IN A GREEN VALLEY.
He was as good as his word. Before the sun had been up an hour six of
the mutineers, chosen by lot from a hundred of the more guilty,
dangled from a great tree which overhung the brook, and were already
forgotten--so short are soldiers' memories--in the hurry and bustle of
a new undertaking. The slope of the ridge which divided us from the
neighbouring valley was quickly dotted with parties of men making
their way up it, through bracken and furze which reached nearly to the
waist; while the horse under Count Waska rode slowly off to make the
circuit of the hill and enter the next valley by an easier road.
My lady chose to climb the hill on foot, in the track of the pikemen,
though the heavy dew, which the sun had not yet drunk up, soon
drenched her skirts, and she might, had she willed it, have been
carried to the top on men's shoulders. The fern and long grass delayed
her and made our progress slow, so that the general's dispositions
were in great part made when we reached the summit. Busy as he still
was, however, he had eyes for us. He came at once and placed us in a
small coppice of fir trees that crowned one of the knobs of the ridge.
From this point, where he took up his own position, we could command,
ourselves unseen, the whole valley, the road, and river--the scene of
the coming surprise--and see clearly, what no one below could discern,
where our footmen lay in ambush in parties of fifty; the pikemen among
some black thorns, close to the north end of the valley, the musketmen
a little farther within and almost immediately below us. The latter,
prone in the fern, looked, viewed from above, like lines of sheep
feeding, until the light gleamed on a gun-barrel or sword-hilt and
dispelled the peaceful illusion.
The sun had not yet risen above the hill on which we stood, and the
valley below us lay cool and green and very pleasant to the eye. About
a league in length, it was nowhere, except at its southern extremity,
where it widened into a small plain, more than half a mile across. At
its northern end, below us, and a little to the right, it diminished
to a mere wooded defile, through which the river ran over rocks and
boulders, with a dull roar that came plainly to our ears. A solitary
house of some size, with two or three hovels clustered about it, stood
near the middle of the valley; but no smoke rose from the chimney, no
cock crowed, no dog barked. And, looking more closely, I saw that the
place was deserted.
So quiet it seemed in this peaceful Thuringian valley, I shuddered
when I thought of the purpose which brought us hither; and I saw my
lady's face grow sad with a like reflection. But General Tzerclas
viewed all with another mind. The stillness, the sunshine, the very
song of the lark, as it rose up and up and up above us, and, still
unwearied, sang its song of praise, touched no chord in his breast.
The quietude pleased him, but only because it favoured his plans; the
lark's hymn, because it covered with a fair mask his lurking ambush;
the sunshine, because it seemed a good augury. His keen and vigilant
eye, the smile which curled his lip, the set expression of his face,
showed that he saw before him a battle-field and no more; a step
upwards--a triumph, a victory, and that was all.
I blamed him then. I confess now, I misjudged him. He who leads on
such occasions risks more than his life, and bears a weight of
responsibility that may well crush from his mind all moods or thoughts
of weather. At least, I did him, I had to do him, this justice: that
he betrayed no anxiety, uttered no word of doubt or misgiving.
Standing with his back against a tree and his eyes on the northern
pass, he remained placidly silent, or talked at his ease. In this he
contrasted well with the Waldgrave, who continually paced up and down
in the background, as if the fir-grove were a prison and he a captive
waiting to be freed.
'At what hour should they be here?' my lady asked presently, breaking
a long silence.
She tried to speak in her ordinary tone, but her voice sounded
uncertain. A woman, however brave, is a woman still. It began to dawn
upon her that things were going to happen which it might be unpleasant
to see, and scarcely more pleasant to remember.
'I am afraid I cannot say,' the general answered lightly. 'I have done
my part; I am here. Between this and night they should be here too.'
'Unless they have been warned.'
'Precisely,' he answered,' unless they have been warned.'
After that my lady composed herself anew, and the day wore on, in
desultory conversation and a grim kind of picnic. Noon came, and
afternoon, and the Countess grew nervous and irritable. But General
Tzerclas, though the hours, as they passed without event, without
bringing that for which he waited, must have tried him severely,
showed to advantage throughout. He was ready to talk, satisfied to be
silent. Late in the day, when my lady, drowsy with the heat, dozed a
little, he brought out his Caesar, and read, in it, as if nothing
depended on the day, and he were the most indifferent of spectators.
She awoke and found him reading, and, for a time, sat staring at him,
wondering where she was. At last she remembered. She sat up with a
start, and gazed at him.
