LANGENSALZA.
At about five in the morning the king withdrew to the quiet Pfarrhaus
on the hill at Thamsbrueck, and retired to rest. From the dispositions
made by the general staff a delay of several days was expected, with
probably some defensive fighting, whilst tidings were awaited of a more
certain nature from the Bavarians.
Beneath a large and ancient linden-tree in front of the pastor's house
the king's suite were assembled, discussing an extremely simple but
much-relished breakfast.
A large table covered with a white cloth bore a coffee service of
blue and white pottery, such as is traditional in all primitive old
country-houses in North Germany, and the perfume which arose from the
large pot standing on an ancient-looking chafing-dish was certainly not
from Mocha.
A ham, a few sausages, a large black loaf, and a small piece of butter
completed the provisions, over which Count Erhardt Wedel presided with
the strictest impartiality.
The whole party did honour to the breakfast, with appetites rarely seen
at the chamberlain's table at Herrenhausen.
"There seems to be an immense proportion of water in this beverage,"
said General von Brandis, gazing with curiosity at the brown fluid in
his blue cup.
"If the coffee has too much water, it makes up for the dryness of the
sausage," remarked Count Ingelheim, as he attempted to cut a slice with
his pocket-knife, but the stony nature of the sausage successfully
resisted all his efforts.
"At least the drink is warm," said Count Platen, as pale and shivering
he sipped the smoking coffee.
"I don't know that warm water is much better than cold," grumbled
General Brandis, without making up his mind to put his cup to his lips.
"It has its merits as an outward application, but to drink it without a
prudent admixture of some stimulating body is unpleasant, especially so
early in the morning."
"Your excellency shares the prejudices of the ancient legions against
water," said Count Wedel, laughing. "They used to say, as water was so
unpleasant when it got into their boots, how much more disagreeable it
would be if it got into their stomachs!"
"Wellington's veterans lived before the discovery of hydropathy," said
little Herr Lex, as he busied himself in overcoming a large piece of
ham.
"They were right!" cried General Brandis, with comic gravity. "Fire was
their element," he added, setting his cup down untasted upon the table;
"they did not carry on war with sugared water, as seems the present
fashion."
"Perhaps I can offer your excellency a better drink for this chilly
morning," said Prince Hermann Solms, drawing out a field flask covered
with plaited straw. "I have a little excellent cognac left."
"You are a help in need, my dear prince," cried the old gentleman,
smiling. "I will repay you some day!"
The prince, hastening into the house, came back with a kettle full of
hot water, and he soon mixed the old general a glass of grog, with such
a homoeopathic allowance of water that his cheerfulness quite returned.
A loud hurrah resounded from the stable-like buildings at one side of
the house, and the Crown Prince Ernest Augustus hurried from them and
joined the breakfast party.
He carried his handkerchief carefully tied together in one hand, and
his cap in the other.
"Guess what I have here, gentlemen!" he cried, raising both hands above
his head. "Fresh eggs--just laid. Is it not a glorious find?" And he
emptied the cap and the handkerchief upon the table. "Now, shall we
boil them, or shall we make an omelette?"
"Why any preparation?" said General Brandis, seizing an egg,
decapitating it with his sword, and hastily drinking the contents. "It
is easy to see that the present generation are unaccustomed to the
rigours of war."
Count Ingelheim followed his example.
"It would be great fun, though, to make an omelette!" cried the crown
prince, holding his hands over the rest of his spoil.
"Alas! we have plenty of time," murmured General Brandis.
"Listen!" cried Meding, springing to his feet.
"A cannon shot," said Count Ingelheim, putting his hand to his car.
"Impossible!" remarked the adjutant-general; "where should it come
from? The general staff does not expect an attack."
A short, heavy, distant sound was heard.
"Those are certainly guns!" cried Count Wedel.
"I think they are beginning to growl," said General Brandis, rising and
drinking off the rest of his grog with a look of satisfaction. "It
would be as well to mount!"
"Shall his majesty be awakened?" asked Count Wedel.
"It will be time enough to call him if anything serious really
appears," said Colonel Dammers. "I will go up to the top of the house,
from whence one can overlook the whole plain."
He entered the house; Prince Hermann followed him, and the others
listened anxiously to the sound of firing, which grew louder and more
distinct every moment.
"After all, an omelette would be too much trouble," said the crown
prince, putting his eggs into the kettle, the contents of which had not
been much diminished by the general's grog. He placed it on the
chafing-dish and blew the charcoal, listening attentively for the water
to boil.
After a short time Colonel Dammers returned.
"Some strong columns are visible on the distant horizon; I can see
their arms glittering through the dust!" he cried. "His majesty must be
called."
Count Wedel hurried into the house.
Signals were heard from the plain. A general march was beginning in
various parts of the camp.
George V. came out of the Pfarrhaus. They all approached the king.
"Your majesty," cried General Brandis, "I hear with joy the well-known
voice of cannon; it makes my old heart young again."
The king's face expressed high courage and calm determination. He held
out his hand to the general.
"I hear this voice in earnest for the first time," he said; "but, my
dear general, my heart, too, beats higher at the sound. Now
negotiations are impossible. God be with us!"
He folded his hands and raised his head silently to heaven. All those
around him involuntarily followed his example.
The sound of horse's hoofs was heard. An officer of the garde du corps,
springing from the saddle, informed the king, from the general in
command, that the enemy were drawing up in strong columns upon the road
from Gotha, and that the general begged his majesty to leave Thamsbrueck
immediately, and to go to the hills behind Merxleben.
Count Wedel hurried away; the horses were saddled and the carriages
prepared.
"General von Arentschildt further begs your majesty's commands and
instructions as to the capitulation which may be needful during the
action," said the aide-de-camp.
General Brandis bit his moustache. Count Ingelheim stamped upon the
ground.
"What does he mean?" asked the king quietly.
"The general staff," continued the officer, "has represented to the
general that the troops are so worn out and badly fed that they may be
unable to endure the fatigue of battle; he therefore begs permission to
capitulate should he deem it needful. He has drawn up an instruction on
this point, and he begs your majesty to send it back to him signed." He
handed the king a paper.
The king had closed his teeth firmly, and he drew his breath with a
sharp, almost hissing sound.
Without the slightest movement of haste or anger he took the paper and
tore it through.
"Ride back to General Arentschildt," he said in a calm ringing voice,
"and tell him my commands, to resist to the last man!"
The officer's face brightened. With a military salute he turned sharply
round, sprang into the saddle, and galloped off.
"And now forwards! gentlemen," cried the king.
"Father, have a new-laid egg!" And the crown prince, hurrying up,
offered the king a plate, on which was a specimen of his cooking.
"Eat it, your majesty," said General Brandis; "there is no saying when
or where you may get anything else." And he handed the king an egg,
after breaking the shell with the hilt of his sword.
The king ate it and turned to the horses.
They mounted and set out; dragoons preceded them and acted as a guard;
the carriages and the led horses followed.
As the king rode out of the village of Thamsbrueck, the artillery duel
had already fully commenced.
From the hill above they saw the lines of the enemy's skirmishers
before the town of Langensalza. The enemy's batteries were on the
farther side of the Unstrut, and kept up an energetic fire, to which
the Hanoverian artillery replied from the opposite bank. The infantry
were engaged before the town, and the Hanoverian cavalry were seen on
one side slowly withdrawing.
"Where shall we ride?" asked the king.
"To a hill behind Merxleben, from whence we can overlook the whole
battle-field, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general.
"We are going away from the thunder of the cannon!" said the king.
"There is a turn in the road to the left," replied Colonel Dammers.
