THE VILLAGE OF RAUNDORF
SCENES FROM WARTIME IN SILESIA
(Adapted from Gustav Nieritz)
IN QUARTERS.
Springtime came, and Mother Nature was awakening
from her winter sleep, trees and shrubbery
were putting on their mantle of green, and all
nature appeared rejoicing over the approaching coming of
summer.
“Soldiers are coming!” cried Liese, the gooseherd girl. “They are already at the bridge! Soldiers! soldiers!”
Even in that country, in the Kingdom of Prussia, where every man is a
soldier for some part of his life, the cry of “fire!
fire!” could not create more excitement than
that of “soldiers!” All who could do so rushed
out to see them. Out of fields and granaries
came farm workers; out of kitchens and parlours came maids;
out of schools came the scholars and students; from workbenches,
the woodcarvers; from the shops, the
salesmen; everybody running at the sound of
trumpets, for the soldiers were not averse to
having it known that they were on the march.
Although a company of soldiers is frequently
made up of stalwart country boys, perhaps
some of them from the neighbourhood through
which they are passing, yet, as cavalry, they
were regarded by the Raundorf people with a
certain awe, for they looked very noble indeed,
mounted upon handsome horses, their bright
weapons shining in the sun, and tall helmets
shading their fair, handsome faces. It appeared
that the horses felt the pride which
animated the breasts of their masters, for they
arched their necks and chomped their bits as
though knowing that thousands of thalers would
not pay for the equipment of even that one
regiment passing through Raundorf that beautiful
spring day.
Having never before seen a cavalry company, most young people were almost bewildered by the splendor. Their hearts beat high.
Why are these well-formed,
strong, healthy men, these noble horses, these
bright weapons, gathered in a common cause?
And the answer comes. To wound, to kill; to
bring anguish upon tender wives, brides, and mothers,
and tears to little ones who should know
nothing of sorrow. Very attractive is the profession
of arms, but it is like the bitter pill
coated with sugar; and all the glare and glitter
of dress-parade cannot atone for the real hardship
and danger.
“But every country has soldiers, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but not such an immense standing
army as ours. At least two millions of able-bodied
men are in the army, who could be
added to the working force of King and Fatherland,
and many hundreds of thousands of horses.”
“But the Herr Baron is an officer, and he is so good and kind that sure he would not be willing to cause
trouble to anyone.”
“It is every man’s duty to protect his country,
and in the Fatherland we have many noblemen
for whom there seems to be no occupation, seeing
that the rules which govern society prohibit
the members of the nobility from engaging in
manual labour of any kind, or the professions of
law, medicine, or the ministry; there seems
nothing but the army for our young noblemen.
They may be good and tender-hearted, as I
well know our kind friend Baron Carl is, but
let war break out, and the most peaceful of
them will, during the horrors of a battle, lead
his men over the bodies of the fallen. Yes, war
is a terrible thing, and nothing can make it
anything else.”
The regiment was
to be quartered at Raundorf and other places
around. Every family had
one or more, and the pastor’s wife had agreed
to accommodate ten, while at the castle many
of the officers were to be entertained, about equally between the parsonage and
the castle, seeing commanders and commanded.
The evening of their arrival at the
parsonage, where Frau Seeback and her maid
had prepared a good hot supper, and had it
upon the table in readiness for them the
moment they should arrive.
“We have to attend first to our horses,”
replied they, curtly, and followed on to the stalls, Frau Seeback had the
viands returned to the oven to keep warm.
For the accommodation of the horses the pastor
had given up even the cow-stall, yet the
cavalrymen, hungry and tired, grumbled at the
meagre accommodations while feeding, watering, and rubbing down their horses; and Tobias
began to think that, after all, the infantry had
quite as easy times on foot as the cavalrymen
on horseback; for not a particle of rest or refreshment
could they take until their horses
were in perfect order, saddles and bridles put
carefully away, and the dust of travel wiped
from their weapons.
In the castle the
stables were filled with fine horses, and the whole
place thronged with officers, their aids and
servants; and the servants of the castle were
roasting, broiling, and baking, and the great
kitchen was fragrant with good things, as, indeed,
it had been for several days.
While the night watchman kept strict guard, that
fires might not result from the smoking of pipes
and cigars by the soldiers.
About two o’clock in the morning the tired
cavalrymen were aroused from slumber by the
shrill sound of a trumpet. They hurried to the
stables, saddled and bridled their horses, and
placed themselves in position at the command
of their officer. The roll was called, and the laggards were severely reprimanded and punished.
At the end of fifteen minutes they were
allowed to return to their quarters, but not to
sleep long, for they had to arise early to attend
to their horses and polish their weapons.
"It was only a false alarm, and is done for the purpose of
training them for sudden attacks. Oh, my boy,
a soldier’s life is not one of play and excitement, but of labour
and stress, even in times of peace."
THE TWO BATTLES.
By eight o’clock that morning the cavalry
set out at the sound of the trumpet, and,
followed by all the boys and tomboys of the neighbourhood,
went to the training-field, at the severity of the discipline, and
the searching scrutiny men and horses were
subjected to by the officers. If a soldier was a
moment too late, if the weapons or mountings
were not as bright as polish could make them,
a saddle-girth the least slack, a stirrup not
adjusted to the proper length, it was a subject
for reprimand.
A sham battle was fought, as earnestly as
though it were the real thing, and one was was
delighted at the wonderful order and discipline
of the troops. At first, a part of the regiment
moved toward the enemy at a slow trot, which
grew faster and faster until the horses broke
into a gallop; the earth trembled with the beating
of many hoofs, and the orders of the officers
and the clash of sabres was a scene of exciting
interest. Then a trumpet sounded,
and instantly the opposing forces dropped into line, the only sound being the snorting and
hurried breathing of the horses. As the dust
cleared away, it was found that two men and
three horses were missing, and later on it was
ascertained that one of the men had been
thrown and killed instantly, and another was
so injured by a horse stepping upon him that
it would be some time before he could be in
line again. Two of the horses were injured,
one so badly that it was ordered to be shot,
and the other limped from a sprain.
The Colonel of the regiment, much disturbed
by these accidents, called the officers together,
and spoke to them in a quick, angry tone.
“Herr Major von Biskowitz, I have good
cause to find fault with your company in point
of training and discipline. Your soldiers are
not prompt, and two of your horses had loose
shoes. In my report to the commander I certainly
cannot speak well of your company; you
must in the future be stricter with your men.”
The handsome face of the Major flushed
with anger; he was about to retort, but remembering
that it was his superior officer he restrained
the impulse; instead, he glanced at his
brother officers to see if there were any evidence
of rejoicing over his humiliation, and
seeing such signs, he gave the military salute
to his superior, and galloped back to the men to vent his wrath upon the officer next lowest
in his command. ”Herr Lieutenant von Schönfeld,” said he,
angrily, “because of your negligence I have
been severely reprimanded. I wish in future
that you would look more to your men, and less
into the looking-glass. Both the accidents
were to the men in your company, caused by
loose shoes upon their horses. Do you leave
it to me to inspect the hoofs of every horse in
the company?”
Young von Schönfeld turned pale with mortification,
for not only in the presence of his
men, but of the villagers and other spectators
was the rebuke given, all looking on in surprise
to see the gayly dressed and handsome young
officer receive such harsh criticism.
“Herr Major,” exclaimed he, “in exchange
for this undeserved charge I would say that —
”
“Be silent!” exclaimed the Major, peremptorily,
“or I will report you.”
“Don’t speak, von Schönfeld,” cautioned a
brother officer, in a low tone, “remember he is
our superior officer.”
Seeing the truth of this, there was nothing
left the Lieutenant but to bite his lips, and
lean forward to smooth the mane of his horse,
and the moment the Major’s back was turned
he put spur to it, and galloped back to his men to vent his wrath upon them for their lack
of attention to orders, many of them so much
older than himself that they were soldiers when
he was a schoolboy.
There were tears in the eyes of the Major,
and the Lieutenant had to gnaw his moustache
to keep in the bitter words. All this scolding
after they had taken so much trouble with their
horses!
The whole thing today
was only sham, yet it cost one man’s life, and
that of two horses; what must a real battle
be!”
The regiment returned to their quarters,
horsemen and riders covered with dust. The
trumpets clanged merrily, but many of the
cavalrymen were anything but' merry. The
Major was so much out of humor that he would
not converse with any one, and all the officers at
the castle seemed so out of sorts that the dinner
was not at all a cheerful meal; Lieutenant von Schönfeld leaving the table the moment he had
finished, and remaining in his room most of the
day.
Think of that
poor cavalryman, Rückert, who was thrown
from his horse today and killed, and the other
so badly hurt that he can never again be a
soldier, and the horse that had to be killed
because of its broken leg; and yet it was only
a sham battle.
The Baroness returned to her room, satisfied
that it would not happen again. Yet she was
not in her usual spirits. She longed for the
time when the castle would be free of soldiers,
and order and quietude take the place of
clanking sabres and spurs, the smell of cigars,
and the banging of doors. She longed, oh, so
earnestly, for the presence of her husband, who was absent, for
she felt the responsibility of entertaining so
many officers; but he, too, was a soldier, and
duty called and kept him from his loved home.
Two children returned to the beech forest, where they
sat down upon a fallen tree behind the shadow
of a great rock. They were scarcely seated
when they heard the sound of horses’ hoofs,
and peeping from behind their shelter they
saw that several young officers, whom the lads recognized as those quartered at the castle,
halted close to them. The boys were full of
curiosity to know for what purpose, and were
not long in doubt, for after a few minutes’ conversation
one of them commenced stepping off
a space in the fragrant turf of the forest, and
they saw with beating hearts that they were to
witness a duel.
Major von Biskowitz and Lieutenant von Schönfeld were the principals, and had come
that lovely, peaceful morning, under the name
of honour, to wipe out the insult of the day
before by risking their young lives.
The lads had heard from their grandfathers deplore
these murders and suicides which flaunted
under the name of honour, and were so filled with
horror at seeing an example of it so near that it left them speechless, and could only look on
in mute helplessness at the terrible, sickening
scene.
“The code of honour is so well known to you,
Herr Major and Herr Lieutenant, that it is unnecessary
to remind you who is entitled to the
first shot,” said one of the seconds, as he placed
pistols in their hands.
A deep silence followed, and the eyes were fastened upon the ghastly face of
von Schönfeld, who was waiting for the “one!
two! three! fire!” and the ball, the bullet, of his antagonist,
who, to the horror, was taking
aim.
Although both were good marksmen, excitement
had unsteadied their nerves, and the
Major’s ball was lost in the air, while that of
the Lieutenant grazed the ear of his antagonist,
and the boys took a deep breath of satisfaction,
for they thought the duel was over. But no; so-called honour demanded two shots; and when
the second called time for another attempt at
murder, the hand of the Major had regained its
steadiness, a fearful cry filled the silent beech
grove, and Lieutenant Schönfeld fell to the
ground desperately wounded.
