CHAPTER IV
Thefirst week of captivity passed slowly and heavily for Gavin and St. Arnaud, and it was not lightened when, a few days after, came the news of the defeat of Prince Charles at Leuthen by Frederick of Prussia.
Naturally, every waking hour was spent in planning and dreaming of escape, but St. Arnaud counselled patience.
“Wait until we know something more of our surroundings and the people about us. I have an idea in my mind about the commandant. And, besides, we shall hear from Madame Ziska in time, and I have the greatest confidence in that woman’s friendship.” To all of which Gavin gave a grumbling assent.
In that time, St. Arnaud and Gavin, who, a month before, had never exchanged a word, came to know each other better than they knew any other men in the world. Gavin’s trustful and generous nature was filled with admiration at the calmnessand even gayety with which St. Arnaud bore his misfortunes. He made a careful toilet every day, sang and whistled cheerfully, and amused himself and Gavin, too, by supplying what he called the deficiencies of a limited education. He studied German industriously, and succeeded in borrowing from the commandant a few old books on military science, which he read with diligence if not with profit.
“You see,” he said to Gavin, “I was taught no end of Latin and Greek and music and grammar and fencing, and all sorts of things that an officer should know; but this original person, the King of Prussia, has made all these things perfectly useless. Some of our generals whom he has defeated knew more Latin and Greek and fencing than I; but yet they were whipped. However, if England, your country, will continue to assist the Empress Queen, we may yet beat Frederick. And meanwhile I am doing my best to study the art of war, although, according to the books, the King’s tactics are all wrong.”
Gavin would smile at this and listen, but left to himself, he had not the calm fortitude of the older man. Nothing in the way of danger or privation could quench Gavin’s spirit as long as hewas on horseback and roaming about the country; but the confinement of a prison for a week did more to depress him than a month of dangers and hazards. Often he would toss about on his narrow bed and groan loudly in the very anguish of his heart, and then be shamed into fortitude by St. Arnaud laughing at him. And St. Arnaud declined to consider either of them the most unfortunate of men.
“I grant you,” said he, “that I would rather be at Versailles, as I was a year ago, than shut up here in Glatz. But the other was an imprisonment, too. What do you think of getting up at five o’clock, spending the whole day in attendance on the King, in court clothes and periwig? Ah! how hot it was in summer, and how cold it was in winter! Never a moment to sit down, always wearing a grin, when one would much rather have scowled. I was freer when I was a captain in Dufour’s regiment than ever I was in the King’s Musketeers, where even the private soldiers are gentlemen.”
“But we willneverget out. Prince Charles beaten, what is there to keep that long-nosed Frederick from marching to Vienna? Tell me that, I say.”
“Don’t trouble yourself about that. Let us see how we can get to Vienna ourselves. It is time we were hearing from Madame Ziska, for I am sure she has not forgotten us.”
The very next morning a parcel was brought them, with an unsealed letter. All had been opened and the letter read. It ran:
“Dear Captain St. Arnaud: Knowing you and your fellow-prisoner, Sublieutenant Hamilton, were well fed by the excellent commandant, I had difficulty in thinking of something you needed. But remembering how excessively particular you are about your toilet, I send you some powder and scented soap. I am leaving here to-day in hopes of some time reaching Vienna, where I expect to find an engagement at the opera house. I shall stop a few days on the road with some relatives of mine, honest shopkeepers. How strange is life! One day I sup with the greatest king in the world; the next I visit people who hang a bag of wool in one window and a hank of yarn in the other, to signify what they have to sell. I scorn, as you see, the common affectation of representing my family to be more important than it really is.“I beg you both to hold me in remembrance, and I promise not to forget you. We shall meet again.Rosa Ziska.”
“Dear Captain St. Arnaud: Knowing you and your fellow-prisoner, Sublieutenant Hamilton, were well fed by the excellent commandant, I had difficulty in thinking of something you needed. But remembering how excessively particular you are about your toilet, I send you some powder and scented soap. I am leaving here to-day in hopes of some time reaching Vienna, where I expect to find an engagement at the opera house. I shall stop a few days on the road with some relatives of mine, honest shopkeepers. How strange is life! One day I sup with the greatest king in the world; the next I visit people who hang a bag of wool in one window and a hank of yarn in the other, to signify what they have to sell. I scorn, as you see, the common affectation of representing my family to be more important than it really is.
“I beg you both to hold me in remembrance, and I promise not to forget you. We shall meet again.
Rosa Ziska.”
