The Schrandeners, as many as could leave their homes and property, were
meanwhile gathered together at the Black Eagle, engaged in a farewell
orgie.
Old Merckel served them himself. He stood behind the bar, refilling
unceasingly the empty glasses, with the melancholy smile, which to-day
there was every reason to believe was not put on.
"Drink, dear friends," he exhorted; "don't let the unhappy event in my
family prevent you! What does it matter even if he is shot? He will die
a noble death for his honour and his Fatherland!"
He wiped the sweat from his shiny forehead, while his little eyes
wandered in uneasy anticipation from one face to the other.
"Go and take a glass, Amalie," he said, turning to the barmaid, "over
to those on guard. I won't bear them malice for helping to bring him to
his ruin!"
The Schrandeners, deeply touched at the expression of so much
high-minded sentiment, gazed into their tankards in moody anger. They
would have been ashamed of rushing to the inn and displaying such
avidity for a carousal in the face of their landlord's private
misfortune, had they not felt they could not better show their sympathy
than by taking advantage of the old man's generous impulses. So they
poured beer and schnaps down their throats in positive streams, and
emulated each other as to who could drink the fastest.
The barmaid, as fat and cunning as her master, slipped out with a tray
containing a dozen foaming tankards, after she had received a few
whispered instructions from him, accompanied by a knowing nod and wink.
"And if you should see old Hackelberg about," he called after her, "ask
him in--ask him in. He has suffered too at the hands of the scoundrel.
He ought not to be missing on this sad occasion."
"Brave soldiers," he continued, wiping his eyes, "drink! drink! You
must try to forget that this day your honour has been forfeited. Yes,
indeed, your case is lamentable--even more lamentable than that of my
poor son, to whom it will at least be granted to meet death for
honour's sake. But you! faugh, for shame! What will be your feelings
to-morrow morning, when you have to march away under the leadership of
that son of a traitor, the villain whom our revered _Herr Pastor_ has
cursed? It'll be 'Braun, clean my boots!' and 'Bickler, hold my
stirrup!' and that sort of thing."
The two men mentioned thus by name started up with an oath.
"And all you others, however much he may oppress and bully you, you
must submit because he is your commander; and if you dare to mutiny,
you'll only be shot down like vermin for your pains. Such, my poor dear
friends, is your pitiable lot! Therefore I say drink, and bid farewell
to your military honour. To-morrow the very dogs will hesitate to take
a crust of bread from your hands!"
A half-stifled murmur ran through the room, more ominous than a howl of
rage.
Then the carpenter Hackelberg, who had been loafing about in the
neighbourhood of the inn, reeled into the common parlour, half-drunk as
usual.
He was received in silence. But old Merckel advanced solemnly to meet
him, seized him by the hand, and led him to a seat of honour.
"You, too, are an unhappy father," he said to him in a voice quivering
with emotion. "Your heart, like mine, has been broken by the ruin of
your child. You, as well as myself and us all, has the tyrant up
yonder, on his conscience. So sit down, you miserable man, and take a
drop of something with us!"
The drunkard, who was used to being fisticuffed and held up to
derision, even by those who bore him no ill-will, scarcely knew what to
make of this highly flattering reception. He glanced suspiciously round
him with his fishy eyes, and appeared to be considering earnestly
whether he should begin to brag or to weep. Meanwhile he drank all he
could lay hands on.
"Look at this deplorable victim of baronial lust," Herr Merckel
continued. "A man who is deprived of the possibility of revenge must
lose his self-respect as he has, and degenerate into a sloven. Day and
night he broods inwardly on the wrong that has been done him. But even
the trodden-on worm turns at last, and who can blame us if we wish with
all our hearts that the miscreant should not live to see another day?"
"Strike him dead!" spluttered the carpenter, suddenly waxing furious,
but there was only a faint echo in response, for to the men who were
now soldiers under orders for active service the glibly made suggestion
seemed no longer a trifle.
Herr Merckel assumed an air of holy horror. "For shame, dear people! we
must not listen to such treason. I, being your mayor, cannot
countenance it. To strike him down in broad daylight would be an
unwarrantable act of violence, and I wonder you dare entertain such an
idea for a moment. But who can stem the torrent of righteous wrath that
vents itself in imprecations and anathemas? And so it is my most
earnest desire that our arch-enemy and tyrant may die in his bed
to-night, or disappear and never be seen again, or that his body may be
found to-morrow morning in the river Maraune. Then it would at least be
clearly proved that there is still a God above to judge and condemn
sinners. Amen."
"Amen," growled his listeners, and folded their horny hands.
"But, alas! it won't come to pass. We shall live to see the miscreant
fatten and prosper, and grow grey in this vale of tears. To-morrow he
will ride up triumphantly and drag out my Felix like a lamb to the
slaughter. And others who have demurred by a word or look will be
sacrificed too. Indeed I shall be very much surprised if any of you
escape with your lives. It is his intention, I firmly believe, to
extirpate every Schrandener from off the face of the earth. Like a herd
of cattle that has been purchased for the shambles, he'll drive you
forth tomorrow morning, leaving your widows and orphans behind to weep
and bewail your fate."
An ejaculation of fury arose, so loud and violent that even the inciter
of it recoiled in alarm.
"Quietly, dear people, quietly! No law-breaking. Although, truly, there
is no informer amongst us, we would sooner bite our tongues out than
betray each other. Hackelberg knows that. Thereby hangs a tale, eh, old
friend? But who knows that our _Herr Captain_ may not himself be
hanging about outside, spying through the windows."