'Are we still waiting?' she said.
'We are still waiting,' he answered, closing his book with a smile.
'But,' he continued, a moment later, 'I think I hear something now.
Keep back a little, if you please, Countess.'
We all stood up among the trees, listening, and presently, though the
murmuring of the river in the pass prevented us hearing duller sounds,
a sharp noise, often repeated, came to our ears. It resembled the
snapping of sticks under foot.
'Whips!' General Tzerclas muttered. 'Stand back, if you please.'
The words were scarcely out of his mouth before a handful of horsemen
appeared on a sudden in the road below us. They came on like tired
men, some with their feet dangling, some sitting sideways on their
horses. Many had kerchiefs wound round their heads, and carried their
steel caps at the saddle-bow; others nodded in their seats, as if
asleep. They were abreast of our pikemen when we first saw them, and
we watched them advance, until a couple of hundred yards brought them
into line with the musketmen. These, too, they passed without
suspicion, and so went jolting and clinking down the valley, every man
with a bundle at his crupper, and strange odds and ends banging and
swinging against his horse's sides.
Two hundred paces behind them the first waggon appeared, dragged
slowly on by four labouring horses, and guarded by a dozen foot
soldiers--heavy-browed fellows, lounging along beside the wheels, with
their hands in their breeches pockets. Their long, trailing weapons
they had tied at the tail of the waggon. Close on their heels came
another waggon creaking and groaning, and another, and another, with a
drowsy, stumbling train of teamsters and horse-boys, and here and
there an officer or a knot of men-at-arms. But the foot soldiers had
mostly climbed up into the waggons, and lay sprawling on the loads,
with arms thrown wide, and heads rolling from side to side with each
movement of the straining team.
We watched eighty of these waggons go by; the first must have been a
mile and more in front of the last. After them followed a disorderly
band of stragglers, among whom were some women. Then a thick, solid
cloud of dust, far exceeding all that had gone before, came down the
pass. It advanced by fits and starts, now plunging forward, now
halting, while the heart of it gave forth a dull roaring sound that
rose above the murmur of the river.
'Cattle!' General Tzerclas muttered. 'Five hundred head, I should say.
There can be nothing behind that dust. Be ready, trumpeter.'
The man he addressed stood a few paces behind us; and at intervals
along the ridge others lay hidden, ready to pass the signal to an
officer stationed on the farthest knob, who as soon as he heard the
call would spring up, and with a flag pass the order to the cavalry
below him.
The suspense of the moment was such, it seemed an age before the
general gave the word. He stood and appeared to calculate, now looking
keenly towards the head of the convoy, which was fast disappearing in
a haze of dust, now gazing down at the bellowing, struggling, wavering
mass below us. At length, when the cattle had all but cleared the
pass, he raised his hand and cried sharply--
'Now!'
The harsh blare of the trumpet pierced the upper stillness in which we
stood. It was repeated--repeated again; then it died away shrilly in
the distance. In its place, hoarse clamour filled the valley below us.
We pressed forward to see what was happening.
The surprise was complete; and yet it was a sorry sight we saw down in
the bottom, where the sunshine was dying, and guns were flashing, and
men were chasing one another in the grey evening light. Our musketmen,
springing out of ambush, had shot down the horses of the last
half-dozen waggons, and, when we looked, were falling pell-mell upon
the unlucky troop of stragglers who followed. These, flying all ways,
filled the air with horrid screams. Farther to the rear, our pikemen
had seized the pass, and penning the cattle into it rendered escape by
that road hopeless. Forward, however, despite the confusion and
dismay, things were different. Our cavalry did not appear--the dust
prevented us seeing what they were doing. And here the enemy had a
moment's respite, a moment in which to think, to fly, to stand on
their defence.
And soon, while we looked on breathless, it was evident that they were
taking advantage of it. Possibly the general had not counted on the
dust or the lateness of the hour. He began to gaze forward towards the
head of the column, and to mutter savagely at the footmen below us,
who seemed more eager to overtake the fugitives and strip the dead,
than to press forward and break down opposition. He sent down Ludwig
with orders; then another.
But the mischief was done already, and still the cavalry did not
appear; being delayed, as we afterwards learned, by an unforeseen
brook. Some one with a head on his shoulders had quickly drawn
together all those among the enemy who could fight, or had a mind to
fight. We saw two waggons driven out of the line, and in a moment
overturned; in a twinkling the panic-stricken troopers and teamsters
had a haven in which they could stand at bay.
