by G. A. Henty
That officer had not the slightest idea of any possibility of attack from the east. The whole Austrian army stood between him and Frederick on the northeast, and Prince Henry on the southeast. He was therefore taken altogether by surprise. Six hundred of his men were killed; and he himself, with twenty-eight field officers and seventeen hundred and eighty-five other officers and men, taken prisoners.
This march of fifty hours, in which an army with the whole of its baggage traversed fifty-eight miles, through a country occupied by enemies, is one of the most remarkable on record, and completely changed the whole situation of the campaign. There was nothing for Daun to do, if he would not lose Dresden and the whole of Saxony again, but to follow Prince Henry. This movement completed the dissatisfaction of his Russian ally, Soltikoff, who had been already sorely worried and harassed by Frederick, ever since Daun had moved away to defend his magazines and crush Prince Henry; and now, seeing that his own food supply was likely to fail him, he marched away with his army into Poland.
The king was at this time, to his disgust and indignation, laid up for six weeks with the gout; but as soon as he was better, he set off to join Prince Henry. Daun was slowly falling back and, had he been let alone, Dresden might have been recaptured and the campaign come to a triumphant ending.
Unfortunately Frederick was not content to leave well alone, and sent Fink with seventeen thousand men to Maxim, to cut off Daun’s retreat into Bohemia; intending himself to attack him in front. Daun for once acted with decision, attacked Fink with twenty-seven thousand men and, although the Prussians fought with most obstinate bravery, they were surrounded; battered by the Austrian artillery; while they themselves, having no guns with which to make reply, were forced to surrender. Some had already made their way off, but in killed, wounded, and prisoners, the loss was fully twelve thousand men.
Frederick threw the blame upon Fink, but most unjustly. That officer had followed out the orders given him, and had done all that man could do to hold the position that he was commanded to take up, and the disaster was wholly due to Frederick’s own rashness in placing so small a force, and that without artillery, where they could be attacked by the whole Austrian army. Fink, after his release at the conclusion of the peace three years later, was tried by court martial and sentenced to a year’s imprisonment.
This disaster entirely altered the situation. Daun, instead of continuing his retreat to Bavaria, advanced to occupy Saxony; and drove General Dierocke across the Elbe, taking fifteen hundred of his men prisoners. Frederick, however, barred the way farther, and six weeks later both armies went into winter quarters; Daun still holding Dresden and the strip of country between it and Bohemia, but the rest of Saxony being as far out of his reach as ever.
The last six weeks of the campaign was a terrible time for all. Frederick himself had lived in a little cottage in the small town of Freyburg, and even after the armies had settled down in their cheerless quarters, he still made several attempts to drive the Austrians out, having received a reinforcement of ten thousand men from Duke Ferdinand. These efforts were in vain.
The ten thousand, however, on their way to join the king, had struck a heavy blow at one of his bitterest enemies, the Duke of Wuertemberg, who had twelve thousand of his own men, with one thousand cavalry, at Fulda. The duke had ordered a grand ball to be held, and great celebrations of joy at the news of the Austrian victory at Maxim; but on the very day on which these things were to take place, Ferdinand’s men fell upon him suddenly, scattered his army in all directions, took twelve hundred prisoners, and sent the duke with such of his troops as had escaped back to Wuertemberg again; his subjects, who were largely Protestants, rejoicing hugely over his discomfiture.
On the day on which Maxim was fought Admiral Hawke, with a small squadron, utterly defeated the French fleet that was to convey an invading army to England. France herself was getting as short of cash as Prussia, and in November it became necessary to declare a temporary bankruptcy and, the king setting the example, all nobles and others possessing silver plate sent them to the mint to be coined into money.
So eager was the king to take advantage of any openings the Austrians might give for attack that, although so near Dresden, Fergus was unable to carry out his promise to the Count Eulenfurst to pay him a visit; for he was kept constantly employed, and could not ask for leave. Early in April the king sent for him. The English ambassador was present, but Earl Marischal Keith had gone away on a mission.
“I have two pieces of news for you, major,” the king said pleasantly. “In the first place, it is now getting on for two years since you did me that little service at Zorndorf, and since then you have ever been zealously at work. Others have gone up in rank, and it is time that you had another step. Therefore, from today you are colonel. No man in the army has better deserved promotion, and indeed you ought to have had it after you returned from Brunswick’s army where, as the duke’s despatches told me, you had rendered excellent service. So many officers of rank have fallen since then that promotion has been rapid, and it is high time that you obtained the step that you so well deserve.
“The other piece of news is for Sir John Mitchell to tell you, for it is to his good offices that it is due.”
“Very partially so, your majesty,” said the ambassador. “It is like enough that Pitt would not have troubled to take action on my recommendation only, had it not been that you so strongly backed my request that, in fact, it became one from yourself. Therefore it is for you to give him the news.”
“As you please,” the king said.
