"For oh! I had a comrade,
And a better could not be."
(_Uhland._)
During the first days of December Corporal Wiegandt would sometimes
observe, in a pause of the drill, that the recruits were beginning to
look a little like soldiers; and in the bar-rack-room, after drill was
over, he occasionally even went so far as to give them some praise.
When he was getting ready to go out in the evening, and, with sabre
buckled on and forage-cap stuck jauntily on his head, brushed his
moustache before the little looking-glass, he would say: "Boys, I am
almost pleased with you to-day. I shall tell my Frieda."
Whereupon the recruits would laugh, as in duty bound. They might all
hate the corporal; he would not dispense with a fraction of their
drill, and did not express himself in a complimentary way during the
exercises; but he made things easy for them as far as possible,
changing about from difficult to less difficult movements, and giving
them long intervals between those that were the most exacting. His
division never had to stand for minutes together with their knees bent,
like Heppner's. Moreover, despite his roughness, there was about him a
certain kind-heartedness which took the form of good-natured little
extra lessons to the least efficient after drill.
His Frieda was a merry industrious girl who sewed muslin in a frilling
factory, and hoarded up the groschen she earned in order to save enough
money to be married some day.
And Wiegandt, who, despite his martial appearance, was an ardent lover,
added the pfennigs of his pay, and deprived himself of his evening
beer, going for walks with his sweet-heart instead, and kissing her
over and over again.
"That tastes better than beer," he would say, "and costs nothing."
As the pair had not much to talk of except their lover-like wishes,
Wiegandt used to tell the girl about the recruits, so that by degrees
Frieda learnt to know all their names and idiosyncrasies, and
began to take a certain interest in them. Above all had the case of
Frielinghausen appealed to her. The sympathetic little seamstress saw
in him something of the romantic disguised prince; and it amused her to
make the credulous Wiegandt a little jealous, until at last she would
assure him with a hearty kiss that he was her dearest and best.
When the corporal had gone off to his rendezvous, Frielinghausen was
left in supervision of Room IX. The sergeant-major had arranged it
thus, in order that from the very beginning the young man might become
accustomed to responsibility. And the charge was quite an easy one. By
evening none of the recruits had much inclination to make a noise or to
get into mischief. All the day-time, from morning till evening, was
occupied in the various branches of their duty; and the hours which
then remained were completely filled up with the brushing and polishing
of their clothes and accoutrements. It they could have done as they
liked, they would have gone to bed directly after evening stable-duty;
but that was not permitted until nine o'clock.
So when their cleaning up was done and they sat on their stools round
the table, most of them would stretch their arms on the top and fall
asleep; occasionally some one would scribble a few lines home. When
bedtime came at last, none of them tarried; but, drunken with sleep,
would tramp one after the other up the stairs to the dormitory.
Some, of course, were more fatigued by the work than others. Vogt and
Weise were among those who got on best. Both were strong, healthy lads,
and, moreover, not stupid; so that the theoretical instruction was as
easy to them as the foot-drill, gun-practice, and gymnastics. To be
attentive and quick--that was the chief thing.
Among the worst were Truchsess the fat brewer, the clerk Klitzing, and
Frielinghausen.
The brewer, it is true, was a strong, powerful man, but far too slow in
his movements. Klitzing, on the other hand, was too weak for the
demands of the drill. It was impossible for him, in the gun-practice,
to raise the end of the gun-carriage as "Number 3," or as "Number 5" to
direct the pole of the carriage; in gymnastics he would hang helplessly
on the horizontal bar; and even in the foot-drill it was difficult for
him to stand up straight.
When Vogt advised him to report himself as ill he refused. "No, I won't
go into hospital. Never!"
"Why not?" asked Vogt.
"I don't wish to," replied the clerk; and as Vogt insisted, he said,
"Well, Vogt, I'll tell you: I should never come out again; I should die
there."
And with a strained smile he added: "It doesn't matter where I die; but
I shouldn't like it to be in hospital."
