The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “He has done well, Keith, and his zeal shows that he will make a good soldier. Yes, another three days, and our messenger should return from Vienna; and the next morning, unless the reply is satisfactory, the troops will be on the move. After that, who knows?”

  During the last few days, the vague rumours that had been circulating had gained strength and consistency. Every day fresh regiments arrived and encamped near the city; and there were reports that a great concentration of troops was taking place, at Halle, under the command of Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick; and another, under the Duke of Bevern, at Frankfort-on-the-Oder.

  Nevertheless, the public announcement that war was declared with Austria, and that the army would march for the frontier, in three days’ time, came as a sudden shock. The proclamation stated that, it having been discovered that Austria had entered into a secret confederacy with other powers to attack Prussia; and the king having, after long and fruitless negotiations, tried to obtain satisfaction from that power; no resource remained but to declare war, at once, before the confederates could combine their forces for the destruction of the kingdom.

  Something like dismay was, at first, excited by the proclamation. A war with Austria was, in itself, a serious undertaking; but if the latter had powerful allies, such as Russia, France, and Saxony—and it was well known that all three looked with jealousy on the growing power of the kingdom—the position seemed well-nigh desperate.

  Among the troops, however, the news was received with enthusiasm. Confident in their strength and discipline, the question of the odds that might be assembled against them in no way troubled them. The conquest of Silesia had raised the prestige of the army, and the troops felt proud that they should have the opportunity of proving their valour in an even more serious struggle.

  Never was there a more brilliant assembly than that at the palace, the evening before the troops marched. All the general officers and their staffs were assembled, together with the ladies of the court, and those of the nobility and army. The king was in high good humour, and moved about the rooms, chatting freely with all.

  “So you have come to see us at last, young sir,” he said to Fergus. “I should scold you, but I hear that you have been utilizing your time well.

  “Remember that your sword is to be used against the enemies of the country, only,” and nodding, he walked on.

  The Princess Amelia was the centre of a group of ladies. She was a charming princess, but at times her face bore an expression of deep melancholy; and all knew that she had never ceased to mourn the fate of the man she would have chosen, Baron Trench, who had been thrown into prison by her angry father, for his insolence in aspiring to his daughter’s hand.

  “You must be glad that your hard work is over, Drummond,” Lindsay said, as they stood together watching the scene.

  “I am glad that the drill is over,” Fergus replied, “but I should have liked my work with the professor to have gone on for another six months.”

  “Ah, well! You will have opportunities to take it up again, when we return, after thrashing the Austrians.”

  “How long will that be, Lindsay?”

  The latter shrugged his shoulders.

  “Six months or six years; who can tell?” he said. “If it be true that Russia and France, to say nothing of Saxony, are with her, it is more likely to be years than months, and we may both come out colonels by the time it is over.”

  “That is, if we come out at all,” Fergus said, with a smile at the other’s confidence.

  “Oh! Of course, there is that contingency, but it is one never worth reckoning with. At any rate, it is pretty certain that, if we do fall, it will be with odds against us; but of course, asaides-de-camp our chance is a good deal better than that of regimental officers.

  “At any rate, you have had good preparation for the campaign, for your work will be child’s play in comparison to what you have been going through. How you stood it, I cannot make out. I worked pretty hard when I first arrived; but the drill for the first six months was tremendous, and I used to be glad to crawl into bed, as soon as I had had my supper.

  “Well, you have been a poor companion so far, Drummond.”

  “I am afraid I have been, but will try and make up for it, in the future.

  “I suppose there is no doubt that we shall march, in the first place, on Dresden.”

  “I think that there is no doubt of that. There is no Saxon army to speak of, certainly nothing that can offer any serious opposition. From there there are three or four passes by which we could pour into Bohemia. Saxony is a rich country, too, and will afford us a fine base for supplies, as we move on. I suppose the Austrians will collect an army to oppose us, in Bohemia. When we have thrashed them, I expect we shall go on straight to Vienna.”

  Fergus laughed.

  “It all sounds easy enough, Lindsay. I only hope that it will come off just as you prophesy.”

  “That is one advantage of fighting in a foreign service, Fergus. One fights just as stoutly for victory as if one were fighting for home, but if one is beaten it does not affect one so much. It is sad to see the country overrun, and pillaged; but the houses are not the houses of our own people, the people massacred are not one’s own relations and friends. One’s military vanity may be hurt by defeat; otherwise, one can bear it philosophically.”

  “I never looked at it in that light before, Lindsay, but no doubt there is a great deal in what you say. If my father had fallen on a German battlefield, instead of at Culloden, our estates would not have been confiscated, our glens harried, and our clansmen hunted down and massacred. No, I see there is a great difference. I suppose I should fight just as hard, against the Austrians, as I should have done against the English at Culloden, had I been there; but defeat would have none of the same consequences. No, putting it as you do, I must own that there is a distinct advantage in foreign service, that I never appreciated before.