“Well then, Drummond, his excellency and your cousin the Marischal put their heads together, and his excellency sent a warm letter to the English minister, saying that you had rendered such services to his sovereign’s ally that he prayed that the sequestration of your father’s estates should be annulled. I myself added a memorandum saying that, as you had saved my life at Zorndorf, and rendered me other valuable services, I should view it as a personal favour if his request was granted. The thing would have been managed in a couple of days, in this country; but in England it seems that matters move more slowly, and his excellency has only today received an official intimation that the affair has been completed, and that your father’s estates have been restored to you.”
Fergus was, for the moment, completely overwhelmed. He had never thought for a moment that the estate would ever be restored, and the sudden news, following that of his promotion, completely overwhelmed him.
It was of his mother rather than of himself that he thought. He himself had been too young to feel keenly the change in their life that followed Culloden; but although his mother had borne her reverses bravely, and he had never heard a complaint or even a regret cross her lips, he knew that the thought that he would never be chief of their brave clansmen, and that these had no longer a natural leader and protector, was very bitter to her.
“Your majesty is too good.
“Your excellency—” and he stopped.
“I know what you would say,” the king said kindly, “and there is no occasion to say it. I have only paid some of the debt I owe you, and his excellency’s thought gave me well-nigh as much pleasure as it does you. Now, be off to your camp.
“You see, Sir John, between us we have done what the Austrians and Russians have never managed between them—I mean, we have shaken Colonel Drummond’s presence of mind.
“There, go along with you, we have matters to talk over together.”
Fergus saluted almost mechanically, bowed gratefully to Mitchell, and then left the room in a whirl of emotion. To be the head of his clan again was, to him, a vastly greater matter than to be a colonel in even the most renowned and valiant army in Europe. Of the estates he thought for the moment but little, except that his mother would now be able to give up her petty economies and her straitened life, and to take up the station that had been hers until his father’s death.
There was another thought, too—that of Countess Thirza Eulenfurst. Hitherto he
had resolutely put that from him. It was not for him, a soldier of fortune, without a penny beyond his pay, to aspire to the hand of a rich heiress. It was true that many Scottish adventurers in foreign services had so married, but this had seemed a thing altogether beyond him. He had rendered a service to her father, and they had, in consequence, been most kind to him; but he had thought that it would be only a poor return for their kindness for him to aspire to their daughter’s hand.
He had put the matter even more resolutely aside because, once or twice, the count had said things that might be construed as hints that he should not regard such an act as presumptuous. He had spoken not unapprovingly of the marriages of ladies of high rank to men who had rendered great services to the countries for which they had fought, and said that, with such ample means as Thirza would possess, there would be no need for him to seek for a wealthy match for her. Thirza herself had evinced lively pleasure, whenever he went to see them, and deep regret when he left them; while her colour rose, sometimes, when he came upon her suddenly. But these indications that he was not altogether indifferent to her had but determined him, more resolutely, to abstain from taking advantage of the gratitude she felt for the service he had rendered.
Now, it seemed to him that the news he had heard had somewhat changed the position. He was no longer a penniless soldier. It was true that the Drummond estates were as nothing by the side of the broad lands owned by her father; but at least, now, he was in the position of a Scottish gentleman of fair means and good standing, who could dispense with wealth on the part of a bride, and had a fair home and every comfort to offer to one in his native land. That he had, too, obtained the rank of colonel in the Prussian army, by service in many a desperate battle, distinctly added to his position. Thus, in every respect, the news that he had received was in the highest degree gratifying to him.
CHAPTER 18
Engaged
On the following day, Sir John Mitchell handed to Fergus the official documents respecting the restoration of the estates and, after taking copies of the same, Fergus wrote a long letter to his mother, inclosing the official papers, Mitchell having offered to send the packet home with his despatches. Fergus was glad to get the documents sent off in this way—by which, indeed, he had sent the greater part of his letters to his mother—the post being so uncertain and insecure that there was no trusting it; and although his mother’s replies were always sent to the care of the ambassador, a large number of them were lost in the transit.
Early in April Fergus suddenly broke down. His work had been almost incessant. The cold in the tent had, at night, been extreme; and, having been wetted to the skin one day, when a sudden thaw came on, his clothes had been frozen stiff when, at nightfall, the frost returned with even greater severity than before. In spite of the cloaks and blankets that Karl heaped upon his bed, he shivered all night, and in the morning hot fits came on. The king’s surgeon, coming in to see him, pronounced that the chill had resulted in what was probably rheumatic fever.
He was at once carried to a hospital, some miles in the rear. This was crowded with officers and men, suffering from the effects of their hardships; but a room was assigned to him in a house close by, that had been taken for the use of officers of distinction.
Here for two months he lay helpless, and at times delirious. Karl sat up with him almost night and day, taking two or three hours’ sleep occasionally on the floor, but starting up whenever his master moved or spoke. Sir John Mitchell rode over several times to see him, and the king’s own surgeon went over twice a week. These visits, however, both ceased three weeks after he entered the hospital, the king’s army having rapidly marched away.
At the end of June he was out and able to sit in the sun in the garden.
“How long shall I be before I am fit for duty again?” he asked the surgeon, two days later.
