"Morning red, morning red,
Light me to my dying bed!"
(_Hauff._)
Room IX. was still to remain "aristocratic"--as Weise satirically
remarked--even after Baron Walther von Frielinghausen had moved over to
the non-commissioned officers' quarters. A few days before the regiment
left for the man[oe]uvres, Count Egon Plettau arrived and took
possession of Frielinghausen's locker.
All kinds of wild reports had been circulating in the battery about
Plettau. Judging from these he appeared to be a perfect terror. A
lieutenant who had had his ears boxed, and a sergeant who had been
flung against a wall, played the chief part in these reports. But, as
a matter of fact, of the whole battery only Heppner and the senior
non-commissioned officers knew the mad count personally, and during the
five years' detention in a fortress that Plettau had had to undergo,
two sets of recruits had already come and gone without having made his
acquaintance.
The inmates of Room IX. expected to see a pale man, bent and bowed with
long imprisonment; but the new comrade bore a tolerably healthy
appearance, and had a good-tempered, friendly face.
The count was handled very tenderly by the non-commissioned officers.
They had received an intimation that as far as their duty permitted
they were to do all they could to enable this child of misfortune at
last to complete his military service.
Count Egon Plettau received these attentions with calm complacency.
"Children," he used to say--for so it was his habit to address his
comrades--"people know quite well that they owe me respect. To have
been eight years accomplishing a two-years' term of service, and not to
have finished it yet--that is a performance that cannot be sufficiently
appreciated. Really, I ought to be shown at a fair! Strive, therefore,
to follow my example!"
He looked forward to the man[oe]uvres with a real and almost child-like
pleasure; for, in spite of his eight years' service, he had never taken
part in them. "Something" had always come in the way.
Even Güntz had often to bite his lips to keep himself from laughing at
Plettau's absurdities. He, too, had been curious to make the
acquaintance of the notorious gunner-count, and he, too, was agreeably
surprised. Plettau seemed to him to be a very good fellow, terribly
frivolous, no doubt, but not bad by any means. He was glad to find he
had not been mistaken in his judgment: viewed impartially, the cause of
Plettau's first two acts of insubordination had been malice on the part
of his superior almost amounting to cruelty; and even the last five
years had been added to his term of imprisonment simply because he had
knocked down a sergeant who was proved to have ill-treated a comrade.
All things considered, the gay placidity of temper with which the count
had borne his fate was really remarkable.
For the autumn man[oe]uvres the men and horses were all redistributed
to serve the various guns. Vogt and Klitzing remained in their places,
and for the rest gun six was served as follows:
Gun Six.
(Horses)
Gun-leader Corporal Vertler Christine
Lead-driver Driver Nowack Zenobia, Egon
Centre-driver Driver Inoslavsky Viper, Eidechse
Wheel-driver Bombardier Sickel Turk, Cavalier
Gunners Count Plettau, Wolf,
Truchsess, Klitzing, Vogt.
The leader of the third column was Ensign Gysinger, who had just joined
the regiment from the Military Academy, and had exchanged with
Lieutenant Landsberg, transferred to the first battery. Heimert had for
the first time taken over the distribution of the horses. But when
Heppner saw how the six horses for gun six had been placed, he shook
his head.
"That won't do," said he to Heimert. "The lead and centre horses are
all right, but the wheel-driver must have another beast under him. The
Turk is too old; especially as gun six has always the longest way to go
on the march."
"That's just what I told the captain," put in Heimert. "It's all
Wegstetten's doing. I wanted Cyrus for the wheel, and old Turk for the
baggage-waggon, but as the other five are light bays, Wegstetten
insisted on having the Turk, That's why he has put Sickel on him, our
best driver. He thought _he'd_ make him go at any rate, if the worst
came to the worst."
Heppner remained thoughtful. At last he said, "Yes; but then old Turk
hasn't much more go left in him. Don't you think we could arrange it
differently?"
"No," answered the deputy sergeant-major; "you know that when
Wegstetten has once got a thing into his head there's nothing more to
be done."
The sergeant-major shrugged his shoulders. "We two, at any rate," he
said, "won't have the responsibility. I only hope it will turn out all
right! We've got some damned hilly country for the man[oe]uvres this
time, as it happens. One part lies close to the frontier, and is over
2000 feet high. Downright mountain-artillery I call it!" he growled in
conclusion. But it was impossible to oppose the express orders of the
captain.
On August 30 the battery was ready in the barrack square at six o'clock
in the morning to start for the man[oe]uvres.