“He challenged me, and it is his own fault
if he got the worst of it,” remarked Major von
Biskowitz, turning away from the terrible sight.
The physician who had accompanied them
stepped forward and tried to stay the flow of
blood; a litter was provided, and the young
officer was placed upon it and carried to the
castle.
WHAT IS TRUE HONOUR?
“The Lieutenant von Schönfeld having gone out for a morning ride in the beech
forest, his horse fell and threw him, and in
rising stepped upon him,” was the report which
went to the commander of the regiment, and
was given to the Baroness, who was filled with
anxiety and sorrow over the accident;
“It is not true,” was said to Peter the
coachman, “I saw the Major shoot the Lieutenant
in the breast with his pistol.”
“We all know that as well as you do; Jakob
told us,” replied Peter, “and the Colonel knows
it too, but it is his policy not to let people suspect
that he has knowledge of it, or they would
all be court-martialled.”
“Then the commanders don’t allow it?”
“No, they pretend not, but I often hear of
duels among the hot-blooded young officers.”
A crime that was forbidden and yet allowed,
was a mystery.
“Yes, with officers of that
style a duel is not only considered commendable,
but a necessity, when they imagine their
honour assailed, although it is strictly forbidden.
No wonder you are shocked, dueling may be the code of officers...”
War in
any form is a terrible evil. Thousands of innocents are murdered,
for we cannot call it by any other name,
whole villages are burned to the ground, expensive
and useful bridges destroyed, and cruel
loss and havoc follow wherever it goes. But a
duel is the most bloodthirsty and cruel of all,
for it, there is never any excuse, and there is
no good to be gained from it in any way. Lieutenant
von Schönfeld considered that his superior
officer had insulted him in the presence of
his men and others, and what has he gained?
Nothing, and may lose his life. Oh, it
is far better to suffer injustice than to inflict it,
and if he had killed Major von Biskowitz for a
few hasty words, his life would have been one of remorse, as no doubt that of the Major will
be, although he carried a high head in the
affair.”
The sham battle of the day before, and the
wounding of Lieutenant von Schönfeld was the
subject of neighbourhood talk, and while the
servants at the castle were taking their breakfast,
Jakob, the servant of Lieutenant von
Schönfeld, came to the kitchen for warm water
and linen cloths.
“How is your Herr Master?” questioned
Peter, “will he get well?”
Jakob looked very sad, and finding that the
servants knew it to be the result of a duel, and
not an accident, gave what information he
could.
“They are searching for the ball, and it
causes the loss of much blood,” said he. “I
don’t see how he can live, and I don’t know
how his mother and father can bear the news
of his death, for he is their only child, and
they almost worship him.”
“What made him so silly as to fight the Major?”
questioned Peter. “Words don’t kill;
and if anybody speaks crossly to me, I just say
to myself, ‘Keep your mouth shut, Peter, and
move off.’ I let all rough speeches roll off like
water off a duck’s back; so nobody is hurt.”
“Yes, that will do for common people like us,” responded Jakob, “but young officers must
attend to points of honour. Three weeks ago,
when my young master took leave of his home,
his father said : ‘ Remember, my son, first comes
honour; then the LORD; then the Kaiser; then
your parents. Honour lost, all is lost; and I
would rather see you in your grave than to
hear that you had turned your back upon
honour.”
“What is honour?” questioned old Bertha,
the cook. “I cannot make out exactly what
it is.”
“Honour,” responded Jakob, reflectively and
pompously, “honour is when a man makes other
men afraid of him.”
“Then rats must have plenty of it, for I am
afraid of them,” grumbled Bertha.
“I don’t like anybody to make light of such
a serious subject,” remarked Jakob, with dignity.
“Our old Herr Baron thought that our young
Baron Carl had injured his honour by marrying
a lecturer’s daughter; can you explain that, Jakob?”
questioned Peter.
“Honour among the nobility is a curious
thing, and cannot be easily explained,” replied
Jakob.
But, oh! how many they who will not seek
this humble, pure nobility of soul;
and deem their fellows cowardly and weak,
who faithfully their littleness control,
and look o’er time to that immortal goal
where honour false shall quick be disarrayed,
and honour true receive its rightful dole,
a crown! That crown, oh, comrade, will not fade.
To gain it strive; may it thy brow enshade!
“Yes,” remarked Jakob, when he had finished,
“that sounds very good, and I suppose
it is, but it would not do for our young officers
at all. If there were no fear of duels, the superior
officers would tyrannize until life would be
a burden, for the inferiors cannot resent it in
any other way that I know of. Yes, yes, the
fear of a challenge keeps them respectful. If
my poor Herr Lieutenant had been willing to
put up with the insulting words of the Major,
all his brother officers would have despised
him. Yes, he would have been ashamed to
meet the eyes of his comrades. Now that he
has met the Major and exchanged shots with
him, they will have respect for him.”
“What use will that be if he is in his coffin?”
inquired Peter.
“What use? Why much. People can die
but once, and a soldier’s life is never secure;
just think of cavalryman Rückert yesterday.”
“When is he to be buried?”
“This evening, and tomorrow bright and early the regiment moves, but my poor Lieutenant
will remain.”
“Had Rückert any family, Jakob?” inquired
Bertha.
“Yes, the Colonel sent them word of the
accident, but they don’t come.”
The words had scarcely been uttered when
there came a timid knock at the kitchen door,
and Peter hastened to open it.
There stood a feeble-looking little middle-aged woman
dressed in mourning, and with her a half-grown
girl in black as well. Both seemed scarcely able to stand from
weariness, and their eyes were dim with tears.
“
Where is the body of my boy, my Heinrich?”
said the elder woman, oh! tell me that I
am not too late! I am his mother and this is
his only sister, Sophie. We have walked a
long way, but if we only see my boy.”
Tears stopped her utterance, and the servants
looked upon her with deep sympathy, but thought of bringing chairs for them.
“His death was so sudden, little mother Rückert, that
I doubt if he suffered pain,” said Jakob. “We
must all die, and we don’t know how soon, and
it was much easier than to have been wounded
in battle, and perhaps live a long time a miserable
cripple.”
The mother looked at him as though unable
to comprehend his words.
“He was my only son, my support, for I am
a widow,” said she, with pale lips.
“Exactly, so is my master an only child,”
answered Jakob, “and oh, misery! I had forgotten
that I came for warm water and bandages; here, you people, give me the things, why
dont you hurry? dear, dear I to think I should
forget in such a time!”
He hurried away, and the others turned to
Frau Rückert.
“Have some coffee and semmels, little
mother,” said Bertha, “come to the table and
eat, it will rest you.”
“But first tell me of my lad, and that I am
not too late.”
“No, you are not too late,” with
tears of sympathy in his eyes. “He is at Herr
Schindler’s, where he was quartered. I will
take you there, if you are not too tired.”
“Oh, tired indeed are we, for we have walked
eight hours, but we would walk double the distance
to see my poor boy.”
“But eat something, mother, before you go.”
said Peter.
“Oh, I could not swallow it. If Sophie can
eat, I will wait for her.”
But the sister also declined, and both arose
and followed. It was quite a distance, and the time was beguiled by telling them of the duel, of the parting words of Lieutenant
von Schönfeld’s father, and of his terrible
wounding.
“Oh! how could any father give such advice
to his son?” exclaimed Frau Rückert, in
shocked surprise. “And to put honour before
his Maker! Poor boy! poor boy! he felt compelled
to stand up and be shot for what he
considered honour. Oh! had he no good mother to counteract that goodless advice?”
“Jakob did not say that she did. But we have reached the Schindlers',
and your son is in that room where the blind
is down.”
The mother turned very pale, and leaned
against the door-frame for support; but, quickly
recovering, she took the arm of her daughter,
and followed into the room. There lay
young Heinrich Rückert in his cavalry uniform, his face
peaceful in the repose of death, and in his
hands a bunch of wildflowers, placed there by
a comrade in arms.
Speechless and tearless, the mother gazed for
a moment, and then came a low cry: “Heinrich,
my boy, my son!” and she sank, almost
fainting, upon the rocking chair which had been placed for her.
‘‘A better son no mother ever had,” said the
poor woman, after a long pause, and rocking
herself slowly to and fro. “He had only one
year more to serve; then he was to have come
home, and was to have married our good Lotta, the best party in our village; and her parents were to
have given her a piece of land, three cows, and
five hundred thalers. And my boy was not
willing that Sophie should go out to service,
but said that he would give her the amount
she would earn, so that she might stay with me
while he was away. He was always so thoughtful
and kind.”
...lying in the place of Heinrich.
After a time they heard a great trampling of
horses’ hoofs outside, and they knew that
the cavalrymen were returning from the training field.
Frau Rückert knew it, too, and tears rained from her eyes at the thought that at the
last training her boy was alive and well, and
that he was now deaf to her words of love.
It had been arranged that the funeral was to
be late in the afternoon, and Herr and Frau Schindler showed every kindness to the poor
mother and sister in the interval, and seeing
them in such good hands, they resolved to prepare the funeral.
The servants listened eagerly to all there was to tell, and back to the Schindlers' came a message from the Baroness,
that Frau Rückert was welcome to return to
the castle when the funeral was over, and
remain as long as she felt contented to stay.
To the surprise of the villagers the Colonel
came to the funeral, and all his officers followed
his example. Nearly all the regiment followed
the simple casket, and the whole village turned
out to see a soldier’s funeral. Half-holiday
was given the schoolchildren, and all took
flowers to lay upon the grave. Next to the
coffin walked the two mourners, for the mother wished it,
and the boy was glad that it was a comfort to
her to see him there, and the words of Herr
Seeback touched the hearts of many of the
dead cavalryman’s comrades.
Then the mother and sister were taken to
the castle, where a good room was given them,
to which they retired after their light supper,
and where they slept the sleep of exhaustion.
Early the next morning the regiment left
Raundorf, and no one was sorry to part from
them.
All had left the castle except Herr Lieutenant
Schönberg and his servant Jakob, the
poor young officer being too badly wounded
to move in his bed, and to the great satisfaction
of the Baroness, Frau Rückert, who was an
experienced nurse, was very willing to stay and
take care of him, and Sophie made herself
useful in many ways.
AN ATTACK BY FREEBOOTERS.
Few weeks passed, and the whole country
was agitated by the cry of “War!
War!” which, brought sorrow to every household
in Raundorf.
“Oh, my husband,” cried the Baroness von
Raundorf, weepingly, “why not ask for your
discharge from the army? There are plenty to
go without your risking your life; you can
easily procure a discharge.”
“I know it, my Amalie, but think how cowardly
it would be to ask for it when my country
needs my services! I would not be worthy the
name of nobleman, much less of soldier and officer
in the Kaiser’s service. The Fatherland
calls upon all her sons, and we must obey.”