  “But I see people are leaving, and I am not sorry. As we are going to be up before daybreak, the sooner one turns in the better.”

  Karl had received the order to call his master at three, to have breakfast ready at half past, and the horses at the door at four, with somewhat less than his usual stolidity.

  “You will have harder work in the future, Karl,” Fergus said.

  “I shall be glad of it, sir. Never have I had such a lazy time as I have had for the last month. The first three or four days were very pleasant; then I began to think that I should like a little to do, so as to remind me that there was such a thing as work. But the last fortnight has been terrible. A man cannot sleep for twenty-four hours, and if it had not been that Donald and I have had an occasional quarrel, as to our respective regiments and over the native land he is so fond of bragging about, I should have been ready to hang myself.

  “Ah, sir, how often have I to thank my stars that I did not take my discharge!—which I could have asked for, as I have served my time. I had thought of it, many times; and had said to myself how delightful it would be to hear the morning call sound, at a barracks near, and to turn over in my bed and go to sleep again; to have no guard to keep, no sergeant to bully or provost guard to arrest one, if one has taken a cup too much. This fortnight has shown me the folly of such ideas. It has taught me when I am well off, and what misery it is to be one’s own master, and to be always wondering how the day is to be got through.”

  “Well, you are not likely to have to complain that you have nothing to do, for some time now, Karl.”

  “No, cornet. I have felt a new man, since I heard the great news. There is always plenty to do, on a campaign. There are the horses to be cleaned, food to be cooked, forage and rations to be fetched. Then, too, on a campaign every one is merry and good tempered, and one sings as one marches and sits round the campfire. One may be cold and wet and hungry, but who cares? One swears at the moment, but one laughs again, as soon as the sun shines.”

  “Well, Karl, you had best turn in at once, for at three o’
clock we shall want to be called.”

  “You can rely upon my waking, sir. Does my officer wish to take a full-dress suit with him?”

  “No; the order is that all are to start in marching order, and that all baggage is to be cut down to the smallest proportions. No officer is to take more than can be carried in his valises.”

  It was the first week in August when the three columns, each twenty thousand strong, moved from their respective starting points. Although the king was nominally in command of the central division, Marshal Keith was the real commander. He rode with the king at the head of the column, and his aides-de-camp, and those of Frederick, were constantly on their way up and down the line, carrying orders and bringing in reports as to the manner in which the regiments maintained their respective positions, and especially how the artillery and baggage train kept up.

  There was no necessity, at present, for taking precautions. The march would for some days lead through Prussia, and it was morally certain that the Saxon army—which was small and scattered and, even if united, would not equal the strength of one of the Prussian armies—would not attempt any serious resistance; for the country was flat, and there would be no defiles where a small force of men could successfully oppose a larger one. Nevertheless, the daily marches were long for the infantry and the baggage, but by no means fatiguing for mounted men. The staff and aides-de-camp, with their orderlies, rode behind the leaders. The troopers were sometimes employed, instead of the officers, when a short written order had to be sent back to the rear of the column.

  The harvest having been gathered in, the cavalry rode across the open country, thus reducing the length of the column. The day was very hot, and the infantry opened their ranks, as much as possible, to allow the passage of what little air was moving. At nine o’clock the troops were halted. Each man had been served with a breakfast, before starting; and the haversacks were now opened, and a meal made of the bread they contained, washed down with an allowance of rough wine, carried in each regimental waggon. Then the men sat down, under the shade of greatcoats supported by ramrods and other contrivances, and either slept or talked until half-past two; when the bugle sounded. The greatcoats were rolled up and strapped on to the knapsacks, then there was a vigorous use of the brush, to remove the thick dust gathered on the march. At three the column got into motion again, and halted for the night at half-past six; when fires were lighted, coppers put on, and the main meal of the day presently served.

  The rations of the officers were the same as those of the men, but the greater part of them supplemented the food by that carried in their orderlies’ saddlebags. Lindsay, Fergus, and the marshals other two aides-de-camp had arranged that, when possible, they should mess together; and their servants should prepare the meal by turns, while those not so engaged looked after the horses, saw that they were fed, watered, and groomed. The servants were all old campaigners, and though neither Lindsay nor Fergus had thought ofgiving them orders to that effect, both Donald and Karl had laid in a stock of provisions.

  Donald had cooked a pair of fowls on the previous evening. Karl had bought a sucking pig. One of the German officer’s servants had a huge piece of salt beef, that had already been boiled, while the other had a hare. It was agreed at once that the fowls should be left for early breakfast; and the beef put aside for dinner, and for supper, also, if nothing else could be obtained. Karl, as the servant of the junior officer, was cook for the evening, and he acquitted himself admirably.

  Each officer carried in his saddlebag a tin plate, a drinking horn, and a knife, fork, and spoon. There was no dish, but the spit was handed round, and each cut off a portion. Soup made from the ration of meat was first served, then the hare, and then the sucking pig, while the four orderlies had an ample meal from the ration of meat. A supply of spirits had been carried in the staff waggon. This they took, plentifully watered, with the meal; with a stronger cup afterwards.