"Then we must ride to the right to keep near the fighting," said the
king calmly, turning his head in the direction whence came the sound of
firing. "Schweppe," he said to the major of guard cuirassiers who held
his leading rein, "I command you to ride in that direction."
"There is no road, your majesty," he replied.
"Then we will ride through the fields." And the royal procession moved
on, in the direction the king had indicated.
The sound of the cannon was heard nearer and nearer, mingled with the
rattle of small arms.
The king and his suite rode to an eminence where the plain was bounded
by a chain of hills; the party being rendered conspicuous to both sides
from the dragoons, and the brilliant uniforms of the suite.
A few balls flew over their heads and the horses began to be uneasy.
Suddenly the enemy's artillery appeared to choose the king's party as
their mark, and shells flew thicker and thicker over them, striking the
ground now before them, now behind them.
The adjutant-general sprang to the king's side.
"Your majesty!" he cried, "we are under a heavy fire, I conjure your
majesty--"
Count Platen and General von Brandis also implored the king to withdraw
from such imminent peril.
The king reined in his horse.
The whole escort stood still.
"Can my troops see me here?" asked George V.
"Certainly, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general, "your
majesty's position is visible from the whole of the plain."
"Good," said the king, simply. And he quietly remained on the spot.
The shells flew hissing through the air, the bullets of the small arms
whistled through the valley, and the frightened horses throwing up
their heads snorted and trembled; the blind king, the Guelphic prince,
who was ready to give his life for what his proud heart told him was
the right, halted upon the brow of the hill, motionless as a marble
statue, that his soldiers might see him.
With a maddening hurrah the Hanoverian columns greeted the king as they
marched past him, and sank their waving banners low before their royal
master, who returned their greeting calmly and quietly each time it was
announced to him.
"If we stand here much longer," said Count Ingelheim to General
Brandis, "a ball will sooner or later solve the Hanoverian question in
a very simple manner."
"Yes, indeed!" replied Count Platen, looking at a shell that had fallen
unpleasantly near the king, "they are improving in their practice; but
if we venture to tell him so we shall have to stay here all the
longer."
"Your majesty," said General Brandis, riding up to the king, "there is
a turn in the fighting, and I think your majesty would be more visible
upon the hill which was first selected for your position."
"Are you quite sure, Brandis?" said the king.
"I am sure your majesty would be in a better position there," replied
the general.
"Let us go then!" cried the king, touching his horse with the spur; it
bounded forwards so rapidly that Major Schweppe had some difficulty in
holding the guiding rein.
Their rapid pace soon brought them to the hill, near which the reserve
cavalry were placed.
The king rode on to the highest point. His suite surrounded him, some
dismounted, and followed the movements of the troops with field-glasses
and telescopes.
The carriages were drawn up in a large semicircle.
The king stood motionless. Not a feature of his pale, noble face
changed. The adjutant-general informed him of the course of the
fighting as far as it could be made out, the gentlemen of the suite
sometimes expressed by loud shouts the result of their observations,
but generally they imparted to each other in low tones their hopes and
fears.
Whilst this was going on at head-quarters, the Duke of Cambridge's
dragoon regiment had been employed since the early morning in outpost
duty near the village of Hemingsleben, on the road leading from
Langensalza to Gotha.
Before the village was the toll-house with its black and white bar
raised, and beside it stood the most advanced outpost.
Lieutenant von Stolzenberg commanded the outpost, and with him was his
somewhat younger comrade Lieutenant von Wendenstein.
The morning sun shone brightly, and the two young officers stood near
their horses, gazing over the plain, which spread far around them, and
which was crossed by the grey band of the high road. Some straw lay on
the ground, but none of the provisions appeared which, on the evening
of their march into Goettingen, the young men had obtained for their
supper.
With a weary, half-sleepy look, Wendenstein drew out his pocket flask,
took a good drink and handed it to his companion. Then taking a piece
of black bread from his pocket, and breaking it up, he slowly swallowed
one morsel after another.
"Do you know, Stolzenberg," he said, with a slight shiver, "this sort
of warfare in the chill of dawn makes one feel far from courageous. We
did not think of such campaigning as this when we started."
He gave his horse a piece of bread moistened with brandy.
"No, indeed!" said Stolzenberg with a sigh, as he took a sip from the
flask. "But where the devil did you get that horrid liquor from?"
"I found it at the inn in the village. What can you do? When your
cognac is at an end, you must put up with potato spirit. It is a shame
that we have nothing to eat and drink; there is plenty, but the
provision column never comes up, and when one has a hope of getting
something, the alarm is given; it is 'forwards!' again."
"Forwards!" cried Stolzenberg, "I think we have not been going forwards
for long enough. And the beautiful flocks of sheep we saw on both sides
of the roads, and which we dare not touch for our lives! Donnerwetter!"
he cried, stamping his foot; "to be in an enemy's country and not to be
allowed to requisition the necessaries of life is too much!"
"Don't you know," said Wendenstein, laughing, "that the general staff
has so much to do in getting out of the enemy's way, that it has no
time to remember that people must eat; and besides, it would really be
difficult for the provision columns to follow our very eccentric
march!"
"I cannot imagine how the king is satisfied with such a method of
conducting a campaign," said Stolzenberg; "he wishes to go forwards,
and these changes hither and thither do not accord with his character."
"Our poor king!" said Wendenstein, sighing; "what can he do? If indeed
he could see--but as it is! It is really wonderful that he should go
through the fatigue of the campaign with us."
"What is that?" exclaimed Stolzenberg, raising his glass to his eyes,
and looking attentively across the plain. "Look over there,
Wendenstein, just behind the bend in the road. Do you not see a long
cloud of dust?"
Wendenstein looked through his glass in the direction pointed out.
"I see bayonets glittering through the dust!" he cried, energetically;
"Stolzenberg, old man, I believe it is the enemy!"
"I believe it is!" he replied, still gazing at the distant cloud
of dust. "There is no doubt of it! A column of infantry, and
there!--artillery, too! Wendenstein, ride back at once, and say a
column of infantry and artillery are advancing on the road from Gotha!"
"Hurrah!" cried Wendenstein, as he sprang into the saddle and galloped
back to the village.
Stolzenberg and his dragoons were in the saddle in a moment. Drawn up
in order upon the road, they looked anxiously over the plain. The cloud
of dust slowly grew nearer, and they could see more plainly the bright
flashing of the bayonets.
After a short time horsemen from the village joined the outpost. The
colonel in command of the regiment, Count Kielmansegge, came,
accompanied by his staff with Lieutenant von Wendenstein.
"Look there, sir!" cried Stolzenberg, and pointed to the enemy's
approaching columns.
The colonel looked earnestly for a moment through his glass.
"It is certainly the enemy!" he cried, "and see! there is a battery
being posted upon yonder hill. All outposts to fall back on their
squadrons!" cried he to his staff, who galloped off immediately.
Stolzenberg recalled his vedettes.
"And what will the regiment do, if I may be allowed to ask?" he said,
turning to his colonel.
"Slowly retire, whilst skirmishing with the enemy, such is the order,"
he replied, sighing and shrugging his shoulders; and he hastened back
to the village to which the other outposts had already withdrawn.
"Retire, always retire!" cried Wendenstein, passionately. "Well! some
time or other they will reckon on these tactics without the troops!"
There was a sudden flash from the hill, followed by an explosion, and a
cannon ball splintered the bar of the toll-house on the high road.
"The overture begins!" cried Stolzenberg; and with his few men he
trotted quickly back to the village.
This was the shot they heard at head-quarters in Thamsbrueck.
The regiment withdrew, constantly skirmishing with the enemy, and fell
back slowly upon Langensalza.
