Sparing the tower of the church and the university, the three great ships maintained an unsparing and indiscriminate cannonade on the town; for though the capital of the duchy, the seat of its trade and government, and containing the hotels of its principal nobles, Christian IV. was resolved at all hazards to dislodge the enemy, and more than once sent a redhot thirty-two pound ball at the Count of Rantzau's mansion, which had a number of wooden galleries around it, hoping by these to set the whole place on fire—but without effect.
The whole fleet and town were soon enveloped in smoke, and we could only direct our fire by seeing the vane of the church and the towers of the castle shining in the last flush of the sunset above this murky cloud. A hundred pieces of cannon, ranging from carthouns (48-pounders) to demi-culverins (9-pounders), were discharged by the fleet upon the town, from whence the garrison, the strength of which was very great, maintained a desperate cannonade, pouring in reply a shower of balls and missiles of every sort and size, shot from bombards and carthouns, fieldpieces, and iron slings. Their mortars and bombards (100 lb pieces) were loaded with stones, tiles, old jars, junks of iron and lead, nails and chains, which swept over our decks, and tore through the sails and rigging like a volley from a volcano. The whole conflict was maintained by great guns; hence the din was terrible. I believe there were not less than two hundred and forty pieces engaged on both sides. Strewed with killed and wounded men, some of whom were minus legs, arms, or heads, others cut in two, with their entrails shot away and twisted round the ragged and torn rigging, or wallowing in blood among the ruin of booms and boats, or splintered planks and shattered bulwarks, the main decks of the fleet presented the most frightful scene of carnage, smoke, and fire, united with the most infernal medley of appalling sounds—stern orders, bellowed in hoarse Danish through tin speaking-trumpets, shrieks, cries, and groans—the grating of the gun-carriages, the trampling of many feet, the crash of falling spars, the rattle of striking shot, and the hiss of those that swept over us into the water.
An immense number of our Highlanders were killed and wounded; of the foreigners I make no account. Torquil Gorm, our piper-major, who sat upon the capstan blowingBrattaich bhan clan Aoidh, was knocked off his perch by a twelve-pound shot, and only escaped death by a miracle. Lieutenants Stuart and Lumsden (Invergellie) were severely wounded, and Kildon and Culcraigie had each a brother—who was sergeant of their pikes—killed beside them.
Finding that nothing was to be made of Kiel—that his ships were becoming mere slaughter-houses and wrecks, which bled at every port and pore—the king, as it was too dark to see flags, hoisted a lantern at his foremast-head as a sign to cease firing. and drop down the fiörd before the wind. I cannot say that the order was obeyed with reluctance; and, favoured by a strong western breeze, the fleet rapidly bore away beyond reach of cannon shot, and lay to waiting for fresh orders.
Far out on the open fiörd, with the stillness of the midnight ocean round us, and no sound to break it but the cries that came from the wounded and the dying, there seemed something dull, monotonous, and deathlike in our vessels now; they were but floating charnel-houses. Some of the smaller were under masts, and the sides of all were perforated by round shot-holes, like the top of a pepper-caster. In others, the torn sails were flapping against the splintered masts, and the rigging hung in disorder. It was a sad scene of desolation, agony, and death, which in twenty minutes had succeeded the fury of the bombardment. I hastened to Ernestine, whom I found in a little nook of the hold, in a stupor of astonishment and terror, and unable to weep. I had only time to assure her of my perfect safety, when I heard a drum beating on the main deck, and Phadrig Mhor shouted down the hatchway, that the king required the presence of all the officers in the great cabin.
There I hastened, and found him with the Count de Montgomery, the colonels of the Scots, Danes, and Dutch, Ian, the Baron Karl, and other officers, many of whom had their heads and arms bandaged. The cabin bore sufficient token of the number of heavy shot that had passed through it; the ports were yet open, and the dead bodies of several seamen were still lying by the larboard guns, just where they had fallen.
"Cavaliers and comrades," said the king; "I wish to burn Kiel, that no shelter may remain there for the Austrians. One among you must undertake to do this for me, as I am less active than I was wont to be; but, as the duty is desperate, I will not select any of my allies. Let the Scots, French, Dutch, and Danish colonels cast lots for who shall have the honour of performing this arduous service, after which we shall all sail merrily, and land at Gottenburg."
It was at once assented to; we crowded round the table; lots were cast in Karl's helmet, and the duty fell to the Dutch, as the prize was drawn by old Dübbelstiern, whom the king desired to select a party for the service, and accordingly he chose his entire battalion. This was considered absurd; but whether it was that Herr Dübbelstiern was of opinion that he had seen quite enough of fighting for one night, or that it was the constitutional phlegm and slowness of the Dutch character which operated, I know not; but the impetuous king became enraged at their delay, and ordered lots to be cast again.
"Nay," said Ian nobly; "may it please your majesty to excuse me from drawing lots again, for I cannot condescend to do so twice. Give me but a hundred musketeers of my own regiment, and I will burn Kiel to your majesty's entire satisfaction."
"My company and I are at your service, Ian," said I, acting on the first impulse of the moment.
"It is gallantly offered," said the king; "a thousand thanks, my valiant Scots. Away then to your boats, for before the Dutch are under arms day will have broken."
In ten minutes my company were all in three large boats, sitting closely packed with their muskets between their knees; and with muffled oars we pulled softly towards the town. Our Highlanders roughly jeered the Dutch, desiring them to beat theScots March, and keep up their courage thereby, as they were often glad to do in Flanders, when they wished to deceive and scare the enemy.*
* Here Munro corroborates our cavalier. "We that were officers met together in the Admirall Shipe, and agreed to command out the partie, and having cast lots it fell on the Dutch. They, suspecting thedanger, delayed." Sergeant M'Leod of Captain Mackenzie's company "was killed," continues the colonel, "and twenty-two souldiers out of our regiment, that I commanded."—Expedition with the worthy Scots Regiment. Fol. 1637.
We were provided with several fireballs and pots of wild-fire, a combustible composition so called from its ready ignition, for the amiable purpose of burning Kiel, and were guided by the purser of Sir Nickelas Valdemar, who, in more peaceful times, had been a distiller of corn brandy, and was wont to attend the great annual fair in that town—theKieler umschlag. We pulled softly over the darkened water. Ian sat in the stern of the leading boat, and between me and the dull sky I saw the eagle's wing that surmounted the cone of his steel bonnet, as he sat erect and towering above all his soldiers. His drawn sword, with its long Gaëlic motto—that old hereditary heirloom of his race, which was never a moment from his side—was in his hand. I have heard Ian assert that this ancient blade possessed the property of inspiring courage, like theFeadhan Dhuof the Clanchattan. "The sword of a brave man always stirs the heart to gallant deeds," he would say; "and this sword has been wielded by many generations of heroes."
Behind him, the Lochaber axe of Phadrig Mhor was glinting in the starlight; for wherever Ian was, there Phadrig was sure to be.
Though weakened, and by my recent bruises somewhat nervous and excitable, I thought I was rather rash in venturing on this desperate service; and now, when in the open boat, came the reflection of what would be Ernestine's desolation and grief, if I was knocked on the head as the reward of my restless ambition.
As we pulled shoreward the night became intensely dark, so much so that we feared, unless lights were burned, we should never be able to regain our ships.
