A freezing night in November, a cutting wind sweeping up from the
Baltic, a sky so black with heavy clouds that not a star gleamed
through, and the sentries on the walls of Stralsund shivered at their
posts.
It was the only city in Pomerania still held for Karl; everything was
ready for defense in case of an attack, and the eyes and ears of the
sentinels were strained against the darkness of the night.
They knew not when they might be surrounded by the armies of the Czar.
A clatter of hoofs out of the obscurity of the night and the sentinels
at the gates stood at attention.
It was one o’clock in the morning and the whole town slept.
“Who goes there?” challenged the sentry, as the horsemen drew up at the
gate.
There were but two of them, as shown by the lantern beams above the
arched entrance.
The foremost answered.
“We are couriers dispatched from Turkey by the King of Sweden,” he said.
The soldier looked at him curiously and saw a tall, powerful-looking man
in a gray suit and dark blue mantle, wearing a black peruke and a
riding-hat laced with gold.
“Sir, it is a long while since we have heard of the King of Sweden at
Stralsund,” remarked the sentry, not moving from his post.
“Call out the guard,” said the stranger imperiously. “I must pass.”
His companion, a slight, fair young man, wrapped in a heavy furred
mantle, now spoke.
“Fellow, do not keep us here parleying this bitter night--we have ridden
from Hungary to Mecklenburg, and it is sixteen days since we saw a bed.”
The guard had now turned out into the narrow gate space, and the officer
asked the strangers their business.
“Sir,” said the first speaker, “we bring dispatches from the King of
Sweden.”
“The Governor is in bed,” said the officer, “you must wait till
daybreak.”
“Sir,” cried the traveler, with a flash of terrible blue eyes from the
shadow of his laced hat, “if you do not go at once and wake General
Dücker you will all be punished to-morrow.”
The officer admitted them into the town at this, but was still inclined
to refuse to wake the Governor.
“My God!” murmured the fair young man. “Is this journey to have no end?”
His companion turned sternly to the soldiers.
“Dismount my friend,” he said. “He is exceedingly fatigued.”
Two of the men ran forward to the horse’s head. As they grasped the
bridle the rider sank fainting from the saddle.
“Poor During!” exclaimed his companion. “He is not used to these
hardships.”
He looked with some tenderness at the slack figure of the young man as
the soldiers carried him to the guardroom, and bade them treat him with
all care and respect.
In the meanwhile a sergeant had been sent to awaken the Governor, who,
thinking it must be some person of importance or some imperative
message, bade the stranger to his presence.
General Dücker’s house was near the gates, and it was only a short time
after his appearance at the city walls that the messenger from Demotica
was admitted to the bed-chamber of the Governor.
That gentleman, startled by this sudden rousing from his sleep, stood in
a dressing-gown by the side of his bed; a valet was lighting the candles
that stood on mantleshelf and bureau.
The stranger entered, making the room look small. He brought with him
the cold outer air; wet, dirty snow was on his boots that were flecked
with mud to the knees; he flung back his heavy blue mantle and showed
his gray coat, laced with gold which was like that of a German officer.
“You are from Turkey, sire?” asked the General, speaking with some
sternness as he observed the visitor did not remove his braided hat.
“Yes,” replied the other, “we have traveled all through Germany, from
Moravia to Westphalia--good riding in sixteen days.”
He took off his hat as he spoke, and flung himself into the first chair
he came to with a careless ease very displeasing to the Governor of
Stralsund.
“You came a long way round,” he remarked.
“The journey, sir, could have been made shorter by half.”
The stranger looked full at the speaker; his face looked pale between
the full curls of the black peruke; his blue eyes, that were of an
unusual size and brilliancy, held a curious expression.
“Is it possible,” he said, “that my most loyal subjects have forgotten
me?”
“By Heaven,” cried General Dücker, in a loud voice, “it is the King!”
He threw himself on his knees and kissed Karl’s hand.
“It is the King come back!”
“And not too soon, General Dücker,” smiled Karl. “Come, I will sleep a
little.”
But the old soldier was sobbing with joy, the valet had run from the
room with the great news, and the house was lit from cellar to garret in
an instant, and full of the officers of the garrison.
“But like this! Your Majesty returns alone?”
“There was neither money nor men to be had from the Porte,” said Karl
dryly. “My escort I left at Pitesti on the Turkish frontier. I had no
wish to go through Germany like a traveling show, satisfying the
curiosity of the vulgar. I took Colonel During with me, and we made a
detour, traveling with post-horses. We were not known anywhere. I have
not taken my clothes off since we started,” he added. “We rode day and
night I fear I have nearly killed During.”
He smiled and rose.
“So I am on Swedish soil again--and this is the sole town I hold in
Pomerania. There is much for me to do, General Dücker.”
The town was now full of people and illuminated from end to end; candles
and lamps appeared in all the windows, barrels of wine were rolled into
the streets, and the King’s health drunk amid fierce excitement.