Shortly after reveille various rumours had been current in the stables
and in the barrack-rooms that something had happened at the Heppners';
and just as the men were getting into their places the news spread from
one to the other that the sergeant-major's wife was dead. As this was a
private and personal matter, it could not give cause for the slightest
delay. Heppner, of course, remained at home for the funeral, and
Käppchen meanwhile took over his duties as sergeant-major. However, it
considerably damped the spirits of the men in setting out; and a fine
rain which began to fall did not tend to restore their good humour. The
sixth battery marched just behind the corps of trumpeters; but the
inspiriting strains of the Hohenfriedberger March were entirely out of
harmony with the moody faces of the men and the dismal weather.
Klitzing again sat next to Vogt on the limber of gun six. How unlike
the day on which they had started for the gun-practice at Whitsuntide!
"It's a bad beginning," said he to his friend; and half to himself he
added, "Who knows how it will end?"
The rain gradually became heavier, and at the first halt the colonel
ordered the men to put on their cloaks. The gunners, huddled up in
their seats, kept fairly dry; but the riders got their high boots full
of water, so that as they went up and down in their saddles their feet
splashed with a sound like butter in a churn. During the longest halt
the drivers lay on their backs in the grass, and as they stretched
their legs up in the air, the water trickled down out of their boots in
streams.
The man[oe]uvres began, and continued their course, one day very much
like another, only the scene changing. The brigade would assemble in
the early morning. Cavalry scouts told off for the purpose, had
generally gone on in advance and sent back their reports. These hussars
or Uhlans were marvellously clever fellows, who never failed to find
out the enemy. Then the advance-guard was set in motion, and after a
certain time the main body followed. The batteries were usually ordered
to the front during the march. If they reached the scene of action
unnoticed by the enemy and wanted to open fire upon him unawares, the
men had to crawl almost on all-fours in line; then there was a mad
gallop forwards over hedges and ditches when they found themselves
within range of the hostile fire; and when the gunners were almost
jolted out of their seats the men of the infantry would burst into loud
peals of laughter as they lay sideways on the ground. It was all very
well for them to laugh then; but when the man[oe]uvres were over, and
they were on the march back to their quarters, they cast envious
glances at the artillerymen as they took their seats and were driven
home on their hard-seated chariots.
In the skirmishes, too, during the man[oe]uvres, it was the artillery
who got the best of it. The infantry had to be always on the march,
then firing off their blank cartridges either stooping or lying down,
and at last making a bayonet charge on the disorganised foe. The
batteries, on the other hand, generally remained in the same position,
and only now and then fired a shot, reserving their ammunition for
doings on a larger scale during the last few days of the man[oe]uvres.
In this way they had a splendid view of the fighting, and could quietly
look on as the dark lines of rifles approached nearer and nearer; or
when an officer commanding a squadron of cavalry, thirsting for fame,
made an impossible, but very daring attack.
On off-days Vogt lent a sturdy helping hand in gathering in the
harvest. It delighted him to be able, as of old, to reach up and put
the sheaves on the top of the well-loaded waggons, and to find that he
could still wield a scythe with the same vigorous strokes, mowing the
scanty second crop of grass on the mountain meadows just as close to
the ground as ever. While Klitzing lay down after his exertions and
rested his weary limbs, Vogt would spend hours over such field-work;
and the fatigue after this heaven-blest labour was far more grateful to
him than the idle, lazy time a soldier often enjoys directly the
arduous period of his early training is over. In the evenings after
bugle-call, out he would go again to mow a strip of grass before dusk;
and when returning, scythe on shoulder to the court-yard of his
quarters, he would sometimes quite forget that he still wore the
uniform of a soldier.
The sight of the various couples who, lovingly entwined, promenaded the
green lanes, suddenly appearing and as suddenly disappearing behind the
thick hedges, would recall him to actuality. He would then bethink him
how odd it seemed that he himself cared so little about womenfolk, Now
and then a pretty fresh girl would take his fancy, and he might have
liked well enough to take her face between his hands and give her a
hearty kiss; but he was too bashful, and he felt no desire to put
himself under the tutelage of the painted ladies of the garrison town
who smiled so engagingly at all the lads. The rough village maidens
suited him better; but one evening he had an experience which raised
grave doubts in his mind as to the virtue of even those rustic
beauties.
A woman's voice shrieking for help had suddenly resounded from a little
shady hollow not far from where Vogt was strolling, smoking his evening
pipe. He instantly ran forward, crying out in clear tones the first
words that came into his head: "Halt! halt! Who goes there?" Drawing
nearer he saw first a couple of soldiers in hasty flight through the
trees, and afterwards a curious something which he could not at once
make out.
When he came closer he discovered that some of his comrades had been
playing off one of their jokes upon a village girl. They had gathered
up her skirts above her head and tied them together with string; this
they called "making a tulip." She was running round in a comical
enough fashion, her lower limbs being entirely exposed, as she wore no
under-clothes; while her arms and the upper part of her body were
imprisoned in the woollen skirts, whence issued her muffled protests.
