Title: The Lion of the North: A Tale of the Times of Gustavus Adolphus
Author: Henty, G. A. (George Alfred)
Language: English
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THE LION OF THE NORTH

A Tale of the Times of Gustavus Adolphus,


By G. A. Henty



PREFACE.


MY DEAR LADS,

You are nowadays called upon to acquire so great a mass of learning
and information in the period of life between the ages of twelve and
eighteen that it is not surprising that but little time can be spared
for the study of the history of foreign nations. Most lads are,
therefore, lamentably ignorant of the leading events of even the most
important epochs of Continental history, although, as many of these
events have exercised a marked influence upon the existing state of
affairs in Europe, a knowledge of them is far more useful, and, it
may be said, far more interesting than that of the comparatively petty
affairs of Athens, Sparta, Corinth, and Thebes.

Prominent among such epochs is the Thirty Years’ War, which arose from
the determination of the Emperor of Austria to crush out Protestantism
throughout Germany. Since the invasion of the Huns no struggle which
has taken place in Europe has approached this in the obstinacy of the
fighting and the terrible sufferings which the war inflicted upon the
people at large. During these thirty years the population of Germany
decreased by nearly a third, and in some of the states half the towns
and two-thirds of the villages absolutely disappeared.

The story of the Thirty Years’ War is too long to be treated in one
volume. Fortunately it divides itself naturally into two parts. The
first begins with the entry of Sweden, under her chivalrous monarch
Gustavus Adolphus, upon the struggle, and terminates with his death and
that of his great rival Wallenstein. This portion of the war has been
treated in the present story. The second period begins at the point when
France assumed the leading part in the struggle, and concluded with the
peace which secured liberty of conscience to the Protestants of Germany.
This period I hope to treat some day in another story, so that you may
have a complete picture of the war. The military events of the present
tale, the battles, sieges, and operations, are all taken from the best
authorities, while for the account of the special doings of Mackay’s,
afterwards Munro’s Scottish Regiment, I am indebted to Mr. J. Grant’s
Life of Sir John Hepburn.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY



CHAPTER I THE INVITATION


It was late in the afternoon in the spring of the year 1630; the
hilltops of the south of Scotland were covered with masses of cloud, and
a fierce wind swept the driving rain before it with such force that it
was not easy to make way against it. It had been raining for three days
without intermission. Every little mountain burn had become a boiling
torrent, while the rivers had risen above their banks and flooded the
low lands in the valleys.

The shades of evening were closing in, when a lad of some sixteen years
of age stood gazing across the swollen waters of the Nith rushing past
in turbid flood. He scarce seemed conscious of the pouring rain; but
with his lowland bonnet pressed down over his eyes, and his plaid
wrapped tightly round him, he stood on a rising hummock of ground at the
edge of the flood, and looked across the stream.

“If they are not here soon,” he said to himself, “they will not get
across the Nith tonight. None but bold riders could do so now; but
by what uncle says, Captain Hume must be that and more. Ah! here they
come.”

As he spoke two horsemen rode down the opposite side of the valley and
halted at the water’s edge. The prospect was not a pleasant one. The
river was sixty or seventy feet wide, and in the centre the water swept
along in a raging current.

“You cannot cross here,” the boy shouted at the top of his voice. “You
must go higher up where the water’s deeper.”

The wind swept his words away, but his gestures were understood.

“The boy is telling us to go higher up,” said one of the horsemen.

“I suppose he is,” the other replied; “but here is the ford. You see the
road we have travelled ends here, and I can see it again on the other
side. It is getting dark, and were we to cross higher up we might lose
our way and get bogged; it is years since I was here. What’s the boy
going to do now? Show us a place for crossing?”

The lad, on seeing the hesitation of the horsemen, had run along the
bank up the stream, and to their surprise, when he had gone a little
more than a hundred yards he dashed into the water. For a time the water
was shallow, and he waded out until he reached the edge of the regular
bank of the river, and then swam out into the current.

“Go back,” the horseman shouted; but his voice did not reach the
swimmer, who, in a few strokes, was in the full force of the stream, and
was soon lost to the sight of the horsemen among the short foaming waves
of the torrent.

“The boy will be drowned,” one of the horsemen said, spurring his horse
up the valley; but in another minute the lad was seen breasting the
calmer water just above the ford.

“You cannot cross here, Captain Hume,” he said, as he approached the
horsemen. “You must go nigh a mile up the river.”

“Why, who are you, lad?” the horseman asked, “and how do you know my
name?”

“I’m the nephew of Nigel Graheme. Seeing how deep the floods were I came
out to show you the way, for the best horse in the world could not swim
the Nith here now.”

“But this is the ford,” Captain Hume said.

“Yes, this is the ford in dry weather. The bottom here is hard rock and
easy to ride over when the river is but waist deep, but below and above
this place it is covered with great boulders. The water is six feet
deep here now, and the horses would be carried down among the rocks, and
would never get across. A mile up the river is always deep, and though
the current is strong there is nothing to prevent a bold horseman from
swimming across.”

“I thank you heartily, young sir,” Captain Hume said. “I can see how
broken is the surface of the water, and doubt not that it would have
fared hard with us had we attempted to swim across here. In faith,
Munro, we have had a narrow escape.”

“Ay, indeed,” the other agreed. “It would have been hard if you and I,
after going through all the battlefields of the Low Countries, should
have been drowned here together in a Scottish burn. Your young friend is
a gallant lad and a good swimmer, for in truth it was no light task to
swim that torrent with the water almost as cold as ice.”

“Now, sirs, will you please to ride on,” the boy said; “it is getting
dark fast, and the sooner we are across the better.”

So saying he went off at a fast run, the horses trotting behind him. A
mile above he reached the spot he had spoken of. The river was narrower
here, and the stream was running with great rapidity, swirling and
heaving as it went, but with a smooth even surface.

“Two hundred yards farther up,” the boy said, “is the beginning of the
deep; if you take the water there you will get across so as to climb up
by that sloping bank just opposite.”

He led the way to the spot he indicated, and then plunged into the
stream, swimming quietly and steadily across, and allowing the stream to
drift him down.

The horsemen followed his example. They had swum many a swollen river,
and although their horses snorted and plunged at first, they soon
quieted down and swam steadily over. They just struck the spot which the
boy had indicated. He had already arrived there, and, without a word,
trotted forward.

It was soon dark, and the horsemen were obliged to keep close to his
heels to see his figure. It was as much as they could do to keep up with
him, for the ground was rough and broken, sometimes swampy, sometimes
strewn with boulders.

“It is well we have a guide,” Colonel Munro said to his companion; “for
assuredly, even had we got safely across the stream, we should never
have found our way across such a country as this. Scotland is a fine
country, Hume, a grand country, and we are all proud of it, you know,
but for campaigning, give me the plains of Germany; while, as for your
weather here, it is only fit for a water rat.”

Hume laughed at this outburst.

“I sha’n’t be sorry, Munro, for a change of dry clothes and a corner by
a fire; but we must be nearly there now if I remember right. Graheme’s
hold is about three miles from the Nith.”

The boy presently gave a loud shout, and a minute later lights were seen
ahead, and in two or three minutes the horsemen drew up at a door beside
which two men were standing with torches; another strolled out as they
stopped.

“Welcome, Hume! I am glad indeed to see you; and--ah! is it you, Munro?
it is long indeed since we met.”

“That is it, Graheme; it is twelve years since we were students together
at St. Andrews.”

“I did not think you would have come on such a night,” Graheme said.

“I doubt that we should have come tonight, or any other night, Nigel, if
it had not been that that brave boy who calls you uncle swam across
the Nith to show us the best way to cross. It was a gallant deed, and I
consider we owe him our lives.”

“It would have gone hard with you, indeed, had you tried to swim the
Nith at the ford; had I not made so sure you would not come I would have
sent a man down there. I missed Malcolm after dinner, and wondered what
had become of him. But come in and get your wet things off. It is a
cold welcome keeping you here. My men will take your horses round to the
stable and see that they are well rubbed down and warmly littered.”

In a quarter of an hour the party were assembled again in the sitting
room. It was a bare room with heavily timbered ceiling and narrow
windows high up from the ground; for the house was built for purposes
of defence, like most Scottish residences in those days. The floor was
thickly strewn with rushes. Arms and trophies of the chase hung on
the walls, and a bright fire blazing on the hearth gave it a warm and
cheerful aspect. As his guests entered the room Graheme presented them
with a large silver cup of steaming liquor.

“Drain this,” he said, “to begin with. I will warrant me a draught of
spiced wine will drive the cold of the Nith out of your bones.”

The travellers drank off the liquor.

“‘Tis a famous drink,” Hume said, “and there is nowhere I enjoy it so
much as in Scotland, for the cold here seems to have a knack of getting
into one’s very marrow, though I will say there have been times in the
Low Countries when we have appreciated such a draught. Well, and how
goes it with you, Graheme?”

“Things might be better; in fact, times in Scotland have been getting
worse and worse ever since King James went to England, and all the court
with him. If it were not for an occasional raid among the wild folks of
Galloway, and a few quarrels among ourselves, life would be too dull to
bear here.”

“But why bear it?” Captain Hume asked. “You used to have plenty of
spirit in our old college days, Graheme, and I wonder at your rusting
your life out here when there is a fair field and plenty of honour,
to say nothing of hard cash, to be won in the Low Country. Why, beside
Hepburn’s regiment, which has made itself a name throughout all Europe,
there are half a score of Scottish regiments in the service of the King
of Sweden, and his gracious majesty Gustavus Adolphus does not keep them
idle, I warrant you.”

“I have thought of going a dozen times,” Graheme said, “but you see
circumstances have kept me back; but I have all along intended to cross
the seas when Malcolm came of an age to take the charge of his father’s
lands. When my brother James was dying from that sword thrust he got in
a fray with the Duffs, I promised him I would be a father to the boy,
and see that he got his rights.”

“Well, we will talk of the affair after supper, Graheme, for now that
I have got rid of the cold I begin to perceive that I am well nigh
famished.”

As the officer was speaking, the servitors were laying the table, and
supper was soon brought in. After ample justice had been done to this,
and the board was again cleared, the three men drew their seats round
the fire, Malcolm seating himself on a low stool by his uncle.

“And now to business, Nigel,” Colonel Munro said. “We have not come back
to Scotland to see the country, or to enjoy your weather, or even for
the pleasure of swimming your rivers in flood.

“We are commissioned by the King of Sweden to raise some 3000 or 4000
more Scottish troops. I believe that the king intends to take part in
the war in Germany, where the Protestants are getting terribly mauled,
and where, indeed, it is likely that the Reformed Religion will be
stamped out altogether unless the Swedes strike in to their rescue. My
chief object is to fill up to its full strength of two thousand men
the Mackay Regiment, of which I am lieutenant colonel. The rest of the
recruits whom we may get will go as drafts to fill up the vacancies in
the other regiments. So you see here we are, and it is our intention
to beat up all our friends and relations, and ask them each to raise a
company or half a company of recruits, of which, of course, they would
have the command.

“We landed at Berwick, and wrote to several of our friends that we were
coming. Scott of Jedburgh has engaged to raise a company. Balfour of
Lauderdale, who is a cousin of mine, has promised to bring another; they
were both at St. Andrew’s with us, as you may remember, Graheme. Young
Hamilton, who had been an ensign in my regiment, left us on the way. He
will raise a company in Douglasdale. Now, Graheme, don’t you think you
can bring us a band of the men of Nithsdale?”

“I don’t know,” Graheme said hesitatingly. “I should like it of all
things, for I am sick of doing nothing here, and my blood often runs
hot when I read of the persecutions of the Protestants in Germany; but I
don’t think I can manage it.”

“Oh, nonsense, Nigel!” said Hume; “you can manage it easily enough if
you have the will. Are you thinking of the lad there? Why not bring him
with you? He is young, certainly, but he could carry a colour; and as
for his spirit and bravery, Munro and I will vouch for it.”

“Oh, do, uncle,” the lad exclaimed, leaping to his feet in his
excitement. “I promise you I would not give you any trouble; and as for
marching, there isn’t a man in Nithsdale who can tire me out across the
mountains.”

“But what’s to become of the house, Malcolm, and the land and the
herds?”

“Oh, they will be all right,” the boy said. “Leave old Duncan in charge,
and he will look after them.”

“But I had intended you to go to St. Andrews next year, Malcolm, and
I think the best plan will be for you to go there at once. As you say,
Duncan can look after the place.”

Malcolm’s face fell.

“Take the lad with you, Graheme,” Colonel Munro said. “Three years under
Gustavus will do him vastly more good than will St. Andrews. You know it
never did us any good to speak of. We learned a little more Latin than
we knew when we went there, but I don’t know that that has been of any
use to us; whereas for the dry tomes of divinity we waded through, I
am happy to say that not a single word of the musty stuff remains in my
brains. The boy will see life and service, he will have opportunities
of distinguishing himself under the eye of the most chivalrous king in
Europe, he will have entered a noble profession, and have a fair chance
of bettering his fortune, all of which is a thousand times better than
settling down here in this corner of Scotland.”

“I must think it over,” Graheme said; “it is a serious step to take.
I had thought of his going to the court at London after he left the
university, and of using our family interest to push his way there.”

“What is he to do in London?” Munro said. “The old pedant James, who
wouldn’t spend a shilling or raise a dozen men to aid the cause of his
own daughter, and who thought more of musty dogmatic treatises than of
the glory and credit of the country he ruled over, or the sufferings
of his co-religionists in Germany, has left no career open to a lad of
spirit.”

“Well, I will think it over by the morning,” Graheme said. “And now tell
me a little more about the merits of this quarrel in Germany. If I
am going to fight, I should like at least to know exactly what I am
fighting about.”

“My dear fellow,” Hume laughed, “you will never make a soldier if you
always want to know the ins and outs of every quarrel you have to fight
about; but for once the tenderest conscience may be satisfied as to
the justice of the contention. But Munro is much better versed in the
history of the affair than I am; for, to tell you the truth, beyond the
fact that it is a general row between the Protestants and Catholics, I
have not troubled myself much in the matter.”

“You must know,” Colonel Munro began, “that some twenty years ago the
Protestant princes of Germany formed a league for mutual protection and
support, which they called the Protestant Union; and a year later the
Catholics, on their side, constituted what they called the Holy League.
At that time the condition of the Protestants was not unbearable. In
Bohemia, where they constituted two-thirds of the population, Rudolph
II, and after him Mathias, gave conditions of religious freedom.

“Gradually, however, the Catholic party about the emperor gained the
upper hand; then various acts in breach of the conditions granted to the
Protestants were committed, and public spirit on both sides became
much embittered. On the 23d of May, 1618, the Estates of Bohemia met
at Prague, and the Protestant nobles, headed by Count Thurn, came there
armed, and demanded from the Imperial councillors an account of the high
handed proceedings. A violent quarrel ensued, and finally the Protestant
deputies seized the councillors Martinitz and Slavata, and their
secretary, and hurled them from the window into the dry ditch, fifty
feet below. Fortunately for the councillors the ditch contained a
quantity of light rubbish, and they and their secretary escaped without
serious damage. The incident, however, was the commencement of war.
Bohemia was almost independent of Austria, administering its own
internal affairs. The Estates invested Count Thurn with the command of
the army. The Protestant Union supported Bohemia in its action. Mathias,
who was himself a tolerant and well meaning man, tried to allay the
storm; but, failing to do so, marched an army into Bohemia.

“Had Mathias lived matters would probably have arranged themselves,
but he died the following spring, and was succeeded by Ferdinand II.
Ferdinand is one of the most bigoted Catholics living, and is at the
same time a bold and resolute man; and he had taken a solemn vow at
the shrine of Loretto that, if ever he came to the throne, he would
re-establish Catholicism throughout his dominions. Both parties prepared
for the strife; the Bohemians renounced their allegiance to him and
nominated the Elector Palatine Frederick V, the husband of our Scotch
princess, their king.

“The first blow was struck at Zablati. There a Union army, led by
Mansfeldt, was defeated by the Imperial general Bucquoi. A few days
later, however, Count Thurn, marching through Moravia and Upper Austria,
laid siege to Vienna. Ferdinand’s own subjects were estranged from him,
and the cry of the Protestant army, ‘Equal rights for all Christian
churches,’ was approved by the whole population--for even in Austria
itself there were a very large number of Protestants. Ferdinand had but
a few soldiers, the population of the city were hostile, and had Thurn
only entered the town he could have seized the emperor without any
resistance.

“Thurn hesitated, and endeavoured instead to obtain the conditions of
toleration which the Protestants required; and sixteen Austrian barons
in the city were in the act of insisting upon Ferdinand signing these
when the head of the relieving army entered the city. Thurn retired
hastily. The Catholic princes and representatives met at Frankfort and
elected Ferdinand Emperor of Germany. He at once entered into a strict
agreement with Maximilian of Bavaria to crush Protestantism throughout
Germany. The Bohemians, however, in concert with Bethlem Gabor, king
of Hungary, again besieged Vienna; but as the winter set in they were
obliged to retire. From that moment the Protestant cause was lost;
Saxony and Hesse-Darmstadt left the Union and joined Ferdinand. Denmark,
which had promised its assistance to the Protestants, was persuaded to
remain quiet. Sweden was engaged in a war with the Poles.

“The Protestant army was assembled at Ulm; the army of the League, under
the order of Maximilian of Bavaria, was at Donauworth. Maximilian worked
upon the fears of the Protestant princes, who, frightened at the contest
they had undertaken, agreed to a peace, by which they bound themselves
to offer no aid to Frederick V.

“The Imperial forces then marched to Bohemia and attacked Frederick’s
army outside Prague, and in less than an hour completely defeated it.
Frederick escaped with his family to Holland. Ferdinand then took steps
to carry out his oath. The religious freedom granted by Mathias was
abolished. In Bohemia, Moravia, Silesia, and Austria proper. Many of the
promoters of the rebellion were punished in life and property. The year
following all members of the Calvinistic sect were forced to leave their
country, a few months afterwards the Lutherans were also expelled, and
in 1627 the exercise of all religious forms except those of the Catholic
Church was forbidden; 200 of the noble, and 30,000 of the wealthier and
industrial classes, were driven into exile; and lands and property to
the amount of 5,000,000 or 6,000,000 pounds were confiscated.

“The hereditary dominions of Frederick V were invaded, the Protestants
were defeated, the Palatinate entirely subdued, and the electorate was
conferred upon Maximilian of Bavaria; and the rigid laws against the
Protestants were carried into effect in the Palatinate also. It had now
become evident to all Europe that the Emperor of Austria was determined
to stamp out Protestantism throughout Germany; and the Protestant
princes, now thoroughly alarmed, besought aid from the Protestant
countries, England, Holland, and Denmark. King James, who had seen
unmoved the misfortunes which had befallen his daughter and her husband,
and who had been dead to the general feeling of the country, could no
longer resist, and England agreed to supply an annual subsidy; Holland
consented to supply troops; and the King of Denmark joined the League,
and was to take command of the army.

“In Germany the Protestants of lower Saxony and Brunswick, and the
partisan leader Mansfeldt, were still in arms. The army under the king
of Denmark advanced into Brunswick, and was there confronted by that of
the league under Tilly, while an Austrian army, raised by Wallenstein,
also marched against it. Mansfeldt endeavoured to prevent Wallenstein
from joining Tilly, but was met and defeated by the former general.
Mansfeldt was, however, an enterprising leader, and falling back into
Brandenburg, recruited his army, joined the force under the Duke of
Saxe-Weimar, and started by forced marches to Silesia and Moravia, to
join Bethlem Gabor in Hungary. Wallenstein was therefore obliged to
abandon his campaign against the Danes and to follow him. Mansfeldt
joined the Hungarian army, but so rapid were his marches that his force
had dwindled away to a mere skeleton, and the assistance which it
would be to the Hungarians was so small that Bethlem Gabor refused to
cooperate with it against Austria.

“Mansfeldt disbanded his remaining soldiers, and two months afterwards
died. Wallenstein then marched north. In the meantime Tilly had attacked
King Christian at Lutter, and completely defeated him. I will tell you
about that battle some other time. When Wallenstein came north it
was decided that Tilly should carry the war into Holland, and that
Wallenstein should deal with the King of Denmark and the Protestant
princes. In the course of two years he drove the Danes from Silesia,
subdued Brandenburg and Mecklenburg, and, advancing into Pomerania,
besieged Stralsund.

“What a siege that was to be sure! Wallenstein had sworn to capture the
place, but he didn’t reckon upon the Scots. After the siege had begun
Lieutenant General Sir Alexander Leslie, with 5000 Scots and Swedes,
fought his way into the town; and though Wallenstein raised fire upon
it, though we were half starved and ravaged by plague, we held out for
three months, repulsing every assault, till at last the Imperialists
were obliged to draw off; having lost 12,200 men.

“This, however, was the solitary success on our side, and a few months
since, Christian signed a peace, binding himself to interfere no more in
the affairs of Germany. When Ferdinand considered himself free to carry
out his plans, he issued an edict by which the Protestants throughout
Germany were required to restore to the Catholics all the monasteries
and land which had formerly belonged to the Catholic Church. The
Catholic service was alone to be performed, and the Catholic princes
of the empire were ordered to constrain their subjects, by force if
necessary, to conform to the Catholic faith; and it was intimated to the
Protestant princes that they would be equally forced to carry the edict
into effect. But this was too much. Even France disapproved, not from
any feeling of pity on the part of Richelieu for the Protestants, but
because it did not suit the interests of France that Ferdinand should
become the absolute monarch of all Germany.

“In these circumstances Gustavus of Sweden at once resolved to assist
the Protestants in arms, and ere long will take the field. That is
what has brought us here. Already in the Swedish army there are 10,000
Scotchmen, and in Denmark they also form the backbone of the force; and
both in the Swedish and Danish armies the greater part of the native
troops are officered and commanded by Scotchmen.

“Hitherto I myself have been in the Danish service, but my regiment is
about to take service with the Swedes. It has been quietly intimated to
us that there will be no objection to our doing so, although Christian
intends to remain neutral, at any rate for a time. We suffered very
heavily at Lutter, and I need 500 men to fill up my ranks to the full
strength.

“Now, Graheme, I quite rely upon you. You were at college with Hepburn,
Hume, and myself, and it will be a pleasure for us all to fight side by
side; and if I know anything of your disposition I am sure you cannot
be contented to be remaining here at the age of nine-and-twenty, rusting
out your life as a Scotch laird, while Hepburn has already won a name
which is known through Europe.”



CHAPTER II SHIPWRECKED


Upon the following morning Nigel Graheme told his visitors that he had
determined to accept their offer, and would at once set to work to raise
a company.

“I have,” he said, “as you know, a small patrimony of my own, and as
for the last eight years I have been living here looking after Malcolm
I have been laying by any rents, and can now furnish the arms and
accoutrements for a hundred men without difficulty. When Malcolm comes
of age he must act for himself, and can raise two or three hundred men
if he chooses; but at present he will march in my company. I understand
that I have the appointment of my own officers.”

“Yes, until you join the regiment,” Munro said. “You have the first
appointments. Afterwards the colonel will fill up vacancies. You must
decide how you will arm your men, for you must know that Gustavus’
regiments have their right and left wings composed of musketeers, while
the centre is formed of pikemen, so you must decide to which branch your
company shall belong.”

“I would choose the pike,” Nigel said, “for after all it must be by the
pike that the battle is decided.”

“Quite right, Nigel. I have here with me a drawing of the armour in use
with us. You see they have helmets of an acorn shape, with a rim turning
up in front; gauntlets, buff coats well padded in front, and large
breast plates. The pikes vary from fourteen to eighteen feet long
according to the taste of the commander. We generally use about sixteen.
If your company is a hundred strong you will have two lieutenants and
three ensigns. Be careful in choosing your officers. I will fill in the
king’s commission to you as captain of the company, authorizing you to
enlist men for his service and to appoint officers thereto.”

An hour or two later Colonel Munro and Captain Hume proceeded on their
way. The news speedily spread through Nithsdale that Nigel Graheme had
received a commission from the King of Sweden to raise a company in his
service, and very speedily men began to pour in. The disbandment of the
Scottish army had left but few careers open at home to the youth of
that country, and very large numbers had consequently flocked to the
Continent and taken service in one or other of the armies there, any
opening of the sort, therefore, had only to be known to be freely
embraced. Consequently, in eight-and-forty hours Nigel Graheme had
applications from a far larger number than he could accept, and he was
enabled to pick and choose among the applicants. Many young men of
good family were among them, for in those days service in the ranks was
regarded as honourable, and great numbers of young men of good family
and education trailed a pike in the Scotch regiments in the service of
the various powers of Europe. Two young men whose property adjoined
his own, Herries and Farquhar, each of whom brought twenty of his own
tenants with him, were appointed lieutenants, while two others, Leslie
and Jamieson, were with Malcolm named as ensigns. The noncommissioned
officers were appointed from men who had served before. Many of the men
already possessed armour which was suitable, for in those day’s there
was no strict uniformity of military attire, and the armies of the
various nationalities differed very slightly from each other. Colonel
Munro returned in the course of a fortnight, Nigel Graheme’s company
completing the number of men required to fill up the ranks of his
regiment.

Captain Hume had proceeded further north. Colonel Munro stopped for
a week in Nithsdale, giving instructions to the officers and
noncommissioned officers as to the drill in use in the Swedish army.
Military manoeuvres were in these days very different to what they have
now become. The movements were few and simple, and easily acquired.
Gustavus had, however, introduced an entirely new formation into his
army. Hitherto troops had fought in solid masses, twenty or more deep.
Gustavus taught his men to fight six deep, maintaining that if troops
were steady this depth of formation should be able to sustain any
assault upon it, and that with a greater depth the men behind were
useless in the fight. His cavalry fought only three deep. The recruits
acquired the new tactics with little difficulty. In Scotland for
generations every man and boy had received a certain military training,
and all were instructed in the use of the pike; consequently, at the end
of a week Colonel Munro pronounced Nigel Graheme’s company capable
of taking their place in the regiment without discredit, and so went
forward to see to the training of the companies of Hamilton, Balfour,
and Scott, having arranged with Graheme to march his company to Dunbar
in three weeks’ time, when he would be joined by the other three
companies. Malcolm was delighted with the stir and bustle of his new
life. Accustomed to hard exercise, to climbing and swimming, he was a
strong and well grown lad, and was in appearance fully a year beyond
his age. He felt but little fatigued by the incessant drill in which the
days were passed, though he was glad enough of an evening to lay aside
his armour, of which the officers wore in those days considerably more
than the soldiers, the mounted officers being still clad in full armour,
while those on foot wore back and arm pieces, and often leg pieces, in
addition to the helmet and breastplate. They were armed with swords and
pistols, and carried besides what were called half pikes, or pikes some
7 feet long. They wore feathers in their helmets, and the armour was of
fine quality, and often richly damascened, or inlaid with gold.

Very proud did Malcolm feel as on the appointed day he marched with
the company from Nithsdale, with the sun glittering on their arms and a
drummer beating the march at their head. They arrived in due course
at Dunbar, and were in a few hours joined by the other three companies
under Munro himself. The regiment which was now commanded by Lieutenant
Colonel Munro had been raised in 1626 by Sir Donald Mackay of Farre and
Strathnaver, 1500 strong, for the service of the King of Denmark.
Munro was his cousin, and when Sir Donald went home shortly before, he
succeeded to the command of the regiment. They embarked at once on board
a ship which Munro had chartered, and were landed in Denmark and marched
to Flensberg, where the rest of the regiment was lying.

A fortnight was spent in severe drill, and then orders were received
from Oxenstiern, the chancellor of Sweden, to embark the regiment on
board two Swedish vessels, the Lillynichol and the Hound. On board
the former were the companies of Captains Robert Munro, Hector Munro,
Bullion, Nigel Graheme, and Hamilton. Colonel Munro sailed in this
ship, while Major Sennot commanded the wing of the regiment on board the
Hound. The baggage horses and ammunition were in a smaller vessel.

The orders were that they were to land at Wolgast on the southern shore
of the Baltic. Scarcely had they set sail than the weather changed, and
a sudden tempest burst upon them. Higher and higher grew the wind,
and the vessels were separated in the night. The Lillynichol laboured
heavily in the waves, and the discomfort of the troops, crowded together
between decks, was very great. Presently it was discovered that she had
made a leak, and that the water was entering fast. Munro at once called
forty-eight soldiers to the pumps. They were relieved every quarter
of an hour, and by dint of the greatest exertions barely succeeded in
keeping down the water. So heavily did the vessel labour that Munro bore
away for Dantzig; but when night came on the storm increased in fury.
They were now in shoal water, and the vessel, already half waterlogged,
became quite unmanageable in the furious waves. Beyond the fact that
they were fast driving on to the Pomeranian coast, they were ignorant of
their position.

“This is a rough beginning,” Nigel said to his nephew. “We bargained to
run the risk of being killed by the Germans, but we did not expect to
run the hazard of being drowned. I doubt if the vessel can live till
morning. It is only eleven o’clock yet, and in spite of the pumps she is
getting lower and lower in the water.”

Before Malcolm had time to answer him there was a tremendous crash which
threw them off their feet. All below struggled on deck, but nothing
could be seen in the darkness save masses of foam as the waves broke on
the rock on which they had struck. There were two more crashes, and
then another, even louder and more terrible, and the vessel broke in two
parts.

“Come aft all,” Colonel Munro shouted; “this part of the wreck is
fixed.”

With great efforts all on board managed to reach the after portion of
the vessel, which was wedged among the rocks, and soon afterwards the
forepart broke up and disappeared. For two hours the sea broke wildly
over the ship, and all had to hold on for life.

Malcolm, even in this time of danger, could not but admire the calmness
and coolness of his young colonel. He at once set men to work with
ropes to drag towards the vessel the floating pieces of wreck which
were tossing about in the boiling surf. The masts and yards were hauled
alongside, and the colonel instructed the men to make themselves fast to
these in case the vessel should go to pieces.

Hour after hour passed, and at last, to the joy of all, daylight
appeared. The boats had all been broken to pieces, and Munro now set the
men to work to bind the spars and timbers together into a raft. One
of the soldiers and a sailor volunteered to try to swim to shore with
lines, but both were dashed to pieces.

At one o’clock in the day some natives were seen collecting on the
shore, and these presently dragged down a boat and launched it, and with
great difficulty rowed out to the ship. A line was thrown to them, and
with this they returned to shore, where they made the line fast. The
storm was now abating somewhat, and Munro ordered the debarkation to
commence.

As many of the troops as could find a place on the raft, or could cling
to the ropes fastened on its sides, started first, and by means of the
line hauled the raft ashore. A small party then brought it back to the
ship, while others manned the boat; and so after a number of trips the
whole of the troops and crew were landed, together with all the weapons
and armour that could be saved.

From the peasantry Munro now learned that they had been wrecked upon
the coast of Rugenwalde, a low lying tract of country in the north
of Pomerania. The forts upon it were all in the possession of the
Imperialists, while the nearest post of the Swedes was eighty miles
away.

The position was not a pleasant one. Many of the arms had been lost, and
the gunpowder was of course destroyed. The men were exhausted and worn
out with their long struggle with the tempest. They were without food,
and might at any moment be attacked by their enemies.

“Something must be done, and that quickly,” Munro said, “or our fate
will be well nigh as bad as that of the Sinclairs; but before night we
can do nothing, and we must hope that the Germans will not discover us
till then.”

Thereupon he ordered all the men to lie down under shelter of the bushes
on the slopes facing the shore, and on no account to show themselves on
the higher ground. Then he sent a Walloon officer of the regiment to the
Pomeranian seneschal of the old castle of Rugenwalde which belonged to
Bogislaus IV, Duke of Pomerania, to inform him that a body of Scotch
troops in the service of the Swedish king had been cast on the coast,
and begging him to supply them with a few muskets, some dry powder, and
bullets, promising if he would do so that the Scotch would clear the
town of its Imperial garrison.

The castle itself, which was a very old feudal building, was held only
by the retainers of the duke, and the seneschal at once complied
with Munro’s request, for the Duke of Pomerania, his master, although
nominally an ally of the Imperialists, had been deprived of all
authority by them, and the feelings of his subjects were entirely with
the Swedes.

Fifty old muskets, some ammunition, and some food were sent out by a
secret passage to the Scots. There was great satisfaction among the men
when these supplies arrived. The muskets which had been brought ashore
were cleaned up and loaded, and the feeling that they were no longer
in a position to fall helplessly into the hands of any foe who might
discover them restored the spirits of the troops, and fatigue and hunger
were forgotten as they looked forward to striking a blow at the enemy.

“What did the colonel mean by saying that our position was well nigh as
bad as that of the Sinclairs?” Malcolm asked Captain Hector Munro, who
with two or three other officers was sheltering under a thick clump of
bushes.

“That was a bad business,” Captain Munro replied. “It happened now nigh
twenty years ago. Colonel Monkhoven, a Swedish officer, had enlisted
2300 men in Scotland for service with Gustavus, and sailed with them and
with a regiment 900 strong raised by Sinclair entirely of his own clan
and name. Sweden was at war with Denmark, and Stockholm was invested by
the Danish fleet when Monkhoven arrived with his ships. Finding that he
was unable to land, he sailed north, landed at Trondheim, and marching
over the Norwegian Alps reached Stockholm in safety, where the
appearance of his reinforcements discouraged the Danes and enabled
Gustavus to raise the siege.

“Unfortunately Colonel Sinclair’s regiment had not kept with Monkhoven,
it being thought better that they should march by different routes so as
to distract the attention of the Norwegians, who were bitterly
hostile. The Sinclairs were attacked several times, but beat off their
assailants; when passing, however, through the tremendous gorge of
Kringellen, the peasantry of the whole surrounding country gathered in
the mountains. The road wound along on one side of the gorge. So steep
was the hill that the path was cut in solid rock which rose almost
precipitously on one side, while far below at their feet rushed a rapid
torrent. As the Sinclairs were marching along through this rocky gorge a
tremendous fire was opened upon them from the pine forests above, while
huge rocks and stones came bounding down the precipice.

“The Sinclairs strove in vain to climb the mountainside and get at their
foes. It was impossible, and they were simply slaughtered where they
stood, only one man of the whole regiment escaping to tell the story.”

“That was a terrible massacre indeed,” Malcolm said. “I have read of a
good many surprises and slaughters in our Scottish history, but never of
such complete destruction as that only one man out of 900 should escape.
And was the slaughter never avenged?”

“No,” Munro replied. “We Scots would gladly march north and repay these
savage peasants for the massacre of our countrymen, but the King of
Sweden has had plenty of occupation for his Scotchmen in his own wars.
What with the Russians and the Poles and the Danes his hands have been
pretty full from that day to this, and indeed an expedition against the
Norsemen is one which would bring more fatigue and labour than profit.
The peasants would seek shelter in their forests and mountains, and
march as we would we should never see them, save when they fell upon us
with advantage in some defile.”

At nightfall the troops were mustered, and, led by the men who had
brought the arms, they passed by the secret passage into the castle,
and thence sallied suddenly into the town below. There they fell upon a
patrol of Imperial cavalry, who were all shot down before they had
time to draw their swords. Then scattering through the town, the whole
squadron of cuirassiers who garrisoned it were either killed or taken
prisoners. This easy conquest achieved, the first care of Munro was to
feed his troops. These were then armed from the stores in the town, and
a strong guard being placed lest they should be attacked by the Austrian
force, which was, they learned, lying but seven miles away, on the other
side of the river, the troops lay down to snatch a few hours of needed
rest.

In the morning the country was scoured, and a few detached posts of the
Austrians captured. The main body then advanced and blew up the bridge
across the river. Five days later an order came from Oxenstiern, to
whom Munro had at once despatched the news of his capture of Rugenwalde,
ordering him to hold it to the last, the position being a very valuable
one, as opening an entrance into Pomerania.

The passage of the river was protected by entrenchments, strong redoubts
were thrown up round Rugenwalde, and parties crossing the river in boats
collected provisions and stores from the country to the very gates of
Dantzig. The Austrians rapidly closed in upon all sides, and for nine
weeks a constant series of skirmishes were maintained with them.

At the end of that time Sir John Hepburn arrived from Spruce, having
pushed forward by order of Oxenstiern by forced marches to their relief.
Loud and hearty was the cheering when the two Scotch regiments united,
and the friends, Munro and Hepburn, clasped hands. Not only had they
been at college together, but they had, after leaving St. Andrews,
travelled in companionship on the Continent for two or three years
before taking service, Munro entering that of France, while Hepburn
joined Sir Andrew Gray as a volunteer when he led a band to succour the
Prince Palatine at the commencement of the war.

“I have another old friend in my regiment, Hepburn,” the colonel
said after the first greeting was over--“Nigel Graheme, of course you
remember him.”

“Certainly I do,” Hepburn exclaimed cordially, “and right glad will I
be to see him again; but I thought your regiment was entirely from the
north.”

“It was originally,” Munro said; “but I have filled up the gaps with men
from Nithsdale and the south. I was pressed for time, and our glens of
Farre and Strathnaver had already been cleared of all their best men.
The other companies are all commanded by men who were with us at St.
Andrews--Balfour, George Hamilton, and James Scott.”

“That is well,” Hepburn said. “Whether from the north or the south
Scots fight equally well; and with Gustavus ‘tis like being in our own
country, so large a proportion are we of his majesty’s army. And now,
Munro, I fear that I must supersede you in command, being senior to
you in the service, and having, moreover, his majesty’s commission as
governor of the town and district.”

“There is no one to whom I would more willingly resign the command. I
have seen some hard fighting, but have yet my name to win; while you,
though still only a colonel, are famous throughout Europe.”

“Thanks to my men rather than to myself,” Hepburn said, “though, indeed,
mine is no better than the other Scottish regiments in the king’s
service; but we have had luck, and in war, you know, luck is
everything.”

There were many officers in both regiments who were old friends and
acquaintances, and there was much feasting that night in the Scotch
camp. In the morning work began again. The peasants of the district,
8000 strong, were mustered and divided into companies, armed and
disciplined, and with these and the two Scotch regiments Hepburn
advanced through Pomerania to the gates of Colberg, fifty miles away,
clearing the country of the Austrians, who offered, indeed, but a faint
resistance.

