The Treasure Chest

by Johann Hebel

  When dawn broke on 3 September the shooting stopped; and the English asked if they would give in. The commandant of Copenhagen said, ‘No!’ So at four in the afternoon the bombardment began again, lasting until noon on 4 September with no letup or mercy given. And as the commandant still wouldn’t say yes, the firing resumed that evening and went on through the night until noon on the 5th. More than 300 fine houses had been burnt to cinders; whole church towers had collapsed and flames were still raging everywhere. More than 800 townspeople had been killed, and many badly wounded. All Copenhagen was in flames, or a heap of rubble, it looked like a field hospital or a battlefield.

  Finally on 7 September the commandant of Copenhagen saw that all was lost and capitulated, and the Crown Prince didn’t even thank him for it. Immediately the English took possession of the whole Danish fleet and sailed it away: eighteen ships of the line, fifteen frigates and a greater number of smaller ships, all except for one frigate that the King of England had given to the King of Denmark when they were still friends. That one they left. But the King of Denmark sent it to join the others, he didn’t want any mementoes. The English let all hell loose on land and water, for soldiers know not what they do, they only think we wouldn’t be fighting them if they didn’t deserve it. Luckily they didn’t stay long. They embarked again on 19 October and sailed away on the 21st with the Danish fleet and their booty. That fellow Congreve drowned on this trip and never saw his family again. The Danes then joined the French side, and the Emperor Napoleon refused to make peace with the English until they returned the ships and paid Copenhagen compensation.

  There we have the fate of Denmark, and the friends of the English say they didn’t mean any harm. But others say no greater harm could have been done, and the Danes see it that way too.

  The Strange Fortunes of a Young Englishman

  One day a young Englishman was on the mail coach on his first journey to the great city of London, where among all its inhabitants he knew only his brother-in-law whom he was going to visit, and his sister, that man’s wife. He was alone on the coach too, but for the conductor (that’s the person in charge of the coach and responsible for the letters and packets at each stage); and at that time these two fellow travellers had no thought for where they would next meet.

  The coach didn’t arrive in London until the dead of night. The young fellow couldn’t stay the night in the posthouse because the postmaster there was a distinguished man who didn’t let rooms, and he had as much chance of finding his brother-in-law’s house in the huge city in the dark as of finding a needle in a haystack. So the conductor said to him, ‘Come along with me, young man! I don’t live here either, but when I’m in London I stay at my cousin’s in a room with two beds in it. She will put you up all right, and tomorrow you can start looking for better lodgings at your brother-in-law’s. The young man did not have to be asked twice. At the cousin’s house they drank a jug of English beer and had a bite of sausage and then went to bed.

  In the night the young man needed to go outside. Now he was in an even worse fix than before. For he could no more hope to find his way in the small house where he was lodging than in the great city a few hours before. But luckily the conductor woke up too and told him where to go, left, then right, then left again. ‘The door is locked,’ he added, ‘and we’ve lost the key. But take my big knife from my overcoat pocket and poke it between the door and the post and the catch inside will spring open. Just listen and you’ll find it. You’ll hear the sound of the Thames. And put something on, it’s a cold night!’ In his haste the young man picked up the conductor’s jacket in the dark instead of his own, put it on, and found his destination all right. For it didn’t bother him that he turned one of the corners too soon and bumped his nose so that he bled dreadfully on account of the strong beer he had drunk. But the loss of blood and the cold made him come over faint and he fell asleep.

  The conductor lay in bed and waited and waited, he couldn’t understand where the other fellow was all this time, until he heard a noise in the street and thought, half asleep, ‘The poor devil’s gone out through the front door into the lane and been pressed!’ You see, when the English need crews for their ships, strong men are sent to roam the streets unannounced and they go into the common taverns and the houses of ill repute, and if anyone suitable falls into their hands they don’t stop to ask him, ‘Who might you be, my young fellow?’ or ‘What’s your name, sir?’, but make short work of it and drag him off willy nilly to the fleet, and God help him! Those taken on these nocturnal manhunts are said to be pressed into service; and so it was that our conductor thought, ‘He must have been pressed!’ In his alarm he sprang out of bed, threw his coat around him and rushed into the street to try to save the poor fellow. But when he followed the sounds down one street and into the next he himself fell into the hands of the press-gang and was dragged off – unwillingly – on to a ship, and the next day he was far away. He was gone.

  Later the young man out the back came to, hurried back into bed just as he was without noticing that his room-mate wasn’t there, and slept well into the next day. Meanwhile at eight o’clock the conductor was expected at the posthouse, and when time passed and there was no sign of him they sent someone to chase him up. He found, not the conductor, but a man lying in bed with blood on his clothes, a large knife on the corridor floor, blood leading to the privy, and the Thames flowing underneath. So the bloodstained stranger was suspected of murdering the conductor and throwing his body into the river. He was taken away to be questioned, and they searched him and found in the pocket of the jacket he was still wearing a leather purse with the conductor’s easily identifiable silver signet ring fastened to its strings, and the unfortunate young fellow was done for. He gave the name of his brother-in-law – nobody knew him; and his sister’s – nobody had heard of her. He told the whole story as far as he knew it. But the judges said, ‘That’s all eyewash! You shall be hanged!’ No sooner said than done, that very same afternoon, according to English law and custom. You see, since London is full of villains the English custom is to make short work of a hanging, and few take much notice, it’s such a common sight. The criminals, as many as there are at any one time, are loaded on to a cart and driven to the foot of the gallows. They fasten the rope to the hook up above, pull the cart away from underneath and leave the beauties to dangle, without bothering to look back. In England hanging is not such a great disgrace as here, it brings only death. That’s because later the criminal’s nearest and dearest come and pull down on his legs and make sure he’s properly strangled.