In the meantime the town was abandoned, the order of the general in
command ran, "that the army whilst fighting should retreat."
At Langensalza the dragoons fell in with the infantry of the Knesebeck
Brigade, which had received orders to retire behind the Unstrut. The
troops obeyed this order with gnashing of teeth, and gave up one
position after the other, for the enemy forthwith to seize upon; the
enemy's riflemen harassed them, and the artillery advancing along the
heights opened a nearer and more murderous fire.
The dragoons crossed the bridge over the Unstrut, and made a stand
before the village of Merxleben, on the slope of the Kirchberg hill,
from whose summit a Hanoverian battery maintained a fire, which, though
less rapid than the Prussian, was so well directed that it did great
execution in the hostile ranks.
To the right of the dragoons, General Knesebeck's brigade was massed,
he having followed the command he had received to retire. On the other
side of the Unstrut stood a mill, upon a small stream called the
Salzabach; immediately after the retreat of the Hanoverians it was
occupied by the Prussians, and from it they kept up a heavy fire.
Two battalions of the guards marched past the dragoons. At the head of
the first rode Lieutenant-Colonel von Landesberg; the second was led by
Colonel von Alten.
The battalions had crossed the Unstrut, and were following the order
received to retire to the brigade stationed on the hill.
Colonel von Landesberg rode thoughtfully in front of his battalion, the
grenadiers followed him in solemn silence.
The battalion had the Unstrut on the left, and had just reached a spot
where it was forced to turn to the right, to take up the prescribed
position.
At this place the banks of the river are very low, and it is so shallow
that it is easy to cross it.
A level terrace surrounds the hill, upon the slope of which lies the
village of Merxleben. The enemy's most advanced chain of skirmishers
was approaching the opposite bank of the river.
Colonel von Landesberg gave a searching look at the situation.
"If this spot remains undefended," he said to his adjutant, "the enemy
will penetrate our position, and divide our forces."
"So it seems to me, colonel," replied the adjutant. "I cannot see why
it is to be abandoned,--however, the general staff--"
The colonel gnawed his moustache.
"It is impossible to give up this position to the enemy," he said, half
to himself.
His eyes flashed, and he pulled in his horse suddenly.
"Battalion, halt!" he shouted.
The command was repeated along the ranks; the battalion halted. With
excited faces the grenadiers awaited further orders from their leader.
"Right about turn!" he cried.
A thundering shout of joy broke as from one mouth along the ranks, and
in an instant the grenadiers had fronted.
The enemy's sharpshooters appeared on the other side of the river.
"Skirmishers, forward!" cried Colonel von Landesberg.
The lines opened out with exemplary precision, and in a short time the
Hanoverian skirmishers were close to the river, received by the fire of
the enemy.
Several grenadiers fell; but the firing from the Hanoverian lines was
so certain and regular, that the most advanced of the enemy's
sharpshooters soon sought cover, and replied but feebly.
The second battalion of guards had come up in the meantime. Colonel von
Alten galloped up to Colonel von Landesberg, who had ridden down to the
river, and was in the midst of his men.
"What is going on here?" asked Alten; "is the plan for the day
changed?"
"You see this spot," said Colonel von Landesberg,--"it must not be
taken, and I mean to hold it."
"Have you received an order?" asked Colonel von Alten.
"I do not want an order, for I see that the fate of the day and of the
army depends on its being kept," cried Landesberg. "Fire!"
The report of fire-arms rolled along the line.
Colonel von Alten gave a scrutinizing look around, then he rode back to
his battalion, which was about a hundred paces off.
"Right about turn!" he cried.
The battalion replied, like the first, with an echoing "Hurrah!" A few
moments afterwards his sharpshooters were drawn up along the bank of
the Unstrut, and the advancing enemy found itself opposed by a steady
fire.
Although the grenadiers fell, the lines filled up silently and
regularly, and not an inch of ground was yielded. Colonel von
Landesberg placed himself in the front ranks, cool and calm as if on
parade.
The battalions of the enemy which had advanced to the river halted. An
uneasy movement appeared amongst them. An aide-de-camp galloped up.
"Colonel," he cried, "the general expects you in the prescribed
position!"
"Tell him I am engaged by the enemy!" replied von Landesberg curtly.
The aide-de-camp glanced at what was going on, saluted, turned his
horse, and galloped back without a word.
The enemy's fire grew weaker. After a short time, bugle calls were
heard on the opposite bank, and the enemy was withdrawn out of reach of
fire. Colonel von Landesberg put up his sword. "So," said he, "the
first thing is done; do you think the river is fordable?"
"Certainly!" replied the adjutant, riding down close to it; "I can see
the bottom almost everywhere."
"We can swim if needful," said Landesberg, calmly. "They shall rest ten
minutes, then I will go first."
Colonel de Vaux's brigade stood at some little distance, close to the
village of Merxleben; the Cambridge dragoons were halted near the banks
of the Unstrut. The officers looked anxiously at the movements of the
troops, who were retiring on the two wings, the centre keeping up an
energetic artillery fire.
"We have crossed the Unstrut," exclaimed von Wendenstein; "it is really
scandalous--where will this retreat end? We shall go back and back,
until we march into the jaws of the enemy coming down upon us from the
north, and then--"
"Then at last we shall capitulate," said von Stolzenberg, bitterly;
"this kind of war can have no other end."
Lieutenant-Colonel Kielmansegge trotted quickly up to the troop in
which the young officers rode.
"Look there, gentlemen," he cried, and pointed to the river bank at
some distance along the plain. "What is that?--active firing is going
on there."
"They are exchanging shots as they retreat--the Knesebeck Brigade it
must be," said von Wendenstein.
"We shall soon have the enemy on our flank," said Stolzenberg; and both
the officers took their glasses and looked in the direction in which
Count Kielmansegge was still gazing attentively.
"It is the guards," said von Stolzenberg, "and actually they are not
retreating, they have made a stand on the bank!"
"The enemy's sharpshooters are retreating!" exclaimed Wendenstein
joyfully.
"They halt," said Count Kielmansegge, still looking through his
glass,--"our battalions form,--they are going down to the river--into
it--hurrah!" he cried, "they are advancing to the attack."
"And we are standing still here," cried von Wendenstein, whilst he drew
his sword half out of the scabbard, and put it back with a clang.
At this moment Colonel de Vaux galloped up with the brigade staff.
"The guards are crossing the Unstrut," cried Count Kielmansegge, as
they came up.
"So I see!" exclaimed Colonel de Vaux, "and devil take me if I stand
still here; now the die must be cast. It is bad enough that we shall
have to retake all the positions we have so quietly abandoned to the
enemy! What regiments are close here?" he enquired of his adjutant.
"The first battalion of the second regiment, and the first Jaeger
battalion," he replied.
"Bring them here at once."
The adjutant galloped to the columns close by, and led them at quick
march up to the colonel.
He dismounted and placed himself at their head.
"And what shall I do?" asked Count Kielmansegge.
"Ride down by the river," replied de Vaux, "cross where you can, and
act according to circumstances; if possible fall on the right flank of
the enemy, and silence that hostile battery."
"At your command, colonel!" cried Kielmansegge. In a few moments the
regiments formed and rode at a sharp trot along the river.
From the place where the two battalions of guards had crossed the
stream, a heavy fire had commenced. The first battalion under the
gallant Landesberg advanced slowly in a straight line upon Langensalza,
the second battalion turned to the left towards the mill which formed
the central point of the enemy's position, and which was in a diagonal
line from Colonel de Vaux.
