At about five in the morning the king withdrew to the quiet Pfarrhaus on the hill at Thamsbrück, and retired to rest. From the dispositions made by the general staff a delay of several days was expected, with probably some defensive fighting, whilst tidings were awaited of a more certain nature from the Bavarians.
Beneath a large and ancient linden-tree in front of the pastor's house the king's suite were assembled, discussing an extremely simple but much-relished breakfast.
A large table covered with a white cloth bore a coffee service of blue and white pottery, such as is traditional in all primitive old country-houses in North Germany, and the perfume which arose from the large pot standing on an ancient-looking chafing-dish was certainly not from Mocha.
A ham, a few sausages, a large black loaf, and a small piece of butter completed the provisions, over which Count Erhardt Wedel presided with the strictest impartiality.
The whole party did honour to the breakfast, with appetites rarely seen at the chamberlain's table at Herrenhausen.
"There seems to be an immense proportion of water in this beverage," said General von Brandis, gazing with curiosity at the brown fluid in his blue cup.
"If the coffee has too much water, it makes up for the dryness of the sausage," remarked Count Ingelheim, as he attempted to cut a slice with his pocket-knife, but the stony nature of the sausage successfully resisted all his efforts.
"At least the drink is warm," said Count Platen, as pale and shivering he sipped the smoking coffee.
"I don't know that warm water is much better than cold," grumbled General Brandis, without making up his mind to put his cup to his lips. "It has its merits as an outward application, but to drink it without a prudent admixture of some stimulating body is unpleasant, especially so early in the morning."
"Your excellency shares the prejudices of the ancient legions against water," said Count Wedel, laughing. "They used to say, as water was so unpleasant when it got into their boots, how much more disagreeable it would be if it got into their stomachs!"
"Wellington's veterans lived before the discovery of hydropathy," said little Herr Lex, as he busied himself in overcoming a large piece of ham.
"They were right!" cried General Brandis, with comic gravity. "Fire was their element," he added, setting his cup down untasted upon the table; "they did not carry on war with sugared water, as seems the present fashion."
"Perhaps I can offer your excellency a better drink for this chilly morning," said Prince Hermann Solms, drawing out a field flask covered with plaited straw. "I have a little excellent cognac left."
"You are a help in need, my dear prince," cried the old gentleman, smiling. "I will repay you some day!"
The prince, hastening into the house, came back with a kettle full of hot water, and he soon mixed the old general a glass of grog, with such a homoeopathic allowance of water that his cheerfulness quite returned.
A loud hurrah resounded from the stable-like buildings at one side of the house, and the Crown Prince Ernest Augustus hurried from them and joined the breakfast party.
He carried his handkerchief carefully tied together in one hand, and his cap in the other.
"Guess what I have here, gentlemen!" he cried, raising both hands above his head. "Fresh eggs--just laid. Is it not a glorious find?" And he emptied the cap and the handkerchief upon the table. "Now, shall we boil them, or shall we make an omelette?"
"Why any preparation?" said General Brandis, seizing an egg, decapitating it with his sword, and hastily drinking the contents. "It is easy to see that the present generation are unaccustomed to the rigours of war."
Count Ingelheim followed his example.
"It would be great fun, though, to make an omelette!" cried the crown prince, holding his hands over the rest of his spoil.
"Alas! we have plenty of time," murmured General Brandis.
"Listen!" cried Meding, springing to his feet.
"A cannon shot," said Count Ingelheim, putting his hand to his car.
"Impossible!" remarked the adjutant-general; "where should it come from? The general staff does not expect an attack."
A short, heavy, distant sound was heard.
"Those are certainly guns!" cried Count Wedel.
"I think they are beginning to growl," said General Brandis, rising and drinking off the rest of his grog with a look of satisfaction. "It would be as well to mount!"
"Shall his majesty be awakened?" asked Count Wedel.
"It will be time enough to call him if anything serious really appears," said Colonel Dammers. "I will go up to the top of the house, from whence one can overlook the whole plain."
He entered the house; Prince Hermann followed him, and the others listened anxiously to the sound of firing, which grew louder and more distinct every moment.
"After all, an omelette would be too much trouble," said the crown prince, putting his eggs into the kettle, the contents of which had not been much diminished by the general's grog. He placed it on the chafing-dish and blew the charcoal, listening attentively for the water to boil.
After a short time Colonel Dammers returned.
"Some strong columns are visible on the distant horizon; I can see their arms glittering through the dust!" he cried. "His majesty must be called."
Count Wedel hurried into the house.
Signals were heard from the plain. A general march was beginning in various parts of the camp.
George V. came out of the Pfarrhaus. They all approached the king.
"Your majesty," cried General Brandis, "I hear with joy the well-known voice of cannon; it makes my old heart young again."
The king's face expressed high courage and calm determination. He held out his hand to the general.
"I hear this voice in earnest for the first time," he said; "but, my dear general, my heart, too, beats higher at the sound. Now negotiations are impossible. God be with us!"
He folded his hands and raised his head silently to heaven. All those around him involuntarily followed his example.
The sound of horse's hoofs was heard. An officer of the garde du corps, springing from the saddle, informed the king, from the general in command, that the enemy were drawing up in strong columns upon the road from Gotha, and that the general begged his majesty to leave Thamsbrück immediately, and to go to the hills behind Merxleben.
Count Wedel hurried away; the horses were saddled and the carriages prepared.
"General von Arentschildt further begs your majesty's commands and instructions as to the capitulation which may be needful during the action," said the aide-de-camp.
General Brandis bit his moustache. Count Ingelheim stamped upon the ground.
"What does he mean?" asked the king quietly.
"The general staff," continued the officer, "has represented to the general that the troops are so worn out and badly fed that they may be unable to endure the fatigue of battle; he therefore begs permission to capitulate should he deem it needful. He has drawn up an instruction on this point, and he begs your majesty to send it back to him signed." He handed the king a paper.
The king had closed his teeth firmly, and he drew his breath with a sharp, almost hissing sound.
Without the slightest movement of haste or anger he took the paper and tore it through.
"Ride back to General Arentschildt," he said in a calm ringing voice, "and tell him my commands, to resist to the last man!"
The officer's face brightened. With a military salute he turned sharply round, sprang into the saddle, and galloped off.
