by G. A. Henty
Presently he met a man driving a cart.
“My friend,” he said, “do you know of any place where a quiet man could put up, without running the risk of finding himself in the midst of these French and Confederacy troops?”
“’Tis not easy,” the man replied, “for they are all over the country, pillaging and plundering. We are heartily sick of them, and there are not a few of us who would be glad, if the King of Prussia would come and turn them out, neck and crop.”
“I don’t care what sort of a place it is, so that I could put my horse up. It is a good one and, like enough, some of these fellows would take a fancy to it.”
“I don’t think that it would be safe in any farmhouse within ten miles of here; but if you like to come with me, my hut stands at the edge of a wood, and you could leave him there without much risk.”
“Thank you, very much; that would suit me well. It is just what I had intended to do, but in the darkness I have no great chance of finding a wood.
“How far are we from Erfurt, now?”
“About five miles.”
“That will do very well. I have some business to do there, and can go and come back by the afternoon.”
In a quarter of an hour they arrived at the man’s house. It was but a small place.
“Not much to rob here,” his host said grimly. “They have taken my two cows, and all my poultry. My horse only escaped because they did not think him fit for anything.
“This is a stranger, wife,” he went on, as a woman rose, in some alarm, from a stool upon which she was crouching by the fire. “He will stop here for the night and, though there is little enough to offer him, at least we can make him welcome.”
He took a torch from the corner of the room, lighted it at the fire, and went out.
“You are right about your horse, my friend,” he said; “and it is small chance you would have of taking him back with you, if any of these fellows set eyes on him. I see your saddlery hardly matches with your horse.”
Fergus had indeed, before starting, taken off his saddle and other military equipments; and had replaced them with a common country saddle and bridle, adding a pair of rough wallets and the commonest of horse cloths, so as to disguise the animal as much as possible.
“I am sorry that I cannot give you a feed for the animal,” the man went on; “but I have none, and my horse has to make shift with what he can pick up.”
“I have one of my wallets full. I baited the horse at inns, as I came along. He may as well have a feed, before I take him out into the wood.”
He poured a good feed onto a flat stone. As he did so, the peasant’s horse lifted up his head and snuffed the air.
“You shall have some too, old boy,” Fergus said; and going across, was about to empty some on to the ground before it, when its owner, taking off his hat, held it out.
“Put it into this,” he said. “It is seldom, indeed, that he gets such a treat; and I would not that he should lose a grain.”
Fergus poured a bountiful feed into the hat.
“Now,” he said, “I can supplement your supper, as well as your horse’s;” and from the other wallet he produced a cold leg of pork, that Karl had put in before he started; together with three loaves; and two bottles of wine, carefully done up in straw.
The peasant looked astonished, as Fergus took these out and placed them upon the table.
“No, no, sir,” he said, “we cannot take your food in that way.”
“You are heartily welcome to it,” Fergus said. “If you do not assist me to eat it, it will be wasted. Tomorrow I shall breakfast at Erfurt, and maybe dine, also. I will start as soon as I get back.”
“Well, well, sir, it shall be as you please,” the man said; “but it seems that we are reversing our parts, and that you have become the host, and we your guests.”
It was a pleasant meal by the torch light. Many a month had passed since the peasants had tasted meat; and the bread, fresh from the Prussian bakeries, was of a very different quality to the black oaten bread to which they were accustomed. A horn of good wine completed their enjoyment.
When the meal was done, the man said:
“Now, master, I will guide you to the wood.”
There was no occasion to lead the horse; for it, as well as its companion, had been trained to follow their master like dogs, and to come to a whistle. The wood was but two or three hundred yards off, and the peasant led the way through the trees to a small open space in its centre. The saddle and bridle had been removed before they left the cottage; and Fergus tethered the horse, by a foot rope, to a sapling growing on the edge of the clearing. Then he patted it on the neck, and left it beginning to crop the short grass.
“It won’t get much,” the peasant said, “for my animal keeps it pretty short. It is his best feeding place, now; and I generally turn it out here, at night, when the day’s work is done.”
“What is its work, principally?”
“There is only one sort, now,” the man said. “I cut faggots in the forest, and take a cart load into Erfurt, twice a week. I hope, by the spring, that all these troubles will be over, and then I cultivate two or three acres of ground; but so long as these French, and the Confederacy troops, who are as bad, are about, it is no use to think of growing anything.
“Now, sir, is there anything that I can do for you?” he went on, after they returned to the cottage, and had both lit their pipes and seated themselves by the fire.
“I can see that you are not what you look. A farmer does not ride about the country on a horse fit for a king, or put up at a cottage like this.”
“Yes; you can help me by leading me by quiet paths to Erfurt. I tell you frankly that my business, there, is to find out how strong the French and Confederacy army is, in and around the town; also whether they are taking any precautions against an attack, and if there are any signs that they intend to enter Hanover, or to move towards Dresden.”
