cavalry sergeant with his party, to gain the wood. The movement was well
executed. They advanced steadily down upon the enemy’s right, without
answering his fire; then turned suddenly to the left, and trotted off to
the trees. Having reached the point assigned them, they pulled up, faced
round, and formed in line. Immediately upon this commenced our general
movement in advance, Fraser following the train of mules and muleteers,
and “keeping them up behind.” Infantry and cavalry marched down to the
attack; while both the contending armies maintained a brisk fusillade.
As far as I then discovered, none of the enemy’s shots took effect,
while some of ours appeared to tell. The foe stood his ground manfully
at first; but, as we got closer, some of them began to run from the
rear, and all soon joined in the flight. The retreat was as rapid as it
was general; and we, as the convoy could not be left, abstained from
pursuit. The cavalry advancing from the wood, though, got a little too
forward. The consequence was that a few of the fugitives, running down
the main road, attempted to escape into the wood. But a few carbine
shots soon turned them back on the main body; and the whole mass then
made their escape down the road to our right, which was just what I
wanted. Long after we had ceased to fire, they continued to run, without
stopping to look behind, alarmed probably by the apprehension of a
cavalry pursuit. Half a mile off, in remarkably short time for the
distance, I saw some of them, like a scattered flock of sheep,
scampering up a hill, and disappearing over its summit. What execution
was done by our fire, did not immediately appear. Some decamped slower
than others; one or two were carried. Some made their escape through the
pond; and of these, some fell over in the water, as if they had been
hit. One fell, the men said, and didn’t get up again. A few of the enemy
halted awhile to take a look, in their run down the cross-road, as if
they would like to make an attempt on the extremity of our convoy, which
probably appeared to them unprotected. But, receiving the fire of our
rearguard, they again took to flight. We assembled at the pond, and
there halted in a body, convoy and escort.
Mr Chesterfield had not yet recovered from the first shock of his wound;
and was obliged to remain in the cart, unable to sit up. Gingham
administered some brandy, with good effect. We had, however, one other
wounded man. I noticed several of our fellows, horse and foot, assembled
in a group, from which proceeded loud jeers, and shouts of laughter.
There was something in the midst of them, the occasion of their mirth,
which I could not see. Presently, however, I caught a sight of poor
Jones, the picture of woe. He was standing in a posture very far from
upright, and leaning with his elbows on the back of a spare mule—his
aspect cadaverous. Advancing, I heard the talk.
“Why, Taffy, old feller, how come ye to get hit there?” A roar of
laughter drowned Jones’s indignant reply.
“Taffy, my lad, why, I didn’t think you vos the chap as vould turn
tail.”
“It’s a lie,” roared Jones, in a voice of extreme agony and
exasperation. “I didn’t turn tail; nor I haven’t not never turned tail.
Only jest turned round to load, and felt all at wance jest as if
somebody had bin and give me a kick——” A universal roar drowned the
conclusion of the sentence.
“Mr Pledget,” said I, “there seems to be here another case, soliciting
your attention.”
The men made way. Pledget advanced with great seriousness; and the
laughter, though less vociferous, became tenfold in intensity, at the
rich idea of Pledget’s investigating and doctoring Jones’s wound. Jones,
at the sight of the doctor, in his alarm and anguish set up a regular
hullabaloo, almost running into a cry. The doctor, regardless of Jones’s
fears and lacerated feelings, began gravely to question him—made serious
attempts and approaches to ascertain particulars. Two or three of the
fellows, positively overcome with the scene, threw themselves down by
the road-side in an agony. One, I really thought, would have laughed
himself into a fit. He turned red, crimson, purple, almost black in the
face; still, in his bursts, casting his eyes, from time to time, towards
Jones and the doctor. Jones, leaning on the mule’s back, screwing and
twisting first this way then that, evaded and defeated all the doctor’s
approaches; while the men, taking a little extra freedom after our
glorious victory, renewed their vociferous merriment. Pledget, at
length, began to lose his patience. “Come, my good fellow,” said he;
“this won’t do, you know.”
He then looked round at the soldiers, and made a sign. Four of them
stepped forward, seized Jones by the arms and legs, and bore him off to
the road-side—struggling, fighting, kicking, roaring, screeching, his
agony increasing as he saw the moment at hand when he must be doctored.
