After an hour the forester woke the sleeper. Anton started up and looked
round, stupefied at the unfamiliar scene.
"It is almost a sin to disturb you," said the good old man; "all is
quiet outside, only the enemy's cavalry have gone off to Rosmin."
"Gone off!" cried Anton; "then we are free."
"Except for the foot-folks," said the forester, "and they are still two
to one of us. They hold us fast. And I have something else to say. There
is no more water in the butt. Our men have drunk half of it, the rest
was thrown on the fire. For my part, I can do without it, but the castle
is full of men, and they will hardly get through the day without a
drink."
Anton sprang up. "This is a melancholy good-morning, my old friend."
"The well is broken," continued the old man; "but how if we were to send
some of the women to the brook? The sentinels would not do much to the
women; perhaps they would not prevent them from getting a few bucketfuls
of water."
"A few buckets would not do much for us," replied Anton.
"They would raise the spirits," said the old man; "they would have to be
shared. Were Rebecca here, she would get us the water. We must try what
we can do with the others. Those confounded fellows are not bad to
women, if they be but bold. If you approve, I will see what I can make
of some of our girls."
The forester called down to the kitchen--"Suska!" The young Pole sprang
up stairs.
"Listen to me, Suska," said the forester, anxiously; "when, the baron
awakes, he will call for his hot water; all the water in the castle is
done; we have beer and schnapps enough, indeed, but what Christian can
wash his hands in beer? so take the buckets, and get us water. Run down
to the brook; you will get on very well with your countrymen. Don't stay
too long chattering, or we shall get a scolding. And, I say, just ask
our neighbors why they stand there still with their lances; their
horsemen have gone away; we have no objection to their moving off too."
The girl willingly caught up the buckets, the forester opening the yard
door for her, and down she went to the water. Anton watched her in
anxious suspense. She got to the brook without any hinderance, and
without troubling herself about the sentinels, who were some twenty
yards off, and who looked with much curiosity at her. At length one of
the men with scythes went up to her. The girl put down her buckets,
crossed her arms, and both began a peaceful conversation. Then the Pole
took up the buckets, filled them with water, and gave them to the girl,
who slowly returned to the castle, the forester opening the gate for
her, and saying, in a caressing tone, "Bravo, Susan! what did the
sentinel say to you?"
"Stupid things," replied she, blushing. "He told me that I must open the
door for him and his comrades when they return to the castle."
"As if that were all?" said the forester, slyly. "So they mean to return
to the castle?"
"To be sure they do," said the girl. "Their horsemen are gone to meet
the soldiers from Rosmin. When they return, the man said they would all
run together to the castle."
"We shall hardly admit them," replied the forester. "None shall enter
the gate but your sweetheart yonder. You have, I suppose, promised him
admittance, if he comes alone and late?"
"No!" answered Susan, indignantly; "but I dared not be uncivil."
"Perhaps we may try it once more," suggested the forester, glancing at
Anton.
"I don't think it," replied the latter. "An officer is riding round the
posts, and the poor fellow will get a rough return for his gallantry.
Come, and let us divide our little store. Half of this first bucket for
the family--half for us men; let the other make a breakfast for the
women and children."
Anton himself poured the water into the different vessels, and appointed
the smith to guard it. While so doing, he said to the forester, "This is
the hardest task that we have had as yet. I do not know how we are to
hold out during the day."
"Many things may happen," replied the forester, consolingly.
A bright spring day now began; the sun rose cloudlessly behind the
farm-yard, and soon warmed the mist that hung around the walls; the
people sought out the sunny corner of the court; the men sat in little
groups with their wives and children, and all seemed in good heart.
Anton went in and out among them. "We must have patience till
noon--perhaps till the afternoon; then our troops will come."
"If those fellows yonder do no more than at present," replied the smith,
"we may be easy enough. They stand there like so many wooden posts."
"They lost their courage yesterday," said another, contemptuously.
"It was a mere straw-fire; the smith threw it down, and they have
nothing to follow it up with," cried a third.
