Next day almost all the men would have liked to go on with the shell-firing; but the subsequent cleaning of the guns was not at all to their taste. The smokeless powder left in the bore of the gun a horrid, sticky slime that must not be allowed to remain there. This meant sousing with clean water again and again, washing out with soft soap, and then going on pumping and working with the mop until the water came out again as clean as it had gone in.
"Now, boys," Sergeant Wiegandt used to say, "if you don't feel inclined to drink the water as it comes out of the gun, then that means it isn't clean enough yet. So go ahead!"
And then the drying afterwards! They had to wrap rags and cloths round the mop until it was so thick that it would scarcely go through the muzzle of the gun. If this were not done the inside edges and corners remained wet; and one spot of rust on the bright metal--well! that would be almost as bad as murder! So they had to push and to twist, to pull and to drag, till the perspiration streamed from their foreheads. Finally the barrel was thinly oiled; and the next day the firing took place once more, and then there was the drudgery of the cleaning all over again.
Yet the men endured these exertions far better than the garrison life. This was partly owing to the variety of the work; but, above all, the greatest torment of a soldier's life had been left behind,--that monotonous drilling under which all groaned, and the object of which no one could ever pretend to understand. Even the dullest--to say nothing of Vogt with his simple, sound common-sense--could see that the gun-practice here in the practice-camp was the most important part of the whole training. What the men had already learnt was now found out practically. But where did the parade-marching and all the other display drill come in?
Here was Klitzing, who in the garrison had been looked on as the most feeble soldier of the lot, now all at once distinguishing himself! Vogt shook his head as he thought it over.
He often felt glad that at any rate he was an artilleryman, for others had a much worse time of it. A few days earlier an infantry regiment had moved into the neighbouring barracks; and looking through the palings of their parade-ground they could see the battalions exercising.
There was a yellow, dried-up looking major who was never, never satisfied. He would keep his battalion at it in the sun till past noon; and then after a short pause for refreshment the same cruel business would begin all over again. The devil! How could a couple of hundred men be as symmetrical as a machine?
The artillery-drivers had climbed on to the fence. They were polishing their curbs and chains, and laughed at the spectacle before them. But to Vogt it did not seem amusing. What was the use of making those two hundred men do such childish things there on the parade-ground? Would they ever march into battle like that? He thought of how those dummies had all been riddled by the bullets when a single shrapnel burst in front of them. Why, it would be sheer madness! They would have to crawl, to run, to jump--then to crawl again! That wasn't what they were doing when every morning on the parade-ground one heard a continual tack--tack--tack--tack, as if a thousand telegraph clerks were hard at work. What was the good of all this senseless show, which only aggravated the men?
Their comrades of the infantry looked very far from cheerful, and darted glances full of suppressed hatred at the yellow-faced major. And when, dead-tired, they had finished the drill, and were putting away their guns in the corner, they would curse the very uniform they wore as if it had been a strait-waistcoat.
Certainly it was not necessary to agree in everything with a social-democrat like Weise; but there was no doubt what-ever that he was perfectly right about some things. In the evenings, when the non-commissioned officers were sitting in the canteen, the men took their stools out on the open veranda that looked over the forest; and then Weise would begin to hold forth, his comrades, either smoking or cleaning their clothes and accoutrements, grouped round him listening to his orations. When some of the men, fresh from the country, complained of the hard work there, the endless long hours, and the small pay, he laughed outright.
"Why do you allow your landed-proprietors to treat you so?" he scoffed. "Why are you so stupid? Of course if you won't utter a word of protest you don't deserve anything better."
And he explained how things were managed in his trade, at the factory. If one of the workmen was unfairly treated, or if the pay was considered too small, then they had a thorough good strike. They took care to choose the best possible time for it, when the manufacturers had the most pressing work to do. The trade-union, to which of course they all had to belong, kept blacklegs at a distance, and they went on doggedly righting until new terms had been won. Certainly the workmen did not invariably carry all their demands; but a strike seldom ended without their gaining some solid advantage. Yes, the workers had only to show the world that they were a power; that they were not going to be trampled on for ever; that they intended henceforth to have their share of the profits which they had hitherto been putting into the pockets of the rich, although earned by their own toil and sweat.
Or Weise would reckon how much was spent in one day's gun-practice. Each shot cost about fifteen marks; and the sixth battery alone had fired about a hundred and twenty shots that morning. There were six batteries in each regiment, four regiments in each army-corps, and twenty-three army-corps in the whole of Germany.