Vogt said, very politely: "Wait; I will set you free;" and pulling out
his knife, cut the string, whereupon the petticoats fell down, and a
touzled head made its appearance. The girl hid her face in her hands,
as if ashamed; but through her fingers she peeped expectantly up at the
soldier. Then she let her hands fall, making manifest her hard and
coarse but yet undeniable beauty; and her rather large, full mouth
smiled tenderly at the gunner.
But the doughty champion stood dumb and unresponsive; so after a moment
the girl swung sharply round, muttering "Stupid ass!" and departed
through the gathering dusk.
It was on the Monday of the third week after leaving the garrison that
the two divisions of the army-corps began man[oe]uvring against each
other. The troops, now doubled in number, presented a gay and lively
picture as they assembled at the meeting-place in the brilliant
sunshine. Summer seemed to have returned that day for a short while, so
hot were the rays that poured down upon the earth from the deep-blue
vault of heaven. The heat, however, was not oppressive, modified as it
was by the cool mountain breezes.
The sixth battery of the 80th Regiment, Eastern Division Field
Artillery, had been told off to join the advance-guard, and was
awaiting the signal to start. Gunners and drivers stood behind the
guns, or close to the horses, all ready to mount at the word of
command. Vogt was lost in amazement at Klitzing's demeanour, for he had
never seen his friend in such high spirits. His eyes shone and
his cheeks were slightly flushed. Vogt thought to himself what a
good-looking fellow the clerk was with this touch of animation. His
appearance had certainly been much improved by soldiering. Vogt was
quite pleased; shaking his finger good-naturedly at him, "Hullo,
Heinrich!" he asked, "haven't you been liquoring up a bit on the sly?
or is this one of your lucky days?"
And Klitzing answered, "Ah! I feel to-day--I don't know myself how I
feel. I feel so strong, so well--I that am usually so shaky, I feel as
if some great piece of luck were going to happen to me to-day. Do you
know, if I had ever felt like this at home I should have bought a
lottery ticket and should certainly have won the biggest prize!"
"Well," rejoined Vogt, "mind you don't miss the opportunity the next
time such a day comes!"
The clerk shook his head. "Ah, no!" he returned; "such days only come
once, and then never again. I shall just have to give up the Great
Prize and die a poor devil. But it's good to feel so jolly for once!"
He took Vogt by the shoulders and looked into his face with happy eyes.
Suddenly, a gruff voice called out from beyond the horses: "You fellows
have far too good a time of it! I don't know what you're always
grinning about!"
Bombardier Sickel was looking round at them with a surly expression,
and he shook his head contemptuously. He, being a driver, did not think
much of the gunners. What an easy life fellows like them had! While
he--what had he not got to see to? He went up to his team and looked
anxiously at Turk, the horse he was to ride. With drooping head the
gelding stood there limp and spiritless. He had refused his food that
morning. What could one do mounted on a sick wheeler? Sickel had told
the gun-leader about this; but it was too late to replace the horse,
as the baggage-waggon was already under weigh. Poor Turk must do for
to-day somehow.
The advance-guard began to move, a battalion of infantry in front, then
the battery, and behind it the two other battalions of the regiment.
They made their way upwards from the bottom of the valley along a
moderately steep road, on each side of which was very hilly ground.
They had proceeded for about an hour or more when at last the
cavalry-scouts bringing further orders were seen returning; coming not
from in front but from the left, down a hill covered with undergrowth.
They seemed in a great hurry, and their horses were covered with foam.
The fore-most portion of the advance-guard at once, therefore, wheeled
round, and leaving the road took the nearest way up the hill: a steep
zig-zag, and a stiff piece of work. The gun-teams strained every muscle
and took short, quick steps, trying to overcome the weight of the guns.
Sergeant-major Heppner, who was riding behind the last gun, growled
out: "I tell you, it's downright mountain artillery, this!" and he
trotted a few steps on in front to find out how the Turk was getting
on. The light bay was panting with exhaustion and dripping with sweat.
Heppner scratched his head: little more could be expected of the poor
beast that day. But worse was to come.
The battery had scarcely accomplished the climb up the hill when the
order came to form line. A gentle slope of even ground had still to be
covered, and the battery was to get into position as quickly as
possible behind the crest of the hill. The words of command rang out in
quick succession: "Trot!" and "Gallop!" The ensign wheeled his column
much too far to the right, just where the lie of the land was steepest;
and Corporal Vertler, the leader of gun six, thinking it too near, took
a circuit twice as great as was necessary. To get to the crest of the
hill in this way was utterly impossible.
Heppner looked anxiously across. With swift determination he gave over
his duties as sergeant-major to Sergeant Wiegandt, then galloped to the
right flank to try and mend matters somehow if possible. But the
disaster had already begun.