The smith folded his arms and smiled proudly, his wife looking at him
with delight.
Next the upper story began to show symptoms of life. The baron rang and
demanded a report. Anton went up to give it him, then entered Fink's
room and woke his friend, who was still fast asleep.
"Good-morning, Tony," cried Fink, comfortably stretching himself. "I
shall be down in a moment. If you can send me a little water through
some of your connections, I shall be very grateful to you."
"I will get you a bottle of wine from the cellar," replied Anton; "you
must wash in wine to-day."
"Ha!" cried Fink, "is it come to that? At all events, it is not Port
wine, I hope."
"We have but a few bottles of either kind," continued Anton.
"You are a bird of ill omen," said Fink, looking for his boots. "You
have doubtless the more beer in your cellars."
"Just enough to give the garrison one draught. A small cask of brandy is
our chief treasure."
Fink whistled the Hessian march. "You will own, my son, that your
tenderness for the women and children was somewhat sentimental. I
already see you, in my mind's eye, with your shirt sleeves tucked up,
killing the lean cow, and, with your old conscientiousness,
administering mouthfuls to the famished household--you in the
middle--fifty gaping mouths around you. Be sure that you prepare a dozen
birch rods; in a few hours the screams of the hungry children will rise
to heaven, and, in spite of your philanthropy, you will be obliged to
scourge the whole troop of them. Otherwise, I think we managed pretty
well yesterday. I have had a famous sleep, and so things must take their
chance another day. Now let's go and have a look at the enemy."
The two friends mounted to the tower. Anton reported what he had heard.
Fink carefully explored the sentries' posts and the line of road till
lost in the wood. "Our situation is too quiet to be comfortable," said
he, shutting up the glass.
"They mean to starve us out," said Anton, gravely.
"I give them credit for that clever notion; and they do not judge ill,
for, between ourselves, I have strong doubts whether we have any relief
to hope for."
"We may depend upon Karl," said Anton.
"And upon my bay too," replied Fink; "but it is very possible that my
poor Blackfoot may have the misfortune to be carrying the carcass of one
of the insurgents at this very moment; and whether the youth Karl may
not have fallen into the hands of one of the bands who, no doubt, swarm
throughout the country; whether he ever found our soldiers; whether they
chose to march to our aid; whether, in short, they will have the sense
to come in time; and whether they are strong enough, after all, to
disperse the troop gone out to meet them--these, my boy, are all
questions which may reasonably be put, and I, for one, dare not answer
them hopefully."
"We might attempt a sally, but it would be bloody work," said Anton.
"Pooh!" said Fink; "it would be useless, which is worse. We might
disperse one set of them, and another would be there in an hour;
nothing but having a strong party to relieve us can get us out of the
scrape. As long as we keep within these walls we are strong; on the open
field, encumbered with women and children, a dozen horsemen might ride
us down."
"We must wait, then," said Anton, gloomily.
"Well said, after all. The whole of human wisdom consists in never
putting to one's self or to others questions which nobody can answer.
The affair threatens to be tedious."
The friends came down again, and hour after hour passed--weary hours of
leaden inactivity. First Anton, then Fink, looked through the glass at
the opening into the wood. There was little to be seen; patrols came and
went; armed peasants entered the village, and were dispatched in
different directions; the sentinels were regularly inspected and
relieved every two hours; the besiegers were busy in searching and
disarming the surrounding villages, in order to make a more vigorous
assault than ever on the castle.
The Germans were pent up in their fortress like a wild beast in his
lair, and the huntsmen waited with calm confidence for the time when
hunger, or else fire, should complete their conquest.
Meanwhile Fink tried to employ his people; made the men clean and
brighten their arms, and himself inspected them all; next, powder and
lead were given out, bullets cast, and cartridges made. Anton showed the
women how to clean the house and the court, as well as they could,
without water. All this had the good effect of keeping the prisoners
occupied for a few hours.
The sun rose higher, and the breeze wafted the peaceful chime of bells
from the nearest village.