Pledget humanely pointed to some bushes close by, and the men carried
Jones behind them. There the bullet was extracted at once. But how
Pledget proceeded, or what was the precise character of the wound, of
course we, who remained in the road, had no opportunity of perceiving.
The progress of the operation, however, was marked by occasional shouts
and yells from Jones; and in five minutes he hobbled forth with a rueful
aspect, but looking “as well as could be expected.” Pledget almost
immediately followed, and handed the bullet to Jones. “There, my man,”
said he; “put that in your pocket.”
There still was something, though, upon Jones’s mind. He limped down to
the edge of the pond with an eager, anxious look; and began prowling
about, examining among the reeds and bushes, right and left.
“Jones, hadn’t you better keep yourself quiet? Sit down, man.”
“Please, sir, if you’ve no objections, sir, I’m noways inclined to sit
down jest at present, sir, ’cause it would be rayther ill-colvelielt,
sir; rayther be excused, sir. Hope no offence, sir.” He continued on the
prowl.
“What are you looking for, Jones? Lost any part of your kit?”
“Please, sir, I’m a-looking for that ’ere Nosey, sir.”
“What! the man that stood treat this morning? You don’t expect to find
him here.”
“Please, sir, I see him here, sir; and I marked him too, sir. See him
drop somewhere hereabouts, sir.”
This intelligence was “important, if true;” and I also began to look.
There was nothing, however, on this part of the field of combat, to
indicate that a wounded man had fallen. Jones, though, was positive.
“Sure you were not mistaken, Jones?”
“No, sir; it wasn’t no mistake, I’m sartain, sir. I’m sartain as I see
him, and I’m sartain as I marked him, sir. Knowed him by his——Oh, there
he is, sir.”
Jones pointed to something in the pond that looked like a package or
bundle, half immersed in the water, at the edge of the reeds, a little
out from the side.
A soldier stepped in, and examined more closely. “It’s a dead man, sir.”
“Dead! Get him out, that’s a good fellow. Perhaps he’s only wounded, and
not past recovery.”
“He’s past that, sir,” said the soldier, as he turned him, face upwards,
on the bank.
The face had a mask of mud. The soldier knelt down, felt in the dead
man’s pockets, brought out a white handkerchief of French cambric—wiped
away the mud. Yes, it was Hookey! The features retained their general
expression—harsh by temperament, but composed to blandness. Oh, what a
look was that! Hookey shot through the neck! The brow was slightly knit;
the lips were parted; the teeth clenched. His perpetual smile had set
his face, at last, in a fixed, unmeaning smirk—the dead man’s simper!
The two corners of his semicircular mouth, drawn up high on the cheeks,
were flanked by two furrows, rigid and profound! It was the sort of look
which, seen but for a moment, stamps on the memory an impression that we
can recall at will, and that sometimes comes unbidden!
“Just hold up that handkerchief, my man. Spread it out, will you? Oh,
there’s the mark—_Christophe_.”
“Any papers?” said I to Jones, who was rummaging in the dead man’s
pockets.
“Only this here, sir,” said Jones, holding up an envelope, which had
been emptied of its contents. It was the cover of my letter, which
Hookey had undertaken to deliver at headquarters. The letter itself he
had probably sent in a different direction.
Jones, meanwhile, had found a leathern purse, which, without any
remarks, he was quietly secreting about his own person. The soldier,
though, who had landed the dead man, detected this act of conveyance,
and demanded “snacks.” A discussion arose, and a squabble seemed
inevitable. “Corporal Fraser,” said I, “just see all fair here.” I then
turned Sancho’s head, and withdrew from the scene. Sancho had more than
once brought down his nose, slowly and cautiously, into close proximity
with the object that lay stretched out before him. He now, ere he obeyed
the bridle, pawed, tossed his head, and snorted; as though fain to get
rid of the very air that he had just been inhaling, and to blow out of
his nostrils the smell of blood!