Frielinghausen, though an active and agile young fellow, seemed to be
constitutionally flighty and superficial. He had been one of the
quickest to pick up a general idea of things; but afterwards the minute
details of instruction, which sometimes appeared so unpractical and so
apt to make more of the "how?" than of the "what?" would not stay in
his head. What difference could it make whether one sprang forward with
the right foot or with the left, or whether in pulling the lanyard the
right hand had rested upon the left? Surely the essential things were
that one should spring over the line and that the shot should go off!
So, despite his honest zeal, he made many mistakes, and the
everlastingly warning calls of his name maddened him. In the
theoretical work he was naturally far in advance of his comrades; for,
despite idleness at school, this was mere child's play to his practised
memory. He, who had had to learn hundreds of lines of the "Odyssey" by
heart, could easily remember facts about the bores of guns!
Klitzing also distinguished himself in these instruction-lessons. The
delicate clerk possessed another advantage, in his own calling almost
surprising, and particularly useful to an artilleryman: that is to say,
unusually sharp sight, which found the mark in a moment and took aim
with absolute accuracy.
This somewhat atoned to Wiegandt for his other faults, and it was only
for Lieutenant Landsberg that Klitzing remained nothing but a
scapegoat.
During drill Landsberg generally stood at the end of the parade-ground,
looking utterly bored and staring at his boots, which he had had made
in the style of Reimers'. It was only if Wegstetten was in sight that
he troubled himself about the recruits. Then he would run to Corporal
Wiegandt's division, and always began to abuse Klitzing, the "careless
fellow," the "lazy-bones."
He was constantly threatening the poor devil with extra drill; but he
never enforced the punishment, as that would have meant that he himself
must put in an appearance at the same time.
At last Reimers, who was commanding the battery during a brief absence
of the captain, put an end to this little game.
"Tell me, Landsberg, have you ever consulted Corporal Wiegandt about
that wretched Klitzing?"
"No, sir," answered Landsberg.
Reimers called Wiegandt to him.
"What's the matter with Klitzing?" he inquired.
The corporal replied: "Beg pardon, sir; the man means thoroughly well
and takes great pains; but I think he is far too delicate."
"Very good, Wiegandt," said Reimers, and dismissed him. Then he turned
seriously and officially to Landsberg. "I think, Landsberg, you had
better leave the man in peace."
Landsberg murmured: "Yes, sir," and looked out for another victim.
During the week the recruits in Room IX. had got to know each other
better. The band of comradeship had wound itself imperceptibly around
them, and within it some closer, more cordial friendships had sprung
up.
The most varied types of men found themselves thrown together.
If, in the evening, the fat brewer happened for once not to be resting
his tired body in sleep after the fatigues of the day, he would squat
down near Listing, who had been a wanderer and a vagabond. He would
listen with many a shake of the head to the stories Listing related of
his life on the roads, especially of the nights the fine ones, in which
one lay on the dry grass beneath the twinkling stars, or in the forest
under a beech in the branches of which the screech-owl was calling; and
of the wretched, rainy, cold nights of late autumn. Then one would pull
a few trusses of straw out of a stack and creep shivering into the
hole, which would gradually become wet through from the dripping rain,
and through the opening of which the east wind would blow in icily.
Then the brewer would clap his comrade on the knee with his broad, fat
hand, and say: "Well, friend, it must feel first-class to you now when
you roll into a good bed?"
But Listing replied: "Well, no. Not exactly. But perhaps I shall get
used to it. I have often slept better out of doors; but worse too."
Vogt soon formed his own opinions about his comrades.
The best of them all, the one who put the whole lot into the shade, was
without doubt Klitzing. The courage with which the weakly clerk
performed his duties filled him with an almost reverential admiration,
and the honest fellow was ready to stand by the poor, harassed lad
whenever it was possible.
During the dinner hour, if Klitzing were too much fatigued to go to the
dining-hall, Vogt would carry his rations to him, and if possible would
add his own piece of meat to the other's portion. Then he would quickly
polish up boots and buttons for him and hand him his cap when it was
time for the after-noon drill to commence.