Gun six had from a gallop dropped into a trot, and from a trot into a
walk. At last the six horses could not drag the gun one inch further.
The ground was covered with smooth coarse grass that gave the horses
very little foothold. Trembling and snorting, the animals just managed
to support the weight of the gun, while, straining forwards and pawing
the ground, they tried to get a firmer footing. The gunners had got
down, and grasping the spokes of the wheels did what they could to
assist.
The sergeant-major kept close by and tried especially to egg on the
wheel-driver.
"Buck up, Sickel!" he cried. "Show us what you can make of this! You
want to be thought our best driver, and you can't get up a little hill
like this! Get on! Put your back into it!"
The bombardier almost hung on the Turk's neck so as to release the
weight on his haunches, while the gun actually moved forward two or
three fractions of an inch. But suddenly Turk's hind legs gave way
under him, the animal collapsed and slid down upon the slippery ground.
The jerk caused by the fall made the other five horses also lose their
hold. They began to tread backwards.
"Put on the dag-chain!" roared Heppner.
Vogt darted forward, quick as lightning, and slung the chain on the
spokes of the wheel. It bore the strain for a moment, then there was a
sharp metallic sound: the chain had snapped.
The gun began to roll down the hill, faster and faster, dragging the
six powerless horses behind it. One after the other they stumbled,
slipped down, and were whirled away, kicking wildly, or entangled in
the drag-ropes.
The sergeant-major swore a terrible oath when he saw what had happened.
Springing from his horse he threw the reins to Plettau, who was
standing near, and ran down the hill. Chance had prevented the worst
from happening. At the upper edge of the precipice there was a hollow
where formerly stones may have been broken after having been quarried
below; the surface was now level, and here the gun had come to a
standstill.
But the scene was terrible enough. The six horses lay together in a
heap. Again and again they tried to raise themselves, but in such close
proximity one hindered the other. Amidst the panting and snorting of
the frantic animals could be heard the groans of Sickel, who was lying
somewhere under one of them.
Heppner had recovered his self-possession in a moment. He called the
four gunners to him, and was himself the first to jump down into the
hollow. Vertler, the gun-leader, was close by on his horse, but
scarcely seemed able to grasp what had happened. Heppner caught sight
of Sickel at once. He lay with his left leg under the Turk's body, and
was shielding himself behind the neck of the gelding to avoid being
struck by the hoofs of the centre horse, who was kicking furiously.
"Here! Vogt and Truchsess!" commanded Heppner. "We'll pull him out."
They grasped the bombardier under the arms and tried to drag him out
from under the horse. But it was not so easy, and at the very moment
when they stooped for a second attempt, one of the lead horses made a
sudden movement which knocked Vogt down. The gunner got entangled in
the drag-ropes and could not get up again.
Eidechse, the centre horse, again began to kick. She had a yawning
wound in the buttock from which the blood streamed, and she writhed,
mad with pain. Lying on her back she turned herself to and fro, and the
gleaming iron shoes flashed nearer and nearer to Vogt's head, at last
striking him so that his helmet flew off and the blood gushed from
beneath his fair, close-cropped hair.
Klitzing saw the increasing peril, and of a sudden flung himself
blindly beneath the infuriated, plunging hoofs.
Like lightning it had flashed across his brain how Vogt had once shed
his blood for him. Was not this the time to show his gratitude? This
was perhaps the object of his existence to save the life of that other,
stronger than he. And was not this his lucky day? He felt in him the
strength of a giant. Yes, he would stop those terrible hoofs until his
friend could get free. And in an ecstasy of confidence he threw himself
like a shield between his friend and danger.
The next moment he had received a furious kick in the side. He was
hurled to a distance, and fell lifeless to the ground.
Vogt in the meanwhile had freed himself and risen quickly, only to turn
faint a moment later. He sat down on the hill-side and supported his
aching head in his hands.
Again the sergeant-major swore violently. In despair he looked up for a
moment from the terrible medley and noted the gun-leader still staring
down into the hollow with vacant eyes.
"You fellow!" he shouted, "it's no time to go to sleep, at any rate!"
With admirable clearness he gave his orders: "Ride as fast as your
beast will go, and fetch the doctor and the veterinary surgeon! And
ambulance-orderlies as well!" And immediately afterwards he added: "And
send the team belonging to gun five here, and report the mess we're
in!" For the service must not suffer, and the gun should be brought up
to the line of fire as soon as possible.
The corporal galloped away and was soon out of sight.
