The Capellenberg, of Chapel Mountain, which had probably borne
originally another name, but was so called by the Germans because it
bore a chapel, was only a small height, partly covered with forests. It
was the last outrunner of the mountains at this side, and formed here
the border of the German troops. A company of the Seventh Regiment was
stationed in the farms which lay scattered over its side. Their
position was rightly considered very hard and most dangerous.
The chapel lay desolate and lonely, half buried in the deep snow.
Priests and choir had long since fled, and the little edifice bore
traces of destruction everywhere, for hot battles had been fought
around this height. Walls and roof still stood intact, but a part of
the ceiling had fallen, and the wind whistled through the shattered
windows. Behind it rose the forest, clad in ice and snow, and all this
lay in the uncertain light of the half-moon which was now visible in
the heavily clouded sky, shedding her ghostly light upon the
surroundings, only to again quickly disappear.
It was an icy winter night, as at that time at Rodeck, and, as then,
the horizon was lit up by a dark reddish glow; but no aurora beamed
here in gorgeous beauty; the glow which flared here in the north bore
witness of battles fought all around; it had its origin in burning
villages and farms; the awful signs of the flame of war, which were
reflected in the skies.
A lonely sentinel stood here with gun on shoulder--Hartmut von
Falkenried.
His eyes hung on the flaming horizon, the dark masses of cloud shone
there blood-red, and from time to time a shower of fiery sparks burst
from the seething smoke which rested over the earth.
Glow and flame there; ice and night here! The cold, which had been
intense already during the day, now grew to the breath of ice, in which
all life seemed to become stark, and which chilled the lonely sentinel
to the very marrow.
Although he was not the only one who had to do this hard duty, his
comrades had not been spoiled by years of life in the Orient and the
balmy air of Sicily. Hartmut had not lived through a northern winter
since his boyhood; this cold grew disastrous to him, for it seemed to
change the blood in his veins into ice.
Slowly the deadly sleepiness, which is not sleep, crept upon him; it
made the limbs heavy as lead, and drooped the eyelids forcibly. He who
was so terribly threatened, struggled against it with all his
will-power; he tried to collect himself and move about; he succeeded
for a moment, but exhaustion again approached, the end of which he
knew.
Was it not even to be granted him to fall by a bullet?
Hartmut's glance turned to the half-destroyed house of God, as if
beseeching help; but what were church and altar to him? He had cast
faith from him long ago; only night with death stared him in the face,
and life would have given him so much when the atonement should have
been completed--possession of his love, the fame of a poet, and perhaps
even reconciliation with his father.
But it was not to be. He must stand to his post and wait for the
ignominous death which was creeping upon him from the icy darkness.
Duty commanded and he--obeyed.
But in the distance sounded steps and voices which came nearer and
nearer. They tore Hartmut from the semi-unconsciousness which had
already begun to veil his senses.
He roused himself with an effort and made his gun ready, but it was his
comrades who drew near. What did it mean? The hour for relief had not
yet come; but in a moment a sergeant stood before him.
"Relief--command from headquarters brought by an officer," came the
order.
The change was made and a sturdy peasant, who did not seem to mind the
cold much, took Hartmut's place. As Hartmut was about to join the
sergeant an officer approached him from the other side.
"Let the sergeant go on. I wish to speak to you, Tanner; follow me."
Prince Adelsberg, who did not wish the sentinel to witness the
conversation, entered the chapel, into which Hartmut followed him.
The pale moonlight falling through the windows revealed all the
dismantled and destroyed interior. The fallen ceiling had shattered
some of the pews; the altar alone stood undemolished.
Egon had walked to the middle of the room, where he stopped and turned.
"Hartmut."
"Herr Lieutenant."
"Stop that, we are alone," said the Prince. "I did not think, that we
should meet like this."
"And I hoped I should be spared it," said Hartmut hoarsely, "You have
come----"
"From headquarters. I heard that you had been ordered to sentinel duty
on the Capellenberg. That is awful duty for such a night as this."
Hartmut was silent; he knew that without this interruption it would
have been his last duty.
Egon looked at him with concern. In spite of the uncertain light he saw
how rigid and exhausted was the man who leaned against one of the
pillars as if he needed support.
"I came to bring you an order, but it is left to your own free will to
accept it or not. The matter is considered almost impossible, and it
would be, perhaps, to any one else. You have courage for it, I know,
but the question is, have you the strength after all these exertions?"
"Fifteen minutes' rest and warmth will give me the strength. But what
does it concern?"
"A ride for life or death. You are to take a message through the midst
of the enemy--to R----"
"To the fortress?" cried Hartmut with a start. "There stands----"
"General Falkenried with his brigade; he is lost if the message does
not reach him. We lay his safety in the hands of his son."
Again Hartmut started. Gone were frost and exhaustion. With feverish
excitement he grasped the Prince's arm.
"I am to save my father? I? What has happened? What must I do?"
"Listen. The prisoner whom you reported to me to-day has given us a
terrible disclosure; it concerns a betrayal. The fortress is to be
blown up as soon as their troops are in safety and ours have taken
possession. The General sent warnings instantly, but they will not
reach them in time, as they have to take a circuitous route. Your
father thinks of taking possession to-morrow. He must be warned before
that, and there is only one possibility. The messenger must go over the
mountain passes, which are held by the enemy. If successful, the news
will reach there to-morrow before noon, but the way----"
"I know it," interrupted Hartmut. "Our regiment took it only fourteen
days ago coming here. The passes were free then."
"So much the better! Of course you must take off your uniform, which
would betray you."
"I shall change only cloak and helmet. If I am held up at all, my fate
is sealed--so it is only important that I be not recognized in flying
past. If only a good capable horse can be found!"
"It is at hand. I brought my Arab--my Saladin--with me. You know him
and have often ridden him. He flies like a bird, and must do his master
achievement this night."
The conversation had been conducted with flying haste, and now the
Prince drew out the papers which he had received at headquarters.
"Here is the order of the Commanding General, which puts everything at
your disposal when you reach our outposts--and here the dispatch. Give
yourself half an hour's rest, for your strength might not hold out, and
you will break down on the way."
"Do you think that I need rest and recreation now," cried Hartmut,
flashing up. "I shall surely not break down now; it will have to be
under the fire of the enemy if I do. I thank you, Egon, for this hour,
in which you at last--at last--speak to me free from that base
suspicion."
"And in which I send you out into death," said the Prince softly. "We
will not shun the truth. It will be a miracle if you get through
safely."
"A miracle."
Hartmut's glance wandered to the altar, upon which rested the pale
light of the moon. He had forgotten long ago how to pray, yet at this
moment he sent up a silent, fervent prayer to the heavens--to the power
which could do miracles.
"Only until I have saved my father and his men--only so long guide and
keep me!"
In the next second he drew himself up. It was as if Egon had poured
glowing life power into the veins of the man who so shortly since was
threatened with death through cold and exhaustion.
"And now let us say good-by," whispered Egon. "Farewell, Hartmut."
He opened wide his arms and Hartmut fell upon his breast.
All that had stood between them was buried in this embrace. The old
glowing love burst forth powerfully again for the last time, for both
felt that they would not meet again--that this was a final farewell.
Scarce fifteen minutes later a horseman dashed away; the slender Arab
flying so that his hoof seemed not to touch the ground. In furious
gallop he flew along over the snow through ice-covered forests, over
frozen brooks on and on into the mountain passes!