"Our breakfast will be sparing enough," said Anton to his comrades. "The
potatoes are roasted in the ashes, meat and bacon are finished; the cook
can not bake, for we are again without water."
"As long as we have the milch-cow in the stable," replied Fink, "we
still possess a treasure which we can display to the hungry ones. Next,
we have the mice in the castle, and, finally, our boots. He who has been
condemned to eat beefsteaks in this country ought not to find
boot-leather a tough diet."
The forester interrupted them. "A single horseman is coming from the
farm-yard to the castle with a woman behind him. I lay any thing it is
Rebecca."
The horseman approached the front door, waving a white handkerchief,
halting near the burnt fragments of the great wagon, and looking at the
windows of the upper story. It was the envoy of the preceding day.
"We will not be so unpolite as to keep the gentleman waiting," said
Fink, pushing back the bolts, and appearing unarmed on the threshold.
The Pole silently bowed; Fink raised his cap.
"I told you yesterday evening," began the former, "that I should have
the pleasure of seeing you again."
"Ah!" replied Fink; "you, then, were the gentleman who occasioned all
that smoke? It was a pity to spoil the wagon."
"You prevented your men from firing on me yesterday," continued the
Pole, in German, spoken with a hard foreign accent. "I am grateful to
you for it, and anxious to prove myself so. I hear that there are ladies
in the castle; this girl brings them milk. We know that you are without
water, and I should not wish the ladies to be inconvenienced by our
conflict."
"Jackanapes!" muttered the forester.
"If you will permit me to give you a few bottles of wine in exchange for
your milk," replied Fink, "I will accept your present with thanks. I
presume you have no superfluity of this commodity at your command."
"Very good," said the Pole, smiling. Rebecca hurried with her pitcher to
the yard gate, gave in the milk, and received the wine from the growling
forester. The Pole continued: "Even if you be well supplied with wine,
it can not serve instead of water. Your garrison is numerous, and we
hear that you have many women and children in the house."
"I should consider it no hardship," replied Fink, "for these women and
children to drink wine, as well as we men, till you do us the favor
which I yesterday requested, of leaving this estate and the brook yonder
altogether."
"Do not hope it, sir," said the Pole, gravely; "we shall employ all our
strength to disarm you; we know now that you have no artillery, and it
would be at any time in our power to force an entrance. But you have
held out like brave men, and we do not wish to go further than is
absolutely necessary."
"Prudent and sensible," replied Fink.
"Therefore I make you a proposal which need not offend your
self-respect. You have no relief to hope for. Between your soldiers and
this village there is a strong body of our troops. A collision of the
armies is expected in the course of the next few days at no great
distance from here, and your generals are, therefore, unable to detach
any number of men. I am telling you no news; you know this as well as I;
therefore I promise to you and to all within these walls a safe-conduct,
if you will give up the castle and your fire-arms. We are ready to
escort you and the ladies in any direction that you may wish, as far as
our occupation of the country extends."
Fink replied more seriously than he had hitherto done, "May I ask who it
is whose word of honor would be pledged to me?"
"Colonel Zlotowsky," replied the horseman, with a slight bow.
"Your offer, sir," returned Fink, "demands our thanks. I have no doubt
of its sincerity, and will assume that you have influence enough over
your companions to carry it out. But, as I am not the master of this
house, I must communicate your proposal to him."
"I will wait," replied the Pole, retreating to a distance of about
thirty yards, and stopping opposite the door.
Fink closed it, and said to Anton, "Let us go to the baron at once. What
should you think best?"
"To hold out," replied Anton.
They found the baron in his room, his head resting on his hands, his
face distorted, a picture of distress and nervous agitation. Fink told
him of the Pole's offer, and begged for his decision.