"Any-one who likes can reckon it up," said Weise. "In any case the money would be enough to give every poor devil in the whole world one happy day!"
He pulled out a sheet of paper and read from it the sum that Germany spent annually on her army. It made the men open their eyes pretty wide. An incredible sum, truly, of which they could form no clear idea at all.
Sometimes one of them would say! "But look here, old man; suppose there was war, and we had no soldiers?"
"War! war!" said Weise. "What is war, pray? Who is it that makes war? Do you want war? Do you want to have to go and stand up like those targets out there and be hit on the skull or in the belly by the shrapnel?"
"Not I."
"Perhaps you would, Findeisen?"
"I? God damn me--no!"
"Or you, Truchsess?"
The brewer thought a moment, and answered:
"No, certainly not. I wish for peace. But the French might want to fight us, or the Russians."
"Ha, ha!" laughed Weise. "Well, now, think about it a moment. Over there in France are sitting together just such poor simple fellows as we are here. Ask them if they want to let themselves be shot dead in a moment without rhyme or reason? Do you expect them to say yes?"
"No, of course not. But--but--then who is it who really does want war?"
Weise did not speak for a moment, but laughed softly. Then he answered, shrugging his shoulders: "Ah, that I don't know. Probably nobody. So much only is clear:wedon't want it."
During these conversations, Wolf, the lean gunner of the "old gang," was always careful to hold aloof. He listened to the talk, but never joined in it. When his comrades had gone in to bed, he would stay on, gazing out into the beautiful night of the woods. No one longed as fervently as he did for the end of the term of service. He, who had been wont to grudge every day on which he had done nothing to further the cause of revolution and social-democracy, was forbidden for two long years to allow a word to pass his lips about what lay nearest his heart! Yet he was all the more cautious not to commit any indiscretions that might perhaps entail a prolongation of the hateful restraint.
Hitherto he had had but a vague comprehension of the idea of freedom; now he felt that he grasped it. Freedom! It meant the time after his discharge--the time when he would no longer wear the soldier's uniform! When, during these weeks, Wolf had been an auditor of Weise's covertly inflammatory speeches, he had longed each time to step forward and speak out too. He knew that his own words would have flowed far more convincingly and more passionately than Weise's. But he knew also that in such case he would only have the greater difficulty in restraining himself afterwards; so he kept silence.
However, the end was attained without his help. It was quite remarkable how after such conversations these peasant lads and the others, who up to now had heard nothing of socialism and labour movements, rapidly assimilated the new and palatable wisdom, although no word of direct propaganda had been spoken. And if this result was so marked in their own corps, where the work was not very irksome or heavy, what must it not be among the infantry over yonder, where any small spark of liking for the soldier's life must be quenched by the deadly monotony of eternal parade-drill!
Not long before, a man had suddenly gone mad in the middle of drill. What was responsible for this calamity? The sun, over-exertion, perhaps an inherited tendency that would in any case sooner or later have resulted in such a catastrophe? No one could say with any certainty. But the men who had seen and heard how the poor fellow writhed and shrieked, gripped their rifles tightly, and the same thought could plainly be read in the eyes of them all.
No wonder that the period of military service was extremely favourable to the spread of social-democracy! Such sensational object-lessons were not necessary; the circumstances of every-day life all pointed towards socialism.
Wolf understood the part that Weise played in the battery. It was always the same. Each batch of recruits was a mixture of men from towns and men from the country. The city-bred, even if fewer in number, immediately established an ascendancy over the country yokels. They were quicker-witted, and their town bringing-up had developed their intelligence more. And just because of this they adapted themselves more easily to the requirements of military service, so that they often made better soldiers than the country recruits with their slower comprehension. Most of them were entirely unaware that they were socialistic agitators; they quite unconsciously imparted to their fellow-soldiers ideas that to them appeared self-evident, but that for the others meant an upheaval of their whole way of thinking.
What was the use of searching every hole and corner of the barracks at regular intervals for socialistic literature? They could confiscate red rosettes and pamphlets; but how could they control transient, intangible thoughts?
On Sundays the camp was as quiet as it was full of life on week-days. The boundary-lines beyond which the men were not allowed to pass without leave, were drawn round a considerable area. Within it were three large villages; and on Sundays their taverns were thronged by soldiers quartered in the camp. The enterprising innkeepers had made ample provision for such crowds of visitors. They had erected wooden platforms in the open air where dancing went on without intermission, regimental bands supplying the music; and the amount of beer consumed in one Sunday was greater than that drunk by the entire village the whole winter through. Of course there were strong patrols set to keep order at the dancing-platforms and licensed houses. As there were too few partners for the soldiers quarrels were of constant occurrence, and were seldom amicably settled; a brawl was the usual result, and at times a regular fight.
