To arms! to arms! ye captains!
_The Prisoner of Ochali._
We must now ask the reader to retrace with us the day which has just
passed, and to return to Skongen, where, while the insurgents were
leaving Apsyl-Corh lead-mine, the regiment of musketeers, which we saw
on the march in an earlier chapter of this very truthful tale, had just
arrived.
After giving a few orders in regard to billeting the soldiers under his
command, Baron Vœthaün, colonel of the musketeers, was about to enter
the house assigned to him, near the city gate, when a heavy hand was
placed familiarly upon his shoulder. He turned and saw a short man,
whose face was almost wholly hidden by a broad-brimmed straw hat. He had
a bushy red beard, and was closely wrapped in the folds of a gray serge
cloak, which, by the tattered cowl still hanging from it, seemed once to
have been a hermit’s gown. His hands were covered with thick gloves.
“Well, my good man,” asked the colonel, sharply, “what the deuce do you
want?”
“Colonel of the Munkholm musketeers,” replied the fellow, with an odd
look, “follow me for a moment; I have news for you.”
At this singular request, the baron paused for a moment in silent
surprise.
“Important news, Colonel!” repeated the man with the thick gloves.
This persistence decided Baron Vœthaün. At such a crisis, and with such
a mission as his, no information was to be despised. “So be it,” said
he.
The little man preceded him, and as soon as they were outside the town,
he stopped. “Colonel, would you really like to destroy all the
insurgents at a single blow?”
The colonel laughed, saying, “Why, that would not be a bad way to open
the campaign.”
“Very well! Then station your men in ambush this very day, in Black
Pillar Pass, two miles distant from the town; the rebels are to encamp
there to-night. When you see their first fire blaze, fall upon them with
your troops. Victory will be easy.”
“Excellent advice, my good man, and I thank you for it; but how did you
learn all this?”
“If you knew me, Colonel, you would rather ask me how I could fail to
know it.”
“Who are you, then?”
The man stamped his foot. “I did not come here to answer such
questions.”
“Fear nothing. Whoever you may be, the service which you have done us
must be your safeguard. Perhaps you were one of the rebels?”
“I refused to join them.”
“Then why conceal your name, if you are a loyal subject of the king?”
“What is that to you?”
The colonel made another attempt to gain a little information as to this
singular giver of advice. “Tell me, is it true that the insurgents are
under command of the famous Hans of Iceland?”
“Hans of Iceland!” repeated the little man, with peculiar emphasis.
The baron repeated his question. A burst of laughter, which might have
passed for the roar of a wild beast, was the only answer which he could
obtain. He ventured a few more questions as to the number and the
leaders of the miners; the little man silenced him.
“Colonel of the Munkholm musketeers, I have told you all that I have to
tell. Lie in wait to-day in Black Pillar Pass with your entire regiment,
and you may destroy the whole rebel force.”
“You will not tell me who you are; you thus prevent the king from
proving his gratitude; but it is only right that I should reward you for
the service which you have done me.”
The colonel threw his purse at the small man’s feet.
“Keep your gold, Colonel,” said he; “I do not need it. And,” he added,
pointing to a large bag which hung from his rope girdle, “if you wish
pay for killing these men, I have money enough, Colonel, to give you for
their blood.”
Before the colonel could recover from the surprise caused by this
mysterious being’s inexplicable words, he had vanished.
Baron Vœthaün slowly retraced his steps, wondering whether he should
place any faith in the fellow’s news. As he entered his quarters, he was
handed a letter, sealed with the lord chancellor’s arms. It contained a
message from Count d’Ahlefeld, which the colonel found, with amazement
that may be readily imagined, consisted of the same piece of news and
the same advice just given him outside the city gate by the
incomprehensible character with the straw hat and the thick gloves.