Heppner now approached the entangled heap of bodies from the other
side. He then set himself to extricate the lead horses from the
different parts of the harness that trammeled them, and helped them to
get up. They appeared to be uninjured, shook themselves and moved
restlessly to and fro. He made the lead-driver take them to one side,
and then turned to the centre horses. Inoslavsky gave him a helping
hand. The near centre horse was uninjured, but Eidechse had a gaping
wound in the buttock. Wolf had to hold her by the snaffle, and found it
difficult to manage her. The near wheeler got up readily; but the Turk,
beneath whose body Sickel was writhing in agony, was badly hurt. The
near hind fetlock seemed to be crushed. At last the gelding managed to
raise himself a little on his fore-legs, and at the same moment
Truchsess dragged out the wheel-driver from under the saddle. Sickel
made a weak attempt to stand up, but fell back in a swoon.
The sergeant-major wiped the perspiration from his brow. Damnation!
That had been a bad piece of work! He looked round him: three men and
two horses knocked out of time. Well, it might have been even worse.
Klitzing's was the most serious case. The clerk still lay there
motionless, and only the blood-stained froth at his mouth, stirring as
he breathed, showed there was still life in the motionless body. The
sergeant-major went up to the unconscious man and carefully placed his
head on the haversack. He had never been able to endure this sickly
fellow, but, by Jove, what he had done that day was first-class! It
was grand! Would he never recover from his swoon? Heppner took a
brandy-flask from his saddle-bag, and gently moistened the gunner's
forehead with the spirit. He tried to force a drop between his lips,
but in vain; there was no sound or movement in response.
The sergeant-major looked impatiently for some sign of the doctor's
arrival. The other two wounded men seemed in less serious case. The
bombardier regained consciousness as the brandy touched his lips; he
took a good mouthful, and answered the sergeant-major's question as to
his condition with: "All right, sir. Only my left leg feels a bit
queer. I must have given it a wrench."
Vogt even tried to stand up and assume the regulation attitude in
speaking to the sergeant-major but he staggered back again, and said
faintly that his head was going round, otherwise there was nothing
wrong with him.
From the heights above was now heard the sound of horses' hoofs and the
clanking of harness. It was Corporal Vertler with the team belonging to
gun five; he announced that a trumpeter had gone to find a doctor, and
that the ambulance-orderlies would soon be here.
The sergeant-major had now no more time to bestow on the wounded men,
who could be left to wait for the doctor. He busied himself with the
harnessing of the gun.
Vogt leaned against the slope of the hill, resting his dizzy head in
his hands.
The blood trickled through his fingers and dropped upon his knees.
Although he tried to think it all over, he could not understand what
had happened to him. The horse had kicked him on the forehead--that
much he was able to recollect, and he also clearly remembered that
afterwards he had again seen the hoof coming in his direction; but from
that moment his memory was a blank.
Sliding and slipping, the hospital-orderly now came hurrying down the
hill. He saw that three men were lying there; two of them had their
eyes open, but not the third, so he addressed himself to the latter. He
gave him ether to smell, tried to administer a stimulant, and moistened
his forehead. He unfastened and opened his coat and shirt, and slapped
the palms of his hands. All in vain; but at least the poor devil still
breathed, though with a gurgling and rattling in his chest.
The orderly then turned to the two others. He gave Vogt a piece of
medicated cotton-wool to press on his wound, put the bottle of cordial
to his lips and made him drink. Vogt took a good mouthful; the liquid
tasted acid and refreshing, and cleared his head wonderfully.
Sickel declined the draught with impatience. "Get away with your slops,
you bone-breaker!" he said; "but if you've got any brandy I'll have
it."
The hospital-orderly had none. "Well, what's the matter with you,
then?" he asked.
"Something's wrong with my pins," answered the driver, and pointed to
his leg.
"Is that it?" said the orderly. "You don't seem very bad on the whole.
But what's wrong with this one? I can't get him to come to," and he
pointed to the motionless form of Klitzing.
"Perhaps cold water would bring him round," said Sickel. "Down there to
the left there must be a stream. You can hear it running."
"Then I'll just go down there," returned the orderly. He laid the
bottle of cordial at Vogt's feet and climbed down through the
brushwood.
Vogt slowly raised his head and looked about him in surprise. The
draught had revived him wonderfully. Where was he? A horse was standing
near him bleeding from a gaping wound in the flank. Not far off lay one
of his comrades stretched out like a corpse, and pale as death, with
eyes closed and blood-stained froth on his lips. Why, it was Klitzing!
He clutched at his forehead, and all at once the curtain that had
clouded his memory parted. He realised what had happened after he
had seen the hoof coming in the direction of his skull. A dark body
had thrown itself between him and the glistening iron--and then the
blow had been struck. There had been a terrible, hollow sound, and
then--then that body had been hurled into the air.
Suddenly he understood it all: Klitzing had sacrificed himself for him,
his friend had saved him from the death-dealing blow of that iron-shod
hoof, and there he now lay upon the grass, pale, unconscious--perhaps
dead.