It was the custom in these villages to hire maidservants only by the month, as sufficient work could hardly be found for them during the winter; and there were also other members of the female sex--not servants, but ladies who had taken up their summer quarters here. They were the cause of much perplexity to the officers in command of the troops. The soldiers would stand in queues at the doors of these summer residences, like people at a baker's shop in time of famine; and then if any of them were drunk and got a little impatient there was sure to be a row. Censorious tongues passed severe comments on such proceedings. The commanding officers were most anxious to rectify the evil; but they could hardly post sentries at those particular houses, and finally they got over the difficulty by bringing a little moral pressure to bear upon the local authorities. These worthy civilians achieved the desired end by the simple means of administrative expulsions.
As the two comrades were getting ready to go out, Vogt asked the clerk: "Well, Heinrich, what shall we do with ourselves? Shall we go along and drink a glass of beer and look on at the racket for a bit?"
"If you like, Franz," replied Klitzing.
"Then we won't," said Vogt. "You ought to say at once when you don't like a thing. I don't in the least want to go myself, and we can always get beer in the canteen. We'll just walk a bit through the wood as far as the butts, shall we?"
Klitzing assented, and they waited till their comrades were off, then strolled slowly into the cool forest. Troops of men were leaving the camp gates to walk by the hard high road towards the villages that could be seen in the distance. Vogt looked after the cloud of dust they made.
"Can you understand what they see in women?" he asked.
"No, indeed I can't."
"You don't care about women?"
The clerk shook his head. "And you, Franz?" he inquired.
"Not I. At any rate, not yet."
Walking on in the shade of the forest's edge they came at last to the butts. The black, tarred, wooden target had been put up ready for the next day, and cheerfully awaited the terrors of the firing that lay before it. A little to one side of the principal erection a ruined village stood out against the blue of the summer sky. It had been purchased by the Government and left standing to be used for testing the effect of shots upon buildings.
The shells had certainly done their work. Substantial walls had gaping fissures right through them; gables and chimney-stacks had been laid low. Some of the houses seemed to have been set on fire by the shots, and any wood-work spared by the devouring flames had been stolen and carried away by some-one or other. No stairs were left leading to the upper storeys, nor boards to any of the floors. Rafters and beams had been hewn down; doors and windows with their frames had been torn out. On some of the walls rude drawings had been scrawled in paint or red chalk, with facetious inscriptions and obscene jokes; but from most of them the whitewash had fallen, leaving bare the rough masonry. It was a depressing picture of desolation. One could almost imagine that the smell of burning still hung about.
Vogt gazed gloomily at the ruins and said: "And that's what things look like in war! By God, it's true! we must do away with war!"
Klitzing smiled quietly to himself: "Yes, but who'll be the first to begin?" he asked.
The regiment stayed fully three weeks at the practice-camp, and then accomplished the return journey to the garrison in three days.
The two friends were anxiously looking forward to the leave that had been promised the men after the gun-practice. They were to start on the first Saturday in July, and had eight days' leave granted to them. Only very few had been allowed as much, and their captain did not fail to point out in a little speech that this favour was due to their blameless conduct at the practice-camp.
It was one of Wegstetten's little methods, when he found good qualities in his men and wished to spur them on, to make the meagre rewards that the service held out to them appear in a specially brilliant light. Regardless of exaggeration, he spoke of that week's leave as if it were an extremely rare mark of distinction unheard of for years. And on the whole he gained his object. As Vogt and Klitzing stood before their commanding officer blushing with pride, they had the feeling that they must thank him, and promise to go on doing their duty. They only did not know how. At length Vogt plucked up courage and stammered a few words.
Captain von Wegstetten listened kindly. He had soon perceived that he had to do with two worthy, honest lads; and, with his own ends in view, he proceeded to inquire in a condescending way about their homes. When it then came out that the one had invited the other to stay with him, he praised them for their faithful comrade-ship, and took the first opportunity of relating this instance of the fraternising of town and country to the colonel, who liked such proofs of an individual interest being taken in the soldiers.