"Come, Heinrich, I have made you smart," he would say with an attempt
to joke. "Now we shall be all right."
And Klitzing would go down the steps with aching limbs and fall into
line.
Vogt's care for him only ceased at night and began anew every morning.
It was the source both of joy and shame to the clerk; he deprecated it
to his comrade, but Vogt shut him up with good-natured roughness. So
Klitzing let the matter be, and thought that a mother's care for her
child must be something like this. For he had never known his parents,
but after their early death had grown up as the adopted child of some
distant relations.
Vogt himself had also the feeling that instead of a comrade Klitzing
was more like a child, or, rather, a younger brother to care for; but
that suited his strength of character, and anyhow Klitzing was a very
different fellow from the gay, clever, Weise, and a far better one.
Weise tried to make himself a favourite with all, but the others
noticed that he kept a check upon himself and never showed himself as
he really was. Moreover, even when he was alone with them, he evidently
felt a certain constraint.
One morning while washing there was almost a quarrel, when Vogt caught
him by the arm and tried to examine the tattoo marks on his skin. Weise
angrily shook himself free; but Vogt had seen that on the right forearm
the words "Liberty, Equality, Fraternity" were inscribed, surrounded by
a broken chain and a wreath of flame, and above them something that
looked like a nightcap.
His father had never discussed politics with him, but Vogt had learnt
enough by himself to recognise the significance of the tattooing; Weise
was a social-democrat! Well, that was nothing so very bad. At home in
the village there were numbers of social-democrats, chiefly workers in
the large fire-clay factory by the river, and they were all very good
sort of people. Certainly, such tendencies were strictly forbidden in
the army, so Weise must take care of himself.
On the whole this meant nothing to Vogt. He had almost forgotten about
the tattooed arm, and the recollection of it was only once forced upon
his memory when taking the oath. Then Weise had sworn fealty to the
king, raising the arm on which was inscribed the motto of revolution.
His sleeve had slipped up a little, so that the word "Fraternity" could
be distinctly seen.
Surely there was some inconsistency here! But then Vogt reflected: how
could Weise help the hypocrisy? If he had objected to taking the oath,
he would simply have been imprisoned. Weise's swearing falsely was
practically on compulsion; he was in the same case with Findeisen and
all the others.
At Christmas the greater number of the "old gang" went on leave. For
those who remained behind there was a tree in the large Room VII., with
something on it for every one; a penknife, a cigarette holder, or a
wooden pipe, together with a few cigars; but Listing, who could not
even yet be got to wash himself properly, received a large piece of
soap with his cigars. At the same time a big barrel of lager-beer was
broached.
But before the battery Christmas-tree most of the men had had a
special rejoicing of their own. The orderly had had the precaution to
take a small hand-cart with him to the post-office, and had brought
it back full of boxes and packages. Then the men stood round the
sergeant-major, and each one pricked up his ears to hear whether there
was anything for him.
Klitzing had moved aside, he had nothing to expect. Suddenly his name
was called. There was a small box for him, and it was not very light
either when he took it in his hand. He thought it must be a mistake,
but there were his name and address sure enough: "Gunner Heinrich
Klitzing, 6th Battery, 80th Regiment, Eastern Division, Field
Artillery." He looked at the label, the sender was Friedrich August
Vogt; and on the back was written, "To my boy's best friend, for
Christmas!"
The clerk went to Room IX. and showed the label to Vogt, who was
already unpacking his parcel. Klitzing could say nothing; he could only
press his friend's hand, while tears stood in his eyes.
But Vogt shouted cheerfully: "I say! the old man has done finely! Let's
see what else there is."
