Then shots sounded afar off through the rain and thunder. Lenore started, and the hare bounded away. Yonder there were men fighting; yonder, blood was being poured out on the dark ground. A scream was heard—a fierce, ominous scream, then all was still. "Was he in danger?" she asked herself; yet she felt no fear, and shook her head under her plaid, sure that, even if he were, no danger would reach him: the gun aimed at him would strike some broken branch, the knife drawn against him would break like a splinter before it struck him, the man who rushed on him would stumble and fall before he could touch that haughty head. He was above all danger, above all fear; he knew neither care nor grief; alas! he did not feel like other men. His head was lifted freely, his eyes were clear and bright when all others were cast in terror down to earth. No difficulty affrighted, no hinderance stopped him. With a mere wave of his hand he could remove what crushed other men. Such was he. And this man had seen her weak, precipitate, and helpless; it was her own fault that he had now a right to assume a transient intimacy. She trembled lest he should presume upon this right by a glance, a presumptuous smile, a passing word. In this way her heart kept beating and her thoughts fluttering for long hours.
The storm passed off. Instead of torrents there was small rain, and a dull gray succeeded to the black darkness and the fiery flashes. Lenore could now trace the trunk of the nearest trees. The feeling of solitariness oppressed her more and more. Just then she heard again the distant sound of human voices, call and counter-call grew louder, and the bailiff's voice cried, "They went beyond the quarry; look yonder, you Neudorf men." The steps of the speakers drew near, and Karl, making a speaking trumpet of his hands, shouted with all his might, "Halloa, hillo hoa, Fräulein Lenore!"
"Here I am," cried a female voice at his very feet.
Karl started back in amazement, and joyfully called out, "Found!" The peasants surrounded Lenore's shelter.
"Our young lady is here!" cried a youth of Neudorf, and hurraed in his delight as though he were at a wedding.
Lenore rose; her foot still pained her; but, leaning on Karl's arm, she exerted herself bravely to walk. Meanwhile the young men broke down a few poles, and laid fir branches across them. In spite of her resistance, Lenore was constrained to seat herself upon the rude litter, while some ran on to the bailiff's stable to get her horse ready for her.
"Have you found the thieves?" inquired Lenore from Karl, who walked at her side.
"Two of them," replied he. "The calf had been killed; we have got its skin and part of its flesh. The geese were hanging up on a bough, with their necks wrung, but the rascals had divided the money. We found very little of it on our prisoners."
"Those we have caught are Tarow men," said the bailiff, anxiously; "the worst in the village. And yet I wish they were any where but here, for there are some desperately revengeful fellows yonder."
"I heard shots," inquired Lenore, further; "was any harm done?"
"Not to us," answered Karl. "In their foolhardiness they made a fire, not much beyond the border where our riders formed acordon. The embers were glimmering in spite of the rain, and thus they betrayed themselves. We dismounted, crept near, and surprised them. They fired their guns and ran into the bush. There the darkness swallowed them up. It was a long time before the party on foot could join us, and but for the shots and the noise they would never have found us out. Herr von Fink described to us the place where we should meet with you. He is taking the prisoners with him to the estate, and to-morrow we will send them farther."
"But to think that Herr von Fink should have left you thus alone in the wood!" said the worthy bailiff: "that was a bold stroke indeed."
"I begged him not to remain behind," cried Lenore, casting down her eyes in spite of the darkness.
Half way to the village Lenore's pony was brought to meet them. At Neudorf, Karl got back the baron's horse and accompanied his young lady to the castle. It was very late before they arrived. Lenore's long absence had excited her mother's alarm, and put the baron fearfully out of temper. She escaped from his cross-questioning as fast as she could, and hurried to her room. An hour later, Fink, with the forester, came back from Kunau, bringing both the prisoners, who walked haughtily, with their hands bound, and carried their peacock's feathers as high as though they were leading the dance in a tavern.
"You shall pay for this," said one of them in Polish to his escort, and clenched his fettered fists.
The rain still continued. It had ceased indeed in the morning, but only to begin again with double energy. The laborers had gone early to the field, but they soon returned. They were now sitting silently in the guard-room of the castle, drying their wet garments at the stove.
The baron sat in the arm-chair, listening to old John, who read him the newspaper that had reached the castle on the previous day. The monotonous voice of the domestic announced nothing but unwelcome news; the rain-drops rattled on the panes, and the wind rushed howling round the corner of the house in discordant accompaniment.
Anton was busy at his desk. Before him lay a letter from Commissary Horn, announcing that the judicial sale of the family estate was fixed for the middle of next winter; and that, since the advertisement of this definite period, several mortgages on the property had passed from one hand to another, bought up, as he feared, by one speculator, who disguised himself under different names. Accordingly, Anton reflected in gloomy mood upon the hazardous position of the baron.
In the neighboring room Fink was keeping the ladies company, the baroness lying back on the sofa cushions, covered by a shawl of Lenore's. She gazed in silence straight before her, but when her daughter came up with some tender inquiry, she nodded smilingly at her, and spoke a few cheering words. Lenore was sitting in the window occupied with some light work, and listening with rapture to the jests by which Fink brightened the otherwise mournful room. To-day, in spite of the rain, he was in the wildest spirits. From time to time Lenore's ringing laugh reached Anton through the massive door, and then he forgot sale and mortgage, looked with clouded brow at the door, and felt, not without bitterness, that a new struggle was approaching both for the family and for himself.
Without, as we have already said, the rain poured and the storm raged. The wind from the forest wailed to the castle. The old firs creaked, and ceaselessly bent down their branches toward the building. Around the pear-trees in the meadows leaves and white blossoms fluttered timidly to earth. The storm angrily stripped them off, and crushed them, low with his rain, howling the while. "Down with your smiling pomp! to-day all belonging to the castle shall wear mourning." Then the fierce spirit flew from the trees to the castle walls; it shook the flag-staff on the tower; it hurled the rain in slanting torrents against the windows; it groaned in the chimneys and thundered at the doors. It took advantage of every opening to cry, "Guard your house!" And this it did for hours together, but those within understood not its speech.
Neither did any one heed the horseman who was urging his weary horse through the village to the castle. At last the knocker outside the gate was heard, the strokes sounded impatient, and loud voices resounded in the court-yard and on the stairs. Anton opened the door; an armed man, dripping with wet and stained with mud, entered the room.
"It is you!" cried Anton, in amazement.
"They are coming," said Karl, looking cautiously round; "prepare for it; this time it is our turn."
"The enemy?" rapidly asked Anton. "How strong is the band?"
"It was not a band that I saw," replied Karl, seriously; "it was an army of about a thousand scythe-bearers, and at least a hundred horsemen at their head. I hear that they have orders to enlist all Poles and disarm all Germans."
Anton opened the door of the next room and made a sign to Fink.
"Ah!" cried Fink, as he cast a look on Karl, "he who brings half the highway into the room with him has no good tidings to tell. From which side comes the enemy, sergeant?"
"From the Neudorf birch wood straight down upon us. Our villagers are assembled in the tavern drinking and quarreling."
"No beacon-fires have been seen—no tidings have come from the neighboring villages," cried Anton at the window. "Have the Germans at Neudorf and Kunau been fast asleep, then?"