The first Saturday in July was a day of excitement for the turnpike-keeper, Friedrich August Vogt. He was rather annoyed with himself for losing his usual calm. Why? because his son--his only son--was coming home for the first time? Really, that was not such an event as to put him beside himself in this way! And then next he blamed himself for having thought it unbefitting an old soldier, and too soft-hearted altogether, to go and fetch his son from the station. He could not remain in the house, so he went to a spot on the highway whence he could watch the railway. He could see the train coming in, and the clouds of white smoke from the engine rising up from behind the station; then he heard the whistle--but still nothing was to be seen of the two holiday-makers. Could Franz be stopping to have a glass of beer? No; now the two men could be seen emerging from the village on to the broad high-road, their helmets and uniform buttons glistening in the sun--it must be they! The turnpike-keeper drew back a little, so that he was out of sight. Why should the boy know that he had been staring the eyes out of his head in order to catch the first glimpse of him?
When Vogt and Klitzing arrived at the house he looked out of the window as if quite by chance. "Ah, here you are!" and with a hearty grip of the hand he bade them both welcome.
But it was no use fighting against it, he could not take his eyes off his son. What a well set-up, vigorous young fellow his Franz had grown! Yet he was still the same good honest lad; that was written in his face.
And Franz's friend, with his frank open countenance, inspired confidence at once. He looked, to be sure, as if he had never in his life had enough to eat. He must be properly fed up for once. While he was on leave, at any rate, he should not want for anything.
The two gunners settled down very quickly, and nothing could prevent Franz from going round the fields the very first evening while his father milked and fed the cows. He had almost hoped to find something or other left neglected because he had not been there when it was put in hand. But no, his father had allowed nothing to go wrong anywhere.
And now in the company of the two young soldiers the old turnpike-keeper became quite a different creature. He realised suddenly that the quiet, sluggish peasant's blood had not quite replaced in him the old, quick-flowing blood of the soldier. He listened, fascinated, to the tales told by the two gunners about their soldier's life. How things had changed since his time! He could never hear enough about it all.
Then Franz came to tell of his reflections during the gun-practice: how through the fence he had seen the infantry battalion tormented with drill for hours at a time; how the dried-up looking major had foamed with fury; and how the poor devil of a private had been struck down bodily and mentally in the middle of it all.
Old Vogt quietly heard his son out, although he was burning to speak. Then he began: "Look here, youngster, you as a simple soldier can't understand it all. But depend upon it, this drill is the most important thing that every soldier must first be made to learn. For it alone teaches military obedience, soldierly subordination, discipline. It alone can give that unity which preserves a company from utter demoralisation if one of your horrible new-fangled shrapnel bursts among them. But for drill the cowards would turn tail without further ceremony, and take to their heels; and in the end even the brave ones would follow them. It is the drill that teaches them to stay on and stick together."
He held to it, in spite of all his son could say about what he had seen of the kind of drill that the troops were kept at.
"You could not have seen aright," said his father.
The elder Vogt would not allow his son to put his hand to anything in the afternoons. He always insisted on sending the two young fellows out by themselves.
"Be off with you, youngsters," he would say. "Take a walk, drink a glass of beer somewhere or other--whatever you like. Enjoy your few days of freedom!"
Then the two young men would march off and let the hot sun and the fresh air burn them and brown them. Vogt had shown his friend his favourite spot, whence they could look out over the river to the castle in the neighbouring town. There they lay in the grass.
The peasant felt impelled to get up every now and then. He was restless; he felt that he must keep looking at the fields that lay around them. But the clerk lay quite still in the short grass, and with blinking half-closed eyes gazed up into the summer sky.
Reveille
Baron Walther von Frielinghausen was made bombardier on July 1st.
He had now got his foot on the ladder of military distinction, but he felt no special elation at the fact. What signified this little piece of promotion in a career which had now no attraction for him?
Wegstetten had arranged that he should at once begin doing some of the work of a corporal; but this, too, had its inconvenient side. When merely a gunner he had always imagined that he knew better than those uneducated fellows the non-coms.; and he had occasionally looked forward to the moment when he would be put in authority, and would be able to show off some of his knowledge. But now to command had become more difficult than to obey, and there was certainly just as much blame going. One was scolded as if one were a silly boy, and the men always took notice of the fact.
