第81章

Hurrah, our friends are coming! We shall soon be free again!""No, you will not," shouted a loud, thundering voice; and in the middle of the large dormitory occupied by the Bavarians appeared suddenly the tall, herculean form of Joseph Speckbacher. On passing the barracks, he happened to hear the cheers of the prisoners and had entered in order to learn what was the matter. "No," he said once more, "you will not; yon must not suppose that we shall be so stupid as to allow you to escape. Do not rejoice therefore at the approach of the French and your countrymen for I tell you, and Iswear by the Holy Mother of God, if the French should enter the city victoriously, our last step before evacuating it would be to kill every one of you. Do you hear, Tyrolese guards? If the prisoners do not keep quiet, if they make any noise, or even threaten you, shoot down the ringleaders! But if the enemy penetrates into the city, then shoot them all, and do not spare a single one of them.

[Footnote: Hormayr's "History of Andreas Hofer," vol. i., p. 258. ]

We will not incur the disgrace of re-enforcing the enemy by several thousand men. The guards at all doors here must be quadrupled, and at the first symptom of mischief among the prisoners, you will fire at them. Now you know, Bavarians, what is going to be done. Beware, therefore!"And Joseph Speckbacher left the hall with a proud nod of the head.

The listening Bavarians heard him repeating his rigorous instructions to the sentinels outside; they heard also the acclamations with which the Tyrolese responded to him. The prisoners, therefore, became silent; they forced back their hopes and wishes into the depths of their hearts, and only prayed inwardly for their approaching friends, and cursed in the same manner their enemies, the ragged mob of the peasants.

The tocsin was still ringing, and its sinister notes penetrated likewise into the large guard-house, and spoke to the prisoners confined there. One of these prisoners was a gloomy, broken-down old man, General Kinkel; the other was a youth, mortally wounded and violently delirious. It was Colonel Dittfurt. The bullet of the Tyrolese had not killed him; he still lived, a prisoner of the peasants, and, amidst his delirium and his agony, he was fully conscious of his disgrace. This consciousness rendered him raving mad; it brought words of wild imprecation to his cold, bloodless lips; he howled with rage and pain; he called down the vengeance of Heaven upon "the ragged mob," the peasants, who had dared to lay hands upon him, the proud, aristocratic colonel, and rob him not only of his life, but also of his honor. All the night long he had raved in this manner; and it was truly horrible to hear these words, full of contempt, hatred, and fury, in the mouth of a dying man; it was dreadful to see this scarred form on the bloody couch, writhing in the convulsions of death, and yet unable to die, because anger and rage revived it again and again. At day-break Major Teimer had entered the guard-house with a detachment of Tyrolese; and while he repaired with some of them to General Kinkel, the other Tyrolese had entered Colonel Dittfurt's room, to see the miracle of a man whose head had been pierced by a bullet having vitality enough left to rave, swear, and curse, for twenty-four hours.

Gradually the whole room became crowded with Tyrolese, who yesterday had been the mortal foes of the colonel, but who gazed to-day with profound compassion and conciliated hearts at the poor, mutilated being that disdained even on the brink of the grave to consider a peasant as entitled to equal rights and as a brother of the nobleman.

Colonel Dittfurt lay on his couch with his eyes distended to their utmost, and stared at the Tyrolese assembled round him. For some minutes the curses and invectives had died away on his lips, and he seemed to listen attentively to the sinister notes of the alarm-bells which were calling incessantly upon the Tyrolese to prepare for the struggle.

"Is that my death-knell?" he asked wearily. "Have I, then, died already, and is it death that is lying so heavily on my breast?""No, sir, you still live," said one of the Tyrolese, in a low, gentle voice. "You still live; the bells you hear are ringing the tocsin; they aroused us because the French and Bavarians are advancing upon the city.""The Bavarians are coming! Our men are coming!" cried Dittfurt exultingly, and be lifted his head as if to rise from his couch. But the iron hand of death had already touched him and kept him enthralled. His head sank heavily back upon the pillow, and his eyes became more lustreless and fixed.

"They vanquished me," he said, after a pause; "I know I am a prisoner of the peasants, and it is they who keep me chained to this couch and prevent me from going out to participate in the contest.

Oh, oh, how it grieves me! A prisoner of the peasants! But they fought like men, and their leader must be an able and brave officer.

Who was the leader of the peasants?"

"No one, sir," said the Tyrolese, on whom the dying officer fixed his eyes. "We had no leader; we fought equally for God, the emperor, and our native country.""No, no," said Dittfurt, "that is false; I know better, for I saw the leader of the peasants pass me often. He was mounted on a white horse; his face was as radiant as heaven, his eyes twinkled like stars, and in his hand he held a sword flashing like a sunbeam. Isaw the leader of the peasants, he always rode at their head, he led them into battle, I--"He paused, the expression of his eyes became more fixed, the shades of death descended deeper and deeper on his forehead, which was covered with cold perspiration.