"They were taken by surprise," continued the messenger of ill. "Their watch saw the enemy yesterday evening half a mile beyond Neudorf, going down the high road toward Rosmin. When they had passed the turning to Neudorf, the villagers took heart again, but their horsemen followed the enemy till the last scythe-bearers were out of sight. In the night, however, the whole troop turned back; this morning they fell upon the village, and wrought sad havoc there. The bailiff is lying on the straw, covered with wounds, and a prisoner; the guard-house is burned down; but for this heavy rain we should see the smoke. At this present moment the enemy has divided. They are making the round of all the German villages: one party has gone off to Kunau, one to our new farm, the largest is on its way hither."
"How much time have we to prepare for these gentry?" asked Fink.
"In weather like this, the infantry will take an hour to get here."
"Is the forester warned?" asked Anton; "and do those at the new farm know?"
"There was no time to apprise them. The farm is farther from Neudorf than the estate, and I might have been too late getting here. I lit our beacon, but in rain like this, neither fire nor smoke is visible, and all signals are useless."
"If they have not looked out for themselves," said Fink, decidedly, "we can do no more for them."
"The forester is a fox," replied Karl; "no one will catch him; but as to the farmer and his young wife, Heaven have mercy on them!"
"Save our people!" cried a supplicating voice close to Fink. Lenore stood in the room, pale, with folded hands.
Anton hurried to the door through which she had silently entered. "The baroness!" cried he, anxiously.
"She has heard nothing as yet," hurriedly replied Lenore. "Send to the farm; help our people!"
Fink caught up his cap. "Bring out my horse," said he to Karl.
"You can't be spared now," said Anton, barring the way. "I will take your horse."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Wohlfart," interpolated Karl; "if I may ride Herr von Fink's horse, I shall be quite able to make it out."
"So be it, then," decided Fink; "send hither the forester and any man you can beat up; the women, horses, and children you can dispatch to the forest. Let the farmer go with all his cattle into the thicket as far as he can, and keep a look-out on the castle from the old firs near the sand-pit. As for you, keep on my horse, which I shall, alas! have to make over to you for some days to come; ride off to Rosmin, and seek out the nearest detachment of our soldiers; tell them we implore them to come to our aid, and, if possible, to bring cavalry with them."
"Our red-caps are about three miles beyond Rosmin," said Karl, turning to go. "The Kunau smith called that out to me as I rode by."
"Bring any military you can. I'll write a line to the commanding officer while you are saddling the horse."
Karl made a military salute, and hurried down stairs, Anton with him. While he was fastening the girths, Anton said, "As you pass by, call out to the men in the farm-yard that I will be with them at once. Poor fellow, you have hardly had any breakfast to-day, and there is little prospect of your getting any thing for some hours to come." He ran back to the house, got a bottle of wine, some bread, and the remnant of a ham, stuffed them into a bag, and, together with Fink's letter, gave them to the hussar just as he was setting off.
"Thanks," said Karl, seizing Anton's hand; "you think of every one. But I've one thing to ask: think of yourself too, Mr. Wohlfart; this Polish set, here and yonder, are not worth your risking your life; there are some at home with whom it would go hard if any thing happened to you."
Anton shook his hand heartily. "Good-by, Karl. I'll do my duty. Don't forget to send us the forester, and, above all, rescue the farmer's wife. Lead the military hither through the wood."
"No fear," said Karl, cheerily; "this gallant bay shall find out how much a stout-hearted trooper can get through."
With these words he waved his cap, and vanished behind the farm-buildings.
Anton bolted the gate, then hurried to the guard-room, and rang the alarm-bell, giving orders to the superintendent to let in the men, to invest the back door, and not to admit any one without questioning them, not even fugitives.
"Eat heartily and drink moderately; we shall have enough to do to-day," he cried.
Meanwhile Fink stood at the table in Anton's room, loading the guns, while Lenore reached him whatever he needed. She was pale, but her eyes glowed with an excitement which did not escape Anton as he entered. "Leave this serious game to us alone," said he, beseechingly.
"It is the home of my parents that you defend," cried she. "My father is unable to act at your head. You shall not expose your lives for our sakes without my sharing your danger."
"Forgive me," replied Anton; "your first duty most undoubtedly is to prepare the baroness, and not to leave her during the next few hours."
"My mother! my poor mother!" cried Lenore, clasping her hands, laying down the powder-flask, and hurrying to the neighboring room.
"I have set all the men eating," said Anton to Fink. "From this moment you must take the command."
"Good," replied Fink. "Here are your arms; this double-barrel is light; one barrel loaded with ball, the other with slugs. The bag of bullets is under your bed."
"You think of standing a siege, then?" inquired Anton.
"We must either not seek to defend ourselves at all, but surrender at the friendly discretion of the approaching band, or we must hold out to our last bullet. We are all prepared for the latter course; perhaps surrender would be the wiser, but I own it does not suit my taste. As there is a master of the house, however, still extant, he may decide; go to the baron."
Anton hurried through the passage to the other wing. Even when at a distance he could hear the chairs knocked about in the baron's room. There was an angry "Come in," and he entered. The baron was standing in the middle of the room, highly excited. "I hear," said he, "that there is something going on. I must consider it an unpardonable want of attention that I have not been apprised of it."
"Your pardon, baron," replied Anton; "we only heard a few minutes ago that a band of the enemy's cavalry and scythe-bearers was moving on toward your property. We sent off a messenger in all speed to the nearest military station, then bolted the door, and now we wait your orders."
"Send me Herr von Fink," replied the baron, authoritatively.
"He is at this moment in the guard-room."
"I beg that he will take the trouble of coming to me at once," cried the angry nobleman. "I can not discuss military matters with you. Fink is a gentleman, and half a soldier; I will give all necessary instructions to him. What are you waiting for?" rudely continued he. "Do you young people suppose that you are to trifle with me because I have the misfortune to be blind? He at least whom I feed and pay shall respect my commands."
"Father!" cried Lenore, on the threshold, looking imploringly at Anton.
"You are right, baron," replied Anton; "I crave your forgiveness for having in the hurry of the moment forgotten my first duty. I will send Herr von Fink here at once." Then hastening off, he made his friend acquainted with the baron's angry mood.
"He is a fool," said Fink.
"Go up at once," urged Anton; "the ladies must not suffer from his temper." Then throwing on a laborer's jacket, he sprang out through the door into the rain and to the back farm-yard.
There he found a dreary scene of confusion. German families from the neighboring villages had taken refuge in the guard-house, and sat there with their children, and some of their goods and chattels round them. There were about twenty persons lying on the floor—men, women, and children, the women lamenting, the children weeping, the men looking gloomily down. Several of them belonged to the village militia, and some had their guns with them. Their little carts stood in the yard. Servants, horses, cows, were all running against each other. Anton called the superintendent to his assistance.
He next made over the farm-horses and the cattle to the most trustworthy of the servants, and to the German dairy-maid. Calling aside the head servant, a resolute kind of man, he described to him a place in the thicket, not far from the sand-pit, where man and beast might lie concealed, and be in some degree protected from the weather. Thither the man was to drive the cattle, and to keep a sharp look-out for the bailiff, who was to have the management of the wood-party. Next he desired the maid to leave a cow behind, opened the gate himself, and saw them all set out toward the forest.
