It was a cold winter day, and in the Prussian camp at Newmark every one
was occupied making fires.
“Let us get a great deal of wood,” said a sprightly-looking, slender
young soldier, to his comrades; “our limbs must not be stiff to-day. I
think to-morrow all will go off bravely, and we will prepare a strong
soup for the Austrians.”
“And instead of the noodles, we will send them cannon-balls,” said a
comrade, standing near him. “But see here, brother, as we are not going
to fight this evening, I think we should make use of the time and cook
a soup for ourselves. When we have wood enough for a good fire, we will
set the kettle over it, and the best of pastimes will be ready. Shall
we do it, comrades? Every man a groschen, and Charles Henry Buschman to
cook the noodles.”
“Yet, Buschman must cook the noodles; no one understands it so well
as he. Charles Henry Buschman! Where hides the fellow? He is generally
sticking to Fritz Kober, and they are chatting together as if they were
lovers. Buschman! Charles Henry Buschman! Where are you?”
“Here I am!” cried a bright, fresh voice, and a slender youth, belonging
to Prince Henry’s regiment, stepped forward and joined them. “Who calls
me?--what do you want?”
“We want you to cook noodles for us, Buschman; every man pays a
groschen, and eats to his heart’s content. You shall have them for
nothing, because you prepare them.”
“I will have nothing that I don’t pay for,” said Charles Henry, proudly;
“I can pay as well as the rest of you, and perhaps I have more money
than all of you; for while you are drinking, smoking, and playing, I put
my groschens aside for a rainy day.”
“Yes, that is true; Buschman is the most orderly, the most industrious
of us all,” said Fritz Kober, as he nodded lovingly to his young friend.
“He does not drink, or smoke, or play; and, I can tell you, he sews like
a woman. He mended a shirt for me to-day. A ball had passed through it
at Rossbach, making a hole in the left sleeve. I tell you, the shirt
looks as if a clever woman had mended it.”
“Well, it is a pity he isn’t one,” said one of the soldiers, with a
merry laugh; “perhaps you have a sister at home, Henry, whom you could
give to Kober.”
“No, comrade,” said Charles Henry, sadly; “I have neither father,
mother, sister, nor brother. I am alone in the world, and have no
other friend but my comrade, Fritz Kober. Will you not give him to me,
comrades? Will you tease him because he is the friend of a poor, young
fellow, against whom you have nothing to say except that he is just
seventeen years old and has no heard and his voice a little thin, not
able to make as much noise as yourself? Promise me that you will not
laugh at Fritz again because he is kind to, and loves a poor, forsaken
boy. If you tease him, he will become desperate and run off from me,
and then, when I fall in battle, he will not close my eyes as he has
promised to do.”
“I will never run away from you, darling brother,” said Fritz Kober. “We
two shall stay together in camp and in battle. You have won me with your
soft, black eyes: they remind me of those of my good, faithful Phylax.”
“Well, well, Fritz shall do as he pleases,” said one of the boys; “but
enough with our chatting, let us seek the wood for our fire.”
“Wood, wood, let us seek wood,” cried all, gayly, and the happy troop
separated on all sides. Only Charles Henry remained to prepare the fire.
With busy haste he took the kettle, which the soldiers had dragged near,
ran to the neighboring market and bought a groschen worth of lard to
make the noodles savory, then hastened back to cut the bacon and mix it
with the noodles. Some of the soldiers returned empty-handed--no wood
was to be found; the soldiers, who had searched before them, had taken
it all.
“It would be horrible not to have noodles this evening,” said Fritz
Kober, furiously. “Who knows but they may be the last we shall eat in
this world? The balls may take our heads off to-morrow, and we never
could eat Charles Henry’s noodles again.”
“What you can do to-day never put off until to-morrow,” cried one of the
soldiers. “We must eat noodles to-day, and we must have wood, even if
we have to steal it from the devil’s kitchen.” And, as he turned around,
his eye fell upon a little hut which stood on the other side of the
camp. “Boys.” he cried, gleefully, “do you see that hut?”