The soap bore evident marks of having been pricked through with darning-needles, to make sure that neither files nor money were concealed inside. Nevertheless, as soon as they were locked up for the night Gavin and St. Arnaud proceeded to dissolve the soap in a basin of water by the light of the brilliant moon, which flooded their cells through the narrow window. They were rewarded by finding small scraps of paper, so cunningly laid inside the soap that a needle could pass through it without trouble. After carefully saving every scrap and drying them all, daylight revealed them to be, when pieced together, a bank-note for a hundred ducats and a map of the country around Glatz, showing, in particular, the road to the Bohemian mountains. Several villages on the route were marked by crosses, indicating it was safe to stop at them.
“And I thought she had forgotten us!” said Gavin remorsefully.
“Women, my dear boy, rarely desert us in misfortune. They carefully choose our time of prosperityto play the deuce. They are considerate even in tormenting us. One thing is sure about this particular woman, Madame Ziska—she thinks us a couple of enterprising fellows, and evidently expects us to escape, and I cannot bear to disappoint the expectations of a lady.”
“It seems to me,” said Gavin, “that for prisoners captured by the King’s own hand we have very little attention shown us by the commandant. He might have asked us to dinner, at least.”
The very next morning Pfels, the tall, thin adjutant, appeared with the compliments of General Kollnitz and an invitation to dinner at four o’clock. Pfels, who was a very civil, pleasant fellow, explained that this would have been done before, but that the commandant had been suffering from rheumatism, and had been obliged to keep his bed for some time past. His health, however, was now restored.
The invitation was promptly accepted, and then Gavin began to tease St. Arnaud to tell him the plan of escape in which the commandant figured. St. Arnaud good-naturedly refused, and then Gavin cried:
“But let us swear never to be divided from eachother, for I believe our chance of safety is increased tenfold by being together.”
St. Arnaud smiled; he read Gavin like a book, and saw that this pretense of finding safety together was only the heart of Gavin clinging to what it loved.
Precisely at a quarter to four Pfels appeared, and led them through a maze of corridors, stairs, and passages, to the commandant’s quarters. These were a handsome suite of rooms, directly on the sallyport.
On entering, they found General Kollnitz seated in a huge chair; he managed to rise from it, in spite of his vast bulk and stiff joints, to welcome his guests.
“You will find us a small party,” said he, “but the fact is we are very short of officers at present, the King having need of all that could be spared, and my military family is much reduced.”
Dinner was soon announced, and proved an excellent one. St. Arnaud exerted himself, as usual, to be agreeable, and he never failed at that. Gavin, too, recovered his spirits at the sight of a good dinner, and sent the fat general into roars of laughter by saying, when Frederick’s name was mentioned:
“And to think I should have been led, like agreat calf, out of that closet! Oh, I am afraid the King thinks me a wretched coward!”
The dinner passed pleasantly, and Gavin’s heart was made glad by a polite offer from General Kollnitz to forward letters for them. Gavin immediately began in thought a letter to his mother.
Evidences of vigilance and watchfulness on the part of the garrison were not wanting, even when the commandant and his adjutant were supposed to be taking their ease at dinner. Every hour Pfels was called into the anteroom to receive reports from every quarter of the fortress. About half-past eight o’clock the general, who had been talking gayly, suddenly stopped, laid his head back, and in a moment was slumbering peacefully. Pfels smiled and said: “That has been his habit for years. He is quite unconscious of it, though, and if you hint he has been asleep he grows very angry. He wakes of himself in a half hour or so, and goes back to what he was talking about when he dropped off. I was warned, when I was ordered here, that more aides had been sent back to their regiments for mentioning to the general that he had fallen asleep than one could count. It is quite the garrison joke.”
Sure enough, as Pfels said, the general wakedafter a while and resumed: “Gentlemen, as we were saying a moment ago, your letters should be ready to-morrow.” None of the young men as much as smiled.
At nine o’clock the rumbling of a carriage under the archway was heard.
“That is no new arrival,” remarked General Kollnitz. “The regulations require me to make the circuit of the fortress, inside and out, at nine o’clock every evening. My disabilities compel me to make the outer circuit in a carriage. But, let none think that the only inspection had is that of a gouty old gentleman, the rattling of whose carriage may be heard a mile off. That is merely perfunctory. Better legs and eyes than mine are on watch day and night. Not a prisoner has escaped since I have been here, and every deserter has been recaptured. On all three sides of the fortress a heavy siege-gun is kept loaded, and as soon as a prisoner or deserter is missed, those guns are fired, one immediately after the other. That gives notice, and arouses not only the garrison, but the town and the surrounding country. As I offer a handsome reward for every prisoner or deserter captured, the peasants and townspeople may be relied on for vigilance; and difficult as theescape is from the fortress, the real obstruction is outside and beyond the walls. I tell you this for your profit, because, being young and adventurous, you may tempt fate; and you will certainly fail unless you can get at least two hours’ start before your absence is discovered.”