"What are we to do with the horses of the baron and of Herr von Fink?" hurriedly asked the superintendent.
"They must be brought, together with some of the vehicles, into the court-yard, come what will. Who knows whether we shall not have to fly, after all?"
Accordingly, Anton had Karl's newly-painted carts laden with sacks of potatoes, meal, oats, and as much hay as they could hold. He had the great water-butt brought in too, and filled to the brim with fresh water. The skies were still pouring down bucketfuls, and the servants had to load in the drenching rain. All was confusion; and weeping and cursing, in German and Polish, was heard on every side. As Anton approached the fugitives, the screams of the women grew louder, the men surrounded him and began to relate their disasters, the children clung about his knees: it was a mournful spectacle. Anton did what he could to comfort them. "Above all, be quiet; we will protect you as well as we can. I hope the military may come to our aid, meanwhile you will be safe in the castle. You have been faithful to us in this season of distress; as long as we have bread you shall not want."
After a quarter of an hour of extreme exertion Anton returned to the castle. The servants drove the carts to the back door, the troop of fugitives followed. People still poured in from the German villages around, and soon the smith of Kunau, with some of his near neighbors, stood at the castle gate. The whole party was now got into order, the horses unharnessed, the carts unloaded. The women and children were led by Anton into two rooms on the lower floor, which, were dark indeed, but far more comfortable than the guard-house in the soaked fields. The bringing in the horses was the most troublesome part of the matter; about a dozen of them had to crowd up beneath an open shed, poorly protected from rain or bullets. The water-butt was placed in the middle of the yard, and the potato-carts pushed up to the paling, to serve, in case of need, as a position for the guard. Next, all the men capable of bearing arms were assembled by the smith, and, besides Fink's laborers and four servants, fifteen German peasants were mustered, the larger number of them armed. Their footsteps sounded heavy in the long passages, and joining the laborers in the hall, the whole force was seen at once, Fink in his hunting-coat walking quietly up and down before his own corps. Anton now went up to him and gave in his report.
"You bring us men," replied Fink; "that is all very well; but we did not want a whole clan of women and children into the bargain; the castle is as full as a bee-hive—more than sixty mouths; to say nothing of a dozen horses; spite of your potato-carts, we shall have to gnaw the stones before twenty-four hours are over."
"Could I leave them outside?" asked Anton, dryly.
"They would have been just as safe in the wood as here," said Fink, with a shrug.
"Possibly," replied Anton; "but to send off people to the forest in rain like this, without provisions, and in deadly terror, would have been barbarity for which I could not be responsible. Besides, do you think we should have got the men without their wives and children?"
"At all events, we can make use of the men," concluded Fink, "and you may manage the commissariat as you can."
Fink next gave arms to those who wanted them, and divided the forces into four sections, one for the yard, two for the upper and lower stories, and one as a reserve in the guard-room. Next he had an exact report of the enemy given him by the Kunau smith and others. Meantime Anton had rushed to the underground kitchen, where he gave the provisions in charge of the superintendent, and caused wood and water to be carried in by the baron's servants. A sack of potatoes and one of meal were placed near the hearth, and the great caldron put on the fire.
As he went out, he confided to the cook that a cow had been taken into the stable, that, at all events, the family might not be without milk at this doleful time. Old Barbette wrung her hands in anguish. "Alas! Mr. Wohlfart, what a frightful thing it is!" cried she; "the balls will be flying about in my kitchen."
"Heaven forbid!" said Anton; "the window is much too deep for that. No one can reach you; cook away in peace; the people are famished; I will send two of the stranger women down to help you."
"Who could eat in such danger as this?" cried she.
"We will all eat," said Anton, comfortingly.
"Will you have soup or potato-broth?" inquired Barbette, feverishly brandishing her spoon in her despair.
"Both, my good woman."
The cook held him back. "But, Mr. Wohlfart, there are no eggs for the family; indeed, there is not an egg in the whole house. Mercy on us! to think of this misfortune happening to-day, of all days. What will the baron say when he has no fresh egg this evening?"
"The devil take the eggs!" cried Anton, impatiently; "we must not be so particular to-day."
As he returned, Fink called to him, "All is ready; we may now quietly await their arrival. I am going to the tower, and taking a few good shots with me. If any thing happens, I am to be found there."
And again the hall was empty and the house quiet. The sentinels stood silently watching the edge of the forest; the rest of the men sat talking in a low voice in the guard-room; but the noise was unceasing in the apartment where the children were, and a constant communication was kept up between the kitchen and the occupied rooms in the lower story. Anton walked to and fro in restless suspense from the house to the court, and back again to his own room, where he tied the baron's papers together; then through the passages and to the guard-room. In this way one quarter of an hour after another passed, till at length Lenore came from her mother's room crying, "This uncertainty is intolerable!"
"And we have no tidings from the farm either," replied Anton, anxiously; "but the rain is over, and whatever happens to-day will happen in sunshine. The clouds are breaking yonder, and the blue sky is seen through them. How is the baroness?"
"She is calm," said Lenore, "and prepared for every thing."
Both walked silently up and down the hall. At last Lenore went up to Anton, and passionately exclaimed, "Wohlfart, it is horrible to me to think of you in a position such as this for our sakes."
"Is this position, then, so terrible?" asked Anton, with, a mournful smile.
"You do not perhaps feel it so," said Lenore, "but you are sacrificing for us far more than we deserve. We are ungrateful to you; you would be happier elsewhere."
She placed herself at the window, and wept bitterly.
Anton tried to soothe her. "If," said he, "you allude to the hasty expressions of the baron, you need not pity me on that account. You know what we have formerly said on that subject."
"It is not that alone," cried Lenore, weeping.
Anton knew as well as she did that it was not that alone, and felt that a confession lay in the words. "Be it what it may," said he, cheerfully, "why should you grudge me the pleasure of an adventure? Certainly I am an inexperienced soldier, but it seems that our enemies will not give me much opportunity of doing them any harm to-day."
"No one thanks you for all that you bear for our sakes. No one!" cried Lenore.
"No one?" repeated Anton. "Have I not a friend here who is only too much inclined to overrate the little I am able to do? Lenore, you have permitted me to draw nearer to you than would have been possible under ordinary circumstances. Do you reckon it nothing that I should have won some of a brother's privileges with regard to you?"
Lenore fervently seized and pressed his hand. "Even I have been different to you of late to what I should have been. I am very unhappy," cried she, passionately. "I can not tell to any human being what I feel—not to my mother—not to you either. I have lost all confidence and all control." She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.
"Lenore!" cried her father, impatiently, from his apartment.
"This is no time for explanations," said she, more calmly. "When we have got over this day, I will try hard to be stronger than I am now. Help me in this, Wohlfart."
She hurried away to the baron's room. Anton remained behind, lost in sad thoughts. Meanwhile the bright sunshine streamed down on the court-yard, the men left the guard-room and stood on the threshold; even the women made their way out of their dark retreat, and had to be scolded back again.
