Outside the warm summer's night was giving place to the dawn of day. A cool morning breeze blew into the room, fluttering the curtains, and extinguishing the lamp's weak flame. It cooled the man's eyes and filled his lungs with fresh air.

Guentz drew himself up. He returned to the writing-table, placed the loose leaves carefully in order, and locked them in a drawer.

Right or wrong he would keep his word.

He scribbled a few words on a sheet of paper: "My Klaere, I love you unspeakably. You and the boy. Be brave!"

He glanced round to see where he should lay the paper. In the end he folded it up, and put it under a meteoric stone, shaped like a fungus, which during their honeymoon he had found on the sand-dunes of the Heligoland coast.

The servant knocked, and brought in the coffee. He had found the senior-lieutenant's bed untouched, and his face showed his surprise.

The coffee was too hot, but the water in the carafe was deliciously cold. Guentz damped his handkerchief and wiped the ravages of the night from his brow and eyes.

Then he went again to the window and the refreshing morning breeze. He was in good spirits. He felt as if nothing untoward could happen to him that day.

There was a sound of hoofs in the street outside. The groom had brought the brown mare. He held the animal before the garden gate and carefully took a piece of straw out of her mane.

Guentz told him to walk her quietly up and down. He must wait for Reimers, who would be sure to come directly.

Soon in between the measured paces of the led horse came the sound of a quicker step. Guentz recognised the fidgety trot for that of Reimers horse "Jay." He went out of the house and through the iron gate into the street.

"Morning, my boy!" he said, and offered his hand to Reimers. Then he mounted, and both trotted down the street in silence.

Once outside the town Guentz let his mare slow down. "We are in plenty of time," he said.

Suddenly he stopped and listened. A horse's trot and the rumbling of a carriage could be heard coming from the town.

"The others," said the senior-lieutenant. "Let us get on."

The pistol practice-ground lay half way up the incline upon a shelf-like terrace of the hillside, a smooth grassy space, surrounded on both sides by high bushes; at the lower end there was a shed built of strong boards, in which tools and targets were stored.

Guentz and Reimers dismounted at the shed, and fastened up their horses by the bridle. Reimers pressed his friend's hand once more, gazing at him with anxious eyes. He could not speak.

They stood side by side on the edge of the terrace, whence they could look down upon the country road in the valley below. A carriage was approaching, followed by three riders: Landsberg, little Dr. von Froeben, his second, and Gretzschel, who was brought chiefly to look after the horses.

The carriage stopped at the foot of the hill. Kauerhof got out, with the pistol cases in his hand, and after him the surgeon-major and his assistant, both with instrument cases. The three other men rode slowly behind them up the steep incline.

Before the shed, brief polite greetings were exchanged, Gretzschel remaining there with the horses.

There was a singular expression of shyness on the faces of all. One might have fancied that these men were assembled for some guilty purpose. Guentz alone looked frank and unembarrassed.

The prescribed attempts at reconciliation were unsuccessful. Guentz shook his head in refusal.

Then Kauerhof began to measure the distance. He had long legs, and he made the fifteen paces as lengthy as possible.

Just at this moment the sun rose above the mountains on the other side of the valley.

Kauerhof loaded the pistols, and the seconds carried them to their principals. Guentz nodded cheerfully to Reimers as he took his weapon.

The umpire then took up his position and convinced himself with a glance that all was prepared. The duellists were standing at their marked lines, the seconds at a little distance alongside of them. He took out his watch, and glancing at it said: "I shall count: ready, one, then three seconds; two, and again three seconds; then, stop! Between one and stop, the gentlemen may fire."

He glanced round once more. The four officers stood motionless in the clear light of the sun, Landsberg sideways, Guentz with his broad chest facing his opponent. The junior surgeon wiped the moisture from his brow; Andreae tugged nervously at his hair.

The umpire counted.

Landsberg raised his pistol at once and fired. Guentz heard the bullet whizz past on his left. He had directed his barrel a little to the side of his opponent's shoulder, and pressed the trigger. The shot missed fire. He had forgotten to cock the pistol.

The second attempt at reconciliation was also unsuccessful.

Again Kauerhof gave the word.

Guentz saw Landsberg's pistol aimed directly at his breast. Then Landsberg looked up, and for the hundredth part of a second caught his opponent's gaze.

Landsberg's aim was unerringly directed on his man, when suddenly his hand began to shake, and he fired blindly, just as he heard Guentz's bullet whistle past him.

Guentz stood unharmed, a happy smile on his good-natured, open face.

Reimers hastened up to him and seized his hand. He would have liked to throw his arms round the dear fellow's neck.

Now the reconciliation took place, and when the opponents shook hands Landsberg's glance fell before the honest eyes of the senior-lieutenant.

All traces of embarrassment vanished from the men's faces. There were sighs of relief, and hearty congratulations; the two doctors packed up their grisly instruments again; all were anxious to get away, and to report the fortunate result of the duel to their comrades. Reimers was on his horse and already starting off at a trot, when Guentz called to him: "Where are you going in such a hurry?"

And Reimers shouted back gaily: "The colonel's waiting. 'Three crosses,' my orders say!"

The senior-lieutenant rode slowly down. He himself had plenty of time to spare. It was only ten minutes after the half hour, and it was not until six o'clock that he was due at the tactical exercises.

The carriage and the three riders overtook him. Dr. von Froeben and Gretzschel greeted him with candid joy in their faces; Landsberg was a little stiff. The surgeon-major blew him a kiss from the carriage. Guentz responded cordially, and continued at his leisurely pace.

The colonel was looking out into the street from his high summer-house in the garden. Reimers recognised him from a distance, and as nothing better occurred to him he took off his cap and waved it in the air.

Falkenhein checked him energetically when he was preparing to dismount. "Stay where you are! Stay where you are!" he cried. "So all has gone well?"

"Yes, sir," answered Reimers, still out of breath with his quick ride.

The colonel heaved a sigh of relief.

"I am glad; very, very glad!" he said.

In the barrack-yard Gaehler was waiting for his master. He handed him his helmet and bandolier and took the forage-cap in exchange.

The battery was ready to move on. Reimers set his horse to a short gallop and rode up to Guentz. "I beg to report myself, sir," he said. Guentz nodded to him smilingly, and gave the words of command in his clear, resonant voice.

In the midst of the exercises two riders suddenly approached from the town. At first it was difficult to recognise them in the thick dust; but Sergeant-major Heppner announced that he saw the colonel's big sorrel horse. It was in fact the colonel and his adjutant.

Guentz galloped up to them and gave his report.

Falkenhein thanked him.

"I only wanted to watch you for a little," he said simply. And his eyes shone joyfully on seeing the officer he had learnt to love stand unhurt before him.

He approached the battery and greeted them with his powerful voice: "Good morning, sixth battery!"

And the many-voiced reply was shouted back: "Good morning, sir!"

Falkenhein rode slowly along the ranks, taking stock of everything with his sharp eyes; then he spoke: "Senior-lieutenant Guentz, be kind enough to continue!"

It was a lucky day. Everything went like clockwork; there was not a hitch, not the smallest oversight.

At the conclusion of the exercises the colonel ordered the officers and non-commissioned officers to come to him. His criticism contained nothing but approbation, and he crowned his praise by saying: "I rejoice that the sixth battery, though under new leadership, has again proved its excellence. And I am proud of commanding a regiment to which belong such admirable officers and non-commissioned officers and such a faultlessly trained battery."

He shook hands with Guentz, and whispered to him softly: "I rejoice doubly—threefold—a hundredfold, my dear Guentz."

Guentz gave the order to march.

He rode thoughtfully beside Reimers at the head of the battery. The colonel's unstinted praise was a great joy to him; but besides that he had found a still higher prize: for the first time during many months he had a heartfelt conviction of his vocation as an officer. He had done his duty this morning as if rejuvenated; all doubts had left him, and it did not seem as if a tinge of bitterness remained behind.

He thought of all those written sheets which he had locked in his desk during the night. When had he found his way through the wood? At the writing-table, or here in the rye-stubble in which the tracks of the gun-carriage wheels had made deep ruts?

Well, in any case he had done right not to break away suddenly from the time of probation on which he himself had determined; for it was certainly strange how a calm, stead-fast man, such as he believed himself to be, could be so swayed backwards and forwards in opposite directions in such a short time. During the night he had been firmly resolved to retire; a few hours later this step seemed an impossibility to him.

Was there really so little, then, in his imagined calmness and steadfastness?

But he was glad that the time of probation, though not shortened, would, on the other hand, not have to be extended. He would command the battery for a year; by then he must have made his decision.

And for to-day he was determined to put no check on his joy and good humour.

Frau Klaere wondered at her husband, who would not leave her a moment in peace with his teasing and nonsense, and even waked the baby up from a sound sleep.

And Guentz stood beaming before the mother and child, laughing heartily at the angry howl set up by his little son, and lighted his cigar with a spill until the whole piece of paper was reduced to a cinder.

He had made that spill out of the farewell note he had placed under the fungus-like letterweight.