The baron replied, "I have perhaps suffered more hitherto than any of
the brave men who have risked their lives in this house. It is a
horrible feeling to be obliged to sit still when honor summons one to
the foremost ranks. But, for this very reason, I have no right to
dictate to you. He who is incapable of fighting has no right to decide
when the fighting shall cease; nay, I have hardly a right to tell you my
views, because I fear that they may influence your high-hearted minds;
besides which, unfortunately, I do not know the men who defend me; I can
not judge of their mood or of their strength. I confidently leave every
thing to you, and place the fate of my nearest and dearest in your
hands. May Heaven reward you for what you do for me. Yet not for me--for
God's sake, not for me--the sacrifice would be too great," cried he, in
utmost excitement, raising his folded hands and sightless eyes to
heaven; "think of nothing but the cause that we defend."
"Since you repose so generous a trust in us," said Fink, with chivalrous
bearing, "we are resolved to hold your castle so long as we have the
very least hope of relief. Meanwhile there are serious contingencies to
be anticipated; our men may refuse to fight longer, or the enemy may
force an entrance."
"My wife and daughter beg, as I do also, that you will not consider them
at a time like this. Go, gentlemen," cried the baron, with outstretched
arms; "the honor of an old soldier is in your hands."
Both bowed low before the blind man, and left the room. "After all,
there is honor in the man," said Fink, nodding as he went along. Then he
opened the door and the officer rode up.
"The Baron Rothsattel thanks you for your proposal; but he is resolved
to defend his house, and the property of those who have trusted to him,
to the very utmost. We can not accept your offer."
"Take, then, the consequences," cried the officer, "and the
responsibility of all that must ensue."
"I will take the responsibility," said Fink; "but I have still one
request to make from you. Besides the wives and children of the country
people, there are two ladies in the castle, the wife and daughter of the
Baron Rothsattel; if an accident should enable you to occupy this house,
I recommend these defenseless ones to the protection of your honor."
"I am a Pole!" cried the officer, proudly rising in his stirrups. Then
taking off his hat, he galloped back to the farm-yard.
"He looks a bold fellow," said Fink, turning to the men who had gathered
round him from the guard-room; "but, my friends, when one has the choice
of trusting to an enemy's promises or to this little iron barrel, I
always think it best to rely upon what we have in our hand."
He shook his rifle as he spoke.
"The Pole promises safe-conduct," continued Fink, "because he knows that
in a couple of hours his band will be dispersed by our soldiers. We
should be a good bite for him with our thirty guns. And then, if our
cavalry came, and instead of us, who sent for them, found the house full
of that rabble yonder, they would send a rattling curse after us, and we
should be disgraced forever."
"I wonder whether he meant fair?" inquired one of the men, doubtingly.
Fink took him confidentially by the lappet of his coat. "I do believe,
my boy, that he meant fair; but I ask you how far one could calculate
upon the discipline of those men? We should not get much beyond the wood
yonder before another party would overtake us, and the women and our
property would be maltreated before our eyes; and so I calculate we
shall do the best to show them our teeth."
Warm approbation followed this speech, and a few hurrahs were raised for
the young gentlemen in the castle.
"We thank you," said Fink; "and now all of you to your posts, my men,
for it may chance that you will get a few cracks on your heads again.
That will keep them quiet for an hour or two," said he, turning to
Anton. "I don't expect an attack by day, but it is better for them to
stand at their posts than to be putting their heads together. It was
unlucky that they should have heard the negotiations."
But even the severe discipline which Fink maintained did not avail to
ward off the depression which fell upon the little garrison as the day
wore on. The Pole's proposal had been heard by many; even the women had
in their curiosity opened their door and pushed into the hall. Quietly,
gradually, fear began to take possession of the men's hearts, and,
contagious as a disease, it spread from one to the other. It broke out,
too, in the women's apartments. Suddenly some of them felt a great
desire for water, complaining of thirst, first timidly, then louder,
pressing against the door of the kitchen, and beginning to sob aloud.
Not long after, all the children took to screaming for water, and many
who, under other circumstances, would not have thought about drinking at
all, now felt themselves unspeakably wretched.