"Who knows whether they have not overlooked the castle?" said one; "or if they have courage to attack us?" suggested another; while a sagacious tailor proved, by a cleverrésuméof the different reports received, that all the Polish frocks were by this time far beyond Rosmin. Yet, eagerly as each asserted that the danger must now be over, all listened anxiously to the step of the sentinels, and looked constantly to the tower, to see if any signal were given thence. Even Anton found the suspense unbearable, and at length he too betook himself to the tower. Here the whole staff was assembled. The blind baron sat in his arm-chair, behind him stood Lenore's tall figure shading his eyes with her parasol; four riflemen sat in the broad embrasures; and Fink, perched on the wall, hung down his legs into space, and puffed the blue clouds of a cigar into the wind.
"Nothing to be seen?" asked Anton.
"Nothing," replied Fink, "except a drunken band of our villagers, who are moving off on the Tarow road." He pointed to a dark mass just vanishing into the wood. "It is very well that we have got rid of the rabble. They are afraid of the gray-jackets, and are off to plunder elsewhere. Every hour's delay is a gain, since we reckon that at best there is no help to be looked for till to-morrow. Now those gentlemen behind the wood are not interesting enough to wish for a visit of twenty-four hours from them. This is a grand spot, Baron Rothsattel," continued Fink. "Certainly there's not much to be seen—some fir woods, your fields, and plenty of sand; but it is a glorious station to defend, because it is so bare all round the castle—without tree or bank. Your sentimentalists, indeed, might pronounce it an uninteresting view. But what I consider splendid is this: with the exception of the nearest barn, which is about three hundred yards off in a straight line, there is no shelter better than that of a molehill for one of the enemy's skirmishers. Far as a rifle-ball can range, we are monarchs of the plain below; only there is a thicket in the way yonder—a plantation, I believe, of Fräulein Lenore's."
"I acknowledge myself guilty," said Lenore.
"Very well," replied Fink, carelessly; "then you shall pay the cost if we are hit. Half a dozen riflemen might lurk safely there."
"It is Lenore's favorite spot," said the baron, apologetically; "she has a grass-plot there; it is the only place outside the wall where she can sit in the open air."
"Indeed!" said Fink; "that's a different thing;" and, looking round for Lenore, he saw she had disappeared. The next moment the yard gate opened, and Lenore, followed by a few laborers, hurried to the plantation.
"What are you going to do?" cried Fink from his height.
Lenore signified by a gesture that she was going to have the trees removed; and, seizing a young fir, she exerted all her strength to uproot it. The men followed her example. In a few moments the young plantation was done away with. Then Lenore herself caught up a spade, and began to level the grassy mound.
Now Anton had planted these trees with the young lady. Both had thoroughly enjoyed the improvement. Since then, Lenore had gone there daily, and each of the little trees had been to her a personal friend. When, therefore, Anton saw it all annihilated, he could not help saying somewhat coldly, "That feeble plantation would have done us little harm; surely you have caused useless devastation."
"Why," replied Fink, "the lady has acted like a prudent commandant of a fortress, the first display of whose talents always consists in leveling about the building, and a plantation can be made again any spring day. Carry off the wood to the farm-yard," cried he to the men; "tear down the wooden inclosure of the well, bring the boards to the yard, and hide the well's mouth."
When Lenore returned to her place behind her father's chair, Fink nodded to her like an elder comrade to a younger, took up his telescope, and again explored the border of the forest.
And thus the party spent another hour. No one was inclined to speak, and Fink's occasional jests fell on unfruitful ground. Anton went down to keep the people in order, but something soon impelled him to return to the battlements, and watch the forest with the rest. At last, after a longer silence than usual, Fink, throwing away his cigar, observed, "It is getting late, and we pay our guests too much honor by expecting them with such silent devotion. When the news came of their march, Wohlfart and I were both wanted in the house; and as Karl is breaking my poor horse's legs at a distance, we sent no one to reconnoitre. Now we pay for that sin of omission; we sit here prisoners, and our men are getting tired before the enemy comes. It is essential that one of us should mount and away to bring in further tidings. This stillness is unnatural: not a creature to be seen in the fields, not one on the roads. It seems odd to me, too, that for the last two hours no refugees should have arrived from the forest; and, besides, the very smoke of Neudorf has disappeared."
Anton silently turned away. "Go, my son," said Fink; "take one of the most trustworthy of our men with you; look how things are going on in our village, and beware of the pine wood. Stay a moment; I will take one other look through the telescope." He looked long, examined each tree, and at last laid down the glass. "There is nothing to be seen," said he, thoughtfully. "If the gentry we are expecting carried any thing besides scythes, we should be compelled to believe there is some witchcraft at work. But now all is uncertainty. Beware of the woods."
Anton left the tower, called the superintendent and two servants, had the baron's horse and two of the swiftest farm-horses got ready, and the gate opened by the Kunau smith. All was silent and peaceful. The fowls that Karl had bought a few weeks before were scratching away on the dunghill; the pigeons were cooing on the thatch; a little dog, belonging to the smith, had constituted himself the guardian of the forsaken buildings, and barked suspiciously at the riding party.
They trotted away through the village, and stopped at the tavern. The bar was empty. Anton called for the landlord. After a while the man came to the door, looking pale and frightened, and clasped his hands when he saw Anton. "Just God! Mr. Wohlfart, to think of your still being in the country! I believed that you and the family had fled to Rosmin or to the heart of our troops long ago. Heavens! this is a misfortune! Bratzy has been here, and has been stirring up the people against the family in the castle, and against the Germans every where; but he could not bring them to attack the castle; so the greatest part of the villagers have gone off to the Poles at Tarow. Those that have remained behind have concealed themselves; and here I am, burying what I may want to carry off in a hurry."
"Where are the enemy now?" inquired Anton.
"I do not know," cried the landlord; "but I know that they are a great host, and that they have with them lancers in uniform."
"Do you know whether the wood is safe toward Neudorf?"
"How can it be safe? No one has come from Neudorf here for several hours. If the way were open, half the village would now be here in my inn or at the castle."
"You are right. Will you wait here for the band that is coming?" inquired Anton, ready to start. "You would be safer in the castle."
"Who knows!" cried the host. "I can not leave; if I do, my whole place will be laid waste."
"But your women?" asked Anton, holding in his horse.
"I must have people to help me," wailed the distracted man. "As they are young, they must just endure it. There is Rebecca, my sister's child: she belongs to a family that understands business. She knows how to deal with the peasants; she knows how to get money from them, even when they are dead drunk. Rebecca," cried he; "Mr. Wohlfart asks whether you will go to the castle, to be safe from these wild men."
The face of Rebecca, surrounded with red hair, now emerged from the cellar.
"What have I to do with the castle, uncle?" cried she, resolutely. "Who do you call wild men? Our peasants are the wildest men in the whole country; if I can get on with them, I shall get on with any. My aunt has quite lost her wits, and there must be some one here who knows how to deal with guests. I am much obliged to you, kind sir, but I am not afraid; the gentlemen who are with the party will not let any harm happen to me."
"Forward, my men!" cried Anton. They galloped farther on through the village; all the doors were closed, but a woman's face was seen here and there looking through the small windows after the riders. In this way they came along the broad highway till they got near the wood.
One of the servants now said to Anton, "There is a young plantation on the left as you enter the wood, where a hundred men might lie in ambush without our seeing them, and if there, they would soon snuff us out, or cut off our way to the castle."