And when they compared their gifts--sausages, Christmas fare, and warm
woollen underclothing--it looked almost as though his father had given
more presents to his friend than to himself. At the bottom he found a
letter from the old man:
"My Dear Boy,--Herewith are a few trifles for you for Christmas. I
think I shall have done as you would wish by sending half of what I
intended for you to your friend and comrade, Klitzing, of whom you are
always writing to me. You know I was an orphan myself, and I can
understand his feelings. I had my dear sister; but he has nobody. So a
merry Christmas to you! and keep well and hearty.
"Your loving father,
"FRIEDRICH AUGUST VOGT."
Frielinghausen also had a letter, which he read with streaming eyes and
a glowing face. He held his mother's pardon in his hands, and the love
which trembled in her words poured balm and healing on his heart, and
raised his desponding spirits.
He was another man after this Christmas Eve. Duties which before had
been a burden to him, which he had, besides, despised, he now performed
willingly and zealously.
If now Wegstetten inquired about him, Corporal Wiegandt always
answered, "He could not be doing better, sir."
The captain took an opportunity of praising him; and when he had
finished, Frielinghausen, his face quite red with pride and joy,
remained standing before him.
Wegstetten asked, "Well, is there anything you want to ask me?"
The tall youth choked a bit over his reply, but finally he got it out:
"Pardon me, sir--I don't know whether my request is in order--but, sir,
if you would have the goodness to write to my mother and tell her that
you are satisfied with me?"
Wegstetten was silent with astonishment. The request did seem a little
unusual and unmilitary; but he consented, and wrote to "The high and
well-born Baroness von Frielinghausen" a letter over which a mother
might well rejoice.
It seemed the more terrible for Frielinghausen when in February, after
the examination of the recruits, he received a telegram briefly
announcing his mother's death.
Work became lighter for the recruits after the examination. Certainly
the battery foot-drill and gun-drill was no joke; but things went more
quietly than they had done during the wild rush of the training, and
between-whiles one had occasionally time to take breath.
And now the recruits were gradually allotted their respective duties.
Horses to look after were given to the young drivers and to some of the
gunners. Vogt, Klitzing, and Weise, however, were not among these.
Corporal Wiegandt, who had been promoted to sergeant after the
examination, and had been put in charge of the guns and waggons of the
battery, knew them for industrious, trustworthy fellows, just such as
he needed to assist him.
The recruits were also being trained in sentry-duty; though this was
not made very much of. The field-artillery would never be put on
sentry-duty in time of war; gunners only equipped with swords and
revolvers would not be sufficiently armed for that work; for it the
infantry, or in case of necessity the cavalry, must be responsible.
So all that was necessary was easily learnt, and in the peaceful
garrison-town it was merely a question of guarding the official
buildings.
However, Vogt felt as if something very important were taking place
when he was the first recruit to be put on sentry-duty.
The second-year soldiers, on the other hand, rejoiced over their lazy
days. They took things easy, and laughed at the recruits, who adhered
conscientiously to every detail of the instructions, and would not take
off their uncomfortable swords while sleeping on the hard benches, even
after the orderly-officer had inspected them.
Vogt was posted inside the back gate of the barracks, through which the
road led towards the riding-school on one side, and straight on to the
wood on the slope of the hill. The first two hours from five to seven
o'clock in the after noon seemed to him terribly wearisome and
purposeless; but during the night from eleven to one o'clock he felt
stimulated by the sense of responsibility. The sentries were then
locked outside, and had to patrol two sides of the great quadrangle
surrounded by the public offices.
The night was pitch dark, so that Vogt was unable to distinguish his
narrow path. But he stumbled bravely up and down by the buildings for
his two hours. Even if he often missed his footing, it was better than
standing still. For then one heard all kinds of strange noises, the
cause of which could not be perceived in the baffling darkness. The
forest was never quite silent; there were always cracklings and
rustlings from its boughs and bushes. But in going the rounds these
things went unheard in the noise of one's own footsteps; and one passed
the quarters in which comrades were sleeping, and the stables, whose
dimly-lighted windows showed small squares in the night, and one could
indistinctly hear the rattling of the halter chains.