Only one thing caused him pleasant anticipations: he would have riding lessons. But this, too, proved unlike his expectations. Heppner, after his fashion, kept him hard at it. Like every recruit, he had to begin with riding bareback; then after a time came the more difficult task of balancing on the slippery saddle without stirrups; and only after considerable practice would the sergeant-major occasionally allow him to let the stirrups down. There were days on which he had more than twenty falls from his horse; and at last it was always in fear and trembling that he went to riding instruction. Whenever his horse dashed away riderless after a jump, Frielinghausen rejoiced in the few minutes' respite that shortened by that much the hour of his lesson. He could never manage to go over a hurdle with his hands placed on his hips; at every jump they snatched at the horse's mane. Heppner raged over this cowardice; but storm and shout as he would, Frielinghausen's hands were for ever clutching at his only means of safety.
At last the sergeant-major left the long-limbed youth alone in his incompetence. He had an impression that Wegstetten wished to hear good of the bombardier, and after all, in the fire-workers, it would not be necessary for Frielinghausen to be a proficient at riding. But the less Frielinghausen knew about horses the more he boasted of his acquirements, when once the riding instruction had come to an end.
As soon as he was made bombardier he was removed from Room IX. to the non-commissioned officers' quarters.
Wegstetten thought to do hisprotégéa favour by this; but Frielinghausen felt no happier in his new surroundings than in the company of the recruits. The mental atmosphere was hardly more enlightened than that of his former room-mates. The service, horses, and women: these were the chief subjects of conversation. They all appeared to be great riders before the Lord, though had Heppner been questioned in the matter he might have expressed a contrary opinion; but every mounted non-com, thinks it necessary to be a bit of a Munchausen. He would far rather be called a blockhead than be told he cannot ride. Though, of course, Frielinghausen contributed his mite to such conversations, on the whole he felt very much in doubt which he preferred: the narrow interests of the common soldiers in Room IX., or the well-meant rough good nature of the non-commissioned officers. He rather inclined to Room IX.
All this was changed when the non-commissioned officers' room received a new inmate, the one-year volunteer Trautvetter.
Captain von Wegstetten fully intended that his one-year volunteers, like his whole battery, should be distinguished above all the others in the regiment. If they behaved well he was most charming to them; if not, then he was all the more strict, because he considered them young people whose superior education laid them under the greater obligations.
All his labour had been in vain with Trautvetter. The one year volunteer was a ne'er-do-weel, a drunkard, a debauchee, and a useless fool on duty into the bargain. And he had command of considerable supplies of money, which, being an orphan and of age, he could spend as he pleased.
All means had failed with him: punishment drill, being reported, deprivation of leave, and being put under arrest. So at last Wegstetten decided to send him to live in barracks.
Trautvetter, a bull-necked, square-shouldered man, with a broad chest, took this punishment with great equanimity. He arranged his belongings complacently in his locker and looked calmly round the bare room. His little eyes had a bleary look of perpetual drunkenness, which obscured the hearty, good-humoured expression really natural to them.
It was all one to him where he lived: was there not beer in the canteen? and if one paid for it the canteen-keeper, despite the prohibition, would let one have a case of bottled ale. The non-coms, of course would drink with him; then they would all be a pleasant company together.
He was right in his calculations: none of them could withstand the good cigars and drinks which he distributed freely. Even the sergeant-major took to joining them; such a chance was not to be let slip. But the deputy sergeant-major, Heimert, kept his distance; he was occupied with preparing for his approaching marriage. And Sergeant Wiegandt preferred walking with his sweetheart Frieda in the quiet evenings.
A special relation soon established itself between Frielinghausen and the one-year volunteer. Trautvetter had been a couple of terms at Breslau, and the education they had both received gave them something in common.
Frielinghausen had a good time now. Trautvetter paid for him and let him take part in his amusements and pleasures. It even seemed as though Trautvetter had some honourable feeling towards the young baron, for he sternly refused ever to let him join in the gambling with which the drinking-bouts soon came to be enlivened.
The one-year volunteer had his reasons for this. His luck remained faithful to him with almost puzzling persistency. His little swimming eyes seemed to hypnotise the dealer when they were playing cards, and his big fat hands had nothing to do but to rake in the winnings.
He had not the least scruple in taking money from the sergeant-major and Trumpeter-sergeant Henke, who were usually his adversaries--why else did the fellows play with him? but he did not like winning from Frielinghausen.
When the two non-commissioned officers had lost all their money, Trautvetter had no objection to lending, and let them give him notes-of-hand, which at last amounted to very considerable sums.
He had not, indeed, any real intention of claiming repayment; but these I.O.U.'s were very useful weapons in his hand, and it was not long before the sergeant-major had to dance to his piping.
