_Dortmund._--_Railroad Enterprise and Prospective Fortune._--_Henry
Schulte's Love._--_An Insult and its Resentment._--_An Oath of
Revenge._
How true it is, that in the life of every one, there exists a vein of
romance which justifies the adage that "Truth is stranger than
fiction."
No page of history may bear their names. No chronicle of important
events may tell to the world the story of their trials and
sufferings. No volume of poetry or song may portray the sunshine and
the storms through which they journeyed from the cradle to the grave.
But in their quiet, humble lives, they may have exemplified the vices
or virtues of humanity, and may have been prominent actors in
unpublished dramas, that would excite the wonderment or the
admiration, the sympathy or the condemnation of communities.
The life of Henry Schulte evinces this fact, in a remarkable degree.
The town of Dortmund in Prussia, in 1845.
A quiet, sleepy, German town, in the Province of Westphalia, whose
inclosing walls seemed eminently fitted to shut out the spirit of
energy and activity with which the world around them was imbued, and
whose five gates gave ample ingress and egress to the limited trade
of the manufacturers within its limits.
Once a free imperial city, it had acquired some importance, and was a
member of that commercial alliance of early times known as the
"Hanseatic League," but its prosperity, from some cause, afterwards
declined, and passing into the hands of Prussia in 1815, Dortmund had
slumbered on in adolescent quiet, undisturbed by the march of
improvement, and unaffected by the changes that were everywhere
apparent in the great world without her boundaries.
This sober, easy-going method of existence seemed to be in perfect
accord with the habits and dispositions of the people. The honest old
burghers pursued the even tenor of their way, paying but little heed
to the whirl and excitement of the large cities, and plodding on with
machine-like regularity in their daily pleasures, and their slow but
sure acquirement of fortune. Children were born, much in the usual
manner of such events--grew into man and womanhood--were married, and
they--in their turn, raised families. Altogether, life in this old
town partook very much of the monotonous and uneventful existence of
a Van Winkle.
Such was Dortmund in 1845.
About this time, however, the wave of the advancing spirit of
business activity had traveled sufficiently westward to reach this
dreamy village, and a railroad was projected between Dortmund and the
City of Dusseldorf.
Dusseldorf, even at that time, was the great focus of railroad and
steamboat communication, and situated as it was, at the confluence of
the Dussel and Rhine rivers, much of the transit trade of the Rhine
was carried on by its merchants.
Here, then, was an opportunity afforded for such an added impetus to
trade, such a natural increase in fortune, that it would readily be
imagined that the entire community would have hailed with delight an
enterprize which promised such important results, and that new life
and energy would have been infused into the sluggish communities of
Dortmund.
Such was the case, to a very great extent, and a large majority of
the people hailed with delight a project which would place their town
in direct communication with the great cities of their own country
and with all the ports of foreign lands. But of this we shall speak
hereafter.
On the road which led from Dortmund to Hagen, about fifteen miles
distant, dwelt Henry Schulte, a quiet, reserved man, who had tilled
the soil for many years. Of a reserved and morose disposition, he
mingled but rarely with the people who surrounded him, and among his
neighbors he was regarded as peculiar and eccentric. His broad acres
evinced a degree of cultivation which proved that their owner was
well versed in the science of agriculture; the large crops that were
annually gathered added materially to the wealth of their proprietor,
and the general appearance of thrift about the farm denoted that
Henry Schulte was possessed of a considerable amount of the world's
goods.
But while every care was taken of the fruitful fields, and every
attention paid to the proper management of his lands, the cottage in
which he lived, stood in marked contrast to its surroundings. A low,
one-story structure, with thatched roof, and with its broken windows
filled here and there with articles of old clothing, proclaimed the
fact that its occupant was not possessed of that liberal nature which
the general appearance of the farm indicated.
There was an air of squalor and poverty about the cottage, which told
unmistakably of the absence of feminine care, and of the lack of
woman's ministrations--and this was true.
For many years Henry Schulte had lived alone, with only his hired man
for company; and together they would perform the necessary domestic
duties, and provide for their own wants in the most economical manner
possible.