"And now forwards! gentlemen," cried the king.
"Father, have a new-laid egg!" And the crown prince, hurrying up, offered the king a plate, on which was a specimen of his cooking.
"Eat it, your majesty," said General Brandis; "there is no saying when or where you may get anything else." And he handed the king an egg, after breaking the shell with the hilt of his sword.
The king ate it and turned to the horses.
They mounted and set out; dragoons preceded them and acted as a guard; the carriages and the led horses followed.
As the king rode out of the village of Thamsbrück, the artillery duel had already fully commenced.
From the hill above they saw the lines of the enemy's skirmishers before the town of Langensalza. The enemy's batteries were on the farther side of the Unstrut, and kept up an energetic fire, to which the Hanoverian artillery replied from the opposite bank. The infantry were engaged before the town, and the Hanoverian cavalry were seen on one side slowly withdrawing.
"Where shall we ride?" asked the king.
"To a hill behind Merxleben, from whence we can overlook the whole battle-field, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general.
"We are going away from the thunder of the cannon!" said the king.
"There is a turn in the road to the left," replied Colonel Dammers.
"Then we must ride to the right to keep near the fighting," said the king calmly, turning his head in the direction whence came the sound of firing. "Schweppe," he said to the major of guard cuirassiers who held his leading rein, "I command you to ride in that direction."
"There is no road, your majesty," he replied.
"Then we will ride through the fields." And the royal procession moved on, in the direction the king had indicated.
The sound of the cannon was heard nearer and nearer, mingled with the rattle of small arms.
The king and his suite rode to an eminence where the plain was bounded by a chain of hills; the party being rendered conspicuous to both sides from the dragoons, and the brilliant uniforms of the suite.
A few balls flew over their heads and the horses began to be uneasy.
Suddenly the enemy's artillery appeared to choose the king's party as their mark, and shells flew thicker and thicker over them, striking the ground now before them, now behind them.
The adjutant-general sprang to the king's side.
"Your majesty!" he cried, "we are under a heavy fire, I conjure your majesty--"
Count Platen and General von Brandis also implored the king to withdraw from such imminent peril.
The king reined in his horse.
The whole escort stood still.
"Can my troops see me here?" asked George V.
"Certainly, your majesty," replied the adjutant-general, "your majesty's position is visible from the whole of the plain."
"Good," said the king, simply. And he quietly remained on the spot.
The shells flew hissing through the air, the bullets of the small arms whistled through the valley, and the frightened horses throwing up their heads snorted and trembled; the blind king, the Guelphic prince, who was ready to give his life for what his proud heart told him was the right, halted upon the brow of the hill, motionless as a marble statue, that his soldiers might see him.
With a maddening hurrah the Hanoverian columns greeted the king as they marched past him, and sank their waving banners low before their royal master, who returned their greeting calmly and quietly each time it was announced to him.
"If we stand here much longer," said Count Ingelheim to General Brandis, "a ball will sooner or later solve the Hanoverian question in a very simple manner."
"Yes, indeed!" replied Count Platen, looking at a shell that had fallen unpleasantly near the king, "they are improving in their practice; but if we venture to tell him so we shall have to stay here all the longer."
"Your majesty," said General Brandis, riding up to the king, "there is a turn in the fighting, and I think your majesty would be more visible upon the hill which was first selected for your position."
"Are you quite sure, Brandis?" said the king.
"I am sure your majesty would be in a better position there," replied the general.
"Let us go then!" cried the king, touching his horse with the spur; it bounded forwards so rapidly that Major Schweppe had some difficulty in holding the guiding rein.
Their rapid pace soon brought them to the hill, near which the reserve cavalry were placed.
The king rode on to the highest point. His suite surrounded him, some dismounted, and followed the movements of the troops with field-glasses and telescopes.
The carriages were drawn up in a large semicircle.
The king stood motionless. Not a feature of his pale, noble face changed. The adjutant-general informed him of the course of the fighting as far as it could be made out, the gentlemen of the suite sometimes expressed by loud shouts the result of their observations, but generally they imparted to each other in low tones their hopes and fears.
Whilst this was going on at head-quarters, the Duke of Cambridge's dragoon regiment had been employed since the early morning in outpost duty near the village of Hemingsleben, on the road leading from Langensalza to Gotha.
Before the village was the toll-house with its black and white bar raised, and beside it stood the most advanced outpost.
Lieutenant von Stolzenberg commanded the outpost, and with him was his somewhat younger comrade Lieutenant von Wendenstein.
The morning sun shone brightly, and the two young officers stood near their horses, gazing over the plain, which spread far around them, and which was crossed by the grey band of the high road. Some straw lay on the ground, but none of the provisions appeared which, on the evening of their march into Göttingen, the young men had obtained for their supper.
With a weary, half-sleepy look, Wendenstein drew out his pocket flask, took a good drink and handed it to his companion. Then taking a piece of black bread from his pocket, and breaking it up, he slowly swallowed one morsel after another.
"Do you know, Stolzenberg," he said, with a slight shiver, "this sort of warfare in the chill of dawn makes one feel far from courageous. We did not think of such campaigning as this when we started."
He gave his horse a piece of bread moistened with brandy.
"No, indeed!" said Stolzenberg with a sigh, as he took a sip from the flask. "But where the devil did you get that horrid liquor from?"
"I found it at the inn in the village. What can you do? When your cognac is at an end, you must put up with potato spirit. It is a shame that we have nothing to eat and drink; there is plenty, but the provision column never comes up, and when one has a hope of getting something, the alarm is given; it is 'forwards!' again."
"Forwards!" cried Stolzenberg, "I think we have not been going forwards for long enough. And the beautiful flocks of sheep we saw on both sides of the roads, and which we dare not touch for our lives! Donnerwetter!" he cried, stamping his foot; "to be in an enemy's country and not to be allowed to requisition the necessaries of life is too much!"
"Don't you know," said Wendenstein, laughing, "that the general staff has so much to do in getting out of the enemy's way, that it has no time to remember that people must eat; and besides, it would really be difficult for the provision columns to follow our very eccentric march!"
"I cannot imagine how the king is satisfied with such a method of conducting a campaign," said Stolzenberg; "he wishes to go forwards, and these changes hither and thither do not accord with his character."