Mr Chesterfield, now considerably recovered, stood by the cart, with his
arm slung in a silk handkerchief. He thought he was able to sit his
horse—at any rate, wished to try. Pledget objected—wanted him to come on
in the cart. A discussion arose; and it was settled at last, that
Pledget should mount the horse, while Mr Chesterfield rode Pledget’s
mule. Gingham then gave directions to Coosey and Joaquim, who helped
Jones into the cart. Coosey had already been won upon by Jones. But now,
when Jones came out fresh from the field, with a memorial of the combat
that would follow him to the day of his death, Coosey’s admiration knew
no bounds. I saw him pass something to Joaquim, who took an early
opportunity of passing it to Jones. “You don’t think,” said I to
Gingham, “Coosey will give him more than will do him good?”—“No, no,”
said Gingham; “you may depend on Coosey’s discretion.”
It was time to be getting on again. First, however, Mr Chesterfield
deemed it advisable to see all right respecting the wood. For this
purpose, he sent forward Corporal Fraser with part of the infantry.
After they entered the wood, we heard a single shot. In about ten
minutes the whole party returned, the Corporal riding a clumsy French
cart-horse, with a rope bridle. They had found a horse and cart. The
shot was fired to bring up the driver, who had, however, got off. The
object of the horse and cart was pretty evident. It no doubt had
occurred to Hookey that, in case of his making a successful foray, and
securing part of our dollars, such a conveyance might do good service in
carrying off the “swag.” There was no convenient way of getting the cart
to us out of the wood; it appeared to have been brought from another
direction; so Fraser had taken out the horse, which he considered his
own lawful prize. All being now arranged, we proceeded on our march.
Jones rode on in the cart. He lay along at full length; not on his back,
though, but in the opposite position, which he preferred under existing
circumstances. I observed him—like a recumbent bull-terrier, with muzzle
protruding from his kennel—keenly watching as we proceeded—now forwards,
now right, now left, looking out for the _hinnimy_, and eager to have
another slap at a Frenchman.
With regard to the enemy’s position, it will probably occur to the
military reader, that they might have chosen a better. A more skilful
opponent, probably, would have concealed himself in the forest, and
attacked us in flank; and a bolder one might have ventured to occupy the
hollow way with all his forces—a plan which, if detected, would have
been attended with greater risk to himself, but, if successful, with
greater damage to us. As it was, the ambuscade was too far in front of
the main body, and we were able to deal with it before we were further
engaged. Still, I think, it must be admitted, on the whole, the
arrangements of the enemy were not badly made. Had we not kept a good
look-out—or rather, had not our four-legged attendant providentially put
us on our guard—we might not have discovered our opponents till it was
too late to avoid a conflict at close quarters, the probable consequence
of which would have been the loss of some of our mules; while the
crossroads afforded facilities for driving them off, with the choice of
four directions. And, some of their party being concealed in the two
banks between which we had to pass, we might have discovered an enemy at
hand only by finding ourselves under fire. On the whole, we had reason
to be thankful that our loss was so small.
With regard to our fallen opponent, Hookey or Christophe, in lately
turning over Colonel Gurwood’s volumes, I met with something which
appears, curiously enough, to identify him. In a letter from our
Commander-in-Chief, bearing date 2d January 1814, that is, two or three
months before our rencontre, I find that a person, calling himself
Christophe, had been arrested and sent to General Freyre, to be
forwarded to Madrid; that, in the November previous, this Christophe was
at Bilbao; that he had letters from King Ferdinand; that he showed a
draft or order on the Biscayan Provinces to pay him seventy thousand
dollars; that he was advised to present himself to the Government; and
that, as the opinion entertained of him was not very favourable, and he
remained at St Jean de Luz, he was at length arrested, and sent off.