The Lord of Kniphausen, a general in the Swedish service, now arrived
with some Swedish troops, and prepared to besiege the town. The rest
of Munro’s regiment accompanied him, having arrived safely at their
destination, and the whole were ordered to aid in the investment
of Colberg, while Hepburn was to seize the town and castle of
Schiefelbrune, five miles distant, and there to check the advance of the
Imperialists, who were moving forward in strength towards it.

Hepburn performed his mission with a party of cavalry, and reported that
although the castle was dilapidated it was a place of strength, and that
it could be held by a resolute garrison; whereupon Munro with 500 men of
his regiment was ordered to occupy it. Nigel Graheme’s company was one
of those which marched forward on the 6th of November, and entering
the town, which was almost deserted by its inhabitants, set to work to
prepare it for defence. Ramparts of earth and stockades were hastily
thrown up, and the gates were backed by piles of rubbish to prevent them
being blown in by petards.

Scarcely were the preparations completed before the enemy were seen
moving down the hillside.

“How many are there of them, think you?” Malcolm asked Lieutenant
Farquhar.

“I am not skilled in judging numbers, Malcolm, but I should say that
there must be fully five thousand.”

There were indeed eight thousand Imperialists approaching, led by the
Count of Montecuculi, a distinguished Italian officer, who had with
him the regiments of Coloredo, Isslani, Goetz, Sparre, and Charles
Wallenstein, with a large force of mounted Croats.

Munro’s orders were to hold the town as long as he could, and afterwards
to defend the castle to the last man. The Imperial general sent in a
message requesting him to treat for the surrender of the place; but
Munro replied simply, that as no allusion to the word treaty was
contained in his instructions he should defend the place to the last.
The first advance of the Imperialists was made by the cavalry covered by
1000 musketeers, but these were repulsed without much difficulty by the
Scottish fire.

The whole force then advanced to the attack with great resolution.
Desperately the Highlanders defended the town, again and again the
Imperialists were repulsed from the slight rampart, and when at last
they won their way into the place by dint of numbers, every street,
lane, alley, and house was defended to the last. Malcolm was almost
bewildered at the din, the incessant roll of musketry, the hoarse shouts
of the contending troops, the rattling of the guns, and the shrieks of
pain.

Every time the Imperialists tried to force their way in heavy columns
up the streets the Scots poured out from the houses to resist them, and
meeting them pike to pike hurled them backwards. Malcolm tried to keep
cool, and to imitate the behaviour of his senior officers, repeating
their orders, and seeing that they were carried out.

Time after time the Austrians attempted to carry the place, and were
always hurled back, although outnumbering the Scots by nigh twenty
to one. At last the town was in ruins, and was on fire in a score of
places. Its streets and lanes were heaped with dead, and it was no
longer tenable. Munro therefore gave orders that the houses should
everywhere be set on fire, and the troops fall back to the castle.

Steadily and in good order his commands were carried out, and with
levelled pikes, still facing the enemy, the troops retired into the
castle. The Imperial general, seeing how heavy had been his losses in
carrying the open town, shrank from the prospect of assaulting a castle
defended by such troops, and when night fell he quietly marched away
with the force under his command.



CHAPTER III SIR JOHN HEPBURN


Munro’s first care, when he found that the Imperialists had retreated
in the direction of Colberg, was to send out some horsemen to discover
whether the Swedes were in a position to cover that town. The men
returned in two hours with the report that Field Marshal Horn, with the
Swedish troops from Stettin, had joined Kniphausen and Hepburn, and were
guarding the passage between the enemy and Colberg.

Two days later a message arrived to the effect that Sir Donald Mackay,
who had now been created Lord Reay, had arrived to take the command of
his regiment, and that Nigel Graheme’s company was to march and join
him; while Munro with the rest of his command was to continue to hold
the Castle of Schiefelbrune.

Shortly afterwards General Bauditzen arrived with 4000 men and 18 pieces
of cannon to press the siege of Colberg, which was one of the strongest
fortresses in North Germany. On the 13th of November the news arrived
that Montecuculi was again advancing to raise the siege; and Lord Reay
with his half regiment, Hepburn with half his regiment, and a regiment
of Swedish infantry marched out to meet him, Kniphausen being in
command. They took up a position in a little village a few miles from
the town; and here, at four o’clock in the morning, they were attacked
by the Imperialists, 7000 strong. The Swedish infantry fled almost
without firing a shot, but the Scottish musketeers of Hepburn and Reay
stood their ground.

For a time a desperate conflict raged. In the darkness it was utterly
impossible to distinguish friend from foe, and numbers on both sides
were mown down by the volleys of their own party. In the streets and
gardens of the little village men fought desperately with pikes and
clubbed muskets. Unable to act in the darkness, and losing many men from
the storm of bullets which swept over the village, the Swedish cavalry
who had accompanied the column turned and fled; and being unable to
resist so vast a superiority of force, Kniphausen gave the word, and the
Scotch fell slowly back under cover of the heavy mist which rose with
the first breath of day, leaving 500 men, nearly half their force, dead
behind them.

Nigel Graheme’s company had suffered severely; he himself was badly
wounded. A lieutenant and one of the ensigns were killed, with thirty of
the men, and many others were wounded with pike or bullet. Malcolm had
had his share of the fighting. Several times he and the men immediately
round him had been charged by the Imperialists, but their long pikes had
each time repulsed the assaults.

Malcolm had before this come to the conclusion, from the anecdotes he
heard from the officers who had served through several campaigns, that
the first quality of an officer is coolness, and that this is even more
valuable than is reckless bravery. He had therefore set before himself
that his first duty in action was to be perfectly calm, to speak without
hurry or excitement in a quiet and natural tone.

In his first fight at Schiefelbrune he had endeavoured to carry this
out, but although he gained much commendation from Nigel and the other
officers of the company for his coolness on that occasion, he had by no
means satisfied himself; but upon the present occasion he succeeded
much better in keeping his natural feelings in check, forcing himself to
speak in a quiet and deliberate way without flurry or excitement, and in
a tone of voice in no way raised above the ordinary. The effect had been
excellent, and the soldiers, in talking over the affair next day, were
loud in their praise of the conduct of the young ensign.

“The lad was as cool as an old soldier,” one of the sergeants said, “and
cooler. Just as the Austrian column was coming on for the third time,
shouting, and cheering, and sending their bullets in a hail, he said to
me as quietly as if he was giving an order about his dinner, ‘I think,
Donald, it would be as well to keep the men out of fire until the last
moment. Some one might get hurt, you see, before the enemy get close
enough to use the pikes.’ And then when they came close he said, ‘Now,
sergeant, I think it is time to move out and stop them.’ When they came
upon us he was fighting with his half pike with the best of us. And when
the Austrians fell back and began to fire again, and we took shelter
behind the houses, he walked about on the road, stooping down over those
who had fallen, to see if all were killed, and finding two were alive he
called out, ‘Will one of you just come and help me carry these men under
shelter? They may get hit again if they remain here.’ I went out to him,
but I can tell you I didn’t like it, for the bullets were coming along
the road in a shower. His helmet was knocked off by one, and one of the
men we were carrying in was struck by two more bullets and killed, and
the lad seemed to mind it no more than if it had been a rainstorm in the
hills at home. I thought when we left Nithsdale that the captain was in
the wrong to make so young a boy an officer, but I don’t think so now.
Munro himself could not have been cooler. If he lives he will make a
great soldier.”

The defence of the Scots had been so stubborn that Montecuculi abandoned
his attempt to relieve Colberg that day, and so vigilant was the watch
which the besiegers kept that he was obliged at last to draw off his
troops and leave Colberg to its fate. The place held out to the 26th of
February, when the garrison surrendered and were allowed to march out
with the honours of war, with pikes carried, colours flying, drums
beating, matches lighted, with their baggage, and with two pieces of
cannon loaded and ready for action. They were saluted by the army as
they marched away to the nearest town held by the Austrians, and as they
passed by Schiefelbrune Munro’s command were drawn up and presented
arms to the 1500 men who had for three months resisted every attempt to
capture Colberg by assault.

Nigel Graheme’s wound was so severe that he was obliged for a time to
relinquish the command of his company, which he handed over to Herries.

As there had been two vacancies among the officers Malcolm would
naturally have been promoted to the duties of lieutenant, but at his
urgent request his uncle chose for the purpose a young gentleman of good
family who had fought in the ranks, and had much distinguished himself
in both the contests. Two others were also promoted to fill up the
vacancies as ensigns.

The troops after the capture of Colberg marched to Stettin, around which
town they encamped for a time, while Gustavus completed his preparations
for his march into Germany. While a portion of his army had been
besieging Colberg, Gustavus had been driving the Imperialists out of the
whole of Pomerania. Landing on the 24th of June with an army in all of
15,000 infantry, 2000 cavalry, and about 3000 artillery, he had, after
despatching troops to aid Munro and besiege Colberg, marched against the
Imperialists under Conti. These, however, retreated in great disorder
and with much loss of men, guns, and baggage, into Brandenburg; and in
a few weeks after the Swedish landing only Colberg, Greifswald, and
Demming held out. In January Gustavus concluded a treaty with France,
who agreed to pay him an annual subsidy of 400,000 thalers on the
condition that Gustavus maintained in the field an army of 30,000
infantry and 6000 cavalry, and assured to the princes and peoples whose
territory he might occupy the free exercise of their religion. England
also promised a subsidy, and the Marquis of Hamilton was to bring over
6000 infantry; but as the king did not wish openly to take part in
the war this force was not to appear as an English contingent. Another
regiment of Highlanders was brought over by Colonel John Munro of
Obstell, and also a regiment recruited in the Lowlands by Colonel Sir
James Lumsden.

Many other parties of Scotch were brought over by gentlemen of rank.
Four chosen Scottish regiments, Hepburn’s regiment, Lord Reay’s
regiment, Sir James Lumsden’s musketeers, and Stargate’s corps, were
formed into one brigade under the command of Hepburn. It was called the
Green Brigade, and the doublets, scarfs, feathers, and standards were
of that colour. The rest of the infantry were divided into the Yellow,
Blue, and White Brigades.

One evening when the officers of Reay’s regiment were sitting round the
campfire Lieutenant Farquhar said to Colonel Munro:

“How is it that Sir John Hepburn has, although still so young, risen to
such high honour in the counsel of the king; how did he first make his
way?”

“He first entered the force raised by Sir Andrew Gray, who crossed from
Leith to Holland, and then uniting with a body of English troops under
Sir Horace Vere marched to join the troops of the Elector Palatine. It
was a work of danger and difficulty for so small a body of men to march
through Germany, and Spinola with a powerful force tried to intercept
them. They managed, however, to avoid him, and reached their destination
in safety.

“Vere’s force consisted of 2200 men, and when he and Sir Andrew Gray
joined the Margrave of Anspach the latter had but 4000 horse and
4000 foot with him. There was a good deal of fighting, and Hepburn
so distinguished himself that although then but twenty years old he
obtained command of a company of pikemen in Sir Andrew Gray’s band, and
this company was specially selected as a bodyguard for the king.

“There was one Scotchman in the band who vied even with Hepburn in the
gallantry of his deeds. He was the son of a burgess of Stirling named
Edmund, and on one occasion, laying aside his armour, he swam the Danube
at night in front of the Austrian lines, and penetrated to the very
heart of the Imperial camp. There he managed to enter the tent of the
Imperialist general, the Count de Bucquoi, gagged and bound him, carried
him to the river, swam across with him and presented him as a prisoner
to the Prince of Orange, under whose command he was then serving.

“It was well for Hepburn that at the battle of Prague he was guarding
the king, or he also might have fallen among the hosts who died on that
disastrous day. When the elector had fled the country Sir Andrew Gray’s
bands formed part of Mansfeldt’s force, under whom they gained great
glory. When driven out of the Palatinate they still kept up the war
in various parts of Germany and Alsace. With the Scotch companies of
Colonel Henderson they defended Bergen when the Marquis of Spinola
besieged it. Morgan with an English brigade was with them, and right
steadily they fought. Again and again the Spaniards attempted to storm
the place, but after losing 12,000 men they were forced to withdraw on
the approach of Prince Maurice.

“The elector now made peace with the emperor, and Mansfeldt’s bands
found themselves without employment. Mansfeldt in vain endeavoured to
obtain employment under one of the powers, but failing, marched into
Lorraine. There, it must be owned, they plundered and ravaged till they
were a terror to the country. At last the Dutch, being sorely pressed
by the Spaniards, offered to take them into their pay, and the bands
marched out from Lorraine in high spirits.

“They were in sore plight for fighting, for most of them had been
obliged to sell even their arms and armour to procure food. Spinola,
hearing of their approach pushed forward with a strong force to
intercept them, and so came upon them at Fleurus, eight miles from
Namur, on the 30th of August, 1622.

“The Scots were led by Hepburn, Hume, and Sir James Ramsay; the English
by Sir Charles Rich, brother to the Earl of Warwick, Sir James Hayes,
and others. The odds seemed all in favour of the Spaniards who were
much superior in numbers, and were splendidly accoutred and well
disciplined, and what was more, were well fed, while Mansfeldt’s bands
were but half armed and almost wholly starving.

“It was a desperate battle, and the Spaniards in the end remained
masters of the field, but Mansfeldt with his bands had burst their
way through them, and succeeded in crossing into Holland. Here their
position was bettered; for, though there was little fighting for them to
do, and they could get no pay, they lived and grew fat in free quarters
among the Dutch. At last the force broke up altogether; the Germans
scattered to their homes, the English crossed the seas, and Hepburn led
what remained of Sir Andrew Gray’s bands to Sweden, where he offered
their services to Gustavus. The Swedish king had already a large number
of Scotch in his service, and Hepburn was made a colonel, having
a strong regiment composed of his old followers inured to war and
hardship, and strengthened by a number of new arrivals. When in 1625
hostilities were renewed with Poland Hepburn’s regiment formed part
of the army which invaded Polish Prussia. The first feat in which he
distinguished himself in the service of Sweden was at the relief of
Mewe, a town in Eastern Prussia, which was blockaded by King Sigismund
at the head of 30,000 Poles. The town is situated at the confluence of
the Bersa with the Vistula, which washes two sides of its walls.

“In front of the other face is a steep green eminence which the Poles
had very strongly entrenched, and had erected upon it ten batteries
of heavy cannon. As the town could only be approached on this side the
difficulties of the relieving force were enormous; but as the relief of
the town was a necessity in order to enable Gustavus to carry out the
campaign he intended, the king determined to make a desperate effort to
effect it.

“He selected 3000 of his best Scottish infantry, among whom was
Hepburn’s own regiment, and 500 horse under Colonel Thurn. When they
were drawn up he gave them a short address on the desperate nature of
the service they were about to perform, namely, to cut a passage over a
strongly fortified hill defended by 30,000 men. The column, commanded
by Hepburn, started at dusk, and, unseen by the enemy, approached their
position, and working round it began to ascend the hill by a narrow
and winding path encumbered by rocks and stones, thick underwood, and
overhanging trees.

“The difficulty for troops with heavy muskets, cartridges, breastplates,
and helmets, to make their way up such a place was enormous, and the
mountain side was so steep that they were frequently obliged to haul
themselves up by the branches of the trees; nevertheless, they managed
to make their way through the enemy’s outposts unobserved, and reached
the summit, where the ground was smooth and level.

“Here they fell at once upon the Poles, who were working busily at their
trenches, and for a time gained a footing there; but a deadly fire of
musketry with showers of arrows and stones, opened upon them from all
points, compelled the Scots to recoil from the trenches, when they were
instantly attacked by crowds of horsemen in mail shirts and steel caps.
Hepburn drew off his men till they reached a rock on the plateau, and
here they made their stand, the musketeers occupying the rock, the
pikemen forming in a wall around it.

“They had brought with them the portable chevaux-de-frise carried by the
infantry in the Swedish service. They fixed this along in front, and
it aided the spearmen greatly in resisting the desperate charges of the
Polish horsemen. Hepburn was joined by Colonel Mostyn, an Englishman,
and Count Brahe, with 200 German arquebusiers, and this force for two
days withstood the incessant attacks of the whole of the Polish army.

“While this desperate strife was going on, and the attention of the
enemy entirely occupied, Gustavus managed to pass a strong force of men
and a store of ammunition into the town, and the Poles, seeing that
he had achieved his purpose, retired unmolested. In every battle which
Gustavus fought Hepburn bore a prominent part. He distinguished himself
at the storming of Kesmark and the defeat of the Poles who were marching
to its relief.

“He took part in the siege and capture of Marienburg and in the defeat
of the Poles at Dirschau. He was with Leslie when last year he defended
Stralsund against Wallenstein, and inflicted upon the haughty general
the first reverse he had ever met with. Truly Hepburn has won his
honours by the edge of the sword.”

“Wallenstein is the greatest of the Imperial commanders, is he not?”
 Farquhar asked.

“He and Tilly,” Munro replied. “‘Tis a question which is the greatest.
They are men of a very different stamp. Tilly is a soldier, and nothing
but a soldier, save that he is a fanatic in religion. He is as cruel as
he is brave, and as portentously ugly as he is cruel.

“Wallenstein is a very different man. He has enormous ambition and great
talent, and his possessions are so vast that he is a dangerous subject
for any potentate, even the most powerful. Curiously enough, he was born
of Protestant parents, but when they died, while he was yet a child, he
was committed to the care of his uncle, Albert Slavata, a Jesuit, and
was by him brought up a strict Catholic. When he had finished the course
of his study at Metz he spent some time at the University of Altdorf,
and afterwards studied at Bologna and Padua. He then travelled in Italy,
Germany, France, Spain, England, and Holland, studying the military
forces and tactics of each country.

“On his return to Bohemia he took service under the Emperor Rudolph
and joined the army of General Basta in Hungary, where he distinguished
himself greatly at the siege of Grau. When peace was made in 1606
Wallenstein returned to Bohemia, and though he was but twenty-three
years old he married a wealthy old widow, all of whose large properties
came to him at her death eight years afterwards.

“Five years later he raised at his own cost two hundred dragoons to
support Ferdinand of Gratz in his war against the Venetians. Here he
greatly distinguished himself, and was promoted to a colonelcy. He
married a second time, and again to one of the richest heiresses of
Austria. On the outbreak of the religious war of 1618 he raised a
regiment of Cuirassiers, and fought at its head. Two years later he was
made quartermaster general of the army, and marched at the head of an
independent force into Moravia, and there re-established the Imperial
authority.

“The next year he bought from the Emperor Ferdinand, for a little over
7,000,000 florins, sixty properties which the emperor had confiscated
from Protestants whom he had either executed or banished. He had been
made a count at the time of his second marriage; he was now named a
prince, which title was changed into that of the Duke of Friedland. They
say that his wealth is so vast that he obtains two millions and a half
sterling a year from his various estates.

“When in 1625 King Christian of Denmark joined in the war against the
emperor, Wallenstein raised at his own cost an army of 50,000 men
and defeated Mansfeldt’s army. After that he cleared the Danes out
of Silesia, conquered Brandenburg and Mecklenburg, and laid siege to
Stralsund, and there broke his teeth against our Scottish pikes. For his
services in that war Wallenstein received the duchy of Mecklenburg.

“At present he is in retirement. The conquests which his army have
made for the emperor aroused the suspicion and jealousy of the German
princes, and it may be that the emperor himself was glad enough of an
excuse to humble his too powerful subject. At any rate, Wallenstein’s
army was disbanded, and he retired to one of his castles. You may
be sure we shall hear of him again. Tilly, you know, is the Bavarian
commander, and we shall probably encounter him before long.”

New Brandenburg and several other towns were captured and strongly
garrisoned, 600 of Reay’s regiment under Lieutenant Colonel Lindsay
being left in New Brandenburg. Nigel Graheme was still laid up, but his
company formed part of the force.

“This is ill fortune indeed,” Malcolm said to Lieutenant Farquhar, “thus
to be shut up here while the army are marching away to win victories in
the field.”

“It is indeed, Malcolm, but I suppose that the king thinks that Tilly is
likely to try and retake these places, and so to threaten his rear as
he marches forward. He would never have placed as strong a force of his
best soldiers here if he had not thought the position a very important
one.”

The troops were quartered in the larger buildings of New Brandenburg;
the officers were billeted upon the burghers. The position of the
country people and the inhabitants of the towns of Germany during this
long and desolating war was terrible; no matter which side won, they
suffered. There were in those days no commissariat wagons bringing
up stores from depots and magazines to the armies. The troops lived
entirely upon the country through which they marched. In exceptional
cases, when the military chest happened to be well filled, the
provisions acquired might be paid for, but as a rule armies upon the
march lived by foraging. The cavalry swept in the flocks and herds
from the country round. Flour, forage, and everything else required was
seized wherever found, and the unhappy peasants and villagers thought
themselves lucky if they escaped with the loss of all they possessed,
without violence, insult, and ill treatment. The slightest resistance
to the exactions of the lawless foragers excited their fury, and
indiscriminate slaughter took place. The march of an army could be
followed by burned villages, demolished houses, crops destroyed, and
general ruin, havoc, and desolation.

In the cases of towns these generally escaped indiscriminate plunder by
sending deputies forward to meet advancing armies, when an offer would
be made to the general to supply so much food and to pay so much money
on condition that private property was respected. In these cases the
main body of the troops was generally encamped outside the town. Along
the routes frequently followed by armies the country became a desert,
the hapless people forsook their ruined homes, and took refuge in the
forests or in the heart of the hills, carrying with them their portable
property, and driving before them a cow or two and a few goats.

How great was the general slaughter and destruction may be judged by the
fact that the population of Germany decreased by half during the war,
and in Bohemia the slaughter was even greater. At the commencement of
the war the population of Bohemia consisted of 3,000,000 of people,
inhabiting 738 towns and 34,700 villages. At the end of the war there
were but 780,000 inhabitants, 230 towns, and 6000 villages. Thus three
out of four of the whole population had been slaughtered during the
struggle.

Malcolm was, with Lieutenant Farquhar, quartered upon one of the
principal burghers of New Brandenburg, and syndic of the weavers. He
received them cordially.

“I am glad,” he said, “to entertain two Scottish officers, and, to speak
frankly, your presence will be of no slight advantage, for it is only
the houses where officers are quartered which can hope to escape from
the plunder and exactions of the soldiers. My wife and I will do our
best to make you comfortable, but we cannot entertain you as we could
have done before this war began, for trade is altogether ruined. None
have money wherewith to buy goods. Even when free from the presence of
contending armies, the country is infested with parties of deserters or
disbanded soldiers, who plunder and murder all whom they meet, so that
none dare travel along the roads save in strong parties. I believe that
there is scarce a village standing within twenty miles, and many parts
have suffered much more than we have. If this war goes on, God help the
people, for I know not what will become of them. This is my house, will
you please to enter.”

Entering a wide hall, he led them into a low sitting room where his wife
and three daughters were at work. They started up with looks of alarm at
the clatter of steel in the hall.

“Wife,” the syndic said as he entered, “these are two gentlemen,
officers of the Scottish regiment; they will stay with us during the
occupation of the town. I know that you and the girls will do your best
to make their stay pleasant to them.”

As the officers removed their helmets the apprehensions of the women
calmed down on perceiving that one of their guests was a young man of
three or four and twenty, while the other was a lad, and that both had
bright pleasant faces in no way answering the terrible reputation gained
by the invincible soldiers of the Swedish king.

“I hope,” Farquhar said pleasantly, “that you will not put yourselves
out of your way for us. We are soldiers of fortune accustomed to sleep
on the ground and to live on the roughest fare, and since leaving
Scotland we have scarcely slept beneath a roof. We will be as little
trouble to you as we can, and our two soldier servants will do all that
we need.”

Farquhar spoke in German, for so large a number of Germans were serving
among the Swedes that the Scottish officers had all learned to speak
that language and Swedish, German being absolutely necessary for their
intercourse with the country people. This was the more easy as the two
languages were akin to each other, and were less broadly separated from
English in those days than they are now.

It was nearly a year since Farquhar and Malcolm had landed on the shores
of the Baltic, and living as they had done among Swedes and Germans,
they had had no difficulty in learning to speak both languages fluently.



CHAPTER IV NEW BRANDENBURG


Farquhar and Malcolm Graheme were soon at home with their hosts. The
syndic had offered to have their meals prepared for them in a separate
chamber, but they begged to be allowed to take them with the family,
with whom they speedily became intimate.

Three weeks after the capture of New Brandenburg the news came that
Tilly with a large army was rapidly approaching.

Every effort was made to place the town in a position of defence. Day
after day messengers came in with the news that the other places which
had been garrisoned by the Swedes had been captured, and very shortly
the Imperialist army was seen approaching. The garrison knew that they
could expect no relief from Gustavus, who had ten days before marched
northward, and all prepared for a desperate resistance. The townsfolk
looked on with trembling apprehension, their sympathies were with the
defenders, and, moreover, they knew that in any case they might expect
pillage and rapine should the city be taken, for the property of the
townspeople when a city was captured was regarded by the soldiery as
their lawful prize, whether friendly to the conquerors or the reverse.
The town was at once summoned to surrender, and upon Lindsay’s refusal
the guns were placed in position, and the siege began.

As Tilly was anxious to march away to the north to oppose Gustavus he
spared no effort to reduce New Brandenburg as speedily as possible, and
his artillery fired night and day to effect breaches in the walls. The
Scotch officers saw little of their hosts now, for they were almost
continually upon the walls.

At the first news of the approach of the Imperialists the syndic had
sent away his daughters to the house of a relative at Stralsund, where
his son was settled in business. When Farquhar and Malcolm returned to
eat a meal or to throw themselves on their beds to snatch a short sleep,
the syndic anxiously questioned them as to the progress of the
siege. The reports were not hopeful. In several places the walls were
crumbling, and it was probable that a storm would shortly be attempted.
The town itself was suffering heavily, for the balls of the besiegers
frequently flew high, and came crashing among the houses. Few of the
inhabitants were to be seen in the streets; all had buried their most
valuable property, and with scared faces awaited the issue of the
conflict.

After six days’ cannonade the walls were breached in many places, and
the Imperialists advanced to the assault. The Scotch defended them with
great resolution, and again and again the Imperialists recoiled, unable
to burst their way through the lines of pikes or to withstand the heavy
musketry fire poured upon them from the walls and buildings.

But Tilly’s army was so strong that he was able continually to bring up
fresh troops to the attack, while the Scotch were incessantly engaged.
For eight-and-forty hours the defenders resisted successfully, but at
last, worn out by fatigue, they were unable to withstand the onslaught
of the enemy, and the latter forced their way into the town. Still the
Scots fought on. Falling back from the breaches, they contested every
foot of the ground, holding the streets and lanes with desperate
tenacity, and inflicting terrible losses upon the enemy.

At last, twelve hours later, they were gathered in the marketplace,
nearly in the centre of the town, surrounded on all sides by the enemy.
Several times the Scottish bugles had sounded a parley, but Tilly,
furious at the resistance, and at the loss which the capture of the town
had entailed, had issued orders that no quarter should be given, and his
troops pressed the now diminished band of Scotchmen on all sides.

Even now they could not break through the circle of spears, but from
every window and roof commanding them a deadly fire was poured in.
Colonel Lindsay was shot dead. Captain Moncrieff, Lieutenant Keith, and
Farquhar fell close to Malcolm. The shouts of “Kill, kill, no quarter,”
 rose from the masses of Imperialists. Parties of the Scotch, preferring
to die sword in hand rather than be shot down, flung themselves into the
midst of the enemy and died fighting.

At last, when but fifty men remained standing, these in a close body
rushed at the enemy and drove them by the fury of their attack some
distance down the principal street. Then numbers told. The band was
broken up, and a desperate hand-to-hand conflict raged for a time.

Two of the Scottish officers alone, Captain Innes and Lieutenant
Lumsden, succeeded in breaking their way down a side lane, and thence,
rushing to the wall, leapt down into the moat, and swimming across,
succeeded in making their escape, and in carrying the news of the
massacre to the camp of Gustavus, where the tale filled all with
indignation and fury. Among the Scotch regiments deep vows of vengeance
were interchanged, and in after battles the Imperialists had cause
bitterly to rue having refused quarter to the Scots at New Brandenburg.

When the last melee was at its thickest, and all hope was at an end,
Malcolm, who had been fighting desperately with his half pike, found
himself for a moment in a doorway. He turned the handle, and it opened
at once. The house, like all the others, was full of Imperialists, who
had thrown themselves into it when the Scots made their charge, and were
now keeping up a fire at them from the upper windows. Closing the door
behind him, Malcolm stood for a moment to recover his breath. He had
passed unscathed through the three days’ fighting, though his armour and
helmet were deeply dinted in many places.

The din without and above was tremendous. The stroke of sword on armour,
the sharp crack of the pistols, the rattle of musketry, the shouts of
the Imperialists, and the wild defiant cries of the Highlanders mingled
together.

As Malcolm stood panting he recalled the situation, and, remembering
that the syndic’s house was in the street behind, he determined to gain
it, feeling sure that his host would shelter him if he could. Passing
through the house he issued into a courtyard, quickly stripped off his
armour and accoutrements, and threw them into an outhouse. Climbing on
the roof of this he got upon the wall, and ran along it until behind the
house of the syndic. He had no fear of being observed, for the attention
of all in the houses in the street he had left would be directed to the
conflict below.

The sound of musketry had already ceased, telling that the work of
slaughter was well nigh over, when Malcolm dropped into the courtyard
of the syndic; the latter and his wife gave a cry of astonishment as the
lad entered the house, breathless and pale as death.

“Can you shelter me awhile?” he said. “I believe that all my countrymen
are killed.”

“We will do our best, my lad,” the syndic said at once. “But the houses
will be ransacked presently from top to bottom.”

“Let him have one of the servant’s disguises,” the wife said; “they can
all be trusted.”

One of the serving men was at once called in, and he hurried off with
Malcolm.

The young Scotchmen had made themselves very popular with the servants
by their courtesy and care to avoid giving unnecessary trouble, and in
a few minutes Malcolm was attired as a serving man, and joined the
servants who were busy in spreading the tables with provisions, and
in broaching a large cask of wine to allay the passions of the
Imperialists.

It was not long before they came. Soon there was a thundering knocking
at the door, and upon its being opened a number of soldiers burst in.
Many were bleeding from wounds. All bore signs of the desperate strife
in which they had been engaged.

“You are welcome,” the host said, advancing towards them. “I have made
preparations for your coming; eat and drink as it pleases you.”

Rushing to the wine casks, the soldiers appeased their thirst with long
draughts of wine, and then fell upon the eatables. Other bands followed,
and the house was soon filled from top to bottom with soldiers, who
ransacked the cupboards, loaded themselves with such things as they
deemed worth carrying away, and wantonly broke and destroyed what they
could not. The servants were all kept busy bringing up wine from the
cellars. This was of good quality, and the soldiers, well satisfied,
abstained from personal violence.

All night long pandemonium reigned in the town. Shrieks and cries, oaths
and sounds of conflict arose from all quarters, as citizens or their
wives were slaughtered by drunken soldiers, or the latter quarrelled and
fought among themselves for some article of plunder. Flames broke out in
many places, and whole streets were burned, many of the drunken soldiers
losing their lives in the burning houses; but in the morning the bugles
rang out, the soldiers desisted from their orgies, and such as were able
to stand staggered away to join their colours.

A fresh party marched into the town; these collected the stragglers,
and seized all the horses and carts for the carriage of the baggage and
plunder. The burgomaster had been taken before Tilly and commanded to
find a considerable sum of money the first thing in the morning, under
threat that the whole town would be burned down, and the inhabitants
massacred if it was not forthcoming.

A council of the principal inhabitants was hastily summoned at daybreak.
The syndics of the various guilds between them contributed the necessary
sum either in money or in drafts, and at noon Tilly marched away with
his troops, leaving the smoking and ruined town behind him. Many of the
inhabitants were forced as drivers to accompany the horses and carts
taken away. Among these were three of the syndic’s serving men, Malcolm
being one of the number.

It was well that the Pomeranian dialect differed so widely from the
Bavarian, so Malcolm’s German had consequently passed muster without
suspicion. The Imperialist army, although dragging with them an immense
train of carts laden with plunder, marched rapidly. The baggage was
guarded by horsemen who kept the train in motion, galloping up and down
the line, and freely administering blows among their captives whenever a
delay or stoppage occurred.

The whole country through which they passed was desolated and wasted,
and the army would have fared badly had it not been for the herds of
captured cattle they drove along with them, and the wagons laden with
flour and wine taken at New Brandenburg and the other towns they had
stormed. The marches were long, for Tilly was anxious to accomplish his
object before Gustavus should be aware of the direction he was taking.

This object was the capture of the town of Magdeburg, a large and
important city, and one of the strongholds of Protestantism. Here he was
resolved to strike a blow which would, he believed, terrify Germany into
submission.

When Gustavus heard that Tilly had marched west, he moved against
Frankfort-on-the-Oder, where the Imperialists were commanded by Count
Schomberg. The latter had taken every measure for the defence of the
town, destroying all the suburbs, burning the country houses and mills,
and cutting down the orchards and vineyards.

Gustavus, accompanied by Sir John Hepburn, at once reconnoitred the
place and posted his troops. The Blue and Yellow Brigades were posted
among the vineyards on the road to Custrin; the White Brigade took post
opposite one of the two gates of the town. Hepburn and the Green Brigade
were stationed opposite the other.

As the Swedes advanced the Imperialist garrison, who were 10,000 strong,
opened fire with musketry and cannon from the walls. The weakest point
in the defence was assigned by Schomberg to Colonel Walter Butler, who
commanded a regiment of Irish musketeers in the Imperialist service.
In the evening Hepburn and some other officers accompanied the king
to reconnoitre near the walls. A party of Imperialists, seeing some
officers approaching, and judging by their waving plumes they were
of importance, sallied quietly out of a postern gate unperceived and
suddenly opened fire. Lieutenant Munro, of Munro’s regiment, was shot in
the leg, and Count Teuffel, a colonel of the Life Guards, in the arm.
A body of Hepburn’s regiment, under Major Sinclair, rushed forward and
drove in the Imperialists, a lieutenant colonel and a captain being
captured.

So hotly did they press the Imperialists that they were able to make a
lodgment, on some high ground near the rampart, on which stood an old
churchyard surrounded by a wall, and whence their fire could sweep
the enemy’s works. Some cannon were at once brought up and placed in
position here, and opened fire on the Guben gate. Captain Gunter, of
Hepburn’s regiment, went forward with twelve men, and in spite of a very
heavy fire from the walls reconnoitred the ditch and approaches to the
walls.

The next day all was ready for the assault. It was Palm Sunday, the
3d of April, and the attack was to take place at five o’clock in the
afternoon. Before advancing, Hepburn and several of the other officers
wished to lay aside their armour, as its weight was great, and would
impede their movements. The king, however, forbade them to do so.

“No,” he said; “he who loves my service will not risk life lightly. If
my officers are killed, who is to command my soldiers?”

Fascines and scaling ladders were prepared. The Green Brigade were to
head the assault, and Gustavus, addressing them, bade them remember New
Brandenburg.

At five o’clock a tremendous cannonade was opened on the walls from all
the Swedish batteries, and under cover of the smoke the Green Brigade
advanced to the assault. From the circle of the walls a cloud of smoke
and fire broke out from cannon and arquebus, muskets, and wall pieces.
Sir John Hepburn and Colonel Lumsden, side by side, led on their
regiments against the Guben gate; both carried petards.

In spite of the tremendous fire poured upon them from the wall they
reached the gate, and the two colonels fixed the petards to it and
retired a few paces. In a minute there was a tremendous explosion, and
the gate fell scattered in fragments. Then the Scottish pikemen rushed
forward. As they did so there was a roar of cannon, and a storm of
bullets ploughed lanes through the close ranks of the pikemen, for the
Imperialists, expecting the attack, had placed cannon, loaded to the
muzzle with bullets, behind the gates.

Munro’s regiment now leapt into the moat, waded across, and planting
their ladders under a murderous fire, stormed the works flanking the
gate, and then joined their comrades, who were striving to make an
entrance. Hepburn, leading on the pikemen, was hit on the knee, where he
had in a former battle been badly wounded.

“Go on, bully Munro,” he said jocularly to his old schoolfellow, “for I
am wounded.”

A major who advanced to take his place at the head of the regiment
was shot dead, and so terrible was the fire that even the pikemen of
Hepburn’s regiment wavered for a moment; but Munro and Lumsden, with
their vizors down and half pikes in their hands, cheered on their men,
and, side by side, led the way.

“My hearts!” shouted Lumsden, waving his pike--“my brave hearts, let’s
enter.”

“Forward!” shouted Munro; “advance pikes!”

With a wild cheer the Scots burst forward; the gates were stormed,
and in a moment the cannon, being seized, were turned, and volleys of
bullets poured upon the dense masses of the Imperialists. The pikemen
pressed forward in close column, shoulder to shoulder, the pikes
levelled in front, the musketeers behind firing on the Imperialists in
the houses.

In the meantime Gustavus, with the Blue and Yellow Swedish Brigades,
stormed that part of the wall defended by Butler with his Irishmen.
These fought with extreme bravery, and continued their resistance until
almost every man was killed, when the two brigades burst into the
town, the White Brigade storming the wall in another quarter. Twice the
Imperialist drums beat a parley, but their sound was deadened by the
roar of musketry and the boom of cannon from wall and battery, and the
uproar and shouting in every street and house. The Green Brigade, under
its commander, maintained its regular order, pressing forward with
resistless strength. In vain the Austrians shouted for quarter. They
were met by shouts of--“Remember New Brandenburg!”

Even now, when all was lost, Tilly’s veterans fought with extreme
bravery and resolution; but at last, when Butler had fallen, and
Schomberg and Montecuculi, and a few other officers had succeeded in
escaping, all resistance ceased. Four colonels, 36 officers, and 3000
men were killed. Fifty colours and ten baggage wagons, laden with gold
and silver plate, were captured.

Many were taken prisoners, and hundreds were drowned in the Oder, across
which the survivors of the garrison made their escape. Plundering at
once began, and several houses were set on fire; but Gustavus ordered
the drums to beat, and the soldiers to repair to their colours outside
the town, which was committed to the charge of Sir John Hepburn, with
his regiment.