CHAPTER X

"Morning red, morning red, Light me to my dying bed!" (Hauff.)

Room IX. was still to remain "aristocratic"—as Weise satirically remarked—even after Baron Walther von Frielinghausen had moved over to the non-commissioned officers' quarters. A few days before the regiment left for the man[oe]uvres, Count Egon Plettau arrived and took possession of Frielinghausen's locker.

All kinds of wild reports had been circulating in the battery about Plettau. Judging from these he appeared to be a perfect terror. A lieutenant who had had his ears boxed, and a sergeant who had been flung against a wall, played the chief part in these reports. But, as a matter of fact, of the whole battery only Heppner and the senior non-commissioned officers knew the mad count personally, and during the five years' detention in a fortress that Plettau had had to undergo, two sets of recruits had already come and gone without having made his acquaintance.

The inmates of Room IX. expected to see a pale man, bent and bowed with long imprisonment; but the new comrade bore a tolerably healthy appearance, and had a good-tempered, friendly face.

The count was handled very tenderly by the non-commissioned officers. They had received an intimation that as far as their duty permitted they were to do all they could to enable this child of misfortune at last to complete his military service.

Count Egon Plettau received these attentions with calm complacency. "Children," he used to say—for so it was his habit to address his comrades—"people know quite well that they owe me respect. To have been eight years accomplishing a two-years' term of service, and not to have finished it yet—that is a performance that cannot be sufficiently appreciated. Really, I ought to be shown at a fair! Strive, therefore, to follow my example!"

He looked forward to the man[oe]uvres with a real and almost child-like pleasure; for, in spite of his eight years' service, he had never taken part in them. "Something" had always come in the way.

Even Guentz had often to bite his lips to keep himself from laughing at Plettau's absurdities. He, too, had been curious to make the acquaintance of the notorious gunner-count, and he, too, was agreeably surprised. Plettau seemed to him to be a very good fellow, terribly frivolous, no doubt, but not bad by any means. He was glad to find he had not been mistaken in his judgment: viewed impartially, the cause of Plettau's first two acts of insubordination had been malice on the part of his superior almost amounting to cruelty; and even the last five years had been added to his term of imprisonment simply because he had knocked down a sergeant who was proved to have ill-treated a comrade. All things considered, the gay placidity of temper with which the count had borne his fate was really remarkable.

For the autumn man[oe]uvres the men and horses were all redistributed to serve the various guns. Vogt and Klitzing remained in their places, and for the rest gun six was served as follows:

Gun Six.

(Horses) Gun-leader Corporal Vertler Christine Lead-driver Driver Nowack Zenobia, Egon Centre-driver Driver Inoslavsky Viper, Eidechse Wheel-driver Bombardier Sickel Turk, Cavalier Gunners Count Plettau, Wolf, Truchsess, Klitzing, Vogt.

The leader of the third column was Ensign Gysinger, who had just joined the regiment from the Military Academy, and had exchanged with Lieutenant Landsberg, transferred to the first battery. Heimert had for the first time taken over the distribution of the horses. But when Heppner saw how the six horses for gun six had been placed, he shook his head.

"That won't do," said he to Heimert. "The lead and centre horses are all right, but the wheel-driver must have another beast under him. The Turk is too old; especially as gun six has always the longest way to go on the march."

"That's just what I told the captain," put in Heimert. "It's all Wegstetten's doing. I wanted Cyrus for the wheel, and old Turk for the baggage-waggon, but as the other five are light bays, Wegstetten insisted on having the Turk, That's why he has put Sickel on him, our best driver. He thought he'd make him go at any rate, if the worst came to the worst."

Heppner remained thoughtful. At last he said, "Yes; but then old Turk hasn't much more go left in him. Don't you think we could arrange it differently?"

"No," answered the deputy sergeant-major; "you know that when Wegstetten has once got a thing into his head there's nothing more to be done."

The sergeant-major shrugged his shoulders. "We two, at any rate," he said, "won't have the responsibility. I only hope it will turn out all right! We've got some damned hilly country for the man[oe]uvres this time, as it happens. One part lies close to the frontier, and is over 2000 feet high. Downright mountain-artillery I call it!" he growled in conclusion. But it was impossible to oppose the express orders of the captain.

On August 30 the battery was ready in the barrack square at six o'clock in the morning to start for the man[oe]uvres.

Shortly after reveille various rumours had been current in the stables and in the barrack-rooms that something had happened at the Heppners'; and just as the men were getting into their places the news spread from one to the other that the sergeant-major's wife was dead. As this was a private and personal matter, it could not give cause for the slightest delay. Heppner, of course, remained at home for the funeral, and Kaeppchen meanwhile took over his duties as sergeant-major. However, it considerably damped the spirits of the men in setting out; and a fine rain which began to fall did not tend to restore their good humour. The sixth battery marched just behind the corps of trumpeters; but the inspiriting strains of the Hohenfriedberger March were entirely out of harmony with the moody faces of the men and the dismal weather.

Klitzing again sat next to Vogt on the limber of gun six. How unlike the day on which they had started for the gun-practice at Whitsuntide!

"It's a bad beginning," said he to his friend; and half to himself he added, "Who knows how it will end?"

The rain gradually became heavier, and at the first halt the colonel ordered the men to put on their cloaks. The gunners, huddled up in their seats, kept fairly dry; but the riders got their high boots full of water, so that as they went up and down in their saddles their feet splashed with a sound like butter in a churn. During the longest halt the drivers lay on their backs in the grass, and as they stretched their legs up in the air, the water trickled down out of their boots in streams.

The man[oe]uvres began, and continued their course, one day very much like another, only the scene changing. The brigade would assemble in the early morning. Cavalry scouts told off for the purpose, had generally gone on in advance and sent back their reports. These hussars or Uhlans were marvellously clever fellows, who never failed to find out the enemy. Then the advance-guard was set in motion, and after a certain time the main body followed. The batteries were usually ordered to the front during the march. If they reached the scene of action unnoticed by the enemy and wanted to open fire upon him unawares, the men had to crawl almost on all-fours in line; then there was a mad gallop forwards over hedges and ditches when they found themselves within range of the hostile fire; and when the gunners were almost jolted out of their seats the men of the infantry would burst into loud peals of laughter as they lay sideways on the ground. It was all very well for them to laugh then; but when the man[oe]uvres were over, and they were on the march back to their quarters, they cast envious glances at the artillerymen as they took their seats and were driven home on their hard-seated chariots.

In the skirmishes, too, during the man[oe]uvres, it was the artillery who got the best of it. The infantry had to be always on the march, then firing off their blank cartridges either stooping or lying down, and at last making a bayonet charge on the disorganised foe. The batteries, on the other hand, generally remained in the same position, and only now and then fired a shot, reserving their ammunition for doings on a larger scale during the last few days of the man[oe]uvres. In this way they had a splendid view of the fighting, and could quietly look on as the dark lines of rifles approached nearer and nearer; or when an officer commanding a squadron of cavalry, thirsting for fame, made an impossible, but very daring attack.

On off-days Vogt lent a sturdy helping hand in gathering in the harvest. It delighted him to be able, as of old, to reach up and put the sheaves on the top of the well-loaded waggons, and to find that he could still wield a scythe with the same vigorous strokes, mowing the scanty second crop of grass on the mountain meadows just as close to the ground as ever. While Klitzing lay down after his exertions and rested his weary limbs, Vogt would spend hours over such field-work; and the fatigue after this heaven-blest labour was far more grateful to him than the idle, lazy time a soldier often enjoys directly the arduous period of his early training is over. In the evenings after bugle-call, out he would go again to mow a strip of grass before dusk; and when returning, scythe on shoulder to the court-yard of his quarters, he would sometimes quite forget that he still wore the uniform of a soldier.

The sight of the various couples who, lovingly entwined, promenaded the green lanes, suddenly appearing and as suddenly disappearing behind the thick hedges, would recall him to actuality. He would then bethink him how odd it seemed that he himself cared so little about womenfolk, Now and then a pretty fresh girl would take his fancy, and he might have liked well enough to take her face between his hands and give her a hearty kiss; but he was too bashful, and he felt no desire to put himself under the tutelage of the painted ladies of the garrison town who smiled so engagingly at all the lads. The rough village maidens suited him better; but one evening he had an experience which raised grave doubts in his mind as to the virtue of even those rustic beauties.

A woman's voice shrieking for help had suddenly resounded from a little shady hollow not far from where Vogt was strolling, smoking his evening pipe. He instantly ran forward, crying out in clear tones the first words that came into his head: "Halt! halt! Who goes there?" Drawing nearer he saw first a couple of soldiers in hasty flight through the trees, and afterwards a curious something which he could not at once make out.

When he came closer he discovered that some of his comrades had been playing off one of their jokes upon a village girl. They had gathered up her skirts above her head and tied them together with string; this they called "making a tulip." She was running round in a comical enough fashion, her lower limbs being entirely exposed, as she wore no under-clothes; while her arms and the upper part of her body were imprisoned in the woollen skirts, whence issued her muffled protests.