All seemed quiet as we approached the town, and, save an occasional light glimmering in the vast masses of the old castle, there was no sign of life in the place; but we knew that Count Kœningheim had not less than 2000 men in garrison, and of their determination we had recently received the most ample proof.
Ian had observed that on the right flank of the town, along the gulf or haven, there lay a beautiful walk, bordered by several rows of lofty trees, which were now in full foliage, and would conceal our approach.
Where the boats grounded the beach was silent and still. The whole place seemed deserted. Not a leaf was stirring now, for even the western wind had died away, and we heard only the waves of the Kielerfiörd chafing on the bulwarks of the path, as we landed. Ian Dhu was the first who sprang ashore, and, with their muskets loaded, our men formed in file, and marched towards the town, the walls of which were about two hundred yards distant. Our service was a strange and desperate one; for the enemy had cavalry, whose patrols might have cut us off, and, if an alarm had been given, our boats must have run the gauntlet along the lower gun batteries before we could regain the fleet.
"However," said Ian, to whom I mentioned these probabilities; "our firepots will find them work enough, and enable us to get clear off."
Marching in silence, and halting once or twice to listen while shrouded by the bordering trees, we found ourselves near the strong postern gate, over which grinned a couple of forty-eight pounders; but our guide, the purser, who had been in the habit of conveying his barrels to the fair without the ceremony of showing them to the keepers or leviers of duty at the barriers, led us towards a small house that he knew of. This place proved to be deserted. He raised the flooring, and revealed to us a secret passage which led under the walls, and directly into the town.
I shall never forget the exciting emotions we experienced, when, after crawling through a hole, dark and dusty like an ancient drain, we issued from a small shed, under which it opened, into a gloomy and deserted street, where, with Phadrig Mhor, his chief, and six chosen Highlanders, I found myself within the walls and gates, the guards and cannon, of Kiel. The rest of our men, to the number of ninety-four, occupied the cottage without, ready to succour us or secure our retreat.
The storks uttered unearthly sounds, and flapped their wings over our heads. They appeared to be the only inhabitants in that part of the town; and from the postern already mentioned, a street opened westward in one unbroken line straight to the market place.
"What large building is that, Herr?" asked Ian, pointing with his sword to an edifice near us; "is it a church?"
"No," replied the purser, "it is the hall where the high Court of Appeal for the duchy sits; the enemy have turned it into a magazine for powder."
"Powder! then the high Court of Appeal shall sit there no more, Mein Herr; for we will blow it up."
"It is guarded—see, yonder is the sentinel, walking to and fro before the building," said the purser; but the soldier indicated could not discern us, as our men stood with their backs close to the houses, and under their shadow. "But as to blowing it up, Herr Schottlander, I beseech of you not to think of that," continued the purser, "for it will create an alarm, and totally prevent our escape. Let us content ourselves by placing these firepots with lighted matches in some of the empty houses, and then retiring the way we came."
"Dioul! but I think you are right, master purser," said Ian; "besides, Herr, when the town is on fire the magazine must blow up as a matter of course. Softly, then, comrades—this way," he added, to the six Highlanders, who had slung their muskets to enable them the better to bear the combustibles with which they were loaded.
At that moment we heard the Imperialist who guarded the front door of the Court of Appeal, challenge some one who approached his post.
A voice replied, and an officer muffled in a long mantle, wearing a broad hat and slouching feather, followed by three pikemen, passed down the centre of the street, to visit the guard at that postern gate which the purser's friendly cottage, with its smuggling trapdoor, had enabled us to avoid.
They passed us within half a pistol-shot, and then we could hear the rattle of arms as the sentinel at the gate turned out the guard, and the officer with his escort departed to visit some other post.
"Now, there is not a moment to be lost," said Ian; "let us fire these houses next the magazine, and then escape by yonder fox-hole."
It was done in less than five minutes.
We entered the empty houses, either by forcing the doors or removing the windows, but as softly as possible. Ian selected one, Phadrig a second, and I a third. We placed the firepots and wild-fire in the centre of the floors; heaped them over with straw and oiled chips of wood brought from the fleet; then we ignited the matches, and hurried back to the street.
The matches were supposed to burn gradually for five minutes, by which time we expected to be clear of Kiel, and on the high-road to our boats. Accompanied by Gillian M'Bane and Donald M'Vurich, I had just completed my preparations for giving at least one house a comfortable heating, and, firing the match, hastened out to the street, when we were met, face to face, by—whom? The Imperial officer and his three pikemen, returning leisurely from their rounds, and singing a carol to the tramp of their own feet.
Having accomplished our work sooner than Ian or his henchman, we were unfortunately the first in the street, and the Imperialists were confounded to find themselves confronted by three armed men in the Scottish garb. Our swords were ready, my two musketeers blew their matches, and the Austrian pikemen levelled their weapons to the charge.
"Fire and fagot! how came you here?" asked the officer, whose voice made me start; "yield, sirs, for I would not have you killed if I can save you."
"Count Kœningheim!" said I, recognising him; "back—back—give way; for we will die weapon in hand, but never yield. For the sake of Ernestine," I added, in a loud and earnest whisper, "let this be a drawn conflict—for if I am slain she will be without a protector."
"Villain!" he exclaimed, with fierce joy, "art thou the Captain Rollo?"
"The same, at your service, count," said I, as our blades were pressed hard against each other; "but why so bitter an epithet to a brother Scot, for such I should be, though under a different banner?"
"You have stolen the daughter of my friend from the court of the Danish queen, and for these many weeks past have conveyed her from ship to ship, and isle to isle—all to the severe prejudice of her honour."
"It is a villain's thought and a falsehood, which none but a villain could conceive," said I, furiously; "but she is your affianced wife, and——"
The count uttered a bitter laugh, then, trembling with passion, he rushed upon me like a cannon-ball, and gave me a succession of fierce thrusts, all of which I succeeded in parrying.
"My affianced wife—my affianced wife, indeed!" he continued, giving me another and another. "Oh, fool of fools! do you not know that, with all her beauty, I would not wed her if she had the Bohemian crown upon her brow, and the wealth of India at her feet?"
While this was passing, the purser had dived into his secret hole, and vanished like a ghost at cock-crow. Ian, the sergeant, and our other four soldiers, came to the appointed place, and found me fencing away like a sword-player with Kœningheim, whom they only knew to be an Imperialist. The three pikemen fled, believing the town to be in possession of the enemy; and Ian, who, like a true Highlander, would not permit the single combat to be interrupted, stood between us and the six musketeers (who continued ominously to blow their matches), and, leaning on his long sword, watched with a fierce but anxious eye every turn of the desperate game.
The red sparks flew in showers from the steel blades; we were both so expert, that not a scar was given or received on either side; but I was still so weak, that step by step I was driven back towards the Hall of Appeals. I called repeatedly to Ian, to Phadrig, and the soldiers, to regain the boats and leave me to my fate; but they still remained, although the blaze of the burning houses began to flash across the thoroughfare, and we heard the drums beating in every quarter, as the various guards at different points of the city rushed to their colours, and the whole garrison became alarmed.
It was a time of desperation!
Ian by one thrust of his long sword, Phadrig by one blow of his tremendous axe, or our musketeers by a single shot, could have ended the conflict and the life of Kœningheim together; but this the chivalry of Highland warfare would by no means permit. Thus the duel continued, the conflagration increased, and the long angry roll of the drums rang the call to arms in castle and cantonments, at the gates and all along the harbour. Every moment I felt assured that Kœningheim was becoming stronger than me. My sight became dim, and I was beaten backward until I found myself driven against a door at the corner of a lane. I staggered—it yielded; and then I fell headlong—not into a passage—but down into a deep, dark hole—a cellar or some such place.