Many stories were told among the villagers about Henry Schulte, for,
like most all other localities, gossip and scandal were prevailing
topics of conversation.
It is a great mistake to suppose that in the country, people may live
alone and undisturbed, and that anyone can hope to escape the prying
eyes or the listening ears of the village gossip, male or female.
Such things are only possible in large cities, where men take no
interest in each other's affairs, and where one man may meet another
daily for years without ever thinking of inquiring who he is or what
he does, and where you pass a human being without a greeting or even
a look. In the country, however, where everybody knows everybody,
each one is compelled to account to all the others for what he does,
and no one can ever be satisfied with his own judgment.
Notwithstanding the charm which exists in this communion of work and
rest in word and deed, the custom has very serious drawbacks, and any
person having good or bad reasons of his own for disposing of his
time in a manner different from what is customary, has to contend
against the gossip, the jibes and the mockery of all. Hence, almost
all localities have their peculiar characters, whose idiosyncrasies
are well known, and who are frequently the subject of raillery, and
often of persecution.
To the gay and simple villagers of Hagen, Henry Schulte was an object
of great interest, and to most of them the story of his past was well
known. Many of the old men who sat around the broad fire-place in the
village inn, could remember when he was as gay a lad as any in the
village, and had joined in their sports with all the zest and
enthusiasm of a wild and unrestrained disposition; and when he
marched away to join his regiment, no step was firmer, and no form
more erect than his.
When he had waved adieu to the friends who had accompanied him to the
limits of the town, and had bidden farewell to the tearful Emerence,
his betrothed, who had come with the others; many were the prayers
and good wishes that followed him upon his journey. He was a great
favorite with both the young and old people of Hagen, and no
merry-making was considered complete without the company of young
Henry Schulte and his violin.
It was at one of the May-day festivals that Henry had met the
beautiful Emerence, the daughter of old Herr Bauer, the brewer, and
as their regard proved to be mutual, and the father of the young lady
being propitious, nothing occurred to mar the pleasure of the young
people, and the course of their true love flowed on as smoothly as
the gentle river until Henry was required to do service for his king
and to enter the ranks as a soldier.
It is needless to follow the young man through the various episodes
of his soldier life, in which he distinguished himself for his
uniform good nature, cheerful obedience of orders and strict
attention to duty; it is enough to know that at the expiration of his
term of service he returned home, and was welcomed by the many
friends who had known and loved him from his youthful days.
It was at this time that the catastrophe occurred which changed the
whole tenor of his life, and made him the reserved, hard man that we
find him at the commencement of our story.
In the village there lived a wild, reckless young man by the name of
Nat Toner, who had just returned to his native place after an absence
of several years, and who since his return had spent his time at the
village tavern amid scenes of dissipation and rioting, in which he
was joined by the idle fellows of the village, who hailed with
delight the advent of the gay fellow whose money furnished their
wine, and whose stories of romantic adventure contributed to their
entertainment.
Nat was a bold, handsome fellow, whose curling black hair and
flashing black eyes and wild, careless manner played sad havoc with
the hearts of the young girls of Hagen, and many a comely maiden
would have been made supremely happy by a careless nod of greeting
from this reckless young vagabond.
Not so with Emerence Bauer. Her timid, gentle nature shrank
involuntarily from the rough, uncouth manners of the handsome Nat,
and the stories of his extravagances only filled her mind with
loathing for the life he was leading and the follies he was
committing.
As she compared her own cheerful, manly Henry to this dissipated
Adonis, whose roistering conduct had made him the talk of the
village, she felt that her love was well placed and her heart well
bestowed.
To Nat Toner the aversion manifested by Emerence only served to
create in him a passionate love for her, and he was seized with an
uncontrollable longing to possess her for his own.
Up to this time he had not been informed of the betrothal existing
between Emerence and Henry Schulte, and his rage and disappointment
on discovering this fact was fearful to behold. He cursed the young
man, and swore that, come what would, and at whatever cost, he would
permit no one to come between him and the object of his unholy
affections.
His enmity to Henry Schulte, which soon became very evident, was
manifested upon every possible occasion, until at length Henry's
universal good nature gave way under the repeated taunts of his
unsuccessful rival, and he resolved that further submission would be
both useless and cowardly.