"You are right," said Anton. "We will ride along the field till we have got behind the plantation, where the trees stand singly, and we can venture in and out. From thence we can explore the plantation on foot." They turned accordingly off the road, and crossed the fields, keeping their horses out of the range of shot from the wood. Now Anton bade them dismount, gave the bridles into the superintendent's keeping, and cautiously advanced. "Fire into the wood," ordered Anton, "and then run back to your horses as hard as you can."
The shots rattled through the plantation, and were answered in a few moments by an irregular fire and a loud yell. The balls whistled over Anton's head, but the distance was great, and the men got back to their horses without injury. "Gallop! we know enough. They had not the wisdom to keep quiet." The little band flew along the highway, the loud cries of their pursuers sounding behind them. They arrived breathless at the castle, where they found all in alarm. Fink met them at the entrance.
"You were right," cried Anton: "they are lying in ambush no doubt these many hours, perhaps in hopes of surprising you, or both of us, indeed, on the way to Neudorf. They would then have got the castle without a struggle."
"How many of them may there be?" asked Fink.
"Indeed, we had no time to count them," replied Anton. "No doubt, only a detachment has advanced so far; the greater number are behind in the wood."
"We have roused them," replied Fink; "now we may expect their visit. It is better for our people to receive them before sunset than in the night."
"They come," cried Lenore's voice from the tower.
The two friends hurried to the platform. As Anton looked over the battlements the sun was preparing to set. The golden sky turned the green of the woods to bronze. Forth from the forest came, in orderly procession toward the village, a troop of horsemen, about half a squadron, followed by more than a hundred men on foot, the nearest of them armed with muskets, the others carrying scythes. The lovely evening light suffused the figures on the tower. A cockchafer hummed merrily at Anton's ear, and, high in air, the lark was chanting his evening lay. Meanwhile the danger was approaching. It came nearer and nearer along the winding way, a dark, long-drawn-out mass, unheard as yet, but plainly seen.
Still the cockchafer kept on humming, and the lark soared higher in its rapturous song. At length the procession disappeared behind the first cottages in the village. These were moments of breathless silence. All looked steadfastly at the place where the enemy would emerge into sight. Lenore stood next to Anton, her left hand clutched a gun, and her right kept unconsciously moving the bullets in a sportsman's pouch. As soon as the horsemen appeared in the middle of the village, Fink caught up his cap, and said gravely, "Now, gentlemen, to our posts! You, Anton, be kind enough to lead the baron down stairs." As Anton supported the blind man down the steps, he pointed back at Lenore, who remained motionless, gazing at the advancing enemy. "And you too, dear lady," continued Fink, "I pray you to think of your own safety."
"I am safest here," replied Lenore, firmly, letting her gun drop on the flags. "You will not require me to hide my head in the sofa-cushions when you are about to risk your life."
Fink looked with intense admiration at her beautiful face, and said, "I have no objection to make. If you are resolved to take up your station on this platform, you are as safe as any where in the castle."
"I will be cautious," replied Lenore, waving him off.
"And you, my boys," said Fink, "hide behind the walls; take care not to let a shoulder or the top of your cap be seen, and do not fire before I sound an alarm with this. You will hear it plainly up here." He took out a broad whistle of foreign aspect. "Good-by till we meet again," said he, looking at Lenore with a beaming glance.
"Till we meet again," answered Lenore, raising her arm and looking after him till the door closed behind him.
Fink found the baron in the hall. The poor nobleman was reduced to a most pitiable state of mind by the excitement of the day and the sense of his own uselessness at a time when he felt action the rightful privilege of his station. In his earlier years he had ever met personal danger in the most intrepid manner. How much his strength was broken now plainly appeared in his unsuccessful attempts to maintain his self-control. His hands were restlessly outstretched as though seeking some weapon, and painful groans forced themselves through his lips.
"My kind host and friend," said Fink, addressing him, "as your indisposition makes it inconvenient to you to deal with these strangers, I crave permission to do so in your stead."
"You havecarte blanche, dear Fink," replied the baron, in a hoarse voice; "in fact, the state of my eyes is not such as to allow me to hope that I can be of any use. A miserable cripple!" cried he, and covered his face with his hands.
Fink turned away with his usual shrug, opened a slide in the oaken door which had been intended to lead to the unfinished terrace, and looked out.
"Permit me," said Anton to the baron, "to lead you to a place where you may not be unnecessarily exposed to the balls."
"Do not trouble yourself about me, young man," said the baron; "I am of less consequence to-day than the poorest day-laborer who has taken up arms for my sake."
"Have you any thing more to say to me?" asked Anton of Fink, as he took up his gun.
"Nothing," replied the latter, with a smile, "except to beg that you will not forget your usual caution if you come to a hand-to-hand scuffle. Good luck to you!" He stretched out his hand. Anton grasped it, and hurried to the court.
"The enemy are passing their opinion upon your farming just now," said Fink to the baron; "we shall have the gentlemen here in a few minutes; there they come, cavalry and infantry. They stop at the barn; a party of riders advance; it is the staff. There are some handsome young fellows among them, and a couple of beautiful horses; they ride beyond the range of our fire, all round the castle. They are seeking an entrance; we shall soon hear the knocker at the back door."
All was silent. "Strange," said Fink. "It is surely the custom of war, before the assault, to summon the besieged to surrender; but there come the officers from their circuit round the castle back to their infantry. Has Wohlfart inspired them with such terror that they have fled awayventre à terre?"
The ring of horses' hoofs and the hollow march of the infantry were now heard.
"Zounds!" said Fink; "the whole corps marches as if on parade up to the castle front. If they mean to storm your fortress on this side, they have the most remarkable conceptions of the nature of a strong place. They draw up against us at a distance of five hundred yards. The infantry in the middle, the horsemen at both sides: quite a Roman order of battle. Julius Caesar over again, I declare. Look! they have a drummer; the fellow advances; the row you hear is the beat of drums. Ah ha! the leader rides forward. He comes on, and halts just before our door. Politeness demands that we should inquire what he wants." Fink pushed back the heavy bolts of the door; it opened; he stepped out on the threshold covering the entrance, and carrying his double-barrel carelessly in his hand. When the horseman saw the slender figure in hunting costume standing so quietly before him, he reined in his horse and touched his hat, which Fink acknowledged by a slight bow.
"I wish to speak to the proprietor of this estate," said the horseman.
"You must put up with me," replied Fink; "I represent him."
"Tell him, then, that we have some orders of the government to carry out in his house," cried the rider.
"Would your chivalry permit me to ask what government has been frivolous enough to give you a message for the Baron Rothsattel? From what I hear, the views taken in this country about government in general are a little disturbed."
"The Polish Central Committee is your as well as my government," replied the rider.
"You are very good-natured in allowing a Central Committee to dispose of your heads; you will allow us, however, to hold a different opinion on this particular point."
"You see that we have the means to enforce obedience to the orders of government, and I advise you not by opposition to provoke us to use force."
"I thank you for this advice, and should be still more obliged if, in your zeal for your duty, you would not forget that the ground on which you stand is not public, but private property, and that strange horses are only allowed to exercise thereon by the consent of the proprietor, which, so far as I know, you have not obtained."
"We have had words enough, sir," cried the rider, impatiently; "if you are really authorized to represent the proprietor, I require you to open this castle to us without delay, and to deliver up your arms."