The street, the wavering light that filled it, vanished from me in an instant, as I descended into total darkness.
At that moment I heard a confused discharge of muskets, and an awful explosion, with a roar and the sensation of every thing being convulsed below and around me, as if the earth were splitting into halves, and I knew that it was the stately Hall of Appeals which had been blown up like a house of cards.
I cannot describe the crash—the mighty torrent of united sounds—the rending asunder of massive walls—the bursting of arches, knitted together centuries ago—the cracking of oaken beams, amid a whirlwind of bricks and mortar, slates and rubbish, as the house under which I had fallen crumbled into ruin in a moment; and though I did not feel any thing crushing me down, I had the horrible conviction of being entombed beneath a mass of fallen masonry and timber.
My claymore was still in my hand; the earth was damp, and I lay upon it breathless, gasping, and almost stunned for a time. Then a drowsy sensation came over me, and for half an hour or so I seemed to be in a kind of waking dream.
"Where the deuce am I?" was my first thought and exclamation on rallying my scattered energies.
I was painfully certain of entombment under a mountain of fallen masonry, which, for aught that I could foresee, might not in these times of trouble be removed for years. The air soon became close and oppressive. I began an examination of the trap into which I had fallen, by feeling all round me with outspread hands; for the darkness was as dense as if I had been shut up in a block of marble.
The ceiling—if it could be called so—was composed of beams of hard wood planked over, being evidently the floor of an apartment above; and by the dull, dead sound those planks returned, when striking on them with the hilt of my sword, I became convinced that the whole debris of a fallen house was heaped above me! Of this I was the more certain on discovering that the trapdoor, through which I had passed, was choked up by fragments of torn partitions, beams and stones, which I could grasp with my hands when standing upon a barrel over which I had stumbled in the dark. Around me were four stone walls, forming an area of about twenty feet by fifteen, and below me was the damp earth. I was undoubtedly buried alive in a cellar, from which escape seemed hopeless.
As this terrible conviction came home to my mind, the perspiration oozed from every pore, and a pang of agony entered my heart like a sharp poniard. My emotions cannot be described, and thoughts that were bitter and heart-rending came crowding upon me like a torrent.
Ernestine, whom I would never see more—whose voice I would never hear again—and whose dark eye would never turn to mine with its mild inquiring glance, or its glad and roguish smile, was left among rough soldiers and rougher sailors on board of Christian's wandering fleet, exposed to danger and perhaps to insult; for when I was dead to whom could she turn with confidence for protection? And Gabrielle, too! Gabrielle, whom I had hoped to free and restore to her, would now be left hopelessly the prisoner of Merodé, exposed to greater perils, and such as it was impossible to consider with calmness or contemplate with patience.
Doubtless brave Ian Dhu might protect Ernestine and free Gabrielle, even as I would have done; but, remembering the dangers that surrounded him only an hour ago, and the musket shots I had heard, it was more than probable that he and all who were with him had fallen in combat, and were now lying in the ruined street—perhaps not twenty yards from me. Whether he and Kœningheim too had escaped, or perished by the explosion, was all a mystery to me; but the former seemed next to an impossibility; and I pictured the anguish of Ernestine when morning stole into the dull and comfortless cabin of theAnna Catharina—when the bright sun came to gladden the grey waters—when the waves rolled in light, and Denmark's flat but wooded shores were sparkling in the sunny haze—when hour after hour would steal away, and when I did not come! What would be her emotions when the terrible truth was told her by some survivor of our Raid to Kiel?
The atmosphere of the place gradually became closer and more difficult to inhale; at times I thought this was fancy—at others, reality; but perhaps my nervous and excited state exaggerated the truth. I thought with horror of the pangs of hunger and thirst to be endured before I should die; my fate, ignominious and unhonoured; my unshared, solitary, and unimagined agonies—even my grave might never be known. My death might be mourned for while I was yet alive; for I calculated on living for many days yet to come.
Again and again all these thoughts, and others of home and my dear native country, recurred to me; again and again they returned, each time with renewed poignancy and bitterness, and the anticipation of dying there unknown, was as bad for a time as those of hunger and thirst. The vulgar fear of being devoured by rats was not the least of my torments; for of these vermin, I had born in me a powerful and unconquerable aversion.
The air seemed to grow stifling. I shouted with that loud hallo which, many a time and oft, I had sent far through the Highland deer forests; but my own voice sounded dull and faint, as it was returned upon my ear.
Overburdened by thought and anxiety, my heart became sick and weary; my head ached as the oppression of the atmosphere became greater; and I have no doubt that the effect of my recent wound—the contusion received at Eckernfiörd—greatly contributed to exaggerate all that the darkness, mystery, loneliness, and the anticipation of a most horrible death, could produce on an active imagination.
The Imperialists would think no more of me than of the last year's leaves; and the idea of their digging for me, even if Kœningheim escaped, seemed simply absurd.
I endeavoured to picture the slow agonies of a death by hunger and thirst, but shrunk from the task, and remembered to have heard my mother tell me, that when David Duke of Rothesay was found dead in the vault of Falkland-tower, in his hunger and madness he had gnawed and torn with his teeth the flesh from his left arm. Could I ever be reduced to such a state?
My bones might lie for ten, twenty, or even a hundred years, before discovery; and I thought grimly of the speculation they might excite, when some grave pathologist delivered his opinion, and when men spoke of the wars of other times—those wars of which their sires had spoken, and in which their grandsires fought; and I remembered the various instances of bones being brought to light under similar circumstances, and under my own observation, the vague mystery and fear with which these poor reliques of humanity were regarded by those who endeavoured in vain to conjecture the story that belonged to them; the crime perpetrated, or the wrong endured—the story that none could tell, and which would never be known until the last trumpet rent the earth to its centre.
I began to feel weak, helpless, and confused, and listened with agonised intensity to catch any sound, however distant; and then, as before, it seemed as if many a voice with which I was familiar came to me. My mind wandered, I imagined myself again on board the king's ship, and amid the smoke, carnage, and boom of the cannonade. Then came other ideas of strife—an imaginary conflict; Ian with his eagle's plume, red-bearded Angus M'Alpine, Kildon with his M'Kenzies, M'Coll of that Ilk, and all the gallant hearts of our regiment were by my side. I heard the yell of Torquil's pipe; I saw the tartans waving, the red musketry flashing as its echoes rolled over hill and valley; I saw the gleam of steel, and felt the glow of the bright warm sun of a summer noon, as it shone on the broad arena of a bloody battle. I brandished my sword—I shouted. Kœningheim was again before me; his steel rang on mine, and I was conscious that Bandolo, poniard in hand, was gliding near me like a serpent.
All this wild vision and its excitement evaporated, and I believe that I must have slept; for long after, on awakening once again to the horrors of that dark and living tomb, and worse than all to my own tormenting thoughts, I found myself lying on the damp ground.
Was it night or was it day on the upper earth? In that palpable darkness, no one could tell.
I listened, and heard my heart beating. At times I thought there came other sounds to me, in my loneliness. Once a horse's hoofs rang on the pavement; a dragoon had perhaps passed through an adjacent street. At another time I heard the faint note of a trumpet; and these sounds served but to increase my fretful eagerness to be free.