Nothing further occurred, however, for some time, but fresh fuel was
added to the fire of Nat Toner's anger by an incident that he was an
unobserved witness of. One evening he was returning home from the
tavern, where he had been drinking with his companions till a late
hour. His way led him past the residence of Emerence Bauer, and as he
passed by upon the other side of the lighted street he witnessed the
affectionate parting of Henry Schulte and the lady of his love.
Setting his teeth firmly, his eyes flashing with the malignity of
hate, he strode on, vowing vengeance upon the innocent cause of his
anger, who, with his mind filled with many pleasant dreams of the
future, pursued his way towards the little farm-house where he then
dwelt with his father and mother.
The next evening as Henry was passing the village tavern on his
return from Dortmund, where he had been to dispose of some of the
produce of the farm, he found Nat and his companions in the midst of
a wild and noisy revel.
Henry would have rode on unmindful of their presence, but Nat, spying
his rival, and heated with wine, induced his companions to insist
upon his stopping and drinking a glass of wine with them, which
invitation Henry, after vainly attempting to be excused from,
reluctantly accepted, and, dismounting from his horse, he joined
their company.
After indulging in the proffered beverage, Henry seated himself with
his companions and joined with them in singing one of those quaint
German songs which are so full of sweetness and harmony, and which
seem to fill the air with their volume of rude but inspiring music.
After the song was finished, Nat filled his glass, and rising to his
feet said, in a taunting voice:
"Here is a health to the pretty Emerence, and here is to her loutish
lover." Saying which he deliberately threw the contents of his glass
full in the face of the astonished Henry.
With a smothered expression of rage, Henry Schulte sprang to his feet
and with one blow from his right hand, planted firmly in the face of
his insulter, he laid him prostrate upon the floor. Quickly
recovering himself, the infuriated Nat rushed at his brawny
antagonist, only to receive the same treatment, and again he went
down beneath the crushing force of that mighty fist. An ox could not
have stood up before the force of the blows of the sturdy farmer,
much less the half-intoxicated ruffian who now succumbed to its
weight.
[Illustration: "_And again he went down beneath the crushing force
of that mighty fist._"]
Foaming with rage and bleeding from the wounds he had received, Nat
Toner struggled to his feet the second time, and drawing a long,
murderous-looking knife from his bosom, he made a frantic plunge at
his assailant.
Quick as a flash, however, the iron grip of Henry Schulte's right
hand was upon the wrist of the cowardly Nat, and with a wrench of his
left hand the knife was wrested from him and thrown out of the
window. Then Henry, unable to further restrain his angry feelings,
shook his aggressor until his teeth fairly chattered, and, finally
flinging him from him with an expression of loathing, said:
"Lie there, you contemptible little beast, and when next you try to
be insulting, count upon your man in advance."
Saying which, and with a quiet good evening to the astonished
company, he walked out of the house, and mounting his horse, rode
slowly homeward.
The discomfited Nat slowly arose, and gaining his feet, glared around
at his wonder-stricken friends, in whose faces, however, he failed to
discover the faintest evidence of sympathy or support.
These honest, good-natured Germans were far too sensible and
fair-minded to justify such an unwarrantable and unexpected insult as
that which had been put upon one of their favorite friends, and
consequently not one of the company lifted their voice or expressed
any regrets for the punishment which Nat had so justly received.
Henry had, in their opinion, acted in a manner which accorded
entirely with their own views upon such matters, and much the same as
they themselves would have done under similar circumstances.
Raising his clenched hand, and with face deadly pale, Nat Toner faced
the silent group, and cried out, in the intensity of his passion:
"Henry Schulte shall pay dearly for this. As truly as we both live, I
will have a full revenge, and in a way he little dreams of."
Uttering these words, he strode fiercely from the room, and
disappeared in the darkness of the night. His companions, realizing
that their pleasure for that evening was ended, silently took their
leave, and wended their way to their several homes.
How well Nat Toner kept his oath will hereafter be seen, but many of
the old men of Hagen yet recall with a shudder his dreadful words,
and their fulfillment.