“I daresay I can learn all that for you, without difficulty; for I supply several of the inns with faggots. There are troops quartered in all of them, and the helpers and servants are sure to hear what is going on. Not, of course, in the inns where the French are quartered, but where the German men are lodged. They speak plainly enough there, and indeed everyone knows that a great many of them are there against their will. The Hesse and Gotha and Dessau men would all prefer fighting on the Prussian side, but when they were called out they had to obey.
“At what time will you start?”
“I should like to get to Erfurt as soon as the place is astir.”
“That is by five,” the man said. “There is trumpeting and drumming enough by that time, and no one could sleep longer if they wanted to.”
“Then we will start at dawn.”
The peasant would have given up his bed to Fergus, but the latter would not hear of it, and said that he was quite accustomed to sleeping on the ground; whereupon the peasant went out, and returned with a large armful of rushes; which, as he told Fergus, he had cut only the day before to mend a hole in the thatch. Fergus was well content, for he knew well enough that he should sleep very much better, on fresh rushes, than he should in the peasant’s bed place, where he would probably be assailed by an army of fleas.
As soon as the man and his wife were astir in the morning, Fergus got up; bathed his head and face in a tiny streamlet, that ran within a few yards of the house; then, after cutting a hunch of bread to eat on their way, the two started.
They did not come down upon the main road until within a mile and a half of the town, and they then passed through a large village, where a troop of French cavalry were engaged in grooming their horses. They attracted no attention whatever, and entered Erfurt at a quarter-past five. They separated when they got into the town, agreeing to meet in front of the cathedral, at eleven o’clock.
Fergus went to an eating house, where he saw a party of French non-commissioned officers and soldiers seated. They were talking freely, confident
that neither the landlord, the man who was serving them, nor the two or three Germans present could understand them.
It was evident that they had very little confidence in Soubise.
“One would think,” a sergeant said, “that we were going to change our nationality, and to settle down here for life. Here we have some fifty thousand men, and there is nothing to stop our going to Dresden, except some ten thousand or twelve thousand Prussians. They say that Daun has an army that could eat up Frederick, and it is certain that he could not spare a sergeant’s guard to help bar the way.
“I cannot understand it, comrades. This leisurely way of making war may suit some people, but it is not our way.”
“And we must admit that it is not the Prussians’ way,” another said. “They are our enemies; though why, I am sure I don’t know. That is not our business. But the way that they dash out, and set the Austrians dancing, is really splendid. I wish that our own generals had a little of Fritz’s energy and go.”
There was a general murmur of assent.
“Here we are, September beginning, and next to nothing done. Now there would be enough to do, if Fritz could get away from Daun and dash off in this direction.”
“Yes,” another said, “there would be plenty to do, but I would not mind wagering that we should not wait for him; and after all, I am not sure if it would not be the best thing to do, for these Germans with us are little better than a rabble.”
“That is so, Francois; but, mixed up with us as they would be, they would have to fight whether they liked it or not. At any rate, if we don’t mean to fight, what are we here for?”
“That I cannot say,” another laughed; “but I own I am not so eager to fight as you seem to be. We are very comfortable. We ride about the country, we take pretty well what we like. It is better than being in barracks, at home.
“While, on the other hand, it is no joke fighting these Prussians. The fights are not skirmishes, they are battles. It is not a question of a few hundred killed, it is a question of ding-dong fighting, and of fifteen or twenty thousand killed on each side—no joke, that. For my part, I am quite content to take it easy at Erfurt, and to leave it to the Austrians to settle matters with these obstinate fellows.”
So they continued talking, and Fergus saw that, so far, no news whatever of Frederick’s march against Erfurt had reached them. He learned, too, that although there were some outlying bodies to the north, the main bulk of the force lay in and around Erfurt.
The contempt with which the French soldiers spoke of the German portion of the army was very great. Each little state had, by the order of the Council of the Confederacy, been compelled to furnish a contingent, even if its representatives in the council had opposed the proposal; therefore very many of the men had joined unwillingly, while in other cases the French declared that the levy had been made up by hiring idlers and ne’er-do-wells in the towns, so as to avoid having to put the conscription into force in the rural districts.
The officers were declared to be as incapable as the men, and had it not been that an Austrian contingent some five thousand strong had been joined with them, and the drilling largely undertaken by the non-commissioned officers of this force, nothing approaching order or discipline could have been maintained. All the Frenchmen lamented their fortune in having to act with such allies, instead of being with the purely French army that was gradually pressing the Duke of Cumberland to the seaboard.
Fergus waited until the party had left the inn, when the landlord himself came across to hand him his reckoning.
“Bad times, master,” he said. “Bad times,” shaking his head ruefully.
“Yes, they are bad enough, landlord; but I should say that you must be doing a good trade, with all these soldiers in the town.”
“A good trade!” the landlord repeated. “I am being ruined. Do you not know that, in addition to levying a heavy contribution on the town, they issued a regulation settling the prices at which the troops were to be served, at beer shops and inns: breakfast—and you saw what those fellows ate—4 pence; a tumbler of wine, 1 pence; dinner, 5 pence. Why, each item costs me more than double that; and as nobody brings in cattle, for these might be seized on the way, and no compensation given, so meat gets dearer. We are waiting until there is none to be had, on any terms; and then we shall send representatives to the general, to point out to him that it is absolutely impossible for us to obey the regulations.