The rumour that Magdeburg was the next object of attack circulated among
Tilly’s troops the day after they marched west from New Brandenburg. It
originated in some chance word dropped by a superior officer, and seemed
confirmed by the direction which they were taking which was directly
away from the Swedish army. There was a report, too, that Count
Pappenheim, who commanded a separate army, would meet Tilly there, and
that every effort would be made to capture the town before Gustavus
could march to its assistance.

Malcolm could easily have made his escape the first night after leaving
New Brandenburg; but the distance to be traversed to join the Swedish
army was great, confusion and disorder reigned everywhere, and he had
decided that it would be safer to remain with the Imperialist army until
Gustavus should approach within striking distance. On the road he kept
with the other two men who had been taken with the horses from the
syndic of the weavers, and, chatting with them when the convoy halted,
he had not the least fear of being questioned by others. Indeed, none of
those in the long train of carts and wagons paid much attention to their
fellows, all had been alike forced to accompany the Imperialists, and
each was too much occupied by the hardships of his own lot, and by
thoughts of the home from which he had been torn, to seek for the
companionship of his comrades in misfortune.

As soon, however, as Malcolm heard the report of Tilly’s intentions, he
saw that it was of the utmost importance that the King of Sweden should
be informed of the Imperialist plans as early as possible, and he
determined at once to start and endeavour to make his way across the
country. At nightfall the train with the baggage and plunder was as
usual so placed that it was surrounded by the camps of the various
brigades of the army in order to prevent desertion. The previous night
an escape would have been comparatively easy, for the soldiers were worn
out by their exertions at the siege of New Brandenburg, and were still
heavy from the drink they had obtained there; but discipline was now
restored, and the sentries were on the alert. A close cordon of these
was placed around the baggage train; and when this was passed, there
would still be the difficulty of escaping through the camps of soldiery,
and of passing the outposts. Malcolm waited until the camp became quiet,
or rather comparatively quiet, for the supplies of wine were far from
exhausted, and revelling was still going on in various parts of the
camp, for the rigid discipline in use in modern armies was at that time
unknown, and except when on duty in the ranks a wide amount of license
was permitted to the soldiers. The night was fine and bright, and
Malcolm saw that it would be difficult to get through the line of
sentries who were stationed some thirty or forty yards apart.

After thinking for some time he went up to a group of eight or ten
horses which were fastened by their bridles to a large store wagon on
the outside of the baggage camp. Malcolm unfastened the bridles and
turned the horses heads outwards. Then he gave two of them a sharp prick
with his dagger, and the startled animals dashed forward in affright,
followed by their companions. They passed close to one of the sentries,
who tried in vain to stop them, and then burst into the camp beyond,
where their rush startled the horses picketed there. These began to kick
and struggle desperately to free themselves from their fastenings. The
soldiers, startled at the sudden noise, sprang to their feet, and much
confusion reigned until the runaway horses were secured and driven back
to their lines.

The instant he had thus diverted the attention of the whole line of
sentries along that side of the baggage camp, Malcolm crept quietly up
and passed between them. Turning from the direction in which the horses
had disturbed the camp, he made his way cautiously along. Only the
officers had tents, the men sleeping on the ground around their fires.
He had to move with the greatest caution to avoid treading upon the
sleepers, and was constantly compelled to make detours to get beyond
the range of the fires, round which groups of men were sitting and
carousing.

At last he reached the outside of the camp, and taking advantage of
every clump of bushes he had no difficulty in making his way through the
outposts, for as the enemy was known to be far away, no great vigilance
was observed by the sentries. He had still to be watchful, for fires
were blazing in a score of places over the country round, showing that
the foragers of the army were at their usual work of rapine, and he
might at any moment meet one of these returning laden with spoil.

Once or twice, indeed, he heard the galloping of bodies of horse, and
the sound of distant pistol shots and the shrieks of women came faintly
to his ears. He passed on, however, without meeting with any of the
foraging parties, and by morning was fifteen miles away from Tilly’s
camp. Entering a wood he threw himself down and slept soundly for some
hours. It was nearly noon before he started again. After an hour’s
walking he came upon the ruins of a village. Smoke was still curling up
from the charred beams and rafters of the cottages, and the destruction
had evidently taken place but the day before. The bodies of several
men and women lay scattered among the houses; two or three dogs were
prowling about, and these growled angrily at the intruder, and would
have attacked him had he not flourished a club which he had cut in the
woods for self defence.

Moving about through the village he heard a sound of wild laughter, and
going in that direction saw a woman sitting on the ground. In her lap
was a dead child pierced through with a lance. The woman was talking
and laughing to it, her clothes were torn, and her hair fell in wild
disorder over her shoulders. It needed but a glance to tell Malcolm that
the poor creature was mad, distraught by the horrors of the previous
day.

A peasant stood by leaning on a stick, mournfully regarding her. He
turned suddenly round with the weapon uplifted at the sound of Malcolm’s
approach, but lowered it on seeing that the newcomer was a lad.

“I hoped you were a soldier,” the peasant said, as he lowered his stick.
“I should like to kill one, and then to be killed myself. My God, what
is life worth living for in this unhappy country? Three times since the
war began has our village been burned, but each time we were warned of
the approach of the plunderers, and escaped in time. Yesterday they came
when I was away, and see what they have done;” and he pointed to his
wife and child, and to the corpses scattered about.

“It is terrible,” Malcolm replied. “I was taken a prisoner but two days
since at the sack of New Brandenburg, but I have managed to escape. I am
a Scot, and am on my way now to join the army of the Swedes, which will,
I hope, soon punish the villains who have done this damage.”

“I shall take my wife to her mother,” the peasant said, “and leave
her there. I hope God will take her soon, and then I will go and take
service under the Swedish king, and will slay till I am slain. I would
kill myself now, but that I would fain avenge my wife and child on some
of these murderers of Tilly’s before I die.”

Malcolm felt that the case was far beyond any attempt at consolation.

“If you come to the Swedish army ask for Ensign Malcolm Graheme of
Reay’s Scottish regiment, and I will take you to one of the German
corps, where you will understand the language of your comrades.” So
saying he turned from the bloodstained village and continued his way.



CHAPTER V MARAUDERS


Malcolm had brought with him from Tilly’s camp a supply of provisions
sufficient for three or four days, and a flask of wine. Before he
started from New Brandenburg the syndic had slipped into his band a
purse containing ten gold pieces, and whenever he came to a village
which had escaped the ravages of the war he had no difficulty in
obtaining provisions.

It was pitiable at each place to see the anxiety with which the
villagers crowded round him upon his arrival and questioned him as to
the position of the armies and whether he had met with any parties
of raiders on the way. Everywhere the cattle had been driven into the
woods; boys were posted as lookouts on eminences at a distance to bring
in word should any body of men be seen moving in that direction; and the
inhabitants were prepared to fly instantly at the approach of danger.

The news that Tilly’s army was marching in the opposite direction was
received with a deep sense of thankfulness and relief, for they were
now assured of a respite from his plunderers, although still exposed to
danger from the arrival of some of the numerous bands. These, nominally
fighting for one or other of the parties, were in truth nothing but
marauders, being composed of deserters and desperadoes of all kinds, who
lived upon the misfortunes of the country, and were even more cruel and
pitiless than were the regular troops.

At one of these villages Malcolm exchanged his attire as a serving man
of a rich burgher for that of a peasant lad. He was in ignorance of the
present position of the Swedish army, and was making for the intrenched
camp of Schwedt, on the Oder, which Gustavus had not left when he had
last heard of him.

On the fourth day after leaving the camp of Tilly, as Malcolm was
proceeding across a bare and desolate country he heard a sound of
galloping behind him, and saw a party of six rough looking horsemen
coming along the road. As flight would have been useless he continued
his way until they overtook him. They reined up when they reached him.

“Where are you going, boy, and where do you belong to?” the leader of
the party asked.

“I am going in search of work,” Malcolm answered. “My village is
destroyed and my parents killed.”

“Don’t tell me that tale,” the man said, drawing a pistol from his
holster. “I can tell by your speech that you are not a native of these
parts.”

There was nothing in the appointments of the men to indicate which party
they favoured, and Malcolm thought it better to state exactly who he
was, for a doubtful answer might be followed by a pistol shot, which
would have brought his career to a close.

“You are right,” he said quietly; “but in these times it is not safe
always to state one’s errand to all comers. I am a Scotch officer in the
army of the King of Sweden. I was in New Brandenburg when it was stormed
by Tilly. I disguised myself, and, passing unnoticed, was forced to
accompany his army as a teamster. The second night I escaped, and am now
making my way to Schwedt, where I hope to find the army.”

The man replaced his pistol.

“You are an outspoken lad,” he said laughing, “and a fearless one. I
believe that your story is true, for no German boor would have looked
me in the face and answered so quietly; but I have heard that the Scotch
scarce know what danger is, though they will find Tilly and Pappenheim
very different customers to the Poles.”

“Which side do you fight on?” Malcolm asked.

“A frank question and a bold one!” the leader laughed. “What say you,
men? Whom are we for just at present? We were for the Imperialists the
other day, but now they have marched away, and as it may be the Swedes
will be coming in this direction, I fancy that we shall soon find
ourselves on the side of the new religion.”

The men laughed. “What shall we do with this boy? To begin with, if he
is what he says, no doubt he has some money with him.”

Malcolm at once drew out his purse. “Here are nine gold pieces,” he
said. “They are all I have, save some small change.”

“That is better than nothing,” the leader said, pocketing the purse.
“And now what shall we do with him?”

“He is a Protestant,” one of the men replied; “best shoot him.”

“I should say,” another said, “that we had best make him our cook. Old
Rollo is always grumbling at being kept at the work, and his cooking
gets worse and worse. I could not get my jaws into the meat this
morning.”

A murmur of agreement was raised by the other horsemen.

“So be it,” the leader said. “Dost hear, lad? You have the choice
whether you will be cook to a band of honourable gentlemen or be shot at
once.”

“The choice pleases me not,” Malcolm replied. “Still, if it must
needs be, I would prefer for a time the post of cook to the other
alternative.”

“And mind you,” the leader said sharply, “at the first attempt to escape
we string you up to the nearest bough. Carl, do you lead him back and
set him to work, and tell the men there to keep a sharp watch upon him.”

One of the men turned his horse, and, with Malcolm walking by his side,
left the party. They soon turned aside from the road, and after a ride
of five miles across a rough and broken country entered a wood. Another
half mile and they reached the foot of an eminence, on the summit of
which stood a ruined castle. Several horses were picketed among the
trees at the foot of the hill, and two men were sitting near them
cleaning their arms. The sight of these deterred Malcolm from carrying
into execution the plan which he had formed--namely, to strike down his
guard with his club as he dismounted, to leap on his horse, and ride
off.

“Who have you there, Carl?” one of the men asked as they rose and
approached the newcomers.

“A prisoner,” Carl said, “whom the captain has appointed to the
honourable office of cook instead of old Rollo, whose food gets harder
and tougher every day. You are to keep a sharp eye over the lad, who
says he is a Scotch officer of the Swedes, and to shoot him down if he
attempts to escape.”

“Why, I thought those Scots were very devils to fight,” one of the men
said, “and this is but a boy. How comes he here?”

“He told the captain his story, and he believed it,” Carl said
carelessly, “and the captain is not easily taken in. He was captured by
Tilly at New Brandenburg, which town we heard yesterday he assaulted and
sacked, killing every man of the garrison; but it seems this boy put
on a disguise, and being but a boy I suppose passed unnoticed, and was
taken off as a teamster with Tilly’s army. He gave them the slip, but
as he has managed to fall into our hands I don’t know that he has gained
much by the exchange. Now, youngster, go up to the castle.”

Having picketed his horse the man led the way up the steep hill. When
they reached the castle Malcolm saw that it was less ruined than it had
appeared to be from below. The battlements had indeed crumbled away,
and there were cracks and fissures in the upper parts of the walls,
but below the walls were still solid and unbroken, and as the rock was
almost precipitous, save at the point at which a narrow path wound up
to the entrance, it was still capable of making a stout defence against
attack.

A strong but roughly made gate, evidently of quite recent make, hung
on the hinges, and passing through it Malcolm found himself in the
courtyard of the castle. Crossing this he entered with his guide what
had once been the principal room of the castle. A good fire blazed in
the centre; around this half a dozen men were lying on a thick couch of
straw. Malcolm’s guide repeated the history of the newcomer, and then
passed through with him into a smaller apartment, where a man was
attending to several sauce pans over a fire.

“Rollo,” he said, “I bring you a substitute. You have been always
grumbling about being told off for the cooking, just because you
happened to be the oldest of the band. Here is a lad who will take your
place, and tomorrow you can mount your horse and ride with the rest of
us.”

“And be poisoned, I suppose, with bad food when I return,” the man
grumbled--“a nice lookout truly.”

“There’s one thing, you old grumbler, it is quite certain he cannot do
worse than you do. My jaws ache now with trying to eat the food you gave
us this morning. Another week and you would have starved the whole band
to death.”

“Very well,” the man said surlily; “we will see whether you have gained
by the exchange. What does this boy know about cooking?”

“Very little, I am afraid,” Malcolm said cheerfully; “but at least I can
try. If I must be a cook I will at least do my best to be a good one.
Now, what have you got in these pots?”

Rollo grumblingly enumerated their contents, and then putting on his
doublet went out to join his comrades in the hall, leaving Malcolm to
his new duties.

The latter set to work with a will. He saw that it was best to appear
contented with the situation, and to gain as far as possible the
goodwill of the band by his attention to their wants. In this way their
vigilance would become relaxed, and some mode of escape might open
itself to him. At dusk the rest of the band returned, and Malcolm found
that those who had met him with the captain were but a portion of the
party, as three other companies of equal strength arrived at about the
same time, the total number mounting up to over thirty.

Malcolm was conscious that the supper was far from being a success; but
for this he was not responsible, as the cooking was well advanced when
he undertook it; however the band were not dissatisfied, for it was
much better than they had been accustomed to, as Malcolm had procured
woodwork from the disused part of the castle, and had kept the fire
briskly going; whereas his predecessor in the office had been too
indolent to get sufficient wood to keep the water on the boil.

In the year which Malcolm had spent in camp he had learned a good deal
of rough cookery, for when on active duty the officers had often to
shift for themselves, and consequently next day he was able to produce
a dinner so far in advance of that to which the band was accustomed that
their approbation was warmly and loudly expressed.

The stew was juicy and tender, the roast done to a turn, and the
bread, baked on an iron plate, was pronounced to be excellent. The band
declared that their new cook was a treasure. Malcolm had already found
that though he could move about the castle as he chose, one of the band
was now always stationed at the gate with pike and pistols, while at
night the door between the room in which he cooked and the hall was
closed, and two or three heavy logs thrown against it.

Under the pretence of getting wood Malcolm soon explored the castle. The
upper rooms were all roofless and open to the air. There were no windows
on the side upon which the path ascended, and by which alone an attack
upon the castle was possible. Here the walls were pierced only by narrow
loopholes for arrows or musketry. On the other sides the windows were
large, for here the steepness of the rock protected the castle from
attack.

The kitchen in which he cooked and slept had no other entrance save that
into the hall, the doorway into the courtyard being closed by a heap of
fallen stones from above. Two or three narrow slits in the wall allowed
light and air to enter. Malcolm saw that escape at night, after he had
once been shut in, was impossible, and that in the daytime he could not
pass out by the gate; for even if by a sudden surprise he overpowered
the sentry there, he would be met at the bottom of the path by the
two men who were always stationed as guards to the horses, and to give
notice of the approach of strangers.

The only chance of escape, therefore, was by lowering himself from one
of the windows behind, down the steep rock. To do this a rope of some
seventy feet long was necessary, and after a careful search through the
ruins he failed to discover even the shortest piece of rope.

That afternoon some of the band on their return from foraging drove in
half a dozen cattle, and one of these was with much difficulty compelled
to climb up the path to the castle, and was slaughtered in the yard.

“There, Scot, are victuals for the next week; cut it up, and throw the
head and offal down the rock behind.”

As Malcolm commenced his unpleasant task a thought suddenly struck him,
and he laboured away cheerfully and hopefully. After cutting up the
animal into quarters he threw the head, the lower joints of the legs,
and the offal, from the window. The hide he carried, with the four
quarters, into his kitchen, and there concealed it under the pile of
straw which served for his bed.

When the dinner was over, and the usual carousal had begun, and he knew
there was no chance of any of the freebooters coming into the room, he
spread out the hide on the floor, cut off the edges, and trimmed it up
till it was nearly circular in form, and then began to cut a strip two
inches wide round and round till he reached the centre. This gave him a
thong of over a hundred feet long. Tying one end to a ring in the wall
he twisted the long strip until it assumed the form of a rope, which
was, he was sure, strong enough to bear many times his weight.

This part of the work was done after the freebooters had retired to
rest. When he had finished cutting the hide he went in as usual and sat
down with them as they drank, as he wished to appear contented with his
position. The freebooters were discussing an attack upon a village some
thirty miles away. It lay in a secluded position, and had so far escaped
pillage either by the armies or wandering bands. The captain said he had
learned that the principal farmer was a well-to-do man with a large herd
of cattle, some good horses, and a well stocked house. It was finally
agreed that the band should the next day carry out another raid which
had already been decided upon, and that they should on the day following
that sack and burn Glogau.

As soon as the majority of the band had started in the morning Malcolm
made his way with his rope to the back of the castle, fastened it to the
window, and launched himself over the rock, which, although too steep
to climb, was not perpendicular; and holding by the rope Malcolm had
no difficulty in lowering himself down. He had before starting taken
a brace of pistols and a sword from the heap of weapons which the
freebooters had collected in their raids, and as soon as he reached the
ground he struck off through the wood.

Enough had been said during the conversation the night before to
indicate the direction in which Glogau lay, and he determined, in the
first place, to warn the inhabitants of the village of the fate which
the freebooters intended for them.

He walked miles before seeing a single person in the deserted fields. He
had long since left the wood, and was now traversing the open country,
frequently turning round to examine the country around him, for at
any moment after he had left, his absence from the castle might be
discovered, and the pursuit begun. He hoped, however, that two or three
hours at least would elapse before the discovery was made.

He had, before starting, piled high the fire in the hall, and had placed
plenty of logs for the purpose of replenishing it close at hand. He put
tankards on the board, and with them a large jug full of wine, so that
the freebooters would have no occasion to call for him, and unless they
wanted him they would be unlikely to look into the kitchen. Except when
occasionally breaking into a walk to get breath, he ran steadily on.
It was not until he had gone nearly ten miles that he saw a goatherd
tending a few goats, and from him he learned the direction of Glogau,
and was glad to find he had not gone very far out of the direct line.
At last, after asking the way several times, he arrived within a short
distance of the village. The ground had now become undulating, and the
slopes were covered with trees. The village lay up a valley, and it
was evident that the road he was travelling was but little frequented,
ending probably at the village itself. Proceeding for nearly two miles
through a wood he came suddenly upon Glogau.

It stood near the head of the valley, which was here free of trees,
and some cultivated fields lay around it. The houses were surrounded
by fruit trees, and an air of peace and tranquillity prevailed such as
Malcolm had not seen before since he left his native country. One house
was much larger than the rest; several stacks stood in the rick yard,
and the large stables and barns gave a proof of the prosperity of its
owner. The war which had already devastated a great part of Germany had
passed by this secluded hamlet.

No signs of work were to be seen, the village was as still and quiet as
if it was deserted. Suddenly Malcolm remembered that it was the Sabbath,
which, though always kept strictly by the Scotch and Swedish soldiers
when in camp, for the most part passed unobserved when they were engaged
in active service. Malcolm turned his steps towards the house; as he
neared it he heard the sound of singing within. The door was open, and
he entered and found himself on the threshold of a large apartment in
which some twenty men and twice as many women and children were standing
singing a hymn which was led by a venerable pastor who stood at the head
of the room, with a powerfully built elderly man, evidently the master
of the house, near him.

The singing was not interrupted by the entrance of the newcomer. Many
eyes were cast in his direction, but seeing that their leaders went on
unmoved, the little congregation continued their hymn with great fervour
and force. When they had done the pastor prayed for some time, and then
dismissed the congregation with his blessing. They filed out in a quiet
and orderly way, but not until the last had left did the master of the
house show any sign of observing Malcolm, who had taken his place near
the door.

Then he said gravely, “Strangers do not often find their way to Glogau,
and in truth we can do without them, for a stranger in these times too
often means a foe; but you are young, my lad, though strong enough to
bear weapons, and can mean us no ill. What is it that brings you to our
quiet village?”

“I have, sir, but this morning escaped from the hands of the freebooters
at Wolfsburg, and I come to warn you that last night I heard them agree
to attack and sack your village tomorrow; therefore, before pursuing my
own way, which is to the camp of the Swedish king, in whose service I
am, I came hither to warn you of their intention.”

Exclamations of alarm arose from the females of the farmer’s family, who
were sitting at the end of the room. The farmer waved his hand and the
women were instantly silent.

“This is bad news, truly,” he said gravely; “hitherto God has protected
our village and suffered us to worship Him in our own way in peace and
in quiet in spite of the decrees of emperors and princes. This gang
of Wolfsburg have long been a scourge to the country around it, and
terrible are the tales we have heard of their violence and cruelty.
I have for weeks feared that sooner or later they would extend their
ravages even to this secluded spot.”

“And, indeed, I thank you, brave youth, for the warning you have given
us, which will enable us to send our womenkind, our cattle and horses,
to a place of safety before these scourges of God arrive here. Gretchen,
place food and wine before this youth who has done us so great a
service; doubtless he is hungry and thirsty, for ‘tis a long journey
from Wolfsburg hither.”

“What think you, father, shall I warn the men at once of the coming
danger, or shall I let them sleep quietly this Sabbath night for the
last time in their old homes?”

“What time, think you, will these marauders leave their hold?” the
pastor asked Malcolm.

“They will probably start by daybreak,” Malcolm said, “seeing that the
journey is a long one; but this is not certain, as they may intend
to remain here for the night, and to return with their plunder on the
following day to the castle.”

“But, sir,” he went on, turning to the farmer, “surely you will not
abandon your home and goods thus tamely to these freebooters. You have
here, unless I am mistaken, fully twenty stout men capable of bearing
arms; the marauders number but thirty in all, and they always leave at
least five to guard the castle and two as sentries over the horses; thus
you will not have more than twenty-three to cope with. Had they, as they
expected, taken you by surprise, this force would have been ample to
put down all resistance here; but as you will be prepared for them, and
will, therefore, take them by surprise, it seems to me that you should
be able to make a good fight of it, stout men-at-arms though the
villains be.”

“You speak boldly, sir, for one but a boy in years,” the pastor said;
“it is lawful, nay it is right to defend one’s home against these
lawless pillagers and murderers, but as you say, evil though their ways
are, these freebooters are stout men-at-arms, and we have heard that
they have taken a terrible vengeance on the villages which have ventured
to oppose them.”

“I am a Scottish officer in the King of Sweden’s army,” Malcolm said,
“and fought at Schiefelbrune and New Brandenburg, and in the fight when
the Imperialists tried to relieve Colberg, and having, I hope, done my
duty in three such desperate struggles against the Imperialist veterans,
I need not shrink from an encounter with these freebooters. If you
decide to defend the village I am ready to strike a blow at them, for
they have held me captive for five days, and have degraded me by making
me cook for them.”

A slight titter was heard among the younger females at the indignant
tone in which Malcolm spoke of his enforced culinary work.

“And you are truly one of those Scottish soldiers of the Swedish hero
who fight so stoutly for the Faith and of whose deeds we have heard so
much!” the pastor said. “Truly we are glad to see you. Our prayers have
not been wanting night and morning for the success of the champions of
the Reformed Faith. What say you, my friend? Shall we take the advice of
this young soldier and venture our lives for the defence of our homes?”

“That will we,” the farmer said warmly. “He is used to war, and can give
us good advice. As far as strength goes, our men are not wanting. Each
has his sword and pike, and there are four or five arquebuses in the
village. Yes, if there be a chance of success, even of the slightest, we
will do our best as men in defence of our homes.”



CHAPTER VI THE ATTACK ON THE VILLAGE


“And now,” the farmer said to Malcolm, “what is your advice? That we
will fight is settled. When, where, and how? This house is strongly
built, and we could so strengthen its doors and windows with beams that
we might hold out for a long time against them.”

“No,” Malcolm said, “that would not be my advice. Assuredly we might
defend the house; but in that case the rest of the village, the herds
and granaries, would fall into their hands. To do any good, we must
fight them in the wood on their way hither. But although I hope for
a favourable issue, I should strongly advise that you should have the
herds and horses driven away. Send off all your more valuable goods in
the wagons, with your women and children, to a distance. We shall fight
all the better if we know that they are all in safety. Some of the old
men and boys will suffice for this work. And now, methinks, you had best
summon the men, for there will be work for them tonight.”

The bell which was used to call the hands from their work in the fields
and woods at sunset soon sounded, and the men in surprise came trooping
in at the summons. When they were assembled the farmer told them the
news he had heard, and the determination which had been arrived at to
defend the village.

After the first movement of alarm caused by the name of the dreaded band
of the Wolfsburg had subsided Malcolm was glad to see an expression
of stout determination come over the faces of the assemblage, and all
declared themselves ready to fight to the last. Four of the elder men
were told off at once to superintend the placing of the more movable
household goods of the village in wagons, which were to set out at
daybreak with the cattle and families.

“Now,” Malcolm said, “I want the rest to bring mattocks and shovels and
to accompany me along the road. There is one spot which I marked as I
came along as being specially suited for defence.”

This was about half a mile away, and as darkness had now set in the men
lighted torches, and with their implements followed him. At the spot
which he had selected there was for the distance of a hundred yards a
thick growth of underwood bordering the track on either side. Across the
road, at the end of the passage nearest to the farm, Malcolm directed
ten of the men to dig a pit twelve feet wide and eight feet deep. The
rest of the men he set to work to cut nearly through the trunks of the
trees standing nearest the road until they were ready to fall.

Ten trees were so treated, five on either side of the road. Standing, as
they did, among the undergrowth, the operation which had been performed
on them was invisible to any one passing by. Ropes were now fastened to
the upper part of the trees and carried across the road, almost hidden
from sight by the foliage which met over the path. When the pit was
completed the earth which had been taken from it was scattered in the
wood out of sight. Light boughs were then placed over the hole. These
were covered with earth and sods trampled down until the break in the
road was not perceptible to a casual eye.

This was done by Malcolm himself, as the lightest of the party, the
boughs sufficing to bear his weight, although they would give way
at once beneath that of a horse. The men all worked with vigour and
alacrity as soon as they understood Malcolm’s plans. Daylight was
breaking when the preparations were completed. Malcolm now divided the
party, and told them off to their respective posts. They were sixteen in
all, excluding the pastor.

Eight were placed on each side of the road. Those on one side were
gathered near the pit which had been dug, those on the other were
opposite to the tree which was farthest down the valley. The freebooters
were to be allowed to pass along until the foremost fell into the pit.
The men stationed there were at once to haul upon the rope attached to
the tree near it and to bring it down. Its fall would bar the road and
prevent the horsemen from leaping the pit. Those in the rear were,
if they heard the crash before the last of the marauders had passed
through, to wait until they had closed up, which they were sure to do
when the obstacle was reached, and then to fell the tree to bar their
retreat.

The instant this was done both parties were to run to other ropes and
to bring down the trees upon the horsemen gathered on the road, and were
then to fall upon them with axe, pike, and arquebus.

“If it works as well as I expect,” Malcolm said, “not one of them will
escape from the trap.”

Soon after daybreak bowls of milk and trays of bread and meat were
brought down to the workers by some of the women. As there was no
immediate expectation of attack, the farmer himself, with the pastor,
went back to the village to cheer the women before their departure.

“You need not be afraid, wife,” the farmer said. “I shall keep to my
plans, because when you have once made a plan it is foolish to change
it; but I deem not that there is any real need for sending you and
the wagons and beasts away. This young Scotch lad seems made for a
commander, and truly, if all his countrymen are like himself, I wonder
no longer that the Poles and Imperialists have been unable to withstand
them. Truly he has constructed a trap from which this band of villains
will have but little chance of escape, and I trust that we may slay them
without much loss to ourselves. What rejoicings will there not be in
the fifty villages when the news comes that their oppressors have
been killed! The good God has assuredly sent this youth hither as His
instrument in defeating the oppressors, even as He chose the shepherd
boy David out of Israel to be the scourge of the Philistines.”

By this time all was ready for a start, and having seen the wagons
fairly on their way the farmer returned to the wood, the pastor
accompanying the women. Three hours passed before there were any signs
of the marauders, and Malcolm began to think that the idea might
have occurred to them that he had gone to Glogau, and that they might
therefore have postponed their raid upon that village until they could
make sure of taking it by surprise, and so capturing all the horses
and valuables before the villagers had time to remove them. Glogau was,
however, quite out of Malcolm’s direct line for the Swedish camp, and
it was hardly likely that the freebooters would think that their late
captive would go out of his way to warn the village, in which he had no
interest whatever; indeed they would scarcely be likely to recall the
fact that he had been present when they were discussing their proposed
expedition against it.

All doubts were, however, set at rest when a boy who had been stationed
in a high tree near the edge of the wood ran in with the news that a
band of horsemen were riding across the plain, and would be there in a
few minutes. Every one fell into his appointed place. The farmer himself
took the command of the party on one side of the road, Malcolm of that
on the other. Matches were blown, and the priming of the arquebuses
looked to; then they gathered round the ropes, and listened for the
tramp of horses.

Although it was but a few minutes before it came, the time seemed long
to those waiting; but at last a vague sound was heard, which rapidly
rose into a loud trampling of horses. The marauders had been riding
quietly until they neared the wood, as speed was no object; but as they
wished to take the village by surprise--and it was just possible that
they might have been seen approaching--they were now riding rapidly.

Suddenly the earth gave way under the feet of the horses of the captain
and his lieutenant, who were riding at the head of the troop, and men
and animals disappeared from the sight of those who followed. The two
men behind them pulled their horses back on their haunches, and checked
them at the edge of the pit into which their leaders had fallen.

As they did so a loud crack was heard, and a great tree came crashing
down, falling directly upon them, striking them and their horses to the
ground. A loud cry of astonishment and alarm rose from those behind,
followed by curses and exclamations of rage. A few seconds after the
fall of the tree there was a crash in the rear of the party, and to
their astonishment the freebooters saw that another tree had fallen
there, and that a barricade of boughs and leaves closed their way behind
as in front. Deprived of their leaders, bewildered and alarmed at this
strange and unexpected occurrence, the marauders remained irresolute.
Two or three of those in front got off their horses and tried to make
their way to the assistance of their comrades who were lying crushed
under the mass of foliage, and of their leaders in the pit beyond.

But now almost simultaneously two more crashes were heard, and a tree
from each side fell upon them. Panic stricken now the horsemen strove to
dash through the underwood, but their progress was arrested, for among
the bushes ropes had been fastened from tree to tree; stakes had been
driven in, and the bushes interlaced with cords. The trees continued to
fall till the portion of the road occupied by the troop was covered by a
heap of fallen wood and leaf. Then for the first time the silence in the
wood beyond them was broken, the flashes of firearms darted out from the
brushwood, and then with a shout a number of men armed with pikes and
axes sprang forward to the attack.

A few only of the marauders were in a position to offer any resistance
whatever. The greater portion were buried under the mass of foliage.
Many had been struck down by the trunks or heavy arms of the trees.
All were hampered and confused by the situation in which they found
themselves. Under such circumstances it was a massacre rather than a
fight. Malcolm, seeing the inability of the freebooters to oppose any
formidable resistance, sheathed his sword, and left it to the peasants
to avenge the countless murders which the band had committed, and the
ruin and misery which they had inflicted upon the country.

In a few minutes all was over. The brigands were shot down, piked, or
slain by the heavy axes through the openings in their leafy prison.
Quarter was neither asked for nor given. The freebooters knew that it
would be useless, and died cursing their foes and their own fate in
being thus slaughtered like rats in a trap. Two or three of the peasants
were wounded by pistol shots, but this was all the injury that their
success cost them.

“The wicked have digged a pit, and they have fallen into it themselves,”
 the farmer said as he approached the spot where Malcolm was standing,
some little distance from the scene of slaughter. “Verily the Lord hath
delivered them into our hands. I understand, my young friend, why you
as a soldier did not aid in the slaughter of these villains. It is your
trade to fight in open battle, and you care not to slay your enemies
when helpless; but with us it is different. We regard them as wild
beasts, without heart or pity, as scourges to be annihilated when we
have the chance; just as in winter we slay the wolves who come down to
attack our herds.”

“I blame you not,” Malcolm said. “When men take to the life of wild
beasts they must be slain as such. Now my task is done, and I will
journey on at once to join my countrymen; but I will give you one piece
of advice before I go.

“In the course of a day or two the party left at Wolfsburg will grow
uneasy, and two of their number are sure to ride hither to inquire as to
the tarrying of the band. Let your men with arquebuses keep watch night
and day and shoot them down when they arrive. Were I in your place I
would then mount a dozen of your men and let them put on the armour of
these dead robbers and ride to Wolfsburg, arriving there about daybreak.
If they see you coming they will take you to be the band returning. The
two men below you will cut down without difficulty, and there will then
be but three or four to deal with in the castle.

“I recommend you to make a complete end of them; and for this reason: if
any of the band survive they will join themselves with some other party
and will be sure to endeavour to get them to avenge this slaughter;
for although these bands have no love for each other, yet they would be
ready enough to take up each other’s quarrel as against country folk,
especially when there is a hope of plunder. Exterminate them, then, and
advise your men to keep their secret. Few can have seen the brigands
riding hither today. When it is found that the band have disappeared the
country around will thank God, and will have little curiosity as to how
they have gone. You will of course clear the path again and bury their
bodies; and were I you I would prepare at once another ambush like that
into which they have fallen, and when a second band of marauders comes
into this part of the country set a watch night and day. Your men will
in future be better armed than hitherto, as each of those freebooters
carries a brace of pistols. And now, as I would fain be off as soon as
possible, I would ask you to let your men set to work with their axes
and cut away the boughs and to get me out a horse. Several of them
must have been killed by the falling trees, and some by the fire of the
arquebuses; but no doubt there are some uninjured.”

In a quarter of an hour a horse was brought up, together with the helmet
and armour worn by the late captain of the band.

As Malcolm mounted, the men crowded round him and loaded him with thanks
and blessings for the danger from which he had delivered them, their
wives and families.

When the fugitives had left the village a store of cooked provisions
had been left behind for the use of the defenders during the day. As
the women could not be fetched back before nightfall, the farmer had
despatched a man for some of this food and the wallets on the saddle
were filled with sufficient to last Malcolm for three or four days.

A brace of pistols were placed in the holsters, and with a last farewell
to the farmer Malcolm gave the rein to his horse and rode away from the
village. He travelled fast now and without fear of interruption. The
sight of armed men riding to join one or other of the armies was too
common to attract any attention, and avoiding large towns Malcolm rode
unmolested across the plain.

He presently heard the report that the Swedes had captured
Frankfort-on-the-Oder, and as he approached that town, after four days’
riding, heard that they had moved towards Landsberg. Thither he followed
them, and came up to them outside the walls of that place six days after
leaving Glogau. The main body of the Swedish army had remained in and
around Frankfort, Gustavus having marched against Landsberg with only
3200 musketeers, 12 pieces of cannon, and a strong body of horse.
Hepburn and Reay’s Scotch regiments formed part of the column, and
Malcolm with delight again saw the green scarves and banners.

As he rode into the camp of his regiment he was unnoticed by the
soldiers until he reached the tents of the officers, before which
Colonel Munro was standing talking with several others. On seeing
an officer approach in full armour they looked up, and a cry of
astonishment broke from them on recognizing Malcolm.

“Is it you, Malcolm Graheme, or your wraith?” Munro exclaimed.

“It is I in the flesh, colonel, sound and hearty.”

“Why, my dear lad,” Munro exclaimed, holding out his hand, “we thought
you had fallen at the sack of New Brandenburg. Innes and Lumsden were
believed to be the only ones who had escaped.”

“I have come through it, nevertheless,” Malcolm said; “but it is a long
story, colonel, and I would ask you first if the king has learned what
Tilly is doing.”

“No, he has received no news whatever of him since he heard of the
affair at New Brandenburg, and is most anxious lest he should fall upon
the army at Frankfort while we are away. Do you know aught about him?”

“Tilly marched west from New Brandenburg,” Malcolm said, “and is now
besieging Magdeburg.”

“This is news indeed,” Munro said; “you must come with me at once to the
king.”

Malcolm followed Colonel Munro to the royal tent, which was but a
few hundred yards away. Gustavus had just returned after visiting the
advanced lines round the city. On being told that Colonel Munro wished
to speak to him on important business, he at once came to the entrance
of his tent.

“Allow me to present to you, sire, Malcolm Graheme, a very gallant young
officer of my regiment. He was at New Brandenburg, and I deemed that
he had fallen there; how he escaped I have not yet had time to learn,
seeing that he has but now ridden into the camp; but as he is bearer
of news of the whereabouts of Tilly and his army, I thought it best to
bring him immediately to you.”

“Well, sir,” Gustavus said anxiously to Malcolm, “what is your news?”

“Tilly is besieging Magdeburg, sire, with his whole strength.”

“Magdeburg!” Gustavus exclaimed incredulously. “Are you sure of your
news? I deemed him advancing upon Frankfort.”

“Quite sure, sire, for I accompanied his column to within two marches of
the city, and there was no secret of his intentions. He started for that
town on the very day after he had captured New Brandenburg.”

“This is important, indeed,” Gustavus said; “follow me,” and he turned
and entered the tent. Spread out on the table was a large map, which the
king at once consulted.

“You see, Colonel Munro, that to relieve Magdeburg I must march
through Kustrin, Berlin, and Spandau, and the first and last are strong
fortresses. I can do nothing until the Elector of Brandenburg declares
for us, and gives us leave to pass those places, for I dare not march
round and leave them in my rear until sure that this weak prince will
not take sides with the Imperialists. I will despatch a messenger
tonight to him at Berlin demanding leave to march through his territory
to relieve Magdeburg. In the meantime we will finish off with this
place, and so be in readiness to march west when his answer arrives.
And now, sir,” he went on, turning to Malcolm, “please to give me the
account of how you escaped first from New Brandenburg, and then from
Tilly.”