At this moment the unconscious man's eyelids opened at last with
difficulty, his dull gaze went searching round, then rested upon Vogt
with an expression of boundless devotion. Vogt darted to the clerk's
side, threw himself down, and took the pale face between his hands.
"Heinrich!" he cried. "My dear good Heinrich! What have you done for
me?"
Bright tears ran down his cheeks, and through his sobs he could only
stammer again and again: "Heinrich! my dear good fellow!"
Klitzing tried to speak. His lips moved slightly, but no word came from
them. A feeble hand was raised to his friend's shoulder, stroked it
languidly, then fell heavily back. Again the eyes closed and remained
shut, although Vogt went on earnestly begging and praying: "Heinrich!
Heinrich! Tell me what is the matter! Can't I help you?"
Sickel gazed thoughtfully at the two friends. He remembered the moment
of departure, and how gay and merry the two gunners had been together.
Suddenly he turned his head to one side and listened.
"The doctor is coming," he said.
Immediately afterwards the portly assistant medical-officer,
Rademacher, came down into the hollow. "Well, what is the matter here?"
he asked.
He turned first of all to the driver, but Sickel motioned him away;
"Excuse me, sir, but there's plenty of time for me. The other man there
needs you more."
Rademacher bent down over Klitzing. When he saw the blood-stained froth
on the lips his face involuntarily put on a grave expression. He laid
his ear to the chest and listened for a long time.
"What happened to the man?" he inquired.
Vogt pointed to Eidechse, who was gazing across at them with dull eyes,
and answered: "She kicked him in the chest."
"Badly?"
"Yes, sir. He threw himself between, so that I should not be kicked
again."
The fat doctor looked up surprised. This was an unusually touching
incident in the rough life of a soldier. He saw the tears in the young
man's honest eyes, and he understood.
"Then you were great friends?"
"Yes, sir. And--and--how is he now?"
Rademacher looked hesitatingly down at the mortally wounded man, and
answered evasively: "Well--we must wait and see."
Once more he listened to the breathing, then stood up. According
to his diagnosis the injured man had but a few hours to live, at the
most--perhaps even only minutes.
"Has he recovered consciousness at all?" he asked.
"Yes, sir; but only for a very short time."
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
"But what's wrong with you?" he said, turning to the bombardier.
"My leg's rather queer, sir. Old Turk fell on it, and it's sprained, I
suppose. But I expect you can soon put it right, sir."
Rademacher removed the driver's riding-trousers with the aid of the
hospital-orderly.
His examination was soon over.
"You have a double fracture of the thigh," he said. "But we'll soon set
it for you."
Sickel listened open-mouthed.
"Then I shall be ready to leave when I get my discharge?" he inquired.
The medical officer smiled. "No, my friend, it will take from four to
six weeks."
This was too much for the driver, and he grumbled loudly. He would
cheerfully have been more hurt, although, as it was, he had had a
narrow shave--but not to be able to get his discharge--it was hard
lines indeed!
Meanwhile the ambulance-orderly had put a bandage round Vogt's head.
Rademacher gazed thoughtfully down on Klitzing. At last he turned away;
it was a hopeless case. He sent the trumpeter, who had come with him
for an ambulance-waggon. He had seen one standing in the road not far
off.
Restlessly he walked up and down, trying to shorten the time of
waiting. Every time he passed the clerk he looked at the lips through
which still came that heavy breathing. It was a perfect marvel that the
man still lived. Three ribs were broken, and they had wounded the lung
so severely that a violent hæmorrhage had ensued.
Four stretcher-bearers came down the hill at last, carrying two
stretchers. Klitzing was first placed on one of them.
"Where is he to go?" asked the foremost stretcher-bearer. Rademacher
considered a moment, and then answered:
"Up yonder, right on the brow of the hill, there's a farm, manor-house,
or something of the sort. Take him there. On my responsibility."
The stretcher-bearers set out, Vogt joining them. The doctor had nodded
assent to his beseeching glance.
Sickel was just going to be carried away when two veterinary surgeons
arrived to look after the injured horses.
"Beg pardon, sir," said the driver, "but I should like so much to know
what's wrong with my beast."
Rademacher told the stretcher-bearers to wait. The case of the horse
was diagnosed as quickly as that of the rider. The vet. raised himself
and said to his colleague: "The off hind-pastern is fractured."
"Can anything be done?" asked the driver.
The other shrugged his shoulders: "No, it's all up with him," he said.
Sickel looked across at the Turk. "Poor old fellow!" he muttered to
himself. Then he made them carry him up to the bay's head, and gently
took hold of the tuft of hair on his forehead, caressing him. Turk
raised himself with difficulty, and rubbed his nose against his
driver's leg. Then the bombardier turned himself impatiently on to the
other side, and cried to the stretcher-bearers to make haste. "Now get
me away quickly!" Turk gazed after the stretcher with his large,
mournful eyes, and as it disappeared behind the edge of the declivity
he snorted piteously.