"Our poor king!" said Wendenstein, sighing; "what can he do? If indeed he could see--but as it is! It is really wonderful that he should go through the fatigue of the campaign with us."
"What is that?" exclaimed Stolzenberg, raising his glass to his eyes, and looking attentively across the plain. "Look over there, Wendenstein, just behind the bend in the road. Do you not see a long cloud of dust?"
Wendenstein looked through his glass in the direction pointed out.
"I see bayonets glittering through the dust!" he cried, energetically; "Stolzenberg, old man, I believe it is the enemy!"
"I believe it is!" he replied, still gazing at the distant cloud of dust. "There is no doubt of it! A column of infantry, and there!--artillery, too! Wendenstein, ride back at once, and say a column of infantry and artillery are advancing on the road from Gotha!"
"Hurrah!" cried Wendenstein, as he sprang into the saddle and galloped back to the village.
Stolzenberg and his dragoons were in the saddle in a moment. Drawn up in order upon the road, they looked anxiously over the plain. The cloud of dust slowly grew nearer, and they could see more plainly the bright flashing of the bayonets.
After a short time horsemen from the village joined the outpost. The colonel in command of the regiment, Count Kielmansegge, came, accompanied by his staff with Lieutenant von Wendenstein.
"Look there, sir!" cried Stolzenberg, and pointed to the enemy's approaching columns.
The colonel looked earnestly for a moment through his glass.
"It is certainly the enemy!" he cried, "and see! there is a battery being posted upon yonder hill. All outposts to fall back on their squadrons!" cried he to his staff, who galloped off immediately.
Stolzenberg recalled his vedettes.
"And what will the regiment do, if I may be allowed to ask?" he said, turning to his colonel.
"Slowly retire, whilst skirmishing with the enemy, such is the order," he replied, sighing and shrugging his shoulders; and he hastened back to the village to which the other outposts had already withdrawn.
"Retire, always retire!" cried Wendenstein, passionately. "Well! some time or other they will reckon on these tactics without the troops!"
There was a sudden flash from the hill, followed by an explosion, and a cannon ball splintered the bar of the toll-house on the high road.
"The overture begins!" cried Stolzenberg; and with his few men he trotted quickly back to the village.
This was the shot they heard at head-quarters in Thamsbrück.
The regiment withdrew, constantly skirmishing with the enemy, and fell back slowly upon Langensalza.
In the meantime the town was abandoned, the order of the general in command ran, "that the army whilst fighting should retreat."
At Langensalza the dragoons fell in with the infantry of the Knesebeck Brigade, which had received orders to retire behind the Unstrut. The troops obeyed this order with gnashing of teeth, and gave up one position after the other, for the enemy forthwith to seize upon; the enemy's riflemen harassed them, and the artillery advancing along the heights opened a nearer and more murderous fire.
The dragoons crossed the bridge over the Unstrut, and made a stand before the village of Merxleben, on the slope of the Kirchberg hill, from whose summit a Hanoverian battery maintained a fire, which, though less rapid than the Prussian, was so well directed that it did great execution in the hostile ranks.
To the right of the dragoons, General Knesebeck's brigade was massed, he having followed the command he had received to retire. On the other side of the Unstrut stood a mill, upon a small stream called the Salzabach; immediately after the retreat of the Hanoverians it was occupied by the Prussians, and from it they kept up a heavy fire.
Two battalions of the guards marched past the dragoons. At the head of the first rode Lieutenant-Colonel von Landesberg; the second was led by Colonel von Alten.
The battalions had crossed the Unstrut, and were following the order received to retire to the brigade stationed on the hill.
Colonel von Landesberg rode thoughtfully in front of his battalion, the grenadiers followed him in solemn silence.
The battalion had the Unstrut on the left, and had just reached a spot where it was forced to turn to the right, to take up the prescribed position.
At this place the banks of the river are very low, and it is so shallow that it is easy to cross it.
A level terrace surrounds the hill, upon the slope of which lies the village of Merxleben. The enemy's most advanced chain of skirmishers was approaching the opposite bank of the river.
Colonel von Landesberg gave a searching look at the situation.
"If this spot remains undefended," he said to his adjutant, "the enemy will penetrate our position, and divide our forces."
"So it seems to me, colonel," replied the adjutant. "I cannot see why it is to be abandoned,--however, the general staff--"
The colonel gnawed his moustache.
"It is impossible to give up this position to the enemy," he said, half to himself.
His eyes flashed, and he pulled in his horse suddenly.
"Battalion, halt!" he shouted.
The command was repeated along the ranks; the battalion halted. With excited faces the grenadiers awaited further orders from their leader.
"Right about turn!" he cried.
A thundering shout of joy broke as from one mouth along the ranks, and in an instant the grenadiers had fronted.
The enemy's sharpshooters appeared on the other side of the river.
"Skirmishers, forward!" cried Colonel von Landesberg.
The lines opened out with exemplary precision, and in a short time the Hanoverian skirmishers were close to the river, received by the fire of the enemy.
Several grenadiers fell; but the firing from the Hanoverian lines was so certain and regular, that the most advanced of the enemy's sharpshooters soon sought cover, and replied but feebly.
The second battalion of guards had come up in the meantime. Colonel von Alten galloped up to Colonel von Landesberg, who had ridden down to the river, and was in the midst of his men.
"What is going on here?" asked Alten; "is the plan for the day changed?"
"You see this spot," said Colonel von Landesberg,--"it must not be taken, and I mean to hold it."
"Have you received an order?" asked Colonel von Alten.
"I do not want an order, for I see that the fate of the day and of the army depends on its being kept," cried Landesberg. "Fire!"
The report of fire-arms rolled along the line.
Colonel von Alten gave a scrutinizing look around, then he rode back to his battalion, which was about a hundred paces off.
"Right about turn!" he cried.
The battalion replied, like the first, with an echoing "Hurrah!" A few moments afterwards his sharpshooters were drawn up along the bank of the Unstrut, and the advancing enemy found itself opposed by a steady fire.
Although the grenadiers fell, the lines filled up silently and regularly, and not an inch of ground was yielded. Colonel von Landesberg placed himself in the front ranks, cool and calm as if on parade.