When Vogt went into the dormitory from the fresh, pure, night air he
thought at first that he would choke in the atmosphere laden with stale
tobacco-smoke and foul odours; but in the end he slept splendidly,
despite his hard bed.
At five o'clock he was again on sentry-go. It was still dark, but there
was already movement in the kitchen and the stables. At the gate there
was a delay; the watch about to be relieved was nowhere to be found.
The bombardier in charge cursed and swore unavailingly; finally, he
consented to the suggestion of the others and organised a search. In a
small shed, which served for the storing of hurdles and such-like, the
gunner was discovered fast asleep. He had covered himself up with
straw, and his sword lay by his side. The bombardier kicked him in the
ribs with his heavy boots, and stormed at the rashness of such conduct,
when at any moment an officer might come by.
But the sentry, a tall, strong fellow, answered crossly, "Shut your
mouth, you stupid swine! And if you dare to report me I'll break every
bone in your body!"
The bombardier grumbled something about "not going too far and getting
into trouble."
"Any one might happen to fall asleep," continued the gunner. He yawned
a few times, brushed the dust off his uniform, and said laughingly to
Vogt: "It is nothing unusual on sentry-duty, you raw booby of a
recruit! Nothing for you to gape about!"
And he walked off solemnly behind the bombardier.
Vogt stood thoughtfully beside the sentry-box. That was pretty bad
discipline! At the same time the case was quite clear: if the
bombardier reported the sentry, then the latter would naturally be
punished, and severely too; but he would certainly revenge himself on
the bombardier. Despite the buttons on his collar, the bombardier was
not technically superior to the gunner; it would only bring about a
quarrel, and in a fight it would certainly be the bombardier who would
come off worst. It was quite the rule for the men to stick loyally
together, and never expose a comrade if it could possibly be avoided.
Vogt, however, considered that there was a limit to comradeship, and
that the sentry ought to have been punished. For in such ways respect
was lost for other still more important rules. And, finally, he
congratulated himself on having nothing to do with the matter.
This morning, for the first time for weeks, the memory of his home and
the longing for it overwhelmed him.
He thought of how at home in the early days of the year he and his
father had finished preparing the fields for the spring cultivation. He
remembered how the young sun, in those fresh morning hours, had seemed
to caress the long-deserted wintry earth with his kindling rays; and
the black soil turned up by the harrow had exhaled a refreshing odour
as of incense offered by nature's maternal heart. The daily increasing
heat of the sun, the milder air, and the grateful receptivity of earth:
all betokened the end of idle winter and the beginning of a new year of
fruitfulness, the gospel of labour and of blessing. The ardent forces
of nature welled up also in the hearts of men; and though his father
had seemed to him old in the short cold days of winter, the scent of
spring-time always made him young again.
He almost felt like a deserter not to be at home working. But no! the
contrary was really the case. It was these thoughts that were disloyal.
Was he not now a soldier, called to protect the soil of his beloved
fatherland, if an enemy threatened it?
If----? he reflected further. There had been peace for thirty years
now, and it might quite well last thirty more, or even a hundred. Was
not this, then, mere waste of time? But, on the other hand, there was
nothing to prevent a war breaking out to-morrow. He knew that it was
improbable, but not impossible. The devil! then of course war must be
prevented. But how?
His simple mind saw no solution of these contradictions. He gazed
contemplatively at his sentry-box, and almost omitted to present arms
to his captain, who was passing to the riding-school with the remount
division.
After being relieved he watched two comrades who were playing at _skat_
in the guard-room with dreadfully dirty cards. Suddenly he had a kind
of waking vision. It was like the taking of the oath, when each man
stretched out an arm to swear. The tattooed letters on Weise's arm,
where the sleeve had slipped off, began suddenly to glow as brightly
and clearly as if the sun were shining on them. Fraternity! that was
not merely an empty word, then, not simply talk? If all men, Germans,
French, Russians, and all others, stretched forth their arms and swore
to be brothers, then--yes, then--there would be no more war.
But would that ever happen?