Vogt said, very politely: "Wait; I will set you free;" and pulling out his knife, cut the string, whereupon the petticoats fell down, and a touzled head made its appearance. The girl hid her face in her hands, as if ashamed; but through her fingers she peeped expectantly up at the soldier. Then she let her hands fall, making manifest her hard and coarse but yet undeniable beauty; and her rather large, full mouth smiled tenderly at the gunner.

But the doughty champion stood dumb and unresponsive; so after a moment the girl swung sharply round, muttering "Stupid ass!" and departed through the gathering dusk.

It was on the Monday of the third week after leaving the garrison that the two divisions of the army-corps began man[oe]uvring against each other. The troops, now doubled in number, presented a gay and lively picture as they assembled at the meeting-place in the brilliant sunshine. Summer seemed to have returned that day for a short while, so hot were the rays that poured down upon the earth from the deep-blue vault of heaven. The heat, however, was not oppressive, modified as it was by the cool mountain breezes.

The sixth battery of the 80th Regiment, Eastern Division Field Artillery, had been told off to join the advance-guard, and was awaiting the signal to start. Gunners and drivers stood behind the guns, or close to the horses, all ready to mount at the word of command. Vogt was lost in amazement at Klitzing's demeanour, for he had never seen his friend in such high spirits. His eyes shone and his cheeks were slightly flushed. Vogt thought to himself what a good-looking fellow the clerk was with this touch of animation. His appearance had certainly been much improved by soldiering. Vogt was quite pleased; shaking his finger good-naturedly at him, "Hullo, Heinrich!" he asked, "haven't you been liquoring up a bit on the sly? or is this one of your lucky days?"

And Klitzing answered, "Ah! I feel to-day—I don't know myself how I feel. I feel so strong, so well—I that am usually so shaky, I feel as if some great piece of luck were going to happen to me to-day. Do you know, if I had ever felt like this at home I should have bought a lottery ticket and should certainly have won the biggest prize!"

"Well," rejoined Vogt, "mind you don't miss the opportunity the next time such a day comes!"

The clerk shook his head. "Ah, no!" he returned; "such days only come once, and then never again. I shall just have to give up the Great Prize and die a poor devil. But it's good to feel so jolly for once!"

He took Vogt by the shoulders and looked into his face with happy eyes.

Suddenly, a gruff voice called out from beyond the horses: "You fellows have far too good a time of it! I don't know what you're always grinning about!"

Bombardier Sickel was looking round at them with a surly expression, and he shook his head contemptuously. He, being a driver, did not think much of the gunners. What an easy life fellows like them had! While he—what had he not got to see to? He went up to his team and looked anxiously at Turk, the horse he was to ride. With drooping head the gelding stood there limp and spiritless. He had refused his food that morning. What could one do mounted on a sick wheeler? Sickel had told the gun-leader about this; but it was too late to replace the horse, as the baggage-waggon was already under weigh. Poor Turk must do for to-day somehow.

The advance-guard began to move, a battalion of infantry in front, then the battery, and behind it the two other battalions of the regiment. They made their way upwards from the bottom of the valley along a moderately steep road, on each side of which was very hilly ground.

They had proceeded for about an hour or more when at last the cavalry-scouts bringing further orders were seen returning; coming not from in front but from the left, down a hill covered with undergrowth. They seemed in a great hurry, and their horses were covered with foam. The fore-most portion of the advance-guard at once, therefore, wheeled round, and leaving the road took the nearest way up the hill: a steep zig-zag, and a stiff piece of work. The gun-teams strained every muscle and took short, quick steps, trying to overcome the weight of the guns. Sergeant-major Heppner, who was riding behind the last gun, growled out: "I tell you, it's downright mountain artillery, this!" and he trotted a few steps on in front to find out how the Turk was getting on. The light bay was panting with exhaustion and dripping with sweat. Heppner scratched his head: little more could be expected of the poor beast that day. But worse was to come.

The battery had scarcely accomplished the climb up the hill when the order came to form line. A gentle slope of even ground had still to be covered, and the battery was to get into position as quickly as possible behind the crest of the hill. The words of command rang out in quick succession: "Trot!" and "Gallop!" The ensign wheeled his column much too far to the right, just where the lie of the land was steepest; and Corporal Vertler, the leader of gun six, thinking it too near, took a circuit twice as great as was necessary. To get to the crest of the hill in this way was utterly impossible.

Heppner looked anxiously across. With swift determination he gave over his duties as sergeant-major to Sergeant Wiegandt, then galloped to the right flank to try and mend matters somehow if possible. But the disaster had already begun.

Gun six had from a gallop dropped into a trot, and from a trot into a walk. At last the six horses could not drag the gun one inch further.

The ground was covered with smooth coarse grass that gave the horses very little foothold. Trembling and snorting, the animals just managed to support the weight of the gun, while, straining forwards and pawing the ground, they tried to get a firmer footing. The gunners had got down, and grasping the spokes of the wheels did what they could to assist.

The sergeant-major kept close by and tried especially to egg on the wheel-driver.

"Buck up, Sickel!" he cried. "Show us what you can make of this! You want to be thought our best driver, and you can't get up a little hill like this! Get on! Put your back into it!"

The bombardier almost hung on the Turk's neck so as to release the weight on his haunches, while the gun actually moved forward two or three fractions of an inch. But suddenly Turk's hind legs gave way under him, the animal collapsed and slid down upon the slippery ground.

The jerk caused by the fall made the other five horses also lose their hold. They began to tread backwards.

"Put on the dag-chain!" roared Heppner.

Vogt darted forward, quick as lightning, and slung the chain on the spokes of the wheel. It bore the strain for a moment, then there was a sharp metallic sound: the chain had snapped.

The gun began to roll down the hill, faster and faster, dragging the six powerless horses behind it. One after the other they stumbled, slipped down, and were whirled away, kicking wildly, or entangled in the drag-ropes.

The sergeant-major swore a terrible oath when he saw what had happened. Springing from his horse he threw the reins to Plettau, who was standing near, and ran down the hill. Chance had prevented the worst from happening. At the upper edge of the precipice there was a hollow where formerly stones may have been broken after having been quarried below; the surface was now level, and here the gun had come to a standstill.

But the scene was terrible enough. The six horses lay together in a heap. Again and again they tried to raise themselves, but in such close proximity one hindered the other. Amidst the panting and snorting of the frantic animals could be heard the groans of Sickel, who was lying somewhere under one of them.

Heppner had recovered his self-possession in a moment. He called the four gunners to him, and was himself the first to jump down into the hollow. Vertler, the gun-leader, was close by on his horse, but scarcely seemed able to grasp what had happened. Heppner caught sight of Sickel at once. He lay with his left leg under the Turk's body, and was shielding himself behind the neck of the gelding to avoid being struck by the hoofs of the centre horse, who was kicking furiously.

"Here! Vogt and Truchsess!" commanded Heppner. "We'll pull him out." They grasped the bombardier under the arms and tried to drag him out from under the horse. But it was not so easy, and at the very moment when they stooped for a second attempt, one of the lead horses made a sudden movement which knocked Vogt down. The gunner got entangled in the drag-ropes and could not get up again.

Eidechse, the centre horse, again began to kick. She had a yawning wound in the buttock from which the blood streamed, and she writhed, mad with pain. Lying on her back she turned herself to and fro, and the gleaming iron shoes flashed nearer and nearer to Vogt's head, at last striking him so that his helmet flew off and the blood gushed from beneath his fair, close-cropped hair.

Klitzing saw the increasing peril, and of a sudden flung himself blindly beneath the infuriated, plunging hoofs.

Like lightning it had flashed across his brain how Vogt had once shed his blood for him. Was not this the time to show his gratitude? This was perhaps the object of his existence to save the life of that other, stronger than he. And was not this his lucky day? He felt in him the strength of a giant. Yes, he would stop those terrible hoofs until his friend could get free. And in an ecstasy of confidence he threw himself like a shield between his friend and danger.

The next moment he had received a furious kick in the side. He was hurled to a distance, and fell lifeless to the ground.

Vogt in the meanwhile had freed himself and risen quickly, only to turn faint a moment later. He sat down on the hill-side and supported his aching head in his hands.

Again the sergeant-major swore violently. In despair he looked up for a moment from the terrible medley and noted the gun-leader still staring down into the hollow with vacant eyes.

"You fellow!" he shouted, "it's no time to go to sleep, at any rate!" With admirable clearness he gave his orders: "Ride as fast as your beast will go, and fetch the doctor and the veterinary surgeon! And ambulance-orderlies as well!" And immediately afterwards he added: "And send the team belonging to gun five here, and report the mess we're in!" For the service must not suffer, and the gun should be brought up to the line of fire as soon as possible.

The corporal galloped away and was soon out of sight.