"Alas!" replied Fink, "I am under the unpleasant necessity of refusing your request. I would add a hope that you, together with the gentry in shabby boots ranged behind you there, will leave this place as soon as possible. My young folk are just going to see whether they can hit the molehills under your feet. We should be sorry if the bare toes of your companions were to be hurt. Begone, sir!" cried he, suddenly changing his careless tone to one of such vehement anger and scorn that the Pole's horse reared, and he himself laid his hand on the pistols at his holster.
During this conversation the rest of the horsemen and the infantry had drawn nearer to catch the words.
More than once a barrel had been lowered, but they had always been pushed back by a few riders in advance of the ranks. At Fink's last words, a wild-looking figure in an old frieze jacket took aim, a shot was heard, and the bullet flew past Fink's cheek, and struck the door behind him. At the same moment a suppressed scream was heard, a flash seen on the top of the tower, and the luckless marksman fell to the ground. The man who had conducted the parley turned his horse, the assailants all fell back, and Fink closed the door. As he turned round, Lenore stood on the first flight of the stairs, the recently-discharged gun in her hand, her large eyes fixed wildly upon him. "Are you wounded?" cried she, beside herself.
"Not at all, my faithful comrade," cried Fink.
Lenore threw away the gun, and sank at her father's feet, hiding her face on his knees. Her father bent over her, took her head in his hands, and the nervous agitation of the last few hours brought on a convulsive fit of sobbing. His daughter passionately clasped his trembling frame, and silently held him in her arms. There they were, a broken-down existence, and one in which the warm glow of youthful life was bursting into flame.
Fink looked out of the window; the enemy had retired beyond range of fire, and were, as it seemed, holding a consultation. Suddenly he stepped up to Lenore, and, laying his hand on her arm, said, "I thank you, dear lady, for having so promptly punished that rascal. And now I beg you to leave this room with your father. We shall do better if anxiety on your account does not withdraw our eyes from the enemy." Lenore shrunk back at his touch, and a warm blush overspread her cheek and brow.
"We will go," she said, with downcast eyes. "Come, my father." She then led the baron up stairs to her mother's room. There she heroically strove to compose herself, sat down by the couch of the invalid, and did not go near Fink again the whole evening.
"Now, then, we are by ourselves," cried Fink to the sentinels; "short distances, and a steady aim! If they storm this stone building, they shall get nothing by it but bloody pates."
Accordingly, there he stood with his companions, and looked with keen eye at the ranks of their assailants. There was a great stir among them. Some detachments went off to the village; the horsemen rode up and down; there was evidently something afloat. At last a party brought some thick boards and a row of empty carts. The upper parts of them were lifted off, and the lower placed in a row, the poles away from the castle, the hind wheels toward it. Next, boards were nailed together, and made into pent-houses, which being fastened to the back of the carts, projected a few feet beyond them, and afforded a tolerable shelter for five or six men.
"Ask Mr. Wohlfart to come here," cried Fink to one of his riflemen.
"There has been shooting," said Anton, as he entered the hall; "is any one wounded?"
"This thick door, and one of the rabble yonder," replied Fink. "Without any order, they replied to the first shot from the tower."
"There is not an enemy to be seen in the court. A troop of horsemen came to the gate; one ventured up to the palings, and tried to look through. But when I started up behind them, they all took to flight in terror."
"Look there," said Fink; "they are amusing themselves in making small barricades. As long as this evening light allows us to see, the danger is not great. But in the night, those huts on wheels may come a little too near."
"The sky keeps clear," said Anton; "there will be a bright starlight."
"If I only knew," said Fink, "why they have had the madness to attack the strongest side of our fortress! It can only be that your peaceful visage has had the effect of the Gorgon's head upon them. Henceforth you will be described as a scarecrow in all Slavonic fights."
It was dark when the hammering away at the carts ceased. A word of command was heard. The officers summoned a few men by name to the poles, and six movable roofs rolled on rapidly to about thirty yards from the front of the castle.
"Now for it," cried Fink. "Remain here and look to the lower story." He sprang up the steps; the long row of front rooms was opened; one could see from one end of the house to the other. "Mind your heads," cried he to the sentinels. Immediately came an irregular fire against the windows of the upper story, the leaden shower rattling through the panes, the glass clattering on the floor. Fink took out his whistle; a shrill sound vibrated loudly through the house, and was responded to by the salvos of the besieged from both stories and from the tower.
And now followed an irregular fire from both sides. The besieged had the advantage—their aim was truer, and they were better concealed than those without.
During the brief pauses, Fink's voice was to be heard crying, "Steady, men; keep close." He was every where; his light step, the clear tones of his voice, his wild jests from time to time, kept up the spirits of all. They filled Lenore's soul with a thrill of rapture; she hardly felt the full terrors of her situation; nor did the convulsive starts of her father, nor her mother's low groans, lead her to despair, for the words of the man she loved sounded like a message of salvation in her ear.
For about an hour the battle raged around the walls. The great building rose dark in the pale starlight; no light, no form was to be seen from without; only the flashes that from time to time shone out from a corner of the windows announced to those outside that there was life within. He who walked through the rooms could discover a dark shape here and there behind a pillar, could see eyes glowing with excitement, and a head bent to observe the foe. True, none of the men there assembled were used to this bloody work; they had been gathered from the plow, the workshop, from every species of peaceful industry; and painful excitement, feverish suspense, protracted during the whole day, was visible in the aspect of the strongest among them.
Yet Anton remarked with a gloomy satisfaction how calm he himself was, and how brave the men in general. They were busy, they were at work, and, even in the midst of their deadly occupation, the strength and energy were evident which all active labor gives to man. After the first shots, those on the front side loaded as composedly as though they were at their every-day toil. The face of the farm-servant hardly looked more anxious than when he walked between his oxen in the field, and the skillful tailor handled his gun with as much indifference as he would his smoothing-iron. It was only the reserve guard who were restless; not from fear, but from dissatisfaction with their own inactivity. At times a bold fellow would steal into the house, behind Anton's back, in order to have a chance of firing off his gun in front, and Anton was obliged to place the superintendent at the court-door to prevent this courageous way of desertion.
"Only once, Mr. Wohlfart; do let me have one shot at them!" urgently pleaded a young fellow from Neudorf.
"Wait," replied Anton, loading; "your turn will come; in an hour you will relieve the others here."
Meanwhile the stars rose higher, and the shots became fewer as both parties grew weary.
"Our people are the strongest," said Anton to his friend; "the men in the court are not to be kept back any longer."
"It is all little better than shooting in the dark," replied Fink; "true, they make it matter of conscience to take good aim, but it is generally a mere accident if their balls take effect. Nothing has happened to our side but a few slight wounds, and I believe those without have not suffered more."
The rolling of wheels was now heard. "Listen! they are drawing back their war-chariots." The firing ceased, and the whole line disappeared in the darkness. "Leave off," continued Fink; "and, Anton, if you have any thing to drink, give it, for these have shown themselves brave men. Then let us quietly await the renewal of the siege."