The battalions of the enemy which had advanced to the river halted. An uneasy movement appeared amongst them. An aide-de-camp galloped up.
"Colonel," he cried, "the general expects you in the prescribed position!"
"Tell him I am engaged by the enemy!" replied von Landesberg curtly.
The aide-de-camp glanced at what was going on, saluted, turned his horse, and galloped back without a word.
The enemy's fire grew weaker. After a short time, bugle calls were heard on the opposite bank, and the enemy was withdrawn out of reach of fire. Colonel von Landesberg put up his sword. "So," said he, "the first thing is done; do you think the river is fordable?"
"Certainly!" replied the adjutant, riding down close to it; "I can see the bottom almost everywhere."
"We can swim if needful," said Landesberg, calmly. "They shall rest ten minutes, then I will go first."
Colonel de Vaux's brigade stood at some little distance, close to the village of Merxleben; the Cambridge dragoons were halted near the banks of the Unstrut. The officers looked anxiously at the movements of the troops, who were retiring on the two wings, the centre keeping up an energetic artillery fire.
"We have crossed the Unstrut," exclaimed von Wendenstein; "it is really scandalous--where will this retreat end? We shall go back and back, until we march into the jaws of the enemy coming down upon us from the north, and then--"
"Then at last we shall capitulate," said von Stolzenberg, bitterly; "this kind of war can have no other end."
Lieutenant-Colonel Kielmansegge trotted quickly up to the troop in which the young officers rode.
"Look there, gentlemen," he cried, and pointed to the river bank at some distance along the plain. "What is that?--active firing is going on there."
"They are exchanging shots as they retreat--the Knesebeck Brigade it must be," said von Wendenstein.
"We shall soon have the enemy on our flank," said Stolzenberg; and both the officers took their glasses and looked in the direction in which Count Kielmansegge was still gazing attentively.
"It is the guards," said von Stolzenberg, "and actually they are not retreating, they have made a stand on the bank!"
"The enemy's sharpshooters are retreating!" exclaimed Wendenstein joyfully.
"They halt," said Count Kielmansegge, still looking through his glass,--"our battalions form,--they are going down to the river--into it--hurrah!" he cried, "they are advancing to the attack."
"And we are standing still here," cried von Wendenstein, whilst he drew his sword half out of the scabbard, and put it back with a clang.
At this moment Colonel de Vaux galloped up with the brigade staff.
"The guards are crossing the Unstrut," cried Count Kielmansegge, as they came up.
"So I see!" exclaimed Colonel de Vaux, "and devil take me if I stand still here; now the die must be cast. It is bad enough that we shall have to retake all the positions we have so quietly abandoned to the enemy! What regiments are close here?" he enquired of his adjutant.
"The first battalion of the second regiment, and the first Jäger battalion," he replied.
"Bring them here at once."
The adjutant galloped to the columns close by, and led them at quick march up to the colonel.
He dismounted and placed himself at their head.
"And what shall I do?" asked Count Kielmansegge.
"Ride down by the river," replied de Vaux, "cross where you can, and act according to circumstances; if possible fall on the right flank of the enemy, and silence that hostile battery."
"At your command, colonel!" cried Kielmansegge. In a few moments the regiments formed and rode at a sharp trot along the river.
From the place where the two battalions of guards had crossed the stream, a heavy fire had commenced. The first battalion under the gallant Landesberg advanced slowly in a straight line upon Langensalza, the second battalion turned to the left towards the mill which formed the central point of the enemy's position, and which was in a diagonal line from Colonel de Vaux.
"Now is the time!" he cried, and commanding his adjutant to give the order to advance, he at the same time ordered the assault to be sounded.
Before him lay an even plain without any cover for about five hundred yards, part of it being thickly planted with rape. The whole of this plain was exposed to the fire of the enemy's lines, and of the artillery from the hill behind.
The drums beat, the colonel raised his sword, and in as perfect order as on the parade ground the battalions marched across the dangerous plain.
The enemy's fire tore great gaps in the ranks, for the soldiers could not advance quickly on account of the rape, but they were quietly filled up; and in a short time the battalion gained the bank of the river, and in its turn opened a murderous fire upon the enemy, who withdrew his skirmishers, and concentrated his whole force around the mill.
The whole army saw the guards cross the Unstrut and the bold advance of Colonel de Vaux, and a general offensive movement commenced.
No officer would wait for orders. With a loud "Hurrah!" the troops broke from their positions, and advanced to the points where they might most quickly meet the enemy, and where they thought they could take the most active part in the fighting.
The infantry crossed the Unstrut at all points, sometimes even by swimming, and pressed on towards the enemy's positions. The batteries which had already retired, advanced and supported the attack by an incessant fire, and the cavalry crossed the river wherever it was possible, and advanced to the scene of combat.
The enemy were concentrated in force around the mill already mentioned, which formed the key of the central position of the Prussian army. It was surrounded by a deep moat.
Against this mill the guards advanced; two bridges over the river were before them, closed by barricades and strongly defended.
A company advanced without halting from the hill, led by their captain; they took the bridge by storm, and from this side also pressed on towards the mill; single lieutenants led small detachments everywhere, wading or swimming across the river, and advanced on every side to storm the enemy's strong position.
By this time desperate fighting was going on before the mill. Companies of different regiments, sometimes in small detachments, united to storm the buildings.
Three times Lieutenants Köring, Leue, and Schneider with exemplary courage led a storming party, Lieutenant Leue falling riddled with bullets, at the head of his detachment. Their numbers were too small, the moat around the mill was too deep, the fire too overwhelming.
Just then Colonel Dammers appeared to inspect the state of the battle and to report the news to the king. Prince Herman Solms rode beside him, for the young prince, devoured with impatience, had obtained permission to accompany the colonel.
The sadly diminished ranks were just closing, again to attempt the storming of the mill.
A Prussian battery had been brought forward and the shells suddenly fell amongst the storming party, whilst a fresh and tremendous fire from the needle-guns opened upon them from the mill.
They hesitated under this murderous hail of balls.
The prince touched his horse with the spur, and bounded between the storming party and the mill.
"They are not so bad as they look!" he cried cheerfully, turning to the soldiers; and reining in his horse, he took off his cap and jokingly saluted a shell which flew over his head and buried itself in the ground.