  The night was so fine that all agreed that it was not worthwhile to erect the tent carried for them in the waggon. At eight o’clock the order for the next day’s march came out, and two of the king’s orderlies started on horseback with copies of it to the commanders of brigades, who in their turn communicated to the colonels of their respective regiments.

  The next evening the force encamped round Torgau, a very strong fortress, where a great store of provisions had been collected. Ample quarters were assigned to the marshal and his staff in the town. Here they halted for a day to allow the other armies, which had both farther to march, to keep abreast of them on their respective lines of route.

  Then, following the Elbe, the army arrived after two marches in front of Dresden. The court of Saxony had, for years, been wasting the revenues of the country in extravagance and luxury; while intriguing incessantly with Austria, and dreaming of obtaining an increase of territory at the expense of Prussia. No effort had been made to prepare to carry out the engagements entered into with Austria; and the army, utterly neglected, numbered but some fifteen thousand. These were scattered over the country, and but poorly provided with artillery.

  When, then, the news arrived that three Prussian armies had crossed the frontier, there was no thought of resistance; but orders were despatched for the whole force to concentrate at Pirna, a strongly fortified camp among the defiles of the mountains separating Saxony from Bohemia. The position was almost an impregnable one, and they could receive reinforcements from Bohemia.

  On the arrival of the Prussian army the king fled, and Dresden threw open its gates. As Frederick hoped to detach Saxony from the alliance against him, the greater portion of the army were encamped outside the town; three or four regiments, only, marching in and quartering themselves in the empty Saxon barracks. The aid Saxony could render Frederick would be insignificant, but it was most desirable for him that he should ensure its neutrality, in order to secure his communications with Prussia when he marched forward into Bohemia.

  Finding the king had gone, his first step was to send a general officer, with a party of soldiers, to seize the archives in the palace. Among these was discovered the prize he most desired to find; namely a signed copy of the secret treaty, between Austria, Russia, France, and Saxony, for the invasion and partition of Prussia. Copies of this document were instantly sent off to the courts of Europe, thus affording an ample justification for what would otherwise have appeared a wholly unprovoked attack by Prussia upon her neighbours. Had it not been for the discovery of this document, Frederick would probably have always remained under the stigma of engaging in an unprovoked and ambitious war; for the court of Austria had hitherto, positively and categorically, declared to Frederick’s ambassador and envoys the non-existence of any such treaty or agreement between the powers.

  As the queen had remained in the palace, Frederick took up his abode in another royal building, Marshal Keith and a large number of officers being also quartered there. In order to prevent any broils with the citizens, orders were issued that certain places of refreshment were to be used only by officers, while the soldiers were only to frequent wine and beer shops selected in the neighbourhood of the barracks, and were strictly forbidden to enter any others. Any soldier caught in an act of theft or pillage was to be hung, forthwith, and all were enjoined to observe a friendly demeanour to the people.

  One evening, Fergus had been sent with a message to the camp, two miles from the town. It was nearly ten o’clock when he started to ride back. When within half a mile of the town he heard a pistol shot, in the direction of a large house, a quarter of a mile from the road.

  Without hesitation he turned his horse’s head in that direction. In a couple of minutes he arrived at a pair of large gates. They were closed, but he dismounted, fastened the bridle chain to them and, snatching the pistols from his holsters, ran along by the side of a high wall, until he came to a tree growing close to it.

  With some difficulty, for his high boots were ill adapted to such work, he climbed the tree, got on to the wall, and dropped dow
n. He was in large park-like grounds. Guided by a light in a window, he ran to the house. The door was closed. After hesitating for a moment he ran along and, soon coming, as he expected, to an open window, he at once climbed through it. A door was open and, passing on, he entered a large hall in which a light was burning.

  Pausing to listen now, he heard voices upstairs and, holding a pistol in each hand and his drawn sword in his teeth, he lightly ascended the stairs. On the landing two men lay dead. Light was issuing from a half-closed door and, noiselessly approaching it, he looked in.

  It was a small room. At the end stood eight or ten scared women, huddled together; while a soldier, with a pistol in one hand and a sword in the other, stood sentry over them. These were evidently the servants of the chateau, who had been unceremoniously hauled from their beds and gathered there, under a guard, to prevent them from screaming or giving any alarm. As Fergus was equally anxious that no alarm should be given, at present, he retired quietly.

  A pair of double doors faced the top of the staircase. This was evidently the grand reception room and, listening intently, he could hear a murmur of voices inside. Turning the handle and throwing them suddenly open, he entered.

  Upon the floor lay the body of a gentleman. A lady, pale as death and in a half-fainting condition, leant back in a settee; while a girl of thirteen or fourteen lay on a couch, with bound hands and a handkerchief fastened across her mouth.