I do not think that I prayed aloud to Heaven to help me; but many a deep, pious, and fervent thought swelled my heart; and after a time I took courage, and searched my whole prison minutely again for some crack, joint, or cranny, by which a passage might be forced.
Around me the walls were as solid as stone could make them; above me were the oaken beams and jointed planks, rendered quite as solid and immovable by the superincumbent load of a fallen house.
I sat down again in despair. My head was still aching, and my breast was oppressed by the difficulty experienced in respiration; my weakness and helplessness increased; sensations of suffocation were coming on, and at length I lay on the earth in the belief that I was dying. My soul trembled at the terrible conviction that I was on the verge of eternity, and I endeavoured to pray, but my thoughts and words were all too incoherent for utterance.
Wild visions floated before me, with long blanks and pauses between; and during these blanks I now believe that I must have been insensible.
My tongue was parched and burning; then imaginary fountains of pure water gushed and sparkled in the sunshine, as they poured over cool and mossy rocks into deep and shady dells; in some instances, when I approached them, the water seemed to vanish, and the bare and arid rock alone remained; in others, I was bound and fettered hand and foot, unable to move, and saw the gurgling water winding between flowery borders into the shady recesses of a wooded dell. I stretched my hands towards it; but a mighty incubus weighed down my limbs, then the vision passed away, and I lay prostrate and gasping amid a dark, a moist, and noxious atmosphere.
Many hours must thus have passed away—not less, perhaps, than six-and-thirty. I imagined that Ernestine spoke to me from time to time, and I heard her voice coming as from a vast distance. She was laughing, and we were among summer fields where the yellow corn was waving; where the green trees rustled their heavy foliage in the warm breeze, and the glossy ravens were wheeling aloft into a blue and sunny sky.
Then I heard the sound of other voices, the clink of axes and grating of shovels; I thought that the hour of deliverance was at hand; that I was about to be dug out, and restored to the upper world, and I laughed with joy. The German soldiers were jesting and singing at their work, as they seemed to draw nearer and nearer to me.
Then I heard Kœningheim say that their labour was in vain, and might be relinquished, for by this time I must assuredly be dead—and I heard them retire! Methought I strove to shout, to let them hear that I still lived, but my tongue clove to the roof of my parched throat—my hard and baked lips refused their office, and the horror of the dream awoke me for an instant to the life I had been assured was gradually passing away from me.
Still the same darkness, the same solemn stillness, the same mysterious and horrible abandonment. I sank again; but the old vision returned with the clank of shovels and axes, the rattle of stones and crow-bars, with a laugh or an oath, as the German pioneers cleared away the rubbish, till their feet and implements sounded distinctly on the planks of oak. Oh! it was a delicious and a joyous dream!
Then all at once there burst upon my half-blinded eyes a stream of glorious sunlight, with the pure and refreshing air, as one pickaxe was inserted, and a plank torn up; then, but not till then, did I learn that it was no dream, but a dear reality, and that I was saved! I heard three or four soldiers drop after each other into the pit; strong hands were laid upon me, and I was lifted up from among the ruins; then a horn of Neckar wine was given me, for I was faint and trembling. I soon revived, but with the utmost difficulty retained my eyes open, after such a long immersion in Cimmerian gloom; and I was so feeble, that Kœningheim and one of his officers had to support me between them, as they conveyed me through the ruined street towards the castle of Kiel.
Fresh air and light, a little food and wine, with one night's sound sleep, completely restored me.
Partially undressed, and with a rich velvet mantle thrown over me, I was lying upon a beautiful bed, which, as I afterwards learned, was the couch of that valiant Duke of Holstein, Adolph, archbishop of Bremen, who overran the Ditmarsch, and compelled the proud Hamburgers do him homage. The four columns sustaining the canopy were of exquisitely carved oak; the canopy itself, and the coverlet, were of blue silk, brocaded with gold flowers; the former was surmounted by plumes of feathers, and was lined with white silk, fringed with silver within and gold without. It was too luxurious, and seemed like a beautiful toy, made only to be admired, or for a fairy to sleep in. The apartment was neither wainscoted nor tapestried, but was hung with matting of shining straw; the ceiling was composed of oak, the beams of which intersected each other, forming panels wherein had been recently emblazoned all the armorial bearings of Christian IV.; the variously coloured lions of Denmark, Sleswig, Norway, and Gothland; the golden dragon of Schonen; the paschal lamb of Juteland; the blue cavalier of Ditmarsch; the nettle leaves of Holstein; the cygnet of Stormar; the cross of Oldenburg, &c. &c.; the leopard, the crossed spears, and the crowned savages, wreathed and armed with clubs. Three windows of stained glass faced the gulf of Kiel; one of these had been broken by the passage of a cannon-shot, and fragments of the iron bars and brass wire which formed the latticed grating were visible beyond.
The whole furniture was in confusion; in some places mirrors were broken; in others, were pictures that bore strong traces of having received a passing slash from a sword.
I had just made a survey of all this by one glance, and throwing aside the mantle was about to rise, when Count Kœningheim, who had been writing in a recess of one of the windows—for the castle walls were of enormous thickness—approached, and bade me good-morning.
I gave my hand to this soldier of fortune, who, only a night or two ago, had expressed his rage at me for loving a woman whom he vowed not to marry even if she was a queen, with the wealth of India for her dowery.
"Well, my comrade," said he, after a few words of compliment and inquiry had passed; "Zounds! was not yonder blow-up a rough interruption of our tilting-match?"
"Your magazine of powder, was it not?"
"Twenty tons were stored up in the Hall of Appeal. On the night of the bombardment I had a saucisson laid, and the hall undermined, to blow up the whole in case of being obliged to abandon Kiel. Your partial conflagration fired the saucisson, and has cost the emperor more powder than he will probably commit to my care again—for some time at least."
"And my comrades—did they all escape?"
"All, save one. Favoured by the confusion, they vanished from the streets, and, regaining their boats, got clear off; but that secret entrance will not serve their purpose a second time."
"And he who did not escape?" said I.
"Is now hanging from yonder tower," said the count, opening one of the pointed windows, and showing me a prospect of the town, the chief feature of which was the great square tower of the church, with its lofty and tapering hexagonal spire, from the summit of which there dangled something like a crow. I could perceive it to be a human figure, but diminished by distance, and wavering in the sea breeze; it swung to and fro, now against the spire, and now a few feet from it in the air.
"Count Kœningheim," said I, turning with anxiety and indignation from this startling spectacle, "and have you—who, like myself, am a Scottish soldier of fortune—dared to hang one of my comrades?"
"If yonder Danish purser, whilome a distiller and smuggler, was one of your comrades, then I have indeed dared to do so."
"The poor man was only serving his king and his country."
"He has cost the Emperor twenty tons of good gunpowder—an unanswerable argument," replied the count, as he folded up his despatch and endorsed it to Tilly, whose troops were down somewhere about the mouth of the Elbe. "And did you really imagine, Captain Rollo, that I would have hanged one of our kindly Scots, as I hung yonder purser?Hawks dinna pyke oot hawks' een; and I assure you, that although we fight under different banners, I love the blue bonnet far too well to hang its wearer as a Danish scarecrow. In the devilish mood I was in on the night of the bombardment, I would have thought no more of slaying you—if able—than of taking this glass of wine; but after the affair was over—after I thought you fairly crushed to death—and a day or two had elapsed, it seemed a shame and a scandal to me that a brave Scot, with the tartan on his breast and the kilt above his knee, should lie uncoffined like a dog under a fallen house. I set the pioneers of Camargo to dig out your remains, and had fully resolved to inter them with all the honours of war in the great church of the good city of Kiel. We had not the most remote hope of finding you alive in the vault, like Holger Danske in that dungeon under Cronborg castle, where, as the legend says, he has sat for a thousand years with his armed knights around him."
