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"THE WOODSMAN."
A German newspaper contains a strange account--avouched with as much
apparent accuracy almost as those which concerned the mermaids lately
seen off our own coast, or the sea-serpent that visits the shores of
America--of a conversion lately worked upon the morals of a famous
robber, by a supernatural visitation in the forest of Wildeshausen. The
hero of the tale, whose name is Conrad Braunsvelt, but who was better
known by the cognomen of "The Woodsman," was drinking one evening
at a small inn on the borders of the forest of Wildeshausen, when a
traveller, well mounted, and carrying a portmanteau on his horse behind
him, came up by the road which runs from the direction of Hanover. The
stranger, after inquiring if he could be accommodated with a bed, led
his horse away to the stable, and in doing this, left his portmanteau
upon a bench within the house--which Conrad immediately, as a
preliminary measure, tried the weight of. He had just discovered that
the valise was unusually heavy, when the return of the traveller
compelled him to desist; but his curiosity, without any farther effort,
was not long ungratified; for the stranger soon opened it before him, as
it seemed, to take out some articles which were necessary for his use at
night; and displayed in the process several large bags--larger almost
than the machine would have seemed able to contain--which were evidently
full of gold or silver money. The cupidity of Conrad was excited by this
view, and he would gladly have at once secured the prize even at the
hazard of a personal struggle with the stranger; but the people of the
inn (according to his account afterwards) were such as would have
expected a portion of the spoil. For this reason, although unwillingly,
and trusting himself to sleep little, lest by any chance the prey should
escape him, he abandoned his design of robbery, for that night; and on
the next morning, having learned which way the stranger travelled--for
the latter exhibited no suspicions or apprehension of those about him,
but spoke freely of his intended road, though he never mentioned
anything of the charge he carried--having ascertained this fact, he
allowed the rider to depart, and after a short time, followed by a
shorter track through the forest, which was practicable only to persons
on foot, and which would enable him, had he even started later, easily
to overtake the mounted traveller. Now, knowing that his nearer road
saved, as has been noticed, full a league of ground, the "Woodsman"
moved on slowly; and accounted that, when he reached the point at which
they were to meet, he should still have some time to wait for the
stranger: on emerging, however, into the high road, he found him to his
surprise _already_ approaching; and, what was still more extraordinary,
mounted upon a _black_ horse, when that on which he had left the inn,
had certainly seemed to be a brown. The portmanteau, however, which was
all that Conrad looked to, was still behind the traveller, and on he
came riding as if nothing at all was the matter: the "Woodsman" never
hung back, or staid reflecting, but levelled his rifle, and called upon
him to "Stand and deliver," or his next moment was his last. The
traveller upon this pulled up his horse with an air of great coolness;
and, looking upon Conrad, said something, which, as the robber since
says, he verily believes was--"That he hoped he had not kept him
_waiting_!"--or words to that purpose; but he was too busy at the time
to pay much attention to discourse. "Do you know who it is you are going
to rob though?" asked the stranger, addressing the "Woodsman" directly.
"Not I," replied the latter, boldly: "but, if you were der Dyvel
himself, descend from that horse, and deliver the bags of money that you
have on you, or you shall die!" Upon this, the black rider said no more;
but dismounted quietly, although he had pistols in his holsters; and
Conrad, immediately taking the portmanteau from the horse's back, was so
eager to be sure of the contents, that he drew his knife, and cut the
fastenings on the spot. In the meantime, the traveller might have fallen
upon him unawares, and to advantage, but the "Woodsman" endeavoured to
keep an eye upon him, while he went on forcing the valise open as well
as he could. At length the straps were all cut, and the robber thrust
his hands in eagerly, making sure to find the bags which he had seen the
preceding evening, for he had distinctly felt them from the outside.
But, when he drew out his hands, there was in one only a _halter_, and
in the other a piece of brass in the shape of a _gibbet_! And, at the
same moment, a gripe was laid upon his arm; and a deep low voice, which
seemed to be close beside him, pronounced the words, "_This shall be thy
fate_!" When he turned round in horror and consternation, the horse, and
the rider, and the portmanteau, all were gone; and he found himself
within a few paces of the inn door which he had quitted in the morning,
with the halter and the brass gibbet still remaining in his hand. The
narrative states farther, that this horrible rencontre so affected
Conrad Braunsvelt, that he forthwith delivered himself up to the rangers
of the forest, and was sent to Cassel to await the pleasure of the Grand
Duke. He is now confined in an asylum for repentant criminals, desirous
of being restored to society; and his miraculous warning is noted in the
records of the institution.--_Monthly Magazine_.
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