Heppner now approached the entangled heap of bodies from the other side. He then set himself to extricate the lead horses from the different parts of the harness that trammeled them, and helped them to get up. They appeared to be uninjured, shook themselves and moved restlessly to and fro. He made the lead-driver take them to one side, and then turned to the centre horses. Inoslavsky gave him a helping hand. The near centre horse was uninjured, but Eidechse had a gaping wound in the buttock. Wolf had to hold her by the snaffle, and found it difficult to manage her. The near wheeler got up readily; but the Turk, beneath whose body Sickel was writhing in agony, was badly hurt. The near hind fetlock seemed to be crushed. At last the gelding managed to raise himself a little on his fore-legs, and at the same moment Truchsess dragged out the wheel-driver from under the saddle. Sickel made a weak attempt to stand up, but fell back in a swoon.

The sergeant-major wiped the perspiration from his brow. Damnation! That had been a bad piece of work! He looked round him: three men and two horses knocked out of time. Well, it might have been even worse.

Klitzing's was the most serious case. The clerk still lay there motionless, and only the blood-stained froth at his mouth, stirring as he breathed, showed there was still life in the motionless body. The sergeant-major went up to the unconscious man and carefully placed his head on the haversack. He had never been able to endure this sickly fellow, but, by Jove, what he had done that day was first-class! It was grand! Would he never recover from his swoon? Heppner took a brandy-flask from his saddle-bag, and gently moistened the gunner's forehead with the spirit. He tried to force a drop between his lips, but in vain; there was no sound or movement in response.

The sergeant-major looked impatiently for some sign of the doctor's arrival. The other two wounded men seemed in less serious case. The bombardier regained consciousness as the brandy touched his lips; he took a good mouthful, and answered the sergeant-major's question as to his condition with: "All right, sir. Only my left leg feels a bit queer. I must have given it a wrench."

Vogt even tried to stand up and assume the regulation attitude in speaking to the sergeant-major but he staggered back again, and said faintly that his head was going round, otherwise there was nothing wrong with him.

From the heights above was now heard the sound of horses' hoofs and the clanking of harness. It was Corporal Vertler with the team belonging to gun five; he announced that a trumpeter had gone to find a doctor, and that the ambulance-orderlies would soon be here.

The sergeant-major had now no more time to bestow on the wounded men, who could be left to wait for the doctor. He busied himself with the harnessing of the gun.

Vogt leaned against the slope of the hill, resting his dizzy head in his hands.

The blood trickled through his fingers and dropped upon his knees. Although he tried to think it all over, he could not understand what had happened to him. The horse had kicked him on the forehead—that much he was able to recollect, and he also clearly remembered that afterwards he had again seen the hoof coming in his direction; but from that moment his memory was a blank.

Sliding and slipping, the hospital-orderly now came hurrying down the hill. He saw that three men were lying there; two of them had their eyes open, but not the third, so he addressed himself to the latter. He gave him ether to smell, tried to administer a stimulant, and moistened his forehead. He unfastened and opened his coat and shirt, and slapped the palms of his hands. All in vain; but at least the poor devil still breathed, though with a gurgling and rattling in his chest.

The orderly then turned to the two others. He gave Vogt a piece of medicated cotton-wool to press on his wound, put the bottle of cordial to his lips and made him drink. Vogt took a good mouthful; the liquid tasted acid and refreshing, and cleared his head wonderfully.

Sickel declined the draught with impatience. "Get away with your slops, you bone-breaker!" he said; "but if you've got any brandy I'll have it."

The hospital-orderly had none. "Well, what's the matter with you, then?" he asked.

"Something's wrong with my pins," answered the driver, and pointed to his leg.

"Is that it?" said the orderly. "You don't seem very bad on the whole. But what's wrong with this one? I can't get him to come to," and he pointed to the motionless form of Klitzing.

"Perhaps cold water would bring him round," said Sickel. "Down there to the left there must be a stream. You can hear it running."

"Then I'll just go down there," returned the orderly. He laid the bottle of cordial at Vogt's feet and climbed down through the brushwood.

Vogt slowly raised his head and looked about him in surprise. The draught had revived him wonderfully. Where was he? A horse was standing near him bleeding from a gaping wound in the flank. Not far off lay one of his comrades stretched out like a corpse, and pale as death, with eyes closed and blood-stained froth on his lips. Why, it was Klitzing! He clutched at his forehead, and all at once the curtain that had clouded his memory parted. He realised what had happened after he had seen the hoof coming in the direction of his skull. A dark body had thrown itself between him and the glistening iron—and then the blow had been struck. There had been a terrible, hollow sound, and then—then that body had been hurled into the air.

Suddenly he understood it all: Klitzing had sacrificed himself for him, his friend had saved him from the death-dealing blow of that iron-shod hoof, and there he now lay upon the grass, pale, unconscious—perhaps dead.

At this moment the unconscious man's eyelids opened at last with difficulty, his dull gaze went searching round, then rested upon Vogt with an expression of boundless devotion. Vogt darted to the clerk's side, threw himself down, and took the pale face between his hands.

"Heinrich!" he cried. "My dear good Heinrich! What have you done for me?"

Bright tears ran down his cheeks, and through his sobs he could only stammer again and again: "Heinrich! my dear good fellow!"

Klitzing tried to speak. His lips moved slightly, but no word came from them. A feeble hand was raised to his friend's shoulder, stroked it languidly, then fell heavily back. Again the eyes closed and remained shut, although Vogt went on earnestly begging and praying: "Heinrich! Heinrich! Tell me what is the matter! Can't I help you?"

Sickel gazed thoughtfully at the two friends. He remembered the moment of departure, and how gay and merry the two gunners had been together. Suddenly he turned his head to one side and listened.

"The doctor is coming," he said.

Immediately afterwards the portly assistant medical-officer, Rademacher, came down into the hollow. "Well, what is the matter here?" he asked.

He turned first of all to the driver, but Sickel motioned him away; "Excuse me, sir, but there's plenty of time for me. The other man there needs you more."

Rademacher bent down over Klitzing. When he saw the blood-stained froth on the lips his face involuntarily put on a grave expression. He laid his ear to the chest and listened for a long time.

"What happened to the man?" he inquired.

Vogt pointed to Eidechse, who was gazing across at them with dull eyes, and answered: "She kicked him in the chest."

"Badly?"

"Yes, sir. He threw himself between, so that I should not be kicked again."

The fat doctor looked up surprised. This was an unusually touching incident in the rough life of a soldier. He saw the tears in the young man's honest eyes, and he understood.

"Then you were great friends?"

"Yes, sir. And—and—how is he now?"

Rademacher looked hesitatingly down at the mortally wounded man, and answered evasively: "Well—we must wait and see."

Once more he listened to the breathing, then stood up. According to his diagnosis the injured man had but a few hours to live, at the most—perhaps even only minutes.

"Has he recovered consciousness at all?" he asked.

"Yes, sir; but only for a very short time."

The doctor shrugged his shoulders.

"But what's wrong with you?" he said, turning to the bombardier.

"My leg's rather queer, sir. Old Turk fell on it, and it's sprained, I suppose. But I expect you can soon put it right, sir."

Rademacher removed the driver's riding-trousers with the aid of the hospital-orderly.

His examination was soon over.

"You have a double fracture of the thigh," he said. "But we'll soon set it for you."

Sickel listened open-mouthed.

"Then I shall be ready to leave when I get my discharge?" he inquired.

The medical officer smiled. "No, my friend, it will take from four to six weeks."

This was too much for the driver, and he grumbled loudly. He would cheerfully have been more hurt, although, as it was, he had had a narrow shave—but not to be able to get his discharge—it was hard lines indeed!

Meanwhile the ambulance-orderly had put a bandage round Vogt's head. Rademacher gazed thoughtfully down on Klitzing. At last he turned away; it was a hopeless case. He sent the trumpeter, who had come with him for an ambulance-waggon. He had seen one standing in the road not far off.

Restlessly he walked up and down, trying to shorten the time of waiting. Every time he passed the clerk he looked at the lips through which still came that heavy breathing. It was a perfect marvel that the man still lived. Three ribs were broken, and they had wounded the lung so severely that a violent haemorrhage had ensued.

Four stretcher-bearers came down the hill at last, carrying two stretchers. Klitzing was first placed on one of them.

"Where is he to go?" asked the foremost stretcher-bearer. Rademacher considered a moment, and then answered:

"Up yonder, right on the brow of the hill, there's a farm, manor-house, or something of the sort. Take him there. On my responsibility."

The stretcher-bearers set out, Vogt joining them. The doctor had nodded assent to his beseeching glance.

Sickel was just going to be carried away when two veterinary surgeons arrived to look after the injured horses.

"Beg pardon, sir," said the driver, "but I should like so much to know what's wrong with my beast."

Rademacher told the stretcher-bearers to wait. The case of the horse was diagnosed as quickly as that of the rider. The vet. raised himself and said to his colleague: "The off hind-pastern is fractured."

"Can anything be done?" asked the driver.

The other shrugged his shoulders: "No, it's all up with him," he said.

Sickel looked across at the Turk. "Poor old fellow!" he muttered to himself. Then he made them carry him up to the bay's head, and gently took hold of the tuft of hair on his forehead, caressing him. Turk raised himself with difficulty, and rubbed his nose against his driver's leg. Then the bombardier turned himself impatiently on to the other side, and cried to the stretcher-bearers to make haste. "Now get me away quickly!" Turk gazed after the stretcher with his large, mournful eyes, and as it disappeared behind the edge of the declivity he snorted piteously.