"Now is the time!" he cried, and commanding his adjutant to give the
order to advance, he at the same time ordered the assault to be
sounded.
Before him lay an even plain without any cover for about five hundred
yards, part of it being thickly planted with rape. The whole of this
plain was exposed to the fire of the enemy's lines, and of the
artillery from the hill behind.
The drums beat, the colonel raised his sword, and in as perfect order
as on the parade ground the battalions marched across the dangerous
plain.
The enemy's fire tore great gaps in the ranks, for the soldiers could
not advance quickly on account of the rape, but they were quietly
filled up; and in a short time the battalion gained the bank of the
river, and in its turn opened a murderous fire upon the enemy, who
withdrew his skirmishers, and concentrated his whole force around the
mill.
The whole army saw the guards cross the Unstrut and the bold advance of
Colonel de Vaux, and a general offensive movement commenced.
No officer would wait for orders. With a loud "Hurrah!" the troops
broke from their positions, and advanced to the points where they might
most quickly meet the enemy, and where they thought they could take the
most active part in the fighting.
The infantry crossed the Unstrut at all points, sometimes even by
swimming, and pressed on towards the enemy's positions. The batteries
which had already retired, advanced and supported the attack by an
incessant fire, and the cavalry crossed the river wherever it was
possible, and advanced to the scene of combat.
The enemy were concentrated in force around the mill already mentioned,
which formed the key of the central position of the Prussian army. It
was surrounded by a deep moat.
Against this mill the guards advanced; two bridges over the river were
before them, closed by barricades and strongly defended.
A company advanced without halting from the hill, led by their captain;
they took the bridge by storm, and from this side also pressed on
towards the mill; single lieutenants led small detachments everywhere,
wading or swimming across the river, and advanced on every side to
storm the enemy's strong position.
By this time desperate fighting was going on before the mill. Companies
of different regiments, sometimes in small detachments, united to storm
the buildings.
Three times Lieutenants Koering, Leue, and Schneider with exemplary
courage led a storming party, Lieutenant Leue falling riddled with
bullets, at the head of his detachment. Their numbers were too small,
the moat around the mill was too deep, the fire too overwhelming.
Just then Colonel Dammers appeared to inspect the state of the battle
and to report the news to the king. Prince Herman Solms rode beside
him, for the young prince, devoured with impatience, had obtained
permission to accompany the colonel.
The sadly diminished ranks were just closing, again to attempt the
storming of the mill.
A Prussian battery had been brought forward and the shells suddenly
fell amongst the storming party, whilst a fresh and tremendous fire
from the needle-guns opened upon them from the mill.
They hesitated under this murderous hail of balls.
The prince touched his horse with the spur, and bounded between the
storming party and the mill.
"They are not so bad as they look!" he cried cheerfully, turning to the
soldiers; and reining in his horse, he took off his cap and jokingly
saluted a shell which flew over his head and buried itself in the
ground.
"Hurrah!" cried the soldiers, and again rushed to the attack, led on by
their brave lieutenants.
At this moment two companies advanced from the bridges, and immediately
behind them Colonel Floekher's battalion, and at the same time guns
opened behind the storming party from the hill of Merxleben, and a
heavy fire from a hastily advanced Hanoverian battery fell on the mill,
splintering the roof and shattering the walls.
The gallant defenders of the building evidently about to become a heap
of ruins, broke through on the other side, and retreated in strong
parties along the high road. But they were checked by the second
battalion of guards, which had now come up, and which opened a
murderous fire upon their flank, whilst two squadrons of hussars who
had burst over the bridges galloped down upon them with upraised
swords.
Some of the fugitives fled over the fields, and were fortunate enough
to gain the reserve Prussian division; the hindmost returned to the
ruined building, and a white handkerchief soon waved from one of the
windows.
The firing ceased immediately. Colonel Floekher rode up to the battered
door, which was quickly opened, and the last of the brave defenders,
about a hundred men, laid down their arms.
The courtyard was full of dead and wounded, and just outside lay the
Hanoverian soldiers who had fallen. The ruin looked ghastly with its
shattered windows and broken walls in the bright sunshine, a picture of
destruction, horror, and death.
The adjutant-general rode up to Prince Herman.
"I compliment you, prince," he said: "you received your baptism of fire
gloriously, but you exposed yourself uselessly. What should I have said
to the king if any misfortune had befallen you?"
"What could I do?" said the prince, laughing, and plucking at the down
on his upper lip; "the king has ordered me to head-quarters: ought I to
let them say I am afraid of fire?"
"They would not have said that," said the colonel, looking kindly at
the almost boyish face.
"It is better that they cannot say it!" cried the prince, and galloped
off with the adjutant-general.
A retreat on the part of the enemy was decided upon from this moment.
Slowly and in perfect order, under a continuous fire, the Prussian
troops formed in squares, and retired in the direction of Gotha covered
by their batteries, which kept up a constant fire upon the advancing
Hanoverians.
At last General Arentschildt had ordered a general attack, but this
command only affected a few of the troops, and was indeed superfluous,
for the attack had commenced, and no order would have prevented it.
Whilst the centre of the Prussian position was pierced, Count
Kielmansegge with his dragoons had ridden along the side of the
Unstrut, endeavouring to find a ford. But he could not discover one,
the banks of the river in this part being very steep and overgrown with
bushes. They were obliged to ride down stream to the village of
Nagelstedt, where at last they found a bridge, over which they crossed
into an open field on the other side.
The dragoons hurried at a sharp trot closer and closer to the sound of
the guns; already the enemy was driven back, and the battle had surged
to the south of Langensalza.
A gentle eminence rose before the dragoons, the regiment rode up it,
and found itself opposite the enemy's exposed flank. Two Prussian
squares were slowly retreating, still keeping up a constant fire, and
on a hill near the dragoons was a Prussian battery, which sent its
shell into the centre of the advancing Hanoverians. The dragoons were
alone; between them and the Hanoverian army were the Prussian
battalions.
"The time has come at last!" said Wendenstein, who was with the troop
of which Stolzenberg was first lieutenant. "Thank God! we have
something to do. At such a moment it is better to be in love," he
added, as he tried whether his sword was firm in his hand; "you see I
know what to think of, and--"
"There, again it spoke," said Stolzenberg, shuddering slightly;
"farewell, old fellow, if we do not meet again."
"Madness!" cried von Wendenstein, "but look out, we are to charge."
The command was given that the fourth squadron should take the enemy's
battery, and that the second and third should attack the Prussian
squares.
The two squadrons slowly advanced towards the distant squares, who
stood still to receive them, whilst Rittmeister von Einem at the head
of his dragoons galloped up the hill on which stood the battery.
The guns were turned upon the attacking dragoons, a storm of shell
received the squadron. The horsemen fell in numbers, down went both the
trumpeters, but unchecked, the squadron galloped onwards, the
Rittmeister far before them waving high his sword.
Quicker and quicker grew the pace, the battery was almost reached, when
once again the guns opened fire, and sent their case-shot into the very
midst of the gallant riders.
The Rittmeister escaped as by a miracle. He was the first to spring
between the hostile cannon, and he smote down a gunner with a mighty
cut from his sword; the dragoons followed him through the heavy fire of
the infantry support to the battery.
A bullet hit the Rittmeister's horse, which fell, rolling over upon
him. He quickly disengaged himself from the quivering animal, and his
sword flow round swift as lightning to defend himself from the
threatening bayonets of the infantry. The dragoons were now engaged in
a fierce hand-to-hand fight.
"Forwards! forwards!" cried the Rittmeister, as with his sword he
parried a bayonet thrust against his breast; but a shot fired close to
him struck him, his arm sank down, and whilst with his left hand he
seized the wheel of the cannon he had taken, to support himself,
several of the enemy's bayonets were plunged deep into his breast.