"And where is the Danish fleet?"
"At the mouth of the gulf, where Christian has landed, and ordered your regiment of Highlanders to erect a strong sconce on the shore. But enough of these things at present. You will breakfast with me, and then we will talk of military business afterwards."
"Business," thought I; "that must mean my transmission as a prisoner of war into Central Germany!" He led me through various apartments to one, the princely magnificence of which excited my admiration. Kœningheim laughed at me, saying—
"Erelong, there may be no other hangings on these walls than such as the spider spins."
During breakfast he asked me many questions concerning Ernestine—casually, concerning her health and amusements, but all with kindness, and without the slightest tinge of jealousy. Though his friendship was sincere, it was evident that he did not love her. There was a riddle in this? The count, her father—old Rupert-with-the-Red-plume—was at Vienna, and was soon expected by the army to resume the command of his division. The poor man consequently still believed that his daughters were in perfect safety with the old Queen of Denmark.
"Then," said I, "neither you nor he are aware that Gabrielle has been abducted by Merodé?"
"Merodé—abducted!" stammered Kœningheim, as his sun-burnt cheek grew pale, and then flushed with anger; "do you tell me that Merodé has dared——"
As briefly as possible I related the dangers into which the sisters had fallen; the affair of Bandolo, and the retention of Gabrielle at Fredricksort.
The count thrust his breakfast from him.
"Fire and sword!" he exclaimed; "to know now that they have been in the Wohlder, within a few toises of my outposts, and I knew not of it! Oh! Captain Rollo, I love those girls as if they were my own sisters—for they are good, amiable, winning, and indeed most loveable; yet withal, and notwithstanding Carlstein's kind intentions, believe me I have no more idea of marriage than of flying in the air. Oh no! I shall never marry! I do not think that the world possesses a daughter of Eve who could tempt me to forsake the camp for her bower, or the head of my regiment for the poor pastime of dangling at her skirt. Fortunately, it is not far from this to Fredricksort, and Gabrielle shall be freed even if we must take the place by storm. Ten devils! to think she has been so long with such a man as Merodé!"
"Perhaps he is not so bad as rumour makes him. He may respect the high rank and perfect purity of Gabrielle."
"Respect—he, Merodé!" reiterated Kœningheim, with an angry laugh; "we might as well expect heaven and hell to change places, as to find one virtuous emotion in the heart of that ignoble soldier. The fool! he thinks that poor Carlstein is in hopeless disgrace, when at this very hour he may be travelling from Vienna with greater honours than any of us, save Wallenstein, have yet attained. Rest assured that I will free Gabrielle, and protect her until she is restored to her father or her sister. If Merodé will not yield her," continued Kœningheim, beginning to buckle on his cuirass and sword; "by Heaven! I will pistol him at the head of his regiment. I am not a man who stands on trifles, neither is Carlstein—old Rupert-with-the-Red-plume—as we Imperialists call him."
"You lads of the black eagle make small account of human life; and value blood no more than water."
"Blood!" he muttered, while continuing to arm himself; "the shedding of it under harness is but a matter of necessity, Yet, alas! Captain Rollo, by a fatal mischance, and in a moment of ungoverned passion, my disastrous hand has shed the blood of one whose fate hath cast a horror over my path in life. Wherever I have gone—in the camp and in the city, in the field and on the ocean, on the Scottish hills and on the German plains—that cloud has overhung me! With my own existence only, the cloud and the horror will pass away; but the memory of the deed I have done will never die in the peaceful spot which was blighted and cursed by its committal. I destroyed a life, to preserve and to defend which, I would have given my own a thousand times over, could such have been; but let me not recur to these old memories, for they madden and unman me!"
A dark shade had overspread the handsome face of Kœningheim—his eyes were saddened, and a spasm contracted his features; but, without remarking the bitterness of his emotion, I continued to assist him in accoutring, and also armed myself; for I had begun to entertain faint hopes of not being kept as a prisoner after all.
"Come, come, Kœningheim," said I; "you are not the only man who has slain a dear friend in a sudden quarrel."
"Friend!" he repeated, in a voice that made me start.
"No; when wine is in the head, and when the sword is in the hand, such things will happen," I continued, supposing that he referred to an unfortunate duel.
"Oh no!" said he mournfully; "such deeds as mine are done but seldom—yet, let me not think of it! Peace—solitude—at such times madden me. Action! action! that is the only relief. Come with me, then; let us ride for Fredricksort, and save Gabrielle from Merodé—the lamb from the wolf—the dove from the vulture."
We descended to the gate of Kiel, for the hope of liberty and of freeing Gabrielle restored me to fresh energy; and though Kœningheim expressed his doubts of my ability for exertion, I waived every objection, and, accompanied by four dragoons of the regiment de Wingarti, who wore black iron helmets and corslets, white buff coats with wide skirts edged by red cloth, jackboots, swords, musketoons and pistols, we set forth; and though scarcely able to keep on my saddle, by weakness resulting from recent mishaps at Eckernfiörd and Kiel, I was never behind Kœningheim by the length of my horse's head.
To be brief, after a hard ride round the shore of the gulf, and seeing every where the poor peasantry flying at our approach to moor, morass, and woodland, we reached the great fortress of Fredricksort, only to find it a pile of dismantled and blackened ruins; for in some of their wild excesses, Merodé's officers (on the very night we were bombarding Kiel) had set their quarters on fire. They were thus compelled to remove to a neighbouring village, from whence—by orders received direct from Wallenstein—they had marched no one knew whither; but by certain smoky indications at the horizon, we supposed their route lay towards Flensborg. Merodé had several ladies with him in caleches, and a number of other women, and a vast quantity of plunder, in waggons and on horses; thus his regiment marched off like a triumphal procession, singing in chorus, with all their drums beating and colours flying, and with crowds of camp followers mingling and shouting among their riotous and disorderly ranks.
Such was the account we received from the tall Jesuit, Father Ignatius, who had visited Fredricksort on the same good errand that had brought us from Kiel, and whom we met fortunately, in a narrow green lane (near the ruined castle), where the good man had dismounted from his mule, and taken off its bridle, that the animal might crop the herbage that grew by the wayside.
Accompanied by the Jesuit, we returned towards Kiel with the unpleasant conviction that our journey had been perfectly futile; and having a fresh source of anxiety in the doubt, whether Merodé had taken Gabrielle away with his ladies who occupied the carriages, or whether the poor girl had perished among the flames of the burning fortress.
"There were no less than six waggons crowded by soldiers' wives, all as drunk as liquor could make them," said Father Ignatius.
"'Tis fortunate for those ladies that the old Roman law, by which a husband could slay his wife if her breath indicated wine, no longer exists," said I.
"But those ammunition wives smelt only of schnaps and brandy," said the priest, turning up his eyes.