Now, I am not prepared to assert that this was the same individual with
my Christophe or Hookey; but, supposing it so, we may give some such
sketch of his services as the following. In the early part of 1813, the
period of my voyage from Falmouth to Lisbon, the French authorities in
Spain, civil and military, were not a little perplexed as to our
Commander’s plans for the ensuing campaign. This mystery he solved ere
long, by breaking forth from the north of Portugal, advancing on the
line of the Douro, marching across the north of Spain, winning the
battle of Vittoria, investing San Sebastian and Pampeluna, liberating
the Peninsula, crowning the Pyrenees, completing the great circle that
was closing round Napoleon, and menacing the south of France. Precisely
when we may suppose the curiosity of the Gallic leaders to have been
most intense, that is, in the early spring of 1813, just previous to
Lord Wellington’s advance, Hookey—Christophe, said his cambric
handkerchief—came off to us in the Oporto boat, and, under the assumed
character of a courier, obtained a passage by the Falmouth packet from
Oporto to Lisbon—in other words, from the left to the right of the
position then occupied by the British troops. Subsequently, a Christophe
makes his appearance at Bilbao, in the November of the same year; and,
on account of his suspicious conduct there, and afterwards at
headquarters, is arrested, and delivered over to the Spaniards, for
transmission to Madrid. The Spaniards, of course, let him escape; and he
then returns to his old trade. He cannot, however, appear again at
headquarters, therefore hangs about the line of march on the look-out
for a job; falls in with a greenhorn in charge of treasure; gets out of
him all the information he can; tries to divert him from his route;
tampers with his personal attendant; opposes his passage of a river;
makes his escort drunk; and musters a rural force, with the aid of which
he hopes to realise more by ready cash, than he did by his cheque on the
“Biscayan provinces.” Thus he went on, prying, plotting, and meddling,
till he found his end.
We proceeded quietly on our march, Gingham and I riding side by side,
while Pledget and Mr Chesterfield preceded us.
“Yes,” said Gingham, resuming the thread of our conversation where our
rencontre with the enemy had broken it off; “I know that you have formed
schemes connected with military service; and those, I presume, are the
plans you allude to.”
I really did not understand, at the moment, what Gingham meant; and,
fancying he referred to our recent operations in the presence of the
foe, answered wide of the mark.
“No, no,” said he; “I was not speaking, sir, with regard to the little
affair which has just come off; though, give me leave to say, Mr Y—, you
acquitted yourself in a way that does you credit. I allude to what fell
from you within the last hour, when you mentioned some plans that you
had formed, and which, you were kind enough to say, you would
communicate for my information.”
We now resumed the conversation, which the “little affair” had
interrupted. I stated my plans, hopes, difficulties, without reserve;
and Gingham, in reply, from his own knowledge and observations, drew,
with equal force and feeling, a not very agreeable picture of the
discouragements, disappointments, toils, hardships, sufferings,
privations, wrongs, and snubbings, incidental to the life of a marching
officer on actual service. He was still eloquently descanting on these
topics, when we reached the termination of our day’s journey.
GERMAN POPULAR PROPHECIES.
LETTER FROM PROFESSOR GREGORY TO THE EDITOR.
DEAR SIR,—The following notice of certain popular prophetic
traditions, widely current in the country to which they refer, may
perhaps prove interesting to your numerous readers.
All widely-spread opinions, however apparently absurd, have, or have
had at some time, a foundation in nature or in historical fact; and it
cannot be uninteresting, with a view to the history of popular
traditions, to place on record those which I have here collected, even
although we cannot at present trace them satisfactorily to their
origin. The whole subject of trances, and the various phenomena
connected with them, including the second sight, is one hitherto very
imperfectly studied, and for that reason I have not entered into
detail on that part of the question; but I may possibly do so at a
future period.—Believe me, very truly yours,
WILLIAM GREGORY.
EDINBURGH, _April 16, 1850_.
It is well known that in all ages, and in most countries, prophetic
traditions have been said to exist; and although it may often have
happened that such traditions have arisen from spurious prophecies,
written after the event, and falsely said to have existed before it, yet
it would also appear that genuine prophecies have from time to time
appeared, and become traditions before the events took place. Of course,
we do not here allude to the Scriptural prophecies, but to such as have
no pretensions to a divine origin. There can be little doubt that the
Sybilline Books contained prophecies of the future fate of Rome; and
although we cannot now ascertain, even if this were the case, whether
they were accurate predictions, or merely sagacious guesses, nor whether
the event confirmed them, yet the tradition of their existence is in
itself curious. We cannot here enter into an enumeration of the various
prophecies which are said to have existed, in ancient or modern times,
before the events occurred, but on some future occasion we may return to
that subject: in the mean time we may allude, as a modern example of
popular prophecy in our own country, to the prediction of the extinction
of the male line of the house of Seaforth, in the person of a deaf
Caberfae—a prediction which Mr Morritt of Rokeby, the friend of Scott,
heard quoted in Ross-shire at a time when the last Lord Seaforth, who
became quite deaf, had several sons in perfect health. We have no doubt
our Highland readers are acquainted with many analogous cases.