The card-players brought his reflections on the question of fraternity
to a hasty close; they began to quarrel furiously, and wound up by
throwing the cards at each other's heads in a very unbrotherly manner.
The recruit had to pick up the scattered cards, and when a king and a
ten were missing there was nearly a fight. Finally the corporal in
charge angrily stopped the noise.
When Vogt returned from his sentry-duty between eleven and one, he
found his comrade Klitzing singularly depressed, and after a time the
clerk confided to him that he had been very unlucky all the day before.
"You see, Franz," he said, "I can't get on at all without you. If you
are my neighbour at foot-drill, I know just where I am. But yesterday
you were absent, and I was a regular blockhead. Just because of me the
drill lasted nearly an hour longer than usual."
"Well, now I shall be back again," Vogt replied.
Klitzing continued: "Yes, but this morning it was the same thing; and
after drill the deputy sergeant-major said that slack fellows like me
should be given a lesson by the other men, and so----"
Here he was silent, and nothing more could be got out of him, so that
Vogt was quite angry over this lack of confidence.
By and by the fat brewer (who, however, was no longer fat) joined them,
and said: "Well, mate, aren't you a bit dense to-day? The 'old gang,'
especially the drivers, mean to be at him, to do for him, all because
of that little bit of extra drill."
Vogt could not but smile at his comrade's good-nature. Truchsess, the
most easy-going of them all, whose clothes after drill were as wet with
perspiration as if they had been in water, Truchsess called it "a
little bit of extra drill"!
But before he could speak, Klitzing began again: "Franz, you mustn't
mix yourself up in this. If they mean to do it you can't prevent it.
The best thing will be for me to submit quietly."
And with a little bitterness he added: "The most they can do is to beat
me to death."
But Vogt interrupted: "Don't talk such nonsense! I don't know what they
are thinking of doing, but I can tell you it shall be prevented. I
promise you that. Don't be afraid. I shall find a way out."
He began to ponder how he could protect his friend from the roughness
of the "old gang."
Should he ask Sergeant Wiegandt to give up going to see his Frieda for
one evening? If he told him, of course not officially, but in a sort of
way privately, about the intentions of the elder soldiers, then
Wiegandt would certainly stay in. But his feeling of solidarity with
his comrades forbad this.
Only, were they any longer comrades when they could ill-treat a poor
weakling? Surely not.
Still he rejected this plan, and in the end decided himself to defend
Klitzing regardless of consequences. If he challenged the fellows
fearlessly and cheekily they would be sure to turn on him, and he would
be able to defend himself. At any rate he could better stand a good
hard blow than the clerk could.
Evening came, and Sergeant Wiegandt went to his rendezvous as usual. An
expectant silence lay over Room IX. The recruits cleaned their things
and glanced now and then in an embarrassed way at the corner where Vogt
had seated himself close to Klitzing. The brewer had joined them also.
All was quiet until shortly before bed-time. Then heavy clanking steps
approached from the large Room VII. on the other side of the corridor,
and eight or nine old drivers pushed themselves in, armed with whips,
belts, and snaffle-reins.
Vogt placed himself full in front of Klitzing.
"You be off!" they said.
"I shan't!" answered Vogt.
"We'll soon make you!"
"We shall see about that!"
In a moment a dozen hands had seized him; but the big, strong fellow
defended himself bravely. He lashed out powerfully with fists and feet,
making the attacking party more and more furious; but finally he was
dashed to the ground, dragging several of his opponents with him. As if
they had been waiting for this, the others now threw themselves upon
him, and their blows fell thick as hail.
Klitzing, with his whole body trembling, stood by as if he had been
paralysed. But the brewer bent his round head like a furious bull, and
charged, using his skull as a battering ram, right into the middle of
the scrimmage. Now there were two against ten. The odds were still far
too great; and the brewer also was soon on the floor. The fighters made
a tremendous noise, but whereas usually at the least sound a corporal
would come running up to enjoin quiet, to-day nobody seemed to heed.