  But no one rendered this sad service of love and friendship for our stranger in town, and it was evening before a young husband and wife out walking arm in arm happened to come to the place of execution and looked up at the gallows as they passed by. With a cry of horror the woman fell into her husband’s arms. ‘Lord save us, that’s our brother!’ They were even more appalled when the hanged man, recognizing his sister’s voice, opened his eyes and rolled them horribly in their sockets. He was still alive, you see, and the couple passing by were his sister and brother-in-law. Yet this brother-in-law was made of stern stuff and kept his head, and was quietly thinking how he might save him. It was an out-of-the-way place, everyone had moved off, and he managed with some money and a few well-phrased words to engage a couple of plucky and trusty lads who, as cool as you please, fetched down the hanged man as if they had every right to do it; and nobody challenged them as they carried him to the brother-in-law’s house and safely indoors. There he was brought round in a few hours. He had a little fever, but to his sister’s relief soon got quite well again under her tender care. But one evening his brother-in-law said to him, ‘Brother! You can’t stay here in this country now. You could be hanged again if they catch you, and me with you. And in any case you have worn a necklace round your neck that brought no honour to you or your family. You must go to America. I’ll provide for you there.’

  The young man saw that made sense, l
eft as soon as he could on a trusty ship and eighty days later arrived safely in Philadelphia harbour. But when, sad at heart, he stepped ashore in that totally strange land, thinking, ‘If only God would let me meet just one person who knows me’ – lo and behold there, dressed as a poor sailor, was the conductor! Normally it’s a great joy to meet someone you know so unexpectedly and so far from home, but in this case the greeting was by no means a warm one. For when the conductor saw who it was he approached with raised fist ‘Where the devil have you sprung from, you damned fly-by-night?’ he said. ‘Do you know I was press-ganged because of you?’ And the Englishman said, ‘Well I’ll be damned! You accursed will-o’-the-wisp. Do you know I was hanged on your account?’ Yet after that they went together into the Three Crowns in Philadelphia and told each other how fate had treated them. And afterwards the young Englishman did well in a trading house and did not rest till he had bought his friend’s discharge and was able to send him back to London again. He himself became rich in America and now lives in the town of Washington, at number 42 in the newest part of Merchants’ Street.

  Innocence is Hanged

  The following unhappy incident took place in Spessart.

  Some boys watched over their parents’ or masters’ cattle on a hillside under the forest. They played all sorts of games to pass the time away, and as such youngsters often do they pretended to be grown-ups about grown-up affairs. One day one of them said, ‘I’ll be the thief!’ ‘And I’ll be the chief magistrate,’ said the second. ‘You be the bailiffs,’ he said to two others, ‘And you’re the hangman,’ to the one who was left. All right! The thief stole a knife from one of his mates and ran off. The theft was reported to the chief magistrate. The bailiffs combed the area, caught the thief in a hollow tree and brought him in. The magistrate sentenced him to death. Meanwhile a shot sounded in the wood and dogs began barking. The boys took no notice. The hangman put a rope round the criminal’s neck and recklessly, stupid and ignorant as he was, strung him up from the branch of a tree so that his feet couldn’t reach the ground, thinking he’d be all right if it was only for a moment or two. Suddenly there was a rustling

  in the dry leaves in the wood, a cracking and crashing in the thick undergrowth, and a wild boar, black and shaggy with gleaming tusks, broke cover and ran across the place of execution. The young cowherds, who had felt all along that perhaps it wasn’t quite right to make a game of such a grave and ticklish business, thought it was the devil himself, God save us all from him, they took fright and fled, and one of them ran down to the village to say what had happened. But when the men arrived to free the boy from the gallows he was already strangled and dead. That should be a warning to others! The magistrate and the bailiffs were put into jail for three weeks, the hangman for six. It turned

  out that the black boar wasn’t the devil after all. For it was killed by the huntsmen and taken to the forester’s house. But then we know Satan is still alive and active.