Pfels then went to a press in the room, and took out a huge cloak and chapeau, which he placed upon the general; and, putting on his own cloak and hat, and calling an orderly to show the guests the way back to their cells, opened the door and carefully escorted the rheumatic old gentleman down a winding stair. Gavin and St. Arnaud heard the clank of muskets as the guard presented arms, and in another moment the carriage rolled under the sallyport.
The next day Gavin spent writing to his mother. He covered many pages, and when Pfels made his rounds that evening handed him the letter. It was well written and well expressed, and Gavin felt decidedly proud of his educational accomplishments. Pfels made a polite apology for being compelled to read the letter before sending it.
“Read it now,” cried Gavin.
Pfels glanced over it, and handed it back with a smile.
“Pardon me for calling your attention to a singular circumstance; you have not told your mother one word about yourself, as far as I have seen; it is all about your fellow-prisoner.”
“Oh!” cried Gavin with a blush. “Give me the letter,” and he added at the bottom: “Dear mother, forgive me for forgetting to tell you that I am very well. Your devoted son, G. H.”
So agreeable was the impression made by the two upon the commandant, that they were invited to dine with him constantly. Life in the fortress was monotonous to the officers, and the presence of interesting prisoners was a genuine resource to the commandant and Pfels. St. Arnaud and Gavin had by no means given up the thought of escape, in spite of the general’s well-meant warning; and as the prospect of exchange grew fainter, they dwelt the more upon the idea of getting away. Both of them realized the numerous difficulties they would encounter, even if they should be fortunate enough to get beyond the walls; yet that did not cause them to give up their hopes. One night, after they had been dining with the commandant and Pfels, and were returned to their cells, St. Arnaud whispered:
“Do you know, Gavin, I think you look somethinglike the general. Of course, you are not so large, but a couple of pillows, and the general’s cloak and hat—”
“What!” replied Gavin, in an indignant whisper; for this young man had no small opinion of his own comeliness of face and figure; and then suddenly stopping, he realized a hidden meaning in St. Arnaud’s words. The two conversed half the night in whispers; and when, toward morning, they dropped off asleep, St. Arnaud was saying: “All’s fair in war, as in love.”
They anxiously awaited another invitation to dine, and when the invitation and the day came they were ready for something more than a dinner with the general and Pfels. St. Arnaud had given Gavin half the money he had left; poor Gavin had only a few francs of his private’s pay remaining. Gavin carried the bank-note concealed about him, and St. Arnaud the map. Each had in his pocket his comb and soap and such poor preparations as could be made for flight; and each, on leaving the cell, gave a last look back, and knew that he would never enter it again, for before nine o’clock they meant to make a dash for liberty, and if they failed and were brought back, they would be consigned to a far more rigorous confinement.
General Kollnitz received them with his usual kindness, and Gavin felt a qualm at the thought of the perplexity and chagrin in which they were about to plunge the old gentleman. Liberty, however, was too dear to be forsworn; and they both knew it to be their duty, as well as their right, to make every effort to restore their services to their own country. Thoughts of the same kind had passed through St. Arnaud’s brain, and he had said to Gavin the night before:
“Our oath obliges us to do all in our power to annoy the enemy. Egad, we will annoy the enemy fearfully in this case—poor, dear old Kollnitz! I believe he will be more annoyed at having his record broken than at the loss of our valuable company; that is, if—” St. Arnaud made a significant pause.
Neither he nor Gavin indicated by the flutter of an eyelash that a moment of destiny was approaching. The short January twilight made candles necessary before dinner was half over, and then a heavy fog crept down the mountains, and enveloped town and fortress in a white and death-like mist. The ground was covered with snow, and General Kollnitz shivered as he said:
“Ugh! To take my rheumatism out a night like this!”
By what seemed a strange fatality the conversation turned on escapes from prison, and the general said frankly: “I pride myself not on the strength of my bolts and bars, but on the inability of an escaped prisoner or deserter to get beyond the radius in which he is sure to be captured. I believe it has been proved that human ingenuity can break through any bond which human ingenuity can devise. But under my system every peasant within ten miles is made a scout the instant the guns are fired; and the prospect of a hundred florins sharpens their wits amazingly.”