Through tracts of level land, as yet unscathed by war; along bridle-roads, bordered by rich meadows and comfortable farmhouses; and through little towns, that were as picturesque and as pretty as bright red bricks, spotless plaster, and paint could make them, we rode back by the way we had come. On one side lay the gulf; on the other, occasional tarns and groves of wood, covering the gentle slopes that rose almost imperceptibly from the margin of the dark blue sea. Yet the denizens of those pleasant places were all bondsmen; and, without consent of the lord from whom they held theirhufeby tenure, could neither marry nor give in marriage, become craftsmen, or engage in service elsewhere than in the land on which they were born.
All those places, too, swarmed with supernatural inhabitants, who were a source of terror to the poor peasantry. The little hillocks were inhabited by wicked and avaricious but industrious Trolds; the moors, by tall, pale, and beautiful Elle women, who attracted young men by their winning gestures, and then breathed on their faces to make them sicken and die. All the wells and lakes were enchanted—here a fiery dragon watched the ransom of a king; there the wild huntsman kennelled his black hounds;—here dwelt a witch who sold fair winds; there a devil who wrought all manner of mischief. But at that time our minds were full of other things; and we rode round the margin of the Kielerfiörd, accompanied by the tall priest, whose long legs, as he bestrode his mule, almost reached to the ground on each side.
"I have heard that Carlstein freed you without ransom, after being taken prisoner in Luneburg," said Kœningheim.
"Without ransom!—I need scarcely thank him for that, being so poor that I might have remained captive until the day of doom. I could only give the good count my thanks, and leave him my best wishes."
"And your heart, too—is it not so? Well, I must not be less generous; besides, the Emperor has more prisoners at Vienna than he knows what to do with. Your comrades have landed, as I mentioned, some twenty miles down the gulf, and are there forming a sconce, with what object, and for what service, the brave King Christian only knows; but, before returning to Kiel, I shall see you safe within pistol-shot of his outposts."
"Count," said I, "you shall ever be remembered among my dearest friends."
"Among soldiers friendship soon ripens, and a short acquaintance goes a long way. Is it not so, Father Ignatius?"
The Jesuit was too much occupied by his own thoughts to make any reply.
"Do not omit to impress upon poor Ernestine, that before another week is past, if her sister is between the Elbe and the Limfiörd, she shall be free, and the insults she has suffered will be dearly avenged; for the old count is coming, and Merodé cannot escape us both."
"Have you no kinder message than this?"
"I know of none that would be more welcome—from me, at least. Besides," said he, turning with a bitter curl on his fine lip; "what other message would you have me send by you to the woman you love? There is somewhat of a sneer in the question, Captain Rollo, and you might have spared me that. Suppose, now, that I had committed to your charge the most warm and ardent messages of love, fidelity, and so forth; would they have been welcome to your ears? would they have been pleasant to your memory? would they have been faithfully, and without diminution, conveyed to Ernestine?"
"They would have been pleasant neither to my ear nor to my memory," I replied; "yet, on my honour, I would have conveyed them faithfully to her."
"Acknowledge, however, that you asked for what you had no wish to hear."
"I confess that I did."
"Then, be assured, I have no such messages to send to Ernestine. For her I have indeed a true and tender love; but only such as I have for her sister—or as a father or brother might have for them both. Count Rupert is one of my oldest and earliest friends. He was my tutor and patron under Mansfeldt and Sir John Hepburn in the Flemish war. He would gladly see us more nearly and clearly connected than by the mere ties of comraderie, but that can never be; and Ernestine, with whom rumour has so often done me the honour to link my name, knows that well—though she knows not the reason why."
These words filled me with joy; for Kœningheim had so much that was brilliant and fascinating about him, that, had we both assailed the heart of Ernestine at the same time, I fear me much that the poor captain of Scottish musketeers, might have had but a poor chance of success when competing with the accomplished noble of the German empire.
"The reason—the reason," he continued, muttering under his thick mustaches: "Ah—Christi Creutz be about me!—if she, or thou, or he knew it, how you would all shrink from me!"
This was scarcely spoken—yet we heard it; and the priest bent his keen grey eyes on the count, whose gaze was lowered on the mane of his horse; for the memory of years long past was rising before him, and his thoughts were turned inward.
"Let us change the subject," said the Jesuit, bending over his mule towards me; "the gloomy fiend is uppermost, and his dark thoughts are upon him."
Amid Kœningheim's forced gaiety, I had frequently perceived a melancholy enthusiasm; at times, his laugh would cease abruptly, and his brow would knit; then his eye became clouded, and his voice sad. What secret thought was this that preyed upon the soul of the naturally gay and gallant soldier, souring his manner, and prematurely silvering his dark and curly hair? I was perplexed and interested; but courtesy compelled me to conceal what I observed. Animated by the same feeling, and to change the conversation, the Jesuit told us a legend concerning St. Knud, which he had lately learned from the MSS. of an old brother of his order. It related to the adventures of his saint, when first he came thither to preach among the Sclavi, who of old inhabited all Holstein, which derives its name fromholt, an ancient word for a forest, the whole promontory of Chersonesus Cimbrica being then covered by dense woods of pine and beech, extending from the Baltic to the Western Sea.
Marvelling sorely at the wildness of the country and its inhabitants, St. Knud came to a place where there was a little green valley between two hills, which were covered to their summits by foliage, and there a little figure suddenly approached him.
Unlike the painted Sclavi, who were naked, or clad only in the skins of bears, and armed with bows and spears of flint, the mannikin wore a grey doublet with large horn buttons, and an enormous red cap, which was nearly three feet in diameter, though he was barely two feet in height. He had a large and solemn visage, a long hooked nose, a back with a prodigious hump, and a heavy paunch; he carried a flute about twice the length of himself, whereon he began to play melodiously at the approach of the saint, who, on hearing the music, felt his feet beginning to trip; and had he not signed the cross in time, nathless his sacred character, his palmer's gown, which had lain for a time in the holy sepulchre, his staff, which had been cut on Mount Calvary, and his escallop from the shores of Galilee (for St. Knud had just returned from Jerusalem), he would have been compelled to dance like all who heard the fairy music of this grotesque little gnome, who was king and liege lord of all the Trolds in Denmark.
On beholding the sign of the cross, the Trold stamped his little foot with rage, and broke his immense flute into a hundred pieces, all of which vanished with a shrill sound.
"By that sign, I know thou shalt conquer!" said the imp, passionately.
"Who art thou that knowest this?" asked St. Knud.
"I am called Skynde, king of the Trolds," said the mannikin, under his enormous mustaches, which, with his beard, resembled a frozen waterfall, "and I am come to meet thee in the name of all the underground people, whom thy coming hath alarmed; and we hope to sign a peace or truce with thee, that we may not be driven out of this pleasant land, where we have dwelt since the waters of the flood subsided, and permitted us to crawl out of the crannies of the great ark—yea, ages before the days of Dan, son of Humble—ages before the Cimbri, the Goths, or the Jutes had a name, or came beyond the green rampart of the Danesvark. We are kind and benevolent to all who do not molest us; but savage and revengeful to those who do. Your Maker is also ours, for when he created men, he also made the happier little Trolds, and a thousand other spirits which such gross eyes as thine cannot see; but if thou wilt pray to this good Master for us—but not against us—we will never molest thee, nor thy servants, nor followers, even unto the end of time."
