Volume I Part 18 (2/2)

Oh, how Hans strained each nerve and sinew to push forward! The path led across several torrents, many of them by places which, in day, demanded the greatest circ.u.mspection, but Hans cleared them now at a spring.

The deep marshy ground, plashy with rivulets and melted snow, he waded through ankle deep, climbing the briery rocks and steep banks without a moment's halt.

He thought that the lame soldier continued to exhort him, and encourage his zeal, while gradually his own pace slackened, and at last he cried out,--”I can do no more, Hans. Thou must go forward alone, my boy,--to thee all the glory,--I am old and worn out! Hasten, then, my child, and save the Vaterland. Thou wilt see the tinder-box and the rags in the hollow pine-tree beside the f.a.ggot. It is wrapped in tow, and will light at once. Farewell, and Gott guide thee!”

I cannot tell a thousandth part of the dangers and difficulties of that night's walk: in one place the path, for several yards, is on the brink of a ravine, eleven hundred feet deep, and so abrupt is the turn at the end, that an iron hook is inserted in the rock, by which the traveller must grip; a steep glacier is to be crossed farther on; and lastly, the torrent of the Kletscher must be traversed on a tree, whose bark, wet and slippery from the falling spray, would be impossible to all but the feet of a mountaineer. Each of these did Hans now surmount with all the precision and care of waking senses; with greater courage, by far, than in his waking moments he could have confronted them.

Gorges he never gazed on before without a shudder, he pa.s.sed now in utter disregard; paths he trembled to tread, he stepped along now in nimble speed, and at last caught sight of a large dark object that stood out against the sky--the great heap of fire-wood for the beacon.

As he came nearer, his eagerness grew greater; each minute now seemed an hour--every false step he made appeared to him as though it might prove fatal to his mission; and when, by any turn of the way, the beacon pile disappeared for a moment from his eyes, his heart throbbed so powerfully as almost to impede his breath. At last he gained the top--the wild mountain-peak of the Kaiser-fells. The Snow lay deep, and a cold, cutting wind swept the drift along, and made the sensation far more intense. Hans cared not for this: his whole soul was on one object; suffering, torture, death itself, he would have braved and welcomed, could he only accomplish it. The mist lay heavily on the side by which he had ascended, but towards Landeck the air was clear, and Hans gazed down in that direction as well as the darkness would permit; but all seemed tranquil--nothing stirred, nor shewed the threatened approach.

”What if he should be mistaken?” thought Hans. ”What if the lame soldier should have only fancied this? or could he be a traitor, that would endeavour by a false alarm to excite the revolt before its time?”

These were torturing doubts, and while he yet revolved them he stood unconsciously peering into the depth below, when suddenly, close beneath him--so close that he thought it almost beside him, though still about eighty yards off--he saw two figures emerge from the shadow of a pine copse, and commence the steep ascent of the peak. They were followed by two others, and now a long compact line issued forth, and began to clamber up pa.s.s. Their weapons clinked as they came: there the could be no doubt of it--they were the enemy!

With one spring he seized the tinder-box and struck the light: the wood, smeared with tar, ignited when touched, and before a minute elapsed a bright pillar of flame sprung up into the dark sky. Hans, not content with leaving any thing to chance, seized a brand and touched the f.a.gots here and there, till the whole reeking ma.s.s blazed out--a perfect column of fire.

No sooner had the leading files turned the cliff, than with a cry of horror and vengeance they sprang forward. It was too late: the signal was already answered from the Kaiser-fells, and a glittering star on the Gebatsch told where another fire was about to blaze forth. Hans had but time to turn and fly down the mountain as the soldiers drew up. A particle of burning wood had touched his jacket, however, and, guided by the sparks, four bullets followed him. It was at the moment when he had turned for a last look at the blazing pile. He fell, but, speedily regaining his feet, continued his flight. His mission was but half accomplished if the village were not apprised of their danger. All the dangers of his upward course were now to be encountered in his waking state; and with the agony of a terrible wound--for the bullet had pierced him beneath the left breast--half frantic with pain and excitement, he bounded from cliff to cliff, clearing the torrents by leaps despair alone could have made, and at length staggered rather than ran along the village street, and fell at the door of the Vorsteher's house.

Already the whole village was a-foot: the signal blazing on the mountain had called them to arm, but none could tell by whom it was lighted, or by which path the enemy might be expected. They now gathered around the poor boy, who, in accents broken and faltering, could scarce reply.

”What! thou hast done it?” cried the Vorsteher, angrily. ”So, then, thou silly fool, it is to thy mad ravings we owe all this terror--a terror that may cost our country bitter tears! Who prompted thee to this?”

”The lame soldier told me they were coming,” said Hans, with eyes swimming in tears.

”The lame soldier!--he is mad!” cried an old peasant: ”there is none such in all the Dorf.”

”Yes, yes,” reiterated Hans; ”they flung him away last night, because he was lame--lame, and a cripple like me: but he told me they were coming; and I had only time to reach the Kaiser-fells when they gained the top too.”

”Wretched fool!” said the Vorsteher, sternly; ”thy mad reading and wild fancies have ruined the Vaterland. See, there is the signal from Pfunds, and the whole Tyrol will be up! If thy life were worth anything, thou shouldst die for this!”

”So shall I!” said Hans, sobbing; ”the bullet is yet here.” And he opened his jacket, and displayed to their horrified gaze the whole chest bathed in blood, and the round, blue mark of a gun-shot wound.

This terrible evidence dispelled every doubt of Hans' story: all its strange incoherency vanished before that pool of blood, which, welling forth at every respiration, ran in currents over him. Dreadful, too, as the tidings were, the better nature of the poor villagers prevailed over their fears, and in the sorrow the child's fate excited all other thoughts were lost.

In a sad procession they bore him home to his mother's cottage, the Vorsteher walking at his side; while Hans, with rapid utterance, detailed the events which have been told. Broken and unconnected as parts of his recital were--incomprehensible as the whole history of the lame soldier appeared--the wounded figure--the blazing fires that already twinkled on every peak,--were facts too palpable for denial; and the hearers stared at each other in amazement, not knowing how to interpret the strange story.

The agonising grief of the bereaved mother, as she beheld the shattered and bleeding form of her child, broke in upon these doubtings; and while they endeavoured to offer her their consolation, none thought of the impending danger.

For a while after he was laid in bed, Hans seemed sunk in a swoon; but, suddenly awakening, he made an effort to rise. Too weak for this, he called the chief people of the village around, and said,

”They are coming from the Kaiser-fells; they will be down soon, and burn the village, if you do not cut away the bridges over the Kletscher, and close the pa.s.s on the Weissen Spitze. Throw out skirmishers along the mountain side, and guard the footpath from the Pontlatzer Brucke.”

Had the words been the dying orders of a general commanding an army, they could not have been heard with more implicit reverence, nor more strictly obeyed. From the spot the Vorsteher issued commands for these instructions to be followed. Hans' revelations were, to the superst.i.tious imaginations of the peasants, of divine inspiration: and many already stoutly affirmed that the lame soldier was St.

Martin himself, their patron saint, at whose shrine a crowd of devout wors.h.i.+ppers were soon after seen kneeling.

The village doctor soon p.r.o.nounced the case above his skill, but did not abandon hope. Hans only smiled faintly, and whispered,--

”Be it so! The proverb is always right,--

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