Gavin and St. Arnaud frankly agreed with him that the real difficulties existed outside rather than inside the prison.
Dinner over, the servants left the room, and pipes were produced; but St. Arnaud and Gavin had not acquired the practice of smoking, common even then among Prussian officers. General Kollnitz was a picture as he sat back, his huge form filling his chair, with a long pipe in front of him. Pfels was no less active and vigilant than ever; at six, seven, and eight o’clock he went into the anteroom to receive the report of the officer of theguard, and at nine he was to make the tour of the fortress with the commandant.
By eight o’clock the commandant was taking his usual doze. Pfels went out into the anteroom, and as soon as his back was turned Gavin rose and, taking a knife from the table, softly cut all the cords from the curtains and bell-ropes, and quickly rolled them into a pile, which he threw on the sofa, and carefully placed the sofa-cushions over them. Then he gently tried the handle of the closet door in which the general’s huge pelisse and hat and Pfels’ hat and cloak were kept, and, to his joy, all were hanging in their accustomed places. When Pfels returned he found St. Arnaud and Gavin still seated at the table, and apparently absorbed in a game of patience, while the commandant snored loudly.
“The commandant’s practice of going to sleep over his pipe is rather awkward with certain guests,” said Pfels, laughing and reseating himself at the table, “but nothing can change his habit. Luckily, I keep wide-awake enough for two.”
“We don’t object in the least to the commandant’s taking his ease, although we enjoy his company; but I observe, unlike most inert men, he keeps other people’s eyes open.”
The three young men continued to converse pleasantly until the hand of the clock pointed to ten minutes before nine. Then Gavin rose and, going to the window which was at Pfels’ back, peered out. The solid mass of the fortress, the town, the river, the snow-covered earth, all were wrapped in a white veil of fog, through which they loomed mysteriously. This cold and silvery mist brought with it silence as well as obscurity. All sounds were deadened, and the dim figures of the sentries, as they passed to and fro, were like ghosts, so noiseless were their steps. The thought came into Gavin’s mind, “The guns will not carry far to-night.” At that moment there was the slight commotion outside of relieving the guard, and Pfels said to St. Arnaud:
“My work for the day will soon be over. Bohm is officer in charge to-night, and I always feel particularly safe when he—”
The next instant Gavin pinioned him from behind, and St. Arnaud slipped a gag made of the playing-cards and a napkin into the poor adjutant’s mouth. He had not a moment to cry out, and could not utter an articulate sound; and the slight scuffle he was able to make, while his hands and feet were securely tied with bell cords by St. Arnaud,could not be heard outside the room. He was then blindfolded with a napkin, St. Arnaud saying:
“Sorry, dear Pfels, but, you know, it is a soldier’s duty to escape if he can, and you would do as much by me. You are one of the best fellows in the world”—here he fixed the gag more firmly in the mouth of poor Pfels, who groaned faintly—“and as you and the general often told us getting out of the fortress was nothing—we were certain to be caught within two hours—so, now, we will have a chance to test our respective theories.”
Pfels could only writhe about and wag his head violently; but they thought it as well to tie him to his chair, a precaution which they also took with the general, as he slumbered peacefully.
All was done in an almost inconceivably short time. They dared not turn the lock of the door for fear of awaking suspicion in the anteroom, but as no one would enter without knocking, they could safely count on a few minutes of time. St. Arnaud noiselessly opened the door of the press and got out the general’s best cloak and chapeau, while Gavin firmly tied a couple of sofa-pillows around his body; and when he had on the huge cloak, with the collar turned up to his eyes, and the chapeaupulled down over his ears, it was not a bad imitation of the general’s grotesque figure. St. Arnaud put on Pfels’ cloak and hat, and they looked at the clock and saw that they had yet five minutes to wait.
St. Arnaud went to the door of the anteroom, and kept his hand on the key, ready to turn it at a moment’s notice, while Gavin carried out the last detail of their carefully studied plan by stuffing bits of his handkerchief in the ears of Pfels and the commandant. They had then four minutes to wait for the carriage, and it was the longest interval of time that either one was ever to spend in his life.
The roll of the carriage was then heard, and in another moment they had softly opened the door that led to the stairs, and were going lightly down.
They came down so much quicker than the commandant usually did, that the orderly, who was standing on the pavement a little way off, did not have time to open the carriage door; St. Arnaud, however, saved him the trouble, and, as he ran forward, Pfels, as he thought, was just stepping into the carriage. The orderly put up the steps, jumped on the box, and the coachman drove through the sallyport, the orderly giving the countersign.