With a sudden effort Vogt succeeded in shaking two of his opponents
off, and in half raising himself; he just caught Weise's eye, who, with
his hands in his trousers pockets, was looking on at the row and
laughing a little. He shouted to him goadingly: "Is this what you call
liberty, equality, fraternity, you lousy fellow? Liberty, equality,
fraternity!"
And he gave a shrill, scornful laugh.
But, as if summoned by the words, the haggard, sombre-visaged Wolf came
to the door from the opposite room. He had at once understood why the
row was going on. It was only to be expected, after the deputy
sergeant-major's words! It was one of those injustices that he hated so
intensely; worse and a thousandfold more cowardly even than a blow
given to a soldier on the parade-ground by his superior officer.
He felt he had been summoned by those three words.
"Here I am!" he shouted, and his long thin arms brought substantial
help.
But the "old gang" also received reinforcements. The struggle became
wilder and wilder, and the combatants grappled with each other more and
more furiously. The shouts had ceased, and one noticed now only the
gasps of the fighters, the grinding of their teeth, the dull sound of
blows, and now and then a grim oath.
Vogt was bleeding from a wound in his brow, in return for which he had
bitten his opponent in the hand. But now the heavy buckle of a belt
caught him full in the face. Sparks flew before his eyes, he reeled
from the force of the blow, and, like an infuriated animal, his only
desire was to revenge himself, to hit out and to kill his enemy. A
newly polished sword lay near him, where it had fallen from the table.
He seized it and struck and thrust with it in blind fury.
The recruits shrieked as they saw this development, but no one had the
courage to seize the arms of the furious man.
Then an inspiration came to one of them.
"The sergeant-major!" he yelled at the door.
The struggling _mêlée_ dispersed in a twinkling, the "old gang"
vanished from Room IX., and only a great cloud of dust betrayed what
had taken place.
The sergeant-major of course did not appear. But it was just as well;
blood poured down Vogt's face, and when Klitzing awakened from his
torpor he was seized with a kind of convulsive attack. He threw himself
down, weeping and shrieking before his brave comrade, embracing his
knees, and no talking could soothe him.
The other recruits stood frightened and helpless around the two. The
brewer sat down on his stool to get his breath, and wiped the
perspiration off his face.
Listing, the quondam tramp, was the most sensible. On the roads there
is occasionally a fight or an accident, therefore one must know how to
render assistance. He ran to the water-tap, and returned with a bowl of
fresh water. He washed the wounded man's face, and then put quite a
respectable bandage round Vogt's head. It is true that the folds were a
little thick, as two towels were applied, and they looked almost like a
turban, but they stopped the bleeding and held together.
The tattoo sounded over the courtyard.
It was high time to get ready for bed. The corporal in charge came into
the room and told them to be quick. Suddenly he noticed the wounded
man.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Listing lied fluently: "He fell down the dormitory stairs, sir, just a
little while ago, when the wind had blown out the lamp."
"Indeed!" said the officer in charge. "Is he badly hurt?"
"No, sir," answered Vogt.
"Then off to bed!"
Vogt and Klitzing were the last to leave Room IX. Klitzing went
silently along by his wounded comrade and looked at him timidly.
"Does it hurt, Franz?" he asked on the stairs.
Vogt began hesitatingly: "Well, you know----" but then when he saw his
friend's sad eyes he continued: "Oh, no; it's not a bit bad."
Tears stood in the clerk's eyes.
"Franz, what a dear good fellow you are!" he said softly. "I don't know
how I can thank you; but never doubt that I _shall_ thank you some
time."
In the bedroom Listing whispered to him that the "old gang" would
beware of beginning it again. Wolf had told them that he should at once
report them if they did, and he was known to keep his word in such
matters.
When the two friends were in bed, the tall man came round to their
corner.
"How are you?" he asked Vogt.
"All right, thanks," he answered.
"Glad to hear it."
He stretched out his hand to the recruit, and the two men exchanged a
hearty grip.