Its value was soon proved. A company of our musketeers, pursuing some
stragglers through the medley of flying horses and maddened cattle
which covered the ground near the pass, came upon this rude fortress,
and charged against it, recklessly, or in ignorance. In a moment a
volley from the waggons laid half a dozen on the ground. The rest fell
back, and scattered hither and thither. They were scarcely dispersed
before a handful of the enemy's officers and mounted men came riding
back from the front. Stabbing their horses in the intervals between
the waggons, they took post inside. Every moment others, some with
arms and some without, came straggling up. When our cavalry at last
arrived on the scene, there were full three hundred men in the waggon
work, and these the flower of the enemy. All except one had
dismounted. This one, a man on a white charger, seemed to be the soul
of the defence.
Our horse, flushed with triumph and yelling loudly, came down the line
like a torrent, sabreing all who fell in their way. Half rode on one
side of the convoy and half on the other. They had met with no
resistance hitherto, and expected none, and, like the musketmen, were
on the barricade before they knew of its existence. In the open, the
stoutest hedgehog of pikes could scarcely have resisted a charge
driven home with such blind recklessness; but behind the waggons it
was different. Every interstice bristled with pike-heads, while the
musketmen poured in a deadly fire from the waggon-tops. For a few
seconds the place belched flame and smoke. Two or three score of the
foremost assailants went down horse and man. The rest, saving
themselves as best they could, swerved off to either side amid a roar
of execrations and shouts of triumph.
My lady, trembling with horror, had long ago retired. She would no
longer look. The Waldgrave, too, was gone; with her, I supposed. Half
the general's attendants had been sent down the hill, some with one
order, some with another. In this crisis--for I saw clearly that it
was a crisis, and that if the defenders could hold out until darkness
fell, the issue must be doubtful--I turned to look at our commander.
He was still cool, but his brow was dark with passion. At one moment
he stepped forward as if to go down into the _melee_; the next he
repressed the impulse. The level rays of the sun which just caught the
top of the hill shone in our eyes, while dust and smoke began to veil
the field. We could still make out that the cavalry were sweeping
round and round the barricade, pouring in now and then a volley of
pistol shots; but they appeared to be suffering more loss than they
caused.
Given a ring of waggons in the open, stoutly defended by resolute men,
and I know nothing more difficult to reduce. Gazing in a kind of
fascination into the depths where the smoke whirled and eddied, as the
steam rolls this way and that on a caldron, I was wondering what I
should do were I in command, when I saw on a sudden what some one was
doing; and I heard General Tzerclas utter an oath of relief. Back from
the front of the convoy came three waggons, surrounded and urged on by
a mob of footmen; jolting and bumping over the uneven ground, and
often nearly overturned, still they came on, and behind them a larger
troop of men. Finally they came almost abreast of the enemy's
position, and some thirty paces to one side of it. There perforce they
stayed, for the leading horses fell shot; but it was near enough. In
an instant our men swarmed up behind them and began to fire volleys
into the enemy's fortress, while the horse moving to and fro at a
little distance forbade any attempt at a sally.
'That man has a head on his shoulders!' General Tzerclas muttered
between his teeth. 'That is Ludwig! Now we have them!'
But I saw that it was not Ludwig; and presently the general saw it
too. I read it in his face. The man who had brought up the waggons,
and who could still be seen exposing himself, mounted and bare-headed
in the hottest of the fire, ordering, threatening, inciting, leading,
so that we could almost hear his voice where we stood, was the
Waldgrave! His blue velvet cloak and bright fair head were
unmistakable, though darkness was fast closing over the fight, and it
was only at intervals that we could see anything through the pall of
smoke.
'Vivat Weimar!' I cried involuntarily, a glow of warmth and pride
coursing through my veins. In that moment I loved the young man as if
he had been my son.
The next I fell from the clouds. What would my lady say if anything
happened to him? What should I say if I stood by and saw him fall?
And he with no headpiece, breast or back! It was madness of him to
expose himself! I started forward, stung by the thought, and before I
knew what I was doing--for, in fact, I could have done no good--I was
on the slope and descending the hill. Almost at the same moment the
general gave the word to those who remained with him, and began to
descend also. The hill was steep there, and it took us five minutes to
reach the scene of action.