His strength failed, and he fell upon a heap of slain; his hand
clenched in death, held fast the wheel of the conquered gun. The
dragoons pressed forwards over him, and soon the last defenders of the
battery fled over the field.
The battery was silenced, but the greater number of the dragoons lay
around their fallen leader.
This attack had been watched with the greatest interest by the two
squadrons as they advanced slowly towards the Prussian squares, and as
the defenders of the battery fled, loud cheers burst forth.
When the two squadrons had come near enough to the squares to charge,
suddenly from behind the hill on which the battery stood, galloped the
garde du corps, followed by the cuirassier guards. The garde du corps
dashed against the square next them. Two volleys, discharged when they
were close to the enemy, did not check them, but the brave square stood
unbroken, and the squadron of garde du corps retired from the enemy's
fire, preparing to charge afresh.
The commander of the second square nearest to the dragoons came forward
and waved a handkerchief. Major von Hammerstein, with his adjutant and
a trumpeter, advanced to meet him.
"My soldiers are ready to sink from exhaustion," said the Prussian
staff-officer; "I am willing to surrender."
"I must then beg for your sword, my comrade," replied Major von
Hammerstein, "and that you will lay down your arms."
"I agree to the last," said the Prussian officer; "to give up my sword
is too hard a condition. But," he cried, "here come the cuirassiers."
And indeed the cuirassiers, who had followed the garde du corps, and
passing by the first square had formed to charge, were galloping down
upon them.
"Ride to the cuirassiers and stop them!" cried Major von Hammerstein to
his adjutant.
He galloped off to meet the charging regiment, but their rapid movement
and the noise around prevented him from making himself heard. They
rushed onwards.
"Too late!" cried the Prussian commander. "Stand to your arms! Fire!"
he cried, as he returned to the square, and a tremendous volley mowed
down the cuirassiers just as they approached. The foremost ranks fell,
and the direction of the charge being somewhat oblique, the shock came
on the flank of the square, and it remained unbroken.
Major von Hammerstein had ridden back, and "Charge! charge!" resounded
down the ranks of the dragoons.
The two squadrons charged the square at a gallop.
They were received by a frightful fire. The major fell, just in front
of the foe, but Lieutenant von Stolzenberg urged on his horse, reined
him in for a moment when close to the lowered bayonets of the enemy,
drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, so that he reared upright, and
then, with one mighty leap, bore his young master, as he raised his
sword and gave a ringing cheer, right into the hostile square, where,
like his rider, he fell, pierced through with bayonets.
But his fall tore a large opening in the ranks, and the squadron
pressed in after them.
"Well done, old fellow!" cried Wendenstein, and at the same moment he
fell beside his comrade, and the dragoons rushed over him.
The square was broken, and those who yet survived fled madly across the
field.
But when the dragoon squadrons reassembled, not one officer was left,
and one-third of the men were wanting.
The cuirassiers had rallied meanwhile, and hastened to the scene of
this brilliant struggle.
A young soldier rode with the first squadron in an old coat that had
evidently not been made for him, and in plain grey trousers stuffed
into military boots. On his head he wore a military cap, and a wound on
his brow was bound up with a white handkerchief.
"Where is Lieutenant von Wendenstein?" he asked of a dragoon, as the
remains of the second squadron rode up.
"All our officers lie there!" replied the dragoon, pointing to a heap
of men and horses which marked the spot where the square had stood.
"Dead!" cried the cuirassier. "But I cannot leave him there; I promised
to take care of him, and no one shall ever say Fritz Deyke broke his
word. My poor lieutenant!"
He hastily quitted the ranks and rode up to the commanding officer.
"Sir," he said, saluting him, "I overtook the army at Langensalza and
joined the cuirassiers, that I might take my share in the war. I hope,
sir, you can say I have done my duty?"
"You have done bravely," replied the officer.
"Well, sir," continued the young man, "the day's work seems over, and,
besides, I have a scratch from which the blood runs into my eyes, so I
came to ask leave for the day."
The officer looked at him with amazement. A deep blush spread over the
young soldier's face.
"Sir," he cried, "I was brought up at Blechow with our president's son,
Lieutenant von Wendenstein, of the Cambridge dragoons; and when I left
home to join the army, his mother said to me, 'Fritz, take care of my
son if you can,' and I promised her I would, sir; and now there lies
the young gentleman amongst the dead. Shall I leave him there?"
The officer looked kindly at him.
"Go, my brave lad," he said, "and come back when the lieutenant no
longer needs you."
"Thank you, sir," cried Fritz.
The cuirassiers advanced in pursuit of the enemy.
Meanwhile the other square had been broken by the charge of the garde
du corps. The cavalry had moved forward, and in a short time the scene
of all this carnage, of all this noise, was only an empty plain, where
piles of corpses lay one on another in lakes of blood--men and horses,
friend and foe, mingled together.
Fritz Deyke was alone in this scene of horror.
He dismounted, led his horse by the bridle, and walked to the place
where the dragoons had broken the square. His horse snorted and
struggled to run back. He led it a little way off and tied it to the
trunk of a tree which grew near the high road; then he again approached
the heaps of slain.
Some wounded men raised their heads and begged gaspingly for a drop of
water.
"I cannot help all, but you shall not perish," he said.
There was a deep ditch near the high road; it might have water in it.
He seized two helmets lying on the ground, and hurried to the ditch.
There was actually some water--a little, and dirty, for the continuous
heat had sucked up the moisture.
With some difficulty he filled the helmets with the muddy, lukewarm
fluid, and carrying them like two buckets, he returned to the wounded
men, who were watching for him with unspeakable longing. He drew out
his flask, poured some of its contents into each helmet, and gave some
of the liquid to the sufferers, impartially succouring both Prussians
and Hanoverians.
"So, be patient," he said, kindly; "the first ambulance I see, I will
send to you." And he began to search amongst the dead.
They lay heaped on one another, the brave dragoons and the brave
Prussian infantry, some with a calm, peaceful expression on their
faces, some with a look of wild horror, many so frightfully disfigured
with bullets and stabs that the soldier's brave heart quailed, and he
had to close his eyes for a moment to gain strength to continue his
dreadful employment.
But he went on undeterred. He laid the dead bodies aside, and exerting
all his strength, he dragged at the dead horses.
"Here is Herr von Stolzenberg!" he cried, as he turned over the body of
the young officer, which lay with its face on the ground, bathed in
blood. "Handsome, brave gentleman! and to die so young! It is all over
with him," he said, mournfully. A bullet had carried away part of the
skull, and countless stabs still oozed with blood.
Fritz Deyke bowed his head over the corpse, folded his hands, and
repeated "Our Father."
"But here," he then cried, "lies poor Roland, stone dead. Good,
faithful creature; and under him, alas! there is my lieutenant!" He
pushed the dead horse aside.
Beneath lay Lieutenant von Wendenstein, pale and stark, his left hand
pressed on his breast, his sword still in his right hand, his eyes wide
open, and staring glassily at the sky.
"Dead!" said poor Fritz, with a cry of grief; "he is really dead!" and
he bent sorrowfully over the body of the fallen officer.
"But I must take him away!" he cried, with decision. "He must not stay
here; at least I must be able to lead his poor old father and mother to
his grave. How frightful to see his kind, beautiful eyes staring thus!"
he said, shuddering; "but where is he wounded? The head is unhurt. Ah!
here in the breast. His hand is pressed upon it; the blood still
trickles. But I cannot look at his eyes!" he cried; "those dead, glassy
eyes, which in life were so kind and merry!"