Anton had the last bottle of wine brought out of the cellar, cut the
last loaf and soaked it in the wine, giving a piece to each, assuring
them that it was the best remedy against thirst, and that if one held it
in the mouth, he would be quite unable to drink water, even if paid for
it. This expedient answered for a time, but terror found other avenues
by which to enter. Many began to consider whether they would have lost
any thing in giving up an old gun, and gaining thereby their liberty,
and the right to go where they would. This view of things was loudly
combated by the forester, who placed himself in the midst of the
guard-room, and resolutely replied: "I tell you, Gottlieb Fitzner, and
you, you stout Bökel, that the giving away our guns would be a mere
trifle to any of us; the only thing is, that any one of you to whom
this vile thought could occur would be a low, mean, cowardly scoundrel,
who would make me sick whenever I saw him." To which proposition Fitzner
and Bökel eagerly acceded, and Bökel declared that, for his part, he
could stand such a fellow just as little as the forester himself; so
that danger was averted. But the unemployed sentinels were engaged in
anxious conversation. The castle forces were contrasted with those of
the enemy, and finally the slight nature of the palings in the yard
became the leading object of a searching criticism. It was clear that
the next attack would be directed against them, and the most
stout-hearted admitted that they could offer little resistance. Even the
faithful smith shook them with his strong hand, and by no means admired
the manner in which they were nailed together.
In the middle of the day these attacks of timidity were not actually
dangerous, for the greatest portion of the men were waiting ready armed
for the enemy's approach. But as the sun began to decline without any
attack, and without the sentinels on the top of the tower announcing any
prospect of relief, inactivity and exhaustion combined to increase the
universal distress. Their dinner had been unsatisfying: potatoes burnt
to a cinder, and a little salt; no wonder that they should again begin
to be thirsty, and that the women should return and complain to Anton
that his expedient had only availed for a very short time. Among the
men, too, fear, hunger, and thirst spread fast from one story to
another. Anton had served out a double ration of brandy, but that did
not avail. Several of the men became, not rebellious, but weaker and
more depressed. Fink looked with contemptuous smile at these symptoms of
a condition of which his elastic spirit and iron nerves had no
experience; but Anton, to whom all came with petitions and laments, felt
the whole distress of these hours. Something must be done to help
efficiently, or all was lost. Accordingly, he went into the court-yard,
determined to sacrifice the cow. He walked up to her, stroked her neck:
"Lizzie, my poor beast, you must go," said he. As he led her out, his
eye fell upon the empty water-butt, and a happy thought flashed across
him. The yard was only raised a few feet above the brook. The whole
district was full of springs; it was probable that, if dug for here,
water might be found, and it would be an easy thing for the garrison to
dig a well. If the earth excavated were pushed up against the palings,
their strength would be considerably increased, and, what was the chief
thing, the work would set all idle hands going, and might last for
hours, nay, days. He knew, indeed, from former attempts, that the water
immediately about the castle was muddy, and in ordinary times
undrinkable, but that did not signify to-day. Anton looked up at the
sun; there was not a minute to be lost. He called the superintendent
into the court, and the latter joyfully agreeing to the proposal--all
the unoccupied hands about the castle, and the women and children
too--the laborers' implements were produced, and in a few minutes ten
men with spades and rakes were occupied in digging a large hole in the
middle of the court, while the women and children heaped the thrown-up
earth against the palings. Some men, and such of the women as were to be
had, were summoned by Anton to the slaughter of the poor cow, who was
once more exhibited before she fell a victim to the exigencies of the
day. Soon all were in full employment. The well-mouth, which was far
wider than would have been required for an ordinary shaft, deepened
visibly, and a wall rose inside the palings, which seemed the work of
friendly underground gnomes. The people worked as they had never in
their life done before; the men's spades emulated each other; little
bare legs sprang actively over the ground; wooden shoes and slippers
left deep traces in the mound of earth. Each wanted to work; there were
more hands than space in which to move them. All sadness and anxiety
were over and gone. Jests were bandied about. Even Fink came to look on,
and said to Anton, "You are a missionary, and you know how to promote
the spiritual good of your people."
"They work!" replied Anton, with greater cheerfulness than he had felt
for the last four-and-twenty hours.