If I had foolishly thought that I could do anything, I was
disappointed. By this time the battle was over. Manning every waggon
within range, and pouring in a steady fire, our sharp-shooters had
thinned the ranks behind the barricade. The enemy's fire had first
slackened, and then ceased. A little later, one wing, unable to bear
the shower of shot, had broken and tried to fly, and in a moment our
pikemen had gained the work.
We heard the flight and pursuit go wailing up the valley, but the
disorder, and darkness, and noise at the foot of the hill where we
found ourselves, were such that I stood scared and bewildered,
uncertain which way to turn or whither to go. On every side of me men
were stripping the dead, the wounded were crying for water, and cattle
and horses, wounded or maddened, were rushing up and down among broken
waggons and prostrate loads. Such eyes of cruelty and greed glared at
me out of the gloom, such shouts cursed me across dead men that I drew
my sword and carried it drawn. But the scene robbed me of half my
faculties; I did not know which way to turn; I did not know what to
do; and until I came upon Ludwig, I wandered aimlessly about, looking
for the Waldgrave without plan or system. It was my first experience
of the darker side of war, and it surpassed in horror anything I had
imagined or thought possible.
Ludwig, badly wounded in the leg, I found under a waggon. I had stood
beside him some time without seeing him, and he had not spoken. But
when I moved away I suppose he recognized my figure or step, for when
I had gone a few paces I heard a hoarse voice calling my name. I went
cautiously back to the waggon, and after a moment's search detected
him peering from under it with a white, fierce face, which reminded me
of a savage creature at bay.
'Hallo!' I said. 'Why did you not speak before, man?'
'Get me some water,' he whispered painfully. 'Water, for the love of
Heaven!'
I told him that I had no flask or bottle, or I should before this have
fetched some for others'. He gave me his, and I was starting off when
I remembered that he might know how the Waldgrave had fared. I asked
him.
'He led the pursuit,' he muttered. 'He is all right.' Then, as I was
again turning away, he clutched my arm and continued, 'Have you a
pistol?'
'Yes,' I said.
'Lend it to me until you come back,' he gasped. 'If these vultures
find me they will finish me. I know them. That is better. I shall win
through yet.'
I marked where his waggon stood, and left him. The river was distant
less than a quarter of a mile, but it lay low, and the banks were
steep; and in the darkness it was not easy to find a way down to the
water. Succeeding at last--and how still and peaceful it seemed as I
bent over the gently flowing surface and heard the plash and gurgle of
the willows in the stream!--I filled my bottle and climbed back to
the plain level. Here I found a change in progress. At intervals up
and down the valley great fires had been kindled. Some of these,
burning high already, lit up the wrecked convoy and the dark groups
that moved round it, and even threw a red, uncertain glare far up the
slopes of the hills. Aided by the light, I hastened back, and finding
Ludwig without much difficulty, held the bottle to his lips. He seemed
nearly gone, but the draught revived him marvellously.
When he had drunk I asked him if I could do anything else for him. He
looked already more like himself.
'Yes,' he said, propping his back against the wheel and speaking with
his usual hardihood. 'Tell our little general where I am. That is all.
I shall do now we have light. I am not afraid of these skulkers any
longer. But here, friend Martin. You asked about your Waldgrave just
now?'
'Yes,' I said. 'Has he returned?'
'He never went,' he replied coolly. 'But if I had told you when you
first asked me, you would not have gone for water for me. He is down.
He fell, as nearly as I can remember, on the farther side of the
second fire from here.'
With a curse I ran from him, raging, and searched round that fire and
the next, like one beside himself. Many of the dead lay stripped to
the skin, so that it was necessary to examine faces. And this ghastly
task, performed with trembling fingers and by an uncertain light, took
a long time. There were men prowling about with knives and bundles,
whom I more than once interrupted in their work; but the sight of my
pistol, and my face--for I was full of fierce loathing and would have
shot them like rats--drove them off wherever I came. Not once but many
times the wounded and dying begged me to stay by them and protect
them; but my water was at an end and my time was not my own. I left
them, and ran from place to place in a fever of dread, which allowed
of no rest or relaxation. At last, when I had well-nigh given up hope,
I found him lying half-stripped among a heap of dead and wounded, at
the farthest corner of the barricade.
All his finery was gone, and his handsome face and fair hair were
stained and bedabbled with dust and blood. But he was not dead. I
could feel his heart beating faintly in his breast; and though he lay
senseless and showed no other signs of life, I was thankful to find
hope remained. I bore him out tenderly, and laid him down by himself
and moistened his lips with the drainings of my flask. But what next?