Soon after the hollow was just as peaceful and deserted as it had been early that morning, with blackbirds building their nests in the wild luxuriance of the beech-trees. But the grass and the bushes were trampled down everywhere; the spot looked like the scene of a fight, and in the middle of the battle-field lay the carcase of poor Turk. Late that evening some soldiers came with lifting apparatus and took the ponderous dead beast to the nearest knacker's yard.

When Vogt and the stretcher-bearers had climbed to the top of the hill and saw the building to which the doctor had directed them, they stopped short. Dr. Rademacher had spoken of a manor-house or farm; but what they saw before them looked more like a castle. However, as there was not another roof to be seen near or far, they could not be making any mistake.

The stretcher-bearers looked through a gate surmounted by a count's coronet, and saw the front door of the building. Not a sign of life was anywhere visible. Vogt pulled the bell; but a considerable time elapsed before there was any movement on the other side of the grating. Just as he was about to ring a second time, a white-haired old woman appeared on the threshold of the door at the top of the front steps. She was dressed like any other old peasant woman of the neighbourhood. She walked slowly to the gate along the paved pathway, a bunch of keys in her hand.

One of the soldiers addressed her:

"Tell us, please, can you give this man here a bed, and let us have one for another as well? They have both met with an accident, and for the present cannot be moved any further."

The old woman looked at the unconscious corpse-like form on the stretcher for a time without speaking, then said, in a tranquil voice:

"Oh, yes, there is room enough here."

She unlocked the gate, and let Vogt and the stretcher-bearers in.

"Where is the other?" she then asked; and the soldier answered: "He will soon follow."

The woman nodded silently. She locked the gate behind them, and then turned towards a wing of the building. The stretcher-bearer, walking close behind her, whispered: "This one won't be a burden to you long. The end must soon come." Again the old woman gazed thoughtfully at the face that looked so deathly pale on the grey linen cushion of the stretcher. She hesitated; then all at once she turned right round and went up the front steps of the main building. "We can find him a bed here," she murmured. The three soldiers stepped into a lofty hall. A softened, mellow light from without fell through a stained-glass window, and the floor was paved with shining tiles, on which the soldiers' nail-studded boots clattered discordantly. Vogt and the other two men opened their eyes in wonder; but the woman went on further, threw wide open two high folding-doors, and ushered them into a spacious room. "I will bring sheets," she said, and did not herself enter.

The stretcher-bearers put down their burden and gave a deep breath, gazing round them in surprise. The room was square. The bright daylight streamed in through two windows that reached to the ceiling. The floor was beautifully inlaid with wood of different colours, and carved oak panelling covered the walls. Against a side wall stood a broad, low bed, over which a faded quilted silk coverlet was spread, and there was a carved wooden canopy fixed to the wall above, from which curtains had formerly hung. The design of the wood-work was surmounted by a royal crown.

The old woman soon returned with a pair of fine snow-white linen sheets.

"He's to go in there?" asked the soldier, pointing to this bed of state. She assented with a nod of the head, and made haste to prepare the bed, which she had ready in a few moments.

The loud, clear sound of the bell was heard once more. "That's the other one," said the soldier; and the woman left the room with her quiet, shuffling steps.

The two stretcher-bearers now began to undress Klitzing with their practised hands, and the clerk was soon lying beneath the silken coverlet, the royal crown over his head. Then one of the men asked: "What shall we do now?" and the other answered: "Well, we'd better go back to the ambulance waggon, anyhow. The doctor will have arrived by this time. You can stop here," he said to Vogt, and they left the two friends alone.

Vogt had been standing still in the middle of the room, his head feeling quite clear again; but suddenly once more all became dark before his eyes, and he had to sit down on one of the huge armchairs that stood against the wall. Was this not all a bad dream? There on the white pillow lay Klitzing, still unconscious, looking more dead than alive. Vogt went and knelt down beside him, and pressed his hot face against the cool silk of the coverlet. Would his faithful friend never wake again, not even for a moment, so that he might thank him? But Klitzing's eyelids remained closed, and there was no movement of the body, only the rapid, stertorous breathing.

The shrill sound of the bell broke the silence for the third time, and immediately after the senior staff-surgeon, Andreae, entered the room, followed by Dr. Rademacher and a hospital orderly. He gave a rapid glance of surprise at the unusual surroundings, and went at once to the bed.

Vogt had risen at his entrance. Andreae nodded to him, and pointing to Klitzing, asked: "Has he never recovered consciousness?"

"No, sir."

The medical-officer then bent his head to the injured man's chest, and listened to his breathing for some time. Finally he felt his pulse. The hand fell back as if lifeless upon the coverlet.

"Unfortunately you are right," he said to Rademacher; and as the other looked questioningly at him he added, shrugging his shoulders, "Nothing can be done."

So saying he went up to Vogt, and laid his hand kindly upon the young man's arm: "Dr. Rademacher has told me," he said, "how the poor fellow sacrificed himself for your sake. It grieves me very much to have to say it, but I cannot hide the truth from you. Your friend has indeed given his life for yours; he has but a short time to live."

Vogt remained fixed in the stiff soldierly attitude he had assumed; otherwise he felt he would have fallen to the ground. "Then, sir," he stammered, "will he never wake up again?"

"That no one can tell," answered the surgeon. "I hardly think so."

"But I may stay with him?"

"Yes, certainly. You are quartered here for to-night. You yourself are invalided in any case, and to-morrow your friend will not last till then, I fear, probably not even till this evening. So pull yourself together, my man, and be proud that you have had such a brave fellow for a friend. Friendship even unto death! There are not many like that nowadays. God knows, I wish we could help the poor fellow!"

Andreae was quite affected by the unusual circumstances of the case; but he had other duties, and dared not indulge his feelings. He drew himself up, and continued in firm tones: "We must dress your wound for you too, Vogt; but first I ought to set the driver's leg."

"We must go," he said, turning to the others; "the gunner will remain with his comrade for the present."

Vogt followed the doctor with his eyes. When the door closed he turned them towards the pale face of his dear friend. It was true then? Klitzing had given his life for him. And no one could do anything to help. There was a hot sensation in his throat, and then at last his sorrow found relief in a flood of tears.

After a time he looked again at his friend. How white he looked as he lay there! And how thin the face appeared against the white sheet! Klitzing had indeed refined, distinguished-looking features, and one could easily take him for a real gentleman lying in that magnificent bed, if the shabby dust-covered uniform were not hanging over the back of the chair close by. Vogt remembered how he had sometimes teased his friend about his sickly pallor; he racked his brains to think whether he had not wounded his feelings in other ways, and reproached himself for every harsh word he could remember using towards Klitzing. How much more friendly and affectionate he might often have been!

The doctors left the castle at last, having given the hospital-orderly the necessary instructions to carry out during their absence. As Rademacher was the medical officer on duty, he went the rounds once more before leaving; and Vogt, whose head had been re-bandaged and who had scarcely thought of meat and drink, now took some milk-soup at his desire.

Nerve-exhaustion and loss of blood soon made themselves felt. Ensconcing himself on a hard sofa that stood at the head of Klitzing's bed, he fell into a heavy sleep.

The sound of voices roused him. He opened his eyes, and it was a considerable time before he realised where he was. Again the voices spoke. A conversation was evidently going on in the garden outside between two people, a man and a woman. Vogt went to the window and looked out. Close to the wall of the house vegetables had been planted. A bearded man was digging the beds with a spade; the old woman was assisting him by breaking up the clods of earth with a hoe.

"But I can't understand, mother," said the man, "why you gave him the Princes' Room."

The old woman stopped her work for a moment and leant upon the handle of her hoe. Then in her quiet monotonous voice she replied: "They told me he would soon die, and the dead are the greatest kings on earth. They are free. They have no more desires, no more cares. No one can help or harm them any more."

The son said nothing, and both worked on busily.

Without thinking what he was doing Vogt watched them for a time at their digging and hoeing, and when he turned back into the room the heavy atmosphere of the long unventilated apartment gave him a momentary sense of oppression.

But in the meantime something had happened, something that made him suddenly stand still, speechless. Klitzing had awakened.

The sick man had moved his head to one side; his eyes were wide open, and he was looking through the long window. His gaze wandered till it rested on his friend, and apparently recognising him brightened with intense pleasure; then it returned to the picture framed by the window. Undazzled, his eyes looked out upon the radiance of the setting sun, already half below the horizon. The face of the dying man was lighted up by quiet happiness. He stood on the threshold of Paradise, and seemed already to behold it in that fair vision of distant landscape bathed in the departing glow of daylight. The sun's rays kissed the eyes of the dying man, and he appeared to live but by their light. He gazed fixedly on the vanishing disk until it sank out of sight. When he could see it no longer an expression of fear passed over his countenance, as though he dreaded the darkness and sought something that had disappeared from view.

Then he closed his eyes, and found Paradise.



CHAPTER XI

"Reservists they may rest, Reservists may rest, And if reservists rest may have, Then may reservists rest." (Song of the Reserve.)