"Hurrah!" cried the soldiers, and again rushed to the attack, led on by their brave lieutenants.
At this moment two companies advanced from the bridges, and immediately behind them Colonel Flökher's battalion, and at the same time guns opened behind the storming party from the hill of Merxleben, and a heavy fire from a hastily advanced Hanoverian battery fell on the mill, splintering the roof and shattering the walls.
The gallant defenders of the building evidently about to become a heap of ruins, broke through on the other side, and retreated in strong parties along the high road. But they were checked by the second battalion of guards, which had now come up, and which opened a murderous fire upon their flank, whilst two squadrons of hussars who had burst over the bridges galloped down upon them with upraised swords.
Some of the fugitives fled over the fields, and were fortunate enough to gain the reserve Prussian division; the hindmost returned to the ruined building, and a white handkerchief soon waved from one of the windows.
The firing ceased immediately. Colonel Flökher rode up to the battered door, which was quickly opened, and the last of the brave defenders, about a hundred men, laid down their arms.
The courtyard was full of dead and wounded, and just outside lay the Hanoverian soldiers who had fallen. The ruin looked ghastly with its shattered windows and broken walls in the bright sunshine, a picture of destruction, horror, and death.
The adjutant-general rode up to Prince Herman.
"I compliment you, prince," he said: "you received your baptism of fire gloriously, but you exposed yourself uselessly. What should I have said to the king if any misfortune had befallen you?"
"What could I do?" said the prince, laughing, and plucking at the down on his upper lip; "the king has ordered me to head-quarters: ought I to let them say I am afraid of fire?"
"They would not have said that," said the colonel, looking kindly at the almost boyish face.
"It is better that they cannot say it!" cried the prince, and galloped off with the adjutant-general.
A retreat on the part of the enemy was decided upon from this moment. Slowly and in perfect order, under a continuous fire, the Prussian troops formed in squares, and retired in the direction of Gotha covered by their batteries, which kept up a constant fire upon the advancing Hanoverians.
At last General Arentschildt had ordered a general attack, but this command only affected a few of the troops, and was indeed superfluous, for the attack had commenced, and no order would have prevented it.
Whilst the centre of the Prussian position was pierced, Count Kielmansegge with his dragoons had ridden along the side of the Unstrut, endeavouring to find a ford. But he could not discover one, the banks of the river in this part being very steep and overgrown with bushes. They were obliged to ride down stream to the village of Nagelstedt, where at last they found a bridge, over which they crossed into an open field on the other side.
The dragoons hurried at a sharp trot closer and closer to the sound of the guns; already the enemy was driven back, and the battle had surged to the south of Langensalza.
A gentle eminence rose before the dragoons, the regiment rode up it, and found itself opposite the enemy's exposed flank. Two Prussian squares were slowly retreating, still keeping up a constant fire, and on a hill near the dragoons was a Prussian battery, which sent its shell into the centre of the advancing Hanoverians. The dragoons were alone; between them and the Hanoverian army were the Prussian battalions.
"The time has come at last!" said Wendenstein, who was with the troop of which Stolzenberg was first lieutenant. "Thank God! we have something to do. At such a moment it is better to be in love," he added, as he tried whether his sword was firm in his hand; "you see I know what to think of, and--"
"There, again it spoke," said Stolzenberg, shuddering slightly; "farewell, old fellow, if we do not meet again."
"Madness!" cried von Wendenstein, "but look out, we are to charge."
The command was given that the fourth squadron should take the enemy's battery, and that the second and third should attack the Prussian squares.
The two squadrons slowly advanced towards the distant squares, who stood still to receive them, whilst Rittmeister von Einem at the head of his dragoons galloped up the hill on which stood the battery.
The guns were turned upon the attacking dragoons, a storm of shell received the squadron. The horsemen fell in numbers, down went both the trumpeters, but unchecked, the squadron galloped onwards, the Rittmeister far before them waving high his sword.
Quicker and quicker grew the pace, the battery was almost reached, when once again the guns opened fire, and sent their case-shot into the very midst of the gallant riders.
The Rittmeister escaped as by a miracle. He was the first to spring between the hostile cannon, and he smote down a gunner with a mighty cut from his sword; the dragoons followed him through the heavy fire of the infantry support to the battery.
A bullet hit the Rittmeister's horse, which fell, rolling over upon him. He quickly disengaged himself from the quivering animal, and his sword flow round swift as lightning to defend himself from the threatening bayonets of the infantry. The dragoons were now engaged in a fierce hand-to-hand fight.
"Forwards! forwards!" cried the Rittmeister, as with his sword he parried a bayonet thrust against his breast; but a shot fired close to him struck him, his arm sank down, and whilst with his left hand he seized the wheel of the cannon he had taken, to support himself, several of the enemy's bayonets were plunged deep into his breast.
His strength failed, and he fell upon a heap of slain; his hand clenched in death, held fast the wheel of the conquered gun. The dragoons pressed forwards over him, and soon the last defenders of the battery fled over the field.
The battery was silenced, but the greater number of the dragoons lay around their fallen leader.
This attack had been watched with the greatest interest by the two squadrons as they advanced slowly towards the Prussian squares, and as the defenders of the battery fled, loud cheers burst forth.
When the two squadrons had come near enough to the squares to charge, suddenly from behind the hill on which the battery stood, galloped the garde du corps, followed by the cuirassier guards. The garde du corps dashed against the square next them. Two volleys, discharged when they were close to the enemy, did not check them, but the brave square stood unbroken, and the squadron of garde du corps retired from the enemy's fire, preparing to charge afresh.
The commander of the second square nearest to the dragoons came forward and waved a handkerchief. Major von Hammerstein, with his adjutant and a trumpeter, advanced to meet him.
"My soldiers are ready to sink from exhaustion," said the Prussian staff-officer; "I am willing to surrender."
"I must then beg for your sword, my comrade," replied Major von Hammerstein, "and that you will lay down your arms."
"I agree to the last," said the Prussian officer; "to give up my sword is too hard a condition. But," he cried, "here come the cuirassiers."
And indeed the cuirassiers, who had followed the garde du corps, and passing by the first square had formed to charge, were galloping down upon them.