Every night when an inspection was not expected, Trautvetter and Heppner would slip out of barracks. As soon as the sentinel had gone round the corner, they would creep out of the window, and make off to a neighbouring tavern, where gambling and drinking went on into the early morning hours.
Heppner ground his teeth as he bowed beneath this uneasy yoke; but there was no help for him. He already owed Trautvetter more than a thousand marks; and the one-year volunteer now became less willing to lend, and caused the sergeant-major endless vexation and trouble. He would suddenly demand to be made corporal, or to be given a couple of weeks' leave: demands which it was quite impossible to grant. But if Heppner pointed this out to him, he would flourish the notes-of-hand under the sergeant-major's nose and threaten to lay them before Wegstetten.
Heppner could think of no other way of escape than the chance of a sudden stroke of luck. Of course, however, he needed money in order to go on playing. He himself had no more, and nobody would lend to him.
At last he fell back on the cash-box of the battery. From time to time he replaced a portion of what he had taken, but the deficit nevertheless became greater and greater.
One morning, in the beginning of August, Wegstetten said to him: "Sergeant Heppner, have the one-year volunteers paid their board-money?"
"Yes, sir."
"All right. Then get your cash-box ready for settling up accounts. I am just going over to headquarters, and you can have the money and the books for me when I return."
Heppner hardly had the strength to reply with the usual "Very good, sir."
More than a hundred marks was missing from the box. Time pressed; Wegstetten might be back again in half an hour. He went to find Heimert. Heimert was no friend to him, he knew; but he had always been a good comrade.
The deputy sergeant-major was away at the big parade-ground with the pioneers. That was half-an-hour's distance.
Trautvetter, where was Trautvetter?
At last he discovered him in the canteen.
"Trautvetter, you must lend me a hundred marks!" said the sergeant-major breathlessly.
"Must?" asked the one-year volunteer sarcastically. "Must? Not if I know it!"
Heppner had dragged him out of the canteen into the empty vestibule.
"Yes, yes, you must, Trautvetter!" he repeated.
Trautvetter now perceived the disturbed mien of the sergeant-major. Something very particular must have happened, that was clear; and in such case he could not refuse to help. For it was no part of his plan to push this man to extremity.
"What's up?" he asked.
Heppner murmured, with some confusion: "Settling up accounts, all of a sudden--there is some money missing; of course I had meant to replace it."
Trautvetter understood, and was beginning to pull out his purse, but he suddenly hesitated.
"Why, I have got no money left!" he cried in dismay. "Must it be at once? To-morrow afternoon you can have as much as you want."
"No, no, at once! Wegstetten has only just gone over to headquarters for a minute."
"Damnation! What are we to do?"
The sergeant-major believed Trautvetter was doing this on purpose. He became more insistent, and implored: "Trautvetter, for heaven's sake help me just for once! I beg of you! I beg of you! lend me the money!"
With a shrug the volunteer held out his open purse. There were only a few silver pieces in it.
"You can see for yourself, Herr Heppner," he said. "I am not the sort of fellow to leave you in the lurch like that."
But Heppner could not yet believe him. He begged and threatened. At last the great big fellow threw himself on the ground and clung round Trautvetter's knees: "Just this once, just this once!"
The volunteer pushed him roughly away. The sight of the blubbering giant revolted him.
"Stand up, Heppner!" he insisted. "All this is no good. I would give you the money, but God knows I have none at the moment. Let us consider how we can get out of this."
The sergeant-major stood up again, and looked at him in suspense.
Suddenly Trautvetter pointed to the canteen: "He must lend us something," he whispered.
But the canteen-keeper objected to this. Even when Trautvetter offered him ten, twenty marks for the loan, he remained obstinate.
The volunteer struck the counter furiously.
"Pig-headed fool!" he cried. "Will you do it for fifty?"
The canteen-keeper hesitated. He had settled up the day before; there was not much risk for him, and fifty marks----!
"Give me your note-of-hand," he demanded,
And Trautvetter wrote him an I.O.U. for one hundred and fifty marks.
Heppner took the money, and when Wegstetten came into the orderly-room he found the sergeant-major counting over his cash.
This event made a powerful impression on the one-year volunteer. From the moment when Heppner had lain grovelling on the ground before him a thorough change came over Trautvetter. The whole scene had been unspeakably revolting to him; he was seized with a grim horror on his own account too. Half unconsciously the sight of the big imposing-looking man clamouring and petitioning on his knees made Trautvetter suddenly realise how near he himself stood to a similar degradation.