The soldiers pressed round the house of the Governor hoping for a
glimpse of the King who had returned to restore Sweden’s fortunes.
A chamber was hastily prepared for the King; he had no clothes save
those he wore, and his boots that he had worn for sixteen days had to be
cut from his legs, so swollen were they with excessive riding.
He tossed off the dark peruke that had served as a disguise, looking
different with his clipped fair hair and more like the King these men
remembered fifteen years ago.
“To-morrow I will inspect the fortifications, General Dücker,” he said,
as he stretched his great length on the bed.
He bid them open the shutters that the light of the illuminations might
fall across the room, and the sound of his people’s acclamations come to
his ears.
He was soon in a deep slumber of absolute exhaustion; his hand, even in
his sleep, stretched towards his sword that lay by his side.
In this wild way did the wild King come home.
PART IV
FREDRIKSSTEN
“Voilà la pièce finie, allons souper.”--_Mégret at Fredrikssten._
The King of Sweden was in his camp before Fredrikssten, the fortress
that protected Frederikshald, the town that was considered the Key of
Norway.
This was the second expedition against Norway that the King had
undertaken since his return from Turkey, both in the dead of winter, to
the astonishment of Europe; it seemed that it would have been more
reasonable for him to remain and defend his bankrupt kingdom menaced on
all sides, in a state of siege and reduced to using leather money; but
Karl never did the reasonable thing nor what other men expected of him.
None of his ancient success had attended him in his fresh campaigns
against his enemies; Stralsund, after a long siege and desperate battles
in which the King fought hand-to-hand with his foes, had been taken by
assault, and Karl had escaped across the half-frozen Baltic to
Karlskrona, leaving among the dead in the burning town Grothusen,
During, and Dahldorf, three faithful friends of his exile.
His enemies now included the King of Prussia, who had bought Stettin and
a part of Pomerania from the King of Denmark, and the Czar and the King
of England who had purchased the rest of Sweden’s spoils, Breme and
Verden, from the astute Frederic, who was not slow to turn his conquests
into ready cash.
Peter retained his own booty; this consisted of Riga, Livonia, Ingria,
Carelia, Vasa, Finland, the Isles in the Baltic, some of which were not
twelve leagues from Stockholm.
By his victory of Aland he had demolished the Swedish fleet, and led
captive to his new fort of Kronstadt the flagship of Ehrensköld, the
Swedish Admiral.
But more bitter to the peculiar temperament of Karl than these successes
of his great rival, was the ruin of Holstein-Gottorp, which he had taken
under his protection since the beginning of the war, and the
reinstatement of Augustus in Poland, with the consent of all the
guarantees of the treaty of Altranstadt.
He forbade Stanislaus to conclude the advantageous treaty the
good-natured Elector offered, and give the Pole, who had thus to forfeit
his ancient estates and position, for the empty title of King, the Duchy
of Deux-Ponts which was in his gift. To replace Stanislaus on the Polish
throne, and to rescue the estates of his nephew whom he also intended to
make his heir, was now the chief end of the King’s policy.
Of the state of his people he cared little; he had put on enormous
taxes, debased the coinage, called up all the fit men, strained every
resource to continue his ruinous wars; during two winter campaigns he
had watched his soldiers die of cold among the snows of Norway, with the
same insensibility as he had seen them die amid the ice of the Ukraine.
Baron Görtz, the only one of his ancient friends left to him, was now
his Prime Minister, and pursued a fantastic foreign policy, but too
attractive to the strange spirit of the King.
The Swede by means of deep and complicated intrigues, and with the help
of Cardinal Albuoni, Primate of Spain, sought to put the Stuart
Pretender on the throne of England, in place of that Elector of Hanover
who had outraged Karl by his bargain with Denmark.
These dangerous intrigues had been discovered in England and the Swedish
ambassador arrested, but Baron Görtz still persisted in his scheme, and
Karl continued to support him; his design was now to draw Peter into a
secret alliance with Karl, that should place Europe at the feet of
Russia and Sweden.
The Czar, ever eager for material advantage, and indifferent to mere
glory, was disposed to listen to a plan that would silence his most
obstinate foe, and Karl, no politician, and interested in nothing but
war, was ready to forego, at least for the moment, his design to
dethrone Peter, if he could secure vengeance against those foes whom he
despised and hated more than he did Peter--the Kings of Poland, Denmark,
and England.
To besiege Norway in winter, and wrest this prize from the Danes, was
more pleasing to his character than to attack in Germany, or to remain
on the defensive at home; and Baron Görtz had assured him that Peter
would not attack in his absence.
The Czar indeed was glutted with conquest, and was always wise enough to
not undertake more than he could with safety perform.
Karl had with him the Prince of Hesse-Cassel, who had lately married his
sister; this professional soldier had lately been serving the
States-General, and was regarded by the King as a good general, but he
gave him little confidence and no affection.