"Ride to the cuirassiers and stop them!" cried Major von Hammerstein to his adjutant.
He galloped off to meet the charging regiment, but their rapid movement and the noise around prevented him from making himself heard. They rushed onwards.
"Too late!" cried the Prussian commander. "Stand to your arms! Fire!" he cried, as he returned to the square, and a tremendous volley mowed down the cuirassiers just as they approached. The foremost ranks fell, and the direction of the charge being somewhat oblique, the shock came on the flank of the square, and it remained unbroken.
Major von Hammerstein had ridden back, and "Charge! charge!" resounded down the ranks of the dragoons.
The two squadrons charged the square at a gallop.
They were received by a frightful fire. The major fell, just in front of the foe, but Lieutenant von Stolzenberg urged on his horse, reined him in for a moment when close to the lowered bayonets of the enemy, drove the spurs into his horse's flanks, so that he reared upright, and then, with one mighty leap, bore his young master, as he raised his sword and gave a ringing cheer, right into the hostile square, where, like his rider, he fell, pierced through with bayonets.
But his fall tore a large opening in the ranks, and the squadron pressed in after them.
"Well done, old fellow!" cried Wendenstein, and at the same moment he fell beside his comrade, and the dragoons rushed over him.
The square was broken, and those who yet survived fled madly across the field.
But when the dragoon squadrons reassembled, not one officer was left, and one-third of the men were wanting.
The cuirassiers had rallied meanwhile, and hastened to the scene of this brilliant struggle.
A young soldier rode with the first squadron in an old coat that had evidently not been made for him, and in plain grey trousers stuffed into military boots. On his head he wore a military cap, and a wound on his brow was bound up with a white handkerchief.
"Where is Lieutenant von Wendenstein?" he asked of a dragoon, as the remains of the second squadron rode up.
"All our officers lie there!" replied the dragoon, pointing to a heap of men and horses which marked the spot where the square had stood.
"Dead!" cried the cuirassier. "But I cannot leave him there; I promised to take care of him, and no one shall ever say Fritz Deyke broke his word. My poor lieutenant!"
He hastily quitted the ranks and rode up to the commanding officer.
"Sir," he said, saluting him, "I overtook the army at Langensalza and joined the cuirassiers, that I might take my share in the war. I hope, sir, you can say I have done my duty?"
"You have done bravely," replied the officer.
"Well, sir," continued the young man, "the day's work seems over, and, besides, I have a scratch from which the blood runs into my eyes, so I came to ask leave for the day."
The officer looked at him with amazement. A deep blush spread over the young soldier's face.
"Sir," he cried, "I was brought up at Blechow with our president's son, Lieutenant von Wendenstein, of the Cambridge dragoons; and when I left home to join the army, his mother said to me, 'Fritz, take care of my son if you can,' and I promised her I would, sir; and now there lies the young gentleman amongst the dead. Shall I leave him there?"
The officer looked kindly at him.
"Go, my brave lad," he said, "and come back when the lieutenant no longer needs you."
"Thank you, sir," cried Fritz.
The cuirassiers advanced in pursuit of the enemy.
Meanwhile the other square had been broken by the charge of the garde du corps. The cavalry had moved forward, and in a short time the scene of all this carnage, of all this noise, was only an empty plain, where piles of corpses lay one on another in lakes of blood--men and horses, friend and foe, mingled together.
Fritz Deyke was alone in this scene of horror.
He dismounted, led his horse by the bridle, and walked to the place where the dragoons had broken the square. His horse snorted and struggled to run back. He led it a little way off and tied it to the trunk of a tree which grew near the high road; then he again approached the heaps of slain.
Some wounded men raised their heads and begged gaspingly for a drop of water.
"I cannot help all, but you shall not perish," he said.
There was a deep ditch near the high road; it might have water in it. He seized two helmets lying on the ground, and hurried to the ditch. There was actually some water--a little, and dirty, for the continuous heat had sucked up the moisture.
With some difficulty he filled the helmets with the muddy, lukewarm fluid, and carrying them like two buckets, he returned to the wounded men, who were watching for him with unspeakable longing. He drew out his flask, poured some of its contents into each helmet, and gave some of the liquid to the sufferers, impartially succouring both Prussians and Hanoverians.
"So, be patient," he said, kindly; "the first ambulance I see, I will send to you." And he began to search amongst the dead.
They lay heaped on one another, the brave dragoons and the brave Prussian infantry, some with a calm, peaceful expression on their faces, some with a look of wild horror, many so frightfully disfigured with bullets and stabs that the soldier's brave heart quailed, and he had to close his eyes for a moment to gain strength to continue his dreadful employment.
But he went on undeterred. He laid the dead bodies aside, and exerting all his strength, he dragged at the dead horses.
"Here is Herr von Stolzenberg!" he cried, as he turned over the body of the young officer, which lay with its face on the ground, bathed in blood. "Handsome, brave gentleman! and to die so young! It is all over with him," he said, mournfully. A bullet had carried away part of the skull, and countless stabs still oozed with blood.
Fritz Deyke bowed his head over the corpse, folded his hands, and repeated "Our Father."
"But here," he then cried, "lies poor Roland, stone dead. Good, faithful creature; and under him, alas! there is my lieutenant!" He pushed the dead horse aside.
Beneath lay Lieutenant von Wendenstein, pale and stark, his left hand pressed on his breast, his sword still in his right hand, his eyes wide open, and staring glassily at the sky.
"Dead!" said poor Fritz, with a cry of grief; "he is really dead!" and he bent sorrowfully over the body of the fallen officer.
"But I must take him away!" he cried, with decision. "He must not stay here; at least I must be able to lead his poor old father and mother to his grave. How frightful to see his kind, beautiful eyes staring thus!" he said, shuddering; "but where is he wounded? The head is unhurt. Ah! here in the breast. His hand is pressed upon it; the blood still trickles. But I cannot look at his eyes!" he cried; "those dead, glassy eyes, which in life were so kind and merry!"
He bent down and laid his hand on the head of the slain, that he might gently close the eyes of his former playmate.
"God in heaven!" he cried, suddenly. "He lives, his eyelids moved!"
He folded his hands and gazed anxiously at the face before him.
