The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “Do you want a surgeon to see you?”

  “No, they must have thousands of serious cases on hand. I merely fainted from loss of blood. The two wounds in my head cannot be very serious, and Karl has bandaged them up as well as a surgeon could do. The worst wound is in my leg. The bayonet went right through it, and for a moment pinned it to the saddle. However, it is but a flesh wound, behind the bone about six inches below the knee. It bled very freely at first, but Karl stanched it, and it has not burst out since; so it is evident that no great harm is done.”

  “I will bring you in some wine and water now,” Diedrich said. “They are getting supper, and I will send you a bowl of soup, as soon as it is ready.”

  After Karl had tethered the horses—that of Fergus with the others belonging to the staff, and his own with those of the escort and staff orderlies—he sat down at one of the fires, ate his supper—for each man carried three days’ provisions in his haversack—and, chatting with his comrades, heard that several of the orderlies had been killed in the fight; and that four of the officers of the royal staff had also fallen under the enemy’s fire, as they carried messages through the storm of case shot and bullets. All agreed that never had they seen so terrible a fight, and that well-nigh a third, if not more, of the army had been killed or wounded.

  “We made a mistake about these Russians,” one of the troopers said. “They are dirty, and they don’t even look like soldiers, but I never saw such obstinate beggars to fight. From the moment the cavalry made their first charge they were beaten, and ought to have given in; but they seemed to know nothing about it, and that second line of theirs charged as if it was but the beginning of a battle. I was never so surprised in my life as when they poured down on us, horse and foot; but all that was nothing to the way they stood, afterwards. If they had been bags of sawdust they could not have been more indifferent to our fire.

  “That was a bad business of Dohna’s men. I thought, when we joined them, they looked too spick and span to be any good; but that they should run, almost as fast and far as the men of the Federal army at Rossbach, is shameful. Neither in the last war nor in this has a Prussian soldier so disgraced himself.

  “I don’t envy them. I don’t suppose a man in the army will speak to them, and we may be sure that it will be a long time, indeed, before our Fritz gets over it. It will need some hard fighting, and something desperate in the way of bravery, before he forgives them.

  “How is your master, Karl?”

  “He will do. He has got three wounds, and lost a lot of blood; but in a fortnight he will be in the saddle again. Perhaps less, for he is as hard as steel.”

  “He saved the king’s life, Karl. I was twenty yards away, and was wedged in so that there was no moving, except backwards; for Dohna’s men were half mad with fright, and the Russians were cutting and slashing in the middle of us.”

  “I saw it,” Karl said. “I was close to you at the time. I put spurs to my horse and rode over three or four of our own men, and cut down one who grasped my reins; but I got there too late. I had no great fear of the result, though. Why, you know, he killed six Pomeranians who were looting Count Eulenfurst’s place, close to Dresden; and he made short work of those three Russians. It was done beautifully, too. They tried to get one on each side of him, but he kept them on his right, and that made a safe thing of it.

  “He is a quiet, good-tempered officer. There is as much fun about him as a boy, but when his spirit is up, there are not many swordsmen in the army that could match him. Why, when he first joined, nearly three years ago, he was in the 3rd Royal Dragoons, my own regiment; and I heard the sergeant who was in the fencing room say that there was not an officer in the regiment who was a match for him with the sword.

  “Now I have finished my pipe, and must be going to look after him again.”

  The king’s surgeon examined Fergus’s wounds the next morning, and said that, although he would not be able to sit a horse until his leg had healed, he would otherwise soon be convalescent.

  Soon after he had left him, Sir John Mitchell came in to see him. As the English ambassador had very often, during the last two winters, met Fergus in the king’s apartments, at which he himself was a regular visitor, they were by this time well known to each other. Mitchell, indeed, regarded Fergus as a valuable assistant in his work of interesting Frederick, and turning his mind from his many troubles and anxieties.

  “The surgeon has just given a good account of you to the king, Drummond,” he said; “and his majesty expressed much satisfaction at hearing that your wounds are not serious.

  “‘That youth is not like most of your compatriots, Mitchell,’ he said to me with a smile; ‘ever ready to fight, but equally ready to join in a drinking bout, should opportunity offer. He is always on horseback, and as hardy and as healthy as can be. With one of the hard-drinking sort, fever might set in; but there is no risk of it with him.

  “‘As I told you, he saved my life yesterday. I was nearly compelled to take to my sword, but that would have been of little avail against the three Russians. Save for the sake of Prussia, my life is of no great value to me, for ’tis one full of care and trouble; but for my country’s sake I would fain hold on to it, as long as there is hope for her deliverance from her enemies.

  “‘You can congratulate him on his promotion, Mitchell, for I made him a major on the spot. It was a brilliant feat, as brilliant as that which he performed at Lobositz, or that at Count Eulenfurst’s house at Dresden, each of which got him a step. ’Tis not often that an officer gets thrice promoted for distinguished bravery. Each time the feat was the talk of the whole army; and it will not be less so at the present time, methinks, nor will any feel jealous at his rapid rise.’”

  “The king is too kind, your excellency.”