Thursday, September 19th, four P.M., was fixed for the funeral of Gunner Heinrich Karl Klitzing, "accidentally killed on September 16th, and to be buried in the nearest convenient churchyard." The order ended with the words; "The cost of the funeral shall be provisionally defrayed by the regiment."

During the intervening three days the man[oe]uvring force had moved on to the plain, so that they lay at a distance of nearly fifteen miles from the castle. On foot this would mean a march of four hours, and it was therefore impossible to allow many of the men to take part in the funeral. On Wednesday evening the sergeant read out the order that "those who wished to attend the ceremony, and felt able to undertake the fatiguing march there and back, should come forward."

The men looked grave. Nearly all of them would have liked to show this last sign of respect to the comrade who had died so honourable a death; but to be on their feet for eight hours, and that after the fatigue of the man[oe]uvres, was too much.

Only three gave in their names: Count Plettau, Wolf, and Truchsess,

Senior-lieutenant Guentz looked surprised. He had never expected it from the first two, and such a decision from the fat brewer certainly showed great devotion. But, in any case, their intentions were excellent, and so they must have their way.

He himself would see to Vogt, who was again on duty, the wound on his forehead covered with plaster; the gunner should ride on the box of his own carnage. For he, as the officer commanding the battery, Reimers as its lieutenant, and the sergeant-major, were, in a way, obliged to attend the funeral. Besides these, Sergeant Wiegandt was to go with them as representative of the other non-commissioned officers; while head-quarters Colonel Falkenhein and Major Schrader had notified their intention of being present with their adjutants.

At the end of one of the wings of the castle there was a small room arranged as a chapel, and an enclosure which adjoined the park was used as a graveyard.

A fine drizzle was falling, so the short service was held in the chapel.

Nothing was lacking in the obsequies of the poor clerk. The major, from his private means, had doubled the sum to be spent on the funeral, A beautiful oak coffin therefore stood in the centre of the little chapel, covered with the wreaths sent by the battery comrades of the dead man, by Schrader on the part of the division, and by Falkenhein on that of the regiment. They were thick wreaths of laurel, adorned with simple ribbon bows. The white-haired widow of the keeper of the castle had also picked all the flowers she could find still spared by autumn, and had made wreaths of many-coloured asters and dahlias, with which she had decorated the coffin, somewhat fantastically. While rummaging in the attics, she had found in some corner a chest, forgotten for perhaps a hundred years, full of old-fashioned moulded candles, and with these she had filled two many-branched candelabra.

The pastor stood at the head of the coffin and began the service; behind him the sexton had taken up his position with folded hands. On either side sat the officers and men, holding their helmets on their knees and looking on with serious countenances. The old woman knelt crouching on a prie-dieu, and hid her face in her hands. When the pastor had pronounced a final "Amen," the four gunners raised the coffin on their shoulders and bore it to the little graveyard. The sexton preceded the coffin, and behind it followed, in order, the pastor, the two staff officers, Guentz and Reimers, the two adjutants, Heppner and Wiegandt, and last came the woman and her son.

At the grave the pastor pronounced the blessing and prayed. Then the four soldiers lifted the coffin up by the black straps, the sexton removed the supporting boards, and the dead man was slowly lowered to his place of rest.

The colonel now stepped forward and spoke a few simple words in remembrance of the dead. He recalled his genuine loyalty to his comrades, proved even by his death, and pronounced happy that prince and that country in whose army so brave a soldier was counted.

Every man present threw three handfuls of earth on the coffin, and the funeral was at an end.

The little procession left the graveyard at a quicker pace than when it came. Vogt remained alone at the graveside.

The carriage drove up, but Vogt was still missing, and they had to fetch him from the grave. As he sat on the box, he looked back wistfully at the spot where his dear friend lay buried.

The last day of the man[oe]uvres had come. A light mist which veiled the autumn sun made the heat bearable. The exercises ended in the early forenoon, and, after a final parade, the troops marched off to their garrisons. The infantry were despatched in long railway-trains, while the mounted branches of the service covered the ground by moderate marches. The 80th regiment was lucky; its garrison could be reached by a four hours' march.

In order to avoid the inevitable stoppages of an immoderately long marching column, the colonel had appointed different roads for the separate batteries, and had fixed on a meeting-place at a short distance from the barracks, whence they could march in together.

The sixth battery had trotted down a slight incline on the high road, and afterwards climbed the next rise at a slow pace. The horses no longer tugged at their traces. They drew the guns patiently and bravely, but with subdued spirits. Sergeant Heppner looked on thoughtfully; the animals were certainly more used up this time than on former occasions of the kind. Their sleek sides had fallen in; and a couple of them looked very rough in the coat, too. This in addition to the facts that away somewhere in a bone-mill poor old Turk's bones had perhaps already been ground into dust, and that Eidechse was not exactly improved by that gigantic wound in the buttock, which had been sewn up by the farrier with innumerable stitches.

But this was all because the officers would not listen to such an experienced counsellor as himself. His contention against Wegstetten in pronouncing the six light bays too weak to drag gun six had indeed been proved correct. That, of course, afforded him a certain amount of satisfaction; but to have one horse dead and another disfigured was paying too high a price for it!

They had now reached the top of the ridge, and the barracks could be descried far below in the valley. There was plenty of time before the rendezvous, so the battery might still keep to their easy pace. Nevertheless, the time of the march was gradually accelerated the horses of course could not yet scent the nearness of their stables; but the men were impatient, and involuntarily urged the animals on. Having once seen the barracks, they wanted to be home as soon as possible.

Half of them, it was true, were only to sleep one more night within these walls; then they would doff the green coat and be once more their own masters. To these men it felt as if their time of service had ended with the parade which closed the man[oe]uvres. When they had marched past the commanding general they had still been soldiers; but if now they received orders, they would not carry them out with the prompt, alert movements to which they had been trained during the last two years. They took things more leisurely now. The drill which had been thrashed into them already began to be forgotten; only a perfunctory obedience remained.

It was as though a spirit of revolt had taken possession of the men. There were many among them who had never thought of concerning themselves with the aims of Social-Democracy; who might perhaps have returned to their ploughs and their spades in a docile and dutiful spirit. But now it dawned upon them all at once how the little they as soldiers had been obliged to learn had been made quite unnecessarily difficult for them. They stripped off, like a troublesome strait-waistcoat, the superfluity of petty rules to which they had been subjected; and the recognition of the needless compulsion they had so long endured produced, as its inevitable consequence, a violent reaction, which quite naturally manifested itself in a hasty change of opinion. Many of those who, on their discharge the next morning, would have to join in the cheers for the Emperor and the King, had, no doubt, already on their lips the socialist song which would be sung after midnight in the taverns of their native places.

And the rest, who, from either stupidity or laziness, were not completely converted to such political views, were nevertheless not entirely free from their influence. There would remain in their minds some vestige of these ideas, and this seed would be carried back by the peasant lads to their remote villages, where the new wisdom from the city would bring forth fruit an hundredfold, sounding as it did so pleasantly to the ear. And yet the mighty lords of the soil wondered at the growth of the socialist vote among the purely agricultural electorate! Of course it continued to grow and to increase every year, because the army, under its present conditions simply constituted a school of Social-Democracy.

Vogt sat on his gun-carriage and cast sad glances at the man next to him, who had taken Klitzing's place: the blue-collared hospital-orderly On the outward march his friend had been his neighbour, and the talk between them had been hearty, merry, and familiar; it had been almost snug on the gun-carriage. But now that dear old comrade lay away there in the hills, and Vogt had to shift for himself during this last year of his service. He kept thinking how lonely it would be for him now in the barracks with the excitement of the autumn man[oe]uvres a thing of the past, and with the monotonous winter work beginning again.

Above, on the limber, Wolf sat between Truchsess and Plettau. The nearer the wished-for day of freedom approached the more nervous Wolf became. He tried not even to think of life after his discharge, always fearing that some slip might still occur to detain him longer in his fetters. There was now only this one last day and this one last night to endure—then he would be free. He felt as if now he might dare to breathe freely. What could possibly happen amiss? There was no more duty, merely the formal giving up of his kit. Then he would take his certificate of discharge and would be able to go wherever he wished.

And so it came about that Wolf was filled with joy as they passed in through the barrack gates.

That very afternoon the men whose time was expired handed over their packing materials and all that could be spared of their outfit and uniform, only retaining the suit they had on. Of course, until the morning of the day of their discharge, they remained soldiers; but it was impossible to keep up the usual discipline, and the authorities gave every one, from first to last, a loose rein.

After the orders of the day had been read, the half-demoralised crew dispersed themselves through the town. They stood at the doors of houses, clasping servant-maids round the waist. When a superior officer passed by they assumed the regulation attitude slowly and carelessly, and the officers and non-commissioned officers took pains not to see the incipient insubordination. Rebellious phrases passed from mouth to mouth, and many a one boasted how he would thrash this or that corporal or sergeant—when once he was in civilian dress.