Soon after the hollow was just as peaceful and deserted as it had been
early that morning, with blackbirds building their nests in the wild
luxuriance of the beech-trees. But the grass and the bushes were
trampled down everywhere; the spot looked like the scene of a fight,
and in the middle of the battle-field lay the carcase of poor Turk.
Late that evening some soldiers came with lifting apparatus and took
the ponderous dead beast to the nearest knacker's yard.
When Vogt and the stretcher-bearers had climbed to the top of the hill
and saw the building to which the doctor had directed them, they
stopped short. Dr. Rademacher had spoken of a manor-house or farm; but
what they saw before them looked more like a castle. However, as there
was not another roof to be seen near or far, they could not be making
any mistake.
The stretcher-bearers looked through a gate surmounted by a count's
coronet, and saw the front door of the building. Not a sign of life was
anywhere visible. Vogt pulled the bell; but a considerable time elapsed
before there was any movement on the other side of the grating. Just as
he was about to ring a second time, a white-haired old woman appeared
on the threshold of the door at the top of the front steps. She was
dressed like any other old peasant woman of the neighbourhood. She
walked slowly to the gate along the paved pathway, a bunch of keys in
her hand.
One of the soldiers addressed her:
"Tell us, please, can you give this man here a bed, and let us have one
for another as well? They have both met with an accident, and for the
present cannot be moved any further."
The old woman looked at the unconscious corpse-like form on the
stretcher for a time without speaking, then said, in a tranquil voice:
"Oh, yes, there is room enough here."
She unlocked the gate, and let Vogt and the stretcher-bearers in.
"Where is the other?" she then asked; and the soldier answered: "He
will soon follow."
The woman nodded silently. She locked the gate behind them, and then
turned towards a wing of the building. The stretcher-bearer, walking
close behind her, whispered: "This one won't be a burden to you long.
The end must soon come." Again the old woman gazed thoughtfully at the
face that looked so deathly pale on the grey linen cushion of the
stretcher. She hesitated; then all at once she turned right round and
went up the front steps of the main building. "We can find him a bed
here," she murmured. The three soldiers stepped into a lofty hall. A
softened, mellow light from without fell through a stained-glass
window, and the floor was paved with shining tiles, on which the
soldiers' nail-studded boots clattered discordantly. Vogt and the other
two men opened their eyes in wonder; but the woman went on further,
threw wide open two high folding-doors, and ushered them into a
spacious room. "I will bring sheets," she said, and did not herself
enter.
The stretcher-bearers put down their burden and gave a deep breath,
gazing round them in surprise. The room was square. The bright daylight
streamed in through two windows that reached to the ceiling. The floor
was beautifully inlaid with wood of different colours, and carved oak
panelling covered the walls. Against a side wall stood a broad, low
bed, over which a faded quilted silk coverlet was spread, and there was
a carved wooden canopy fixed to the wall above, from which curtains had
formerly hung. The design of the wood-work was surmounted by a royal
crown.
The old woman soon returned with a pair of fine snow-white linen
sheets.
"He's to go in there?" asked the soldier, pointing to this bed of
state. She assented with a nod of the head, and made haste to prepare
the bed, which she had ready in a few moments.
The loud, clear sound of the bell was heard once more. "That's the
other one," said the soldier; and the woman left the room with her
quiet, shuffling steps.
The two stretcher-bearers now began to undress Klitzing with their
practised hands, and the clerk was soon lying beneath the silken
coverlet, the royal crown over his head. Then one of the men asked:
"What shall we do now?" and the other answered: "Well, we'd better go
back to the ambulance waggon, anyhow. The doctor will have arrived by
this time. You can stop here," he said to Vogt, and they left the two
friends alone.
Vogt had been standing still in the middle of the room, his head
feeling quite clear again; but suddenly once more all became dark
before his eyes, and he had to sit down on one of the huge armchairs
that stood against the wall. Was this not all a bad dream? There on the
white pillow lay Klitzing, still unconscious, looking more dead than
alive. Vogt went and knelt down beside him, and pressed his hot face
against the cool silk of the coverlet. Would his faithful friend never
wake again, not even for a moment, so that he might thank him? But
Klitzing's eyelids remained closed, and there was no movement of the
body, only the rapid, stertorous breathing.
The shrill sound of the bell broke the silence for the third time, and
immediately after the senior staff-surgeon, Andreae, entered the room,
followed by Dr. Rademacher and a hospital orderly. He gave a rapid
glance of surprise at the unusual surroundings, and went at once to the
bed.