Malcolm related briefly the manner of his escape from the massacre at
New Brandenburg, and how, after accompanying Tilly’s army as a teamster
for two days, he had made his escape. He then still more briefly related
how he had been taken prisoner by a band of freebooters, but had managed
to get away from them, and had drawn them into an ambush by peasants,
where they had been slain, by which means he had obtained a horse and
ridden straight to the army.

Gustavus asked many questions, and elicited many more details than
Malcolm had deemed it necessary to give in his first recital.

“You have shown great prudence and forethought,” the king said when he
had finished, “such as would not be looked for in so young a soldier.”

“And he behaved, sire, with distinguished gallantry and coolness at
Schiefelbrune, and in the destructive fight outside Colberg,” Colonel
Munro put in. “By the slaughter on the latter day he would naturally
have obtained his promotion, but he begged to be passed over, asserting
that it was best that at his age he should remain for a time an ensign.”

“Such modesty is unusual,” the king said, “and pleases me; see the next
time a step is vacant, colonel, that he has it. Whatever his age, he has
shown himself fit to do man’s work, and years are of no great value in a
soldier; why, among all my Scottish regiments I have scarcely a colonel
who is yet thirty years old.”

Malcolm now returned with Colonel Munro to the regiment, and there had
to give a full and minute account of his adventures, and was warmly
congratulated by his fellow officers on his good fortune in escaping
from the dangers which had beset him. The suit of armour was a handsome
one, and had been doubtless stripped off from the body of some knight
or noble murdered by the freebooters. The leg pieces Malcolm laid aside,
retaining only a cuirass, back piece, and helmet, as the full armour was
too heavy for service on foot.

Two days later the king gave orders that the assault upon Landsberg was
to be made that night. The place was extremely strong, and Gustavus had
in his previous campaign twice failed in attempts to capture it.
Since that time the Imperialists had been busy in strengthening the
fortification, and all the peasantry for ten miles round had been
employed in throwing up earthworks; but its principal defence was in
the marsh which surrounded it, and which rendered the construction of
approaches by besiegers almost impossible. Its importance consisted in
the fact that from its great strength its garrison dominated the whole
district known as the Marc of Brandenburg. It was the key to Silesia,
and guarded the approaches to Pomerania, and its possession was
therefore of supreme importance to Gustavus. The garrison consisted of
five thousand Imperialist infantry and twelve troops of horse, the whole
commanded by Count Gratz. The principal approach to the town was guarded
by a strong redoubt armed with numerous artillery.

Colonel Munro had advanced his trenches to within a short distance of
this redoubt, and had mounted the twelve pieces of cannon to play upon
it, but so solid was the masonry of the fort that their fire produced
but little visible effect. Gustavus had brought from Frankfort as guide
on the march a blacksmith who was a native of Landsberg, and this man
had informed him of a postern gate into the town which would not be
likely to be defended, as to reach it it would be necessary to cross a
swamp flanked by the advanced redoubt and covered with water.

For two days previous to the assault the troops had been at work
cutting bushes and trees, and preparing the materials for constructing
a floating causeway across the mud and water. As soon as night fell
the men were set to work laying down the causeway, and when this was
finished the column advanced to the attack. It consisted of 250 pikemen
under Colonel Munro, and the same number of the dragoons under Colonel
Deubattel. Hepburn with 1000 musketeers followed a short distance behind
them.

The pikemen led the way, and passed along the floating causeway without
difficulty, but the causeway swayed and often sank under the feet of the
cavalry behind them. These, however, also managed to get across. Their
approach was entirely unobserved, and they effected an entrance into the
town.

Scarcely had they done so when they came upon a body of three hundred
Imperialists who were about to make a sally under Colonel Gratz, son of
the governor. The pikemen at once fell upon them. Taken by surprise the
Imperialists fought nevertheless stoutly, and eighty of the Scots fell
under the fire of their musketry. But the pikemen charged home; Colonel
Gratz was killed, with many of his men, and the rest taken prisoners.
Hepburn marching on behind heard the din of musketry and pressed
forward; before reaching the town he found a place in the swamp
sufficiently firm to enable his men to march across it, and, turning
off, he led his troops between the town and the redoubt, and then
attacked the latter in the rear where its defences were weak, and after
three minutes’ fighting with its surprised and disheartened garrison the
latter surrendered.

The redoubt having fallen, and Munro’s men having effected a lodgment
in the town, while the retreat on one side was cut off by the force of
Gustavus, and on the other by a strong body of cavalry under Marshal
Horn, the governor sent a drummer to Colonel Munro to say that he
was ready to surrender, and to ask for terms. The drummer was sent to
Gustavus, who agreed that the garrison should be allowed to march away
with the honours of war, taking their baggage and effects with them.
Accordingly at eight o’clock the Count of Gratz at the head of his
soldiers marched out with colours flying and drums beating, and retired
into Silesia. A garrison was placed in Landsberg, and the blacksmith
appointed burgomaster of the town. Landsberg fell on the 15th of April,
and on the 18th the force marched back to Frankfort.



CHAPTER VII A QUIET TIME


In spite of the urgent entreaties of Gustavus and the pressing peril of
Magdeburg, the wavering Duke of Brandenburg could not bring himself
to join the Swedes. He delivered Spandau over to them, but would do no
more. The Swedish army accordingly marched to Berlin and invested his
capital. The duke sent his wife to Gustavus to beseech him to draw off
his army and allow him to remain neutral; but Gustavus would not listen
to his entreaties, and insisted, as the only condition upon which he
would raise the siege, that the duke should ally himself with him, and
that the troops of Brandenburg should join his army.

These conditions the duke was obliged to accept, but in the meantime his
long hesitation and delay had caused the loss of Magdeburg, which after
a gallant defence was stormed by the troops of Pappenheim and Tilly on
the 10th of May. The ferocious Tilly had determined upon a deed which
would, he believed, frighten Germany into submission; he ordered that no
quarter should be given, and for five days the city was handed over to
the troops.

History has no record since the days of Attila of so frightful a
massacre. Neither age nor sex was spared, and 30,000 men, women, and
children were ruthlessly massacred. The result for a time justified the
anticipations of the ferocious leader. The terrible deed sent a shudder
of horror and terror through Protestant Germany. It seemed, too, as if
the catastrophe might have been averted had the Swedes shown diligence
and marched to the relief of the city; for in such a time men were not
inclined to discuss how much of the blame rested upon the shoulders of
the Duke of Brandenburg, who was, in fact, alone responsible for the
delay of the Swedes.

Many of the princes and free towns which had hitherto been staunch to
the cause of Protestantism at once hastened to make their peace with
the emperor. For a time the sack of Magdeburg greatly strengthened the
Imperialist cause. No sooner did the news reach the ears of the Duke
of Brandenburg than his fears overcame him, and he wrote to Gustavus
withdrawing from the treaty he had made, and saying that as Spandau had
only been delivered to him in order that he might march to the relief of
Magdeburg he was now bound in honour to restore it.

Gustavus at once ordered Spandau to be evacuated by his troops, and
again marched with the army against Berlin, which he had but a few days
before left. Here he again dictated terms, which the duke was forced to
agree to.

The Swedish army now marched to Old Brandenburg, thirty-four miles west
of Berlin, and there remained for some time waiting until some expected
reinforcements should reach it.

The place was extremely unhealthy, and great numbers died from malaria
and fever, thirty of Munro’s musketeers dying in a single week. During
this time the king was negotiating with the Elector of Saxony and the
Landgrave of Hesse. These were the two most powerful of the Protestant
princes in that part of Germany, and Tilly resolved to reduce them to
obedience before the army of Gustavus was in a position to move forward,
for at present his force was too small to enable him to take the field
against the united armies of Tilly and Pappenheim.

He first fell upon the Landgrave of Hesse, and laid Thuringen waste with
fire and sword. Frankenhausen was plundered and burned to the ground.
Erfurt saved itself from a similar fate by the payment of a large sum of
money, and by engaging to supply great stores of provisions for the use
of the Imperial army. The Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel was next summoned
by Tilly, who threatened to carry fire and sword through his dominions
unless he would immediately disband his troops, pay a heavy contribution
and receive the Imperial troops into his cities and fortresses; but the
landgrave refused to accept the terms.

Owing to the unhealthiness of the district round Old Brandenburg,
Gustavus raised his camp there, and marched forward to Werben near the
junction of the Elbe with the Havel. He was joined there by his young
queen, Maria Eleonora, with a reinforcement of 8000 men, and by the
Marquis of Hamilton with 6200, for the most part Scotch, who had been
raised by him with the consent of Charles I, to whom the marquis was
master of the horse.

Werben was distant but a few miles from Magdeburg, and Pappenheim, who
commanded the troops in that neighbourhood, seeing that Gustavus was now
in a position to take the field against him, sent an urgent message to
Tilly for assistance; and the Imperial general, who was on the point of
attacking the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel, at once marched with his army
and effected a junction with Pappenheim, their combined force being
greatly superior to that of Gustavus even after the latter had received
his reinforcements.

Malcolm had not accompanied the army in its march from Old Brandenburg.
He had been prostrated by fever, and although he shook off the attack it
left him so weak and feeble that he was altogether unfit for duty.
The army was still lying in its swampy quarters, and the leech who had
attended him declared that he could never recover his strength in such
an unhealthy air. Nigel Graheme, who had now rejoined the regiment cured
of his wound, reported the surgeon’s opinion to Munro.

“I am not surprised,” the colonel said, “and there are many others in
the same state; but whither can I send them? The Elector of Brandenburg
is so fickle and treacherous that he may at any moment turn against us.”

“I was speaking to Malcolm,” Nigel replied, “and he said that he would
he could go for a time to recruit his health in that village among the
hills where he had the fight with the freebooters who made him captive.
He said he was sure of a cordial welcome there, and it is but three
days’ march from here.”

“‘Tis an out-of-the-way place,” Munro said, “and if we move west
we shall be still further removed from it. There are Imperial bands
everywhere harrying the country unguarded by us, and one of these might
at any moment swoop down into that neighbourhood.”

“That is true; but, after all, it would be better that he should run
that risk than sink from weakness as so many have done here after
getting through the first attack of fever.”

“That is so, Nigel, and if you and Malcolm prefer that risk to the other
I will not say you nay; but what is good for him is good for others, and
I will ask the surgeon to make me a list of twenty men who are strong
enough to journey by easy stages, and who yet absolutely require to get
out of this poisonous air to enable them to effect their recovery. We
will furnish them with one of the baggage wagons of the regiment, so
that they can ride when they choose. Tell the paymaster to give each
man in advance a month’s pay, that they may have money to pay what they
need. Horses are scarce, so we can give them but two with the wagon, but
that will be sufficient as they will journey slowly. See that a steady
and experienced driver is told off with them. They had best start at
daybreak tomorrow morning.”

At the appointed time the wagon was in readiness, and those who had to
accompany Malcolm gathered round, together with many of their comrades
who had assembled to wish them Godspeed. The pikes and muskets, helmets
and breast pieces were placed in the wagon, and then the fever stricken
band formed up before it.

Munro, Nigel, and most of the officers came down to bid farewell to
Malcolm, and to wish him a speedy return in good health. Then he placed
himself at the head of the band and marched off, the wagon following in
the rear. Before they had been gone a mile several of the men had been
compelled to take their places in the wagon, and by the time three miles
had been passed the rest had one by one been forced to give in.

Malcolm was one of the last. He took his seat by the driver, and the
now heavily freighted wagon moved slowly across the country. A store of
provisions sufficient for several days had been placed in the wagon, and
after proceeding fifteen miles a halt was made at a deserted village,
and two of the houses in the best condition were taken possession of,
Malcolm and the sergeant of the party, a young fellow named Sinclair,
occupying the one, and the men taking up their quarters in another.

The next morning the benefit of the change and the removal from the
fever tainted air made itself already apparent. The distance performed
on foot was somewhat longer than on the preceding day; the men were in
better spirits, and marched with a brisker step than that with which
they had left the camp. At the end of the fourth day they approached the
wood in which the village was situated.

“I will go on ahead,” Malcolm said. “Our approach will probably have
been seen, and unless they know who we are we may meet with but a rough
welcome. Halt the wagon here until one returns with news that you may
proceed, for there may be pitfalls in the road.”

Malcolm had kept the horse on which he had ridden to Landsberg, and it
had been tied behind the wagon. During the last day’s march he had been
strong enough to ride it. He now dismounted, and taking the bridle over
his arm he entered the wood. He examined the road cautiously as he went
along. He had gone about half way when the farmer with four of his men
armed with pikes suddenly appeared in the road before him.

“Who are you,” the farmer asked, “and what would you here?”

“Do you not remember me?” Malcolm said. “It is but three months since I
was here.”

“Bless me, it is our Scottish friend! Why, lad, I knew you not again, so
changed are you. Why, what has happened to you?”

“I have had the fever,” Malcolm said, “and have been like to die; but I
thought that a change to the pure air of your hills and woods here would
set me up. So I have travelled here to ask your hospitality.”

By this time the farmer had come up and had grasped Malcolm’s hand.

“All that I have is yours,” he said warmly. “The lookout saw a wagon
coming across the plain with three or four men walking beside it, and he
thought that many more were seated in it; so thinking that this might be
a ruse of some freebooting band, I had the alarm bell rung, and prepared
to give them a hot reception.”

“I have brought some sick comrades with me,” Malcolm said. “I have no
thought of quartering them on you. That would be nigh as bad as the
arrival of a party of marauders, for they are getting strength, and
will, I warrant you, have keen appetites ere long; but we have brought
tents, and will pay for all we have.”

“Do not talk of payment,” the farmer said heartily. “As long as there is
flour in the storehouse and bacon on the beams, any Scottish soldier of
Gustavus is welcome to it, still more if they be comrades of thine.”

“Thanks, indeed,” Malcolm replied. “I left them at the edge of the wood,
for I knew not what welcome you might have prepared here; and seeing so
many men you might have shot at them before waiting to ask a question.”

“That is possible enough,” the farmer said, “for indeed we could hardly
look for friends. The men are all posted a hundred yards further on.”

The farmer ordered one of his men to go on and bring up the wagon, and
then with Malcolm walked on to the village. A call that all was right
brought out the defenders of the ambush. It had been arranged similarly
to that which had been so successful before, except that instead of the
pit, several strong ropes had been laid across the road, to be tightened
breast high as soon as an enemy came close to them.

“These are not as good as the pit,” the farmer said as they passed them;
“but as we have to use the road sometimes we could not keep a pit
here, which, moreover, might have given way and injured any one from a
neighbouring village who might be riding hither. We have made a strong
stockade of beams among the underwood on either side, so that none could
break through into the wood from the path.”

“That is good,” Malcolm said; “but were I you I would dig a pit across
the road some twelve feet wide, and would cover it with a stout door
with a catch, so that it would bear wagons crossing, but when the catch
is drawn it should rest only on some light supports below, and would
give way at once if a weight came on it. It would, of course, be covered
over with turf. It will take some time to make, but it will add greatly
to your safety.”

“It shall be done,” the farmer said. “Wood is in plenty, and some of my
men are good carpenters. I will set about it at once.”

On arriving at the village Malcolm was cordially welcomed by the
farmer’s wife and daughters. The guest chamber was instantly prepared
for him and refreshments laid on the table, while the maids, under the
direction of the farmer’s wife, at once began to cook a bounteous meal
in readiness for the arrival of the soldiers. A spot was chosen on some
smooth turf under the shade of trees for the erection of the tents, and
trusses of clean straw carried there for bedding.

Malcolm as he sat in the cool chamber in the farm house felt the change
delightful after the hot dusty journey across the plain. There was quite
an excitement in the little village when the wagon drove up. The men
lifted the arms and baggage from the wagon. The women offered fruit and
flagons of wine, and fresh cool water, to the soldiers. There was not
only general pleasure throughout the village caused by the novelty of
the arrival of the party from the outer world, but a real satisfaction
in receiving these men who had fought so bravely against the oppressors
of the Protestants of Germany. There was also the feeling that so long
as this body of soldiers might remain in the village they would be able
to sleep in peace and security, safe from the attacks of any marauding
band. The tents were soon pitched by the peasants under the direction of
Sergeant Sinclair, straw was laid down in them, and the canvas raised to
allow the air to sweep through them.

Very grateful were the weary men for the kindness with which they were
received, and even the weakest felt that they should soon recover their
strength.

In an hour two men came up from the farm house carrying a huge pot
filled with strong soup. Another brought a great dish of stew. Women
carried wooden platters, bowls of stewed fruit, and loaves of bread; and
the soldiers, seated upon the grass, fell to with an appetite such as
they had not experienced for weeks. With the meal was an abundant supply
of the rough but wholesome wine of the country.

To the Scottish soldiers after the hardships they had passed through,
this secluded valley seemed a perfect paradise. They had nought to do
save to eat their meals, to sleep on the turf in the shade, or to wander
in the woods and gardens free to pick what fruit they fancied. Under
these circumstances they rapidly picked up strength, and in a week after
their arrival would hardly have been recognized as the feeble band who
had left the Swedish camp at Old Brandenburg.

On Sunday the pastor arrived. He did not live permanently at the
village, but ministered to the inhabitants of several villages scattered
among the hills, holding services in them by turns, and remaining a few
days in each. As the congregation was too large for the room in the farm
house the service was held in the open air. The Scotch soldiers were all
present, and joined heartily in the singing, although many of them were
ignorant of the language, and sang the words of Scotch hymns to the
German tunes.

Even the roughest of them, and those who had been longest away from
their native country, were much moved by the service. The hush and
stillness, the air of quiet and peace which prevailed, the fervour with
which all joined in the simple service, took them back in thought to the
days of their youth in quiet Scottish glens, and many a hand was passed
hastily across eyes which had not been moistened for many a year.

The armour and arms were now cleaned and polished, and for a short time
each day Malcolm exercised them. The martial appearance and perfect
discipline of the Scots struck the villagers with admiration the first
time they saw them under arms, and they earnestly begged Malcolm that
they might receive from him and Sergeant Sinclair some instruction in
drill.

Accordingly every evening when work was done the men of the village were
formed up and drilled. Several of the soldiers took their places with
them in the ranks in order to aid them by their example. After the drill
there was sword and pike exercise, and as most of the men had already
some knowledge of the use of arms they made rapid progress, and felt an
increased confidence in their power to defend the village against the
attacks of any small bands of plunderers. To Malcolm the time passed
delightfully. His kind hosts vied with each other in their efforts to
make him comfortable, and it was in vain that he assured them that he
no longer needed attention and care. A seat was always placed for him
in the coolest nook in the room, fresh grapes and other fruit stood in
readiness on a table hard by. The farmer’s daughters, busy as they were
in their household avocations, were always ready to sit and talk with
him when he was indoors, and of an evening to sing him the country
melodies.

At the end of a fortnight the men were all fit for duty again, but the
hospitable farmer would not hear of their leaving, and as news from
time to time reached them from the outer world, and Malcolm learned that
there was no chance of any engagement for a time between the hostile
armies, he was only too glad to remain.

Another fortnight passed, and Malcolm reluctantly gave the word that on
the morrow the march must be recommenced. A general feeling of sorrow
reigned in the village when it was known that their guests were about to
depart, for the Scottish soldiers had made themselves extremely popular.
They were ever ready to assist in the labours of the village. They
helped to pick the apples from the heavily laden trees, they assisted to
thrash out the corn, and in every way strove to repay their entertainers
for the kindness they had shown them.

Of an evening their camp had been the rendezvous of the whole village.
There alternately the soldiers and the peasants sang their national
songs, and joined in hearty choruses. Sometimes there were dances, for
many of the villagers played on various instruments; and altogether
Glogau had never known such a time of festivity and cheerfulness before.

Late in the evening of the day before they had fixed for their departure
the pastor rode into the village.

“I have bad news,” he said. “A party of Pappenheim’s dragoons, three
hundred strong, are raiding in the district on the other side of the
hills. A man came in just as I mounted my horse, saying that it was
expected they would attack Mansfeld, whose count is a sturdy Protestant.
The people were determined to resist to the last, in spite of the fate
of Magdeburg and Frankenhausen, but I fear that their chance of success
is a small one; but they say they may as well die fighting as be
slaughtered in cold blood.”

“Is Mansfeld fortified?” Malcolm asked.

“It has a wall,” the pastor replied, “but of no great strength. The
count’s castle, which stands on a rock adjoining it, might defend itself
for some time, but I question whether it can withstand Pappenheim’s
veterans.

“Mansfeld itself is little more than a village. I should not say it
had more than a thousand inhabitants, and can muster at best about two
hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms.”

“How far is it from here?” Malcolm asked after a pause.

“Twenty-four miles by the bridle path across the hills.”

“When were the Imperialists expected to arrive?”

“They were ten miles away this morning,” the pastor replied; “but as
they were plundering and burning as they went they will not probably
arrive before Mansfeld before the morning. Some of the more timid
citizens were leaving, and many were sending away their wives and
families.”

“Then,” Malcolm said, “I will march thither at once. Twenty good
soldiers may make all the difference, and although I have, of course, no
orders for such an emergency, the king can hardly blame me even if the
worst happens for striking a blow against the Imperialists here. Will
you give me a man,” he asked the farmer, “to guide us across the hills?”

“That will I right willingly,” the farmer said; “but it seems to me a
desperate service to embark in. These townspeople are of little good for
fighting, and probably intend only to make a show of resistance in order
to procure better terms. The count himself is a brave nobleman, but I
fear that the enterprise is a hopeless one.”

“Hopeless or not,” Malcolm said, “I will undertake it, and will at once
put the men under arms. The wagon and horses with the baggage I will
leave here till I return, that is if we should ever come back again.”

A tap of the drum and the soldiers came running in hastily from various
cottages where they were spending their last evening with their village
friends, wondering at the sudden summons to arms. As soon as they had
fallen in, Malcolm joined them.

“Men,” he said, “I am sorry to disturb you on your last evening here,
but there is business on hand. A party of Pappenheim’s dragoons are
about to attack the town of Mansfeld, where the people are of the
Reformed Religion. The siege will begin in the morning, and ere that
time we must be there. We have all got fat and lazy, and a little
fighting will do us good.”

The thought of a coming fray reconciled the men to their departure
from their quiet and happy resting place. Armour was donned, buckles
fastened, and arms inspected, and in half an hour, after a cordial adieu
from their kind hosts, the detachment marched off, their guide with a
lighted torch leading the way. The men were in light marching order,
having left everything superfluous behind them in the wagon; and they
marched briskly along over hill and through forest without a halt, till
at three o’clock in the morning the little town of Mansfeld, with its
castle rising above it, was visible before them in the first light of
morning.

As they approached the walls a musketoon was fired, and the alarm bell
of the church instantly rang out. Soon armed men made their appearance
on the walls. Fearing that the burghers might fire before waiting to
ascertain who were the newcomers, Malcolm halted his band, and advanced
alone towards the walls.

“Who are you who come in arms to the peaceful town of Mansfeld?” an
officer asked from the wall.

“I am an officer of his Swedish Majesty, Gustavus, and hearing that
the town was threatened with attack by the Imperialists, I have marched
hither with my detachment to aid in the defence.”

A loud cheer broke from the walls. Not only was the reinforcement a most
welcome one, small as it was, for the valour of the Scottish soldiers
of the King of Sweden was at that time the talk of all Germany, but the
fact that a detachment of these redoubted troops had arrived seemed a
proof that the main army of the Swedish king could not be far away.
The gates were at once opened, and Malcolm with his band marched into
Mansfield.



CHAPTER VIII THE SIEGE OF MANSFELD


“Will it please your worship at once to repair to the castle?” the
leader of the townspeople said. “The count has just sent down to inquire
into the reason of the alarm.”

“Yes,” Malcolm replied, “I will go at once. In the meantime, sir, I
pray you to see to the wants of my soldiers, who have taken a long night
march and will be none the worse for some refreshment. Hast seen aught
of the Imperialists?”

“They are at a village but a mile distant on the other side of the
town,” the citizen said. “Yesterday we counted eighteen villages in
flames, and the peasants who have come in say that numbers have been
slain by them.”

“There is little mercy to be expected from the butchers of Magdeburg,”
 Malcolm replied; “the only arguments they will listen to are steel and
lead, and we will not be sparing of these.”

A murmur of assent rang through the townsfolk who had gathered round,
and then the burgomaster himself led Malcolm up the ascent to the
castle. The news that the newcomers were a party of Scots had already
been sent up to the castle, and as Malcolm entered the gateway the count
came forward to welcome him.

“You are welcome indeed, fair sir,” he said. “It seems almost as if you
had arrived from the clouds to our assistance, for we had heard that the
Swedish king and his army were encamped around Old Brandenburg.

“His majesty has moved west, I hear,” Malcolm said; “but we have been a
month away from the camp. My detachment consisted of a body of invalids
who came up among the hills to get rid of the fever which was playing
such havoc among our ranks. I am glad to say that all are restored, and
fit as ever for a meeting with the Imperialists. I heard but yestereven
that you were expecting an attack, and have marched all night to be here
in time. My party is a small one, but each man can be relied upon; and
when it comes to hard fighting twenty in good soldiers may turn the
day.”

“You are heartily welcome, sir, and I thank you much for coming to our
aid. The townspeople are determined to do their best, but most of them
have little skill in arms. I have a score or two of old soldiers here in
the castle, and had hoped to be able to hold this to the end; but truly
I despaired of a successful defence of the town. But enter, I pray you;
the countess will be glad to welcome you.”

Malcolm accompanied the count to the banquet hall of the castle. The
countess, a gentle and graceful woman, was already there; for indeed but
few in Mansfeld had closed an eye that night, for it was possible that
the Imperialists might attack without delay. By her side stood her
daughter, a girl of about fourteen years old. Malcolm had already stated
his name to the count, and the latter now presented him to his wife.

“We have heard so much of the Scottish soldiers,” she said as she held
out her hand, over which Malcolm bent deeply, “that we have all been
curious to see them, little dreaming that a band of them would appear
here like good angels in our hour of danger.”

“It was a fortunate accident which found me within reach when I heard of
the approach of the Imperialists. The names of the Count and Countess
of Mansfeld are so well known and so highly esteemed through Protestant
Germany that I was sure that the king would approve of my hastening to
lend what aid I might to you without orders from him.”

“I see you have learned to flatter,” the countess said smiling. “This is
my daughter Thekla.”

“I am glad to see you,” the girl said; “but I am a little disappointed.
I had thought that the Scots were such big fierce soldiers, and you
are not very big--not so tall as papa; and you do not look fierce at
all--not half so fierce as my cousin Caspar, who is but a boy.”

“That is very rude, Thekla,” her mother said reprovingly, while Malcolm
laughed gaily.

“You are quite right, Fraulein Thekla. I know I do not look very fierce,
but I hope when my moustache grows I shall come up more nearly to your
expectations. As to my height, I have some years to grow yet, seeing
that I am scarce eighteen, and perhaps no older than your cousin.”

“Have you recently joined, sir?” the countess asked.

“I have served through the campaign,” Malcolm replied, “and have seen
some hard knocks given, as you may imagine when I tell you that I was at
the siege of New Brandenburg.”

“When your soldiers fought like heroes, and, as I heard, all died sword
in hand save two or three officers who managed to escape.”

“I was one of the three, countess; but the tale is a long one, and can
be told after we have done with the Imperialists. Now, sir,” he went on,
turning to the count, “I am at your orders, and will take post with my
men at any point that you may think fit.”

“Before doing that,” the count said, “you must join us at breakfast. You
must be hungry after your long march, and as I have been all night in
my armour I shall do justice to it myself. You will, of course, take
up your abode here. As to other matters I have done my best, and the
townspeople were yesterday all told off to their places on the walls.
I should think it were best that your band were stationed in the
marketplace as a reserve, they could then move to any point which might
be seriously threatened. Should the Imperialists enter the town the
citizens have orders to fall back here fighting. All their most valuable
goods were sent up here yesterday, together with such of their wives
and families as have not taken flight, so that there will be nothing to
distract them from their duty.”

“That is good,” Malcolm said. “The thought that one is fighting for
home and family must nerve a man in the defence, but when the enemy
once breaks in he would naturally think of home first and hasten away to
defend it to the last, instead of obeying orders and falling back with
his comrades in good order and discipline.”

The meal was a cheerful one. Malcolm related more in detail how he and
his detachment happened to be so far removed from the army.

Just as the meal came to an end a drum beat in the town and the alarm
bells began to ring. The count and Malcolm sallied out at once to the
outer wall, and saw a small party of officers riding from the village
occupied by the Imperialists towards the town.

“Let us descend,” the count said. “I presume they are going to demand
our surrender.”

They reached the wall of the town just as the Imperialist officers
approached the gate.

“In the name of his majesty the emperor,” one of them cried out, “I
command you to open the gate and to surrender to his good will and
pleasure.”

“The smoking villages which I see around me,” Count Mansfeld replied,
“are no hopeful sign of any good will or pleasure on the part of his
majesty towards us. As to surrendering, we will rather die. But I am
willing to pay a fair ransom for the town if you will draw off your
troops and march away.”

“Beware, sir!” the officer said. “I have a force here sufficient to
compel obedience, and I warn you of the fate which will befall all
within these walls if you persist in refusing to admit us.”

“I doubt not as to their fate,” the count replied; “there are plenty of
examples before us of the tender mercy which your master’s troops show
towards the towns you capture.

“Once again I offer you a ransom for the town. Name the sum, and if it
be in reason such as I and the townspeople can pay, it shall be yours;
but open the gates to you we will not.”

“Very well,” the officer said; “then your blood be on your own heads.”
 And turning his horse he rode with his companions back towards the
village.

On their arrival there a bustle was seen to prevail. A hundred horsemen
rode off and took post on an eminence near the town, ready to cut off
the retreat of any who might try to escape, and to enter the town when
the gates were forced open. The other two hundred men advanced on foot
in a close body towards the principal gate.

“They will try and blow it open with petards,” Malcolm said. “Half of
my men are musketeers and good shots, and I will, with your permission,
place them on the wall to aid the townsfolk there, for if the gate is
blown open and the enemy force their way in it will go hard with us.”

The count assented, and Malcolm posted his musketeers on the wall,
ordering Sergeant Sinclair with the remainder to set to work to erect
barricades across the street leading from the gate, so that, in case
this were blown in, such a stand might be made against the Imperialists
as would give the townspeople time to rally from the walls and to gather
there.

The Imperialists heralded their advance by opening fire with pistols and
musketoons against the wall, and the defenders at once replied. So heavy
was the fire that the head of the column wavered, many of the leading
files being at once shot down, but, encouraged by their officers, they
rallied, and pushed forward at a run. The fire of the townspeople at
once became hurried and irregular, but the Scots picked off their men
with steady aim. The leader of the Imperialists, who carried a petard,
advanced boldly to the edge of the ditch. The fosse was shallow and
contained but little water, and he at once dashed into it and waded
across, for the drawbridge had, of course, been raised. He climbed up
the bank, and was close to the gate, when Malcolm, leaning far over
the wall, discharged his pistol at him. The ball glanced from the steel
armour.

Malcolm drew his other pistol and again fired, this time more
effectually, for the ball struck between the shoulder and the neck at
the junction of the breast and back pieces, and passed down into the
body of the Austrian, who, dropping the petard, fell dead; but a number
of his men were close behind him.

“Quick, lads!” Malcolm cried. “Put your strength to this parapet. It is
old and rotten. Now, all together! Shove!”

The soldiers bent their strength against the parapet, while some of the
townspeople, thrusting their pikes into the rotten mortar between the
stones, prised them up with all their strength. The parapet tottered,
and then with a tremendous crash fell, burying five or six of the
Imperialists and the petard beneath the ruins.

A shout of exultation rose from the defenders, and the Imperialists
at once withdrew at full speed. They halted out of gunshot, and then
a number of men were sent back to the village, whence they returned
carrying ladders, some of which had been collected the day before from
the neighbouring villages and others manufactured during the night.
The enemy now divided into three parties, which advanced simultaneously
against different points of the wall.

Notwithstanding the storm of shot poured upon them as they advanced,
they pressed forward until they reached the wall and planted their
ladders, and then essayed to climb; but at each point the stormers were
stoutly met with pike and sword, while the musketeers from the flanking
towers poured their bullets into them.

The troops proved themselves worthy of their reputation, for it was not
until more than fifty had fallen that they desisted from the attempt and
drew off.

“Now we shall have a respite,” Malcolm said. “If there are no more of
them in the neighbourhood methinks they will retire altogether, but
if they have any friends with cannon anywhere within reach they will
probably send for them and renew the attack.”

The day passed quietly. Parties of horsemen were seen leaving the
village to forage and plunder the surrounding country, but the main body
remained quietly there. The next day there was still no renewal of the
attack, but as the enemy remained in occupation of the village Malcolm
guessed that they must be waiting for the arrival of reinforcements.
The following afternoon a cloud of dust was seen upon the plain, and
presently a column of infantry some four hundred strong, with three
cannon, could be made out. The townspeople now wavered in their
determination. A few were still for resistance, but the majority held
that they could not attempt to withstand an assault by so strong a
force, and that it was better to make the best terms they could with the
enemy.

A parlementaire was accordingly despatched to the Imperialists asking
what terms would be granted should the place surrender.

“We will grant no terms whatever,” the colonel in command of the
Imperialists said. “The town is at our mercy, and we will do as we
will with it and all within it; but tell Count Mansfeld that if he will
surrender the castle as well as the town at once, and without striking
another blow, his case shall receive favourable consideration.”

“That will not do,” the count said. “They either guarantee our lives
or they do not. I give not up my castle on terms like these, but I
will exercise no pressure on the townspeople. If they choose to defend
themselves till the last I will fight here with them; if they choose to
surrender they can do so; and those who differ from their fellows and
put no faith in Tilly’s wolves can enter the castle with me.”

The principal inhabitants of the town debated the question hotly.
Malcolm lost patience with them, and said: “Are you mad as well as
stupid? Do you not see the smoking villages round you? Do you not
remember the fate of Magdeburg, New Brandenburg, and the other towns
which have made a resistance? You have chosen to resist. It was open to
you to have fled when you heard the Imperialists were coming. You could
have opened the gates then with some hope at least of your lives; but
you decided to resist. You have killed some fifty or sixty of their
soldiers. You have repulsed them from a place which they thought to
take with scarce an effort. You have compelled them to send for
reinforcements and guns. And now you are talking of opening the gates
without even obtaining a promise that your lives shall be spared. This
is the extremity of folly, and all I can say is, if you take such a step
you will well deserve your fate.”

Malcolm’s indignant address had its effect, and after a short discussion
the townspeople again placed themselves at the count’s disposal, and
said that they would obey his orders.

“I will give no orders,” the count said. “My Scottish friend here agrees
with me that it is useless to try to defend the town. We might repulse
several attacks, but in the end they would surely break in, for the
walls are old and weak, and will crumble before their cannon. Were there
any hope of relief one would defend them to the last, but as it is
it would be but a waste of blood, for many would be slain both in
the defence and before they could retreat to the castle; therefore we
propose at once to withdraw. We doubt not that we can hold the castle.
Any who like to remain in their houses and trust to the tender mercy of
Tilly’s wolves can do so.”

There was no more hesitation, and a cannonball, the first which the
Imperialists had fired, at that moment crashed into a house hard by, and
sharpened their decision wonderfully.

“I have no great store of provisions in the castle,” the count said,
“and although I deem it not likely that we shall have to stand a long
siege we must be prepared for it. There are already more than 700
of your wives and children there, therefore while half of the force
continue to show themselves upon the walls, and so deter the enemy from
attempting an assault until they have opened some breaches, let the rest
carry up provisions to the castle. Any houses from which the women have
fled are at once to be broken open. All that we leave behind the enemy
will take, and the less we leave for them the better; therefore all
stores and magazines of food and wine must be considered as public
property. Let the men at once be divided into two bodies--the one to
guard the walls, the other to search for and carry up provisions. They
can be changed every three or four hours.”

The resolution was taken and carried into effect without delay. Most of
the horses and carts in the town had left with the fugitives, those
that remained were at once set to work. The carts were laden with large
barrels of wine and sacks of flour, while the men carried sides of
bacon, kegs of butter, and other portable articles on their heads. The
Imperialists, seeing the movement up the steep road to the castle gate,
opened fire with their arquebuses, but the defenders of the wall replied
so hotly that they were forced to retire out of range. The cannon played
steadily all day, and by nightfall two breaches had been effected in the
wall and the gate had been battered down.

But by this time an ample store of provisions had been collected in the
castle and as the Imperialists were seen to form up for the assault the
trumpet was sounded, and at the signal the whole of the defenders of the
walls left their posts and fell back to the castle, leaving the deserted
town at the mercy of the enemy. The Imperialists raised a shout of
triumph as they entered the breaches and found them undefended, and
when once assured that the town was deserted they broke their ranks and
scattered to plunder.

It was now quite dark, and many of them dragging articles of furniture
into the streets made great bonfires to light them at their work
of plunder. But they had soon reason to repent having done so, for
immediately the flames sprang up and lighted the streets, flashes ran
round the battlements of the castle, and a heavy fire was opened into
the streets, killing many of the soldiers. Seeing the danger of thus
exposing the men to the fire from the castle, the Imperialist commander
issued orders at once that all fires should be extinguished, that anyone
setting fire to a house should be instantly hung, and that no lights
were to be lit in the houses whose windows faced the castle.

Foreseeing the possibility of an attack from the castle, the Austrians
placed a hundred men at the foot of the road leading up to it, and laid
their three cannon loaded to the muzzle to command it.

“Have you not,” Malcolm asked the count, “some means of exit from the
castle besides the way into the town?”

“Yes,” the count said, “there is a footpath down the rock on the other
side.”

“Then,” Malcolm said, “as soon as they are fairly drunk, which will be
before midnight, let us fall upon them from the other side. Leave fifty
of your oldest men with half a dozen veteran soldiers to defend the
gateway against a sudden attack; with the rest we can issue out, and
marching round, enter by the gate and breaches, sweeping the streets as
we go, and then uniting, burst through any guard they may have placed to
prevent a sortie, and so regain the castle.”