"When once one is in civilian dress"—that seemed to be the noisy pass-word given out for the evening. It was as though these swaggering men could no longer endure the last hardly perceptible signs of the discipline to which they had so long obediently submitted; as though this evening would end in open mutiny.

Wolf took no part in these noisy demonstrations; he was perhaps the only reservist in the whole regiment who held aloof. He could not stand the noise and the drunkenness. The whole of that free afternoon he stayed in the barrack-room, dreaming away comfortably, and looking at the first-year men, who now, when the "old gang" had left, would suddenly have about twice as much to do as hitherto. If a non-commissioned officer crossed the threshold, he jumped up and stood at attention, quickly and accurately, just as he had done at any time during these last two years. Why not still continue to play the comedy for these few remaining hours, after having been an actor so long?

With almost affectionate zeal he cleaned and polished the accoutrements he had to hand over; and he had the satisfaction of having his kit held up as an example by Sergeant Keyser, his former enemy, to others who gave in things insufficiently cleaned. The sergeant, it is true, promptly ceased his praises when, seeing the name marked on the various articles, he realised who the exemplary gunner was; however, that was no matter.

After the orders of the day had been read, Wolf walked restlessly up and down the courtyard of the barracks. Would this day never end? The sun had set behind the heights in the west some time since, but a dull glow still overspread that part of the sky. He quitted the barracks by the back gate and walked round the great quadrangle of the drill-ground. The vast space had been freshly strewn with that fine coke refuse which, in the wet seasons of the year, works up into such an ugly black slush. In an absent-minded way he stirred the loose grit with the toe of his boot, then smoothed the surface with the sole, and dug little channels in it.

When he looked up from this amusement it was growing dark; and then the last evening was succeeded by the last night. Most of the men slept the heavy sleep of drunkenness; Wolf never closed his eyes. He heard every stroke of the clock, and the intervening half-hours seemed to him of infinite duration.

Half an hour before the reveille he rose. A cold sponge waked him up thoroughly, and after this sleepless night he felt a thousand times fresher and stronger than at other times after enjoying his full share of rest. He opened the window of the bathroom, and let the cool air of the grey morning fan his chest. A fine autumn day was dawning for this feast-day of freedom, so long desired. A thin haze still veiled the prospect, but was retiring shyly before the approach of the conquering sun.

With sparkling eyes he gazed over the opposite roofs towards the hills, from behind which the lord of day must soon emerge. He stood erect and stretched his arms out wide.

Now for the first time he dared to believe in his happiness.

He took his civilian clothes from the chest as if they had been precious treasures. The trumpet was just sounding the reveille while he dressed himself. The white shirt, the clean collar, the comfortable jacket, and the soft slouched hat—how light they were and how easily they fitted! Another sign that this cramping restraint was at an end!

He stood there ready, as his comrades came yawning and rough-headed from the dormitory. They looked at him in surprise.

"You're in a damned hurry," said one of them. And Wolf answered gaily, "Yes, indeed, I've waited long enough!"

Now came the last falling into line as a soldier, and the handing over of the clothing and kit which had been used at the last.

Sergeant Keyser went into each room and superintended the counting over of the separate articles. Then he threw them over the arm of a gunner who was to carry them to the kit-room.

He had intentionally left Wolf's room to the last, and had despatched all the other reservists before him. For he meant to pay out the socialist fellow who had let him in for six weeks' arrest; Wolf should have to wait about as long as possible before being finally released from military discipline.

At last, however, his turn came. He counted out just the right number of articles; the buttons of the jacket shone again, and not a rent was to be found anywhere. He folded the trousers and beat them with his hand—not a particle of dust rose from them. The leather things also were unimpeachable, and the boots were in the exact regulation condition—not brightly polished, but merely rubbed over with grease to prevent the leather from drying up.

Keyser muttered a surly "all right," and turning away threw the things over Findeisen's arm and put the boots into his hand. But the gunner, who was already holding four pairs by the tags, let them fall to the ground.

Sergeant Keyser picked them up, scolding furiously. The dust from the floor had stuck in thick streaks on the greasy leather.

Then a bright idea occurred to the sergeant. He held the boots up before Findeisen's face and bellowed at him, "Lick that off, you swine!"

It was not really meant literally, that was plain; but an ungovernable fury began to glow in his eyes.

Findeisen had drawn back. He ground his teeth and looked defiance straight into the sergeant's eyes.

This maddened Keyser. His face became purple with passion, and again he hissed out, "Dog, lick it at once!"

Suddenly the resolute spirit of opposition died out of Findeisen's eyes. The strong, broad-shouldered man bowed as if under the lash; he became pale as death, and actually touched the boot with his tongue.

The sergeant rubbed the leather roughly over his face, leaving patches of dirt and grease on the skin. Then he turned and looked Wolf straight in the eyes. "Do you see that, fellow?" the triumphant challenging look seemed to say: "Your comrade must abase himself to the level of the beasts, if we so will it,—we, who have the power!"

Wolf hit him full in the face with his clenched fist.

The sergeant staggered. He uttered a gurgling cry and tried to throw himself upon the reservist.

Then something unexpected happened, taking place so suddenly and so quickly that afterwards Wolf was hardly able to picture it. Findeisen had thrown to the ground all that he carried—the boots and the outfit. In a flash he seized the sergeant, held him raised for an instant in his powerful arms, and then flung him head forwards against the wall.

The skull struck the wall with a dull thud, and the body fell heavily to the ground.

There was a cry of "Stop that!" Deputy sergeant-major Heimert rushed through the doorway and flung himself upon Findeisen. The gunner defended himself wildly, hitting, biting, and scratching; he felt that he was fighting for his life, but Heimert was a match for him.

Others soon came, too,—non-commissioned officers and men. They dragged the raving soldier to the ground and bound him.

Wolf stood motionless, and let them tie his arms behind his back. His head was in a whirl, and it all seemed a confused dream.

It really was quite ludicrous that his first dream, of happy release from the service, should have such a horrible sequel. This was certainly a nightmare.

He shook his head and tugged at the cords which bound his hands, trying to awake from the hideous delusion. The cords pressed deeper into the flesh, and the pain brought him back to reality.

He gazed round, not trusting his eyes.

This was indeed the old dormitory in which he had slept these two years. A lot of people were standing together and speaking with excited gestures. The air was thick with dust, as if from a fight; and just by the press, near a bundle of clothing, lay a man, his arms tied behind his back, his face deadly pale, and his chest heaving. It was Findeisen. And four soldiers were lifting another—Sergeant Keyser—who lay stretched out by the wall near the window. The sergeant's face was quite white, and his limbs hung limply down from his body.

"He's done for!" said the voice of Sergeant-major Heppner. "Carry him to his room and lay him on his bed."

And four soldiers carried the dead man past Wolf out through the door.

The sergeant-major sent away the other loitering gunners, and only the non-commissioned officers remained in the room with the two bound men.

Heppner stepped up to Wolf and looked him over from head to foot.

"Your fine civilian clothes, my lad," he said, "will have to lie a bit longer in the chest."

He picked out Wolf's things from the bundles scattered about the room, and threw them over the reservist's shoulders.

"There," he said mockingly, "that will suit your complexion better. And what'll suit you best of all is a convict's grey suit. In the meantime, just get yourself up as a gunner again, my son."

He ordered two of the non-commissioned officers to put Wolf and Findeisen under arrest.

"Look out!" he warned the corporals. "These two scoundrels are capable of anything. And if they utter a word, then you know why you've got swords dangling at your sides!"

The two prisoners were led across the yard to the guard-house. The reservists were just collecting before the barracks. Most of them went about arm in arm, and in their uproarious spirits made passes in the air with their betassled walking-sticks.

As the little procession passed the noisy crowd, the merry songs ceased. The reservists, taken aback, stepped aside, and amid startled whispers looked after the prisoners.

Findeisen walked with bowed head. They had put his cap on right over his forehead, so that he could hardly see from under it. Wolf looked straight ahead, but walked as if in a fog. He saw nothing of what was passing before him, and stumbled as he stepped across a gutter.

The corporal on guard was going to unlock two contiguous cells for the prisoners, but one of the men in charge of them objected.

"They might communicate with each other by knocking or somehow," he said. "Better lock them up as far apart as possible."

So Wolf was put into the cell nearest to the road, and Findeisen into one at the other end of the corridor.

The corporal placed the reservist's uniform on a stool, and near by the pair of boots which had caused the dispute, still bearing traces of dust.

"Change your clothes quickly," he said. "I must take back your plain clothes with me at once."

But Wolf stood there motionless.

He heard the key turn in the lock without realising what was happening. Then the steps retreated from his door, once more the great bunch of keys jingled, another door was opened, creaked unwillingly on its hinges, and was slammed to and locked.

The voices of the non-commissioned officers resounded in the stone-paved corridor as they returned to the guard-room.

"What have the fellows done?" asked the soldier on guard.

The answer was almost lost behind a corner of the passage: "Murder—Sergeant Keyser."

The reservist still stood motionless beside the stool. He was trying in vain to think why he was here. What was he doing here, when it was to-day that he was at last released from the hated discipline? He passed his hand over his eyes, as if to remove something that was covering them, and mechanically he pressed down the latch of the door.