He bent down and laid his hand on the head of the slain, that he might
gently close the eyes of his former playmate.
"God in heaven!" he cried, suddenly. "He lives, his eyelids moved!"
He folded his hands and gazed anxiously at the face before him.
The eyes really moved, they closed slowly, then they opened again; for
one moment a ray of light seemed to light them up, then they grew
staring and glassy as before.
Fritz Deyke sank upon his knees.
"Great God in heaven!" he said in a trembling voice; "if Thou wilt
never in my whole life hear a prayer from me again, yet help me now to
save my poor master!"
He seized his flask, opened the mouth of the wounded man, and poured
into it a little brandy.
Then he anxiously awaited the result.
An almost imperceptible shiver passed through the young officer's
limbs; his eyes lived for a moment, and looked inquiringly at the young
peasant; his lips were slightly parted; a red foam appeared upon them,
and a deep sigh heaved his breast.
Then the eyelids closed, and the face lost the horrible starkness of
death. But no further sign of life appeared.
"Now to get him to the town!" cried Fritz, raising the young officer in
his strong arms and bearing him to his horse.
He climbed with difficulty into the saddle, still holding the
motionless form; then he supported it before him with his right hand,
whilst he held the bridle with the other.
He rode quickly across the fields to the town.
The squares broken by the dragoons, garde du corps, and cuirassiers,
and the battery taken by Rittmeister von Einem made the last resistance
on the side of the Prussians before they retreated entirely.
The Hanoverian central brigade pressed onwards, and soon the whole
battle-field almost to Gotha was in possession of the Hanoverian
troops.
The army, unfit to march, had made the most surprising, though alas!
aimless advances--the army unfit to fight, had fought--and won!
During the whole day the king and his suite had remained on the hill
near Merxleben. He had not left the saddle for a moment. He had asked
short questions about the fighting, which the gentlemen of his suite
had answered; no information had come from the general in command, for
the battle was fought by individual officers and their divisions, who
would no longer retreat, and who had seized on the offensive, each
where he thought he could act most decisively and effectively.
The king saw nothing; he heard the bullets hiss past him, the thunder
of the cannon around him; but the varied living picture was wanting
that enchains the mind with trembling excitement.
He was as motionless as a bronze statue; his face betrayed no trace of
his inward emotion; his only inquiry was, could his soldiers see him?
At last the adjutant-general galloped up the hill, and brought the news
that the enemy's centre was pierced, and the cuirassier guards who had
been held in reserve behind the king's position, rushed past with a
loud "Hurrah!" to their royal leader, as they started across the plain
in pursuit of the enemy. Finally, a staff officer arrived from the
commanding general, announcing that the victory was decided in favour
of the Hanoverian arms. Then the king drew a deep breath and said, "I
will dismount."
A groom hastened to him; the king got off his horse. All the gentlemen
around drew near him to express their congratulations.
"Many brave and faithful hearts have ceased to beat! God grant them
eternal peace!" said the king, solemnly.
He stood for a moment in silent thought.
"I am somewhat exhausted," he then said; "is there anything to drink?"
Those nearest to him seized their flasks; they were empty.
"There is some sherry in our carriage," said Meding.
"And I have a travelling cup," cried Count Platen, taking a silver cup
from a case.
Meding ran to the carriage, and soon returned with half a bottle of
sherry and a little wheaten bread. He poured some wine into the small
cup, and handed it to the king. He drank it, and ate a morsel of bread.
"Now I am strong again," he cried; "would to God that each one of my
soldiers could say the same."
"I will move about a little," he then said, and taking Meding's arm he
paced slowly to and fro, on the top of the hill.
"God has given our arms the victory," he said with emotion; "what is
next to be done?"
"Your majesty," said Meding, "this noble blood will all have been shed
in vain, if we do not march at once to Gotha, cross the railway, and
endeavour to reach Bavaria."
The king sighed.
"Oh! that I could place myself at the head of my army and lead it
onwards! They will make difficulties, raise obstacles. You know how
many obstacles the general staff has already raised in the council of
war."
He stood still, thinking deeply.
"Your majesty must command a protocol to be drawn up, that these
obstacles may at least be stated in black and white," said Meding.
"It shall be done!" cried the king with energy. "You shall draw it up.
I am answerable to history for what occurs, and for what is neglected."
An aide-de-camp from the general in command galloped up.
"General von Arentschildt begs your majesty at once to take up your
head-quarters in Langensalza."
"To horse!" cried the king.
The aide-de-camp hurried away, the horses were brought, and the royal
party moved down from the hill across the battle-field.
The king was grave and calm as he rode towards the town. Heaps of dead
bodies lay on the road near the mill, and the horses' hoofs were
reddened by the blood which stood on the ground in great pools. The
king saw it not. He heard the "hurrahs" of the soldiers he met, and the
loud cheers with which they greeted him; no pride of victory kindled in
his noble face; he sat on his horse cold and silent; he thought of the
slain, who had bought him this victory with their lives, he thought of
the future, and with anxious care he asked himself whether this victory
would yield the fruit desired, and extricate the army from the
dangerous position into which it had been led.
The royal head-quarters were established in the Schuetzhaus at
Langensalza.
Scarcely was the king a little refreshed, when he ordered the general
in command, and the chief of the general staff to be summoned, and he
invited General von Brandis, Count Platen, Count Ingelheim, with Lex
and Meding, to be present at the council of war.
At about nine in the evening the officers assembled in the king's room.
The king urged an immediate march upon Gotha, but the general in
command and the chief of the staff declared that the army was in such a
state of exhaustion it could not march. In vain General Brandis pointed
out that even for a tired army a short march of two hours and then
excellent quarters in Gotha, was better than a bivouac in the fields
without proper food; the chief of the general staff declared the march
to be absolutely impossible, and the general in command refused to be
responsible for its consequences. Both these gentlemen asked earnestly
for permission to leave the council, as their presence with the troops
was absolutely necessary.
The council of war broke up without any result, and the king retired to
rest after the fatigues of the day.
The bivouac fires of the troops shone all around the town; and such
merry songs, such cheerful voices rose on every side, it was hard to
believe these were the exhausted soldiers who could not possibly
undertake a two hours' march to Gotha, there to find rest and food.
Fritz Deyke meanwhile had ridden to the town, carrying Lieutenant von
Wendenstein before him, without knowing whether he was alive or dead.
The young man lay heavily in his arms, his limbs hung helplessly down,
and the wound in his breast bled afresh from the quick ride.
The young peasant reached the town, but there had been fighting in the
streets, and it seemed deserted by its inhabitants, who had shut
themselves into the back rooms of their houses.
"Where shall I find the best quarters?" he asked himself. "Perhaps they
will take the greatest care of him in the hotel," he thought, after a
moment's consideration, and he rode on in search of an inn. At a turn
in the street he saw a large white house standing a little back, with a
well-kept garden in front of it, and with various outbuildings beside
it. Green jalousie blinds were closed over the windows.
As the cuirassier rode past with the lifeless body in his arms, a fresh
young voice cried, half in fear, half in compassion:
"Ah! the poor young officer!"
Fritz was touched by the sound of the voice, as well as by this mark of
sympathy for his dear lieutenant, and looked up at the house.
A young girl's pretty blonde head peeped from a half-opened shutter,
but bashfully withdrew as the soldier looked up; the blind, however,
was not entirely closed.
Either the expressive voice, or the sympathy in the bright blue eyes
still looking down through the small opening upon the strange and
melancholy spectacle, caused the young man to conclude, that in this
comfortable and well-to-do looking house he should find good quarters
for his beloved officer: it was enough, he reined in his horse, and
cried out--
"Yes, the poor young officer needs rest and care, and I demand quarters
for him in this house."