  “I do not think so, Drummond. I have marked you a good deal during the last two years, and you have borne yourself well; and as a Scotchman I am proud of you. You have the knack of your kinsman Keith of entering into the king’s humours; of being a bright companion when he is in a good temper, and of holding your tongue when he is put out; of expressing your opinion frankly, and yet never familiarly; and your freshness and hopefulness often, I see, cheer the king, whose Prussians cannot, for their lives, help being stiff and formal, or get to talk with him as if he were a human being like themselves.

  “Next to Keith and myself, I think that there is no one with whom the king can distract his mind so completely as with you. To him it is like getting a whiff of the fresh air from our Scottish hills. He told the surgeon to see that you were sent down with the first batch of wounded officers.”

  The next day, accordingly, while the two armies were watching each other and the cannon were growling, Fergus was taken down to Frankfort.

  Zorndorf was fought on the 25th of August; and on the 2nd of September Frederick started with the army for Saxony, where Prince Maurice had been sorely pressed by Daun and the newly-raised army of the Confederates, and had had to take post on some heights a short distance from Dresden.

  “A bad job, major,” Karl grumbled as he brought the news to Fergus, who was quartered in a private house. “The king has gone to have a slap at Daun; and here are we, left behind. If he would have waited another fortnight, we might have been with him.”

  “Perhaps we shall get there in time yet, Karl. You may be sure that as soon as Daun hears that the king is coming he will, as usual, begin to fortify himself; and it will need no small amount of marching and counter-marching to get him to come out and give battle. He was slow and cautious before, but after Leuthen he is likely to be doubly so.

  “However, I will get a tailor here today to measure me for a new uniform. What with blood, and your cutting my breeches to get at my leg, I must certainly get a new outfit before I rejoin.

  “I hope I shall be with the marshal again. It is a good deal more lively with him than it is with the king’s staff; who, although no doubt excellent soldiers, are certainly not lively companion
s. I do hope there will be no great battle until we get there. I should think I might start in a week.”

  The surgeon, however, would not hear of this; and it was the end of the third week in September before Fergus rode from Frankfort. The news from the south was so far satisfactory that he had fidgeted less than he would otherwise have done. Daun had, in fact, retired hastily from Meissen, and had taken post in an almost impregnable position at Stolpen. Neisse was being besieged and must be relieved, but Daun now blocked Frederick’s way at Stolpen, both to that town and to Bautzen—cut him off, indeed, from Silesia, and for the moment the royal army and that of Prince Maurice were lying at Dresden. Fergus, therefore, was content to follow the doctor’s orders, and to spend four days on the journey down to Dresden.

  Keith was there, and received him joyfully. Lindsay greeted him vociferously.

  “So you have gone up another step above me,” he laughed. “Never was a fellow with such luck as you have. Saved the king’s life, I hear. Tumbled over scores of Russians. Won the victory with your own sword.”

  “Not quite as much as that, Lindsay,” Fergus laughed. “The scores of Cossacks come down to three, of whom one my horse tumbled over, and I managed the other two. Still, although the battle was only half finished when I was put out of all further part in it, I may be said in one way to have won it; for had the king fallen, there is no saying how matters might have gone. It is true that we could not have lost it, for the Russians were past taking the offensive, but it might have been a drawn battle.”

  “It was a terrible business,” Lindsay said seriously. “As bad in its way as Prague, that is to say in proportion to the numbers engaged. Everyone says they would rather fight three Austrians than one Russian. The marshal has rather scored off the king; for he warned him that, though slow, the Russians were formidable foes, but the king scoffed at the idea. He has found out now that he greatly undervalued them, and has owned as much to Keith.

  “I am sorry to say the marshal is not well. He suffers a good deal, and I fancy that, after this campaign is over, he will ask to be relieved from active duty in the field, and will take the command of the army covering Dresden. He has led a hard life, you see, and has done as much as three ordinary men.

  “Still, we shall see how he is next spring. It would almost break his heart to have to give up before this war is over.”

  “It is difficult to say when that will be, Lindsay. Here we are, getting towards the third year, and the war is not one whit nearer to the end than it was when we left Berlin. It is true that we have no longer to count France as formidable, but Russia has turned out far more so than we expected; and having once taken the matter up, the empress, if she is half as obstinate as her soldiers, is likely to go on at it for a long time. And we are using up our army very fast, and cannot replace our losses as Austria and Russia can do.”

  “I hope they are not going to make another twenty years’ war of it,” Lindsay said. “If you go on in the way that you are doing, Drummond, you will be a field marshal in a third of that time; but you must remember about the proverb of the pitcher and the well.”

  “Yes, Lindsay, but you must remember that I am having a share of hard knocks. I have been wounded twice now, to say nothing of being stunned and taken prisoner; so you see I am having my share of bad luck, as well as good. Now at present you have never had as much as a scratch, and when your bad luck comes, it may come all in a lump.”

  “There is something in that, Fergus, though I own that I had not thought of it. Well, perhaps it is better to take it in small doses than have it come all at once.

  “So you have brought your man back safe, I see, though he has had an ugly slash across the cheek.