Our present object is to direct attention to the fact, that in Germany,
more especially on the Rhine and in Westphalia, there exist many
remarkable popular prophecies concerning public events, of various
dates, and originating in various quarters, but exhibiting a remarkable
coincidence in many of the chief points. Many of these have been printed
at various times; others exist as traditions among the peasantry;
others, again, are said upon good evidence to have been in modern times
taken down from the lips of the prophets themselves, all or most of whom
are now dead. Yet they generally predict, and often with strange
minuteness of detail, events which were to occur about this time,—viz.
in 1848, 1849, and 1850. Political and religious convulsions, wars, and
finally peace and prosperity, form the burden of them; and we shall see
that the events of 1848 and 1849 supply apparently strong confirmation
of their truth, their previous existence being admitted.
Having spent some months in Rhenish Prussia during the summer of 1849,
we made many inquiries on the subject, and found everywhere, and among
all classes, a firm conviction of the _genuineness_ of many of the
popular prophecies; while it was admitted that they had long been known
and believed by the people. As the matter, considered under any point of
view, is a curious and interesting one, we procured the latest work on
the subject, which in fact appeared while we were in Germany. It is
entitled, “Prophetic Voices, with Explanations. A collection as perfect
as possible, of all Prophecies, of Ancient and Modern date, concerning
the Present and Future Times, with an explanation of the obscure parts,”
by Th. Beykirch, licentiate in Theology, and (R.C.) curate in Dortmund.
The worthy Curate is often too brief in his accounts of the prophecies
themselves, and very diffuse in his explanations, which, for the most
part, tend to extract from the predictions the comfortable assurance of
the complete reestablishment of the Roman Catholic religion, and the
utter discomfiture of Protestantism. He even treats his readers to a
disquisition, altogether out of place, on Scriptural prophecies, and an
interpretation, by Holzhaüser, of the Apocalypse, in which he applies to
Protestantism the same passages which Protestants apply to the Papacy,
and does so, apparently, very much to his own satisfaction. We shall not
touch on these parts of his work, but use it as a storehouse, from which
we may draw the predictions themselves, without regarding them through
the theological medium of the reverend author.
The first we shall mention is of an ancient date. It is the vaticination
of Brother Herrmann, a monk of the monastery of Lehnin, who flourished
circa A.D. 1270, and died in the odour of sanctity. It is written in a
hundred leonine hexameters, rhyming in the middle and end of each verse,
and was printed in 1723 by Professor Lilienthal, from what was said to
be an old MS. His prophecies chiefly concerned the future fate of his
own monastery of Lehnin in Brandenburg, and of the monastery of Chorin
in the Uckermark, a part of Brandenburg. But as that fate depended on
public events, more especially on the history of the princes of that
country, his vaticination assumes the form of a brief prophetic history
of the house of Hohenzollern, that is, the now royal house of Prussia.
Our readers will probably readily dispense with the whole of the
original hexameters of the good monk, but we shall give a few specimens:
he begins—
1. “Nunc tibi, cum cura, Lehnin! cano fata futura,
2. Quæ mihi monstravit Dominus, qui cuncta creavit,” &c.
“Now, oh Lehnin! I sing with sorrow to thee thy future fates,
Which the Lord, the creator of all, has shown to me.”
He proceeds to describe the prosperity of Lehnin under the race of Otto
I., and its decay after the extinction of this family, which took place
in the person of Henry III., 1320. These princes were from Anhalt, of
the race called the Askanier in German history.
At verses 14 _et seq._, he describes Brandenburg as becoming a den of
lions, while the true heir is excluded. After Margrave Henry III., the
Dukes of Pomerania, Mecklenburg, Brunswick, Anhalt, Electoral Saxony,
and Bohemia attacked the Mark, (Brandenburg,) and committed horrible
devastations. The Emperor Louis of Bavaria seized it for himself,
excluding the princes of Saxony, the nearest heirs to the former
princes.