The count at once assented. In a short time shouts, songs, the sound
of rioting and quarrels, arose from the town, showing that revelry was
general. At eleven o’clock the men in the castle were mustered, fifty
were told off to the defence with five experienced soldiers, an officer
of the count being left in command. The rest sallied through a little
door at the back of the castle and noiselessly descended the steep path.
On arriving at the bottom they were divided into three bodies. Malcolm
with his Scots and fifty of the townspeople formed one. Count Mansfeld
took the command of another, composed of his own soldiers and fifty more
of the townspeople. The third consisted of eighty of the best fighting
men of the town under their own leaders. These were to enter by the
gate, while the other two parties came in by the breaches. The moment
the attack began the defenders of the castle were to open as rapid
a fire as they could upon the foot of the road so as to occupy the
attention of the enemy’s force there, and to lead them to anticipate a
sortie.

The breach by which Malcolm was to enter was the farthest from the
castle, and his command would, therefore, be the last in arriving at its
station. When he reached it he ordered the trumpeters who accompanied
him to sound, and at the signal the three columns rushed into the town
uttering shouts of “Gustavus! Gustavus!”

The Imperialists in the houses near were slaughtered with scarcely
any resistance. They were for the most part intoxicated, and such as
retained their senses were paralysed at the sudden attack, and panic
stricken at the shouts, which portended the arrival of a relieving
force from the army of the King of Sweden. As the bands pressed forward,
slaying all whom they came upon, the resistance became stronger; but
the three columns were all headed by parties of pikemen who advanced
steadily and in good order, bearing down all opposition, and leaving to
those behind them the task of slaying all found in the houses.

Lights flashed from the windows and partly lit up the streets, and the
Imperialist officers attempted to rally their men; but the Scottish
shouts, “A Hepburn! A Hepburn!” and the sight of their green scarves
added to the terror of the soldiers, who were convinced that the
terrible Green Brigade of the King of Sweden was upon them.

Hundreds were cut down after striking scarce a blow in their defence,
numbers fled to the walls and leapt over. The panic communicated itself
to the party drawn up to repel a sortie. Hearing the yells, screams,
and shouts, accompanied by the musketry approaching from three different
quarters of the town, while a steady fire from the castle indicated
that the defenders there might, at any moment, sally out upon them,
they stood for a time irresolute; but as the heads of the three columns
approached they lost heart, quitted their station, and withdrew in
a body by a street by which they avoided the approaching columns. On
arriving at the spot Malcolm found the guns deserted.

“The town is won now,” he said. “I will take my post here with my men in
case the Austrians should rally; do you with the rest scatter over the
town and complete the work, but bid them keep together in parties of
twenty.”

The force broke up and scattered through the town in their work of
vengeance. House after house was entered and searched, and all who were
found there put to the sword; but by this time most of those who were
not too drunk to fly had already made for the gates.

In half an hour not an Imperialist was left alive in the town. Then
guards were placed at the gate and breaches, and they waited till
morning. Not a sign of an Imperialist was to be seen on the plain, and
parties sallying out found that they had fled in the utmost disorder.
Arms, accoutrements, and portions of plunder lay scattered thickly
about, and it was clear that in the belief that the Swedish army was on
them, the Imperialists had fled panic stricken, and were now far away.
Upwards of two hundred bodies were found in the streets and houses.

A huge grave was dug outside the walls, and here the fallen foes were
buried. Only three or four of the defenders of the town were killed and
a score or so wounded in the whole affair. Although there was little
fear of a return, as the Imperialists would probably continue their
headlong flight for a long distance, and would then march with all haste
to rejoin their main army with the news that a strong Swedish force
was at Mansfeld, the count set the townspeople at once to repair the
breaches.

The people were overjoyed with their success, and delighted at
having preserved their homes from destruction, for they knew that the
Imperialists would, if unsuccessful against the castle, have given the
town to the flames before retiring. The women and children flocked down
to their homes again, and although much furniture had been destroyed and
damage done, this was little heeded when so much was saved.

All vied in the expression of gratitude towards Malcolm and his Scots,
but Malcolm modestly disclaimed all merit, saying that he and his men
had scarcely struck a blow.

“It is not so much the fighting,” the count said, “as the example which
you set the townsmen, and the spirit which the presence of you and your
men diffused among them. Besides, your counsel and support to me have
been invaluable; had it not been for you the place would probably have
been carried at the first attack, and if not the townspeople would have
surrendered when the enemy’s reinforcements arrived; and in that case,
with so small a force at my command I could not have hoped to defend the
castle successfully. Moreover, the idea of the sortie which has freed us
of them and saved the town from destruction was entirely yours. No,
my friend, say what you will I feel that I am indebted to you for the
safety of my wife and child, and so long as I live I shall be deeply
your debtor.”

The following day Malcolm with his party marched away. The count had
presented him with a suit of magnificent armour, and the countess with a
gold chain of great value. Handsome presents were also made to Sergeant
Sinclair, who was a cadet of good family, and a purse of gold was given
to each of the soldiers, so in high spirits the band marched away over
the mountains on their return to the village.



CHAPTER IX THE BATTLE OF BREITENFELD


Great joy was manifested as Malcolm’s band marched into the village and
it was found that they had accomplished the mission on which they went,
had saved Mansfeld, and utterly defeated the Imperialists, and had
returned in undiminished numbers, although two or three had received
wounds more or less serious, principally in the first day’s fighting.
They only remained one night in the village.

On the following morning the baggage was placed in the wagons with a
store of fruit and provisions for their march, and after another hearty
adieu the detachment set out in high spirits. After marching for two
days they learned that the Swedish army had marched to Werben, and that
Tilly’s army had followed it there.

After the receipt of this news there was no more loitering; the
marches were long and severe, and after making a detour to avoid the
Imperialists the detachment entered the royal camp without having met
with any adventure on the way. His fellow officers flocked round Malcolm
to congratulate him on his safe return and on his restored health.

“The change has done wonders for you, Malcolm,” Nigel Graheme said.
“Why, when you marched out you were a band of tottering scarecrows,
and now your detachment looks as healthy and fresh as if they had but
yesterday left Scotland; but come in, the bugle has just sounded to
supper, and we are only waiting for the colonel to arrive. He is at
present in council with the king with Hepburn and some more. Ah! here he
comes.”

Munro rode up and leapt from his horse, and after heartily greeting
Malcolm led the way into the tent where supper was laid out. Malcolm
was glad to see by the faces of his comrades that all had shaken off the
disease which had played such havoc among them at Old Brandenburg.

“Is there any chance of a general engagement?” he asked Nigel.

“Not at present,” Nigel said. “We are expecting the reinforcements up in
a few days. As you see we have fortified the camp too strongly for Tilly
to venture to attack us here. Only yesterday he drew up his army and
offered us battle; but the odds were too great, and the king will not
fight till his reinforcements arrive. Some of the hotter spirits were
sorry that he would not accept Tilly’s invitation, and I own that I
rather gnashed my teeth myself; but I knew that the king was right in
not risking the whole cause rashly when a few days will put us in a
position to meet the Imperialists on something like equal terms. Is
there any news, colonel?” he asked, turning to Munro.

“No news of importance,” the colonel replied; “but the king is rather
puzzled. A prisoner was taken today--one of Pappenheim’s horsemen--and
he declares that a force of horse and foot have been defeated at
Mansfeld by a Swedish army with heavy loss. He avers that he was present
at the affair, and arrived in camp with the rest of the beaten force
only yesterday. We cannot make it out, as we know that there are no
Swedish troops anywhere in that direction.”

Malcolm burst into a hearty laugh, to the surprise of his fellow
officers.

“I can explain the matter, colonel,” he said. “It was my detachment that
had the honour of representing the Swedish army at Mansfeld.”

“What on earth do you mean, Malcolm?” the colonel asked.

“Well, sir, as you know I went with a detachment to the village where I
had before been well treated, and had earned the gratitude of the people
by teaching them how to destroy a party of marauders. After having been
there for a month I was on the point of marching, for the men were all
perfectly restored to health; and indeed I know I ought to have returned
sooner, seeing that the men were fit for service; but as I thought
you were still at Old Brandenburg, and could well dispense with our
services, I lingered on to the last. But just as I was about to march
the news came that a party of Imperialist horse, three hundred strong,
was about to attack Mansfeld, a place of whose existence I had never
heard; but hearing that its count was a staunch Protestant, and that the
inhabitants intended to make a stout defence, I thought that I could not
be doing wrong in the service of the king by marching to aid them, the
place being but twenty-four miles away across the hills. We got there in
time, and aided the townspeople to repulse the first assault. After two
days they brought up a reinforcement of four hundred infantry and some
cannon. As the place is a small one, with but about two hundred and
fifty fighting men of all ages, we deemed it impossible to defend the
town, and while they were breaching the walls fell back to the castle.
The Imperialists occupied it at sunset, and at night, leaving a party to
hold the castle, we sallied out from the other side, and marching round,
entered by the breaches, and, raising the Swedish war cry fell upon
the enemy, who were for the most part too drunk to offer any serious
resistance. We killed two hundred and fifty of them, and the rest fled
in terror, thinking they had the whole Swedish army upon them. The
next day I started on my march back here, and though we have not spared
speed, it seems that the Imperialists have arrived before us.”

A burst of laughter and applause greeted the solution of the mystery.

“You have done well, sir,” Munro said cordially, “and have rendered a
great service not only in the defeat of the Imperialists, but in its
consequences here, for the prisoner said that last night five thousand
men were marched away from Tilly’s army to observe and make head against
this supposed Swedish force advancing from the east. When I have done
my meal I will go over to the king with the news, for his majesty is
greatly puzzled, especially as the prisoner declared that he himself had
seen the Scots of the Green Brigade in the van of the column, and had
heard the war cry, ‘A Hepburn! A Hepburn!’

“Hepburn himself could make neither head nor tail of it, and was half
inclined to believe that this avenging force was led by the ghosts of
those who had been slain at New Brandenburg. Whenever we can’t account
for a thing, we Scots are inclined to believe it’s supernatural.

“Now tell me more about the affair, Malcolm. By the way do you know that
you are a lieutenant now? Poor Foulis died of the fever a few days after
you left us, and as the king had himself ordered that you were to have
the next vacancy, I of course appointed you at once. We must drink
tonight to your promotion.”

Malcolm now related fully the incidents of the siege.

“By my faith, Malcolm Graheme,” Munro said when he had finished, “you
are as lucky as you are brave. Mansfeld is a powerful nobleman, and has
large possessions in various parts of Germany and much influence, and
the king will be grateful that you have thus rendered him such effective
assistance and so bound him to our cause. I believe he has no children.”

“He has a daughter,” Malcolm said, “a pretty little maid some fourteen
years old.”

“In faith, Malcolm, ‘tis a pity that you and she are not some four
or five years older. What a match it would be for you, the heiress of
Mansfeld; she would be a catch indeed! Well, there’s time enough yet, my
lad, for there is no saying how long this war will last.”

There was a general laugh, and the colonel continued:

“Malcolm has the grace to colour, which I am afraid the rest of us have
lost long ago. Never mind, Malcolm, there are plenty of Scotch cadets
have mended their fortune by means of a rich heiress before now, and I
hope there will be many more. I am on the lookout for a wealthy young
countess myself, and I don’t think there is one here who would not lay
aside his armour and sword on such inducement. And now, gentlemen, as we
have all finished, I will leave you to your wine while I go across with
our young lieutenant to the king. I must tell him tonight, or he will
not sleep with wondering over the mystery. We will be back anon and will
broach a cask of that famous wine we picked up the other day, in honour
of Malcolm Graheme’s promotion.”

Sir John Hepburn was dining with Gustavus, and the meal was just
concluded when Colonel Munro was announced.

“Well, my brave Munro, what is it?” the king said heartily, “and whom
have you here? The young officer who escaped from New Brandenburg and
Tilly, unless I am mistaken.”

“It is, sir, but I have to introduce him in a new character tonight, as
the leader of your majesty’s army who have defeated the Imperialists at
Mansfeld.”

“Say you so?” exclaimed the king. “Then, though I understand you not,
we shall hear a solution of the mystery which has been puzzling us. Sit
down, young sir; fill yourself a flagon of wine, and expound this riddle
to us.”

Malcolm repeated the narrative as he had told it to his colonel, and the
king expressed his warm satisfaction.

“You will make a great leader some day if you do not get killed in one
of these adventures, young sir. Bravery seems to be a common gift of the
men of your nation; but you seem to unite with it a surprising prudence
and sagacity, and, moreover, this march of yours to Mansfeld shows that
you do not fear taking responsibility, which is a high and rare quality.
You have done good service to the cause, and I thank you, and shall keep
my eye upon you in the future.”

The next day Malcolm went round the camp, and was surprised at the
extensive works which had been erected. Strong ramparts and redoubts had
been thrown up round it, faced with stone, and mounted with 150 pieces
of cannon. In the centre stood an inner entrenchment with earthworks
and a deep fosse. In this stood the tents of the king and those of his
principal officers. The Marquis of Hamilton had, Malcolm heard, arrived
and gone. He had lost on the march many of the soldiers he had enlisted
in England, who had died from eating German bread, which was heavier,
darker coloured, and more sour than that of their own country. This,
however, did not disagree with the Scotch, who were accustomed to black
bread.

“I wonder,” Malcolm said to Nigel Graheme, “that when the king has in
face of him a force so superior to his own he should have sent away on
detached service the four splendid regiments which they say the marquis
brought.”

“Well, the fact was,” Nigel said laughing, “Hamilton was altogether too
grand for us here. We all felt small and mean so long as he remained.
Gustavus himself, who is as simple in his tastes as any officer in the
army, and who keeps up no ostentatious show, was thrown into the shade
by his visitor. Why, had he been the Emperor of Germany or the King of
France he could not have made a braver show. His table was equipped
and furnished with magnificence; his carriages would have created a
sensation in Paris; the liveries of his attendants were more splendid
than the uniforms of generals; he had forty gentlemen as esquires and
pages, and 200 yeomen, splendidly mounted and armed, rode with him as
his bodyguard.

“Altogether he was oppressive; but the Hamiltons have ever been fond of
show and finery. So Gustavus has sent him and his troops away to guard
the passages of the Oder and to cover our retreat should we be forced to
fall back.”

Tilly, finding that the position of Gustavus was too strong to be
forced, retired to Wolmirstadt, whence he summoned the Elector of Saxony
to admit his army into his country, and either to disband the Saxon
army or to unite it to his own. Hitherto the elector had held aloof from
Gustavus, whom he regarded with jealousy and dislike, and had stood by
inactive although the slightest movement of his army would have
saved Magdeburg. To disband his troops, however, and to hand over his
fortresses to Tilly, would be equivalent to giving up his dominions
to the enemy; rather than do this he determined to join Gustavus, and
having despatched Arnheim to treat with the King of Sweden for alliance,
he sent a point blank refusal to Tilly.

The Imperialist general at once marched towards Leipzig, devastating the
country as he advanced. Terms were soon arranged between the elector and
Gustavus, and on the 3d of September, 1631, the Swedish army crossed
the Elbe, and the next day joined the Saxon army at Torgau. By this time
Tilly was in front of Leipzig, and immediately on his arrival burned to
the ground Halle, a suburb lying beyond the wall, and then summoned the
city to surrender.

Alarmed at the sight of the conflagration of Halle, and with the fate of
Magdeburg in their minds, the citizens of Leipzig opened their gates at
once on promise of fair treatment. The news of this speedy surrender
was a heavy blow to the allies, who, however, after a council of war,
determined at once to march forward against the city, and to give battle
to the Imperialists on the plain around it.

Leipzig stands on a wide plain which is called the plain of Breitenfeld,
and the battle which was about to commence there has been called by
the Germans the battle of Breitenfeld, to distinguish it from the
even greater struggles which have since taken place under the walls of
Leipzig.

The baggage had all been left behind, and the Swedish army lay down as
they stood. The king occupied his travelling coach, and passed the night
chatting with Sir John Hepburn, Marshal Horn, Sir John Banner, Baron
Teuffel, who commanded the guards, and other leaders. The lines of red
fires which marked Tilly’s position on the slope of a gentle eminence to
the southwest were plainly to be seen. The day broke dull and misty on
the 7th of September, and as the light fog gradually rose the troops
formed up for battle. Prayers were said in front of every regiment, and
the army then moved forward. Two Scottish brigades had the places of
honour in the van, where the regiments of Sir James Ramsay, the Laird of
Foulis, and Sir John Hamilton were posted, while Hepburn’s Green Brigade
formed part of the reserve--a force composed of the best troops of the
army, as on them the fate of the battle frequently depends. The Swedish
cavalry were commanded by Field Marshal Horn, General Banner, and
Lieutenant General Bauditzen.

The king and Baron Teuffel led the main body of infantry; the King of
Saxony commanded the Saxons, who were on the Swedish left. The armies
were not very unequal in numbers, the allies numbering 35,000, of whom
the Swedes and Scots counted 20,000, the Saxons 15,000. The Imperialists
numbered about 40,000. Tilly was fighting unwillingly, for he had
wished to await the arrival from Italy of 12,000 veterans under General
Altringer, and who were within a few days’ march; but he had been
induced, against his own better judgment, by the urgency of Pappenheim,
Furstenberg, and the younger generals, to quit the unassailable post
he had taken up in front of Leipzig, and to move out on to the plain of
Breitenfeld to accept the battle which the Swedes offered.

A short distance in his front was the village of Podelwitz. Behind his
position were two elevations, on which he placed his guns, forty
in number. In rear of these elevations was a very thick wood. The
Imperialist right was commanded by Furstenberg, the left by Pappenheim,
the centre by Tilly himself. Although he had yielded to his generals
so far as to take up a position on the plain, Tilly was resolved, if
possible, not to fight until the arrival of the reinforcements; but the
rashness of Pappenheim brought on a battle. To approach the Austrian
position the Swedes had to cross the little river Loder, and Pappenheim
asked permission of Tilly to charge them as they did so. Tilly consented
on condition that he only charged with two thousand horse and did not
bring on a general engagement. Accordingly, as the Scottish brigade
under Sir James Ramsay crossed the Loder, Pappenheim swept down upon
them.

The Scots stood firm, and with pike and musket repelled the attack; and
after hard fighting Pappenheim was obliged to fall back, setting fire as
he retired to the village of Podelwitz. The smoke of the burning village
drifted across the plain, and was useful to the Swedes, as under its
cover the entire army passed the Loder, and formed up ready for battle
facing the Imperialists position, the movement being executed under a
heavy fire from the Austrian batteries on the hills.

The Swedish order of battle was different from that of the Imperialists.
The latter had their cavalry massed together in one heavy, compact body,
while the Swedish regiments of horse were placed alternately with
the various regiments or brigades of infantry. The Swedish centre was
composed of four brigades of pikemen. Guns were behind the first line,
as were the cavalry supporting the pikemen. The regiments of musketeers
were placed at intervals among the brigades of pikemen.

Pappenheim on his return to the camp ordered up the whole of his
cavalry, and charged down with fury upon the Swedes, while at the same
moment Furstenberg dashed with seven regiments of cavalry on the Saxons.
Between these and the Swedes there was a slight interval, for Gustavus
had doubts of the steadiness of his allies, and was anxious that in case
of their defeat his own troops should not be thrown into confusion. The
result justified his anticipations.

Attacked with fury on their flank by Furstenberg’s horse, while his
infantry and artillery poured a direct fire into their front, the Saxons
at once gave way. Their elector was the first to set the example of
flight, and, turning his horse, galloped without drawing rein to Torgau,
and in twenty minutes after the commencement of the fight the whole of
the Saxons were in utter rout, hotly pursued by Furstenberg’s cavalry.

Tilly now deemed the victory certain, for nearly half of his opponents
were disposed of, and he outnumbered the remainder by two to one; but
while Furstenberg had gained so complete a victory over the Saxons,
Pappenheim, who had charged the Swedish centre, had met with a very
different reception.

In vain he tried to break through the Swedish spears. The wind was
blowing full in the faces of the pikemen, and the clouds of smoke and
dust which rolled down upon them rendered it impossible for them to see
the heavy columns of horse until they fell upon them like an avalanche,
yet with perfect steadiness they withstood the attacks.

Seven times Pappenheim renewed his charge; seven times he fell back
broken and disordered.

As he drew off for the last time Gustavus, seeing the rout of the
Saxons, and knowing that he would have the whole of Tilly’s force
upon him in a few minutes, determined to rid himself altogether of
Pappenheim, and launched the whole of his cavalry upon the retreating
squadrons with overwhelming effect. Thus at the end of half an hour’s
fighting Tilly had disposed of the Saxons, and Gustavus had driven
Pappenheim’s horse from the field.

Three of the Scottish regiments were sent from the centre to strengthen
Horn on the left flank, which was now exposed by the flight of the
Saxons. Scarcely had the Scottish musketeers taken their position
when Furstenberg’s horse returned triumphant from their pursuit of the
Saxons, and at once fell upon Horn’s pikemen. These, however, stood
as firmly as their comrades in the centre had done; and the Scottish
musketeers, six deep, the three front ranks kneeling, the three in rear
standing, poured such heavy volleys into the horsemen that these fell
back in disorder; the more confused perhaps, since volley firing was at
that time peculiar to the Swedish army, and the crashes of musketry were
new to the Imperialists.

As the cavalry fell back in disorder, Gustavus led his horse, who had
just returned from the pursuit of Pappenheim, against them. The shock
was irresistible, and Furstenberg’s horse were driven headlong from
the field. But the Imperialist infantry, led by Tilly himself, were
now close at hand, and the roar of musketry along the whole line was
tremendous, while the artillery on both sides played unceasingly.

Just as the battle was at the hottest the Swedish reserve came up to the
assistance of the first line, and Sir John Hepburn led the Green Brigade
through the intervals of the Swedish regiments into action. Lord Reay’s
regiment was in front, and Munro, leading it on, advanced against the
solid Imperialist columns, pouring heavy volleys into them. When close
at hand the pikemen passed through the intervals of the musketeers and
charged furiously with levelled pikes, the musketeers following them
with clubbed weapons.

The gaps formed by the losses of the regiment at New Brandenburg and the
other engagements had been filled up, and two thousand strong they
fell upon the Imperialists. For a few minutes there was a tremendous
hand-to-hand conflict, but the valour and strength of the Scotch
prevailed, and the regiment was the first to burst its way through the
ranks of the Imperialists, and then pressed on to attack the trenches
behind, held by the Walloon infantry. While the battle was raging in the
plain the Swedish cavalry, after driving away Furstenberg’s horse, swept
round and charged the eminence in the rear of the Imperialists, cutting
down the artillerymen and capturing the cannon there.

These were at once turned upon the masses of Imperialist infantry, who
thus, taken between two fires--pressed hotly by the pikemen in
front, mown down by the cannon in their rear--lost heart and fled
precipitately, four regiments alone, the veterans of Furstenberg’s
infantry, holding together and cutting their way through to the woods in
the rear of their position.

The slaughter would have been even greater than it was, had not the
cloud of dust and smoke been so thick that the Swedes were unable to see
ten yards in front of them. The pursuit was taken up by their cavalry,
who pressed the flying Imperialists until nightfall. So complete was the
defeat that Tilly, who was badly wounded, could only muster 600 men to
accompany him in his retreat, and Pappenheim could get together but 1400
of his horsemen. Seven thousand of the Imperialists were killed, 5000
were wounded or taken prisoners. The Swedes lost but 700 men, the Saxons
about 2000.

The Swedes that night occupied the Imperial tents, making great bonfires
of the broken wagons, pikes, and stockades. A hundred standards were
taken. Tilly had fought throughout the battle with desperate valour.
He was ever in the van of his infantry, and three times was wounded
by bullets and once taken prisoner, and only rescued after a desperate
conflict.

At the conclusion of the day Cronenberg with 600 Walloon cavalry threw
themselves around him and bore him from the field. The fierce old
soldier is said to have burst into a passion of tears on beholding the
slaughter and defeat of his infantry. Hitherto he had been invincible,
this being the first defeat he had suffered in the course of his long
military career. Great stores of provision and wine had been captured,
and the night was spent in feasting in the Swedish camp.

The next morning the Elector of Saxony rode on to the field to
congratulate Gustavus on his victory. The latter was politic enough to
receive him with great courtesy and to thank him for the services the
Saxons had rendered. He intrusted to the elector the task of recapturing
Leipzig, while he marched against Merseburg, which he captured with its
garrison of five hundred men.

After two or three assaults had been made on Leipzig the garrison
capitulated to the Saxons, and on the 11th of September the army was
drawn up and reviewed by Gustavus. When the king arrived opposite the
Green Brigade he dismounted and made the soldiers an address, thanking
them for their great share in winning the battle of Leipzig.

Many of the Scottish officers were promoted, Munro being made a full
colonel, and many others advanced a step in rank. The Scottish brigade
responded to the address of the gallant king with hearty cheers.
Gustavus was indeed beloved as well as admired by his soldiers. Fearless
himself of danger, he ever recognized bravery in others, and was ready
to take his full share of every hardship as well as every peril.

He had ever a word of commendation and encouragement for his troops, and
was regarded by them as a comrade as well as a leader. In person he was
tall and rather stout, his face was handsome, his complexion fair, his
forehead lofty, his hair auburn, his eyes large and penetrating, his
cheeks ruddy and healthy. He had an air of majesty which enabled him
to address his soldiers in terms of cheerful familiarity without in
the slightest degree diminishing their respect and reverence for him as
their monarch.



CHAPTER X THE PASSAGE OF THE RHINE


“I suppose,” Nigel Graheme said, as the officers of the regiment
assembled in one of the Imperialist tents on the night after the battle
of Leipzig, “we shall at once press forward to Vienna;” and such was
the general opinion throughout the Swedish army; but such was not the
intention of Gustavus. Undoubtedly the temptation to press forward
and dictate peace in Vienna was strong, but the difficulties and
disadvantages of such a step were many. He had but 20,000 men, for the
Saxons could not be reckoned upon; and indeed it was probable that their
elector, whose jealousy and dislike of Gustavus would undoubtedly be
heightened by the events of the battle of Breitenfeld, would prove
himself to be a more than a doubtful ally were the Swedish army to
remove to a distance.

Tilly would soon rally his fugitives, and, reinforced by the numerous
Imperialist garrisons from the towns, would be able to overrun North
Germany in his absence, and to force the Saxons to join him even if the
elector were unwilling to do so. Thus the little Swedish force would be
isolated in the heart of Germany; and should Ferdinand abandon Vienna
at his approach and altogether refuse to treat with him--which his
obstinacy upon a former occasion when in the very hands of his enemy
rendered probable--the Swedes would find themselves in a desperate
position, isolated and alone in the midst of enemies.

There was another consideration. An Imperialist diet was at that moment
sitting at Frankfort, and Ferdinand was using all his influence to
compel the various princes and representatives of the free cities to
submit to him. It was of the utmost importance that Gustavus should
strengthen his friends and overawe the waverers by the approach of his
army. Hitherto Franconia and the Rhine provinces had been entirely
in the hands of the Imperialists, and it was needful that a
counterbalancing influence should be exerted. These considerations
induced Gustavus to abandon the tempting idea of a march upon Vienna.
The Elector of Saxony was charged with carrying the war into Silesia and
Bohemia, the Electors of Hesse and Hesse-Cassel were to maintain Lower
Saxony and Westphalia, and the Swedish army turned its face towards the
Rhine.

On the 20th of September it arrived before Erfurt, an important
fortified town on the Gera, which surrendered at discretion. Gustavus
granted the inhabitants, who were for the most part Catholics, the free
exercise of their religion, and nominated the Duke of Saxe-Weimar to be
governor of the district and of the province of Thuringen, and the
Count of Lowenstein to be commander of the garrison, which consisted of
Colonel Foulis’s Scottish regiment, 1500 strong.

Travelling by different routes in two columns the army marched to
Wurtzburg, the capital of Franconia, a rich and populous city,
the Imperialist garrison having withdrawn to the strong castle of
Marienburg, on a lofty eminence overlooking the town, and only separated
from it by the river Maine. The cathedral at Wurtzburg is dedicated to
a Scottish saint, St. Kilian, a bishop who with two priests came from
Scotland in the year 688 to convert the heathen of Franconia. They
baptized many at Wurtzburg, among them Gospert, the duke of that
country. This leader was married to Geilana, the widow of his brother;
and Kilian urging upon him that such a marriage was contrary to the laws
of the Christian church, the duke promised to separate from her. Geilana
had not, like her lord, accepted Christianity, and, furious at this
interference of Kilian, she seized the opportunity when the latter had
gone with his followers on an expedition against the pagan Saxons to
have Kilian and his two companions murdered.

The cathedral was naturally an object of interest to the Scotch soldiers
in the time of Gustavus, and there was an animated argument in the
quarters of the officers of Munro’s regiment on the night of their
arrival as to whether St. Kilian had done well or otherwise in insisting
upon his new convert repudiating his wife. The general opinion, however,
was against the saint, the colonel summing up the question.

“In my opinion,” he said, “Kilian was a fool. Here was no less a matter
at stake than the conversion of a whole nation, or at least of a great
tribe of heathens, and Kilian imperilled it all on a question of minor
importance; for in the first place, the Church of Rome has always held
that the pope could grant permission for marriage within interdicted
degrees; in the second place, the marriage had taken place before
the conversion of the duke to Christianity, and they were therefore
innocently and without thought of harm bona fide man and wife. Lastly,
the Church of Rome is opposed to divorce; and Kilian might in any case
have put up with this small sin, if sin it were, for the sake of saving
the souls of thousands of pagans. My opinion is that St. Kilian richly
deserved the fate which befell him. And now to a subject much more
interesting to us--viz, the capture of Marienburg.

“I tell you, my friends, it is going to be a warm business; the castle
is considered impregnable, and is strong by nature as well as art, and
Captain Keller is said to be a stout and brave soldier. He has 1000 men
in the garrison, and all the monks who were in the town have gone up and
turned soldiers. But if the task is a hard one the reward will be rich;
for as the Imperialists believe the place cannot be taken, the treasures
of all the country round are stored up there. And I can tell you more,
in the cellars are sixty gigantic tuns of stone, the smallest of which
holds twenty-five wagon loads of wine, and they say some of it is a
hundred years old. With glory and treasure and good wine to be won we
will outdo ourselves tomorrow; and you may be sure that the brunt of the
affair will fall upon the Scots.”

“Well, there is one satisfaction,” said Nigel Graheme--who after Leipzig
had been promoted to the rank of major--“if we get the lion’s share of
the fighting, we shall have the lion’s share of the plunder and wine.”

“For shame, Graheme! You say nothing of the glory.”

“Ah! well,” Graheme laughed, “we have already had so large share of
that, that I for one could do without winning any more just at present.
It’s a dear commodity to purchase, and neither fills our belly nor our
pockets.”

“For shame, Graheme! for shame!” Munro said laughing. “It is a scandal
that such sentiments should be whispered in the Scottish brigade;
and now to bed, gentlemen, for we shall have, methinks, a busy day
tomorrow.”

Sir James Ramsay was appointed to command the assault. The river Maine
had to be crossed, and he sent off Lieutenant Robert Ramsay of his own
regiment to obtain boats from the peasantry. The disguise in which he
went was seen through, and he was taken prisoner and carried to the
castle. A few boats were, however, obtained by the Swedes.

The river is here 300 yards wide, and the central arch of the bridge had
been blown up by the Imperialists, a single plank remaining across the
chasm over the river 48 feet below. The bridge was swept by the heaviest
cannon in the fortress, and a passage appeared well nigh hopeless. On
the afternoon of the 5th of October the party prepared to pass, some
in boats, others by the bridge. A tremendous fire was opened by the
Imperialists from cannon and musketry, sweeping the bridge with a storm
of missiles and lashing the river to foam around the boats. The soldiers
in these returned the fire with their muskets, and the smoke served as a
cover to conceal them from the enemy.

In the meantime Major Bothwell of Ramsay’s regiment led a company across
the bridge. These, in spite of the fire, crossed the plank over the
broken arch and reached the head of the bridge, from whence they kept
up so heavy a fire upon the gunners and musketeers in the lower works by
the river that they forced them to quit their posts, and so enabled Sir
James Ramsay and Sir John Hamilton to effect a landing.

Major Bothwell, his brother, and the greater part of his followers were,
however, slain by the Imperialists’ fire from above. The commandant of
the castle now sallied out and endeavoured to recapture the works by
the water, but the Scotch repelled the attack and drove the enemy up
the hill to the castle again. The Scottish troops having thus effected
a lodgment across the river, and being protected by the rocks from the
enemy’s fire, lay down for the night in the position they had won.

Gustavus during the night caused planks to be thrown across the
broken bridge and prepared to assault at daybreak. Just as morning
was breaking, a Swedish officer with seven men climbed up the hill to
reconnoitre the castle, and found to his surprise that the drawbridge
was down, but a guard of 200 men were stationed at the gate. He was at
once challenged, and, shouting “Sweden!” sprang with his men on to
the end of the drawbridge. The Imperialists tried in vain to raise it;
before they could succeed some companions of the Swedes ran up, and,
driving in the guard, took possession of the outer court.

Almost at the same moment Ramsay’s and Hamilton’s regiments commenced
their assault on a strong outwork of the castle, which, after two hours’
desperate fighting, they succeeded in gaining. They then turned its guns
upon the gate of the keep, which they battered down, and were about to
charge in when they received orders from the king to halt and retire,
while the Swedish regiment of Axel-Lilly and the Blue Brigade advanced
to the storm.

The Scottish regiments retired in the deepest discontent, deeming
themselves affronted by others being ordered to the post of honour after
they had by their bravery cleared the way. The Swedish troops forced
their way in after hard fighting; and the Castle of Marienburg, so
long deemed impregnable, was captured after a few hours’ fighting. The
quantity of treasure found in it was enormous, and there were sufficient
provisions to have lasted its garrison for twenty years.

Immediately the place was taken, Colonel Sir John Hamilton advanced to
Gustavus and resigned his commission on the spot; nor did the assurances
of the king that he intended no insult to the Scotch soldiers mollify
his wrath, and quitting the Swedish service he returned at once
to Scotland. Munro’s regiment had taken no part in the storming
of Marienburg, but was formed up on the north side of the river in
readiness to advance should the first attack be repelled, and many were
wounded by the shot of the enemy while thus inactive.

Malcolm while binding up the arm of his sergeant who stood next to him
felt a sharp pain shoot through his leg, and at once fell to the ground.
He was lifted up and carried to the rear, where his wound was examined
by the doctor to the regiment.

“Your luck has not deserted you,” he said after probing the wound. “The
bullet has missed the bone by half an inch, and a short rest will soon
put you right again.”

Fortunately for a short time the army remained around Wurtzburg.
Columns scoured the surrounding country, capturing the various towns and
fortresses held by the Imperialists, and collecting large quantities of
provisions and stores. Tilly’s army lay within a few days’ march; but
although superior in numbers to that of Gustavus, Tilly had received
strict orders not to risk a general engagement as his army was now
almost the only one that remained to the Imperialists, and should it
suffer another defeat the country would lie at the mercy of the Swedes.

One evening when Malcolm had so far recovered as to be able to walk for
a short distance, he was at supper with Colonel Munro and some other
officers, when the door opened and Gustavus himself entered. All leapt
to their feet.

“Munro,” he said, “get the musketeers of your brigade under arms with
all haste, form them up in the square before the town hall, and desire
Sir John Hepburn to meet me there.”


The drum was at once beaten, and the troops came pouring from their
lodgings, and in three or four minutes the musketeers, 800 strong, were
formed up with Hepburn and Munro at their head. Malcolm had prepared to
take his arms on the summons, but Munro said at once:

“No, Malcolm, so sudden a summons augurs desperate duty, maybe a long
night march; you would break down before you got half a mile; besides,
as only the musketeers have to go, half the officers must remain here.”

Without a word the king placed himself at the head of the men, and
through the dark and stormy night the troops started on their unknown
mission. Hepburn and Munro were, like their men, on foot, for they had
not had time to have their horses saddled.

After marching two hours along the right bank of the Maine the tramp
of horses was heard behind them, and they were reinforced by eighty
troopers whom Gustavus before starting had ordered to mount and follow.
Hitherto the king had remained lost in abstraction, but he now roused
himself.

“I have just received the most serious news, Hepburn. Tilly has been
reinforced by 17,000 men under the Duke of Lorraine, and is marching
with all speed against me. Were my whole army collected here he would
outnumber us by two to one, but many columns are away, and the position
is well nigh desperate.

“I have resolved to hold Ochsenfurt. The place is not strong, but it
lies in a sharp bend of the river and may be defended for a time. If any
can do so it is surely you and your Scots. Tilly is already close to the
town; indeed the man who brought me the news said that when he left it
his advanced pickets were just entering, hence the need for this haste.

“You must hold it to the last, Hepburn, and then, if you can, fall back
to Wurtzburg; even a day’s delay will enable me to call in some of the
detachments and to prepare to receive Tilly.”

Without halting, the little column marched sixteen miles, and then,
crossing the bridge over the Maine, entered Ochsenfurt.

It was occupied by a party of fifty Imperialist arquebusiers, but these
were driven headlong from it. The night was extremely dark, all
were ignorant of the locality, and the troops were formed up in the
marketplace to await either morning or the attack of Tilly. Fifty
troopers were sent half a mile in advance to give warning of the
approach of the enemy. They had scarcely taken their place when they
were attacked by the Imperialists, who had been roused by the firing in
the town. The incessant flash of fire and the heavy rattle of musketry
told Gustavus that they were in force, and a lieutenant of Lumsden’s
regiment with fifty musketeers was sent off to reinforce the cavalry.
The Imperialists were, however, too strong to be checked, and horse and
foot were being driven in when Colonel Munro sallied out with a hundred
of his own regiment, and the Imperialists after a brisk skirmish, not
knowing what force they had to deal with, fell back.

As soon as day broke the king and Hepburn made a tour of the walls,
which were found to be in a very bad condition and ill calculated to
resist an assault. The Imperialists were not to be seen, and the king,
fearing they might have marched by some other route against Wurtzburg,
determined to return at once, telling Hepburn to mine the bridge, and to
blow it up if forced to abandon the town.