It was indeed true; he was locked in.

Again the key sounded in the lock, and the corporal on guard entered. Behind him a gunner brought a jug of water into the cell, set it down, and at once retired.

"Why haven't you changed yet?" asked the corporal.

The reservist stared at him blankly, without comprehension.

"Damnation!" thundered his superior. "Change your clothes this moment, do you hear?"

And Wolf sat down obediently on the stool. Automatically he took off his coat and trousers, undid his collar, and pulled off his shoes. Then he took off his hat also; and in the same mechanical way dressed himself again in uniform.

The corporal had bidden him a couple of times to make haste, and now he threw the civilian clothes over his arm.

"Everything must be taken away from you," he said as he went.

Wolf nodded, and dully looked on. Once he moved as though to seize at something—the corporal's fingers were not clean, and were dirtying his white collar; he might at least hold it by the edge—but the outstretched hand sank back languidly.

Such behaviour made the corporal look serious. When in the guard-room he handed over the clothes to the non-commissioned officer who had brought in the prisoners, he pointed with his thumb back over his shoulder, and said: "That fellow there's not quite right in his head."

"Do you think not?" asked the other.

"Yes, I do. So I took away his braces, and now at least he can't hang himself."

Wolf had involuntarily stood at attention as the corporal left the cell, and when the door closed he put forward his right foot and relaxed his position just as if the order "Stand at ease" had been given.

He looked down at his worn uniform, the green cloth of which was grey and threadbare, while the madder-red facings had faded to a dirty pink. The well-polished buttons shone, and a darker patch in a corner of the tunic showed up clearly against the shabby material.

By that patch he recognised the coat which he had worn for two endless years, and which he still wore; and all at once he understood his fate.

Under the horror of the revelation he broke down. He sank helplessly on the stool, and hid his face in his hands.

He was still incapable of ordered thought. Only one thing could he grasp, that his dream of freedom lay shattered and destroyed before him. This single, fearful, desperate certainty so entirely filled his mind, that his capacity for other thought seemed paralysed. His senses received external impressions, but did not transmit them to the brain.

Wolf's cell was situated in the outermost corner of the guard-house. At a distance of about ten paces the high-road ran past the brick wall, which was none too thick. Besides this, a small pane of the window was open; so that the crunching of the wheels as they turned on the freshly-laid metalling, the encouragements of the drivers to their horses, and the cracking of the whips, could be distinctly heard. Even the steps of the passers-by were audible, and a word here and there of their conversation.

Wolf still sat upon the stool. All these noises reached his ear, but he paid no heed to them.

Suddenly he raised his head.

An indistinct sound of distant singing came in snatches through the little window, borne by gusts of wind. Nearer and nearer it approached. Now the singers seemed to be turning a corner, their measured tread became audible, and their hearty voices rang out:

"Reservists they may rest, Reservists may rest, And if reservists rest may have, Then may reservists rest."

The song of the reservists who were leaving the barracks and marching to the station.

From time to time the rough joke of some passing wit interrupted the song. Then the reservists would break out into a loud laugh and call back some still more spicy retort. But they always took up their jingling refrain, repeating the childish words again and again, and jogging along clumsily, keeping time to the song.

Wolf heard the harsh sounds gradually retreating, till finally they died away in the direction of the town.

Once more he buried his face in his hands.

When at last he sat up again, he had conquered himself. He had determined to wage war against fate.

Upright and with firm steps he paced up and down his cell. He thought over everything that could serve for his defence: how he had held himself in check, so as not in any way to prolong by his own fault his time of service; how he had even looked on quietly when Findeisen obeyed the sergeant's humiliating order; but how Keyser's provocative look had made his blood boil and had driven him to his unlucky deed. He had, it is true, raised his hand against a superior; but the sight of the gunner licking the dust off the boots had seemed to him an insult to humanity itself.

The judges would not be able to disregard this, and at least they would judge his offence leniently. Even if their outlook on life were diametrically opposed to his own, surely in pronouncing their verdict on him that could not prevent their taking into consideration the purity of his motives.

And he thought out a speech of defence which must penetrate the hearts of the judges, a speech full of eloquent, inspiring words about that dignity of man which none should wound with impunity, and about that justifiable wrath which is not only excusable, but even praiseworthy.

He intoxicated himself with his thoughts. Hope dazzled him, and already he saw himself acquitted. He piled up argument after argument, and planned artistically-turned periods and effective antitheses, concluding his apology with a sublime appeal to the sense of justice of his judges.

The hours passed. He paced incessantly up and down the narrow cell, with a glowing face and sparkling eyes. The bowl of food which had been brought in for his dinner stood untouched. What had he to do with food and drink? He was contending for something higher—for his freedom.

In the afternoon he was taken before the officer who was to conduct the inquiry, who had been summoned by telegraph from the divisional head-quarters.

The proceedings took place in barrack-room VII. of the sixth battery, the scene of the fatal incident. At the table sat the presiding officer, a stout man, whose head rose red and swollen above his tight collar. He had a couple of sheets of paper before him, and while interrogating constantly fidgeted with a pencil. A clerk waited with pen to paper.

The hearing began.

Findeisen, when questioned, maintained a stubborn silence. The examining officer tried by reasoning and by scolding to get something out of him; the gunner remained dumb. He kept his eyes on the ground, from time to time glancing furtively at the door. But two non-commissioned officers were posted on the threshold.

Wolf gave an accurate and connected account of what had occurred. The clerk's pen flew swiftly over the paper. Then the examining officer read the report aloud. "Is that correct?" he asked Wolf. "Yes, sir."

He turned to Findeisen: "I ask you also, is that correct? If you have any objection to make, out with it! For as it stands, the account is not exactly favourable to you. Therefore I ask you if you have anything to say against this version?"

Then Findeisen gave his first answer during the proceedings, he shook his head.

"Nothing, then?" asked the examining officer. The gunner repeated, "Nothing."

Deputy sergeant-major Heimert, as the only witness, had nothing else to depose beyond what Wolf had already said: and Findeisen again persisted in his silence.

After this, the officer closed the judicial examination. He gave orders that Wolf should be conducted back to his cell, while Findeisen was to be confronted with the corpse of the sergeant.

Keyser's death had resulted from fracture of the skull, due to its forcible impact against the wall. The medical report, however, stated that fatal consequences had resulted on account of the unusual thinness of the skull.

The two orderlies took Findeisen between them and escorted him to the infirmary. Wolf went with the soldier on guard diagonally across the yard back to the guard-house. He mounted the steps composedly. Before the door he stopped for a moment, drew the fresh air deep into his lungs, and looked all round him. Then he was locked into his cell again.

The examination had opened his eyes; he had been on quite a wrong tack when he had hoped to convince his judges by a fiery speech. In the midst of this cold calm procedure, his words would sound distorted and fantastic, and his eloquent tongue would fail him. The views of these men were separated from his by an impassable gulf. However good a will they might have, they were absolutely incapable of understanding him.

No, he would undergo his examination quietly and without any attempt at eloquence. Would not the naked facts speak loudly enough in his favour?

He no longer had any hope of an acquittal. On the contrary, he knew he would be condemned; but his punishment could not be severe. He called to memory all the similar cases that he had known. They had almost always resulted in less than a year of imprisonment. It was true that in none of these had there been an actual assault on the person of a superior, such as he had committed. But could that make a very great difference?

On the whole he thought it most likely that he would get off with about six months, and he already began to arm himself with patience to bear the hundred and eighty dreary days. It was quite certain that even one hundred and eighty days must have an end.

Suddenly he felt hungry, greedily hungry, and he hastily attacked the food he had hitherto left untouched. The meat lay in the cold gravy surrounded by congealed fat. The first mouthful gave him a strong feeling of disgust; nevertheless, he swallowed the meat down quickly, and finished the gravy to the last drop.

It was soon disposed of, and then he began to take stock of his surroundings: the grey walls, the water jug, and the stool in the corner; the plank bed, strapped up to the wall during the day. The grated window was high above the ground; but he could reach it by standing on his stool. Even that, however, was not of much use; for all view was cut off by a wooden screen, so arranged that the light only penetrated from above, and he had to twist his head considerably in order to catch the least glimpse of the sky.

Wolf remained in this cramped position as if fascinated, gazing upward, with his cheek against the cold stone of the wall. Grey clouds were passing over the tiny bit of sky visible to him. Occasionally the whole of the narrow space was filled in with a clear deep blue.

One of the panes of the window was open, admitting a breath of fresh pure air. It seemed to the prisoner that without this mouthful of free air he would not be able to breathe, and he pressed his face against the woodwork of the window as if suffocating.

Gradually it grew dark outside. The wind rose, and a few heavy drops of rain pattered on the boards of the screen. In the yard outside the trumpeter sounded the call to stable-duty. The poor fellow in the narrow cell remembered that this evening he should have rejoined the circle of his socialist comrades. Instead of which, here he was twisting his neck to see even a little bit of the sky, rather than the ghastly grey walls of his prison.