Throughout the Fatherland mothers were crying because of the danger to which their loved
ones would be exposed, children sobbing for
their fathers, sisters for their brothers, brides for their grooms, and wives for their husbands.
From every town, village, hamlet, and farmhouse in Prussia came response to the call “to arms!”
the farmer going from his fields, the merchant
from his desk, the pastor from his pulpit, teachers
from their pupils, work of all kinds left
unfinished, the hands employed upon it having
taken up sabre and musket.
There was another great question to be considered
which the war entailed, and that was
provisions for such a great number; and for
this object contributions were levied, all doing
their share according to their ability, and that
of Baron von Raundorf was a generous one,
cattle, sheep, and other animals for food, beside
all kinds of grains and vegetables.
Before the militia left Raundorf, they, headed
by the Baron, went to the church, where there
was service especially for them. The good
pastor prayed for their safe return, and blessed
them. Sadness was upon every face; women
dried up their tears, and the solemn tones of the organ touched
many hearts. “With God, for Crown and Fatherland!” Herr Seeback had said, and
his discourse inspired them to battle for the
right. He bade them to keep faith ever before
their eyes, and love in their hearts.
Then the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper was
administered, and they marched away, and the
pastor returned to the parsonage.
“War is the
last resort of those who are striving for power, ultima ratio regum;
and bloody wars are fought for territory which
by right belongs to others. Such was the case
with the wars of Napoleon, which, for twenty
years, devastated Europe. But there are such
things as just wars, and that is when a country
must protect itself against an enemy, as in the
case of Germany against France in 1813, when
we all took up arms in defence of our Fatherland,
our wives, our children, our elders, and our homes.
But I cannot look upon the present war in that
light, it appears to be more for the sake of a
covetous longing for more territory and a desire
for glory. I think a certain faction of the councillors of the Kaiser much to blame in influencing him to
declare war. To stir up quarreling and strife
is no great achievement, any simple-minded
school-boy can do that, but to establish peace
and keep peace is a noble virtue worthy of
heroes and rulers. May the Lord of Mercy bring the war to a close speedily, and for that
we must pray.”
The once peaceful village,
busy with its daily work of living, was now
idle; the men who were at home gathered in
groups discussing the situation, and those who
once spent their evenings at home gathered in public places to hear the
news by word of mouth and to read the newspapers.
At the same time there was much anxiety at
the castle to hear the news, the Baroness
watching for letters from her husband, and
reading with beating heart the list of killed
and wounded after each battle.
“The messenger
brought nothing this morning, but I am sure a
later mail has something for me; I am terribly
anxious about the Herr Baron.”
They found Berlin in a state of great excitement,
every face wearing a look of anxiety.
Men were gathered at every street corner,
and others were on church towers and other
high places watching with field-glasses in
hand.
“If you lie down and put your ear to the ground, you can hear the booming of cannon,”
the boys heard a man say; “‘it must be a terrible
battle; may our troops be given the victory,
or the enemy will be on us by tomorrow morning.”
The boys listened to this and many other
bits of news, then getting a letter for the Baroness
and some newspapers they started for
home; their talk naturally being upon the subject
uppermost in all minds.
“I cannot help wishing that, if there must
be a battle, we were near enough te see it,”
remarked Gustav. “We boys, and some of the most spirited girls, have often played
war, and speared each other with corn-stalks
and bombarded with clods of soil, but I have never seen cannon fired and limbs shot off;
that is real war.”
“But I hope we will never see that; just
think of the people who have sons and fathers and brothers and husbands
in the army! And there is a great
battle going on now, and the poor Frau Baroness,
who is nearly sick from anxiety and cannot
sleep, will feel far worse when she hears of it.”
“Don’t you hear somebody coming? I do, just listen.”
“Let us put our ears to the ground, there is
no one about to see and laugh at us.”
The boys laid themselves flat upon the ground and listened. It was near a strip of woodland,
bushes near at hand, and tall trees in the background.
‘‘Don’t you hear the thunder of cannon?
“Yes, but that sounds far off; near at hand
I hear the people walking; look, Gustav, there
come two soldiers.”
The boys sprang to their feet, Gustav running
into the woods.
“Halt, you rascal!” shouted the man, but
Gustav did not obey; instead, he ran the faster.
“Have you seen any soldiers about here?”
“What have you in your pocket?” was the
next question, “unload, we will take care of all
you have.”
As he refused to comply, whereupon one of
them held his arms fast to his side while the
other rifled his pockets. In one was found
crumbs of bread smeared with butter, and in
the other the letter for the Baroness; the newspapers
which he carried under his arm had already scattered to the winds.
The boy looked on in silent dismay while
they broke the seal and unfolded the letter;
but, though speaking German, they could not
read it, therefore could not understand its contents.
“Here, boy, read this, we want to know what
it says,” said one of them.
“But it is not right to read other people’s
letters unless thy give us permission.”
“All is fair in love and war, boy, have you
never heard that?”
“Louder, boy, louder, if you don’t want a
cut from my sabre.”
“My beloved wife, Amalie, I
have only time for a few words, but I know that
to tell you I am well is the best news I can
send. I am full of anxiety for you and the
children. If you hear of the enemy coming in
that direction, secret yourselves in the wing of
the castle in which are the apartments occupied
by Steward von Seerhausen, and be ready at any moment
to descend through the secret door to the vaults
below, where I secreted the family plate, jewels,
and other valuables. I implore you not to let
one night pass without having two trusty men
from the village to guard the castle and give
you warning of any attack. May mercy take you
and our children in her mighty keeping. Farewell
my beloved, my wife.
“Your Raundorf.”
The boys now realised by
their glances at each other and nods of satisfaction,
that they were enemies, and the last
people who should have heard the contents of
the letter.
“Oh, no, my pretty boy, you are too useful
to let go so quickly, come with us,” and they
led their captive to the bushes, where were
secreted a number of armed men to whom he was compelled to read the letter. They all listened with interest, and
for the rest of the day kept their eyes upon
him, threatening him with instant death if he
tried to escape.
Gustav had not
heard the contents of the letter, that he might warn the Baroness, and, added to that was the
fear that Oustav did not know they were
enemies, although he had run so fast that the
soldier who had chased him saw it was impossible
to overtake him.
At length night came, and as soon as the
men dropped asleep, the captive besought the
leader, with tears and prayers, not to molest
the castle, which he had so unwittingly betrayed.
But he was commanded to silence,
and at midnight, when they set out on their
march, they placed him in front to lead the way.
“Oh! if I could but lead them from Raundorf,
and instead guide them to the swamp of
Gumpersdorf,” thought he, “it would not hurt
them, only keep them prisoners until morning,
and I could run and give the Raundorf people
the alarm.”
But there was no chance to do this Some
of them knew in what direction the village lay,
and they watched him constantly, and it seemed
to him but a very short time until the village
lay before him. He knew every tree and shrub,
saw the steeple of the church pointing to the
silent stars... and
when the castle came into view, and he saw the solitary light burning in the sleeping-room of
the Baroness, he longed to cry out to her of the
danger approaching. He knew that she was
watching for him and for the letter, and that,
instead of the words of love from her husband
being the comfort and assistance to her which
they were intended to be, they had, by his
agency, proved a snare; but he knew that his
voice could not reach her, and that any effort
to give her warning would cost him his life.
“Now, boy, we will visit the castle first, then
the village; and we want you to show us the
way to the secret steps mentioned in the letter.
We also wish to know how many entrances
there are to the castle, and how many people
are in it.”
The prisoner was compelled, at the point of the
bayonet, to answer these questions, and to answer
quickly, for the least hesitation was followed
by blows and pushes that nearly knocked
him off his feet.
In a few minutes they were in front of the
castle, and several sentinels were detailed to
guard against surprises, while the others entered.
They pried open the gate of the courtyard,
then the entrance to the castle, and were
masters of the situation. The frightened servants,
half clothed, gathered about the Baroness,
who had her two children clinging to her, screaming with fright. Her chief fear was that Lila, her younger daughter, would have another attack of illness like the convulsive fevers that had preyed upon her in infancy.
“Take all, everything you can find,” said
she, giving the keys into their hands, “but go
away quickly, that my little ones may not die of
terror.”
THE ALARM BELL.
The freebooters were not long in telling
the Baroness that there were other treasures
in the castle than those which the keys
would unlock, and in proof of it they told her
the contents of her husband’s letter.
In the meantime they had sent one of the
servants of the castle to the village to tell the
inhabitants that, if they would raise the sum of
fifteen hundred thalers, their property should
be spared; if not, the whole place would be
rifled, and then set on fire.
Tumult reigned in and about the castle. The
soldiers threw themselves upon the handsome
sofas and chairs, their dusty clothing and hobnailed
shoes making sad havoc of the richly embroidered
coverings. They ordered a meal
to be served for them of the best that the larder
contained, and what they did not eat they
threw over the richly-carpeted floors. They
ran their sabres through feather beds and
cushions to see whether any treasures were
concealed in them, and they broke handsome
mirrors from pure love of destruction. The castle resounded with singing, shouting, and
whistling; and while the leader was lolling in
a handsome reception chair, he was informed
that a delegation of local villagers was coming.
“Ha! they had better come,” said he. “I
was intending to wait half an hour longer, and,
if the sum of fifteen hundred thalers was not forthcoming,
they would have seen a red rooster (a flame) on
their rooftops.
“Welcome, good friends,” he continued,
turning to the villagers. “I hope that
you have agreed to our demands, for your own
sakes as well as ours.”
“Herr Officer,” said the mild voice of Pastor
Seeback, “I beg of you, in the name of manhood
and religion, to believe me when I say
that in the whole village it is impossible to
raise the sum that you demand. You know as
well as I that in war times no one has much
money by him; and there are no wealthy people
in Raundorf. I have brought eight hundred
and sixty-four thalers, and many of us
have given all that we had. I hope that you
will call to mind your mothers, your wives, and
your children, and will leave this home, where
you are causing terror to the lady and her
children. To protect helpless women and little
ones is always the duty of strong men, particularly
of soldiers.”
“Oh, save your words, Herr Blackcoat; we did not come here to listen to preaching; we
came to plunder. Give out the money that you
have brought, and go back for the balance, or
it will go hard with your village. Now be off.”
“I wish to remind you, Herr Officer, that the
day has gone past when we can be attacked in
our homes by barbarians,” said the pastor,
fearlessly. “I also wish to say that, if you
carry out your threat, the report of such an
outrage will not only ring through Germany,
but throughout the whole of Europe; and that,
to repel such atrocities, the civilians are perfectly
justifiable in taking up arms to exterminate
you; and with that necessity we exterminate
all hope of doing away with our immense
standing army that — ”
“Be silent!” roared the freebooter, “if you
have any regard for your life,” and he seized
his pistol from the table before him. “The
Herr Blackcoat should remember that it is to
protect, him and his peaceful flock that soldiers
voluntarily risk their lives, and eat stale black
bread, and drink murky water out of a field flask,
while he and his peaceful sheep sit at home,
count their thalers, eat of the best, and smoke
their pipes. It is one of the rights of war to
destroy all we can in an enemy’s country, and
we are taking advantage of the right. Your
Herr Baron is an officer, and no doubt is doing, in what he considers the enemy’s country, just
what we are doing here. Here, you people!