“Ah, these are terrible times! We could not have suffered more than this, had Coburg joined Frederick; though they say that Richelieu’s French army is plundering even worse, in Hanover and the country beyond it, than Soubise is doing here.
“Moreover, one would rather be plundered by an enemy than by fellows who pretend to come hither as friends. If Frederick would march in here, I would open my house free to all comers, and would not grudge the last drop of wine in my cellar.”
“There is never any saying,” Fergus replied. “The King of Prussia always appears when least expected, and more unlikely things have happened than that he should appear here, some fine morning.”
Having paid his reckoning, he went to the door. As he was sallying out, a mounted officer dashed by at a headlong gallop; his horse was flecked with foam, and it was evident that he had ridden far and fast, on an important errand.
Having nothing to do until he should meet the peasant, Fergus followed the officer at a leisurely pace; and in five minutes came up with the horse, held by a soldier at the entrance gate of a very large house. Sentries were pacing up and down in front of it, and officers going in and out.
“Is that the headquarters of the French general?” he asked a townsman.
“Yes,” and the man walked on with a muttered malediction.
A few minutes later several mounted officers rode out, and dashed off in haste in various directions.
“There is evidently something up,” Fergus said to himself. “Perhaps they have got news of the Prussian approach.”
In a quarter of an hour several general officers arrived, and entered the house. It was evident that a council of war had been summoned. Half an hour elapsed, and then a number of aides-de-camp and staff officers rode off in haste. A few minutes later, a trumpet sounded a regimental call, and then the assembly.
Before it had died away, similar calls echoed from all parts of the town. Soldiers ran hastily through the streets, mounted officers dashed in every direction, and the citizens came to their doors, in surprise at this sudden movement.
Fergus had no longer any doubt about the cause of the stir. The great thing, now, was to ascertain whether the army would advance to take up some strong position outside the town and oppose the Prussian advance, or whether they would march away.
Being fifty thousand in number, the former would appear to be the natural course for a general to adopt; as Frederick had with him but twenty-three thousand men. Of this fact, however, Soubise would be ignorant, and might only have heard that the Prussian army was marching to annihilate him.
Before long baggage waggons began to clatter through the streets. They were being driven westward, and it was in the same direction that the regiments made their way.
Fergus followed them to the plain outside the town. The tents had already been struck; the troops, as they arrived from the town and camp, were marshalled in order; a long train of baggage waggons were already making their way westward; and there was no longer any grounds for doubt that Soubise was retreating.
It was just eleven o’clock when Fergus returned to the cathedral. The peasant was awaiting him.
“They all seem on the move,” the latter said. “I have heard much about them.”
“It does not matter, now,” Fergus replied. “I must get back to your place, as quickly as I can.”
Not a word was spoken, until they had left the town.
“They must be going up into Hanover, to join the French army there,” the peasant said.
“They are running away. Frederick wi
ll be here tomorrow night, or at any rate next day.”
“The news seems too good to be true, master. How have you learnt it?”
“I have learnt it from no one here. I am one of the king’s officers, and I came on here to find out whether the enemy would be likely to come out and fight, or would bolt when they heard of his advance.”
“The Lord be praised!” the man said piously, taking off his hat as he spoke. “I thought, sir, that there was something curious in your having such a horse; and still more so, in your wanting to find out all about the force of the enemy here. But it was no business of mine; and I felt that you must be a friend for, had you been Austrian or French, you would have ridden boldly into the town.”
As they went along the road they were met by several troops of cavalry, riding at full speed.
“Is the way we came this morning the shortest?”
“Yes, sir, by a good mile.”
“Then we will return by it,” said Fergus.
As soon as they left the main road they went at a run for some distance, and then broke into a fast walk. In an hour from the time of leaving Erfurt, they arrived at the hut.
“I will run along and fetch your horse, sir,” the peasant said.
“No, I will go myself. He does not know you, and might refuse to let you come near him.”
In a few minutes, Fergus returned with his horse. The saddle, bridle, and wallets were quickly put on. Fergus dropped his pistols into his saddlebags, and buckled on the sword he had brought with him. It was not his own, but one he had bought at starting—a good piece of steel, but with a battered and rusty sheath that showed that it had been lying for weeks, possibly for months, on some field of battle before being picked up.
Then, with a word of adieu and thanks to the peasant and his wife, and slipping a crown piece into the hand of the latter, he mounted and rode off.
CHAPTER 10
Rossbach
Fergus knew that there were several cavalry posts ahead, and thought it likely that some of these might be left to give warning of the Prussian approach. He therefore rode across the country for some miles. He had begun to think that he must have gone beyond the limit of their outposts, when he saw a hussar pacing across the line in front of him, his beat evidently being between two small woods three or four hundred yards apart.