IN WHICH THE ORGAN-GRINDER'S PLAN BEGINS TO DEVELOP
About eight o'clock that same evening, twenty wagons, loaded alternately
with hay and straw, left Froeschwiller by the road to Enashausen. Each
one was driven by a man who, in accordance with the old saying that
French was intended to be spoken to men, Italian to women, and German to
horses, addressed his horses in a language marked by the strange oaths
that Schiller put in the mouths of his Robbers.
Once beyond Froeschwiller the wagons went silently along the highroad
leading to the village of Enashausen, which bends straight back, by an
angle, to Woerth. They stopped in the village only long enough for the
drivers to take a drink at the door of the wine-shop, and then continued
on their way.
When they were within a hundred feet of the town the first wagoner
stopped his cart and went on alone to the gate. He was challenged by a
sentinel before he had gone ten paces, to whom he replied: "I am
bringing some wagons that have been ordered and am on my way to report."
The first sentinel let him pass, as did the second and the third. At the
gate he slipped his paper through the wicket and waited. The wicket
closed again, and in a moment the little side door opened and the
sergeant in charge appeared.
"Is it you, my boy?"' he asked; "where are your wagons?"
"About a hundred feet off, sergeant."
It is needless to add that both question and answer were in German.
"Very well," said the sergeant, still in German, "I will bring them in
myself." And he went out, charging the man he left behind to be careful.
The sergeant and the wagoner passed the three lines of sentinels and
reached the wagons which were waiting on the highroad. The sergeant
glanced at them carelessly and ordered them to proceed. Wagons and
wagoners started, and, led by the sergeant, passed the sentinels and
entered the gate which closed behind them.
"Now," said the sergeant, "do you know the way to the barracks or shall
I go with you?"
"No need of that," replied the chief wagoner; "we will take the wagons
to the Golden Lion to-night in order to save trouble, and in the morning
we will take the forage to the barracks."
"Very well," said the sergeant, re-entering the guard-house;
"good-night, comrades."
"Good-night," replied the wagoner.
The Golden Lion was scarcely a hundred feet from the gate by which they
had just entered. The chief wagoner rapped upon the glass, and as it was
only ten o'clock the landlord appeared upon the threshold.
"Ah! is it you, Stephan?" he asked, glancing at the long line of wagons,
which extended from his door almost to the Haguenau gate.
"Yes, Monsieur Bauer, myself," replied the chief wagoner.
"And all goes well?"
"Perfectly."
"No trouble in entering?"
"Not the slightest. And here?"
"We are ready."
"The house?"
"A match is all that is needed."
"Then we had better bring the carts into the courtyard. Our men must be
stifling."
Fortunately the courtyard was large, and the twenty carts had no
difficulty in entering. The great gate was closed, and the landlord and
the wagoner were alone. Then, at a given signal--three claps of the
hand--a singular thing came to pass.
The bales of hay or straw in each wagon began to move. Then two heads
appeared, followed by two bodies, and finally two men, dressed in the
Prussian uniform, emerged. Then from each of the carts they took another
uniform, which they gave the wagoners. Then, to crown the work, each
soldier, standing in the wagon, armed himself with a musket, and took
out a third for the wagoner. Thus, when nine o'clock sounded, Stephan,
clad as a Prussian sergeant, had under his orders the sixty resolute
German-speaking men for whom he had asked Pichegru. They went directly
to the stable, where the door was shut after them when they had received
the order to load their muskets, which had been left unloaded for fear
of accidents in the wagons.
Then Bauer and Stephan went out arm in arm. They went to the house to
which the latter had referred when they met; it stood in the highest
part of the town, as far as possible from the Haguenau gate, and not a
hundred feet from the powder-magazine. The house, which resembled a
Swiss châlet, was built entirely of wood. Bauer showed Stephan a room
filled with combustible matter and resinous wood.