Go tell your lady I wish to see her again; if
she will pay the balance of the fifteen hundred
thalers we will go; if not, we will fire the
place.”
Old Peter went to summon his mistress, and
she came looking very pale and anxious, her
children clinging to her dress. But before the
leader had time to speak, a tall, pale figure with
an officer’s cloak thrown about him appeared
in the open door of an adjoining apartment.
“Your name, comrade,” said Lieutenant von
Schönfeld, for it was he who had arisen from
his sickbed in order to be what help he could
to the Baroness and the others; “are you an
officer, or merely leader to a band of robbers?”
“How dare you say that to me? Do you
know that weaker words than those have cost
life?”
“If you act the part of robbers you should
not be ashamed of the name,” replied the
Lieutenant, calmly, eyeing the pistol which the
other had grasped.
“Who is it that dares to speak to me in that
manner? ”
“My name is Benno von Schönfeld.”
With an exclamation of joy the leader sprang
to his feet, and throwing his arm about von
Schönfeld led him to a seat.
“Benno, don’t you know von Sichenan, your
old cadet-comrade, who was heart and soul
your friend?”
“We were friends; but ask yourself, can we
be so longer, you an enemy of our Fatherland?”
“Now, Schönfeld, don’t condemn me unheard.
You know I was always a wild boy,
but not a wicked one, and you also know that
I went into the regiment with Harold, the son
of our colonel, because he was a dear friend of
mine in the military school. But his father
was so severe with me that I asked for my discharge,
and joined the King of Prussia’s troops. At the
breaking out of the present war the Baron von
Lückburg raised a corps of volunteers, and I
became its captain; while in the Kaiser’s
service I was only lieutenant.”
“But you are fighting against your Fatherland,
and against your brother Arthur, who is
in my regiment,” answered von Schönfeld.
“Yes, but when I joined the King’s troops
the monarchs were friendly. That they are now
enemies is no more my fault than it is Arthur’s.
Should I meet him in battle I should forget my duty as a soldier, and be the loving brother
that I have always been to him.”
“You and your men have brought destruction
into this beautiful home,” said von Schönfeld,
looking about him, “have frightened a
noble lady and her children, have brought me
out of my sickbed, and insulted the pastor,
who has been the best friend in the world to
me, for he has brought me to my Saviour; you
have plundered and — ”
“Hush, hush, Benno,” interrupted the leader, “you must remember that my boys are all volunteers
in my service and would go through
fire and water, through fire and ice, for me. They are brave boys,
afraid of nothing; we have made a mistake,
that is all, and are willing to do what we can
to rectify it. But I cannot deprive them entirely
of the rich booty which I have promised
them, but all that is in my power to do I will
do. Ho, Lehmann! Call our people, and tell
them to gather here, I wish to speak to them.”
They came from every part of the castle
where they had been ransacking for treasures,
their sabres clattering as they ran, and touching
their caps to the lady and to their captain,
waited for him to speak.
“Boys, I am sorry to say that by our intrusion
here we have frightened a gentle lady and
her children, and brought my dear old friend, Lieutenant von Schönfeld, from his sickbed, to
the endangering of his life. I feel deeply sorry
for this, as no doubt you do also, and I know
that you will do what you can to help me make
amends. I know that it would not be keeping
my word with you not to allow you any returns
from this expedition, but I think you will agree
with me that under the circumstances we should
be satisfied with less than what we intended to
take. Therefore I propose that the eight hundred
and sixty-four thalers be divided among
you equally, I giving up all share in it; and
that we only keep the money that has been
found in the castle, in which I shall also receive
no share; the plate, jewels, and other valuables
to be restored to their places. Are you satisfied?”
“Yes, yes,” shouted the men, tossing up their
caps, “hurrah for our brave captain, hurrah!
hurrah!”
“Are you satisfied with me now, von Schönfeld?” inquired the leader, taking the hand of
the lieutenant, “have I not done the best I
could under the circumstances, will you not be
friends with me again?”
“Nothing but your promise to give up this
terrible life of robbery can ever reconcile me to
calling you friend, and — ”
Lieutenant von Schönfeld was interrupted by the sharp clanging of the alarm bell in the
village, and captain and men sprang to their
feet.
“Ha! we are betrayed! Who did it? If
we find him we will make him suffer for it!”
and all rushed pell-mell out of the castle.
PRISONERS OF WAR.
It was some time before the castle could
recover its serenity after the departure of
the soldiers; and the Baroness feared that it
could never appear the same, so complete was
the destruction of things she valued as keepsakes
and remembrances of departed friends.
But she had one great subject of congratulation,
that no evil consequences had followed for
her children; and she was deeply grateful that
Lieutenant von Schönfeld’s presence prevented
greater loss, feeling that she had been richly
rewarded for having him faithfully nursed during
his illness.
‘‘He was your deliverer,” the Herr
Pastor had said, when calling to see von Schönfeld
the next day, “for I must believe that had
it not been for him the castle would have been
in ashes.”
The Baroness told Frau Rückert that not
a single thaler was left; and her joy was greater when Sophie Rückert came in with a small
package in her hand and gave it into the care
of the Baroness, who, upon opening it, found
it to be the money for which she had just been
grieving.
Sophie had kept her presence of mind when
all was tumult and confusion; and when the
alarm bell rang, and all were rushing from
the castle, the soldier who had the package
of money dropped it, and Sophie promptly
seized it and threw it into a closet, where she
had just searched for it, never supposing it to
be the money.
“Another one whom you have helped, and
who in turn has helped you,” said Pastor Seeback,
when she told him the circumstances. “You cast your bread upon the waters, and it
is returning to you. He must also have rejoiced who rang the alarm bell, for if he had not
the robbers would not have dropped their ill-gotten
gains.”
“It is natural that you should be
excited and nervous, we are all more or less
so, but it does not seem like you to be so cast
down and discouraged, what is it that distresses
you?”
“I have cause to be miserable, if it had not been for me all this
would never have happened. For I have betrayed my kind Frau
Baroness into the hands of the enemy, and she
has always been so good to me.”
“Did you do it intentionally?” inquired the
pastor.
“Oh, no, but I might have refused to read
the letter, even if they did threaten to kill me,” and he told the whole story to the astonished
listeners.
“Now,” “don’t
grieve another moment about it. If my husband
is spared, and my Lila does not fall ill, I
shall have nothing more to ask. Treasures of
gold and silver are nothing in comparison to
the lives and health of our dear ones, and I
have every hope that both have so far escaped.”
“Then you forgive me, dear Frau Baroness?”
“I have nothing to forgive; you were in the
robbers’ power, there was nothing left for you
to do but to obey their commands.”
“War is the development of all the evil
in human nature. It makes murderers, robbers,
and deceivers. German fighting against German, countryman against countryman in general, brother against brother, son against
father, and friend against friend.
But that is not only very unjust, for as a rule, in the Fatherland,
only the officers are voluntary soldiers; and
many of them rue, in time of peace, what they
thought justifiable in time of war. Not to the
soldiers must the blame be given, but to the
causes which make them so.”
In the meantime war was raging, and the Raundorf people were harassed with anxiety,
and the quartering of soldiers, and there was no
quietude to be found anywhere, the whole
region being in turmoil. This was increased
by the marching through the village of
a large number of the enemy as prisoners of
war, who, weaponless, footsore and weary, were
surrounded by their captors.
From dwellings, barns, gardens, and fields
ran old and young to see the prisoners; and,
to prove the change which war makes upon
peaceful natures, the villagers taunted, threatened,
scoffed at, and mocked the miserable
captives, pelted them with clods, and refused
their request for water to quench their thirst.
In vain Pastor Seeback besought them to
desist from this inhuman conduct, and reminded
them that the prisoners were fellow creatures
whom the chances of war had placed at
their mercy; and that it was possible that the
tide might turn, and that the village might fall
into the hands of the enemy, in which case
they could expect no favors.
Schoolteacher Siebert also plead to deaf ears,
his pupils believing that in time of war they could do as they pleased. Even Gustav taxed
his ingenuity to harass the prisoners, and he
snatched a piece of wood from a lame officer, a young lieutenant not unlike von Schönfeld, who was using it as a staff.
However, another lad, nothing daunted, flew to the assistance
of the crippled soldier, picked up the
stick, and put it into his hand; and to the request
for water, he ran to the village pump,
and soon returned with a full pitcher of pure,
cold water.
“Thank you, thank you, my boy! May you
never want for a drink and be unable to get
it!” said the man, after quenching his thirst
and passing along the pitcher to other eager
hands.
The heart of the friendly boy thrilled with sorrow that
any one should suffer from thirst where water
was so plentiful, and he carried pitcherful after
pitcherful, until the procession was nearer to
the castle than to the village; then he ran on
ahead and told the Baroness of their thirst, and of the starvation they suffered, and she gave orders that all the
provisions that could be supplied in the castle should be taken out to them.
They had scarcely eaten and departed, calling
down blessings upon her, when
some of the villagers gathered in the courtyard
of the castle, and loudly denounced the action
of the Baroness in thus befriending the enemies
of her country.
“If the Frau Baroness had
more provisions than she knew what to do
with, let her distribute them to the people whom the marauders had robbed,” they said,
“and not to those who came to destroy us.”
But the Baroness made no reply; she had only
done her duty, and her conscience was void of
offence.
It was not long before the warnings of Pastor
Seeback and the schoolteacher were brought to
the memory of everyone, for their village was
in the possession of the enemy, and hearts beat
anxiously at the remembrance of the treatment
of the prisoners. But two weeks passed, and
no revenge had been taken for the indignities
heaped upon them, when one day a company
of the enemy’s troops rode through the village,
and the villagers looked into each others faces in
dismay. But the cavalrymen did not seem
to pay any attention to their excitement, but laid
siege to all the provisions found in cellars
and pantries, killed cattle, sheep, geese, and poultry, making themselves very much at home. As
they provided for themselves, so did they for
their horses, and the best the region afforded, in the way of grain and other feed,
was taken without asking leave or giving a
word of thanks.
“Oh, my good dragoon,” said the father of
Gustav, as he saw his two fine cows about to
be driven off, “spare them to me, for they are
all I have for the support of my wife and child.
If you would go to the castle you would
find far finer ones. The Frau Baroness has
forty-four cows in fine condition, and would not
miss all of them as I would my two, for she is
rich.”