The words were short and commanding, for he belonged to the army who
entered the town as victors; but the tone of voice was gentle and
imploring, and it caused the young girl to open the shutter entirely,
and to stretch out her head. At the same moment, a stout, elderly man,
with a full red face and short grey hair, appeared, and looked down
with displeasure at the Hanoverian soldier.
"Quarters can be had in this house, if so it must be," he said, curtly
and uncivilly; "but as to care, we have nothing to do with that, and
there is nothing much to eat!"
"I will see to that!" cried Fritz Deyke, "only come down and help me to
carry in my lieutenant!"
The old man withdrew from the window grumbling, whilst the young girl
called out kindly, "I will get a bed ready at once for the poor wounded
man, then we shall see what must be done next."
And she disappeared from the window.
The old man had opened the house door, and advanced towards the
horseman.
"I cannot bid you welcome to my house," he said, gloomily and harshly,
"for you belong to the enemies of my king and country, but I am bound
to give you quarters; and," he continued, looking compassionately at
the pale young officer, "I would rather give quarters to the wounded
than to the sound."
"It is no question of friend or foe!" replied Fritz, in a conciliatory
voice; "it is a question of Christian charity to a poor wounded man!"
"Come then!" said the old man, simply, and walked up to the horse.
Fritz Deyke let the lifeless form slide gently into the old man's arms;
then dismounting, he tied his horse to the low garden railings, and
together they bore the lifeless form to the house.
"Up here," said the old man, pointing to the stairs which led from the
hall to the comfortable rooms above.
Fritz Deyke went up first, carefully supporting the lieutenant's head,
whilst the old man followed, bearing him.
They entered a long passage with doors on each side.
The young girl stood waiting for them, and hastened forwards to open
the door of a large room, with two windows looking towards the
courtyard; it was furnished plainly but with some elegance, and a
snow-white bed was prepared for the sufferer.
Fritz Deyke, with the help of the old man, laid the wounded officer
gently down upon it.
"Now, young man!" said his host, looking gravely at the cuirassier,
"your officer is safe, and he shall want for nothing that my house can
afford,--the house of the Brewer Lohmeier," he added, with a look of
dignified satisfaction, "that you may know whose guest you are. Come
now, we will take your horse into the stable; and," he continued
somewhat confidentially, "whilst you are here, keep others away if you
can."
They went down stairs, leaving the young girl in the room with the
wounded man. She smoothed the pillows, and looked with melancholy
interest at the handsome face, pale as death.
Some infantry came down the street.
"We will find quarters in this street," cried one of them; "see, here
is a nice-looking house,--let us go in,--there will be room for us
all!"
Fritz Deyke came to the door at this moment with the brewer.
"Ah! there are cuirassiers here already," cried the infantry man; "is
there still room, comrade?"
Fritz put his finger to his lips.
"A dangerously-wounded officer here," he said; "you must not talk so
loud, nor make such a noise in marching."
"Then we must go further," said the infantry soldiers; they cast
sympathizing looks at the upper windows, and walked on.
"Thank you!" said the old brewer, in a friendly voice.
Fritz Deyke led his horse through the yard gate to the stable, where he
put him with the brewer's four horses. He then asked for a piece of
chalk, and wrote in large letters upon the house door: "Dangerously
wounded officers."
"Now," he cried, "I must go and find a surgeon; take care of my
lieutenant, but do not move him!" He was about to hurry away.
"Stop," said the brewer, "your surgeons will all be busy at the field
hospitals; our surgeon lives close here, he is a clever man, I will
fetch him."
He went out, and soon returned with a fresh-faced, grey-headed old
gentleman, with a very kind expression.
He stepped up to the bed, whilst Fritz studied his looks with the
greatest anxiety.
The surgeon shook his head, he opened one of the closed eye-lids,
looked at the eye of the wounded man, and said,
"Life is not extinct, whether we can retain it is in God's hand! I must
look at the wounds, we must undress him, and you, dear Margaret, get us
some warm water and some wine."
The young girl hastened away. Fritz carefully cut off the wounded man's
clothes and boots.
There was a wound in the left breast, another in the shoulder.
"This is nothing," said the surgeon, pointing to the shoulder, "a
bayonet wound, which will get well of itself; but here--" drawing a
probe from a case, he examined the wound in the breast.
"The bullet has lodged upon the rib," he said; "if he does not die from
loss of blood and exhaustion he may recover. For the present he must
have perfect rest; I cannot attempt to extract the bullet until he has
in some measure recovered his strength."
Margaret returned with warm water, linen, and a sponge. She then placed
a small lamp upon the table, for it began to grow dark.
The surgeon washed the wound, and poured some wine into his patient's
mouth. A deep breath parted his lips, a faint tinge of colour came to
his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. He looked with surprise at
everything around him; his eyes closed again, and scarcely audibly he
murmured "Auf Wiedersehn!"
The young girl folded her hands, and raised her eyes, shining through
tears to heaven.
Fritz took off his cap, waved it in the air and opened his mouth wide,
as if to shout the Hurrah! with which the lusty young peasants made the
meadows near Blechow or the large room in the inn echo again, but this
Hurrah! did not come; the mouth closed again, the cap flew into a
corner, only a thankful, happy expression replaced the melancholy look
his face had hitherto worn. He had heard a sound of life from the lips
of his dear lieutenant, he now hoped to save him.
"Well, well," said the surgeon cheerfully, "for the present you can
only keep him quiet, and give him some red wine as often as possible,
to repair the loss of blood; to-morrow I will try to extract the
bullet."
He departed, accompanied by old Lohmeier.
Fritz, Deyke, and Margaret remained with the patient, and watched his
breathing; with the greatest punctuality the young girl handed a
spoonful of wine to the cuirassier, who poured it carefully into the
officer's mouth.
Old Lohmeier brought Fritz some cold supper and a draught of his own
beer. The young man hastily despatched the supper, his appetite was as
good as ever, the beer he declined.
"I could not keep awake," he said.
"Now go to bed, Margaret," said her father, "we will tend the wounded
man; sitting up at night will tire you."
"What is the loss of one night's sleep, father," said Margaret, "when a
man's life is in danger? Let me stay, he might want something."
Her father did not gainsay her, and his look of satisfaction
acknowledged she was right. Fritz Deyke said nothing, but he raised his
large true-hearted blue eyes with an expression of gratitude to the
young girl's face.
Lohmeier seated himself in an armchair and soon nodded; the young
people remained near the bed, and scrupulously carried out the
surgeon's orders, watching with pleasure every fresh sign of life in
their patient, sometimes a deep breath, sometimes a slight flush
passing over his pale face.
For a long time they sat in silence.
"You are a good girl," Fritz said at last, when she had just handed him
a spoonful of wine, and he held out his hand to her in hearty
friendship; "how thankful my lieutenant's mother will be to you, for
what you have done for her son."
"Ah! his poor mother!" she said with emotion, responding to the warm
pressure of his hand, whilst a tear shone in her clear eyes; "is she a
great lady?"
Fritz Deyke imparted to her in low whispers all about the lieutenant's
family, and the old house in Blechow, and he told her of beautiful
Wendland, with its rich pastures and dark fir woods, and then of his
own home, of his father, and the farm and acres; and the young girl
listened silently and attentively to the soldier's words. The pictures
they presented were so natural, so clear and so bright, and they were
all gilded by the poetic shimmer surrounding the brave cuirassier, who
had saved his playmate in the bloody battle-field, and who now watched
so anxiously over the life still so precarious.