I could not leave him; the plunderers who had already robbed him might
return at any moment. And yet, without cordials, and coverings, and
many things I had not, the feeble spark of life left in him must go
out. I stood up and looked round in despair. A lurid glare, a pitiful
wailing, a passing of dark figures filled the valley. A hundred round
us needed help; a hundred were beyond help. There were none to give
it.
I was about to raise him in my arms and carry him in search of
it--though I feared the effect of the motion on his wounds--when, to
my joy and relief, the measured tramp of footsteps broke on my ears,
and I distinguished with delight a party of men approaching with
torches. A few mounted officers followed them, and two waggons creaked
slowly behind. They were collecting the wounded.
I ran to meet them. 'Quick!' I cried breathlessly. 'This way!'
'Not so fast!' a harsh voice interposed; and, looking up, I saw that
the general himself was directing the party. 'Not so fast, my friend,'
he repeated. 'Who is it?' and leaning forward in his saddle, he looked
down at me.
'The Waldgrave Rupert,' I answered impatiently. 'He is hurt almost to
death. But he is alive, and may live, your excellency. Only direct
them to come quickly.'
Sitting on his horse in the full glare of the torches, he gazed down
at me, his face wearing a strange expression of hesitation. 'He is
alive?' he said at last.
'Yes, at present. But he will soon be dead if we do not go to him,' I
retorted. 'This way! He lies yonder.'
'Lead on!' the general said.
I obeyed, and a moment brought our party to the spot, where the
Waldgrave still lay insensible, his face pale and drawn, his eyes half
open and disclosing the whites. Under the glare of the torches he
looked so like a corpse and so far beyond aid, that it was not until I
had again thrust my hand into his breast, and felt the movement of his
heart that I was reassured.
As for the general, after looking down at him for awhile, he said
quietly, 'He is dead.'
'Not so, your excellency,' I answered, rising briskly from my knees.
'He is stunned. That is all.'
'He is dead,' the general replied coldly. 'Leave him. We must help
those first who need help.'
They were actually turning away. They had moved a couple of paces
before I could believe it. Then I sprang to the general's rein.
'You mistake, your excellency!' I cried, my voice shrill with
excitement. 'In Heaven's name, stop! He is alive! I can feel his
breathing. I swear that he is alive!' I was trembling with emotion and
terror.
'He is dead!' he said harshly. 'Stand back!'
Then I understood. In a flash his wicked purpose lay bared before me,
and I knew that he was playing with me; I read in the cold, derisive
menace of his eye that he knew the Waldgrave lived, that he knew he
might live, might survive, might see the dawn, and that he was
resolved that he should not. The perspiration sprang out on my brow. I
choked with indignation.
'Mein Gott!' I cried breathless, 'and but for him you would have been
beaten.'
'Stand back!' he muttered through his closed teeth; and his eyes
flickered with rage. 'Are you tired of your life, man?'
'Ay, if you live!' I roared; and I shook his rein so that his horse
reared and almost unseated him. But still I clung to it. 'Come back!
Come back!' I cried, mad with passion, wild with indignation at
treachery so vile, so cold-blooded, 'or I will heave you from your
horse, you villain! I will----'
I stumbled as I spoke over a broken shaft of a waggon, and in a moment
half a dozen strong arms closed round me. I was down and up again and
again down. I fought savagely, passionately, at the last desperately,
having that cold, sneering face before me, and knowing that it was for
my life. But they were many to one. They crushed me down and knelt on
me, and presently I lay panting and quiet. One of the men who held me
had unsheathed his dagger and stood looking to the general for a
signal. I closed my eyes expecting the blow, and involuntarily drew in
my breast, as if that poor effort might avert the stroke.
But the general did not give the signal. He sat gazing down at me with
a ruthless smile on his face. 'Tie him up,' he said slowly, when he
had enjoyed his triumph to the full. 'Tie him up tightly. When we get
back to the camp we will have a shooting-match, and he shall find us
sport. You knave!' he continued, riding up to me in a paroxysm of
anger, and slashing me across the face with his riding-whip so cruelly
that the flesh rose in great wheals, and I fell back into the men's
arms blind and shuddering with pain, 'I have had my eye on you! But
you will work me no more mischief. Throw him into the waggon there,'
he continued. 'Tie up his mouth if he makes a noise. Has any one seen
Ludwig?'