  “By the way, I hope that those two sword cuts are not going to leave bad scars, Drummond. It would be hard to have your beauty spoilt for life, and you only nineteen; though, fortunately, everyone thinks you two or three years older. However, they will be honourable scars, and women don’t mind any disfigurement in a man, if it is got in battle. It is a pity, though, that you did not get them when defending the king’s life, instead of in the cavalry charge afterwards.

  “You brought your horse safe out of the battle, I hope?”

  “He has, like myself, honourable scars, Lindsay. He got an ugly gash on the flank with a bayonet; and I am afraid, when it heals, white hair will grow on it. He had also a bullet through the neck. Fortunately it missed both spine and windpipe, and is quite healed up now.”

  “It is really a pity to take such a horse as that under fire,” Lindsay said regretfully.

  “Well, when one risks one’s own life, one ought not to mind risking that of a horse, however valuable.”

  “No, I suppose not. Still, it is a pity to ride so valuable an animal. You are paid so much for risking your own life, you see, Drummond; but it is no part of the bargain that you should risk that of a horse worth any amount of money.”

  Fergus, on his arrival, called at once on Count Eulenfurst; who, with his wife and daughter, were delighted to see him, for he had now been absent from Dresden since Frederick had marched against Soubise, thirteen months before.

  “We heard from Captain Lindsay,” the count said, “when the army arrived here, some three weeks since, that you were wounded, but not gravely; also, that for valour shown in defending the king, when he was attacked by three Russians, you had been promoted to the rank of major, upon which we congratulate you heartily. And now that you have come, I suppose your king will soon be dashing away with you again.

  “What a man he is, and what soldiers! I can assure you that sometimes, when I read the bulletins, I am inclined to regret that I was not born two days’ journey farther north. And yet, in spite of his fierce blows at all these enemies, there is no sign of peace being any nearer than when you dropped down to our rescue, some twenty-seven months ago. ’Tis a terrible war.”

  “It is, indeed, count. Certainly, when I crossed the seas to take service here, I little thought how terrible was the struggle that was approaching. If we had known it, I am sure that my mother would never have let me leave home.”

  “She must be terribly uneasy about you,” the countess said. “Do you hear from her often?”

  “She writes once a month, and so do I. I get her letters in batches. I know that she must be very anxious, but she says nothing about it in her letters. She declares that she is proud that I am fighting for a Protestant prince, so hemmed in by his enemies; and that the thoughts and hopes of all England are with him, and the bells ring as loudly at our victories, through England and Scotland, as they do at Berlin.”

  “If we of Saxony had understood the matter sooner,” the count said, “we should be surely fighting now on your side; and indeed, had not Frederick compelled his Saxon prisoners to serve with him, had he sent them all to their homes, there would have been no animosity and, as Protestants, the people would soon have come to see that your cause was their own. Most of them do see it, now; for whenever the enemy have entered Saxony, they have plundered and ill treated the people, especially the Protestants.

  “Are your horses still alive?”

  “Yes, count, and well, save that one was wounded at Zorndorf; but for that he cannot blame me, for it was his own doing. When Seidlitz charged into the midst of the Russians, he passed close to us; and Turk, maddened by excitement, seized the bit in his teeth and joined him in the melee. I got three wounds and he had two, but happily he has been cured as rapidly as I have, though with no advantage to the appearance of either of us.”

  “Will the scars on your face always show as they do now?” Thirza asked.

  “I am sure I hope not,” he said. “At present they are barely healed; but in time, no doubt, the redness will fade out, and they will not show greatly, though I daresay the scars will be always visible.”

  “I should be proud of them, Major Drummond,” said Thirza, “considering that you got them in so great a battle, and one in which you rendered such service to the king.”<
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  “You see, I shall not be always able to explain when and how I got them,” Fergus laughed. “People who do not know me will say:

  “‘There goes a young student, who has got his face slashed at the university.’”

  “They could not say that,” she said indignantly. “Even if you were not in uniform, anyone can see that you are a soldier.”

  “Whether or not, Countess Thirza, it is a matter that will certainly trouble me very little. However, I begin to think that I shall not always be a soldier. Certainly, I should not leave the army as long as this war goes on; but I have seen such terrible fighting, such tremendous carnage, that I think that at the end of it, if I come out at the end, I shall be glad to take to a peaceful life. My cousin, Marshal Keith, has been fighting all his life. He is a great soldier, and has the honour of being regarded by the king as his friend; but he has no home, no peace and quiet, no children growing up to take his place. I should not like to look forward to such a life, and would rather go back and pass my days in the Scottish glens where I was brought up.”

  “I think that you are right,” the count said seriously. “In ordinary times a soldier’s life would be a pleasant one, and he could reckon upon the occasional excitement of war; but such a war as this is beyond all calculation. In these three campaigns, and the present one is not ended, nigh half of the army which marched through here has been killed or wounded. It is terrible to think of. One talks of the chances of war, but this is making death almost a certainty; for if the war continues another two or three years, how few will be left of those who began it!

  “Even now a great battle will probably be fought, in a few days. Two great armies are within as many marches of Dresden. The smallest of them outnumbers Frederick. The other is fully twice his strength, and so intrenched, as I hear, that the position is well-nigh impregnable.”