Vogt had risen at his entrance. Andreae nodded to him, and pointing to
Klitzing, asked: "Has he never recovered consciousness?"
"No, sir."
The medical-officer then bent his head to the injured man's chest, and
listened to his breathing for some time. Finally he felt his pulse. The
hand fell back as if lifeless upon the coverlet.
"Unfortunately you are right," he said to Rademacher; and as the other
looked questioningly at him he added, shrugging his shoulders, "Nothing
can be done."
So saying he went up to Vogt, and laid his hand kindly upon the young
man's arm: "Dr. Rademacher has told me," he said, "how the poor fellow
sacrificed himself for your sake. It grieves me very much to have to
say it, but I cannot hide the truth from you. Your friend has indeed
given his life for yours; he has but a short time to live."
Vogt remained fixed in the stiff soldierly attitude he had assumed;
otherwise he felt he would have fallen to the ground. "Then, sir," he
stammered, "will he never wake up again?"
"That no one can tell," answered the surgeon. "I hardly think so."
"But I may stay with him?"
"Yes, certainly. You are quartered here for to-night. You yourself are
invalided in any case, and to-morrow your friend will not last till
then, I fear, probably not even till this evening. So pull yourself
together, my man, and be proud that you have had such a brave fellow
for a friend. Friendship even unto death! There are not many like that
nowadays. God knows, I wish we could help the poor fellow!"
Andreae was quite affected by the unusual circumstances of the case;
but he had other duties, and dared not indulge his feelings. He drew
himself up, and continued in firm tones: "We must dress your wound for
you too, Vogt; but first I ought to set the driver's leg."
"We must go," he said, turning to the others; "the gunner will remain
with his comrade for the present."
Vogt followed the doctor with his eyes. When the door closed he turned
them towards the pale face of his dear friend. It was true then?
Klitzing had given his life for him. And no one could do anything to
help. There was a hot sensation in his throat, and then at last his
sorrow found relief in a flood of tears.
After a time he looked again at his friend. How white he looked as he
lay there! And how thin the face appeared against the white sheet!
Klitzing had indeed refined, distinguished-looking features, and one
could easily take him for a real gentleman lying in that magnificent
bed, if the shabby dust-covered uniform were not hanging over the back
of the chair close by. Vogt remembered how he had sometimes teased his
friend about his sickly pallor; he racked his brains to think whether
he had not wounded his feelings in other ways, and reproached himself
for every harsh word he could remember using towards Klitzing. How much
more friendly and affectionate he might often have been!
The doctors left the castle at last, having given the hospital-orderly
the necessary instructions to carry out during their absence. As
Rademacher was the medical officer on duty, he went the rounds once
more before leaving; and Vogt, whose head had been re-bandaged and who
had scarcely thought of meat and drink, now took some milk-soup at his
desire.
Nerve-exhaustion and loss of blood soon made themselves felt.
Ensconcing himself on a hard sofa that stood at the head of Klitzing's
bed, he fell into a heavy sleep.
The sound of voices roused him. He opened his eyes, and it was a
considerable time before he realised where he was. Again the voices
spoke. A conversation was evidently going on in the garden outside
between two people, a man and a woman. Vogt went to the window and
looked out. Close to the wall of the house vegetables had been planted.
A bearded man was digging the beds with a spade; the old woman was
assisting him by breaking up the clods of earth with a hoe.
"But I can't understand, mother," said the man, "why you gave him the
Princes' Room."
The old woman stopped her work for a moment and leant upon the handle
of her hoe. Then in her quiet monotonous voice she replied: "They told
me he would soon die, and the dead are the greatest kings on earth.
They are free. They have no more desires, no more cares. No one can
help or harm them any more."
The son said nothing, and both worked on busily.
Without thinking what he was doing Vogt watched them for a time at
their digging and hoeing, and when he turned back into the room the
heavy atmosphere of the long unventilated apartment gave him a
momentary sense of oppression.
But in the meantime something had happened, something that made him
suddenly stand still, speechless. Klitzing had awakened.
The sick man had moved his head to one side; his eyes were wide open,
and he was looking through the long window. His gaze wandered till it
rested on his friend, and apparently recognising him brightened with
intense pleasure; then it returned to the picture framed by the window.
Undazzled, his eyes looked out upon the radiance of the setting sun,
already half below the horizon. The face of the dying man was lighted
up by quiet happiness. He stood on the threshold of Paradise, and
seemed already to behold it in that fair vision of distant landscape
bathed in the departing glow of daylight. The sun's rays kissed the
eyes of the dying man, and he appeared to live but by their light. He
gazed fixedly on the vanishing disk until it sank out of sight. When he
could see it no longer an expression of fear passed over his
countenance, as though he dreaded the darkness and sought something
that had disappeared from view.
Then he closed his eyes, and found Paradise.