Hepburn at once set to work to strengthen the position, to demolish
all the houses and walls outside the defences, cut down and destroy all
trees and hedges which might shelter an enemy, and to strengthen the
walls with banks of earth and platforms of wood. For three days the
troops laboured incessantly; on the third night the enemy were heard
approaching. The advanced troopers and a half company of infantry were
driven in, contesting every foot of the way. When they reached the walls
heavy volleys were poured in by the musketeers who lined them upon the
approaching enemy, and Tilly, supposing that Gustavus must have moved
forward a considerable portion of his army, called off his troops and
marched away to Nuremberg. Two days later Hepburn was ordered to return
with his force to Wurtzburg.

The king now broke up his camp near Wurtzburg, and leaving a garrison in
the castle of Marienburg and appointing Marshal Horn to hold Franconia
with 8000 men, he marched against Frankfort-on-the-Maine, his troops
capturing all the towns and castles on the way, levying contributions,
and collecting great booty. Frankfort opened its gates without
resistance, and for a short time the army had rest in pleasant quarters.

The regiments were reorganized, in some cases two of those which
had suffered most being joined into one. Gustavus had lately been
strengthened by two more Scottish regiments under Sir Frederick Hamilton
and Alexander Master of Forbes, and an English regiment under Captain
Austin. He had now thirteen regiments of Scottish infantry, and the
other corps of the army were almost entirely officered by Scotchmen. He
had five regiments of English and Irish, and had thus eighteen regiments
of British infantry.

At Frankfort he was joined by the Marquis of Hamilton, who had done
splendid service with the troops under his command. He had driven the
Imperialists out of Silesia, and marching south, struck such fear into
them that Tilly was obliged to weaken his army to send reinforcements
to that quarter. By the order of Gustavus he left Silesia and marched
to Magdeburg. He had now but 3500 men with him, 2700 having died
from pestilence, famine, and disease. He assisted General Banner in
blockading the Imperialist garrison of Magdeburg, and his losses by
fever and pestilence thinned his troops down to two small regiments;
these were incorporated with the force of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar,
and the Marquis of Hamilton joined the staff of Gustavus as a simple
volunteer.

The king now determined to conquer the Palatinate, which was held by a
Spanish army. He drove them before him until he reached the Rhine, where
they endeavoured to defend the passage by burning every vessel and boat
they could find, and for a time the advance of the Swedes was checked.
It was now the end of November, the snow lay thick over the whole
country, and the troops, without tents or covering, were bivouacked
along the side of the river, two miles below Oppenheim. The opposite
bank was covered with bushes to the water’s edge, and on an eminence a
short distance back could be seen the tents of the Spaniards.

“If it were summer we might swim across,” Nigel Graheme said to Malcolm;
“the river is broad, but a good swimmer could cross it easily enough.”

“Yes,” Malcolm agreed, “there would be no difficulty in swimming if
unencumbered with arms and armour, but there would be no advantage in
getting across without these; if we could but get hold of a boat or two,
we would soon wake yonder Spaniards up.”

The next morning Malcolm wandered along the bank closely examining the
bushes as he went, to see if any boats might be concealed among them,
for the fishermen and boatmen would naturally try to save their craft
when they heard that the Imperialists were destroying them. He walked
three miles up the river without success. As he returned he kept his
eyes fixed on the bushes on the opposite bank. When within half a mile
of the camp he suddenly stopped, for his eye caught something dark among
them. He went to the water’s edge and stooped, the better to see under
the bushes, and saw what he doubted not to be the stern of a boat
hauled up and sheltered beneath them. He leapt to his feet with a joyful
exclamation. Here was the means of crossing the river; but the boat had
to be brought over. Once afloat this would be easy enough, but he was
sure that his own strength would be insufficient to launch her, and
that he should need the aid of at least one man. On returning to camp he
called aside the sergeant of his company, James Grant, who was from his
own estate in Nithsdale, and whom he knew to be a good swimmer.


“Sergeant,” he said, “I want you to join me in an enterprise tonight. I
have found a boat hauled up under the bushes on the opposite shore, and
we must bring her across. I cannot make out her size; but from the look
of her stern I should say she was a large boat. You had better therefore
borrow from the artillerymen one of their wooden levers, and get a stout
pole two or three inches across, and cut half a dozen two foot lengths
from it to put under her as rollers. Get also a plank of four inches
wide from one of the deserted houses in the village behind us, and cut
out two paddles; we may find oars on board, but it is as well to be
prepared in case the owner should have removed them.”

“Shall I take my weapons, sir?”

“We can take our dirks in our belts, sergeant, and lash our swords to
the wooden lever, but I do not think we shall have any fighting. The
night will be dark, and the Spaniards, believing that we have no boats,
will not keep a very strict watch. The worst part of the business is the
swim across the river, the water will be bitterly cold; but as you and I
have often swum Scotch burns when they were swollen by the melting snow
I think that we may well manage to get across this sluggish stream.”

“At what time will we be starting, sir?”

“Be here at the edge of the river at six o’clock, sergeant. I can get
away at that time without exciting comment, and we will say nothing
about it unless we succeed.”

Thinking it over, however, it occurred to Malcolm that by this means
a day would be lost--and he knew how anxious the king was to press
forward. He therefore abandoned his idea of keeping his discovery
secret, and going to his colonel reported that he had found a boat, and
could bring it across from the other side by seven o’clock.

The news was so important that Munro at once went to the king. Gustavus
ordered three hundred Swedes and a hundred Scots of each of the
regiments of Ramsay, Munro, and the Laird of Wormiston, the whole under
the command of Count Brahe, to form up after dark on the river bank and
prepare to cross, and he himself came down to superintend the passage.
By six it was perfectly dark. During the day Malcolm had placed two
stones on the edge of the water, one exactly opposite the boat, the
other twenty feet behind it in an exact line. When Gustavus arrived at
the spot where the troops were drawn up, Malcolm was taken up to him by
his colonel.

“Well, my brave young Graheme,” the king said, “so you are going to do
us another service; but how will you find the boat in this darkness?
Even were there no stream you would find it very difficult to strike the
exact spot on a dark night like this.”

“I have provided against that, sir, by placing two marks on the bank.
When we start lanterns will be placed on these. We shall cross higher up
so as to strike the bank a little above where I believe the boat to be,
then we shall float along under the bushes until the lanterns are in
a line one with another, and we shall know then that we are exactly
opposite the boat.”

“Well thought of!” the king exclaimed. “Munro, this lieutenant of yours
is a treasure. And now God speed you, my friend, in your cold swim
across the stream!”

Malcolm and the sergeant now walked half a mile up the river, a distance
which, judging from the strength of the current and the speed at which
they could swim, would, they thought, take them to the opposite bank
at about the point where the boat was lying. Shaking hands with Colonel
Munro, who had accompanied them, Malcolm entered the icy cold water
without delay. Knowing that it was possible that their strength might
give out before they reached the opposite side, Malcolm had had
two pairs of small casks lashed two feet apart. These they fastened
securely, so that as they began to swim the casks floated a short
distance behind each shoulder, giving them perfect support. The lever
and paddles were towed behind them. The lights in the two camps afforded
them a means of directing their way. The water was intensely cold,
and before they were halfway across Malcolm congratulated himself upon
having thought of the casks. Had it not been for them he would have
begun to doubt his ability to reach the further shore, for although he
would have thought nothing of the swim at other times his limbs were
fast becoming numbed with the extreme cold. The sergeant kept close to
him, and a word or two was occasionally exchanged.

“I think it is colder than our mountain streams, Grant?”

“It’s no colder, your honour, but the water is smooth and still, and
we do not have to wrestle with it as with a brook in spate. It’s the
stillness which makes it feel so cold. The harder we swim the less we
will feel it.”

It was with a deep feeling of relief that Malcolm saw something loom
just in front of him from the darkness, and knew that he was close to
the land. A few more strokes and he touched the bushes. Looking back he
saw that the two lights were nearly in a line. Stopping swimming he let
the stream drift him down. Two or three minutes more and one of the tiny
lights seemed exactly above the other.

“This is the spot, Grant,” he said in a low voice; “land here as quietly
as you can.”



CHAPTER XI THE CAPTURE OF OPPENHEIM


The two swimmers dragged themselves on shore, but for a minute or two
could scarce stand, so numbed were their limbs by the cold. Malcolm took
from his belt a flask of brandy, took a long draught, and handed it to
his companion, who followed his example.

The spirit sent a glow of warmth through their veins, and they began to
search among the bushes for the boat, one proceeding each way along the
bank. They had not removed their leathern doublets before entering
the water, as these, buoyed up as they were, would not affect their
swimming, and would be a necessary protection when they landed not only
against the cold of the night air but against the bushes.

Malcolm’s beacon proved an accurate guide, for he had not proceeded
twenty yards before he came against a solid object which he at once felt
to be the boat. A low whistle called the sergeant to his side, bringing
with him the rollers and paddles from the spot where they had landed.
They soon felt that the boat was a large one, and that their strength
would have been wholly insufficient to get her into the water without
the aid of the lever and rollers. Taking the former they placed its end
under the stern post, and placing a roller under its heel to serve as a
pivot they threw their weight on the other end of the lever and at once
raised the boat some inches in the air.

Grant held the lever down and Malcolm slid a roller as far up under
the keel as it would go; the lever was then shifted and the boat again
raised, and the process was continued until her weight rested upon three
rollers. She was now ready to be launched, and as the bank was steep
they had no doubt of their ability to run her down. An examination had
already shown that their paddles would be needless, as the oars were
inside her. They took their places one on each side of the bow, and
applying their strength the boat glided rapidly down.

“Gently, Grant,” Malcolm said, “don’t let her go in with a splash. There
may be some sentries within hearing.”

They continued their work cautiously, and the boat noiselessly entered
the water. Getting out the oars they gave her a push, and she was soon
floating down the stream. The rowlocks were in their places, and rowing
with extreme care so as to avoid making the slightest sound they made
their way across the river. They were below the camp when they landed,
but there were many men on the lookout, for the news of the attempt had
spread rapidly.

Leaping ashore amidst a low cheer from a group of soldiers, Malcolm
directed them to tow the boat up at once to the place where the troops
were formed ready for crossing, while he and the sergeant, who were
both chilled to the bone, for their clothes had frozen stiff upon them,
hurried to the spot where the regiment was bivouacked. Here by the side
of a blazing fire they stripped, and were rubbed with cloths by their
comrades till a glow of warmth again began to be felt, the external heat
and friction being aided by the administration of two steaming flagons
of spiced wine. Dry clothes were taken from their knapsacks and warmed
before the fire, and when these were put on they again felt warm and
comfortable.

Hurrying off now to the spot where the troops were drawn up, they found
that the boat had already made two passages. She rowed four oars, and
would, laden down to the water’s edge, carry twenty-five men. The oars
had been muffled with cloths so as to make no sound in the rowlocks.
A party of Munro’s Scots had first crossed, then a party of Swedes.
Malcolm and the sergeant joined their company unnoticed in the darkness.
Each detachment sent over a boat load in turns, and when six loads
had crossed it was again the turn of the men of Munro’s regiment, and
Malcolm entered the boat with the men. The lights still burned as a
signal, enabling the boat to land each party almost at the same spot.
Malcolm wondered what was going on. A perfect stillness reigned on the
other side, and it was certain that the alarm had not yet been given.

On ascending the bank he saw in front of him some dark figures actively
engaged, and heard dull sounds. On reaching the spot he found the
parties who had preceded him hard at work with shovels throwing up an
intrenchment. In the darkness he had not perceived that each of the
soldiers carried a spade in addition to his arms. The soil was deep and
soft, and the operations were carried on with scarce a sound. As each
party landed they fell to work under the direction of their officers.
All night the labour continued, and when the dull light of the winter
morning began to dispel the darkness a solid rampart of earth breast
high rose in a semicircle, with its two extremities resting on the
riverbank.

The last boat load had but just arrived across, and the 600 men were now
gathered in the work, which was about 150 feet across, the base formed
by the river. The earth forming the ramparts had been taken from the
outside, and a ditch 3 feet deep and 6 feet wide had been thus formed.

The men, who, in spite of the cold were hot and perspiring from their
night’s work, now entered the intrenched space, and sat down to take
a meal, each man having brought two days’ rations in his havresack. It
grew rapidly lighter, and suddenly the sound of a trumpet, followed by
the rapid beating of drums, showed that the Spaniards had, from their
camp on the eminence half a mile away, discovered the work which had
sprung up during the night as if by magic on their side of the river.

In a few minutes a great body of cavalry was seen issuing from the
Spanish camp, and fourteen squadrons of cuirassiers trotted down towards
the intrenchments. Soon the word was given to charge, and, like a
torrent, the mass of cavalry swept down upon it.

Two-thirds of those who had crossed were musketeers, the remainder
pikemen. The latter formed the front line behind the rampart, their
spears forming a close hedge around it, while the musketeers prepared to
fire between them. By the order of Count Brahe not a trigger was pulled
until the cavalry were within fifty yards, then a flash of flame swept
round the rampart, and horses and men in the front line of the cavalry
tumbled to the ground. But half the musketeers had fired, and a few
seconds later another volley was poured into the horsemen. The latter,
however, although many had fallen, did not check their speed, but rode
up close to the rampart, and flung themselves upon the hedge of spears.

Nothing could exceed the gallantry with which the Spaniards fought. Some
dismounted, and, leaping into the ditch, tried to climb the rampart;
others leapt the horses into it, and standing up in their saddles, cut
at the spearmen with their swords, and fired their pistols among them.
Many, again, tried to leap their horses over ditch and rampart, but the
pikemen stood firm, while at short intervals withering volleys tore into
the struggling mass.

For half an hour the desperate fight continued, and then, finding that
the position could not be carried by horsemen, the Spanish commander
drew off his men, leaving no less than 600 lying dead around the rampart
of earth. There were no Spanish infantry within some miles of the spot,
and the cavalry rode away, some to Maintz, but the greater part to
Oppenheim, where there was a strong garrison of 1000 men.

A careful search among the bushes brought three more boats to light, and
a force was soon taken across the river sufficient to maintain itself
against any attack. Gustavus himself was in one of the first boats that
crossed.

“Well done, my brave hearts!” he said as he landed, just as the Spanish
horsemen had ridden away. “You have fought stoutly and well, and our
way is now open to us. Where are Lieutenant Graheme and the sergeant who
swam across with him?”

Malcolm and his companion soon presented themselves.

“I sent for you to your camp,” the king said, “but found that you but
waited to change your clothes, and had then joined the force crossing.
You had no orders to do so.”

“We had no orders not to do so, sire, but having begun the affair it was
only natural that we should see the end of it.”

“You had done your share and more,” the king said, “and I thank you
both heartily for it, and promote you, Graheme, at once to the rank of
captain, and will request Colonel Munro to give you the first company
which may fall vacant in his regiment. If a vacancy should not occur
shortly I will place you in another regiment until one may happen in
your own corps. To you, sergeant, I give a commission as officer.
You will take that rank at once, and will be a supernumerary in your
regiment till a vacancy occurs. Such promotion has been well and
worthily won by you both.”

Without delay an advance was ordered against Oppenheim. It lay on the
Imperialist side of the Rhine. Behind the town stood a strong and well
fortified castle upon a lofty eminence. Its guns swept not only the
country around it, but the ground upon the opposite side of the river.
There, facing it, stood a strong fort surrounded by double ditches,
which were deep and broad and full of water. They were crossed only by
a drawbridge on the side facing the river, and the garrison could
therefore obtain by boats supplies or reinforcements as needed from the
town.

The Green and Blue Brigades at once commenced opening trenches against
this fort, and would have assaulted the place without delay had not a
number of boats been brought over by a Protestant well wisher of the
Swedes from the other side of the river. The assault was therefore
delayed in order that the attack might be delivered simultaneously
against the positions on both sides of the river. The brigade of guards
and the White Brigade crossed in the boats at Gernsheim, five miles from
the town, and marched against it during the night.

The Spaniards from their lofty position in the castle of Oppenheim saw
the campfires of the Scots around their fort on the other side of the
river, and opened a heavy cannonade upon them. The fire was destructive,
and many of the Scots were killed, Hepburn and Munro having a narrow
escape, a cannonball passing just over their heads as they were sitting
together by a fire.

The defenders of the fort determined to take advantage of the fire
poured upon their assailants, and two hundred musketeers made a gallant
sortie upon them; but Hepburn led on his pikemen who were nearest at
hand, and, without firing a shot, drove them back again into the
fort. At daybreak the roar of cannon on the opposite side of the river
commenced, and showed that the king with the divisions which had crossed
had arrived at their posts. The governor of the fort, seeing that if,
as was certain, the lower town were captured by the Swedes, he should be
cut off from all communication with the castle and completely isolated,
surrendered to Sir John Hepburn.

The town had, indeed, at once opened its gates, and two hundred men of
Sir James Ramsay’s regiment were placed there. Hepburn prepared to cross
the river with the Blue and Green Brigades to aid the king in reducing
the castle--a place of vast size and strength--whose garrison composed
of Spaniards and Italians were replying to the fire of Gustavus. A boat
was lying at the gate of the fort.

“Captain Graheme,” Hepburn said to Malcolm, “take with you two
lieutenants and twenty men in the boat and cross the river; then send
word by an officer to the king that the fort here has surrendered, and
that I am about to cross, and let the men bring over that flotilla of
boats which is lying under the town wall.”

Malcolm crossed at once. After despatching the message to the king and
sending the officer back with the boats he had for the moment nothing
to do, and made his way into the town to inquire from the officers of
Ramsay’s detachment how things were going. He found the men drawn up.

“Ah! Malcolm Graheme,” the major in command said, “you have arrived in
the very nick of time to take part in a gallant enterprise.”

“I am ready,” Malcolm said; “what is to be done?”

“We are going to take the castle, that is all,” the major said.

“You are joking,” Malcolm laughed, looking at the great castle and the
little band of two hundred men.

“That am I not,” the major answered; “my men have just discovered a
private passage from the governor’s quarters here up to the very gate
of the outer wall. As you see we have collected some ladders, and as we
shall take them by surprise, while they are occupied with the king, we
shall give a good account of them.”

“I will go with you right willingly,” Malcolm said; but he could not but
feel that the enterprise was a desperate one, and wished that the major
had waited until a few hundred more men had crossed. Placing himself
behind the Scottish officer, he advanced up the passage which had been
discovered. Ascending flight after flight of stone stairs, the column
issued from the passage at the very foot of the outer wall before the
garrison stationed there were aware of their approach. The ladders were
just placed when the Italians caught sight of them and rushed to the
defence, but it was too late. The Scotch swarmed up and gained a footing
on the wall.

Driving the enemy before them they cleared the outer works, and pressed
so hotly upon the retiring Imperialists that they entered with them into
the inner works of the castle, crossing the drawbridge over the moat
which separated it from its outer works before the garrison had time to
raise it.

Now in the very heart of the castle a terrible encounter took place. The
garrison, twelve hundred strong, ran down from their places on the wall,
and seeing how small was the force that had entered fell upon them
with fury. It was a hand to hand fight. Loud rose the war cries of the
Italian and Spanish soldiers, and the answering cheers of the Scots
mingled with the clash of sword on steel armour and the cries of the
wounded, while without the walls the cannon of Gustavus thundered
incessantly.

Not since the dreadful struggle in the streets of New Brandenburg had
Malcolm been engaged in so desperate a strife. All order and regularity
was lost, and man to man they fought with pike, sword, and clubbed
musket. There was no giving of orders, for no word could be heard in
such a din, and the officers with their swords and half pikes fought
desperately in the melee with the rest.

Gradually, however, the strength and endurance of Ramsay’s veterans
prevailed over numbers. Most of the officers of the Imperialists had
been slain, as well as their bravest men, and the rest began to draw off
and to scatter through the castle, some to look for hiding places, many
to jump over the walls rather than fall into the hands of the terrible
Scots.

The astonishment of Gustavus and of Hepburn, who was now marching with
his men towards the castle, at hearing the rattle of musketry and the
din of battle within the very heart of the fortress was great indeed,
and this was heightened when, a few minutes later, the soldiers were
seen leaping desperately from the walls, and a great shout arose from
the troops as the Imperial banner was seen to descend from its flagstaff
on the keep. Gustavus with his staff rode at once to the gate, which was
opened for him; and on entering he found Ramsay’s little force drawn up
to salute him as he entered. It was reduced nearly half in strength, and
not a man but was bleeding from several wounds, while cleft helms and
dinted armour showed how severe had been the fray.

“My brave Scots,” he exclaimed, “why were you too quick for me?”

The courtyard of the castle was piled with slain, who were also
scattered in every room throughout it, five hundred having been slain
there before the rest threw down their arms and were given quarter.
This exploit was one of the most valiant which was performed during the
course of the whole war. Four colours were taken, one of which was that
of the Spanish regiment, this being the first of that nationality which
had ever been captured by Gustavus.

After going over the castle, whose capture would have tasked his
resources and the valour of his troops to the utmost had he been
compelled to attack it in the usual way, Gustavus sent for the officers
of Ramsay’s companies and thanked them individually for their capture.

“What! you here, Malcolm Graheme!” Gustavus said as he came in at the
rear of Ramsay’s officers. “Why, what had you to do with this business?”

“I was only a volunteer, sire,” Malcolm said. “I crossed with the
parties who fetched the boats; but as my instructions ended there I had
nought to do, and finding that Ramsay’s men were about to march up to
the attack of the castle, I thought it best to join them, being somewhat
afraid to stop in the town alone.”

“And he did valiant service, sire,” the major said. “I marked him in the
thick of the fight, and saw more than one Imperialist go down before his
sword.”

“You know the story of the pitcher and the well, Captain Graheme,” the
king said, smiling. “Some day you will go once too often, and I shall
have to mourn the loss of one of the bravest young officers in my army.”

There was no rest for the soldiers of Gustavus, and no sooner had
Oppenheim fallen than the army marched against Maintz. This was defended
by two thousand Spanish troops under Don Philip de Sylvia, and was
a place of immense strength. It was at once invested, and trenches
commenced on all sides, the Green Brigade as usual having the post
of danger and honour facing the citadel. The investment began in the
evening, but so vigorously did the Scotch work all night in spite of
the heavy musketry and artillery fire with which the garrison swept
the ground that by morning the first parallel was completed, and the
soldiers were under shelter behind a thick bank of earth.

All day the Imperialists kept up their fire, the Scots gradually pushing
forward their trenches. In the evening Colonel Axel Lily, one of the
bravest of the Swedish officers, came into the trenches to pay a visit
to Hepburn. He found him just sitting down to dinner with Munro by the
side of a fire in the trench. They invited him to join them, and the
party were chatting gaily when a heavy cannonball crashed through the
earthen rampart behind them, and, passing between Hepburn and Munro,
carried off the leg of the Swedish officer.

Upon the following day the governor, seeing that the Swedes had erected
several strong batteries, and that the Green Brigade, whose name was a
terror to the Imperialists, was preparing to storm, capitulated, and
his soldiers were allowed to march out with all their baggage, flying
colours, and two pieces of cannon. Eighty pieces of cannon fell into the
hands of the Swedes. The citizens paid 220,000 dollars as the ransom
of their city from pillage, and the Jews 180,000 for the protection
of their quarters and of their gorgeous synagogue, whose wealth and
magnificence were celebrated; and on the 14th of December, 1631, on
which day Gustavus completed his thirty-seventh year, he entered the
city as conqueror.

Here he kept Christmas with great festivity, and his court was attended
by princes and nobles from all parts of Germany. Among them were six
of the chief princes of the empire and twelve ambassadors from foreign
powers. Among the nobles was the Count of Mansfeld, who brought with him
his wife and daughter. Three days before Christmas Hepburn’s brigade
had been moved in from their bivouac in the snow covered trenches,
and assigned quarters in the town, and the count, who arrived on the
following day, at once repaired to the mansion inhabited by the colonel
and officers of Munro’s regiment, and inquired for Malcolm Graheme.

“You will find Captain Graheme within,” the Scottish soldier on sentry
said.

“It is not Captain Graheme I wish to see,” the count said, “but Malcolm
Graheme, a very young officer.”

“I reckon that it is the captain,” the soldier said; “he is but a boy;
but in all the regiment there is not a braver soldier; not even the
colonel himself. Donald,” he said, turning to a comrade, “tell Captain
Graheme that he is wanted here.”

In a short time Malcolm appeared at the door.

“Ah! it is you, my young friend!” the count exclaimed; “and you have won
the rank of captain already by your brave deeds! Right glad am I to see
you again. I have come with my wife, to attend the court of this noble
king of yours. Can you come with me at once? The countess is longing to
see you, and will be delighted to hear that you have passed unscathed
through all the terrible contests in which you have been engaged. My
daughter is here too; she is never tired of talking about her young
Scottish soldier; but now that you are a captain she will have to be
grave and respectful.”

Malcolm at once accompanied the count to his house, and was most kindly
received by the countess.

“It is difficult to believe,” she said, “that ‘tis but four months since
we met, so many have been the events which have been crowded into that
time. Scarce a day has passed but we have received news of some success
gained, of some town or castle captured, and your Green Brigade has
always been in the van. We have been constantly in fear for you, and
after that terrible battle before Leipzig Thekla scarcely slept a wink
until we obtained a copy of the Gazette with the names of the officers
killed.”

“You are kind indeed to bear me so in remembrance,” Malcolm said, “and
I am indeed grateful for it. I have often wondered whether any fresh
danger threatened you; but I hoped that the advance of the Marquis of
Hamilton’s force would have given the Imperialists too much to do for
them to disturb you.”

“Yes, we have had no more trouble,” the countess replied. “The villages
which the Imperialists destroyed are rising again; and as after the
flight of the enemy the cattle and booty they had captured were all left
behind, the people are recovering from their visit. What terrible havoc
has the war caused! Our way here led through ruined towns and villages,
the country is infested by marauders, and all law and order is at an end
save where there are strong bodies of troops. We rode with an escort of
twenty men; but even then we did not feel very safe until we were fairly
through Franconia. And so you have passed unwounded through the strife?”

“Yes, countess,” Malcolm replied. “I had indeed a ball through my leg
at Wurtzburg; but as it missed the bone, a trifle like that is scarcely
worth counting. I have been most fortunate indeed.”

“He is a captain now,” the count said, “and to obtain such promotion he
must have greatly distinguished himself. I do not suppose that he will
himself tell us his exploits; but I shall soon learn all about them from
others. I am to meet his colonel this evening at a dinner at the palace,
and shall be able to give you the whole history tomorrow.”

“But I want the history now,” Thekla said. “It is much nicer to hear a
thing straight from some one who has done it, than from any one else.”

“There is no story to tell,” Malcolm said. “I had been promised my
lieutenancy at the first vacancy before I was at Mansfeld, and on my
return found that the vacancy had already occurred, and I was appointed.
I got my company the other day for a very simple matter, namely, for
swimming across the Rhine with a barrel fixed on each side of me to
prevent my sinking. Nothing very heroic about that, you see, young
lady.”

“For swimming across the Rhine!” the count said. “Then you must have
been the Scottish officer who with a sergeant swam and fetched the boat
across which enabled the Swedes to pass a body of troops over, and so
open the way into the Palatinate. I heard it spoken of as a most gallant
action.”

“I can assure you,” Malcolm said earnestly, “that there was no gallantry
about it. It was exceedingly cold, I grant, but that was all.”

“Then why should the king have made you a captain for it? You can’t get
over that.”

“That was a reward for my luck,” Malcolm laughed. “‘Tis better to be
lucky than to be rich, it is said, and I had the good luck to discover
a boat concealed among the bushes just at the time when a boat was worth
its weight in gold.”

For an hour Malcolm sat chatting, and then took his leave, as he was
going on duty, promising to return the next day, and to spend as much of
his time as possible with them while they remained in the city.



CHAPTER XII THE PASSAGE OF THE LECH


For the next two months the Green Brigade remained quietly at Maintz,
a welcome rest after their arduous labours. The town was very gay, and
every house was occupied either by troops or by the nobles and visitors
from all parts of Northern Europe. Banquets and balls were of nightly
occurrence; and a stranger who arrived in the gay city would not have
dreamt that a terrible campaign had just been concluded, and that
another to the full as arduous was about to commence.

During this interval of rest the damages which the campaign had effected
in the armour and accoutrements of men and officers were repaired, the
deep dents effected by sword, pike, and bullet were hammered out, the
rust removed, and the stains of blood and bivouac obliterated; fresh
doublets and jerkins were served out from the ample stores captured from
the enemy, and the army looked as gay and brilliant as when it first
landed in North Germany.

Malcolm spent much of his spare time with the Count and Countess of
Mansfeld, who, irrespective of their gratitude for the assistance he had
rendered them in time of need, had taken a strong liking to the young
Scotchman.

“You are becoming quite a court gallant, Graheme,” one of his comrades
said at a court ball where Malcolm had been enjoying himself greatly,
having, thanks to the Countess of Mansfeld, no lack of partners, while
many of the officers were forced to look on without taking part in the
dancing, the number of ladies being altogether insufficient to furnish
partners to the throng of officers, Swedish, German, and Scottish.
Beyond the scarf and feathers which showed the brigade to which officers
belonged, there was, even when in arms, but slight attempt at uniformity
in their attire, still less so when off duty. The scene at these balls
was therefore gay in the extreme, the gallants being all attired in
silk, satin, or velvet of brilliant colours slashed with white or some
contrasting hue. The tailors at Maintz had had a busy time of it, for in
so rapid a campaign much baggage had been necessarily lost, and many of
the officers required an entirely new outfit before they could take part
in the court festivities.

There was, however, no lack of money, for the booty and treasure
captured had been immense, and each officer having received a fixed
share, they were well able to renew their wardrobes. Some fresh
reinforcements arrived during their stay here, and the vacancies which
battle and disease had made in the ranks were filled up.

But although the Green Brigade did not march from Maintz till the 5th
of March, 1632, the whole army did not enjoy so long a rest. In February
Gustavus despatched three hundred of Ramsay’s regiment under Lieutenant
Colonel George Douglas against the town of Creutzenach, together with a
small party of English volunteers under Lord Craven. Forty-seven of
the men were killed while opening the trenches, but the next day they
stormed one of the gates and drove the garrison, which was composed of
six hundred Walloons and Burgundians, out of the town into the castle of
Kausemberg, which commanded it. Its position was extremely strong, its
walls and bastions rising one behind another, and their aspect was so
formidable that they were popularly known as the “Devil’s Works.” From
these the garrison opened a very heavy fire into the town, killing
many of the Scots. Douglas, however, gave them but short respite, for
gathering his men he attacked the castle and carried bastion after
bastion by storm until the whole were taken.

About the same time the important town of Ulm on the Danube opened its
gates to the Swedes, and Sir Patrick Ruthven was appointed commandant
with 1200 Swedes as garrison, Colonel Munro with two companies of
musketeers marched to Coblentz and aided Otto Louis the Rhinegrave, who
with a brigade of twenty troops of horse was expecting to be attacked
by 10,000 Spaniards and Walloons from Spires. Four regiments of Spanish
horse attacked the Rhinegrave’s quarters, but were charged so furiously
by four troops of Swedish dragoons under Captain Hume that 300 of them
were killed and the Elector of Nassau taken prisoner; after this the
Spaniards retired beyond the Moselle.

In other parts of Germany the generals of Gustavus were equally
successful. General Horn defeated the Imperialists at Heidelberg and
Heilbronn. General Lowenhausen scoured all the shores of the Baltic, and
compelled Colonel Graham, a Scotch soldier in the Imperial service,
to surrender the Hanse town of Wismar. Graham marched out with his
garrison, 3000 strong, with the honours of war en route for Silesia, but
having, contrary to terms, spiked the cannon, plundered the shipping,
and slain a Swedish lieutenant, Lowenhausen pursued him, and in the
battle which ensued 500 of Graham’s men were slain and the colonel
himself with 2000 taken prisoner.

General Ottentodt was moving up the Elbe carrying all before him with a
force of 14,000 men, among whom were five battalions of Scots and one
of English. This force cleared the whole duchy of Mecklenburg, capturing
all the towns and fortresses in rapid succession. Sir Patrick Ruthven
advanced along the shores of Lake Constance, driving the Imperialists
before him into the Tyrol. Magdeburg was captured by General Banner, the
Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel reduced all Fulda-Paderborn and the adjacent
districts, the Elector of Saxony overran Bohemia, and Sir Alexander
Leslie threatened the Imperialists in Lower Saxony.

Thus the campaign of 1632 opened under the most favourable auspices. The
Green Brigade marched on the 5th of March to Aschaffenburg, a distance
of more than thirty miles, a fact which speaks volumes for the physique
and endurance of the troops, for this would in the present day be
considered an extremely long march for troops, and the weight of the
helmet and armour, musket and accoutrements, of the troops of those days
was fully double that now carried by European soldiers. Here they were
reviewed by the king.

By the 10th the whole army, 23,000 strong, were collected at Weinsheim
and advanced towards Bavaria, driving before them the Imperialists under
the Count de Bucquio. The Chancellor Oxenstiern had been left by the
king with a strong force to guard his conquests on the Rhine.

No sooner had the king marched than the Spaniards again crossed the
Moselle. The chancellor and the Duke of Weimar advanced against them.
The Dutch troops, who formed the first line of the chancellor’s army,
were unable to stand the charge of the Spanish and fled in utter
confusion; but the Scottish regiment of Sir Roderick Leslie, who had
succeeded Sir John Hamilton on his resignation, and the battalion of
Sir John Ruthven, charged the Spaniards with levelled pikes so furiously
that these in turn were broken and driven off the field.

On the 26th of March Gustavus arrived before the important town and
fortress of Donauworth, being joined on the same day by the Laird of
Foulis with his two regiments of horse and foot. Donauworth is the key
to Swabia; it stands on the Danube, and was a strongly fortified place,
its defences being further covered by fortifications upon a lofty
eminence close by, named the Schellemberg. It was held by the Duke of
Saxe-Lauenburg with two thousand five hundred men. The country round
Donauworth is fertile and hilly, and Gustavus at once seized a height
which commanded the place. The Bavarians were at work upon entrenchments
here as the Swedes advanced, but were forced to fall back into the town.
From the foot of the hill a suburb extended to the gates of the city.
This was at once occupied by five hundred musketeers, who took up their
post in the houses along the main road in readiness to repel a sortie
should the garrison attempt one; while the force on the hillside worked
all night, and by daybreak on the 27th had completed and armed a twenty
gun battery.

In this was placed a strong body of infantry under Captain Semple, a
Scotchman. As this battery commanded the walls of the town, and flanked
the bridge across the Danube, the position of the defenders was now
seriously menaced, but the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg refused the demand of
Gustavus to surrender. The battery now opened fire, first demolishing a
large stone building by the river occupied by a force of Imperialists,
and then directing its fire upon the city gates.

The cannonade continued after nightfall, but in the darkness a body of
Imperialist horsemen under Colonel Cronenberg dashed out at full speed
through the gate, cut a passage through the musketeers in the suburb,
galloped up the hill, and fell upon the infantry and artillery in
the battery. So furious was their charge that the greater part of the
defenders of the battery were cut down. The guns were spiked, and the
cavalry, having accomplished their purpose, charged down the hill, cut
their way through the suburb, and regained the town.

This gallant exploit deranged the plans of the Swedes. Gustavus
reconnoitred the town accompanied by Sir John Hepburn, and by the advice
of that officer decided upon a fresh plan of operations. Hepburn
pointed out to him that by taking possession of the angle formed by the
confluence of the Wermitz and Danube to the west of the town the bridge
crossing from Donauworth into Bavaria would be completely commanded, and
the garrison would be cut off from all hope of escape and of receiving
relief from Bavaria.

The plan being approved, Hepburn drew off his brigade with its
artillery, and marching five miles up the Danube crossed the river at
the bridge of Hassfurt, and descended the opposite bank until he faced
Donauworth. He reached his position at midnight, and placed his cannon
so as to command the whole length of the bridge, and then posted his
musketeers in the gardens and houses of a suburb on the river, so that
their crossfire also swept it.

The pikemen were drawn up close to the artillery at the head of the
bridge. Quietly as these movements were performed the garrison took the
alarm, and towards morning the duke, finding his retreat intercepted,
sallied out at the head of eight hundred musketeers to cut his way
through; but as the column advanced upon the bridge the Green Brigade
opened fire, the leaden hail of their musketeers smote the column on
both sides, while the cannon ploughed lanes through it from end to end.
So great was the destruction that the Bavarians retreated in confusion
back into the town again, leaving the bridge strewn with their dead.

Alone the gallant Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg charged through the hail of
fire across the bridge, fell upon the pikemen sword in hand, and cutting
his way through them rode away, leaving his garrison to their fate.
The roar of artillery informed Gustavus what was going on, and he
immediately opened fire against the other side of the town and led his
men to the assault of the gate.

The instant the Scotch had recovered from their surprise at the
desperate feat performed by the duke, Hepburn, calling them together,
placed himself at their head and led them across the bridge. The panic
stricken fugitives had omitted to close the gate, and the Scotch at once
entered the town. Here the garrison resisted desperately; their pikemen
barred the streets, and from every window and roof their musketeers
poured their fire upon the advancing column.

The day was breaking now, and the roar of battle in the city mingled
with that at the gates, where the Swedes were in vain striving to effect
an entrance. Gradually the Scotch won their way forward; 500 of the
Bavarians were killed, in addition to 400 who had fallen on the bridge.
The rest now attempted to fly. Great numbers were drowned in the Danube,
and the remainder were taken prisoners. The streets were encumbered by
the heavily laden baggage wagons, and a vast amount of booty fell into
the hands of the Scotch, who thus became masters of the town before
Gustavus and his Swedes had succeeded in carrying the gate.

The king now entered the town, and as soon as order was restored
Hepburn’s brigade recrossed the Danube and threw up a strong work on
the other side of the bridge; for Tilly was on the Lech, but seven miles
distant, and might at any moment return. He had just struck a severe
blow at Marshal Horn, who had recently taken Bamberg. His force, 9000
strong, had been scattered to put down a rising of the country people,
when Tilly with 16,000 fell upon them.

A column under Bauditzen was attacked and defeated, and Tilly’s horsemen
pursued them hotly to the bridge leading to the town. Marshal Horn threw
a barricade across this and defended it until nightfall. Tilly had then
fallen back before the advance of Gustavus to a very strong position
on the Lech. This was an extremely rapid river, difficult to cross and
easily defensible. Tilly had broken down the bridges, and was prepared
to dispute till the last the further advance of the Swedes. He placed
his army between Rain, where the Lech falls into the Danube, and
Augsburg, a distance of sixteen miles--all the assailable points being
strongly occupied, with small bodies of cavalry in the intervals to give
warning of the approach of the enemy. He had been joined by Maximilian
of Bavaria, and his force amounted to 40,000 men.