The eyes really moved, they closed slowly, then they opened again; for one moment a ray of light seemed to light them up, then they grew staring and glassy as before.
Fritz Deyke sank upon his knees.
"Great God in heaven!" he said in a trembling voice; "if Thou wilt never in my whole life hear a prayer from me again, yet help me now to save my poor master!"
He seized his flask, opened the mouth of the wounded man, and poured into it a little brandy.
Then he anxiously awaited the result.
An almost imperceptible shiver passed through the young officer's limbs; his eyes lived for a moment, and looked inquiringly at the young peasant; his lips were slightly parted; a red foam appeared upon them, and a deep sigh heaved his breast.
Then the eyelids closed, and the face lost the horrible starkness of death. But no further sign of life appeared.
"Now to get him to the town!" cried Fritz, raising the young officer in his strong arms and bearing him to his horse.
He climbed with difficulty into the saddle, still holding the motionless form; then he supported it before him with his right hand, whilst he held the bridle with the other.
He rode quickly across the fields to the town.
The squares broken by the dragoons, garde du corps, and cuirassiers, and the battery taken by Rittmeister von Einem made the last resistance on the side of the Prussians before they retreated entirely.
The Hanoverian central brigade pressed onwards, and soon the whole battle-field almost to Gotha was in possession of the Hanoverian troops.
The army, unfit to march, had made the most surprising, though alas! aimless advances--the army unfit to fight, had fought--and won!
During the whole day the king and his suite had remained on the hill near Merxleben. He had not left the saddle for a moment. He had asked short questions about the fighting, which the gentlemen of his suite had answered; no information had come from the general in command, for the battle was fought by individual officers and their divisions, who would no longer retreat, and who had seized on the offensive, each where he thought he could act most decisively and effectively.
The king saw nothing; he heard the bullets hiss past him, the thunder of the cannon around him; but the varied living picture was wanting that enchains the mind with trembling excitement.
He was as motionless as a bronze statue; his face betrayed no trace of his inward emotion; his only inquiry was, could his soldiers see him?
At last the adjutant-general galloped up the hill, and brought the news that the enemy's centre was pierced, and the cuirassier guards who had been held in reserve behind the king's position, rushed past with a loud "Hurrah!" to their royal leader, as they started across the plain in pursuit of the enemy. Finally, a staff officer arrived from the commanding general, announcing that the victory was decided in favour of the Hanoverian arms. Then the king drew a deep breath and said, "I will dismount."
A groom hastened to him; the king got off his horse. All the gentlemen around drew near him to express their congratulations.
"Many brave and faithful hearts have ceased to beat! God grant them eternal peace!" said the king, solemnly.
He stood for a moment in silent thought.
"I am somewhat exhausted," he then said; "is there anything to drink?"
Those nearest to him seized their flasks; they were empty.
"There is some sherry in our carriage," said Meding.
"And I have a travelling cup," cried Count Platen, taking a silver cup from a case.
Meding ran to the carriage, and soon returned with half a bottle of sherry and a little wheaten bread. He poured some wine into the small cup, and handed it to the king. He drank it, and ate a morsel of bread.
"Now I am strong again," he cried; "would to God that each one of my soldiers could say the same."
"I will move about a little," he then said, and taking Meding's arm he paced slowly to and fro, on the top of the hill.
"God has given our arms the victory," he said with emotion; "what is next to be done?"
"Your majesty," said Meding, "this noble blood will all have been shed in vain, if we do not march at once to Gotha, cross the railway, and endeavour to reach Bavaria."
The king sighed.
"Oh! that I could place myself at the head of my army and lead it onwards! They will make difficulties, raise obstacles. You know how many obstacles the general staff has already raised in the council of war."
He stood still, thinking deeply.
"Your majesty must command a protocol to be drawn up, that these obstacles may at least be stated in black and white," said Meding.
"It shall be done!" cried the king with energy. "You shall draw it up. I am answerable to history for what occurs, and for what is neglected."
An aide-de-camp from the general in command galloped up.
"General von Arentschildt begs your majesty at once to take up your head-quarters in Langensalza."
"To horse!" cried the king.
The aide-de-camp hurried away, the horses were brought, and the royal party moved down from the hill across the battle-field.
The king was grave and calm as he rode towards the town. Heaps of dead bodies lay on the road near the mill, and the horses' hoofs were reddened by the blood which stood on the ground in great pools. The king saw it not. He heard the "hurrahs" of the soldiers he met, and the loud cheers with which they greeted him; no pride of victory kindled in his noble face; he sat on his horse cold and silent; he thought of the slain, who had bought him this victory with their lives, he thought of the future, and with anxious care he asked himself whether this victory would yield the fruit desired, and extricate the army from the dangerous position into which it had been led.
The royal head-quarters were established in the Schützhaus at Langensalza.
Scarcely was the king a little refreshed, when he ordered the general in command, and the chief of the general staff to be summoned, and he invited General von Brandis, Count Platen, Count Ingelheim, with Lex and Meding, to be present at the council of war.
At about nine in the evening the officers assembled in the king's room.
The king urged an immediate march upon Gotha, but the general in command and the chief of the staff declared that the army was in such a state of exhaustion it could not march. In vain General Brandis pointed out that even for a tired army a short march of two hours and then excellent quarters in Gotha, was better than a bivouac in the fields without proper food; the chief of the general staff declared the march to be absolutely impossible, and the general in command refused to be responsible for its consequences. Both these gentlemen asked earnestly for permission to leave the council, as their presence with the troops was absolutely necessary.
The council of war broke up without any result, and the king retired to rest after the fatigues of the day.
The bivouac fires of the troops shone all around the town; and such merry songs, such cheerful voices rose on every side, it was hard to believe these were the exhausted soldiers who could not possibly undertake a two hours' march to Gotha, there to find rest and food.
Fritz Deyke meanwhile had ridden to the town, carrying Lieutenant von Wendenstein before him, without knowing whether he was alive or dead. The young man lay heavily in his arms, his limbs hung helplessly down, and the wound in his breast bled afresh from the quick ride.
The young peasant reached the town, but there had been fighting in the streets, and it seemed deserted by its inhabitants, who had shut themselves into the back rooms of their houses.