The well had now become so deep that it became necessary to have a
ladder to descend by; the ground got damper and damper, till the men
worked in a perfect swamp. The mud had to be taken out in buckets; but
the people were more eager than ever, and the buckets flew from hand to
hand, while all laughed like little children at the mud-sprinkling their
impatience got. The mud wall rose rapidly above the palings, and wood
and stones were thrown in to consolidate it. Anton could hardly get the
little doorway kept open. Meanwhile there was restless agitation among
the enemy. Horsemen rode rapidly along the line of sentries, and watched
the progress of the new fortification: from time to time, one would
venture nearer than the rest, then withdraw as soon as the forester
raised his gun above the wall. Thus hour after hour passed; the sun sank
down, and the red light of evening suffused the sky. But those in the
court-yard took no heed of it, for at the bottom of the well the men
were standing up to their waists in water. It was a yellow, dirty liquid
enough; but the people stared down the hole as though streams of gold
were flowing there. At last, when the twilight shadows lay dark on its
mouth, Anton ordered the diggers to leave the well. A coarse sheet was
brought, and laid over the water-butt, and the water strained through
it.
"My horses first," cried one of the servants, snatching a bucketful for
the thirsting animals.
"When it has settled a little, it will be as good as river-water,"
exclaimed the smith, in delight.
As for the diggers, they were never tired of tasting, and each
triumphantly corroborated the worthy man's assertion. Meanwhile, Anton
had fresh palings driven into the mud rampart, and the strong planks of
the potato-carts securely fastened to them. At nightfall all was
finished. The women kept straining water into the butt. Great joints of
meat were taken to the kitchen, where a brisk fire was crackling away,
and the cheerful hopes of an excellent supper rose in the hearts of the
besieged.
Then the drums of the enemy were again heard, and the shrill call of
Fink's whistle vibrated through the castle. For a moment the men in the
court-yard stood still; they had, during the last few hours, thought
little about the foe; then all rushed into the guard-room and caught up
their arms. The lower story was doubly occupied. The forester hurried
off with a strong detachment to the court-yard, and clambered up the new
wall.
"The crisis approaches," whispered Fink to Anton; "in the course of the
last few hours strong parties have come into the village, and just now a
troop of horsemen has joined them. We shall not be able to hold out for
a second night. They will attack on both sides at once, and with the
help of short ladders they will soon make their way into the castle. And
that they know, for you may see that every band that leaves the village
is armed with axes and ladders. Let us meet our inevitable doom with
spirit; the praise is yours if we are beaten like men and not like
cowards. I have been with the baron; he and the ladies are prepared;
they will all remain together in his room. If you have a few words to
spare when one of the Messieurs of the party walks in over you, remind
him of the ladies. God willing, Anton, I'll take the court-yard
side--you the front."
"It seems to me impossible," cried Anton, "that we should be beaten. I
have never had so good a hope as in this very hour."
"Hope of relief!" said Fink, shrugging his shoulders, and pointing
through the window at the enemy. "If it comes in an hour's time it comes
too late. Since Rebecca's cannon exploded, we are in the hands of the
foe as soon as they choose to storm in earnest. And they will choose.
One must not indulge in illusions that glow no longer than a cigar. Give
me your hand, my dear fellow, and farewell."
He pressed Anton's hand, and a proud smile beamed again over his face.
So stood the friends, each looking affectionately at the face of the
other, uncertain whether he should ever behold it again. "Farewell!"
cried Fink, taking up his rifle as their hands parted; but all at once
he seemed rooted to the ground, and intently listened, for above the
drums of the foe and the tramp of their approach a clear sound rang
through the night air, a merry pealing <i>fanfare</i>, and in reply to it
there came from the village the regular beat of a drum of the line, then
a loud discharge of artillery, and a distant hurrah.
"They come!" was the cry on all sides; "our soldiers come!"
The forester rushed into the hall. "The red-caps!" he screamed out.
"They are riding up along the brook to the bridge, and the infantry are
storming the village from behind."
"Now our side!" cried Fink; "prepare for a sally!"