Gustavus gave his army four days’ rest at Donauworth, and then advanced
with 32,000 men against the Lech. His dragoons, who had been pushed
forward, had found the bridges destroyed. He first attempted to repair
that at Rain, but the fire of the artillery and musketry was so
heavy that he was forced to abandon the idea. He then made a careful
reconnaissance of the river, whose course was winding and erratic.

Finding that at every point at which a crossing could be easily effected
Tilly’s batteries and troops commanded the position, he determined to
make his attack at a point where the river made a sharp bend in the form
of a semicircle, of which he occupied the outer edge. He encamped the
bulk of his army at the village of Nordheim, a short distance in the
rear, and erected three powerful batteries mounting seventy-two guns.
One of these faced the centre of the loop, the others were placed
opposite the sides.

The ground on the Swedish bank of the river was higher than that facing
it; and when the Swedish batteries opened they so completely swept the
ground inclosed by the curve of the river that the Imperialists could
not advance across it, and were compelled to remain behind a rivulet
called the Ach, a short distance in the rear of the Lech. They brought
up their artillery, however, and replied to the cannonade of the Swedes.

For four days the artillery duel continued, and while it was going on a
considerable number of troops were at work in the village of Oberndorf,
which lay in a declivity near the river, hidden from the sight of the
Imperialists, constructing a bridge. For that purpose a number of strong
wooden trestles of various heights and with feet of unequal length for
standing in the bed of the river were prepared, together with a quantity
of piles to be driven in among and beside them to enable them to resist
the force of the current.

On the night of the fourth day the king caused a number of fires to be
lighted near the river, fed with green wood and damp straw. A favourable
wind blew the smoke towards the enemy, and thus concealed the ground
from them. At daybreak on the 5th of April, a thousand picked men
crossed the river in two boats, and having reached the other side
at once proceeded to throw up intrenchments to cover the head of the
bridge, while at the same time the workmen began to place the trestles
in position.

As soon as day broke Tilly became aware of what was being done, and
two batteries opened fire upon the work at the head of the bridge and
against the bridge itself; but the low and swampy nature of the ground
on the Imperialist side of the river prevented his placing the batteries
in a position from which they could command the works, and their fire
proved ineffective in preventing the construction of the bridge. Seeing
this, Tilly at once commenced preparations for arresting the further
advance of the Swedes.

To reach his position they would be obliged to cross the swampy ground
exposed to the fire of his troops, and to render their progress still
more difficult he proceeded to cut down large trees, lopping and
sharpening their branches to form a chevaux-de-frise before his troops.
All the morning a heavy cannonade was kept up on both sides, but by noon
the bridge was completed and the advance guard of the Swedes, led by
Colonels Wrandel and Gassion, advanced across it. As the other brigades
were following, Tilly directed General Altringer to lead his cavalry
against them.

Altringer led his troops round the end of the marsh and charged with
great bravery down upon the Swedes. These, however, had time to form up,
and a tremendous fire of musketry was poured into the Imperialist horse,
while the round shot from the three Swedish batteries ploughed their
ranks in front and on both flanks. Under such circumstances, although
fighting with reckless bravery, the Imperialist cavalry were repulsed.
Altringer, however, rallied them and led them back again to the charge,
but a cannonball grazed his temple and he was carried senseless from
the field. His men, shaken by the tremendous fire and deprived of their
leader, fell back in confusion.

Tilly at once placed himself at the head of a chosen body of troops
and advanced to the attack, fighting with the ardour and bravery which
always distinguished him. He was short in stature and remarkable for his
ugliness as well as his bravery. Lean and spare in figure, he had hollow
cheeks, a long nose, a broad wrinkled forehead, heavy moustaches, and
a sharp pointed chin. He had from his boyhood been fighting against the
Protestants. He had learned the art of war under the cruel and pitiless
Spanish general Alva in the Netherlands, of which country he was a
native, and had afterwards fought against them in Bavaria, in Bohemia,
and the Palatinate, and had served in Hungary against the Turks.

Until he met Gustavus at Breitenfeld he had never known a reverse. A
bigoted Catholic, he had never hesitated at any act of cruelty which
might benefit the cause for which he fought, or strike terror into the
Protestants; and the singularity of his costume and the ugliness of his
appearance heightened the terror which his deeds inspired among them.
When not in armour his costume was modelled upon that of the Duke of
Alva, consisting of a slashed doublet of green silk, with an enormously
wide-brimmed and high conical hat adorned with a large red ostrich
feather. In his girdle he carried a long dagger and a Toledo sword of
immense length. His personal bravery was famous, and never did he
fight more gallantly than when he led his veterans to the attack of the
Swedes.

For twenty minutes a furious hand to hand conflict raged, and the result
was still uncertain when a shot from a falconet struck Tilly on the
knee and shattered the bone, and the old general fell insensible to
the ground. He was carried off the field, and his troops, now without a
leader, gave way, the movement being hastened by two bodies of Swedish
horse, who, eager for action, swam their horses across the river and
threatened to cut off the retreat. By this time evening was at hand. The
Swedes had secured the passage of the river, but the Imperialist army
still held its intrenched position in the wood behind the Lech. Gustavus
brought the rest of his army across and halted for the night.

The Imperialist position was tremendously strong, being unassailable on
the right and covered in the front by the marshy ground. It could
still have been defended with every prospect of success by a determined
general, but the two best Imperialist commanders were hors de combat,
and Maximilian of Bavaria, the nominal generalissimo, had no military
experience. The army, too, was disheartened by the first success of the
Swedes and by the loss of the general whom they regarded as well nigh
invincible.

Tilly had now recovered his senses, but was suffering intense agony from
his wound, and on being consulted by Maximilian he advised him to fall
back, as the destruction of his army would leave the whole country open
to the Swedes.

The Imperialists accordingly evacuated their position and fell back in
good order during the night on Neuberg, and then to Ingolstadt. Rain and
Neuberg were occupied the next day by the Swedes. Gustavus despatched
Marshal Horn to follow the retreating enemy to Ingolstadt, and he
himself with the rest of his army marched up the Lech to Augsburg, which
was held by Colonel Breda with four thousand five hundred men.

The Imperialists had broken down the bridge, but Gustavus immediately
built two others, one above and the other below the city, and summoned
it to surrender. Breda, hearing that Tilly was dying, Altringer severely
wounded, and that no help was to be expected from Maximilian, considered
it hopeless to resist, and surrendered the town, which Gustavus,
attended by the titular King of Bohemia and many other princes, entered
in triumph on the following day, April 14th. The capture of Augsburg
was hailed with peculiar satisfaction, as the city was regarded as the
birthplace of the Reformation in Germany. Leaving a garrison there the
king retraced his steps along the Lech to Neuberg, and marched thence to
join Marshal Horn in front of Ingolstadt.

This town was one of the strongest places in Germany and had never been
captured. It was now held by a formidable garrison, and the Imperialist
army covered it on the north. Tilly had implored Maximilian to defend
it and Ratisbon at all hazards, as their possession was a bar to the
further advance of Gustavus.

The king arrived before it on the 19th, and on the following day
advanced to reconnoitre it closely. The gunners of the town, seeing a
number of officers approaching, fired, and with so good an aim that
a cannonball carried off the hindquarters of the horse the king was
riding. A cry of alarm and consternation burst from the officers, but
their delight was great when the king rose to his feet, covered with
dust and blood indeed, but otherwise unhurt.

On the following day a cannonball carried off the head of the Margrave
of Baden-Durlach, and on the same day Tilly expired. With his last
breath he urged Maximilian never to break his alliance with the emperor,
and to appoint Colonel Cratz, an officer of great courage and ability,
to the command of his army.

Gustavus remained eight days before Ingolstadt, and then, finding that
the reduction of the place could not be effected without the loss of
much valuable time, he raised the siege. On his march he took possession
of Landshut and forced it to pay a ransom of 100,000 thalers and to
receive a garrison, and then continued his way to Munich.

The Bavarian capital surrendered without a blow on the 17th of May.
Gustavus made a triumphal entry into the town, where he obtained
possession of a vast quantity of treasure and stores. Here he remained
some little time reducing the country round and capturing many cities
and fortresses. The Green Brigade had suffered severely at Ingolstadt.
On the evening of the 19th of April the king, expecting a sally, had
ordered Hepburn to post the brigade on some high ground near the gate
and the soldiers remained under arms the whole night.

The glow of their matches enabled the enemy to fire with precision, and
a heavy cannonade was poured upon them throughout the whole night. Three
hundred men were killed as they stood, Munro losing twelve men by one
shot; but the brigade stood their ground unflinchingly, and remained
until morning in steady line in readiness to repel any sortie of the
enemy.

The army suffered greatly on the march from the Lech to Ingolstadt,
and thence to Munich, from the attacks of the country people, who were
excited against them by the priests. Every straggler who fell into their
hands was murdered with horrible cruelty, the hands and feet being cut
off, and other savage mutilations being performed upon them, in revenge
for which the Swedes and Scots shot all the Bavarians who fell into
their hands, and burned two hundred towns and villages.



CHAPTER XIII CAPTURED BY THE PEASANTS


Malcolm Graheme was not present at the siege of Ingolstadt. The orders
after crossing the Lech had been very strict against straggling, so soon
as the disposition of the country people was seen; but it is not easy
to keep a large column of troops in a solid body. The regiments in the
march indeed, under the eye of the officers, can be kept in column, but
a considerable number of troops are scattered along the great convoy
of wagons containing the tents, stores, and ammunition of the army, and
which often extends some miles in length. Even if the desire for plunder
does not draw men away, many are forced to fall behind either from
sickness, sore feet, or other causes.

The number of these was comparatively small in the army of Gustavus,
for discipline was strict and the spirit of the troops good. As soon,
however, as it was found that every straggler who fell into the hands of
the peasantry was murdered under circumstances of horrible atrocity
it became very difficult for the officers to keep the men together,
so intense was their fury and desire for vengeance against the savage
peasantry, and on every possible occasion when a village was seen near
the line of march men would slip away and slay, plunder, and burn.

Gustavus endeavoured to repress these proceedings. He shared the
indignation of his troops at the barbarous conduct of the peasantry,
but throughout the war he always tried to carry on hostilities so as
to inflict as little loss and suffering as possible upon noncombatants.
This state of warfare too between his troops and the country people
added to his difficulties, for the peasantry drove off their cattle and
burned their stacks, and rendered it necessary for provisions and forage
to be carried with the army. Parties were therefore sent out on the
flanks of the column for the double purpose of preventing soldiers
stealing off to plunder and burn, and of picking up stragglers and
saving them from the fury of the peasants.

A strong rear guard followed a short distance behind the army. It was
accompanied by some empty wagons, in which those who fell out and were
unable to keep up with the march were placed. Two days after the advance
from the Lech, Malcolm was in charge of a small party on the right flank
of the column. There was no fear of an attack from the enemy, for the
Swedish horsemen were out scouring the country, and the Imperialists
were known to have fallen back to Ingolstadt. The villages were found
deserted by the male inhabitants, the younger women too had all left,
but a few old crones generally remained in charge. These scowled at the
invaders, and crossing themselves muttered curses beneath their breath
upon those whom their priests had taught them to regard as devils. There
was nothing to tempt the cupidity of the soldiers in these villages.
Malcolm’s duty was confined to a casual inspection, to see that no
stragglers had entered for the purpose of procuring wine.

The day’s march was nearly over when he saw some flames rise from a
village a short distance away. Hurrying forward with his men he found
a party of ten of the Swedish soldiers who had stolen away from the
baggage guard engaged in plundering. Two peasants lay dead in the
street, and a house was in flames.

Malcolm at once ordered his detachment, who were twenty strong, to
arrest the Swedes and to march them back to the columns. While they were
doing this he went from house to house to see that none of the party
were lurking there. At the door of the last house of the village three
women were standing.

“Are any of the soldiers here?” he asked.

The women gave him an unintelligible answer in the country patois, and
passing between them he entered the cottage. On the table stood a large
jug of water, and lifting it he took a long draught. There was a sudden
crash, and he fell heavily, struck down from behind with a heavy mallet
by one of the women. He was stunned by the blow, and when he recovered
his senses he found that he was bound hand and foot, a cloth had been
stuffed tightly into his mouth, and he was covered thickly with a heap
of straw and rubbish. He struggled desperately to free himself, but so
tightly were the cords bound that they did not give in the slightest.

A cold perspiration broke out on his forehead as he reflected that he
was helpless in the power of these savage peasants, and that he should
probably be put to death by torture. Presently he could hear the shouts
of his men, who, on finding that he did not return, had scattered
through the village in search of him. He heard the voice of his
sergeant.

“These old hags say they saw an officer walk across to the left. The
captain may have meant us to march the prisoners at once to the column,
and be waiting just outside the village for us, but it is not likely. At
any rate, lads, we will search every house from top to bottom before we
leave. So set to work at once; search every room, cupboard, and shed.
There may be foul play; though we see no men about, some may be in
hiding.”

Malcolm heard the sound of footsteps, and the crashing of planks as
the men searched the cottages, wrenched off the doors of cupboards, and
ransacked the whole place. Gradually the sound ceased, and everything
became quiet. Presently he heard the sound of drums, and knew that the
regiment which formed the rear guard was passing.

It was bitterness indeed to know that his friends were within sound of a
call for aid, and that he was bound and helpless. The halting place for
the night was, he knew, but a mile or two in advance, and his only hope
was that some band of plunderers might in the night visit the village;
but even then his chances of being discovered were small indeed, for
even should they sack and burn it he would pass unnoticed lying hidden
in the straw yard. His captors were no doubt aware of the possibility of
such a visit, for it was not until broad daylight, when the army would
again be on its forward march, that they uncovered him.

Brave as Malcolm was he could scarce repress a shudder as he looked at
the band of women who surrounded him. All were past middle age, some
were old and toothless, but all were animated by a spirit of ferocious
triumph. Raising him into a sitting position, they clustered round him,
some shook their skinny hands in his face, others heaped curses upon
him, some of the most furious assailed him with heavy sticks, and had he
not still been clothed in his armour, would then and there have killed
him.

This, however, was not their intention, for they intended to put him to
death by slow torture. He was lifted and carried into the cottage.
There the lacings of his armour were cut, the cords loosened one by one,
sufficient to enable them to remove the various pieces of which it was
composed, then he was left to himself, as the hags intended to postpone
the final tragedy until the men returned from the hills.

This might be some hours yet, as the Swedish cavalry would still be
scouring the country, and other bodies of troops might be marching up.
From the conversation of the women, which he understood but imperfectly,
Malcolm gathered that they thought the men would return that night. Some
of the women were in favour of executing the vengeance themselves, but
the majority were of opinion that the men should have their share of the
pleasure.

All sorts of fiendish propositions were made as to the manner in which
his execution should be carried out, but even the mildest caused Malcolm
to shudder in anticipation. His arms were bound tightly to his side at
the elbows, and the wrists were fastened in front of him, his legs were
tied at the knees and ankles. Sometimes he was left alone as the women
went about their various avocations in the village, but he was so
securely bound that to him as to them his escape appeared altogether
impossible. The day passed heavily and slowly. The cloth had been
removed from his mouth, but he was parched with thirst, while the
tightly bound cords cut deeply into his flesh.

He had once asked for water, but his request had been answered with such
jeers and mockery that he resolved to suffer silently until the last. At
length the darkness of the winter evening began to fall when a thought
suddenly struck him. On the hearth a fire was burning; he waited until
the women had again left the hut. He could hear their voices without
as they talked with those in the next cottage. They might at any moment
return, and it was improbable that they would again go out, for the cold
was bitter, and they would most likely wait indoors for the return of
the men.

This then was his last opportunity. He rolled himself to the fire, and
with his teeth seized the end of one of the burning sticks. He raised
himself into a sitting position, and with the greatest difficulty laid
the burning end of the stick across the cords which bound his wrists. It
seemed to him that they would never catch fire. The flesh scorched and
frizzled, and the smoke rose up with that of the burning rope. The agony
was intense, but it was for life, and Malcolm unflinchingly held the
burning brand in its place until the cords flew asunder and his hands
were free. Although almost mad with the pain, Malcolm set to work
instantly to undo the other ropes. As soon as one of his arms was free
he seized a hatchet, which lay near him, and rapidly cut the rest. He
was not a moment too soon, for as he cut the last knot he heard the
sound of steps, and two women appeared at the door.

On seeing their prisoner standing erect with an axe in his hand they
turned and fled shrieking loudly. It was well for Malcolm that they did
so, for so stiff and numbed were his limbs that he could scarcely hold
the axe, and the slightest push would have thrown him to the ground.

Some minutes passed before, by stamping his feet and rubbing his legs
he restored circulation sufficiently to totter across the room. Then he
seized a brand and thrust it into the thatch of the house, having first
put on his helmet and placed his sword and pistols in his belt. His
hands were too crippled and powerless to enable him to fasten on the
rest of his armour. He knew that he had no time to lose. Fortunately the
women would not know how weak and helpless he was, for had they returned
in a body they could easily have overpowered him; but at any moment the
men might arrive, and if he was found there by them his fate was sealed.

Accordingly as soon as he had fired the hut he made his way from the
village as quickly as he could crawl along. He saw behind him the flames
rising higher and higher. The wind was blowing keenly, and the fire
spread rapidly from house to house, and by the time he reached the road
along which the army had travelled the whole village was in flames. He
felt that he could not travel far, for the intense sufferings which he
had endured for twenty-four hours without food or water had exhausted
his strength.

His limbs were swollen and bruised from the tightness of the cords, the
agony of his burned wrists was terrible, and after proceeding slowly for
about a mile he drew off from the broad trampled track which the army
had made in passing, and dragging himself to a clump of trees a short
distance from the road, made his way through some thick undergrowth and
flung himself down. The night was intensely cold, but this was a relief
to him rather than otherwise, for it alleviated the burning pain of his
limbs while he kept handfuls of snow applied to his wrists.

Two hours after he had taken refuge he heard a number of men come along
the road at a run. Looking through the bushes he could see by their
figures against the snow that they were peasants, and had no doubt that
they were the men of the village who had returned and at once started in
pursuit of him.

An hour later, feeling somewhat relieved, he left his hiding place and
moved a mile away from the road, as he feared that the peasants, failing
to overtake him, might, as they returned, search every possible hiding
place near it. He had no fear of the track being noticed, for the
surface of the snow was everywhere marked by parties going and returning
to the main body. He kept on until he saw a small shed. The door was
unfastened; opening it he found that the place was empty, though there
were signs that it was usually used as a shelter for cattle.

A rough ladder led to a loft. This was nearly full of hay. Malcolm threw
himself down on this, and covering himself up thickly, felt the blood
again begin to circulate in his limbs. It brought, however, such
a renewal of his pain, that it was not until morning that fatigue
overpowered his sufferings and he fell asleep.

It was late in the afternoon when he woke at the sound of shouts and
holloaing. Springing to his feet he looked out between the cracks in the
boards and saw a party of forty or fifty peasants passing close by the
shed. They were armed with hatchets, scythes, and pikes. On the heads of
four of the pikes were stuck gory heads, and in the centre of the party
were three prisoners, two Swedes and a Scot. These were covered with
blood, and were scarcely able to walk, but were being urged forward with
blows and pike thrusts amid the brutal laughter of their captors.

Malcolm retired to his bed full of rage and sorrow. It would have been
madness to have followed his first impulse to sally out sword in hand
and fall upon the ruffians, as such a step would only have ensured his
own death without assisting the captives.

“Hitherto,” he said to himself, “I have ever restrained my men, and have
endeavoured to protect the peasants from violence; henceforward, so long
as we remain in Bavaria, no word of mine shall be uttered to save one
of these murderous peasants. However, I am not with my company yet.
The army is two marches ahead, and must by this time be in front of
Ingolstadt. I have been two days without food, and see but little chance
of getting any until I rejoin them, and the whole country between us is
swarming with an infuriated peasantry. The prospect is certainly not
a bright one. I would give a year’s pay to hear the sound of a Swedish
trumpet.”

When darkness had fairly set in Malcolm started on his way again.
Although his limbs still smarted from the weals and sores left by the
cords they had now recovered their lissomeness; but he was weak from
want of food, and no longer walked with the free elastic stride which
distinguished the Scottish infantry. His wrists gave him great pain,
being both terribly burned, and every movement of the hand sent a thrill
of agony up the arm. He persisted, however, in frequently opening and
clenching his hands, regardless of the pain, for he feared that did he
not do so they would stiffen and he would be unable to grasp a sword.
Fortunately the wounds were principally on the upper side of the thumbs,
where the flesh was burned away to the bone, but the sinews and muscles
of the wrists had to a great extent escaped.

He had not journeyed very far when he saw a light ahead and presently
perceived the houses of a village. A fire was lit in the centre, and a
number of figures were gathered round it.

“Something is going on,” Malcolm said to himself; “as likely as not they
have got some unfortunate prisoner. Whatever it be, I will steal in and
try to get some food. I cannot go much further without it; and as their
attention is occupied, I may find a cottage empty.”

Making his way round to the back of the houses, he approached one of the
cottages in the rear. He lifted the latch of the door and opened it a
little. All was still. With his drawn sword he entered. The room was
empty; a fire burned on the hearth, and on the table were some loaves
which had evidently been just baked. Malcolm fell upon one of them and
speedily devoured it, and, taking a long draught of rough country wine
from a skin hanging against the wall, he felt another man.

He broke another loaf in two and thrust the pieces into his doublet, and
then sallied out from the cottage again. Still keeping behind the houses
he made his way until he got within view of the fire. Here he saw a
sight which thrilled him with horror. Some eight or ten peasants and
forty or fifty women were yelling and shouting. Fastened against a
post in front of the fire were the remains of a prisoner. He had been
stripped, his ears, nose, hands, and feet cut off, and he was slowly
bleeding to death.

Four other men, bound hand and foot, lay close to the fire. By its
flames Malcolm saw the green scarves that told they were Scotchmen of
his own brigade, and he determined at once to rescue them or die in the
attempt. He crept forward until he reached the edge of the road; then he
raised a pistol and with a steady aim fired at one of the natives, who
fell dead across the fire.

Another shot laid another beside him before the peasants recovered from
their first surprise. Then with a loud shout in German, “Kill--kill! and
spare none!” Malcolm dashed forward. The peasants, believing that they
were attacked by a strong body, fled precipitately in all directions.
Malcolm, on reaching the prisoners, instantly severed their bonds.

“Quick, my lads!” he exclaimed; “we shall have them upon us again in a
minute.”

The men in vain tried to struggle to their feet--their limbs were too
numbed to bear them.

“Crawl to the nearest cottage!” Malcolm exclaimed; “we can hold it until
your limbs are recovered.”

He caught up from the ground some pikes and scythes which the peasants
had dropped in their flight, and aided the men to make their way to the
nearest cottage. They were but just in time; for the peasants, finding
they were not pursued, had looked round, and seeing but one opponent had
gained courage and were beginning to approach again. Malcolm barred the
door, and then taking down a skin of wine bade his companions take a
drink. There were loaves on the shelves, and these he cut up and handed
to them.

“Quick, lads!” he said; “stamp your legs and swing your arms, and get
the blood in motion. I will keep these fellows at bay a few minutes
longer.”

He reloaded his pistols and fired through the door, at which the
peasants were now hewing with axes. A cry and a heavy fall told him that
one of the shots had taken effect. Suddenly there was a smell of smoke.

“They have fired the roof,” Malcolm said. “Now, lads, each of you put a
loaf of bread under his jerkin. There is no saying when we may get more.
Now get ready and sally out with me. There are but six or eight men in
the village, and they are no match for us. They only dared to attack us
because they saw that you couldn’t walk.”

The door was opened, and headed by Malcolm the four Scotchmen dashed
out. They were assailed by a shower of missiles by the crowd as they
appeared, but as soon as it was seen that the men were on foot again the
peasants gave way. Malcolm shot one and cut down another, and the rest
scattered in all directions.

“Now, lads, follow me while we may,” and Malcolm again took to the
fields. The peasants followed for some distance, but when the soldiers
had quite recovered the use of their limbs Malcolm suddenly turned on
his pursuers, overtaking and killing two of them. Then he and his men
again continued their journey, the peasants no longer following. When at
some distance from the village he said:

“We must turn and make for the Lech again. It is no farther than it is
to Ingolstadt, and we shall find friends there. These peasants will go
on ahead and raise all the villagers against us, and we should never get
through. What regiment do you belong to, lads?” for in the darkness he
had been unable to see their faces.

“Your own, Captain Graheme. We were in charge of one of the wagons with
sick. The wheel came off, and we were left behind the convoy while we
were mending it. As we were at work, our weapons laid on the ground,
some twenty men sprang out from some bushes hard by and fell upon us. We
killed five or six of them, but were beaten down and ten of our number
were slain. They murdered all the sick in the wagons and marched us
away, bound, to this village where you found us. Sandy McAlister they
had murdered just as you came up, and we should have had a like horrible
fate had you been a few minutes later. Eh, sir! but it’s an awful death
to be cut in pieces by these devils incarnate!”

“Well, lads,” Malcolm said, “we will determine that they shall not take
us alive again. If we are overtaken or met by any of these gangs of
peasants we will fight till we die. None of us, I hope, are afraid of
death in fair strife, but the bravest might well shrink from such a
death as that of your poor comrade. Now let us see what arms we have
between us.”

Malcolm had his sword and pistols, two of the men had pikes, the other
two scythes fastened to long handles.

“These are clumsy weapons,” Malcolm said. “You had best fit short
handles to them, so as to make them into double handed swords.”

They were unable to travel far, for all were exhausted with the
sufferings they had gone through, but they kept on until they came upon
a village which had been fired when the troops marched through. The
walls of a little church were alone standing. It had, like the rest of
the village, been burned, but the shell still remained.

“So far as I can see,” Malcolm said, “the tower has escaped. Had it been
burned we should see through the windows. We may find shelter in the
belfry.”

On reaching the church they found that the entrance to the belfry tower
was outside the church, and to this, no doubt, it owed its escape from
the fire which had destroyed the main edifice. The door was strong and
defied their efforts to break it in.

“I must fire my pistol through the lock,” Malcolm said. “I do not
like doing so, for the sound may reach the ears of any peasants in the
neighbourhood; but we must risk it, for the cold is extreme, and to lie
down in the snow would be well nigh certain death.”

He placed his pistol to the keyhole and fired. The lock at once yielded
and the party entered the door.

“Before we mount,” Malcolm said, “let each pick up one of these blocks
of stone which have fallen from the wall. We will wedge the door from
behind, and can then sleep secure against a surprise.”

When the door was closed one of the men, who was a musketeer, struck
some sparks from a flint and steel on to a slow match which he carried
in his jerkin, and by its glow they were enabled to look around them.
The stone steps began to ascend close to the door, and by laying the
stones between the bottom step and the door they wedged the latter
firmly in its place. They then ascended the stairs, and found themselves
in a room some ten feet square, in which hung the bell which had called
the village to prayers. It hung from some beams which were covered with
a boarded floor, and a rough ladder led to a trapdoor, showing that
there was another room above. The floor of the room in which they stood
was of stone.

“Now, lads,” Malcolm said, “two of you make your way up that ladder and
rip up some of the planks of the flooring. See if there are any windows
or loopholes in the chamber above, and if so stuff your jerkins into
them; we will close up those here. In a few minutes we will have a
roaring fire; but we must beware lest a gleam of light be visible
without, for this belfry can be seen for miles round.”

Some of the boards were soon split up into fragments; but before the
light was applied to them Malcolm carefully examined each window and
loophole to be sure that they were perfectly stopped. Then the slow
match was placed in the centre of a number of pieces of dry and rotten
wood. One of the men kneeling down blew lustily, and in a few seconds a
flame sprang up. The wood was now heaped on, and a bright fire was soon
blazing high.

A trapdoor leading out on to the flat top of the tower was opened for
the escape of the smoke, and the party then seated themselves round the
fire, under whose genial warmth their spirits speedily rose. They now
took from their wallets the bread which they had brought away with them.

“If we had,” one of the soldiers said, “but a few flasks of Rhine wine
with us we need not envy a king.”

“No,” Malcolm replied, “we are better off at present than our comrades
who are sleeping in the snow round the watchfires; but for all that I
would that we were with them, for we have a long and dangerous march
before us. And now, lads, you can sleep soundly. There will be no
occasion to place a watch, for the door is securely fastened; but at the
first dawn of light we must be on our feet; for although I do not mean
to march until nightfall, we must remove the stoppings from the windows,
for should the eye of any passing peasant fall upon them, he will guess
at once that some one is sheltering here, and may proceed to find out
whether it be friend or foe.”

Having finished half their bread, for Malcolm had warned them to save
the other half for the next day, the men lay down round the fire, and
soon all were sound asleep.



CHAPTER XIV IN THE CHURCHTOWER


Malcolm was the first to awake, and was vexed to find by a stream of
light pouring down through the half open trapdoor above that it was
broad day. He roused the men, and the stoppings were at once removed
from the loopholes. The sun was already high, for the party, overpowered
with fatigue, had slept long and soundly.

Malcolm looked cautiously from the window; no one was in sight, and the
ruins of the village below lay black and deserted. The men resumed the
clothes which had been used for blocking the loopholes, and sat down
to pass the long hours which would elapse before the time for action
arrived. It was exceedingly cold, for there were loopholes on each side
of the chamber, and the wind blew keenly through.

“Sergeant,” Malcolm said, “we will risk a bit of fire again, for the
cold pierces to the bone; only be sure that you use perfectly dry wood.
Examine each piece to see that no drip from the roof has penetrated it.
If it is dry it will give but little smoke, and a slight vapour is not
likely to be observed rising from the top of the tower.”

The fire was again lighted, and the smoke was so slight that Malcolm had
little fear of its being observed.

An hour later, as the men were talking, Malcolm suddenly held up his
hand for silence, and the murmur of voices was heard without. Malcolm
rose to his feet to reconnoitre, standing far back from the loophole as
he did so. A group of some eight or ten peasants were standing looking
at the tower, while a woman was pointing to it and talking eagerly.

It was towards the windows that she was pointing, and Malcolm guessed at
once that, having returned in the early morning to see what remained
of her home, she had happened to notice the garments stuffed in the
windows, and had carried the news to some of her companions. Malcolm
regretted bitterly now that he had not set a watch, so that at the first
gleam of daylight the windows might have been unblocked; but it was now
too late.

“We shall have to fight for it, lads,” he said, turning round. “Our
clothes must have been seen early this morning, and there is a party
of peasants watching the tower. Of course they cannot know at present
whether we are friends or foes; but no doubt the news of last evening’s
doings has travelled through the country, and the peasants are on the
lookout for us, so they may well guess that we are here. However, we
shall soon see. Sergeant, place one of your men on sentry at the foot of
the stairs, but do not let him speak or give any signs of his presence
if the door is tried.”

One of the soldiers was placed on guard. Scarcely had he taken his
station when there was a knocking at the door, and shouts were heard
outside from the peasants calling on those within, if they were friends,
to come out. No answer was returned.

“It’s fortunate for you,” Malcolm muttered, “that we don’t come out, or
we should make short work of you; but I know you would fly like hares
if you saw us, and would bring the whole country down on us. No; we
must hold out here. Our only hope is to escape at night, or to hold this
place till some of our troops come along. At any moment some regiments
from the Lech may be marching forward to join the king.

“We must make our bread last, lads,” he said cheerfully to the men,
“for we may have to stand a long siege. Methinks we can hold this stone
staircase against all the peasants of this part of Bavaria; and we must
do so until we hear the sound of the Swedish drums; they may come along
at any time. If the worst comes to the worst one of us must start at
night and carry news of our peril to the Lech. We made a good supper
last night, and can fast for a bit. If we cut our bread up into small
portions we can hold out for days. There should be snow enough on the
tower top to furnish us with drink.”

After hammering at the door for some time, the peasants retired
convinced that there were none of their own people within the tower, and
that those who had slept there were the fugitives of whom they had been
in search during the night. These might, indeed, have departed in the
interval between the time when the woman first saw the traces of their
presence and her return with them; but they did not think that this was
so, for in that case they could not have fastened the door behind them.
The peasants accordingly withdrew a short distance from the church, and
three of their number were sent off in different directions to bring
up reinforcements. As soon as Malcolm saw this movement he knew that
concealment was useless, and began to make preparations for the defence.
First, he with the sergeant ascended to the roof of the tower. To his
disappointment he saw that the heat of the flames had melted the snow,
and that most of the water had run away. Some, however, stood in the
hollows and inequalities of the stone platform, where it had again
frozen into ice.

As the supply would be very precious, Malcolm directed that before any
moved about on the platform every piece of ice should be carefully taken
up and carried below. Here it was melted over the fire in one of
the iron caps, and was found to furnish three quarts of water. The
appearance of Malcolm and his companion on the tower had been hailed by
a shout of hatred and exultation by the peasants; but the defenders had
paid no attention to the demonstration, and had continued their work as
if regardless of the presence of their enemies.

On his return to the platform Malcolm found, looking over the low
parapet, that on the side farthest from the church great icicles hung
down from the mouth of the gutter, the water having frozen again as it
trickled from the platform. These icicles were three or four inches in
diameter and many feet in length. They were carefully broken off, and
were laid down on the platform where they would remain frozen until
wanted. Malcolm now felt secure against the attacks of thirst for
some days to come. The stones of the parapet were next tried, and were
without much trouble moved from their places, and were all carried to
the side in which the door was situated, in readiness to hurl down upon
any who might assault it. Some of the beams of the upper flooring were
removed from their places, and being carried down, were wedged against
the upper part of the door, securing it as firmly as did the stones
below. These preparations being finished, Malcolm took a survey of the
situation outside.

The group of peasants had increased largely, some thirty or forty men
armed with pikes, bills, and scythes being gathered in a body, while
many more could be seen across the country hurrying over the white plain
towards the spot. The windows of the lower apartment had been barricaded
with planks, partly to keep out missiles, partly for warmth. A good fire
now blazed in the centre, and the soldiers, confident in themselves and
their leader, cracked grim jokes as, their work being finished, they sat
down around it and awaited the attack, one of their number being placed
on the summit of the tower to give warning of the approach of the enemy.

“I would that we had a musket or two,” Malcolm said; “for we might then
keep them from the door. I have only some twenty charges for my pistols,
and the most of these, at any rate, I must keep for the defence of the
stairs.”

Presently the sentry from above called out that the peasants were moving
forward to the attack.

“Sergeant,” Malcolm said, “do you fasten my green scarf to a long strip
of plank and fix it to the top of the tower. We cannot fight under
a better banner. Now let us mount to the roof and give them a warm
reception.”

“Look out, sir,” the sentry exclaimed as Malcolm ascended the stair,
“three or four of them have got muskets.”

“Then we must be careful,” Malcolm said. “I don’t suppose they are much
of marksmen, but even a random shot will tell at times, and I want to
take you all back safe with me; so keep low when you get on the roof,
lads, and don’t show your heads more than you can help.”

Heralding their attack by a discharge from their muskets, whose balls
whistled harmlessly round the tower, the peasants rushed forward to the
door and commenced an assault upon it with hatchets and axes.

Malcolm and his men each lifted a heavy stone and rolled it over the
parapet, the five loosing the missiles simultaneously. There was a dull
crash, and with a terrible cry the peasants fled from the door. Looking
over, Malcolm saw that six or seven men had been struck down. Five of
these lay dead or senseless; two were endeavouring to drag themselves
away.

“That is lesson number one,” he said. “They will be more prudent next
time.”

The peasants, after holding a tumultuous council, scattered, most of
them making for a wood a short distance off.

“They are going to cut down a tree and use it as a battering ram,”
 Malcolm observed. “They know that these large stones are too heavy for
us to cast many paces from the foot of the wall. We must get to work
and break some of them up. That will not be difficult, for the wind and
weather have rotted many of them half through.”

The stones were for the most part from two to three feet long and nine
or ten inches square. Two were laid down on the platform some eighteen
inches apart and another placed across them. The four men then lifted
another stone, and holding it perpendicularly brought it down with all
their strength upon the unsupported centre of the stone, which broke in
half at once. To break it again required greater efforts, but it yielded
to the blows. Other stones were similarly treated, until a large pile
was formed of blocks of some ten inches each way, besides a number of
smaller fragments.

In half an hour the peasants reappeared with a slight well grown tree
some forty feet long which had been robbed of its branches. It was laid
down about fifty yards from the church, and then twenty men lifted it
near the butt and advanced to use it as a battering ram, with the small
end forward; but before they were near enough to touch the door the
bearers were arrested by a cry from the crowd as the defenders appeared
on the tower, and poising their blocks of stone above their heads,
hurled them down. Three of them flew over the heads of the peasants, but
the others crashed down among them, slaying and terribly mutilating two
of the bearers of the tree and striking several others to the ground.
The battering ram was instantly dropped, and before the Scotchmen had
time to lift another missile the peasants were beyond their reach.

“Lesson number two,” Malcolm said. “What will our friends do next, I
wonder?”

The peasants were clearly at a loss. A long consultation was held, but
this was not followed by any renewal of the attack.

“I think they must have made up their minds to starve us out, sir,” the
sergeant remarked as the hours went slowly by without any renewal of the
attack.

“Yes; either that, sergeant, or a night attack. In either case I
consider that we are safe for a time, but sooner or later our fate is
sealed unless aid comes to us, and therefore I propose that one of you
should tonight try and bear a message to the Lech. We can lower him down
by the bell rope from this window in the angle where the tower touches
the church. Keeping round by the church he will be in deep shadow until
he reaches the other end, and will then be close to the ruins of the
village. Before morning he could reach our camp.”

“I will undertake it myself, sir, if you will allow me,” the sergeant
said, while the other men also volunteered for the duty.

“You shall try first, sergeant,” Malcolm said. “It will be dangerous
work, for as the news of our being here spreads the peasants will be
coming in from all quarters. Their numbers are already greatly increased
since they commenced the attack, and there must be at least three or
four hundred men around us. They will be sure to keep a sharp lookout
against our escaping, and it will need all your care and caution to get
through them.”