"Where shall I find the best quarters?" he asked himself. "Perhaps they will take the greatest care of him in the hotel," he thought, after a moment's consideration, and he rode on in search of an inn. At a turn in the street he saw a large white house standing a little back, with a well-kept garden in front of it, and with various outbuildings beside it. Green jalousie blinds were closed over the windows.
As the cuirassier rode past with the lifeless body in his arms, a fresh young voice cried, half in fear, half in compassion:
"Ah! the poor young officer!"
Fritz was touched by the sound of the voice, as well as by this mark of sympathy for his dear lieutenant, and looked up at the house.
A young girl's pretty blonde head peeped from a half-opened shutter, but bashfully withdrew as the soldier looked up; the blind, however, was not entirely closed.
Either the expressive voice, or the sympathy in the bright blue eyes still looking down through the small opening upon the strange and melancholy spectacle, caused the young man to conclude, that in this comfortable and well-to-do looking house he should find good quarters for his beloved officer: it was enough, he reined in his horse, and cried out--
"Yes, the poor young officer needs rest and care, and I demand quarters for him in this house."
The words were short and commanding, for he belonged to the army who entered the town as victors; but the tone of voice was gentle and imploring, and it caused the young girl to open the shutter entirely, and to stretch out her head. At the same moment, a stout, elderly man, with a full red face and short grey hair, appeared, and looked down with displeasure at the Hanoverian soldier.
"Quarters can be had in this house, if so it must be," he said, curtly and uncivilly; "but as to care, we have nothing to do with that, and there is nothing much to eat!"
"I will see to that!" cried Fritz Deyke, "only come down and help me to carry in my lieutenant!"
The old man withdrew from the window grumbling, whilst the young girl called out kindly, "I will get a bed ready at once for the poor wounded man, then we shall see what must be done next."
And she disappeared from the window.
The old man had opened the house door, and advanced towards the horseman.
"I cannot bid you welcome to my house," he said, gloomily and harshly, "for you belong to the enemies of my king and country, but I am bound to give you quarters; and," he continued, looking compassionately at the pale young officer, "I would rather give quarters to the wounded than to the sound."
"It is no question of friend or foe!" replied Fritz, in a conciliatory voice; "it is a question of Christian charity to a poor wounded man!"
"Come then!" said the old man, simply, and walked up to the horse.
Fritz Deyke let the lifeless form slide gently into the old man's arms; then dismounting, he tied his horse to the low garden railings, and together they bore the lifeless form to the house.
"Up here," said the old man, pointing to the stairs which led from the hall to the comfortable rooms above.
Fritz Deyke went up first, carefully supporting the lieutenant's head, whilst the old man followed, bearing him.
They entered a long passage with doors on each side.
The young girl stood waiting for them, and hastened forwards to open the door of a large room, with two windows looking towards the courtyard; it was furnished plainly but with some elegance, and a snow-white bed was prepared for the sufferer.
Fritz Deyke, with the help of the old man, laid the wounded officer gently down upon it.
"Now, young man!" said his host, looking gravely at the cuirassier, "your officer is safe, and he shall want for nothing that my house can afford,--the house of the Brewer Lohmeier," he added, with a look of dignified satisfaction, "that you may know whose guest you are. Come now, we will take your horse into the stable; and," he continued somewhat confidentially, "whilst you are here, keep others away if you can."
They went down stairs, leaving the young girl in the room with the wounded man. She smoothed the pillows, and looked with melancholy interest at the handsome face, pale as death.
Some infantry came down the street.
"We will find quarters in this street," cried one of them; "see, here is a nice-looking house,--let us go in,--there will be room for us all!"
Fritz Deyke came to the door at this moment with the brewer.
"Ah! there are cuirassiers here already," cried the infantry man; "is there still room, comrade?"
Fritz put his finger to his lips.
"A dangerously-wounded officer here," he said; "you must not talk so loud, nor make such a noise in marching."
"Then we must go further," said the infantry soldiers; they cast sympathizing looks at the upper windows, and walked on.
"Thank you!" said the old brewer, in a friendly voice.
Fritz Deyke led his horse through the yard gate to the stable, where he put him with the brewer's four horses. He then asked for a piece of chalk, and wrote in large letters upon the house door: "Dangerously wounded officers."
"Now," he cried, "I must go and find a surgeon; take care of my lieutenant, but do not move him!" He was about to hurry away.
"Stop," said the brewer, "your surgeons will all be busy at the field hospitals; our surgeon lives close here, he is a clever man, I will fetch him."
He went out, and soon returned with a fresh-faced, grey-headed old gentleman, with a very kind expression.
He stepped up to the bed, whilst Fritz studied his looks with the greatest anxiety.
The surgeon shook his head, he opened one of the closed eye-lids, looked at the eye of the wounded man, and said,
"Life is not extinct, whether we can retain it is in God's hand! I must look at the wounds, we must undress him, and you, dear Margaret, get us some warm water and some wine."
The young girl hastened away. Fritz carefully cut off the wounded man's clothes and boots.
There was a wound in the left breast, another in the shoulder.
"This is nothing," said the surgeon, pointing to the shoulder, "a bayonet wound, which will get well of itself; but here--" drawing a probe from a case, he examined the wound in the breast.
"The bullet has lodged upon the rib," he said; "if he does not die from loss of blood and exhaustion he may recover. For the present he must have perfect rest; I cannot attempt to extract the bullet until he has in some measure recovered his strength."
Margaret returned with warm water, linen, and a sponge. She then placed a small lamp upon the table, for it began to grow dark.
The surgeon washed the wound, and poured some wine into his patient's mouth. A deep breath parted his lips, a faint tinge of colour came to his cheeks, and he opened his eyes. He looked with surprise at everything around him; his eyes closed again, and scarcely audibly he murmured "Auf Wiedersehn!"
The young girl folded her hands, and raised her eyes, shining through tears to heaven.
Fritz took off his cap, waved it in the air and opened his mouth wide, as if to shout the Hurrah! with which the lusty young peasants made the meadows near Blechow or the large room in the inn echo again, but this Hurrah! did not come; the mouth closed again, the cap flew into a corner, only a thankful, happy expression replaced the melancholy look his face had hitherto worn. He had heard a sound of life from the lips of his dear lieutenant, he now hoped to save him.