"At what time shall I fire the house?" asked Bauer, as simply as if he
had been speaking of the most trivial matter.
"At half-past eleven," replied Stephan.
It was then nearly ten.
"Are you sure that the general will be on hand at half-past eleven?"
"In person."
"You know," said Bauer, "that once the Prussians realize that the
burning house is near the powder-magazine, they will rush here to save
the powder, and the inclosure in which the military wagons are stored.
In the meantime the Rue de Haguenau will be empty, and that is the time
to carry the gate and enter the town. The general can reach the great
square without firing, and at the first report five hundred patriots
will open their windows and begin to shoot at the Prussians."
"Have you men to sound the tocsin?"
"Two in each church."
"Then all is ready," said Stephan. "Let us take a look at the
powder-magazine, and then go back."
They returned by the ramparts, and found that, as Bauer had said, the
wooden house was within fifty feet of the inclosure. At eleven o'clock
they entered the courtyard of the Golden Lion. The sixty men were ready
and full of enthusiasm, and understood that they had been intrusted with
a great enterprise.
At a quarter past eleven Bauer shook hands with Stephan, and, assuring
himself that he was provided with his tinder-box and flint, made his way
toward the wooden house.
Stephan, who remained behind, called his sixty men and explained his
plan to them. Each understood what he had to do, and swore to carry it
out as far as possible. They waited. Half-past eleven struck. Stephan,
at the highest window in the house, was watching for the first gleam of
light. Scarcely had the strokes ceased to vibrate in the air than a
reddish glare began to color the roofs in the upper part of the town.
Stephan ran down; the time had come.
The men were drawn up in the yard in three platoons of twenty men each.
Stephan half opened the gate. Every one was running to the other part of
town. He ordered his men to march toward the Haguenau gate in single
file, while he himself ran ahead, crying: "Fire! in the higher parts of
the town, comrades! Fire! near the powder-magazine! Fire! save the
wagons! Fire! keep the powder from exploding!"
Stephan ran to the guard of twenty-four men at the gate. The sentinel,
taking him for the sergeant of the post, did not stop him.
"Every one of you to the upper part of the town to save the wagons and
the powder. To the fire! to the fire!"
Not one of the twenty-four men remained, save the sentinel, chained by
his orders. But his curiosity got the better of his discipline, and he
asked the pretended sergeant what had happened. The latter, full of
good-will toward his subordinates, told him that a servant had fired the
wooden house belonging to the landlord of the Golden Lion. In the
meantime the patrol was approaching from behind.
"What is that?" asked the sentinel.
"Oh, nothing," replied Stephan, "a patrol." And so saying he slipped a
gag into the sentinel's mouth and pushed him toward the first two men of
the patrol, who bound him firmly.
Then they carried him into the guard-house, locked him in the officer's
room, and took out the key. One of the men volunteered to replace the
sentinel, and as they were obliged to know the countersign Stephan
undertook to find out what it was.
Holding the key in one hand and a sharp dagger in the other he entered
the room. No one knew what arguments he used, but when he came out the
sentinel had spoken in spite of his gag. He told the sentinel that the
words for the day were Stettin and Strasbourg.
Then they seized the gate-keeper, bound him and locked him in the
cellar, Stephan again taking the keys.
Then he put fifty-five of his men in the gatekeeper's room, bidding them
hold the gate at all odds so long as one of them was alive. Finally he
went out with his five men to relieve the outside sentinels.
In ten minutes two of them were dead and the third a prisoner. Their
places were taken by three of his men. Then with the other two he
hastened toward Enashausen; but scarcely had he gone a hundred yards
when he came upon a black, compact mass, which proved to be Pichegru's
men. He was soon face to face with the general.
"Well?" asked the latter.
"Not an instant to lose, general; we must hurry."
"The Haguenau gate?"
"Is ours."
"Come, children," said Pichegru, who realized that this was no time for
lengthy explanations, "Forward! march!"