“Six weeks or two months. It will be fully that time before you can regain your strength. In a month, no doubt, you will be able to sit a horse; but I should say that it would be quite twice that time, before you will be fit to perform the work that falls to your lot on the king’s staff. You want to have quiet, and at the same time you need pleasant company. The worst thing you can possibly do is to worry and fret yourself. Instead of bringing things about sooner, it will only delay them. What you have to do is to bask in the sun, eat and drink as much as you can, and take life pleasantly.
“There is one thing, you have nothing to grieve about that you are not with the king. He is marching hither and thither with wonderful celerity but, do what he will, he cannot induce either Daun or Lacy to give battle; though together they are three to one against him. Whenever he approaches they simply shut themselves up in impregnable places, erect palisades and batteries, and hope that he will dash himself against them; which he is not likely to do.”
Fergus found that Frederick, when he marched, had left behind a force sufficient to check any attempt that the Austrian garrison of Dresden might make, towards the north; but that at present all was quiet, the enemy venturing on no aggressive movements, never knowing when the king might suddenly pounce down upon them. He found that there was no attempt made to blockade the town. No carts with provisions were allowed to pass in from the north side, but on the west there was free ingress and egress, there being no Prussian troops in that direction. Fergus therefore hired a peasant to carry a letter for him to Count Eulenfurst, explaining how it was that he had been unable to get leave during the winter; and that, for the last two months and a half, he had been laid up in the hospital.
Three days later a carriage drove up to the house. The count himself leapt out, and hurried across the garden to where Fergus was sitting.
“This is indeed kind of you, count,” Fergus said, as he rose.
“By no means, Drummond. I only wish that we had known your situation before. You should have got someone to write, if you could not do it yourself. We were not surprised at your not visiting us in the winter, for with both armies on the alert we knew that, in the first place, you were busy, and probably not able to get leave of absence; and in the next place, you could hardly have got in.
“You can imagine the concern we felt when your letter reached us, yesterday evening. Of course, I determined to start at once. You must indeed have had a hard time of it, for you have fallen away so much that I should hardly have known you.”
“I have picked up very much in the last fortnight, count; and I hope, in another month, to be something like myself again; though the doctor insists that I shall not be fit for campaigning work for double that time.”
“Well, I have come to take you back with me. The countess asks me to tell you that if you do not come at once, she will drive hither with two or three of her maids, and establish herself as your nurse. It will not be a very long drive, for I am well known to the Austrians, and have a pass from the governor to go through their lines when I please, and to visit a small estate I have, thirty miles to the north. And no doubt you can get a similar pass for us to leave your lines.”
“I should like nothing so much, count; but might I not get you into trouble, if it were known that you had one of the king’s officers at your house?”
“In the first place no one would know it, and in the second place I don’t think that I should get into any trouble, were it found out. It is not a Prussian officer that I shall be entertaining, still less a spy, but a dear friend who is an invalid and needs care. As everyone knows what you did for me, the excuse would be ample.
“Moreover, it happens that Governor Maguire is a personal friend of mine, and I shall call upon him and tell him that I have a sick friend staying with me and, without letting him know who you are, say that I give him my word of honour that you will, while with me, remain in the grounds, and will make no inquiries concerning his fortifications and plans of defence. He will understand what I mean, and if anyone should make a report to him it will, at any rate, cause no trouble; though I do not say that he might not feel obliged to g
ive me notice that you had best go.
“Well, for today I will remain here and rest my horses; and tomorrow morning we will start, early.
“Ah! I see you have your henchman still with you. He, like yourself, has escaped both Austrian and French bullets.
“Well, Karl,” he went on as the soldier came up, “you don’t seem to have managed to keep your master out of mischief.”
“No, count; but it was not my fault. It was the fault of those horses you gave him.”
“Why, how was that, Karl?”
“Well, sir, the colonel was the best mounted man on the king’s staff and, however hard he worked the horses, they always seemed to keep in good condition. So that whenever there was anything to be done, it was sure to be, ‘Colonel Drummond, please go here or go there.’ He was always on horseback, and so at last he broke down. Anyone else would have broken down months before, but he never seemed to know what it was to be tired.”
“What, have you got another step, Drummond?” the count said, smiling at the soldier’s tone of discontent.
“Yes, count. It is not for anything particular this time, but for what I may call general services.
“You are going to have an easy time of it now, Karl. Count Eulenfurst is kindly going to take me off and nurse me for a bit; and you will have to stay here and look after the horses, until I return. It would not be safe for you to accompany me, and I think you want a rest as much as I want nursing.
“Why, for two months, count, this good fellow never took off his coat; and I don’t think he ever slept an hour at a time. I have never once called when he was not there to answer.”
“I did what I could,” Karl growled, “but it was not much. The colonel has always looked well after me, and the least I could do was to look after him, when he wanted it.
“I am very glad he is going with you, sir. It is dull enough for him here; and I am sure he will get on much faster, under your care and the ladies’, than he would do moping about in this place.”