The next morning he gave the sergeant-major back his notes-of-hand.
Heppner coloured. "Why is this?" he asked. "Perhaps I shall be able to pay them up."
But Trautvetter answered quietly, "No, never mind! I only won the money from you in play, and gambling debts are not legally reclaimable. I ought never to have lent you the money in the first place." Then suddenly Trautvetter assumed a severely respectful manner, and added, "I should like to ask you something, sir; and that is that you would promise me never to play again."
Heppner looked at him, astonished. Was all this irksome dependence on one of his subordinates, this degradation before the whole battery, really to come to an end? He could scarcely believe that any one could be so generous. But he could see that the one-year volunteer was in earnest, not simply making fun of him.
"Yes, I promise you, Trautvetter," he said firmly. "I will not play any more."
And for the moment he meant what he said; he felt that this was the right minute for making good resolutions and turning over a new leaf.
Some days later Wegstetten asked him: "How is the one-year volunteer Trautvetter behaving? I have been quite pleased with him on duty these last few days."
And Heppner answered: "He has been much more steady, sir; there has been no fault to find with him."
The commander of the battery nodded, well pleased.
"You see, sergeant," he said, "my plan has been a success. I think we will let him out of barracks again. You can tell him so."
Trautvetter had also returned all his notes-of-hand to his other debtor, Trumpeter-sergeant Henke.
The cornet-player did not feel constrained to any special feeling of gratitude for this. He had never had the smallest intention of repaying the money, some hedge-lawyer having advised him of the fact that gambling debts were not legally recoverable.
Why therefore should he be grateful?
Lisbeth, on the contrary, his pretty fair-haired wife, was profoundly touched by Trautvetter's generosity.
"Dear, dear!" she sighed, "what a kind good man that volunteer must be, to give away such a lot of money!"
The trumpeter laughed at her: "Silly goose!" he said, "haven't I told you that they were gambling debts, and he could never have claimed them?"
"Well," remarked Lisbeth, "there were others too. Your new uniform was bought with the borrowed money, your beautiful patent leather shoes too, and half-a-dozen pairs of white gloves."
Her husband did not care to remember this: "Hold your tongue!" he growled; but his pretty wife insisted: "No, no, he must be a good kind man!"
"A drunken fat pig, that's what he is!" said Henke. "You can see that at a glance."
"That's as may be," replied Lisbeth calmly; and she proceeded to set forth to her wondering husband a plan she had conceived for increasing the financial resources of the household.
She would do fine washing and ironing for the one-year volunteers; and he, Henke, should arrange it with them.
Henceforth the young wife spent her days over the wash-tub and the ironing-board. She found plenty to do; for the young men liked to have their things brought home by a lovely little person like the trumpeter's wife, in her neat fresh attire.
A special friendship soon established itself between her and Trautvetter. She looked upon the plump volunteer as a good-natured person, who did not, at any rate now, show any of the evil characteristics imputed to him by her husband. He looked rather embarrassed when she thanked him heartily for giving back the notes-of-hand; and as he was acquainted with her husband's weaknesses it came to pass that they often talked about Henke. The woman felt a need of speaking out to some one about her husband, and Trautvetter gave her the best advice he could.
The young woman pleased him with her industrious, intelligent ways. Formerly he would probably have thoughtlessly tried to seduce her; but now he felt an involuntary respect for her diligent activity, and her love for her husband impressed him.
The trumpeter soon became aware that his wife had a certain influence over the one-year volunteer, and he immediately used this discovery to make Lisbeth a means of obtaining further small loans of money.
Lisbeth was ashamed of the deception this entailed upon her; she always refused to undertake the commission, but on each occasion Henke managed to prevail upon her to do so. Then when she brought him the money he would laugh sarcastically. It was capital to have a pretty wife who could manage things so nicely. He had no need even to be jealous; she was helplessly in love with himself!
But in the course of time his wife's eyes were opened. She learnt to examine her husband more closely, and saw through him more clearly every day. How blind she had been! Now that her perceptions were sharpened her fondness suddenly disappeared, and nothing remained but a dim feeling of duty towards him. She would at any rate make good the wrong she had done to Trautvetter in her foolish adoration for her husband, and would not conceal the truth from the one-year volunteer. She said nothing about a new request for money with which Henke had charged her, but confessed to him instead that all he had already given her for housekeeping and such-like had been appropriated by her husband, who had used it to buy himself a gold watch-chain, an extra sword, and silver spurs.
