Part 52 (2/2)
There was nothing to be said in answer to this, and yet the general felt there was something about the whole affair which he did not understand.
A common soldier rarely undertook, voluntarily, a mission which drove him into the arms of death, but the old warrior asked no further questions, he only said: ”You will be responsible for the man?”
”Yes,” said Egon, quietly but emphatically.
”Good, then you can give him all the necessary instructions; there is one thing more; he must have credentials if he ever reaches our own posts, for any detention would be fatal where every minute counts.”
He turned to his writing table, and after setting his seal to a paper, handed it to the prince.
”Here are the necessary papers, and these are the despatches for General Falkenried. Let me know at once whether Tanner was willing to go or not.”
”I'll let your excellency know immediately.”
Egon hurried to his own quarters, where he ordered his horse to be saddled. In five minutes he was off for Chapel mountain.
Chapel mountain, which the German troops had so christened from the little church which stood on its summit, was one of a subordinate range of hills, which traversed the country in the region where the army corps of the South were quartered. The little church lay desolate and lonely, half buried in the deep snow. Priest and sacristan were gone long since, and the house of G.o.d bore traces of demolition, for a deadly battle had been fought on this height. The walls were standing and part of the pointed roof; the rest had been carried away by shot and sh.e.l.l, and the wind whistled through the shattered windows. Ice and snow covered the surrounding wood, and a faint half-moon lit up the whole with a ghastly, uncertain light.
It was a bitter cold night, like that memorable one at Rodeck. A deep red flame lit up the horizon, but it was no northern light this time, no purple glow to lessen the gloom, it was the signal of war, the deep, blood-red flash such as went up from every village and hamlet in Germany, rousing men to action, waving them on to battle and--to death!
A single guard stood at one of the lonely outposts--Hartmut von Falkenried. His eyes were fixed on distant watch fires which from time to time sent up their showers of sparks to heaven. In the distance, warmth and light, here, ice and night. The cold which had been intense all day strengthened with the night, and seemed to freeze out all life from the solitary watch on duty. True there were other sentinels, at various posts, but they were not accustomed to winters in the Orient or in Sicily. Hartmut had spent no winters in the north since his boyhood's days, and the cold seemed to freeze the very blood in his veins.
A deadly languor came over him, which was not the forerunner of sleep; it crept into the limbs and closed the heavy eyelids. He fought it off bravely, but it would return again and again as the icy air grew colder.
He knew what it meant and struggled bravely against it. Surely he would not freeze to death.
His glance turned, as if seeking strength, to the little half-ruined house of G.o.d. What were church and altar to him? He had cast all belief from him long ago. Death was an eternal night, and life alone could give him all he wished, full expiation of his early fault, the woman he loved, the poet's crown, his father's blessing! But here he stood at his post waiting an inglorious death, which he felt would meet him ere the night was over. He would not swerve from duty, death might seek him and find him--on guard.
Then in the distance he heard steps and voices which came nearer; they waked him up from the lethargy into which he had fallen. He aroused himself and grasped his gun more firmly, though he knew it was some one from his own regiment. What was it? The hour of redemption was close at hand though he knew it not. A few minutes later a corporal with another man stood before him.
”Picket! Orders from headquarters brought by an officer!” cried the corporal. The relief had come! The man who but a second since stood on the bleak, dreary sh.o.r.e of despair, felt himself recalled to life at the sound.
He started to follow the corporal, when the other man, an officer also, stepped forward.
”Let the corporal go on. I wish to speak to you alone, Tanner. Follow me!”
Prince Adelsberg, who wished no witnesses, stepped into the little church, and Hartmut followed him. The pale moonlight entering through the open window showed only disorder and confusion. The roof had been pierced by a cannon ball, which had shattered pulpit and desk as well; only the little altar, in its quiet niche, remained undisturbed.
Egon stepped into the middle of the room, then he turned and said:
”Hartmut!”
”Herr lieutenant?”
”Drop that now; we are alone. I did not think we would see one another so soon again.”
”And I hoped it would have been spared me, too,” said Hartmut gloomily.
”You come--”
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