This Prince was with the King when the Swedish camp was being laid down
before the heights of Fredrikssten, and Karl, in high spirits at the
thought of the approaching struggle, spoke with him in a more friendly
spirit than was his wont.
“Ah, Prince,” he said, “when we have taken Frederikshald, Norway will be
ours.”
“How long does your Majesty think to take in subduing Norway?” asked the
German courteously.
“I should have taken it last year,” replied the King, “but for the
provisions.”
He had made the same mistake he had made in the Ukraine--that of moving
his army too far from his base, and had had to return to Sweden with
starving troops.
“Six months,” he added; “then, at last, I shall see Stockholm again--a
pity Count Piper is not here to hear me say that,” he smiled.
It was eighteen years since he had seen his capital, to which he did not
intend to return till he was triumphant.
“Let us go and look at the trenches--these engineers are very slow,”
continued Karl; he called an officer and bade him fetch M. Mégret, the
French engineer who was conducting the siege.
It was a bitter night but cloudless; there was no moon; the stars
glimmered hard and clear as if cut from crystal in the dark sky.
Everyone but the King was muffled in mantles and furs; Karl wore his
plain uniform with black cravat and top-boots.
He had now completely recovered from his sickness--the sickness
engendered by a soft life--and was at the height of his great strength
and perfect hardihood; he had filled out to the proportions of a Viking,
could live on bread and water, go without food for days, sleep on the
ground in midwinter with no covering but his cloak, and no pillow save
one of straw.
It was this strength of body, this fortitude of soul, this stern,
austere life, that made him so respected and feared, that neither in
court nor camp did anyone dare to murmur at the misfortunes he had
brought on Sweden.
M. Hesse-Cassel took his leave to return to his own quarters, and Karl
awaited the coming of M. Mégret.
He was impatient to take Fredrikssten and to proceed into Norway, and he
thought that the works were not as advanced as they should be.
He walked up and down the little tent, his step ringing on the frozen
ground, his breath clear before him in the frosty air.
As M. Mégret entered he raised his head; the Frenchman looked at him and
thought, “If the Czar could see you now he would not be too secure,” so
redoubtable did Karl appear with his magnificent make, his noble
inflexible face, his cold air of power.
“M. Mégret,” he said, “I should like to see your works.”
The engineer bowed and followed the King out of the tent.
The soldiers were desperately laboring in the starlight.
“They work slowly, sire, because the ground is so frozen and rocky,”
remarked M. Mégret, “but the place will be taken in eight days.”
“We shall see,” replied Karl.
He entered the trenches accompanied by his aide-de-camp Siquier and the
engineer; they had no lights, but now and then there was a dull glow
from a bomb cast by the enemy; mingled in the sound of the cannon was
the rattle of pick and spade on the hard ground.
The King continually complained as he advanced from trench to trench of
the backwardness of the work.
“You would make me take as long to gain Fredrikssten,” he said, “as I
mean to use for the whole of Norway.”
So splendid was his quiet presence that these words did not sound
boastful from the lips of a king of broken fortunes; looking at him the
officers forgot the lost provinces, the brass money, the starving
populace, and remembered only Narva and Klissow.
The King continued to move rapidly from one portion of the works to
another; he was now joined by the captains of the trenches.
An intermittent firing came from the fortress, the red light of the
cannon showing now and then in the cold night.
Occasionally there was the whistle of a musket-ball as the Norwegian
sentries fired at the Swedes working in the dark.
The King reached an angle of a _boyau_ in the finished portion of the
entrenchment; he paused, wishing to observe how far the parallel was
advanced, and mounting the fire-step rested his elbows on the parapet
and watched his soldiers moving, crouching, running, digging among the
dislodged fragments of rock and the heaps of frozen earth; here and
there the starlight showed dully a patch of snow; the noise of the
hurried labor was continuous; despite the random cannonade from
Fredrikssten the Swedes were carrying their works up to the very
_glacis_ of the fort, and they occupied the entire _terre-plein_. Above
the northern sky showed clear as water agleam with cold stars that
palpitated in the pale colorless night; a bitter wind swept these frozen
heights, and nature’s stillness reigned above the horrid sounds of war.
Karl looked across the bent figures of his soldiers to the great fort on
the summit of the rocks. M. Siquier who was close behind him called out
to him not to expose himself, for his head and shoulders showed above
the earthworks which were directly opposite to one of the cannon on the
advanced fortification of Fredrikssten; the Norwegians could be observed
moving round this battery. Karl looked over his shoulder and smiled;
without speaking he returned to his observation; his silence conveyed
extraordinary arrogance, vitality, and power.
Suddenly he put his hand to his sword and gave a great sigh.
“Sire!” cried M. Siquier.
Karl remained motionless, standing like a sentinel with his sword half
drawn from the scabbard, facing the dark heights.
As the aide-de-camp mounted beside him he fell forward on the frozen
earth, his haughty head suddenly bowed face downwards on the parapet. A
stray musket-ball had entered his left temple; when M. Siquier touched
him he was already dead.
THE END.
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