Anton accordingly had some refreshments distributed to the men, and went through the whole house, dismissing them, and examining the rooms from the cellar upward. As he drew near the women's rooms on the lower story, he heard, even at a distance, a lamentable chaos of voices. Entering, he found the bare walls dimly lighted, the floor covered with straw, on which crouched women and children. The women expressed their terror by every kind of passionate gesture, many ceaselessly imploring the help of Heaven, without any alleviation of their intense misery; others staring straight before them, stunned by the horrors of the night; in short, the pleasantest impression was that made by the children, who, having howled with all their might, had no further care. In the midst of all this wretchedness, these little ones lay, their heads resting on a bundle of clothes, their small hands clenched, sleeping as quietly as in their beds at home, while one young woman sat in a corner rocking her sleeping infant in her arms, apparently forgetful of all besides. At last, still watching the child, she came up to Anton, and asked how her husband was faring.
Meanwhile the enemy made large fires, and part of their soldiery sat near them, and were seen to boil their coffee. There was great disturbance, too, in the village; men were heard shouting and ordering, lights were seen in all directions, and there was rapid coming and going along the streets.
"That does not look like a truce," cried Anton.
At that moment a loud knock was heard at the back door; the friends looked at each other, and rushed down to the court.
"Rothsattel and roebucks," whispered a voice, improvising a password.
"The forester!" cried Anton, pushing back the bars and letting the old man in.
"Shut the gate," said the forester; "they are close on my track. Good-evening to you all; I am come to inquire whether you can make any use of me?"
"Get into the house," cried Anton, "and tell us all."
"Every thing is as quiet in the forest as in the church," said the forester; "the cattle are lying in the quarry, and the shepherd, too, is there with his creatures. The farmer keeps watch. I crept, in the dark, into the village to reconnoitre, and now come to warn you. As they have not made much of their guns, the rascals are going to try fire. They have got together all the grease and tar in the village, they have taken all the women's shavings, and whenever they found an oil lamp, they poured it over bundles of rushes."
"They mean to burn the yard gate?" asked Fink.
The forester made a face. "Not the yard gate; they have a deadly fear of that, because you have artillery-wagons and a cannon in the yard."
"Artillery!" cried both friends, in amazement.
"Yes," nodded the forester; "through the chinks of the planks they have seen blue carts, horses, and a gun-carriage."
"Karl's new potato-carts, the plow, and the water-butt!" cried Anton.
"No doubt," replied the forester. "On my way here I peeped into the inn yard, and waited for some one that I knew. Then Rebecca ran by me with a basket; I whistled, and called her out behind the stable. 'Are you there, old Swede?' said the wild thing. 'Take care that your head be not set on fire. I have no time to talk with you; I must attend to the gentlemen; they want coffee.' 'Why not Champagne?' said I. 'No doubt the gentlemen are very polite, you pretty creature,' said I; for one gets over women with flowery speeches. 'You are an ugly fellow yourself,' said the girl, laughing at me; 'get away with you!' 'They won't hurt you, my little Rebecca,' said I, stroking her cheeks. 'What's that to you, old sorcerer?' said the little toad; 'if I were to scream, the whole roomful would come to my aid.' 'Don't be so contradictious, my child,' said I; 'be a good girl, fill another bottle, and bring it out here. One must do something for one's friends in bad times.' Then she snatched the bottle out of my hand, telling me to wait, and ran off with her basket. After a while she returned with the bottle quite full, for she is a good creature at heart, and as she gave it me, she cried, 'If you see the young gentlemen in the castle, tell them that the folks here have a great dread of their artillery; they have been asking me whether it was true that they had cannon. I told them I was quite sure that was the name of a great thing I had often seen on the property.' Then I slunk off again, and crept along the ditch, past fellows with scythes, who are mounting guard behind our farm-yard. When I was about a hundred yards from them, I tore away, and they swore after me. That's how things stand."
"That notion of theirs about fire is uncomfortable," said Fink; "if they understand the thing, they may smoke us out like badgers."
"The threshold is stone, and this thick door is high above the ground," said the forester.
"I am not afraid of the flames, but of the smoke and glare," replied Fink; "if they light up our windows, our men will aim still worse. One good thing for us is that the gentlemen on the English saddles, who head the enemy, have never stormed any but a petticoat fortress before. We will bring all our men to the front, and leave only two or three sentinels behind; we will trust Rebecca's story."
Fresh cartridges were given out, and a fresh detachment stationed at the windows, additional men were placed in the halls of the upper and lower story, and on the platform of the tower, Anton commanding up stairs, the smith below, and the forester remaining with a small body in reserve. All these arrangements were just made in time, for a loud hum was heard at a distance, together with shouts of command, the march of an advancing body, and the rumbling of carts.
"Keep your guns at full cock," cried Fink, "and fire only at those who press in at the door."
The wheeled pent-houses moved on as before, a Polish order was given, and a rapid fire began on the part of the enemy, exclusively directed to the important door and the windows near it. The balls thundered on the oaken planks and on the masonry, and more than one found its way through the window openings, and struck the ceiling above the heads of the garrison. Fink cried to the forester, "You shall run a risk, old man; take your people to the back door, open it, creep round close to the house, and drive away those fellows behind the three carts to the left, who have ventured too near; get close to them; you can knock them all over if you aim true; the carts have no covering; you can be back before the fellows run out from behind. Be quick and cautious; with this whistle I will give the signal for your rushing out from the shadow of the walls."
The forester collected his men and hurried to the court. Fink ran up stairs to Anton. The enemy's fire grew still more frequent. "This time it is grim earnest," said Anton. "Our people, too, are getting excited."
"Here comes the real danger," cried Fink, pointing through a loop-hole in the wall to a high shapeless mass which slowly approached. It was a harvest-wagon, loaded to an immense height and breadth, and propelled by invisible hands to the front of the castle. "A fire-ship! there are the yellow straw bundles on the top. Their plan is evident; they are steering it against the door. Now, then, we must shoot well; not one of the fellows who mount it must get back safe." He sprang up the stairs, and cried to those stationed on the tower, "Every thing now depends upon you; as soon as you see the men who are pushing the wagon onward, fire! wherever you can see a head, or even a leg, fire! Every one of them must die!" The wagon came nearer. Fink raised his own rifle twice, took aim, and twice laid it down. The wagon load was so high that it was impossible to see those who propelled it. These were moments of painful suspense on both sides; even the enemy's fire ceased; every eye was fixed on the fearful vehicle which was to bring the bitter conflict to a fatal close. At length the backs of the hindmost men at the pole came into sight. Two flashes from Fink's rifle, two yells, the wagon stood still; those who were pushing it crowded closer. Two dark bodies lay on the ground. Fink loaded again, a wild smile playing round his lips. A raging fire upon the tower was the answer given by the foe. One of the men on the tower was shot in the breast; his gun fell down over the wall; he sank at Fink's feet. Fink merely glanced at him, and rammed his second bullet down. At that moment some figures rushed out of the darkness to the wagon. A spirited shout was heard, and the machine was once more set in motion. "Brave fellows!" muttered Fink; "they are doomed to death." Other forms were now visible at the end of the pole. Fink again took aim. Again a cry of anguish; but the wagon moved on. It was not more than thirty yards from the door; the moment was indeed critical. The shrill sound of the whistle was heard through the night; from the windows of the upper story flew the fiery salvo, and from the left side of the house rose a loud cry. The forester made a sally, a crowd of dark figures rushed against the pent-house that stood nearest to the corner of the castle; for a moment there was a scuffle, then some shots fired, and the conquered foe fled from their shelter to the open plain. For the third time the deadly double-barrel flashed from the tower, and struck the pole of the wagon, and the men who were propelling it, seized with a sudden panic, retreated from its cover into the sheltering darkness. But this did not avail them. From the tower and the windows of the upper story bullets pursued them, and more than one fell. Behind them rose a cry of rage, and a dark line rapidly advanced to receive the fugitives. A universal fire against the house began. Then the enemy retreated rapidly as they had advanced, carrying the wounded and the carts back with them. The fire-ship alone, a dark mass, still stood a few yards from the door. The firing ceased, and an uncomfortable silence succeeded to the deadly conflict.