“Don’t excite yourself, friend,” replied the
soldier, coolly, “a bird in the hand is worth
two in the bush. Why need we trouble ourselves
to go to the castle when you have what
suits us?”
“You need not go so far,” said Gottlob, “the
Herr Pastor has two fine cows grazing in the
Baron’s meadows; he is far abler to lose them
than I am; pray leave mine and take his.”
“Very good and unselfish in you, my friend,”
replied the dragoon, ironically, “but your
cattle suit us exactly, so why put yourself
to any trouble to recommend others?” and
away they rode, driving Gottlob’s two cows, which action they kindly informed him was
called foraging.
The enemy remained for some time in the
neighbourhood, and the people were deprived
of all their provisions and fuel, and
starvation stared them in the face. They were
so despairing that they no longer appeared like
themselves; the vicar preached to almost
empty benches, the schoolchildren never went near
the school, but roamed idly about the enemy’s
camp, listening to the singing of songs
and telling of fireside stories by the soldiers; the
once peaceful place was completely demoralized.
At length, when no more provisions were to
be had, they commenced persecuting the villagers
to make them give up the money they
had secreted. In their despair, the Raundorf
people called upon a neighbouring village to
come and attack the enemy, they did so,
and several of the cavalrymen were killed and
wounded. But the victory was of short duration,
for a larger company of the enemy came
and made an attack upon the allied village
and burned it to the ground.
The village of Raundorf would have shared
the same fate had it not been for the pleadings
of Pastor Seeback and the schoolteacher; it
was spared, and a short time after the cavalrymen were withdrawn, leaving truly a desert
wasteland behind them.
The Baroness was untiring in her efforts to
help the poor people who had lost their all,
and shared her food, and provided clothing for
every one who came to her for assistance.
LETTERS FOR THE BARON.
The people of Raundorf were in a pitiable
condition after the departure of the soldiers,
the whole world seemed changed to them,
and they felt very little interest in life. The
church bell rang every holiday but well-clothed
people did not come from every direction
as formerly to listen to the sermon. The
few who came were ill-dressed, sad, despondent
and miserable, too stupified by their losses to
heed the words which fell from their pastor’s
lips.
The organ pealed forth its notes under the
skilful fingers of the cantor, who was also the schoolteacher, but no choir
of sweet voices gave praises to the LORD as formerly,
and the pastor dreaded hearing the echo of his
voice in the once well-filled church.
No more, of evenings, sat contented housewives
at the doors of their dwellings, knitting in
hand, and chatting to one another. Nor did Liese, the goose-herd, sing merrily among her quacking brood,
but instead, she searched about the village
for something to appease her hunger, happy if she found a raw potato which had been dropped
unnoticed by the soldiers. The granaries were
empty of grain, the stalls of cattle; the palings
were torn from barnyards, fences from fields,
and gates and doors from dwellings to be used
as fuel, and from many houses the shingle roofs
were taken for the same purpose. The people
sat idly about, having no means whereby to
repair the ravages of war.
The family plate and jewels of the castle had
been taken to Berlin, the capital, and placed in the care
of some friends of the Baroness, who besought
her to come and remain with them
until times grew better, but she would not leave
the people in their distress, but stayed that she
might help them in their need.
She was grateful that her children had not
suffered from the fright occasioned by the attack
of the freebooters, and was happy to see
them playing joyously in the covered walk and
grounds of the castle, watched over by the
faithful Sophie, now their governess.
Lieutenant von Schönfeld, though suffering
somewhat from the exposure and fatigue of his
encounter with the freebooters, was forced to
leave the castle, fearing that he would be taken
prisoner by the enemy, and was strongly advised
by his physician to go to the mineral baths,
and did so; and in his place the Baroness had prevailed upon Pastor Seeback and his wife
and little orphan grandchildren to come to the castle
as company and protection for her, and all were
happier by being together.
Since the country was in possession of the
enemy, the Baroness had received no reliable
news from her husband, nor of the condition
of the main army, the report being spread and
believed by many that it had been vanquished,
and a great number taken prisoners.
“If I could only get a trusty messenger who
would walk to the encampment and bring us a
letter from my husband’s own hand, I should
feel like another person,” said the Baroness,
one day at dinner, to her guests; “but, as it is,
I feel wretchedly anxious.”
All the balance of the afternoon the Baroness
passed in writing to her husband, and the pastor
likewise wrote a long, kind letter, knowing
that every bit of news, no matter how trivial,
would be appreciated. Both letters were then
sewed into the lining of the messenger's coat, which
was old and shabby, as was all his clothing, it
being less likely to attract the attention of the
enemy. The money for his traveling expenses
was sewed into the hems of his trousers; and
the pastor gave him advice as to his demeanor
toward friends and enemies, that there might be
no unpleasant adventures in his undertaking.
With a heart thrilling with pleasure over the
great expedition, he left the castle, and when
he reached an elevation some distance away,
he turned and gazed at the stately castle of
Raundorf, then at the village, the tall church steeple,
and the quiet churchyard.
As he plodded along upon his journey he
saw on every side the devastation which war
had made. He had many dangers to confront,
and met with several hair-breadth escapes; but
he became convinced, as he proceeded, that the
enemy were not the victorious conquerors that
they had been supposed to be before he left home, for they had lost as many battles as they
had won, and, while their troops were upon Imperial territory, the Kaiser's own troops were upon theirs. Both encampments
were surrounded by fortifications, and were at
any hour expecting an attack, one apparently
waiting for the other.
This messenger reached the Kaiser's encampment just as wagons were coming in with provisions,
for the contending armies had devoured everything
within reach, and now edibles had to be
brought from a long distance. If eighty thousand men could consume
that amount in one day, what must be the
quantity required by all the people in the world
for the same length of time, to say nothing of
provender for millions, billions, and trillions of
animals; and from this thought he turned to
that of admiration of the quietude in which
corn grows into the perfect ear, and fruit upon
the trees, and bulbs in the ground; and then,
when ready for use and in people’s possession,
what a noise was made in preparing them for
use, people not being able to grind a little corn
without great hubbub and clatter.
As he went further into camp he was perplexed
to know the position of the regiment in
which the Baron von Raundorf was to be found.
He passed hundreds of tents of the soldiers. Poor little places they appeared to him, not
much protection against rain, nor as comfortable
in any way as the poorest cottage of the
working people. The tents of the officers were
somewhat larger, but had very few comforts.
The Kaiser commanded his troops in person,
and his tent, in the middle of the encampment,
was by far the finest that they had seen, reminding
him of the castle in comparison with
the dwellings of the peasants.
There was a great stir about the tent of the ruler, officers going in and out, and couriers
flying in different directions with messages.
It was before this tent that he saw Baron
von Raundorf standing amid a group of young
officers, and in his joy the boy forgot his ragged
clothing, and pressed forward to speak to
the Baron.
“See here! who is this ragged urchin that
has gotten into camp?” questioned one of the
officers. “Stand back, boy! back! back!”
“I came to see the Herr Baron von Raundorf,
and I must speak with him, I have brought him letters from the
Frau Baroness and our dear pastor.”
“What is it?” exclaimed the Baron, stepping
forward at the mention of his own name.
“Who is the boy, and what does he wish?”
“O Herr Baron, don’t you know me? I came from Raundorf to bring
letters, which I was to deliver into your own
hand.”
“O heavenly Father, I thank thee!” cried
the Baron, looking upward, with tears of joy
in his eyes. “My Amalie, my children—tell
me that they are well.”
“Yes, well, all well, only anxious about you.
The gracious Frau Baroness, and little Otto
and Lila, pray every night and morning for
your safe return, and so do I. And the Herr
Pastor and his wife and grandchildren are at
the castle, and we all talk every day about you.”
The boy could say no more, for the Baron
took him in his arms, pressed him to his heart,
and kissed his forehead.
“And the servants, they all stayed with their
mistress during these terrible times?”
“Yes; Peter and Bertha and Rosamond are
all there, Frau Rückert and her daughter
Sophie.”
Then the messenger took off his coat, and with the
aid of the Baron’s pocket-knife the stitches
were cut, and the letters delivered into his
hand. He kissed the letter of the Baroness,
broke the seal and read eagerly to the close,
then again, slowly and carefully.
“Dear Amalie,” he said, as he folded the
missive and put it in the breast-pocket of his oat, “how bravely she has borne all the
troubles which war has brought upon her.”
Then he went to his tent, and giving orders to his servant to set
the best the place afforded before the weary
boy, he sat down to read the letter of the pastor.
Given the news of the whole region, even of Liese the goose girl, this listener
was never weary.
Then it was decided that it were better that
the boy should leave the encampment the next
morning, as there was every expectation of a
battle being fought.
The messenger expressed his willingness to go that
evening if the Baron thought it wiser, but Herr
von Raundorf told him that he wished to write
letters to send back, and could not have the
time during the afternoon as he had commands
to fulfil for the Kaiser, and that it would give the lad one night to rest before setting out
upon the long walk home.
So the boy took a walk through the camp,
and chatted with the soldiers, and when evening
came he returned to the Baron’s tent, partook
of a comfortable supper, and lay down in a
corner of it, and in a few minutes was fast
asleep.
DISOBEDIENCE TO ORDERS.
It was night, so cloudy and dark that one
could see nothing a few steps away, and the
great encampment lay shrouded
in gloom, resembling a cemetery, the white
tents barely discernible and then only by one
standing very near.
There was not the faintest glimmer of a light
to be seen in any part of the encampment, no
campfire, no call of a sentinel on duty.
One would have supposed that there was no
occasion for vigilance, and that every soldier
was in a deep sleep; not a footstep was heard, no
shadow glided between the rows of tents, no
voice broke the stillness.
The Baron von Raundorf had, at the usual
time of retiring, laid down , but
sleep was never farther from his eyelids. On a
camp-chest beside him was a picture of his
wife and two children, Otto and little Lila, the object upon which his last gaze rested at night and the first in the
morning. The tidings brought made them seem very near, and he hoped
and prayed that they were sleeping peacefully in the distant castle, beyond the reach of
danger.
He laid silently revolving in his mind the
shortest manner in which he could express all
he wished to say in his letter to his Amalie,
then rising he went to the entrance of the tent,
parted the opening and looked out. All was
quiet, and going to his chest he took out a
taper candle, lighted it and set it on the ground, while he
pinned securely the entrance to the tent, and
hung an army blanket over it. This done, he
set the taper on the chest, got out his writing
materials, and commenced the letter to his loved
ones. Rapidly his pen glided over the paper,
and so absorbed was he in his task that he
saw nothing, heard nothing, until a heavy hand
was laid upon his shoulder.
“Mercy, Your Majesty!” cried he, turning
deadly pale, and dropping upon his knees he
stretched imploring hands toward the stately
form that towered above him.