Then the saint promised that he would pray every day for the little Trolds of the land; and thereupon King Skynde threw up his red cap with joy, and again stamped with his feet. Then two little imps, each about a foot in height, bare-armed and bare-legged, with leather aprons, and beards descending to their knees, and all begrimmed with smoke and dust (for they had just ascended from some fairy forge far down in the bowels of the earth), appeared, bearing between them a large goblet of gold, and, staggering under its weight, with their leather aprons they gave a last polish to the magnificent chasings which adorned it, and, scrambling down a mole-track, disappeared.
"Brother Knud," said the elfin king, with grave majesty, as he placed his hand upon the edge of the cup, which was higher than his girdle, "take this goblet; it is one of thousands made by my smiths; keep it for the first church you build in Holstein; and rest assured, while it remains in the land of the Sclavi, thy good people shall never be molested by the Trolds."
"This cup," continued the priest, "or one said to be it, is still shown in the convent of St. Knud at Eckernfiörd; and, whether it be the fairy goblet or not, we must acknowledge that never did mortal hands frame a more magnificent chalice."
Father Ignatius had just reached this point in his story, when, as we passed Kiel on our left, his eye observed the human figure still dangling from the lofty spire, with the crows flying in circles round it. With some asperity, he asked the count what this display meant; and Kœningheim, who long before this had recovered his equanimity of mind and calm, intrepidity of manner, replied briefly—
"A Dane, whom we strung up as you see, for guiding a night attack."
The priest expressed great indignation at this unnecessary barbarity.
"Count, count!" said he; "I could have expected better things from you."
"Nay, good father," he replied, "do not chide me for this. Condemned by a court-martial, the man was hanged by our provost, who may have exceeded his duty by hanging him higher than usual. But you may order him to be interred the moment you enter Kiel."
Saying that such ferocities disgraced the armies of the Empire, the priest bade us adieu, and, whipping up his mule, turned off towards Kiel, and his tall figure was long visible as he threaded his way between the neglected fields; for the poor Holsteiners being doubtful who might reap, were omitting to till or sow their fertile land in many places.
Had he continued with us, the priest would have had fresh cause for indignation; for when with our four dragoons we entered Lytjenbürg, which a regiment of Imperialists had just quitted, we found one of the magistrates hanging by the neck in the market-place. Here, as elsewhere in Holstein, there stood a bronze figure of Justice, having a sword in one hand, with a rod in the other; and, to a hand of this figure, a lieutenant-colonel of Tilly's Croatian horse had appended the burgomaster for some real or imaginary insult.
Notwithstanding the rage and horror this had excited among the people, Kœningheim, who was a daring and reckless fellow, rode right through the town (which is one of the most ancient in the duchy), and halted at the door of an inn which bore the sign ofWildbrat, the famous dog of Christian I., which proved more faithful than all the king's courtiers, and thus gave a name and motto to the noblest of Danish orders. Dinner was ordered, and promptly served up, with the best of Rhenish, Neckar, and Moselle, the former being nearly ninety years old at least, so it was averred by the host, who had not the least idea that he was ever to be paid for the good cheer he was providing. In that, however, he was mistaken, for Kœningheim—an honourable soldier of fortune—paid like a prince; and, after giving refreshments to the four dragoons who had kept guard at the door, we again set forth, and, just as darkness was closing, came in sight of King Christian's outposts by the Kielerfiörd.
The sun had set, enveloped in clouds; there was no moon visible; the cold grey sky had gradually become an inky black one, and the level shore with its bordering woods was shrouded in dusky obscurity; but within cannon-shot of it the Danish fleet were lying at anchor. One mile from the shore, on advantageous ground, the king had formed a strong redoubt, banked up with earth and palisades, mounted with cannon, and garrisoned by a thousand men under his own immediate orders. These men consisted of my own regiment and three companies of Dutch. His fleet protected them on the seaward, and their cannon and situation on a hillock rendered it inacessible from the landward. On the road to Kiel, and in other directions, he had posted out-guards, and perdues were scattered beyond them.*
* Out-picquets with advanced sentinels.
From the summit of a knoll over which the roadway wound, and between two thickets of trees, which, together with the darkness of the night, completely concealed us, we could distinctly perceive, far down in the hollow, between us and the redoubt, a guard of soldiers bivouacked round a watch-fire.
Thanking Kœningheim for his kind escort, and expressing regret that I did not possess even a tester to give his dragoons, that thev might have a can of Rostock beer on their return, I now begged that he would leave me, being so near my comrades that I could reach them in perfect safety, while to him the vicinity was full of peril. He assented to this, and, after looking at the outpost through his Galileo glass, handed it to me, and I was glad to perceive by it that the soldiers around the watch-fire belonged to my own regiment.
By the red glow which the blazing fire shed on the green trees of an adjacent wood, and the grassy meadow beyond, I could perceive my brave comrades standing in groups, with their steel accoutrements glittering, or rolled in their tartan plaids, and resting on the sward between their piles of arms; while far in front, upon the roadway, were two advanced sentinels, standing motionless and still as they leaned against their pikes, the points of which glittered like red stars in the light of the wavering fire.
"Now, farewell, Kœningheim," said I, dismounting, and handing the bridle of the horse I had ridden to one of the dragoons (for it belonged to the German cavalry), "on foot I can reach the outpost. Remember to perform all you have promised for the rescue of our poor Gabrielle, and thus complete the kindness of a day which I shall never forget."
"By the way," said he, "did you not tell me that you were without money? My purse is at your service. Take it, Captain Rollo, for one cannot have too much of that ware."
I was about to decline, when a sound that came from the thick underwood which surrounded the knoll, made us pause. Kœningheim stooped his head to listen, and the four German troopers blew the fuses of their musketoons.
"A passing wind has rustled the branches," said Kœningheim, shortening his reins.
"Nay," said I, whose Highland ear had been practised in my native forests to every casual sound; "it was the footsteps of men—for I heard the crackle of decayed wood and withered leaves."
"Thenweare too long here," replied Kœningheim, wringing my hand with honest warmth; "farewell!—I will remember all you have said, and all you wish."
"Ready!" cried a voice among the trees; "guard pans—present—give fire!"
"Christi Creutz!" cried Kœningheim, as a volley of six muskets streaked with red fire the dark bosom of the coppice, and, struck by six deadly shots, the count and his four German dragoons fell heavily on the turf, while their affrighted horses dashed down the knoll and disappeared. One dragged his rider a considerable way. Then I heard a wild Highlandscraigh, and Sergeant Diarmed Macgillvray of Drumnaglas, with a patrol of six musketeers, surrounded me.
I cannot express the grief and indignation this occurrence excited within me. With my own hand I could have slain Drumnaglas, had he not given me a warm embrace, and welcome back—as he said—to life and liberty; and had I not been aware that he mistook the count's escort for a reconnoitring party or patrol of the Imperialists, with a Scottish prisoner whom it was his duty to free; and, with the most perfect Highlandsang froid, he turned over the slain, one after the other, and shook them, saying—
"Tead—tead as a herring, too—Got pless us!"
The count still breathed, but a ball had passed through his breast, beating into the wound a portion of his cuirass and buff coat; thus he suffered the most excruciating agony. But as I still hoped he might live, I desired the Highlanders to cross their fatal muskets, and with their plaids laid over the barrels, to form a temporary bier, on which we conveyed him, groaning heavily and bleeding profusely, to the out-guard, where M'Coll of that Ilk commanded, and from thence to the sconce, where the regiment received me as one who had indeed returned from the dead; for Ian and all the officers had most respectable knots of black crape on their sword-hilts and left arms, in honour of my memory. Even the standard poles had the same grim livery, which was very gratifying to me; as men have seldom an opportunity of beholding the respect paid to their memory when defunct.