The night passed quietly in old Lohmeier's house. Loud, merry voices
rang without, from the soldiers quartered in the town, and from the
bivouacs, and when the old brewer sometimes woke he glanced
benevolently at the young soldier and the wounded officer, whose
presence prevented his house from being otherwise occupied, for all the
troops had respected the words Fritz had written on the door. No one
had knocked, but all had passed it in silence.
The morning of the 28th June dawned brilliantly, as if to greet the
victorious soldiers in their cantonments. Already all was movement at
head-quarters. The king in a proclamation to the army had expressed in
a few affectionate words his thanks for their exertions and courage.
Then the burial of the dead took place. They were interred, so far as
they could be found on the battle-field, in the churchyard of
Langensalza.
The king with his suite stood near the open graves, whilst the
clergyman of the little town, in a few simple words, commended to
eternal rest the warriors united in death, Prussians and Hanoverians;
and the king, who could not see the brave men who lay at his feet, true
soldiers of duty and of their rightful lord, stooped down in silence,
seized a handful of earth, and with his own royal hand strewed the
first dust upon the loyal dead.
"May the earth lay lightly on you!" whispered the king, and in a still
lower voice he added, "Happy are they who rest in peace!"
Then he folded his hands, repeated the Lord's Prayer, and taking the
arm of the crown prince, returned to the Schuetzhaus.
On his way back, groups of soldiers who stood about greeted him with
loud "Hurrahs!" and cries of "Forwards! forwards!"
The king bent down his head, a sorrowful expression appeared in his
face.
As soon as he reached his room, he sent for the general in command. He
was with the troops, and an hour passed before he entered the king's
apartment.
"Are the troops ready to march?" asked the king.
"No, your majesty! The army is done for, quite done for!" cried the
general, striking his hand on his breast. "There are no provisions
forthcoming, and the ammunition is scarcely sufficient for the first
round."
"Then in your opinion, what is to be done?" asked the king, calmly and
coldly.
"Your majesty!" cried Arentschildt, "the general staff is unanimous in
declaring a capitulation to be unavoidable."
"Wherefore?" asked the king.
"The general staff is of opinion that the army cannot march," cried the
general; "besides, overwhelming forces are drawing up on every side;
from the north the outposts have sent in word that General Manteuffel
is surrounding us; in the south General Vogel von Falckenstein has
collected troops from Eisenach, and has cut off the road to Gotha."
"That would have been impossible had we marched on yesterday evening,"
said the king.
"An advance was impossible, as the general staff declared!" cried
General von Arentschildt.
The king was silent.
"Your majesty!" cried the general, striking his breast; "it is hard for
me to say the word--capitulate! but there is nothing else to be done. I
beg your majesty's permission to commence arrangements with General von
Falckenstein."
"I will send you my orders in an hour," said the king; "leave your
adjutant here."
And he turned away.
The general left the room.
"It must be so!" cried the king sorrowfully. "The blood of all these
brave men has flowed in vain. In vain has been all the pain, the
anguish, and the toil--and why in vain? Because my eyes are dark;
because I cannot lead my valiant troops as my forefathers have done, as
the brave Brunswick--oh! it is hard, very hard!"
The king's face had a dark expression, he clenched his teeth, and
raised his sightless eyes to heaven.
Then the anger vanished from his countenance, peace took its place, a
sorrowful but gentle smile came to his lips. He folded his hands, and
said in a low tone:
"My God and Saviour bore for me the crown of thorns; for me He shed His
blood upon the cross. O Lord, not my will but Thine be done!"
He touched the golden bell which had been brought from his cabinet at
Herrenhausen.
The groom of the chambers entered.
"I beg Count Platen, General Brandis, Count Ingelheim, with Herr Lex
and Herr Meding, to come to me at once."
In a short time these gentlemen entered the room.
"You know the position in which we are placed, gentlemen," said the
king; "we are surrounded by the enemy in superior numbers, and the
general in command declares that the troops cannot march from
exhaustion, that they are without either provisions or ammunition. He
considers a capitulation unavoidable. Before I decide, I wish to hear
your views. What do you think, Count Ingelheim?"
Gravely and with painful emotion, the Austrian ambassador replied: "It
is most melancholy, your majesty, after such a day as yesterday to
speak of capitulation; but if we are really surrounded by superior
forces, brought up since yesterday evening," this he said with
emphasis, "it would be a useless sacrifice of many brave soldiers to
resist, and no one could thus advise your majesty."
"If we could only send to Berlin," said Count Platen, "it might
yet----"
"Your majesty," interrupted General Brandis, in a trembling voice, "if
it were possible that like the Duke of Brunswick you could draw your
sword, and ride yourself at the head of your army, I would still cry
'Forwards!' I believe we should cut our way through; but as it is----"
he stamped with his foot, and turned away to hide the tears that
blinded his eyes.
The state-councillor Meding came close to the king.
"Your majesty," he said, in a husky voice, "the unavoidable must be
endured; the sun shines even on the darkest day! Your majesty must not
uselessly sacrifice the lives of your subjects, but," he continued,
"you are answerable to history, and it must be clearly stated that a
further march is impossible. If I may presume to advise your majesty,
cause the general in command, and each commander of a brigade, upon his
military honour and the oath given to his sovereign, to declare before
God and his conscience that the troops can neither march nor fight, and
that they have neither food nor ammunition. Thus will your majesty be
freed from all reproach from your army, your country, and history."
The king bent his head in approval.
"So shall it be," he said. "Draw up such a document with the assistance
of Lex, and send it to General Arentschildt."
"And permit me, your majesty," cried Count Ingelheim, "at this solemn
moment to express my conviction that notwithstanding the heavy trial it
has pleased God to lay upon you, you will return in triumph to your
capital, as surely as Austria and my emperor will, to the last man,
maintain the rights of Germany."
The king held out his hand to him.
"You too have borne the fatigues of the campaign in vain," he said,
with a melancholy smile.
"Not in vain, your majesty," cried Count Ingelheim. "I have seen a king
and an army without fear and without reproach."
An hour later the king received the declaration he had demanded, signed
by the general in command, the chief of the general staff, and all the
brigadiers. A capitulation was concluded with General Vogel von
Falckenstein, but soon afterwards General von Manteuffel arrived, and
at the command of the King of Prussia granted other conditions, which
were highly favourable to the Hanoverian army.
The officers retained their arms, their baggage, their horses, and all
their privileges; and even the sub-officers retained their rank. The
privates gave up their arms and horses to officers appointed by the
King of Hanover, and they delivered them to Prussian commissioners;
they were then dismissed to their homes.
But first General Manteuffel, at the express command of the King of
Prussia, publicly acknowledged the brave conduct of the Hanoverian
soldiers.
The King of Hanover sent Count Platen, General von Brandis, and Herr
Meding before him to Linz, there to await him; he himself rested for a
short time in the castle of the Duke of Altenburg, from whence he
proceeded to Vienna to await further events.
The Hanoverian soldiers, who were smitten as by a thunderbolt from the
seventh heaven by the capitulation, laid down their arms with bitter
grief, and with dust on their heads returned to the homes they had left
so confident of victory.
But they could return unhumiliated, for they had done what was
possible. The brave and faithful army, on the last battle-field where
the ancient banner of their country was unfurled, had raised a monument
of honour and glory which the chivalrous commander of the Prussian
troops was the first to adorn with the laurels of his praise.
But who, that knows the history of that day and its important results,
can avoid asking the question, "Why was it not possible that two such
noble, chivalrous, and pious princes, whose warriors stood opposed in
deadly fight, should not have known and understood each other?"