“Did you hear my command this evening
that not a glimmer of light was to be seen in
the whole encampment?” questioned the Kaiser sternly.
“Yes, Your Majesty, I knew it, but I received
a letter from my wife, who is suffering the bitterest
anxiety for me, and I felt it my duty to try
to comfort her; I am a husband and father — ”
‘‘And a soldier, and an officer,” interrupted the ruler, “and obedience to orders is the first law, and
must go before everything else. We are striving
for a glorious victory in our coming battle,
hope to save the lives of thousands of our men,
and perhaps bring the war speedily and happily
to a close. For this purpose I gave orders that
not the faintest glimmer of a light should be
had in any part of the encampment, under penalty
of death. I wished to mislead the enemy
into making an attack, and to find us fully prepared.
This plan you have frustrated by your
insolent disobedience of orders.”
“But, Your Majesty, it is impossible that the
enemy could see the glimmer of this little
taper at such a distance, and Your Majesty
sees that a heavy blanket is over the entrance.”
“Your name and rank, Herr Officer?”
“Baron Carl von Raundorf; and I am rittmeister, captain
in the cavalry.”
“Open your letter again, Herr Rittmeister, and
tell your wife that tomorrow morning at nine
o’clock you will be shot for disobedience to
orders.”
“Mercy, mercy, Your Majesty,” implored
the Baron, with pale lips. “I care not for
myself, but for my innocent wife and children.
It will add to her grief that her anxiety for me
has been my death.”
“Are you intending to disobey me again,
Herr Officer?” questioned the Kaiser, coldly.
“I would gladly shed my blood for the Crown and my Fatherland, but do not let me
die the death of a criminal,” said the unhappy
man.
“Write as I have said,” commanded the Kaiser.
The unfortunate young officer dipped the
pen in the ink, and cast another look into the
stern face above him, but seeing no sign of
relenting, he wrote the words which would
carry anguish to the loving heart far away.
The Kaiser then took the letter, glanced over
the lines, and calling a guard to watch over
the condemned officer he left the tent.
Daylight was just dawning when three of the
superior officers were gathered in the tent of
the General who commanded the regiment to
which belonged Baron von Raundorf.
“The only word to be given him is to fall
upon his face when he hears the report of the
musket,” was the command of the General, in a
low whisper, and the secret council ended, and
the other officers sought their tents.
When the sun arose, the Baron sat pale and
silent in the tent, then went out to take a further view of the encampment. He noticed
that every face looked sad, but attributed it to
the expectation of a near attack from the
enemy. He had taken a long walk and was
about returning to breakfast when he overheard
words which almost caused his heart to
cease to beat.
“He was writing to his wife, poor fellow,” said one old soldier, with tears of sympathy in
his eyes, “the last he will ever write to her or
to anyone.”
“It is hard that such a brave officer as Rittmeister von Raundorf should lose his life for just
lighting a taper that could not be seen six feet
away.”
“You speak like an idiot, comrade,” answered
an old Hussar, “it was not the taper,
but the disobedience; it is not when and how
a person sins, but that he does sin. If I
pass a sentinel with a cigar in my mouth I am
punished for it just the same as if I enter the
powder magazine with it; I have disobeyed
orders and deserve to suffer for it. In time of war there are things looked upon as crimes;
which in time of peace would be only trifles.”
Everyone now had heard the terrible news that the
Baron was to die. He walked mechanically
back to the tent and sat down in silence,
numbed and stupified by the overwhelming
calamity which he was to witness, for he
determined to remain until after the fatal
hour.
The last act of the Baron was to give the messenger the letter, and money for his return, and some
keepsakes for his wife and little ones. The
heart of the boy was rent with the thought
that by his well-meant effort to relieve the
anxiety of the Baroness he had brought this
bitter woe upon her; and he prayed, oh! so
earnestly, that something, even at the last
minute, might occur to save the life so dear to
all who knew him.
But the ninth hour drew on, and the officers
of the regiment to which the Baron belonged
gathered in front of his tent, conversing now
and then, but always in whispers. The chaplain
of the regiment was with the doomed man
to receive the last wishes and the blessed assurance
that there was no fear of death, all was
peace as far as concerned the beyond, the
young officer had given his heart to the Saviour
years before and had nothing to fear.
The sound of muffled drums smote upon the ear, and the Baron was led from his tent, followed
by the sobbing lad.
“Oh, will no one plead for him?” said he,
“surely God would be more merciful than this
hard-hearted king.”
“See here, boy, you are speaking against
your kaiser,” said a rough voice near him,
and turning he saw a soldier who was wiping
his tears away with the sleeve of his coat.
The Baron was told to kneel, that the black
cloth might be tied over his eyes, and at the
same moment the boy knelt and stretched his
arms imploringly toward heaven.
“Oh, dear Saviour,” cried he, “come and
save him from death! he is too good to die
for such a little evil.”
The cloth being adjusted, another officer
stepped forward and pinned a bunch of wildflowers on the breast of the Baron.
“Fall forward when you hear the report of
the musket,” whispered he.
The Baron trembled from head to foot, and
was about to speak, but the officer’s hand was
pressed heavily, as though by accident, upon his
shoulder.
“Don’t speak,” whispered he, “you will attract
attention.”
The lad was in an agony of grief and terror,
but could not take his eyes from the terrible scene. He heard the word “fire!”, saw the
Baron fall forward upon his face, and knew no
more.
When he regained consciousness the servant
of the Baron told him that the moment they
heard the report of the musket and saw the
Baron fall, two officers stepped to him and
carried him quickly to a waiting ambulance,
and drove rapidly away.
The story was ended, there was no more to
be learned by remaining, so the boy left the
camp and set out for his long walk to the
castle.
THE HIDDEN LETTER.
On his way home, the lad compared his feelings
with those which he had experienced
when traveling the same road, but in an opposite
direction. In his anxiety and distress of
mind he had neglected to put the letter for the
Baroness in the place where he had carried the
one for the Baron, and seating himself under
the shade of an apple tree, he took off his coat
and placed the letter between the linings, securing
it with a pin.
He had not replaced his coat when he heard
footsteps, and glancing up he saw a farmer approaching.
“Have you heard the news, boy?” questioned
he, eagerly, “there has been a terrible battle
fought between the main armies; and our kaiser’s troops won the victory, and people say the
war will be over. Oh, thank the Lord! thank the Lord!”
“If my poor Herr Baron could have lived
but two days longer he would have shared in
the victory, and would soon have been at the
castle with his wife and children,” said the boy bitterly.
“Maybe so, maybe so,” replied the peasant,
“there were thousands killed, and he
might have been among them. The king’s
troops made an attack upon the kaiser’s and
were repelled; three times they advanced with
like result, and people say that more than
twenty thousand were killed and double as
many wounded. The king of Prussia should have taken
the advice of his councillors and not made war with the kaiser, for it is a chance if he has
not only lost territory but his crown; and then
so many lives lost, and so much property destroyed.
It is an old saying, ‘ in peace enjoy,
in war destroy.’”
“Yes, I have seen that with my own eyes,”
replied the lad from Raundorf, as he called to mind his village in the days when no war was rife in the land.
The man having given his information, passed
on to impart it to others whom he might meet,
and the messenger arose, put on his coat, and proceeded
on his way. He had not used the
caution in avoiding the outposts of the enemy
that he did in going, and had gone but a short
distance when he was called upon to halt by
two soldiers, who asked him who he was and
where going.
Thinking that all danger to the Baron
was now over, he made no secret of his errand,
but did not mention the letter in his coat.
“Let me see what is in your pocket, boy,”
said one of them. “Ha, I hear paper crinkling,
hand out your letter, and let us read it.”
The lad refused, and clasped his arm more
firmly over the coat and its contents.
“Here is a spy!” cried one of them, “even a
child carrying news to the enemy, but children
can hang as well as their elders. We will take
him to our Lieutenant, he will soon bring him
to terms.”
They tied his hands behind his back and marched
him into camp.
“You had better make your will, son. We
will make short work of you if we find that our
suspicions are correct.”
The lad by this adventure realized that life
was sweet, and, notwithstanding the sorrow he
had seen in the world, he was not willing to
quit it; and he did not know what turn affairs
might take, for he had very little confidence in
the justice of war times; yet he determined not to
despond, but to put a brave face upon the affair.
“When the officer reads my letter he will see
that I am no spy,” said he.
“Maybe so, boy, but war makes people
shrewd, and they know ways to find out what
is not intended for them to know. Sometimes
spies carry letters which read all right and innocently;
but hold them over hot coals, and between the lines is the real news that the spy
is carrying. Invisible ink is a fine thing in
time of war, if the enemy has never heard of
the way to make it show up.”
“There is nothing between these lines; you
can hold the letter over as many hot coals as
you choose.”
“That isn’t our business; we catch the bird,
and the officer picks him; our duty is done
when we put a spy into his hands.”
“He can write to the Frau Baroness, or to
the commander of the regiment in which our
Herr Baron was, and he will find out that I am
telling the truth.”
Both soldiers laughed at this, and looked
with a glance of surprise at the boy, who had
so little knowledge of the usages of war.
“Do you imagine that in these times there is
as much red tape in hunting up evidence against
an evil-doer as in a court of law? No, indeed! This
morning we catch a spy; this afternoon he
swings from a rope; that is war.”
“Yes, it is; the terrible, horrible, wicked
war, that from beginning to end has nothing
but evil for the people.”
“Yes, but we soldiers can’t help that. We
are here to kill or to be killed, and we do our
best to kill in order to save ourselves from being
killed.”
By this time they had reached the quarters
of the Lieutenant, and the soldiers explained
their errand. The Lieutenant was young and
full of enthusiasm, and was, therefore, anxious
for ways and means to distinguish himself.
“A spy!” said he, eagerly, ‘‘and has a letter
fastened securely in his coat! Come from the
headquarters of the enemy! That is certainly
suspicious. I will take him to the commanding
General.”
“Herr Lieutenant, do you really believe me
to be a spy? You know me; you also saw the
Frau Baroness, and you know that I am telling
the truth when I say that this letter is the
last one that her husband, the Herr Baron, will
ever write, for he is dead.”
“But, boy,” said the bewildered Lieutenant,
“how can I know you or the Frau Baroness?”
“Do not you remember, Herr Lieutenant,
passing through Raundorf with many other
prisoners, and Gustav took your crutch from
you and threw it away, and I picked it up and
gave it to you? And don’t you remember that
I took you into the castle yard, and that the
gracious Frau Baroness gave me leave to take
out for the poor prisoners all the provisions
that were in the castle?”
“Yes, yes, I do indeed remember. And are you the boy that did that, and that gave many
of us water to drink out of a pitcher?”
“Yes, I am that boy. And now you can read
the letter, and can hold it over hot coals; and
if there is anything between the lines, you can
hang me for a spy. The poor Herr Baron only
thought of his wife and children when he was
writing that.”