The bolts were shot back; the whole garrison was out in a moment; and
Anton could hardly get the superintendent and a few of the servants to
return and take care of the house. The forester rapidly marshaled the
men into order while Fink looked at the position of the combatants. The
columns of infantry advanced through the village. The ceaseless
discharges showed how inveterate the fight was; but the soldiery slowly
approached, the enemy yielded, a few fugitives had already run out of
the farm-yard. Meanwhile a detachment of hussars crossed the brook
opposite the castle, driving small parties of the besiegers before them.
Fink led his men round the house, and stationed them at the corner that
lay nearest to the village. "Patience!" cried he; "and when I lead you
on, don't forget your password, or you will be ridden and trodden down
in the dark like the others."
It was with the greatest difficulty that the men were kept in rank, such
was their impatience.
A single horseman now came riding toward them. "Hurrah! Rothsattel!"
cried he, while still at a distance.
"Sturm!" called out a dozen voices; and Anton sprang forward to greet
his ally.
"We have them," said Karl. "They had occupied the Rosmin high road, but
I led our men by by-paths through the woods."
A dark mass was visible at the end of the village, with riders in
advance. The enemy halted and assembled in the farm-yard.
"Now for it!" cried Fink.
The garrison marched at a quick pace over the meadow, placed themselves
sideways near the first barn, and a salvo from five-and-twenty guns
burst upon the flank of the enemy, who fell into confusion and fled
across the plain. Again the trumpet sounded, behind them the hussars
came galloping up, and cut down those that still kept their ground. Karl
joined them, and vanished in the fray. The enemy were thus driven into
the fields.
The Polish cavalry now sprang forward from the village, at their head
the spokesman of the morning, who with loud shouts urged his men against
the hussars.
"Rothsattel!" cried a youthful voice close to Anton, and, heading a
detachment of hussars, a tall, slight officer rushed against the Poles.
Fink raised his rifle and aimed at the Polish colonel.
"Thanks!" cried he, reeling on his horse, firing his pistol with his
last breath at the breast of the hussar who was riding him down. The
hussar fell from his horse, and the Pole's charger galloped away with
his master's lifeless body.
In a few minutes more the vicinity of the castle was cleared of all
foes. Night concealed the fugitives, and the trees of the forest spread
their sheltering branches over the sons of the soil. In small
detachments, the conquerors followed the last remnant of the enemy's
troops.
Before the castle, Anton knelt on the ground and supported the head of
the prostrate horseman on his arm. With tears in his eyes, he looked
from the dying man up to his friend, who stood on one side with a group
of sympathizing officers. Their triumph was rendered a mute one, the
peasants surrounding the spot in solemn silence. The motionless form was
slowly carried on their crossed hands to the castle.
The baron stood on the hall steps with his daughter, ready to greet the
welcome guests. As soon as Lenore saw the wounded officer, she rushed
down among the bearers, by whom the body was silently laid at the
baron's feet, and sank to the ground with a scream.
"Who is it?" groaned the blind man, groping in the air. No one answered
him; all drew back in terror.
"Father!" murmured the wounded youth, and a stream of blood gushed from
his mouth.
"My son! my son!" cried the baron, in agony, and his knees sank under
him.
The youth had left his garrison to join the troops which were to be
stationed near his parents. He had succeeded in exchanging into another
regiment, and in accompanying the squadron sent to his father's
assistance. He wished to give his father a happy surprise, and, with the
raising of the siege, he brought them his bleeding breast into their
house, and death into their hearts.
A mournful silence lay upon the high Slavonic castle. The storm had
raged itself to rest; the white blossoms floated silently down from the
great fruit-trees in the fields, and lay pure and spotless on the ground
like a white shroud. Where are ye, airy schemes of the blind man, which
he has so striven, suffered, and sinned to realize? Listen, poor father;
hold your breath and listen. All is still in the castle, still in the
forest, and yet you can not hear the one sound of which you ever thought
amid your parchments and your plans--the heart-throb of your only son,
the first heir of the house of Rothsattel!