till they
could form once more close before the barricade. But if their losses
were smaller, their success was by no means greater. The besieged
systematically saved their fire till the last moment, and then fired so
coolly at the right moment, that the position seemed to be simply
impregnable. In fact the firing on the part of the troops had ceased
for some time, and the men behind the barricade could rest awhile.
They needed it sadly. Mostly entirely exhausted, blackened with powder,
all more or less dangerously wounded, they sat and lay about in small
groups, strangely lighted up by the red light of the watch-fires that
had been kindled in the middle of the street, by the white glare of the
candles in the windows, and the pale rays of the full moon, which was
still gliding gently and silently through the blue ether above. Amid
the groups of fighting men, women and girls were seen bringing
provisions from the neighboring houses. There was no lack of beer, and
wine even, and it looked as if here and there too much had been
distributed. At least every now and then sudden shouts and yells were
heard from one or the other group, after which the deep silence became
all the more oppressive. Upon a cask which formed part of the barricade
sat Oldenburg; his long legs were hanging down, and he blew thick
clouds of smoke from his cigar. His air was that of a man who has
assumed a serious responsibility and is determined to carry out what he
has undertaken. He did not doubt for a moment that the barricade would
be taken, and that he would fall at the head of his men; but this was
the last thing he thought of. To die in a good cause had no terrors for
him. Oldenburg actually fancied he felt a faint desire for death in his
heart. Had he not seen how the sweet hope of at last calling Melitta
his own had been recently put off once more, and further than ever? He
could not blame her that the memory of her fondness for Oswald was
weighing her down like an Alp, and made it impossible to her to raise
her eyes boldly to a better and more faithful man; but the very fact
that he could not but honor her for the feeling which parted them made
him so very hopeless and helpless. He had often and often repeated to
himself the word that Melitta spoke so touchingly whenever she saw him
sorrowful: Patience! But in vain! He was consumed by impatience, by his
inability to do anything else for his happiness than to fold his hands
in his lap and to wait with trusting heart for something vague and
uncertain.
Just then the revolution had broken out and Oldenburg breathed more
freely, as thousands with him. Every one had borne some intolerable
burden, which he now hoped to shake off. Oldenburg was glad that
Melitta was not present. He had at the very beginning sent her word
through old Baumann to stay at her safe place of refuge. When he sent
the old man to her he thought in his heart: We meet again happier or
never more! He now only wished for Oswald to fight by his side for
liberty and for Melitta. The issue might then be an ordeal, and Melitta
crown the victorious survivor.
And his wish was fulfilled. For an hour Oswald had been fighting by his
side like a man who prefers death to life. Wherever a defective part of
the barricade had to be repaired under the fire of the enemy, wherever
danger was most threatening, there Oswald was sure to be; and as
Oldenburg also chose the most exposed positions, the two men were
constantly side by side. But as soon as the danger was over Oswald
withdrew, and Oldenburg did not follow him as his withdrawing was
evidently intentional. And yet the noble man was anxious, now that
every hour might be their last, to tell his former friend that they
ought to forget the past and join the hands that were on both sides
engaged in a great and holy cause.
Oldenburg's eyes followed Oswald, as he went to his post, at some
little distance from him, and stood there, rifle in hand, near Berger,
by the watch-fire. In the changeful light their forms now stood forth
brightly, and now were lost in the dark shade. This lent them something
strange, almost supernatural. Oldenburg could not help thinking of the
spirits who beckon to the ferryman on the banks of the Acheron.
He rose and went up to them.
"What do you think, gentlemen," he said; "are we going to be left alone
long?"
"I believe," said Oswald, "they are either short of ammunition or they
have sent for reinforcements."
"I think that is more likely. What do you think, Berger?"
Berger had been standing there, his arms crossed, and his large eyes
fixed immoveably upon the flames. Suddenly he stretched out his hands
and said, in a hollow, spectre-like tone of voice,
"Listen! They are coming! The earth trembles beneath them! How they
whip their horses, who are tired dragging more and more weapons against
the people! Now they alight! And now they cram the iron mouths full to
bursting. We will----"
"Berger!" said Oldenburg, placing his hand on his arm.
Berger started like one who is suddenly roused from a heavy dream. He
looked around in confusion.
"What is it?" he asked, staring at Oldenburg.
"You are exhausted by excessive efforts, Berger. Lie down for an hour.