The officer took the letter and read it through,
his face growing sadder and sadder, and when
he read the last lines his face turned a shade
paler, and tears filled his eyes.
“Poor fellow!” said he. “Was he really
shot? Did the Kaiser never countermand
the order?”
“No. I saw him fall. He was shot down
like a mad dog, for burning a little taper that the
men said you could not see a few yards from
the tent; but they said that it was just.”
“Yes, for he disobeyed orders; that is a terrible
offence in time of war.”
“Yes; but I cannot see what war is for, except
to bring misery into the world.”
“Yes, boy, war is a bad thing, but it appears
that everybody fights, civilized or uncivilized;
even animals have their wars.”
“But they have no religion, no nations, no understanding.
Our pastor says that, if we were more selfless, there would be no wars... but we don’t obey his word as soldiers
do their officers.”
“I remember that good pastor of Raundorf.
He plead with the villagers not to molest us.
I remember, too, the Frau Baroness and her
goodness to us. I will go to our commander,
and tell him that you are no spy, but a good,
kind boy, who helped us when we were in need
of help. While I am gone with the letter you
must have something to eat. Here, Apollonius,
bring my guest that roast chicken, and
make him a cup of good coffee.”
“What a change!” the lad thought as he sat
down to a generous meal. “Instead of being
hung as a spy, I am treated to the best that he
has, and that best is very good to anybody,
and especially to a hungry boy. The little
kindness that I showed him has been returned
a hundredfold, for it may be that it has saved
my life. But I cannot see that the dear Herr
Baron and Frau Baroness are being rewarded
for their goodness. They seem to have had
much trouble, and now his life is lost for a
trifle. There are some things that I cannot
understand. I must ask the Herr Pastor about
this when I see him.”
He had scarcely finished his meal when the
Lieutenant returned.
“It is all right,” said he, “and the commander advises you not to secrete the letter,
but to carry it loosely in your pocket, and thus
avoid further detention, and perhaps danger.
Give my kindest regards to the gracious Baroness,
and tell her that none of the prisoners will
ever forget her goodness to them.”
‘‘I wish that you had been kaiser yourself, and I am sure that our dear
Herr Baron would now be alive.”
He bade goodbye to the lieutenant, and,
much refreshed by the rest that he had enjoyed
and the good meal that he had eaten, set out
again upon his walk.
GREAT CHANGES.
Toward the middle of the afternoon
the turrets of the castle came in view, then the
village of Raundorf, and the church steeple,
then the window in the belfry tower.
He missed the sound of the lowing of cows,
the bleating of sheep, the cackling of
geese, the joyous singing of shepherd boys and
maidens, and the shouts of merry children.
‘‘All is sad and changed about here,” thought
he, “nothing seems the same since the war;
but what is the change to the Frau Baroness
in comparison to this new trouble which I am
taking to her?”
As he opened the gate of the courtyard he
was amazed at the sight which met his view.
Groups of ragged men and women, seniors, adults, and children, were receiving bread and butter, and meat,
their haggard faces brightening with joy that
they were to have at least one full meal.
“The kind Frau Baroness! she will give her last loaf to feed the poor. I
do not think I can give her the letter, I will give
it to the Herr Pastor, he will know better than
I what to say.”
This decision was a great relief to the boy,
and he was on the point of going around to
the covered walk and escape the gaze of the
Baroness by entering the castle by way of the
wing, when he met with another great surprise.
It was no less than to see Albert Scheinert,
the former steward’s son, dressed in a fine
suit, and coming down the steps of the castle
with a very high head indeed.
While the lad was pondering over this he saw something that
surprised him yet more, and that was the old eagle-nosed curmudgeon, Herr Scheinert
himself, equally well dressed, and apparently
in high good humor with the whole world,
himself included.
The messenger was so astonished that he could only
look from one to the other in mute surprise,
which reached its climax when the main entrance
door of the castle opened and out walked that drunken twit, the baroness's spurned suitor, Bruno von Seerhausen. He
was dressed in a handsome uniform, which did
not appear to belong to the army or navy or kingsguard, but
to some one of the government offices.
Off went ragged hats and caps and bonnets at the sight of
him, and the air was rent with shouts of “Hurrah for our brave Herr von Seerhausen!
Hurrah! three times three! Hurrah!”
“Our Herr von Seerhausen!” he said slowly to himself, “am I dreaming, or am I
really at Raundorf Castle? Can it be possible
that the Frau Baroness has heard of the Herr
Baron’s death, and married von Seerhausen?
I always thought that widows put on mourning black for their husbands, and did not marry again
for a long time, if at all. But that was in time
of peace; no one knows what to expect in time
of war. People are not like themselves, and
anything might happen.”
But poor as was the opinion of war in his mind, he was ashamed of himself for
his foolish thought in regard to Frau von Raundorf.
“Never!” said he to himself, “she never
would forget the Herr Baron, whom she so
loved, as to ever marry Herr von Seerhausen
who hated her children, and children in general. But I cannot see
what it all means; if he is master here, it is no
place for me, and I must not let him nor Albert
see me if I can help it.”
Running his eyes over the motley crowd to
single out one of whom he could inquire what it
meant, he finally saw Frau Metzger, the butcher's wife.
She was engaged in putting her share of bread
and meat in her apron, and Tobias waited until
she moved toward the gate, then he slipped outside
and waited for her.
‘‘Frau Metzger,” said he, “tell me what it all
means. Has the Frau Baroness sold the castle
to Herr von Seerhausen? Where is she, and
the little Otto and Lila? ”
“Yesterday,” said she, “the Herr von Seerhausen
rode into the village with several
strange men in the kaiser’s own uniform, and
they got our magistrate to tell the
people of the village, that, by imperial decree,
the Castle of Raundorf and all the estate
belonging to it was to be the property of House von
Seerhausen, according to the will of the old
Baron. If the Raundorf people espoused the
cause of Herr von Seerhausen, and were obedient
to his wishes, prosperity would come to
them as quickly as possible. You may be sure
we welcomed him gladly on such terms, and in
a quarter of an hour he was master of the
castle, and the Frau Baroness was turned out with nothing. but the clothes she and her children
had on at the time.”
“And where is she now, and Otto and Lila?”
“At the Herr Pastor’s for a time; she would
have gone to Berlin, where she has friends and relatives,
but the smallpox has broken out there, and
she was afraid to expose the little ones to it.”
She had scarcely finished speaking when
he was off to the parsonage.
“If I can
only see the Herr Pastor first,” thought he,
“but it would just be the luck of war to run
right in the way of the Frau Baroness.”
It turned out better than he had hoped; the
pastor was walking in his garden, and the lad crept through the hedge, and telling him of the
letter and the need of secrecy, accompanied
him to an old arbour, hidden by trees from view
of the parsonage, and put the letter in his hand.
“Lord of Mercy, how mysterious are thy
ways!” cried the pastor, turning deadly pale,
as he read the last lines. “Oh, the poor wife; the poor children! She, a widow, cast out
penniless from her home; her brave and noble
husband shot, not on the field of battle, but
for disobedience to orders. Oh, it is frightful!”
“Everything is frightful in war, nothing is like what it is in times of
peace.”
The pastor said nothing, his whole mind was
set upon the best plan to pursue in regard to
imparting the news to the Baroness. He put
his hands behind him and walked slowly up
and down the path, stopping now and then
and looking absently about him, then resuming
his walk.
“This bitter cup, too, must be drained to
the dregs,” thought Herr Seeback; “Give
me the right words, and to the poor widow his
tenderest comfort.”
He turned and went into the house.
Herr Seeback took the large Bible from the
table, and, speaking to his wife and the Frau Baroness,
said he wished to read them a chapter
which he had been thinking of while walking
in the garden. “It is the story of Christ upon
the cross, as told in Luke,” said he, “and this afternoon the
scene upon Calvary has come vividly to my
mind.”
He read the chapter through, then sat a
moment in thought.
“I cannot but think of
that poor mother whose beloved Son is hanging
upon the cross,” said he. “She could
almost feel the cruel thorns upon her forehead,
the nails in her hands and feet, and her loving
heart bled for his sufferings; her relief must have been great when he cried, ‘ It is finished! ’ You, gracious lady, have no doubt often grieved
over the danger to which your husband is
exposed as a soldier, and would rather his
death should be speedy, than the long and
painful one of our Saviour upon the cross.”
“Oh, I could not choose between the dreadful
alternatives; I do not allow myself to think
of his death, only of the happy close of the
war and his homecoming. Thank Providence we
have had no bad news! The losing of our
property is nothing, if he but comes home
safely.”
“There has been a terrible battle fought
within the last few days between the main
armies, and thousands on both sides are killed.
The regiment in which your husband belonged
was particularly unfortunate, and—
”
“He is dead! my husband!” cried the Baroness,
sinking back almost fainting in her
chair, “that is why you read that chapter, you
were preparing me for the terrible news.”
“Yes, it is true, but call to mind the mother
of our dear Lord. In a few days she had the
joy of seeing him again; and comfort yourself
with the thought that when your short pilgrimage
is finished you will be with him never to
part.”
“Are you sure that what you tell me is true?” questioned she, faintly, “sometimes the reports
are not correct.”
“Yes, this is true, I heard it from a reliable source. He saw the Herr Baron, and
got this letter from him. He is outside, I will
call him.”
“A letter for me?” said the Baroness, taking
it in her hand, “the last I will ever get from
him,” and tears came to her relief.
“Read it, gracious lady,” said the pastor,
after a time, “read it while we are with you.”
The Baroness read it aloud to her pale and
silent listeners.
“My beloved wife, my Amalie! In spirit I
am with you and our children, while my body
is in camp, surrounded by preparations for an
expected attack of the enemy. For your sake
I often wish I had gotten my discharge from
the army, but for my country’s sake I desisted.
I consider it my duty to stand by our Fatherland
and the Crown in time of need. I have
rejoiced over the letters brought , and have much to be thankful for that
you are all well; and I look forward with joy
to the time when I shall see you again. Providence has indeed been good in preserving me from
danger; no bullet, no sword, — O Amalie
—
beloved wife—the Kaiser is here —I have
—
disobeyed orders—and tomorrow at nine— I must—die. We will meet in heaven. Farewell—kiss
the little ones—for me.
“Your Carl.”
“What orders could he have disobeyed?”
questioned the Baroness, in a faint voice.
“This lad will tell you, he saw and heard all;
tell her, please.”
“The good Herr Baron but burned a poor,
weak little taper of a candle in his tent, and the Kaiser had commanded that there should be no light
in the camp. The soldiers said it could not be
seen a few yards away, but they said it was just.”
“Why did he have a light?”
“He wished to write that letter to you, he
had no time through the day.”
The letter dropped from the hand of the
Baroness and she swooned away.
With many tears Frau Seeback used the
simple restoratives within her reach, and after
a time, the poor woman came back to a knowledge
of her anguish.