In the hall of the upper story Anton and Fink met, and were immediately joined by the forester. Each of the friends silently sought to ascertain, in the dim light, whether the other stood before him unharmed. "Capitally done, forester," cried Fink. "Demand to be admitted to the baron, and give in your report."
"And request Fräulein Lenore to give you linen for dressings; we have had losses," said Anton, mournfully, as he pointed to the floor, where two men sat leaning against the wall and groaning.
"Here comes a third," replied Fink, as a dark shape was slowly carried down stairs from the tower. "I fear the man is dead; he lay at my feet like a log."
"Who is it?" inquired Anton, shuddering.
"Barowsky, the tailor," whispered one of the bearers.
"What a fearful night!" cried Anton, turning away.
"We must not think of that now," said Fink. "Human life is only valuable when one is ready to surrender it on a fitting opportunity. The great point is, that we have shaken off that fiery millstone from our throats. It is not impossible that the wretches may yet succeed in kindling it; but it will not do much harm at its present distance."
At that moment a bright light shone through the loop-holes of the tower. All rushed to the window. A dazzling light flamed up from the opposite side of the wagon, and a sudden impetus hurled the heavy mass against the wall of the house. A single man sprang back from the wagon; a dozen guns were pointed at him at once.
"Stop!" cried Fink, in a piercing voice. "It is too late. Spare him; he is a fine fellow; the mischief is done."
"Merci, Monsieur; au revoir!" said a voice from below; and the man sprang uninjured into the darkness.
In a moment the wagon was in a blaze, and from the straw and rushes with which it was laden on the top, the yellow flames rose crackling, while firebrands flew in all directions. The house was suddenly illuminated: masses of smoke burst through the shattered windows.
"That is powder," cried Fink. "Steady, steady, my men! We will keep the enemy off if they force an entrance. You, Anton, see whether you can put out the fire."
"Water!" cried the men; "the window-frame has caught!" Without, there were fresh orders shouted out. The drums beat; and, with a wild cry of triumph, a cordon of skirmishers neared the house. The fire of the besiegers began once more, in order to impede the quenching of the flames. Water was brought from the great butt in the yard, and poured on the burning window-frames—a dangerous task enough; for the front of the house was lighted up, and the ever-advancing skirmishers aimed at every figure as it became visible. The besieged glanced anxiously at the flames, and returned the fire of their opponents unsteadily. Even the sentinels in the court looked more behind than before them. The disorder became general. The moment of greatest danger had come. All seemed lost.
Next a man called down from the tower, "They are bringing short ladders from the village; we can see the axes in their hands."
"They will get over the palings, and break in the windows of the lower story," cried the men to each other, in utmost alarm.
The forester rushed to the court. Fink carried off a few men with him to the side of the house on which the men with ladders were advancing. All were in confusion. Even Fink's threatening voice no longer took effect upon them.
At that moment some men, with bars of iron in their hands, were seen hurrying in from the court-yard to the hall door. "Make way!" cried a stalwart figure; "this is blacksmith's work!" The man pushed back the bolts of the door. The opening was filled by the burning wagon. Spite of smoke and flames, the smith leaped upon its burning frame. "Help me, you hares!" screamed he, in angry tones.
"He is right," cried Anton. "Onward, my men!"
Boards and poles were brought, and the men unweariedly pressed onward through the smoke, and pushed and heaved away at the glowing mass. At length the smith succeeded in throwing down some of the sheaves. One could now get a glance of the dark sky, and the smoke was less stifling.
"Now we have it!" cried he, triumphantly; and bundle after bundle fell to the ground, and burned harmlessly away. The wagon was more and more quickly unloaded, blazing feather-beds and billets of wood falling with other things.
Anton had the door half closed as the enemy's bullets passed through the flames, and the men had to use their levers from the side. The wagon-ladders fell down, burned to charcoal; and with a shout of triumph, all the levers were applied at once, and the fragments of the wagon pushed a few yards from the door, which was quickly locked again from inside; while the men, black as imps, and with clothes burned, loudly congratulated each other.
"Such nights as these make strong friendships," cried the smith, in great delight, as he shook Anton's hand, which was little less black than his own.
Meanwhile the axes of the besiegers were hacking away at several windows of the lower story, the loosened boards creaked, and Fink's voice was heard saying, "Knock them down with the butt-ends!"
Anton and the forester now betook themselves upon the window through which the besiegers sought to enter. But the worst was over there too. Fink came to meet them, the bloody axe of an insurgent in his hand, and, flinging it away, he cried to Anton and his party, "Put new boards into the windows. I hope the butchery is at an end."
A few more salvos from without, and single shots from within, and all was still in the castle and in the field. The walls still glowed a while in the firelight, but it faded and faded away. The wind rose and drove away the smoke curling round the windows from the burning fragments before the door. The pure night air filled the corridors and the halls once more, and the starlight shone quietly on the sunken eyes and pale faces of the garrison. On both sides the energies of the combatants were exhausted.
"What hour of the night is it?" asked Fink, going up to Anton, who was watching the movements of the enemy through the loop-holes of the wall.
"Past midnight," replied Anton.
They went up to the tower and looked about them. The fields around the castle were empty.
"They have laid themselves down to sleep," said Fink. "Even the fires below are out, and but few isolated voices sound from the village. Those shadows all round the house alone tell us that we are besieged. We have some hours of peace before us; and as we shall hardly get sleeping-time to-morrow, our people must avail themselves of the present. Leave only the necessary sentinels, and let the posts be relieved in two hours. If you have no objection, I shall go to bed too. Let me be called as soon as any thing is stirring outside. You will take very good care of the night-posts, that I know." So saying, Fink turned away and went to his room, where he threw himself on his bed, and in a few moments was fast asleep.
Anton hurried to the guard-room, arranged the posts with the forester, and fixed the order in which they were to be relieved.
"I shall not be sleepy," said the old man; "firstly, because of my age; next, from my habits as a huntsman. I will, if you allow, arrange the posts, and look after things in general."
Once more Anton went round the court and the stables. Here, too, quiet was restored: only the horses restlessly stamped their hoofs on the hard ground. Anton gently opened the door of the women's rooms, in the second of which the wounded had been laid. As he entered, he saw Lenore on a stool near the straw beds, two of the stranger women at her feet. He bent down over the couch of the wounded: the colorless face and disordered hair of the unfortunate men looked ghastly on the white pillows which Lenore had snatched from her own bed.
"How fares it with you?" whispered Anton.
"We have tried to bind up the wounds," replied Lenore. "The forester says that there is hope of both."
"Then," continued Anton, "leave them in charge of the women, and avail yourself of these hours of rest."