"Tell me, Ian," said I, when the congratulations had a little subsided; "has Ernestine heard the rumour of my death?"
"She believes you to be a prisoner in Kiel."
"And these confounded badges of crape—for whom does she believe they are worn?"
"For the Duke of Pomerania, as I told her."
"But old Bagislaus IV. is not dead."
"It matters not—his name was the first that occurred to me."
"Ah! pray, Ian, go—or send some one to say that I am safe—that I am here, and in a few minutes will be by her side."
"Dioul! why not go yourself?"
"I dread the excess of joy——"
"Excess of joy never killed any one, whatever excess of grief may do. Ah! if you only loved yourself half so well as you love this dark-eyed woman——"
"Or as you love Moina," retorted I; for Ian, though he really admired Ernestine, and considered it a duty to love her as his own kinswoman, had never been altogether able to overcome his first prejudices against her foreign taint, as he called her German accent and her Spanish blood.
"Moina dwells by Kilchiuman," said he, "and her eyes have never looked on other hills than those whose shadows darken the waters of the Oich and Garry. Moina is a daughter of the old race; she has no foreign blood in her veins, or strange accents on her tongue."
"But Ernestine is your natural-born kinswoman, and Moina isnot."
"My kinswoman!—well, so she is—blood is warmer than water, and by the Cairn na cuimihne!" said he, tossing up his bonnet, "I would march to the cannon's mouth for her; but it is a devil of a pity her mother was a stranger—a Spaniard."
"Nay, I think it has been a great improvement on the old Rollo blood; for I am sure that two such beautiful dark eyes were never seen in the old Tower at Cromartie; but while we chatter here like a couple of pyets, poor Kœningheim is enduring, I fear me, the agonies of death."
The count had been conveyed on board of theAnna Catharina, where Dr. Pennicuik examined his wound, and at once declared him to be past all recovery.
As I have much to relate, instead of impertinently thrusting any more love scenes before the reader, I must beseech him or her to imagine all my meeting with Ernestine, and to believe that the keen sense of joy which the poor girl experienced on beholding me again, was considerably abated and tempered by the terrible plight in which her father's oldest and best friend was brought on board of the king's ship.
Phadrig knocked at the cabin door, and with the most soldier-like unconcern announced that the count was dying, and required my presence. Ernestine burst into tears, and threw herself upon her knees to pray, while I hurried along the lower deck (breaking my shins against stray shot, coils of rope, and buckets of wadding) to reach the poor and comfortless berth, in which one of the bravest spirits that ever endued with life a Scottish breast was hovering between Eternity and Time.
As I went into the little cabin, the doctor was coming softly and slowly out, with the air of a man who could do no more. His sleeves were tucked up, and his hands were covered with blood.
"Doctor!" said I; he shook his head, and passed on.
Swinging by a rusty chain from a beam of the main deck, an iron lamp lighted the scene I am about to describe. Its smoky and sickly radiance shed a wavering and yellow gloom on the sloping walls of dark Memel wood, the strong transverse beams, the knotty planks, and iron bolts of the ship; on the brass culverins, which were laid alongside the closed parts, the rammers, spunges, and other et cetera, beside them; and on the poor pallet spread on the cabin floor, whereon lay Kœningheim, breathing heavily; his features ghastly, and sharpened by pain and loss of blood, and contrasting by their pallor with the blackness of his mustaches and hair, the long cavalier locks of which were scattered over the pillow like those of a girl. His eyes were closed. His fine manly neck and breast were bare, save where the latter was crossed by a bandage, from beneath which the blood was oozing.
Several officers were standing near; Danes in red dresses; Dutchmen in yellow; and two of ours—these were Kildon and Culcraigie, who were as soldier-like as their weatherbeaten visages, grizzled beards, and picturesque costume—steel cuirasses and buff coats laced with silver—could make them. They stood placidly waiting until the poor Scoto-Imperialist should die.
Though I trod lightly, his ear detected the sound as I entered, and knelt down by his side.
"Ah!" said he, opening his eyes; "it is you—I had almost forgotten; but for this exquisite agony I could imagine that a sleep was coming over me. It is the sleep, Rollo—the drowsy sleep—of death!"
I took his hand in mine; alas! it was cold and clammy. "Count Kœningheim, you wished to speak with me."
"I have something to tell you," said he; "something which I do not wish others to hear."
I looked at Kildon and the group who stood with him; they immediately retired on tiptoe, and closed the cabin door. I was left alone with the dying man, who seemed to be considerably relieved by their absence, and said—
"I will see them all once more; but give me that cup again—the wine-and-water—thank you."
The draught revived him, and he said with a bitter smile—
"After all my fighting and all my battles, I die in my bed, like other people."
"Scarcely, Kœningheim, with that frightful wound."
"I was not always, as you may suppose, Albert Count of Kœningheim," said he with an effort, and a voice that trembled. "At home, in that dear land I never more shall see, I was but Habbie Cunninghame of the Boortree-haugh, a name which many in the north of Scotland must remember—but, alas! with abhorrence and reprobation. Yet, if you knew all—you would pity me."
He paused, and seemed to be gathering his thoughts; and, as he did so, an expression of dark despair and agony stole over his beautiful face—for itwasbeautiful in its supreme manliness.
"You may know what it is to feel love, and I have felt it too—and rage and hatred; but you can never have known what it is to feel, as I now do, the horrors of remorse. Oh, may you never, never know it!" He grasped my hand convulsively, and fixed upon me his dark and agonized eyes. "I would rather wish that even my worst enemy should die, than do as I have done—and endure what I have endured!..... Never until this hour have I told my secret to any one; it has been locked in my own breast. I have had none to whom I could confide it, or in whose presence I might without shame shed a tear. Laughter, sleep, drunkenness, the bottle, any thing was welcome, that would make me forget myself; for to be in solitude—to be left for one moment to reflection—was to be in—horror! and thus for thirty years I have borne grief, rankling like a poisoned arrow in my heart."
"Can this be the lion-hearted soldier of the Empire!" thought I.
"I am a murderer—I have been an assassin!" said he, in a low and terrible whisper; "do you not shrink from me?" His eyes closed, for they were full of tears, and thus he did not see the startled expression of my face. "Tears—tears! oh, that they fell onhergrave! but do not shrink from me," he continued. "(I feel your hand relaxing.) I deserve your pity—rather than your scorn. Ah, yes!—if you knew all—if you only knew all! I have been bad—I have been passionate—wilful—obstinate—imperious! but not for many a long, long year."
"Do not, I beseech you, add to the agonies of the present, by recalling the bitterness of the past."
He was sinking rapidly; the slow, heavy, and painful effort of respiration increased; his lower jaw quivered at times, and then his eye remained fixed, even when he was addressing me. Never, but in the eyes of the dying, is that wild, imploring, and unearthly glance visible. They seemed larger than usual; brighter and more glistening. On closer examination, I was surprised to find that, since the shot had struck him, he looked much older. Since yesterday his hair had actually become grizzled, and his whole aspect was that of a man bordering on fifty years of age.