“Oh, is there on this broad earth a creature
so miserable as I,” said she, faintly, “I sought
to give him comfort by writing to him that we
were all well, and his love for me made him
disobey the king. Not an honourable death
upon the battlefield, but he, an officer, shot for
disobedience to orders. Oh, that was a bitter
drop in his cup, and all through me.”
“You must take the Christian’s comfort,”
said the pastor, “your husband was a true
Christian and was not afraid to die. You have
a duty to perform in training your dear children
for heaven; you will find comfort in your Saviour. For more than eighteen
hundred years human beings have looked to
him and have never been turned away comfortless.
To one and all he says, ‘Come unto me,
all ye that labour and are heavy laden and I will
give you rest,’ and you are one of his beloved
children.”
It was and is an astonishing fact that people could endure
much suffering, and yet live. One would had noticed
it in the case of the Baroness, and, as time
passed on, in that of the people of Raundorf.
Every now and again you would say to yourself,
“Well, they cannot hold out another day;
they will certainly die of grief and despair;”
but they did live, week after week, and month
after month, suffering all the time, but enduring.
The war, which a chance acquaintance had
predicted would soon be over, was raging as
violently as ever, and the people had to endure
the quartering of soldiers, the terrible battles,
the loss of their cattle, the burning of their
dwellings—in truth, every privation—as best
they could, just as they had done for a year or
more.
The kindness which the Baron and Baroness
had always shown to Pastor Seeback and his
family was now, in time of need, returned many
fold. The Baroness and her children were
made cordially welcome in the pastor’s home, and she was reminded by him and his family
that through her husband’s kindness in paying
promptly the legacy left by the late old Baron they
were abundantly able to provide for her and
her children.
There were great changes in the castle, none
being in it who had formed part of the household
of Baron von Raundorf. Frau Rückert
and Sophie had gone back to their home; the
servants had been set adrift by the new owner,
and their places had been filled by those of his
own choosing. Herr von Seerhausen had laid
aside his sheep’s clothing, and showed himself
the wolf that he really was, for he oppressed
his tenants and persecuted them for the rent of
their cottages, turning them out if they were
unable to pay ; and no pleadings of sickness or squalor availed with him.
He set men to work to cut down the splendid beech forest, which had been the pride of
the Baron’s heart. The woodsmen, however, never felled a tree until every branch of the one preceding
it had been neatly cleared away, the wood
sold, and the branches burned.
The Baroness knew very little of what was
going on in the castle. She seldom stepped
outside the parsonage except to go to church.
A HAPPY REUNION.
The second year of the war had nearly ended, and the soldiers had settled in
winter quarters to await a call to commence
again their work of death. They were not
quartered at Raundorf, and for that the people
rejoiced; but the evils of war were upon them
in full force, and among them the smallpox,
many being afflicted by the terrible pest.
Herr von Seerhausen was so alarmed by the
reports of the epidemic that he would not leave
the castle even for a short walk, nor would he
allow any communication with the outside
world; while the Baroness, Herr Seeback, and
his wife were angels of mercy to the poor villagers,
going freely among the sick, giving comfort,
help, and sympathy to all who stood in
need of assistance.
But for all Herr von Seerhausen’s vigilance,
he took the disease, and, after a few days, was
no longer of earth. He had not been just to
his fellow men and women, had oppressed the needy, and
had done very little good in the world; therefore
his departure was not felt to be a loss; yet at the parsonage there were sorrowing hearts
for the unfortunate, lonely curmudgeon, who had never
enjoyed the riches to which he was not entitled,
and who had died without making restitution.
They could only indulge a hope that he had
repented and had looked to a Saviour for help
in his last days upon earth.
The castle was now again in the possession
of the Baroness and her children, and it was
decided that she should return to it and gather
her tenants about her and the old servants, so
soon as the apartments lately occupied by Herr
von Seerhausen had been properly cleansed and
fumigated, that all danger of smallpox might,
so far as lay in their power, be averted. In the
meantime they remained welcome guests at the
parsonage.
One morning, said house guests were awakened from a sound sleep by hearing
many voices in the yard under the window, among them that of Frau Seeback, and she was
screaming.
There was a company of the enemy’s soldiers,
and in the midst of them was Pastor Seeback,
whom they were dragging away to act
as guide for them in pointing out families who
would be apt to have money, in order to make
them tell where it was hidden. In vain the boy plead that he knew all the people in the neighbourhood
as well as did the pastor, and that he
would do what they required of him. They
silenced him by threatening to kill Herr Seeback
if he refused to go. ‘‘Be tranquil, dear wife,” said the pastor;
“I am under the LORD's care, and he will protect
me. He will never desert us.” The soldiers
prevented any further speech by dragging him
away, that boy following.
He found the village thronged with soldiers,
and more coming. Campfires were burning,
made from the roofs of dwellings, before which
soldiers were resting, and warming their wet
feet. In the distance was heard the thunder
of cannon, making the earth tremble, and from
many of the dwellings came the sounds of
screaming children, waked from happy slumber
by the terrible din, and of frightened caregivers, in danger of their lives unless they gave
up all their possessions to the brutal invaders.
It was one of the terrible scenes of war times
with which all had become familiar. More than
once the brave lad was in danger of his life from the
hoofs of the cavalry horses, or from soldiers
who struck at him with their weapons, when he
ran against them. The confusion increased as
the day advanced, and the sound of cannonading
grew nearer. The battle was near at
hand, the village full of wounded soldiers, and the messenger grew almost faint at the sight of flowing
blood; men’s blood, brothers’ blood, which
cried to the heavens as did that of Abel, when slain
by his brother Cain.
The village was set on fire, and he ran to
the parsonage to see if it was spared, but found
it in flames, and the women and children gathered
in the garden, where they were a few minutes
after joined by Herr Seeback.
‘‘We cannot grieve for our property, now
that you two are spared,” said Frau
Seeback, smiling through her tears, “we feared
you would be killed.”
“I feel much exhausted from my long and
hurried walk,” replied he, “but my chief anxiety
was for you, when I saw them setting the buildings
on fire.”
“Where can we go to be safe?” questioned
his wife, anxiously.
“I know of no place likely to be secure, unless it be the vault under the church, we will
go there, and do what we can on the way to
escape the bullets that are flying in every
direction.”
They joined hands and ran through the
garden-way to the back entrance to the church,
the windows and tower of which were filled with Imperial soldiers who were firing down
upon the enemy. They reached it in safety,
and with difficulty the pastor raised
the trap-door of the vault, the hinges of which
had grown rusty.
“Oh, woe is me!” said Herr Seeback, “I
had forgotten that it was so deep, we cannot
get down without a ladder.”
“I will get it from the gardener,” the boy replied eagerly.
“Oh, you noble boy,” said the Baroness,
tearfully, “may God protect you in your dangerous
walk.”
“It is well we have to wait a while,” remarked
the pastor, cheerfully, “the air in the vault is
impure, and the trapdoor being open will
allow it to escape by the time he returned.“
But the poor children were in such a state
of nervous terror that his words gave but little
comfort, and they were only quieted by the
return of the ladder.
It was placed down the opening and the pastor descended, then one after another of
the frightened band, except the boy, who closed
the trapdoor, and kept guard on the outside.
The firing continued, and overhead the pastor
had heard a shot followed by a shriek of
mortal pain, and his face blanched at a thought
which came to his mind, but which he carefully
kept from the others. What if it were their keeper who had been killed, who would open the trapdoor
to let them out? For a moment he was
so shaken by the dread that he almost lost consciousness,
but his firm trust returned,
he had faith that they would not be left to
perish in that way, and waited in patience that
endured to the end.
At length the firing grew less frequent, then
subsided. There was no sound of voices, nor
of the hoofs of horses; and, oh, joy! they heard familiar footsteps, the trapdoor was unhasped,
was lifted, and they were free. One
by one they ascended, and the lad drew up the
ladder and locked the door, then all dropped
on their knees, and the pastor thanked Providence for all the goodness to them. True, their dwelling
was in ashes and they were homeless, but
the castle stood ready for their reception, and
thither they all went, the Baroness rejoicing
that she could give them a home under her
roof. A full suite of apartments was furnished for them.
For some months the war raged, but at length
peace—sweet peace—spread its brooding wings
over the unhappy country. People who had
despaired were beginning to hold up their heads,
and take interest in life, when, one evening as the
Baroness and her children and Pastor Seeback
and his family were conversing around the parlor
fire, old Peter came, his aged face wreathed
in smiles, to announce a visitor.
“A stranger, Peter?” questioned the Baroness.
“Yes, gracious lady, a stranger and yet a
friend,” said the old man, beaming with joy.
“Bring the visitor here, Peter; my friends
are friends of our good Pastor and Pastorin.”
“But he wishes to see you alone, gracious
lady; he is in the ante-room, and will wait for
you there.”
The Baroness arose, and followed; and the
waiting listeners heard a cry of surprise and
joy, and the words, “my precious wife!” “my
long-lost husband!”
For it was indeed the Baron, come back—as
it appeared to them—from the dead.
Oh! the joy of that meeting!
The messenger who had left for the front years ago was one of the happiest of the happy after he was
convinced that the person whom he had seen
fall was yet alive. They all returned to the
parlor, and the Baron told the story of his deliverance.
“It was owing to the pleadings of my brother officers
that the General let them plan to save
my life. I do not know, and perhaps never will
know, whether the Kaiser was aware of it or
not; nor can I say whether I was conscious of
their design when the officer who pinned the
flowers on my breast whispered to me to fall
forward when I heard the report of the musket.
All that I know is, that as a soldier I was not
afraid to shed my blood upon the field of battle;
but it is a very different thing to kneel,
and, with bandaged eyes, have a comrade aim
at one’s breast for disobedience of orders. I
believe that I was unconscious, for I remember
nothing of falling, or of being carried away, my
first knowledge being that I was on the way to
the fort, where I was to remain a prisoner under
an assumed name until the close of the
war.”
If there was anything, next to the declaration
of peace, that could make the people of Raundorf
rejoice, it was that the Baron Carl von
Raundorf was again among them as master of
the castle; and he set to work immediately to help them regain their lost footing, for the only noticeable
result from the long strife was the
loss of thousands of lives and the destruction
of millions of property.
A new parsonage was built, and the pastor
and his family went to it.
After a time the lowing of cattle, and the
bleating of sheep, and the quacking of geese, were heard in the
meadows; the village was rebuilt; and welldressed
people came from far and near to the
House of God every holiday.
Sweet-voiced child singers gave praise to their Father in
Heaven, who had given their beloved country
the great blessing of peace.
Pastor Seeback never closed a prayer without
including the petition, ‘‘Oh, deliver us from
the greatest evil which can befall a nation or a
people; deliver us, if it be thy will, from the
evil of war.”