Five or six heads turned, and were pressed against the panes.
"You think he wouldn't presume to spy on us? Oh, I can assure you he is
not the one to stop short at any low trick. I know what you'd like to
say, and I can't blame you for it--that if you catch him sneaking
around at night-time, woe betide him!"
"We'll strike him dead! Strike him dead!" fumed the topers.
"Don't be for ever screaming that, children; it offends my ears. So
much can be achieved quietly. Thus, bang! Some one has fired. Bang
again--another report. Simply a poacher in the forest. It swarms with
deer, eh, Hackelberg?" He laughed, and clicked his tongue.
"You mustn't sit dozing there, my man. One would think you had no more
blood in your veins than a jelly-fish. Have you forgotten how the late
Baron had you flogged till your skin hung in ribbons. _Potztausend_!
How you danced and bellowed! It was a charming spectacle."
Hackelberg writhed and grunted over his glass.
"At that time you were a sportsman, a terror to your master, and your
bullet never missed its mark. Drink away, man! It's difficult to
believe now that you were ever a good shot."
"I am, still," lisped the carpenter.
"Ha, ha!--pardon my laughing, old fellow. To begin with, you don't even
know what you've done with your gun."
"But--I do."
"And besides, your hand has become too slack, and your honour has
evaporated, and your courage with it."
The carpenter laughed. An evil light gleamed in the corners of his
eyes.
"What? You would maintain that you have a spark of honour left in your
composition when you submit without a murmur to your daughter being
brought to shame? And what's more, you can bear to see her and her
seducer at large. Didn't she, your own flesh and blood, scorn you and
slap away your proffered hand? Ungrateful, disrespectful wench that she
is!"
The carpenter staggered to his feet.
"No one follow me," he roared, and shook his fist
"Where are you going?"
"That's no business of any one's."
The Schrandeners, even in their wrath, could not resist making fun of
the drunkard, but Merckel signed to them to let him go in peace.
"He is going to scratch up his gun from the dungheap," he explained.
"Still, what good will it do?" he added with a sigh, while his eyes
wandered uneasily to the door. "He'll take care not to deliver himself
into our hands at night. Tomorrow, at dawn of day, he'll come, when
none of you can defend yourselves, and hand you over to your
executioners, along with my son Felix, and none of you will see
Schranden again. So drink your last, children--take leave of old Father
Merckel---- Ah! there comes Amalie," he said, interrupting himself, and
the lackadaisical expression of his face changed to one of cheerful
expectancy.
The door was thrown open, and Amalie burst in greatly excited. She
whispered something hurriedly in his ear.
He beamed, and folded his fat hands as if in prayer.
"Children," he cried, "there is yet a judge in Heaven. The Baron is in
the village."
The Schrandeners rose from their seats yelling with delight.
"Where is he? Who has seen him?"
"Tell them, Amalie!" he urged the barmaid, and sank back exhausted,
like a person who is satisfied that his day's work is done.
And Amalie told them. She had waited till the men on guard had finished
their beer, and had taken a little stroll in the moonlight to get a
breath of fresh air. Then she had seen a man coming across the fields
from the Cats' Bridge. He was going in the direction of the churchyard,
and wore an officer's coat with scarlet collar and gold buttons.
"Was he armed?" inquired a cautious son of Schranden.
Yes; she had seen his sabre flash in the moonlight.
This information afforded food for reflection.
"He has gone to inspect the guard," suggested some one, scratching his
head.
Herr Merckel laughed ironically.
"Since how long has it been customary to review sentinels in the
churchyard?" he exclaimed. "I tell you what he has gone there for. He
wishes to pay his dear, chaste _Herr Papa_ a visit--to swear on his
grave that he will avenge him, so soon as you are delivered into his
hands as soldiers. Congratulate yourselves on the expedition."
At this juncture an ally cropped up on whom he had ceased to count. The
old carpenter rushed in at the door, flourishing in his right hand an
old fowling-piece, on which hung straw and manure. He seemed in a
perfect transport of fury, beating his breast and capering about like
one possessed.
"Who said I had no sense of honour," he screamed; "and that I allowed
my child to be ruined? Where's the hussy who has brought shame and
disgrace on my grey hairs? I won't make her a coffin. No; I'll shoot
her down--I'll shoot them both."
"Come along to the churchyard," cried a voice among the villagers, who
felt their courage rising.
The old landlord winced. "No, not to the churchyard," he exhorted them.
"In the first place, the ground is sacred; and in the second, you might
miss him there. If you really wish to settle matters quietly with him
once for all--I'm not supposed to know what you have against him, and
don't wish to know--well, my advice to you is to go to the Cats'
Bridge. Just there, you know, the bank is wooded--not thickly,
certainly, but thick enough for you to hide behind."
"But suppose he returned by way of the village and the drawbridge?" put
in the cautious trooper again.
Herr Merckel knew better. "Not he!" he laughed. "The Cats' Bridge is
handier."
"Let's be off, then, to the Cats' Bridge," yelled the carpenter,
bumping the butt-end of his gun against the chairs and tables. There
was a general stampede. Herr Merckel crammed bottles of schnaps into as
many pockets as he could catch hold of, as his customers hurried out.
"Take it, friends," he cried, "and welcome! Defend your honour--defend
your honour!"
Then, when the last had gone, he mopped his perspiring brow, and
folding his hands, exclaimed with an uneasy sigh--
"Ah, Amalie, if only they don't offer him violence!"