“Certainly; that hut is the king’s quarters.”
“I am willing the king should occupy the hut; but it is covered with
wood, and he does not need that. Come, boys, we will have wood to cook
our noodles.”
With a hurrah they started forward to the old forsaken shepherd’s hut
in which the king had taken refuge. They climbed the rook as nimbly
as cats, and now the old boards cracked and groaned and flew in every
direction, and were received with shouts of joy by the surrounding
soldiers. Suddenly a guard officer stepped from the hut, and saw with
horror its destruction; he ordered the soldiers to lay the boards as
they had found them, and to go off at once. The soldiers mocked at him,
and continued at their work quietly.
“We are going to eat noodles,” they said, “common noodles, of meal and
lard, that we may have the courage to swallow iron noodles to-morrow. To
cook noodles, we need wood. We find it here, and we shall take it.”
“What!” cried the officer, “I forbid it, and you refuse to
obey?--Sentinels, forward!”
The four guards, who, until now, had walked quietly to and fro before
the hut, placed themselves at the door and shouldered arms.
“Fire at the first one who dares to touch another piece of wood,”
commanded the officer. But the wanton soldiers paid no attention to this
order; they regarded it as an empty threat.
“Fire,” cried one, laughing, “fire is just what we want--without fire,
no noodles; and to make fire we must have wood.”
“Whew! I have a big splinter in my finger,” cried another soldier, who
was on the roof, and had just broken off a plank; “I must draw it out
and put it back, mustn’t I, lieutenant?”
At this question the gay group broke into a loud laugh; but it was
interrupted by the angry words of the officer.
Suddenly a mild voice asked: “What is the matter?” At the first sound
of this voice the soldiers seemed dismayed; they stopped their work, and
their merry faces became earnest and thoughtful. Stiff and motionless
they remained on the roof awaiting their punishment; they knew that
voice only too well, they had heard it in the thunder of battle. The
king repeated his question. The officer approached him.
“Sire, these dragoons are tearing the roof from your majesty’s quarters,
all my threats are useless; therefore I ordered the sentinels forward.”
“What do you want with the sentinels?” asked the king.
“To fire amongst them, if they do not desist.”
“Have you tried kindness?” said the king, sternly; “do you think, on the
day before a battle, I have soldiers to spare, and you may shoot them
down because of a piece of wood?”
The officer murmured a few confused words; but the king paid no
attention to him; he looked up at the soldiers sitting stiff and
motionless upon the roof.
“Listen, dragoons,” said the king; “if you take off my roof, the snow
will fall in my bed to-night, and you do not wish that, do you?”
“No, we do not wish it, sire,” said Fritz Kober, ashamed, slipping
softly from the roof; the others followed his example, and prepared to
be off, giving melancholy glances at the wood lying on the ground.
The king looked thoughtfully after them, and murmured, softly, “Poor
fellows, I have deprived them of a pleasure.--Halloo, dragoons,” he
cried aloud, “listen!”
The soldiers looked back, frightened and trembling.
“Tell me,” said the king, “what use were you going to make of the wood?”
“Cook noodles, sire,” said Fritz Kober; “Henry Buschman promised to cook
noodles for us, and the bacon is already cut; but we have no wood.”
“Well, if the bacon is cut,” said the king, smiling, “and if Henry
Buschman has promised to make the noodles, he must certainly keep his
word; take the wood away with you.”
“Hurrah! long life to our king and to our good Fritz Kober,” cried the
soldiers, and, collecting the wood, they hastened away.
The king stepped back, silently, into the small, low room of the hut.
Alone, there once more the smile disappeared, and his countenance became
sad and anxious. He confessed to himself what he had never admitted to
friend or confidant, that it was a daring and most dangerous undertaking
to meet the Austrian army of seventy thousand with his thirty-three
thousand men.
