Part 55 (1/2)

He had arrived before the court-room door just as the witnesses were leaving. He had recognised Captain von Wegstetten immediately--his boy had so often described the little man with his gigantic red moustache and sparkling eyes--and he was not afraid of addressing him on the spot.

Wegstetten was at first not particularly pleased at this encounter; but the honest troubled face of the old soldier touched him, and he listened patiently.

The turnpike-keeper had not much to say; it only amounted to an earnest representation of how well-conducted his son had always. .h.i.therto been; of how glad he had been to be a soldier; and he ended with a bitter lamentation that all this should have happened to such a good, brave lad; the boy must have gone clean out of his senses. The old man said it all with the most touching self-restraint. He took great pains to preserve a soldierly bearing, and omitted none of the customary tokens of respect, just as if he had been still clad in his old sergeant's uniform, and standing before an officer of the most severe type. Yet all the time the tears ran down his weather-beaten furrowed cheeks and his snow-white beard, and as he tried to draw up his bent shoulders the medals clinked together on his breast.

Wegstetten had but little comfort for the poor old man. He told him how favourably all the witnesses had spoken of his son, both officers and non-commissioned officers; how he as captain of the battery had always been glad to have such a capable man under him; and how the whole wretched business had come about through the mismanagement of an officer who had only lately returned to the regiment.

The face of the turnpike-keeper lighted up as he listened to the captain's words. He breathed again. Thank G.o.d! things could not go so badly with the boy. A few weeks under arrest--and the affair would be at an end.

But Wegstetten proceeded to tell him of the continued obstinacy of his son, and at last was forced to impart to the old man the severe sentence that had been pa.s.sed.

Five months' imprisonment! It struck the old turnpike-keeper like a blow. He staggered, and the captain was obliged to support him.

But the weakness soon pa.s.sed, and Vogt begged the officer's pardon.

He could not, however, listen to Wegstetten's explanation of the harsh verdict. This was a terrible, a crying piece of injustice; on the one side was an offence, a perfectly trivial offence, committed by a brave well-behaved soldier (as by common consent his boy had been p.r.o.nounced), who had been driven into it moreover by the ”mismanagement” of his superior; and on the other side was this heavy punishment of five months' imprisonment! The disproportion between crime and sentence was incomprehensible to his mind.

He walked in silence beside Wegstetten, who was speaking to him earnestly the while. At the door of the court-house the old man stood still and saluted, meaning to take leave of the captain.

Then the officer asked him: ”Would you not like to speak to your son? I will get you a permit.”

”Thank you, sir,” said the turnpike-keeper, ”if you would have the kindness, sir.”

This was soon done. Wegstetten exchanged a few words with the superintendent of the military prison and returned with the pa.s.s. He himself conducted the old man to the gate of the prison building.

”Don't take all this too hard, Herr Vogt,” he said in farewell. ”Your son has committed an excusable offence, and has been very severely but not unjustly punished. He remains an honourable soldier all the same.”

”Yes, sir,” answered the turnpike-keeper. He looked darkly after the little officer. What sort of talk was that? Was it any comfort to be told that his boy was not a dishonourable rascal? He knew himself what his boy was; none knew better! Bravery and honour, that was Franz all over. n.o.body need tell him that.

And the poor lad had been punished as if he had stolen something! Many thieves, indeed, got off easier. They had condemned his boy to a dishonourable punishment,--and why? because he had too much sense of honour!

He rang violently at the entrance gate of the prison. A sentry opened the door, took the permit, and ushered him into the waiting-room. ”I will tell the inspector you are here,” he said, and left the room.

After a few moments the door of the waiting-room opened again and an inspector appeared on the threshold, a dried-up looking man with a leathery complexion. He looked at the permit through his spectacles, and turned curious eyes towards the medals on the breast of the veteran. He shook his head deprecatingly, and called out an order from the door.

Shortly afterwards a grenadier announced: ”Bombardier Vogt is here, sir.”

”Let him come in,” said the inspector. Then he turned away, and stood looking out of the window.

Franz Vogt went quietly up to his father and looked into his face with his frank honest eyes.

”Good-day, father,” he said simply.

The turnpike-keeper took his son's hand in both his own. The tears came into his eyes and he looked at him as through a veil. Thank G.o.d, the boy still wore his artillery uniform! The old man was spared the sight of him in the grey prison garb.

As the father was silent the son began to speak. He described in his plain hearty way how the whole unfortunate business had played itself out, and related truthfully everything that was in his own favour, while acknowledging his fault without further excuse. ”Do you know, father,” he concluded, ”what the sentence is?”

The turnpike-keeper nodded. Franz cast his eyes down and said in a troubled voice: ”It seems to me very hard, father.”

He felt a spasmodic pressure of his hand, and his father nodded his head in a.s.sent.

”The corporal said I had only myself to thank for it,” the prisoner went on. ”They asked me if I was sorry, and I said 'no.' The corporal said that was stupid. But I couldn't say otherwise. And I should have to say the same if they asked me again.”