Trautvetter looked down upon her fair head. She had hung down her blushing face and would not look up at him.
"I thought as much," he said.
Without raising her eyes she asked: "Then why did you do it?"
Trautvetter hesitated a moment, then he said gently: "I thought I was doing you a pleasure, Frau Lisbeth."
The young woman looked him full in the face for an instant. Then she stood up quickly, took her washing-basket, and departed.
Henke had been awaiting her at home anxiously. He had just engaged in a love-affair with a music-hall singer, who had been entertaining the country people of the neighbourhood with her ditties during the August cattle-market season. "Countess Miramara" was a great success on the boards, for her costume reached upwards and downwards only just as far as was absolutely necessary; but she repelled the advances of the farmers, though they jingled persuasively the coin they had received in exchange for their oxen and pigs. She preferred to distinguish with her favour the handsome black-bearded trumpeter.
Henke now wanted to show himself a gallant lover. He intended to present the countess with a bracelet.
"Give me the money!" he cried to Lisbeth when she entered.
"I have none," she replied. "Trautvetter won't give me any more."
Henke tugged at his beard. This was a fatal upset to his calculations. What would the countess say if he broke his promise?
He began quietly; "Oh, yes, he'll give you some! You must just be a bit nice to him."
Lisbeth looked surprised. "What do you mean?" she said.
"Well, you women can always manage a man if you only want to, don't you see? Just be really nice to him. It's all the same to me." And he left the room, much put out.
His pretty wife shook her head thoughtfully. What had he meant by "a bit nice"?
Going into the town on an errand she met the one-year volunteer. They walked part of the way together. Lisbeth had forgotten her embarrassment, and chattered away gaily.
Suddenly she remembered her husband's incomprehensible words, and she began, smilingly; "Do you know, Herr Trautvetter, what my husband has just been saying to me, that I was to be really nice to you. Have I not been nice then?"
"What did he mean by that?" Trautvetter asked sharply.
"Well," she laughed, "I ought to have taken back some more money to-day. But I never mean to do that again. And then he said that if I were only really nice to you, you would give me lots of money."
She started, so violently had the man struck his sword upon the ground, and he looked at her quite red and angry.
"Just like the low brute!" he cried.
"What! What do you mean?"
Trautvetter could not contain his wrath. He blurted out: "Don't you know, Frau Lisbeth, what he meant?--that you should take me for a lover!"
She met his glance with a straight look; then she hung her head, and walked dumbly beside him.
"I will go back," she said suddenly.
He took her hand and begged: "Forgive me, Frau Lisbeth! please!"
She nodded silently and turned back on the road they had just traversed.
In her little sitting-room she sank limply into a chair. The windows were wide open; she heard the rippling of the brook, and the insects humming and buzzing in the big willow. At last she roused herself. She must be certain if Trautvetter was right in his suspicion, and that would need cunning. Her plan was soon made; it was very simple: she need only behave as if she had been following her husband's hint, then he would have to declare himself.
"Henke," she began that evening, "Trautvetter has made a proposal to-day. As soon as he has finished his service he is going to buy a place in the country, far away from here, and he wants me to keep house for him. If you agree, then you shall have a hundred marks a month."
Henke was silent for a time; he was in some doubt what he should say to this. Lisbeth was so queer and cold, almost uncanny; but on the other hand she did not seem to be the least annoyed.
In a tone of would-be resignation he said at last: "Well, Lisbeth, if you don't love me any more, if you think it's for your happiness, and you like to leave me----" he stopped.
His wife was suddenly standing before him, deathly pale. She shook her trembling clasped hands in his face, and spat contemptuously on the boards in front of him. Then she fled from the room.
He looked after her stupefied.
"So she's gone!" he muttered. Well, it was no use being too tragic over it. Either Lisbeth would be reasonable again, or----he was free of her.
There was a third possibility.
Countess Miramara had assured him that he could make an enormous fortune if he would go on the stage as a cornet-player. To-morrow she was going off to Bohemia. Suppose he were to join her? He did not trouble himself about desertion: he had got his papers all right, and desertion was not a crime for which one could be extradited. Austria was a big place and a merry; so the countess asserted. And there was Hungary too.
Really that would be the best thing to do.
Next day Henke was over the border. He had already converted all his property into gold, and only took his trumpet with him. In place of his artilleryman's coat he wore a gorgeous fancy uniform, which showed off to the best advantage the excellences of his person. Evening after evening he performed his most admired pieces.
And he became a favourite with all the ladies.