  A Bad Bargain

  In the great city of London and round about it there are an extraordinary number of silly fools who take a childish delight in other people’s money or fob watches or precious rings and don’t rest until they have them for themselves. Sometimes they get them by cunning and trickery, but more often by fearless assault, sometimes in broad daylight on the open road. Some of them do well, others don’t. The London jailors and executioners can tell a few tales about that! One day, however, a strange thing happened to a certain rich and distinguished man. The King and many other great lords and their ladies were gathered on a lovely summer’s day in a royal park where the winding paths led to a wood in the distance. Crowds of other people were there too, they didn’t

  think their journey or their time wasted if they could see that their beloved King and his family were happy and well. There was food and drink, music and dancing. There were walks to be taken in pairs or alone along the inviting paths and between scented rose bushes. A man, well-dressed so that he appeared to be one of the company, took up his stand with a pistol under his coat by a tree at a secluded spot where the park bordered on the wood, waiting for someone to come his way. And someone did come, a gentleman with a ring sparkling on his finger, a tinkling watch chain, diamonds in his buckles, and a ribbon and a star on his breast. He was strolling in the cool shade and thinking of nothing in particular. And while he was thinking of nothing in particular the fellow behind the tree stepped out, bowed low, pulled his pistol from under his coat, pointed it at the gentleman’s breast and asked him politely to keep quiet, no one need know about their conversation! You can’t help feeling uneasy when a pistol is aimed at you, you can never be sure what’s in it! The gentleman very sensibly thought: better your money than your life, better lose a ring than a finger! and he promised to keep quiet.

  ‘Now, Your Honour,’ said this fellow, ‘would you part with your two gold watches for a good price? Our schoolmaster adjusts the clock every day, so we can never be sure of the right time, and you can’t see the figures on the sundial.’ The gentleman had no choice, he was obliged to sell his watches to the scoundrel for a few pence, hardly the price of a glass of wine. In this way the rascal bought his ring and his buckles and the decorations off his breast, one after another and each for a paltry sum, with the pistol in his left hand all the time. When at last the gentleman thought, now he’ll let me go, thank God!, the rogue began again.

  ‘Your Honour, since we do business so easily, why don’t you buy some of my things from me?’ The gentleman thought, I must grin and bear it, that’s the expression, and said, ‘Show me what you have!’ The fellow took a collection of trinkets from his pocket, things he had bought at a tuppenny stall or filched from somewhere, and the gentleman had to buy them all from him, one after the other, none of them cheap. Eventually the rogue had nothing left but the pistol, but seeing that the gentleman still had a couple of lovely doubloons in his green silk purse he said, ‘Sir, won’t you buy this pistol of mine with what’s left in your purse? It’s made by the best gunmaker in London and it’s worth two doubloons of anyone’s money!’ The gentleman was surprised. ‘This robber’s an idiot!’ he thought, and bought the pistol. When he had bought it from the robber he turned the tables on him and said: ‘Hands up, my fine friend, and do as I tell you, keep walking in front of me or I’ll blow your brains out!’ But the rogue darted off into the wood. ‘Go ahead and shoot, Your Excellency,’ he said, ‘it’s not loaded!’ The gentleman pulled the trigger, and in fact it didn’t go off. He pushed the ramrod into the barrel, there was no trace of powder. By now the thief was well away into the wood; and the distinguished Englishman walked back, red in the face at being frightened by an empty threat, and he had something to think about now.

  A Profitable Game of Riddles

  Eleven people were on a boat going down the Rhine from Basel, and a Jew who was making for Chalampé was allowed to travel with them and sit in a corner so long as he behaved himself and tipped the boatman eighteen kreuzers. The Jew’s purse jingled right enough when he shook it, but it contained only one twelve-kreuzer piece; its companion was a brass button. Nevertheless he accepted the offer gratefully. For he thought, ‘There’ll be something to be made underway, many have got rich on the Rhine before now.’

  To begin with, on leaving the Tankard Inn, they chattered and joked a great deal, and the Jew, who didn’t take off his cloth pack but kept it firmly on his shoulder, sat there in his corner and had to put up with a great deal: it’s a wrong sometimes done to his kind. But when they were well past Öhningen and Cobbler’s Island, past Märkt and the cliff at Istein and St Vitus’s Chapel, one by one they all fell quiet and yawned and gazed down the length of the Rhine, until one of them broke the silence. ‘You, Moses,’ he said, ‘Don’t you know some way of whiling away our time? Your forefathers must have thought up all sorts of things in the wilderness.’

  ‘Now,’ thought the Jew, ‘here’s a chance to feather my nest,’ and he suggested they take turns to ask riddles, and he
would join in if they would allow him. All those who couldn’t solve a riddle were to give the one who set it a twelve-kreuzer piece, a good answer would earn the same sum. The whole company was happy with that, and hoping they would be amused by the Jew’s stupidity, or his clever idea, they each asked merrily whatever came into his head. The first, for example, asked: ‘How many soft-boiled eggs could the giant Goliath eat on an empty stomach?’ They all said no one could possibly guess that and paid out twelve kreuzers each. But the Jew said, ‘Just one, for when you’ve eaten one egg your stomach is no longer empty!’ He had won the twelve kreuzers.

  The next one thought, ‘You wait, Jew, I’ll test you on the New Testament, that way I won’t lose my twelve kreuzers!’ ‘Why did the apostle Paul write the Second Epistle to the Corinthians?’ The Jew said, ‘He can’t have been with them, if he had he could have spoken to them.’ That was another twelve kreuzers.