“And should I fail,” said the king, thoughtfully, “and lead these brave
troops to their death without benefit to my country--should they die an
unknown death--should we be conquered, instead of conquering! Oh,
the fortune of battles lies in the hands of Providence; the wisest
disposition of troops, the most acute calculations are brought to naught
by seeming accident. Should I expose my army to the fearful odds, should
I hazard so many lives to gratify my ambition and my pride? My generals
say it will be wiser not to attack, but to wait and be attacked. Oh,
Winterfeldt, Winterfeldt, were you but here, you would not advise this,
not you! Why have you been taken from me, my friend? Why have you left
me alone among my enemies? I can find, perhaps, resources against my
enemies, but I will never find another Winterfeldt.” [Footnote: The
king’s own words.--Retzow, vol. i.. p. 220.] The king leaned his head
upon his breast, and tears rolled down his cheeks.
“How solitary, how joyless life is! how rich I was once in friends, how
poor I am now! and who knows how much poorer I may be to-morrow at this
hour--who knows if I shall have a place to lay my head?--I may be
a fugitive, without home or country. Verily, I have the destiny of
Mithridates--I want only two sons and a Monima. Well,” continued he,
with a soft smile, “it is still something to stand alone--misfortunes
only strike home. But do I stand alone? have I not an entire people
looking to me and expecting me to do my duty? Have I not brave soldiers,
who call me father, looking death courageously in the face and hazarding
their lives for me? No, I am not alone--and if Mithridates had two sons,
I have thirty-three thousand. I will go and bid them good-evening. I
think it will refresh my sad heart to hear their cheerful greetings.”
The king threw on his mantle and left his quarters, to make, as he was
often accustomed to do, a tour through the camp. Only the officer on
guard followed him, at a short distance.
It was now dark, and fires, which were lighted everywhere, gave a little
protection against the biting cold. It was a beautiful sight--the wide
plain, with its numberless, blazing, flickering fires, surrounded by
groups of cheerful soldiers, their fresh faces glowing with the light of
the flames. In the distance the moon rose grand and full, illuminating
the scene with its silver rays, and blending its pale shimmer with the
ruddy flames.
The king walked briskly through the camp, and, when recognized, the
soldiers greeted him with shouts and loving words. As he approached a
large fire, over which hung a big kettle, the contents of which filled
the air with savory odors, he heard a brisk voice say:
“Now, comrades, come and eat, the noodles are done!”
“Hurrah! here we are,” cried the boys, who were standing not far off,
chatting merrily. They sprang forward joyfully, to eat the longed--for
noodles.
The king, recognizing the soldiers who had uncovered his roof, drew near
to the fire.
“Shall I also come and eat with you?” he said, good-humoredly.
The soldiers looked up from the tin plates, in which the noodles were
swimming.
“Yes, sire,” said Fritz Kober, jumping up and approaching the king;
“yes, you shall eat with us; here is my spoon and knife, and if you
reject it, and are only mocking us, I shall be very angry indeed.”
The king laughed, and turning to the officer who had followed him, said
as if to excuse himself:
“I must really eat, or I shall make the man furious.--Give me your
spoon; but listen, I can tell you, if the noodles are not good, I shall
be angry.” He took the plate and began to eat.
The soldiers all stopped, and looked eagerly at the king. When he had
swallowed the first bite, Fritz Kober could no longer restrain his
curiosity.
“Well, sire,” he said, triumphantly, “what do you say to it! Can’t
Buschman prepare better noodles than your cleverest cook?”
“Verily,” said the king, smiling, “he never cooked such noodles for me,
and I must say they are good, but, now I have had enough, and I am much
obliged to you.”
He wished to return his plate to Fritz Kober, but Fritz shook his head
violently.
“See here, your majesty, no one gets off from us with just a ‘thank
you,’ and you, least of all, sire; every one must pay his part.”
“Well,” said the king, “how much is my share?”
“It cost each of us three groschen; the king may pay what he pleases.”
“Will you credit me, dragoon?” said the king, who searched his pockets
in vain for money.
“Oh! yes, your majesty, I will credit you, but only until tomorrow
morning, early; for, if a cannon-ball took my head off, I could not dun
your majesty, and you would be my debtor to all eternity.”
“It would then be better to settle our accounts to-day,” said the king,
and nodding to the soldiers, he left them.