I will have you called when you are needed."
"Exhausted?" said Berger, relapsing into his dreamy state. "Yes;
exhausted unto death. But that is why an hour is not enough; when I go
to sleep, it must be an eternal sleep."
At that moment Schmenckel stepped up, who had been on guard upon the
barricade, and said,
"There is something very peculiar going on. I believe they are going to
give us artillery now."
Berger started up.
"Did I not tell you?" he cried. "The decisive hour has come. Up! up!
you brave men; all of you! One more merry dance with the weird fairies
of life, and then to unbroken rest in the cool night of death. Up! up!"
At this call some of the men rose from their resting-places near the
fire, seized their arms, and hastened with Berger to their posts.
Others remained where they were and laughed at the false alarm. But
they also were quickly enough upon their feet when an explosion came
which shook the houses to their foundations, and grape and canister
came rattling against the barricade and the faces of the houses.
"Now they are in earnest," said Oldenburg, turning to Oswald. But the
place where Oswald had been standing was empty.
"He avoids me," said Oldenburg, sadly, "and yet my conscience is quiet.
I have no reproach to make to myself as far as he is concerned."
He hastened to the barricade, where the captain's presence was more
needed than ever.
The first gun, which had opened the dance, was now joined by three
more, and the thunder came almost uninterruptedly, and with it the iron
hail. There was no doubt they wanted to make a break in the barricade,
and then charge once more with better result. Oldenburg, not wishing to
expose the lives of his men unnecessarily, had given orders that they
should keep as much as possible under cover, and not return the fire of
the enemy, but save every shot for the moment of the charge itself. He
had also doubled the number of men with stones on the house-tops.
Finally he chose from among the men who had shown most bravery a select
corps, which was to fall upon the attacking party and engage them till
the others should have had time to seek shelter behind the barricades
in the adjoining streets.
Oldenburg had just given his directions when battery opened a most
terrific fire and then suddenly became silent.
One moment all was perfectly still.
Perfectly still, and then the iron clang of twenty drums beating the
charge. And with every beat the column drew nearer, a living wall,
apparently irresistible in its approach.
Not a sound on the barricade. Up on the roofs stand men and boys, with
heavy stones in their hands; in the windows of the houses, and near the
openings in the barricade, the marksmen are watching, with their rifles
close to the eye.
And the drums beat and the living wall comes nearer. Already one can
distinguish the handsome uniform of the Guards; one can see the
beardless faces of the men, and the black-bearded countenance of the
gigantic officer who leads the attack. And now the officer gives a
command, drowned in the beating of the drums; and as he waves his
bright sword the men cheer, and with three hurrahs they rush forward.
But before they reach the barricade twenty rifles are discharged, and
hundreds of stones are hurled down from above upon the living wall, and
it wavers and trembles like a huge wave in the ocean which dashes its
foam-crested waters against a rocky coast.
Nevertheless it rolls on, and now it breaks against the barricade. The
officer pulls out huge pieces. Nothing, it seems, can resist his
gigantic strength. But suddenly a man in a worn-out velvet coat, who
wields as his only weapon a rifle-barrel without the stock, leaps down
and faces the officer. When the officer sees the man he starts back as
if struck by lightning, and roars to his men: "Halt! Halt!"
They halt.
The men of the barricade avail themselves of this pause and fire once
more. The officer falls dead, face foremost; with him half a dozen men
fall, more or less dangerously wounded. A panic seizes the troops. The
officers try in vain to lead them to the attack.
The barricade is safe once more; they cheer again and again; they
embrace each other with tears of joy in their eyes. But they have paid
dearly for their victory. While part of the men repair the barricade,
which is half destroyed, another part is busy with the dead and
wounded. The man in the velvet coat brings up the corpse of a man, who
has fought like a hero in the front rank, and who has fallen by his
side, pierced with the enemy's bayonets.
Oldenburg comes up to help them.
"Is he dead?"
"Yes."
They place him on the ground near one of the fires. The pale face is so
quiet, so peaceful, and a gentle, happy smile plays about the pale
lips.
Oldenburg looks over to Oswald, who is kneeling on the other side, of
the body. He is startled. The young man's countenance is as pale as
that of the dead man, and his eyes glare like those of a madman.
"Great God, Oswald! are you wounded?"
"I am afraid I am," replies Oswald, and sinks down by the side of
Berger's body.