“Never fear, sir,” the man replied confidently. “I have stalked the deer
scores of times, and it will be hard if I cannot crawl through a number
of thick witted Bavarian peasants.”

“Even beyond the village you will have to keep your eyes open, as you
may meet parties of peasants on their way here. Fortunately you will
have no difficulty in keeping the road, so well beaten is it by the
march of the army. If by tomorrow night no rescue arrives I shall
consider that you have been taken or killed, and shall try with the
others to make my way through. It would be better to die sword in hand
while we have still the strength to wield our arms than to be cooped
up here until too weak any longer to defend ourselves, and then to be
slowly tortured to death.”

As soon as it was dusk a sentry was placed on the top of the tower, with
orders to report the slightest sound or stir. During the day this had
not been necessary, for a view could be obtained from the windows, and
the men with firearms, who had now considerably increased in numbers,
kept up a constant fire at the tower.

An hour later the sentry reported that he could hear the sound of many
feet in the darkness, with the occasional snapping as of dry twigs.

“They are going to burn down the door,” Malcolm said. “That is what I
expected. Now, sergeant, is your time. They are all busy and intent upon
their purpose. You could not have a better time.”

The rope was fastened round the sergeant’s waist, and with some
difficulty he squeezed himself through the narrow window, after
listening attentively to discover if any were below.

All seemed perfectly still on this side, and he was gradually and
steadily lowered down. Presently those above felt the rope slack.
Another minute and it swung loosely. It was drawn up again, and Malcolm,
placing one of the men at the loophole, with instructions to listen
intently for any sound of alarm or conflict, turned his attention to the
other side.

Soon he saw a number of dark figures bearing on their heads great
bundles which he knew to be faggots approaching across the snow.

As they approached a brisk fire suddenly opened on the tower. Malcolm at
once called the sentry down.

“It is of no use exposing yourself,” he said, “and we could not do much
harm to them did we take to stoning them again. We have nothing to do
now but to wait.”

Soon a series of dull heavy crashes were heard as the faggots were
thrown down against the door. Malcolm descended the stairs until he
reached the lowest loophole which lighted them, and which was a few feet
above the top of the door. He took one of the men with him.

“Here are my flask and bullet pouch,” he said. “Do you reload my pistols
as I discharge them.”

For some minutes the sound of the faggots being thrown down continued,
then the footsteps were heard retreating, and all was quiet again.

“Now it is our turn again,” Malcolm said. “It is one thing to prepare
a fire and another to light it, my fine fellows. I expect that you have
forgotten that there are firearms here.”

Presently a light was seen in the distance, and two men with blazing
brands approached. They advanced confidently until within twenty yards
of the tower, then there was the sharp crack of a pistol, and one of
them fell forward on his face, the other hesitated and stood irresolute,
then, summoning up courage, he sprang forward.

As he did so another shot flashed out, and he, too, fell prostrate, the
brand hissing and spluttering in the snow a few feet from the pile of
brushwood. A loud yell of rage and disappointment arose on the night
air, showing how large was the number of peasants who were watching the
operations. Some time elapsed before any further move was made on the
part of the assailants, then some twenty points of light were seen
approaching.

“Donald,” Malcolm said to the soldier, “go up to the top of the tower
with your comrades. They are sure to light the pile this time, but if
it is only fired in one place you may possibly dash out the light with a
stone.”

The lights rapidly approached, but when the bearers came within forty
yards they stopped. They were a wild group, as, with their unkempt
hair and beards, and their rough attire, they stood holding the lighted
brands above their heads. A very tall and powerful man stood at their
head.

“Come on,” he said, “why do you hesitate? Let us finish with them.” And
he rushed forward.

Malcolm had his pistol lying on the sill of the loophole covering
him, and when the peasant had run ten paces he fired, and the man fell
headlong. The others stopped, and a second shot took effect among them.
With a yell of terror they hurled the brands towards the pile and fled.
Most of the brands fell short, others missed their aim, but from his
loophole Malcolm saw that one had fallen on to the outside faggot of the
pile.

Almost instantly a heavy stone fell in the snow close by, another,
and another. Malcolm stood with his eyes fixed on the brand. The twigs
against which it leaned were catching, and the flames began to shoot up.
Higher and higher they rose, and a shout of triumph from the peasants
told how keenly they were also watching. Still the heavy stones
continued to fall. The flames rose higher, and half the faggot was now
alight. Another minute and the fire would communicate with the pile.
Then there was a crash. A shower of sparks leapt up as the faggot,
struck by one of the heavy stones, was dashed from its place and lay
blazing twenty feet distant from the pile. There it burnt itself out,
and for a time the tower was safe.

For an hour the defenders watched the peasants, who had now lighted
great fires just out of pistol shot from the tower, and were gathered
thickly round them, the light flashing redly from pike head and scythe.

The uproar of voices was loud; but though the defenders guessed that
they were discussing the next plan of attack they could catch no meaning
from such words as reached them, for the patois of the Bavarian
peasants was unintelligible. At last a large number seized brands, some
approached as before towards the pile, the others scattered in various
directions, while the men with muskets again opened fire at the top of
the tower.

Malcolm took his post at the loophole awaiting attack, but the men in
front of him did not advance. Suddenly a light sprang up beneath him.
There was a sound of falling stones, but the light grew brighter and
brighter, and he knew that this time the pile had been fired. As he ran
upstairs he was met by one of the soldiers from above.

“They crept round by the back of the church, sir, and round at the foot
of the tower, and they had fired the pile before we saw that they were
there.”

“It cannot be helped,” Malcolm said, “they were sure to succeed sooner
or later. Call the others down from the roof.”

The door at the top of the stairs was now closed, and the crevices were
stuffed tightly with strips torn from the men’s clothes so as to prevent
the smoke from entering when the door below gave way to the flames. A
broad glare of light now lit up the scene, and showers of sparks, and an
occasional tongue of flame were visible through the window.

“Shut down the trapdoor in the roof,” Malcolm said, “that will check the
draught through the windows.”

The wood was dry, and what smoke made its way in through the window
found its way out through the loopholes of the upper chamber without
seriously incommoding those below.

“We can take it easy, now,” Malcolm said as he set the example by
sitting down against the wall. “It will be hours before the stonework
below will be cool enough to permit them to attack.”

“They are lighting a circle of fires all round the church,” one of the
soldiers said looking out.

“They think we shall be trying to escape, now that our door is burned.
They are too late; I trust our messenger is miles away by this time.”

In half an hour the flames died away, but a deep red glow showed that
the pile of embers was still giving out an intense heat. One of the
men was now placed on the top of the tower again, as a measure of
precaution, but it was certain that hours would elapse before an attack
could be made. The peasants, indeed, secure of their prey, evinced
no hurry to commence the attack, but spent the night in shouting and
singing round their fires, occasionally yelling threats of the fate
which awaited them against the defenders of the tower.

Towards daylight Malcolm commenced his preparations for defence. The
door was taken off its hinges and was laid on the stone stairs. These
were but two feet wide, the door itself being some three inches less.
The rope was fastened round its upper end to prevent it from sliding
down.

“I wish we had some grease to pour over it,” Malcolm said, “but dry as
it is it will be next to impossible for anyone to walk up that sharp
incline, and we four should be able to hold it against the peasants till
doomsday.”

It was not until broad daylight that the peasants prepared for the
attack. So long as the operation had been a distant one it had seemed
easy enough, but as in a confused mass they approached the open doorway
they realized that to ascend the narrow staircase, defended at the top
by desperate men, was an enterprise of no common danger, and that the
work which they had regarded as finished was in fact scarcely begun.

The greater part then hung back, but a band of men, who by their
blackened garments and swarthy faces Malcolm judged to be charcoal
burners, armed with heavy axes, advanced to the front, and with an air
of dogged resolution approached the door. The defenders gave no sign of
their presence, no pistol flashed out from window or loophole.

Striding through the still hot ashes the leader of the woodmen passed
through the doorway and advanced up the stairs. These ran in short
straight flights round the tower, lighted by narrow loopholes. No
resistance was encountered until he reached the last turning, where
a broader glare of light came from the open doorway, where two of the
soldiers, pike in hand, stood ready to repel them. With a shout to his
followers to come on, the peasant sprang forward. He ascended three
steps, and then, as he placed his foot upon the sharply inclined
plane of the door, which he had not noticed, he stumbled forward. His
companions, supposing he had been pierced with a spear, pressed on after
him, but each fell when they trod upon the door until a heap of men
cumbered the stair. These were not unharmed, for with their long pikes
the Scottish spearmen ran them through and through as they lay.

Their bodies afforded a foothold to those who followed, but these could
make but little way, for as but one could advance at a time, each as he
came on was slain by the pikes. Finding that two were well able to hold
the door, Malcolm with the other ran up to the top of the tower, and
toppled over the stones of the parapet upon the mass gathered around
the door. These at once scattered, and those on the stairs, finding
themselves unable to get forward, for the narrow passage was now
completely choked with the dead, made their way out again and rejoined
their comrades.

“I expect they will send their musketeers first next time,” Malcolm said
as he rejoined those below, leaving the soldier on the watch. “Now let
us get the door up again, and bring the dead here; we can form a barrier
with them breast high.”

The door was quickly shifted on one side, and then the troopers brought
up the dead, who were eleven in number.

“Now replace the door,” Malcolm ordered; “fill your iron caps with
blood--there is plenty flowing from these fellows--and pour it over the
door, it will be as good as oil.”

This was done, and the bodies were then piled shoulder high across the
door.

“They can fire as much as they like now,” Malcolm said, “they will be no
nearer, and I defy anyone to climb up that door now.”



CHAPTER XV A TIMELY RESCUE


Although unaware how much more formidable the task before them had
become, the peasants were disheartened by their defeat, and even the
boldest hesitated at the thought of again attacking foes so formidably
posted. None of those who had returned were able to explain what was the
obstacle which had checked their advance. All that they could tell was,
that those before them had fallen, in some cases even before they were
touched by the spears of the defenders. This mystery added to the dread
which the assault of so difficult a position naturally inspired, and
some hours were spent in discussing how the next attack should be made.
Many indeed were strongly in favour of remaining quietly around the
tower and starving its defenders into surrendering.

Others advocated an attempt to stifle them by heaping green wood and
damp straw round the tower; but the more timid pointed out that
many would be killed in carrying out the task by the firearms of the
besieged, and that even were the combustibles placed in position and
lighted the success of the experiment would be by no means certain,
as the besieged might stuff up all the orifices, or at the worst might
obtain sufficient fresh air on the top of the tower to enable them to
breathe.

“You are forgetting,” one of the peasants exclaimed, “the powder wagon
which broke down as Count Tilly retreated from the Lech. Did we not
carry off the powder barrels and hide them, partly to prevent them
falling into the hands of these accursed Swedes, partly because the
powder would last us for years for hunting the wolf and wild boar? We
have only to stow these inside the tower to blow it into the air.”

The idea was seized with shouts of acclamation. Most of the peasants who
had assisted in carrying off the contents of the wagon were present, and
these started instantly to dig up the barrels which they had taken as
their share of the booty. The shouts of satisfaction and the departure
of forty or fifty men at full speed in various directions did not pass
unnoticed by the garrison of the tower.

“They have got a plan of some sort,” Malcolm said; “what it is I have no
idea, but they certainly seem confident about it. Look at those fellows
throwing up their caps and waving their arms. I do not see how we can be
attacked, but I do not like these signs of confidence on their part,
for they know now how strong our position is. It seems to me that we are
impregnable except against artillery.”

Unable to repress his uneasiness Malcolm wandered from window to window
watching attentively what was going on without, but keeping himself as
far back as possible from the loopholes; for the men with muskets kept
up a dropping fire at the openings, and although their aim was poor,
bullets occasionally passed in and flattened themselves against the
opposite walls.

“There is a man returning,” he said in about half an hour; “he is
carrying something on his shoulder, but I cannot see what it is.”

In another ten minutes the man had reached the group of peasants
standing two or three hundred yards from the church, and was greeted
with cheers and waving of hats.

“Good heavens!” Malcolm exclaimed suddenly, “it is a barrel of powder.
They must have stripped some broken down ammunition wagon. This is a
danger indeed.”

The men grasped their weapons and rose to their feet at the news,
prepared to take any steps which their young officer might command,
for his promptitude and ingenuity had inspired them with unbounded
confidence in him.

“We must at all hazards,” he said after a few minutes thought, “prevent
them from storing these barrels below. Remove the barricade of bodies
and then carry the door down the stairs. We must fix it again on the
bottom steps. The bottom stair is but a foot or two inside the doorway;
if you place it there it will hinder their rushing up to attack you, and
your pikes, as you stand above it, will prevent any from placing their
barrels inside.

“I will take my place at the loophole as before. We cannot prevent their
crawling round from behind as they did to light the faggots; but if they
pile them outside, they may blow in a hole in the wall of the tower, but
it is possible that even then it may not fall. Two will be sufficient to
hold the stairs, at any rate for the present. Do you, Cameron, take
your place on the tower, and drop stones over on any who may try to make
their way round from behind; even if you do no harm you will make them
careful and delay the operation, and every hour now is of consequence.”

Malcolm’s instructions were carried out, and all was in readiness
before the peasants, some of whom had to go considerable distances, had
returned with the powder.

The lesson of the previous evening had evidently not been lost upon the
peasants, for Malcolm saw a tall man who was acting as their leader wave
his hand, and those who had brought the powder started to make a detour
round the church. Malcolm, finding that no movement was being made
towards the front, and that at present he could do nothing from his
loophole, ran up to the top of the tower and took his place by the
soldier who was lying down on the roof and looking over the edge.

Presently the first of the peasants appeared round the corner of the
main building, and dashed rapidly across to the angle of the tower. Two
heavy stones were dropped, but he had passed on long before they had
reached the bottom. Man after man followed, and Malcolm, seeing that he
could do nothing to stop them, again ran down. As he did so he heard a
scream of agony. The leading peasants had reached the doorway, but as
they dashed in to place their barrels of powder they were run through
and through by the spears of the pikemen. They fell half in and half out
of the doorway, and the barrels rolled some distance away. Those behind
them stopped panic stricken at their sudden fall. Several of them
dropped their barrels and fled, while others ran round the angle of the
tower again, coming in violent contact with those following them; all
then hurried round behind the church. Malcolm stamped his feet with
vexation.

“What a fool I am,” he muttered, “not to have thought of a sortie! If
we had all held ourselves in readiness to spring out, we might have cut
down the whole of them; at any rate none would have got off with their
barrels.”

This unexpected failure greatly damped the spirit of the peasants, and
there was much consultation among them before any fresh move was made.
As he saw that they were fully occupied, and paying no heed to the
tower, Malcolm said to his men:

“I am going outside; prepare to help me up over the door again quickly
if necessary.”

Leaving his sword behind him, he took a leap from the step above the
inclined plane and landed at the bottom, and at once threw himself down
outside. With his dagger he removed the hoops of one of the barrels, and
scattered the contents thickly along the front of the tower. None of the
peasants perceived him, for there were many bodies lying round the
foot of the tower; and even had any looked that way they would not have
noticed that one prone figure had been added to the number.

Crawling cautiously along Malcolm pushed two other barrels before him,
and opening them as before, spread the contents of one upon the ground
near the side of the tower, and the other by the hinder face. The thick
black layer on the snow would have told its tale instantly to a soldier,
but Malcolm had little fear of the peasants in their haste paying
attention to it. When his task was completed he crawled back again
to the door and laid a train from the foot of the slide to the powder
without.

“I will remain here,” he said, “for the present. Do one of you take your
place in the belfry. Tell Cameron to shout down to you what is passing
behind, and do you run instantly down the stairs to tell me.”

The peasants advanced next time accompanied by a strong force of their
armed comrades. As before they came round from behind, intending to
stack their barrels in the angle there. As the bearers of the first two
or three powder barrels came round the corner Cameron shouted the news,
and the soldier below ran down to Malcolm, who fired his pistol into
the train. A broad flash of fire rose round the tower followed
instantaneously by two heavy explosions. There was silence for an
instant, and then a chorus of shrieks and yells.

The powder barrels borne by the two first men had exploded, their heads
having been knocked in previously to admit of their ignition. Some
thirty of the peasants were killed or terribly mutilated by the
explosion, and the rest took to their heels in terror, leaving their
wounded comrades on the ground.

The echoes of the explosion had scarce died away when a shout of terror
broke from the main body of peasants, and Malcolm saw them flying in
all directions. An instant afterwards the ringing sound of the Swedish
trumpets was heard, and a squadron of horse galloped down full speed.
The peasants attempted no resistance, but fled in all directions, hotly
pursued by the Swedes, who broke up into small parties and followed
the fugitives cross the country cutting down great numbers of them. The
Swedish leader at once rode up to the foot of the tower, where Malcolm
had already sallied out.

“I am glad indeed I am in time, Captain Graheme; we have ridden without
drawing rein since your messenger arrived at four o’clock this morning.”

“Thanks indeed, Captain Burgh,” Malcolm replied. “Your coming is most
welcome; though I think we have given the peasants so hot a lesson that
they would not have attacked us again, and by tightening our waistbelts
we could have held on for another three or four days.”

“I see that you have punished them heavily,” the Swedish officer said,
looking round at the bodies; “but what was the explosion I heard?”

“You will see its signs behind the tower,” Malcolm said as he led the
way there. “They tried to blow us up, but burnt their own fingers.”

The scene behind the tower was ghastly. Some thirty peasants lay with
their clothes completely burned from their bodies, the greater portion
of them dead, but some still writhing in agony. Malcolm uttered an
exclamation of horror.

“It were a kindness to put these wretches out of their misery,” the
Swede said, and dismounting he passed his sword through the bodies of
the writhing men. “You know I am in favour of carrying on the war as
mercifully as may be,” he continued turning to Malcolm, “for we have
talked the matter over before now; and God forbid that I should strike
a fallen foe; but these poor wretches were beyond help, and it is true
mercy to end their sufferings.”

“They have had a heavy lesson,” Malcolm said; “there are eleven more
dead up in the belfry, which they tried to carry by storm, and a dozen
at least crushed by stones.

“You and your three men have indeed given a good account of yourselves,”
 Captain Burgh exclaimed; “but while I am talking you are fasting. Here
is a bottle of wine, a cold chicken, and a manchet of bread which I put
in my wallet on starting; let us breakfast, for though I do not pretend
to have been fasting as you have, the morning ride has given me an
appetite. I see your fellows are hard at work already on the viands
which my orderly brought for them in his havresack; but first let us
move away to the tree over yonder, for verily the scent of blood and of
roasted flesh is enough to take away one’s appetite, little squeamish as
these wars have taught us to be.”

Captain Burgh asked no questions until Malcolm had finished his meal. “I
have plenty more food,” he said, “for we have brought three led horses
well laden; but it were better that you eat no more at present, tis ill
overloading a fasting stomach. My men will not be back from the pursuit
for a couple of hours yet, for they will not draw rein so long as their
horses can gallop, so excited are they over the tales of the horrible
cruelties which have been perpetrated on all our men who have fallen
into the hands of the peasants, so now you can tell me in full the tale
of your adventures. I had no time to ask any questions of your sergeant,
for we were called up and sent off five minutes after he arrived with
the news that you with three men were beleaguered here by a party of
peasants.”

Malcolm related the whole incidents which had befallen him since he had
been suddenly felled and made captive by the women in the hut in the
village. The Swede laughed over this part of the adventure.

“To think,” he said, “of you, a dashing captain of the Green Brigade,
being made captive by a couple of old women. There is more than one
gallant Scot, if reports be true, has fallen a captive to German
maidens, but of another sort; to be taken prisoner and hid in a straw
yard is too good.”

“It was no laughing matter, I can tell you,” Malcolm said, “though
doubtless it will serve as a standing jest against me for a long time;
however, I am so thankful I have got out of the scrape that those may
laugh who will.”

When Malcolm finished his story Captain Burgh said: “You have managed
marvellously well indeed, Graheme, and can well afford to put up with a
little laughter anent that matter of the women, for in truth there
are few who would with three men have held a post against four or five
hundred, as you have done--ay, and fairly defeated them before I came on
the scene. That thought of yours of laying the door upon the stairs
was a masterly one, and you rarely met and defeated every device of the
enemy.

“Now, if you will, I will mount this stronghold of yours with you, and
see exactly how it stands, for I shall have to tell the tale a score of
times at least when I get back to camp, and I can do it all the better
after I have seen for myself the various features of the place.”

By the time they had mounted the top of the tower and Captain Burgh had
fully satisfied himself as to the details of the defence the troopers
began to return. Their horses were far too fatigued with the long ride
from the camp and the subsequent pursuit to be able to travel farther.
Fires were accordingly lit, rations distributed, and a halt ordered till
the following morning, when, at daybreak, they returned to the Lech.

Two days later Malcolm and his men marched forward with a brigade
which was advancing to reinforce the army under Gustavus, and reached
Ingolstadt on the day when the king raised the siege, and accompanied
him on his march to Munich.

Malcolm on rejoining was greeted with great pleasure by his comrades,
who had made up their minds that he had in some way fallen a victim to
the peasants. The noncommissioned officers and men of his party had been
severely reprimanded for leaving the village without finding him. In
their defence they declared that they had searched every house and shed,
and, having found no sign of him, or of any struggle having taken place,
they supposed that he must have returned alone. But their excuses were
not held to be valid, the idea of Malcolm having left his men without
orders being so preposterous that it was held it should never have been
entertained for a moment by them.

“I shall never be anxious about you again,” Nigel Graheme said, when
Malcolm finished the narrative of his adventures to the officers of his
regiment as they sat round the campfire on the evening when he rejoined
them. “This is the third or fourth time that I have given you up for
dead. Whatever happens in the future, I shall refuse to believe the
possibility of any harm having come to you, and shall be sure that
sooner or later you will walk quietly into camp with a fresh batch of
adventures to tell us. Whoever of us may be doomed to lay our bones in
this German soil, it will not be you. Some good fairy has distinctly
taken charge of you, and there is no saying what brilliant destiny may
await you.”

“But he must keep clear of the petticoats, Graheme,” Colonel Munro
laughed; “evidently danger lurks for him there, and if he is caught
napping again some Delilah will assuredly crop the hair of this young
Samson of ours.”

“There was not much of Delilah in that fury who felled me with a mallet,
colonel,” Malcolm laughed; “however, I will be careful in future, and
will not give them a chance.”

“Ah! it may come in another form next time, Malcolm,” Munro said; “this
time it was an old woman, next time it may be a young one. Beware, my
boy! they are far the most dangerous, innocent though they may look.”

A laugh ran round the circle.

“Forewarned forearmed, colonel,” Malcolm said sturdily, “I will be on
my guard against every female creature, young or old, in future. But
I don’t think that in this affair the woman has had much to boast
about--she and her friends had best have left me alone.”

“That is so, Malcolm,” the colonel said warmly. “You have borne yourself
well and bravely, and you have got an old head on those young shoulders
of yours. You are as full of plans and stratagems as if you had been
a campaigner for the last half century; and no man, even in the Green
Brigade, no, not Hepburn himself, could have held that church tower more
ably than you did. It will be a good tale to tell the king as we ride
on the march tomorrow, for he loves a gallant deed, and the more so when
there is prudence and good strategy as well as bravery. He has more than
once asked if you have been getting into any new adventures, and seemed
almost surprised when I told him that you were doing your duty with your
company. He evidently regards it as your special mission to get into
harebrained scrapes. He regards you, in fact, as a pedagogue might view
the pickle of the school.”

There was a general laugh at Malcolm’s expense.

“I don’t know how it is I am always getting into scrapes,” the lad said
half ruefully when the laugh subsided. “I am sure I don’t want to get
into them, colonel, and really I have never gone out of my way to do so,
unless you call my march to help the Count of Mansfeld going out of my
way. All the other things have come to me without any fault of my own.”

“Quite so, Graheme,” the colonel said smiling; “that’s always the excuse
of the boy who gets into scrapes. The question is, Why do these things
always happen to you and to nobody else? If you can explain that your
whole case is made out. But don’t take it seriously, Malcolm,” he
continued, seeing that the lad looked really crestfallen.

“You know I am only laughing, and there is not a man here, including
myself, who does not envy you a little for the numerous adventures which
have fallen to your lot, and for the courage and wisdom which you have
shown in extricating yourself from them.”

“And now, please, will you tell me, colonel,” Malcolm said more
cheerfully, “why we are turning our backs upon Ingolstadt and are
marching away without taking it? I have been away for ten days, you
know, and it is a mystery to me why we are leaving the only enemy
between us and Vienna, after having beaten him so heartily a fortnight
since, without making an effort to rout him thoroughly.”

“Maximilian’s position is a very strong one, my lad, and covered as he
is by the guns of Ingolstadt it would be even a harder task to dislodge
him than it was to cross the Lech in his teeth. But you are wrong; his
is not the only army which stands between us and Vienna. No sooner
is old Tilly dead than a greater than Tilly appears to oppose us.
Wallenstein is in the field again. It has been known that he has for
some time been negotiating with the emperor, who has been imploring him
to forgive the slight that was passed upon him before, and to again take
the field.

“Wallenstein, knowing that the game was in his hands, and that the
emperor must finally agree to any terms which he chose to dictate, has,
while he has been negotiating, been collecting an army; and when the
emperor finally agreed to his conditions, that he was at the conclusion
of the peace to be assured a royal title and the fief of a sovereign
state, he had an army ready to his hand, and is now on the point of
entering Bohemia with 40,000 men.”

“What his plans may be we cannot yet say, but at any rate it would
not do to be delaying here and leaving Germany open to Wallenstein to
operate as he will. It was a stern day at Leipzig, but, mark my words,
it will be sterner still when we meet Wallenstein; for, great captain as
Tilly undoubtedly was, Wallenstein is far greater, and Europe will hold
its breath when Gustavus and he, the two greatest captains of the age,
meet in a pitched battle.”

At Munich the regiments of Munro and Spynie were quartered in the
magnificent Electoral Palace, where they fared sumptuously and enjoyed
not a little their comfortable quarters and the stores of old wines in
the cellar. Sir John Hepburn was appointed military governor of Munich.

In the arsenal armour, arms, and clothing sufficient for 10,000 infantry
were found, and a hundred and forty pieces of cannon were discovered
buried beneath the floors of the palace. Their carriages were ready in
the arsenal, and they were soon put in order for battle. For three
weeks the army remained at Munich, Gustavus waiting to see what course
Wallenstein was taking. The Imperialist general had entered Bohemia,
had driven thence, with scarcely an effort, Arnheim and the Saxons, and
formed a junction near Eger with the remnants of the army which had been
beaten on the Lech; then, leaving a strong garrison in Ratisbon, he had
marched on with an army of sixty thousand men.

He saw that his best plan to force Gustavus to loose his hold of
Bavaria was to march on some important point lying between him and North
Germany. He therefore selected a place which Gustavus could not abandon,
and so would be obliged to leave Bavaria garrisoned only by a force
insufficient to withstand the attacks of Pappenheim, who had collected
a considerable army for the recovery of the territories of Maximilian.
Such a point was Nuremberg, the greatest and strongest of the free
cities, and which had been the first to open its gates to Gustavus. The
Swedish king could hardly abandon this friendly city to the assaults of
the Imperialists, and indeed its fall would have been followed by the
general defection from his cause of all that part of Germany, and he
would have found himself isolated and cut off from the North.

As soon as Gustavus perceived that Nuremberg was the point towards
which Wallenstein was moving, he hastened at once from Munich to the
assistance of the threatened city. The forces at his disposal had been
weakened by the despatch of Marshal Horn to the Lower Palatinate, and
by the garrisons left in the Bavarian cities, and he had but 17,000 men
disposable to meet the 60,000 with whom Wallenstein was advancing. He
did not hesitate, however, but sent off messengers at once to direct
the corps in Swabia under General Banner, Prince William of Weimar, and
General Ruthven, to join him, if possible, before Nuremberg.

Marching with all haste he arrived at Nuremberg before Wallenstein
reached it, and prepared at once for the defence of the city. He first
called together the principal citizens of Nuremberg and explained to
them his position. He showed them that were he to fall back with his
army he should be able to effect a junction with the troops under
his generals, and would ere long be in a position to offer battle to
Wallenstein upon more equal terms, but that were he to do so he would be
forced to abandon the city to the vengeance of the Imperialists. He told
them that did he remain before the city he must to a great extent be
dependent upon them for food and supplies, as he would be beleaguered
by Wallenstein, and should be unable to draw food and forage from the
surrounding country; he could therefore only maintain himself by the aid
of the cordial goodwill and assistance of the citizens.

The people of Nuremberg were true to the side they had chosen, and
placed the whole of their resources at his disposal. Gustavus at once
set his army to work to form a position in which he could confront the
overwhelming forces of the enemy. Round the city, at a distance of about
thirteen hundred yards from it, he dug a ditch, nowhere less than twelve
feet wide and eight deep, but, where most exposed to an attack, eighteen
feet wide and twelve deep. Within the circuit of this ditch he erected
eight large forts and connected them with a long and thick earthen
parapet strengthened with bastions. On the ramparts and forts three
hundred cannon, for the most part supplied by the city of Nuremberg,
were placed in position. As the camp between the ramparts and the town
was traversed by the river Pegnitz numerous bridges were thrown across
it, so that the whole force could concentrate on either side in case of
attack. So vigorously did the army, assisted by the citizens, labour at
these works, that they were completed in fourteen days after Gustavus
reached Nuremberg.

It was on the 19th of June that the Swedish army arrived there, and on
the 30th Wallenstein and Maximilian of Bavaria appeared before it
with the intention of making an immediate assault. The works, however,
although not yet quite completed, were so formidable that Wallenstein
saw at once that the success of an assault upon them would be extremely
doubtful, and, in spite of the earnest entreaties of Maximilian to lead
his army to the assault, he decided to reduce the place by starvation.
This method appeared at once easy and certain. The whole of the
surrounding country belonged to the Bishop of Bamberg, who was devoted
to the Imperialist cause, and he possessed all the towns, and strong
places in the circle of country around Nuremberg. Wallenstein had
brought with him vast stores of provisions, and could draw upon the
surrounding country for the further maintenance of his army. It was only
necessary then to place himself in a position where the Swedes could not
attack him with a hope of success.

Such a position lay at a distance of three miles from Nuremberg, where
there was a wooded hill known as the Alte Veste. Round this Wallenstein
threw up a circle of defences, consisting of a ditch behind which was an
interlacement of forest trees, baggage wagons, and gabions, forming an
almost insurpassable obstacle to an attacking force. Within this circle
he encamped his army, formed into eight divisions, each about seven
thousand strong, while two considerable bodies of troops in the diocese
of Bamberg and the Upper Palatinate prepared to oppose any forces
approaching to the aid of Nuremberg, and the Croats, horse and foot,
scoured the country day and night to prevent any supplies entering the
city. Having thus adopted every means for starving out the beleaguered
army and city, Wallenstein calmly awaited the result.



CHAPTER XVI THE SIEGE OF NUREMBERG


Drearily passed the days in the beleaguered camp, varied only by an
occasional raid by small parties to drive in cattle from the surrounding
country, or to intercept convoys of provisions on their way to the
Imperialists’ camp. So active and watchful were the Croats that these
enterprises seldom succeeded, although, to enable his men to move with
celerity, Gustavus mounted bodies of infantry on horseback. Thus they
were enabled to get over the ground quickly, and if attacked they
dismounted and fought on foot.

To these mounted infantry the name of dragoons was given, and so useful
were they found that the institution was adopted in other armies, and
dragoons became a recognized portion of every military force. In time
the custom of dismounting and fighting on foot was gradually abandoned,
and dragoons became regular cavalry; but in modern times the utility of
Gustavus’s invention of mounted infantry has been again recognized,
and in all the small wars in which England has been engaged bodies of
mounted infantry have been organized. Ere long mounted infantry will
again become a recognized arm of the service.

But these raids in search of provisions occupied but a small portion
of the army. The rest passed their time in enforced idleness. There was
nothing to be done save to clean and furbish their arms and armour; to
stand on the ramparts and gaze on the distant heights of the Alte Veste,
to watch the solid columns of the Imperial army, which from time to time
Wallenstein marched down from his stronghold and paraded in order of
battle, as a challenge to the Swedes to come out and fight, or to loiter
through the narrow streets of Nuremberg, and to talk to the citizens,
whose trade and commerce were now entirely at a standstill. Malcolm,
with the restlessness of youth, seldom stayed many hours quiet in camp.
He did not care either for drinking or gambling; nor could he imitate
the passive tranquillity of the old soldiers, who were content to sleep
away the greater part of their time. He therefore spent many hours every
day in the city, where he speedily made many acquaintances.

In the city of Nuremberg time dragged as slowly as it did in the camp.
At ordinary times the centre of a quiet and busy trade, the city was
now cut off from the world. The shops were for the most part closed; the
artisans stood idle in the streets, and the townsfolk had nought to do,
save to gather in groups and discuss the times, or to take occasional
excursions beyond the gates into the camp of their allies. The advances
then of the young Scottish officer were willingly responded to, and he
soon became intimate in the houses of all the principal citizens; and
while the greater part of his comrades spent their evenings in drinking
and gambling, he enjoyed the hours in conversation and music in the
houses of the citizens of Nuremberg.

The long inaction brought its moral consequences, and the troops became
demoralized and insubordinate from their enforced idleness. Plundering
and acts of violence became so common that Gustavus was obliged to issue
the most stringent ordinances to restore discipline; and an officer and
many men had to be executed before the spirit of insubordination was
quelled. In order to pass some of the hours of the days Malcolm obtained
leave from one of the great clockmakers of the town--for Nuremberg was
at that time the centre of the craft of clockmaking--to allow him to
work in his shop, and to learn the mysteries of his trade.

Most of the establishments were closed, but Malcolm’s acquaintance
was one of the wealthiest of the citizens, and was able to keep his
craftsmen at work, and to store the goods he manufactured until better
times should return. Malcolm began the work purely to occupy his time,
but he presently came to take a lively interest in it, and was soon
able to take to pieces and put together again the cumbrous but simple
machines which constituted the clocks of the period.

Workshops were not in those days factories. The master of a craft
worked, surrounded by his craftsmen and apprentices. Every wheel and
spring were made upon the premises, fashioned and finished with chisel
and file; and there was an interest in the work far beyond any which it
possesses in the present day, when watches are turned out wholesale, the
separate parts being prepared by machinery, and the work of the artisan
consisting solely in the finishing and putting them together.

Laying aside his armour and gay attire, and donning a workman’s apron,
Malcolm sat at the bench by the side of the master, shaping and filing,
and listening to his stories connected with the trade and history
of Nuremberg. He anticipated no advantage from the knowledge he was
gaining, but regarded it simply as a pleasant way of getting through a
portion of the day.

Thus for three months the armies confronted each other. Provisions were
becoming terribly scarce, the magazines of the city were emptying fast,
and although working night and day, the mills of the place did not
suffice to grind flour for the needs of so many mouths. The population
of the city itself was greatly swollen by the crowds of Protestant
fugitives who had fled there for refuge on the approach of the
Imperialists, and the magazines of the city dwindled fast under the
demands made upon them by this addition, and that of the Swedish army,
to the normal population. Fever broke out in the city and camp. The
waters of the Pegnitz were tainted by the carcasses of dead horses and
other animals. The supplies of forage had long since been exhausted, and
the baggage and troop animals died in vast numbers.

Still there was no sign of a change. Wallenstein would not attack,
Gustavus could not. The Swedish king waited to take advantage of some
false move on the part of the Imperial commander; but Wallenstein was as
great a general as himself, and afforded him no opening, turning a deaf
ear to the entreaties and importunities of Maximilian that he would end
the tedious siege by an attack upon the small and enfeebled army around
Nuremberg.

All this time Gustavus was in constant communication with his generals
outside, his messengers making their way by speed or stratagem through
the beleaguering Croats, and kept up the spirits of his men by daily
reviews and by the cheerful countenance which he always wore.

The Swedish columns were gradually closing in towards Nuremberg. One was
led by the chancellor Oxenstiern, to whom had been committed the care of
the Middle Rhine and the Lower Palatinate, where he had been confronted
by the Spanish troops under Don Philip de Sylva.

On the 11th July, leaving Horn with a small force to oppose the
Spaniards, the chancellor set out to join his master. On the way he
effected a junction with the forces of the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel.
This general had been opposed in Westphalia by Pappenheim, but he seized
the opportunity when the latter had marched to relieve Maestricht, which
was besieged by Frederic of Nassau, to march away and join Oxenstiern.

The Scotch officers Ballandine and Alexander Hamilton were with their
regiment in the Duchy of Magdeburg. When the news of the king’s danger
reached them without waiting for instructions they marched to Halle and
joining a portion of the division of the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, to which
they were attached, pushed on to Zeitz, and were there joined by the
duke himself, who had hurried on from the Lake of Constance, attended
only by his guards, but, picking up five Saxon regiments in Franconia.
Together they passed on to Wurtzburg, where they joined Oxenstiern and
the Landgrave of Hesse-Cassel. General Banner, with the fourth corps,
was at Augsburg, opposed to Cratz, who was at the head of the remains of
Tilly’s old army.

Slipping away from his foes he marched to Windsheim, and was there
joined by a body of troops under Bernhard of Weimar. The force from
Wurtzburg soon afterwards came up, and the whole of the detached corps,
amounting to 49,000 men, being now collected, they marched to Bruck,
ten miles north of Nuremberg. Three days later, on the 16th of August,
Gustavus rode into their camp, and on the 21st marched at their head
into Nuremberg, unhindered by the Imperialists.

Gustavus probably calculated that the Imperialists would now move down
and offer battle; but Wallenstein, who had detached 10,000 men to bring
up supplies, could not place in the field a number equal to those of the
reinforcements, and preferred to await an attack in the position which
he had prepared with such care. He knew the straits to which Nuremberg
and its defenders were reduced, and the impossibility there would be of
feeding the new arrivals.

The country round for a vast distance had been long since stripped of
provisions, and Gustavus had no course open to him but to march
away with his army and leave the city to its fate, or to attack the
Imperialists in their stronghold.

On the day after his arrival, the 21st of August, Gustavus marched out
and opened a cannonade upon the Imperialists’ position, in order to
induce Wallenstein to come down and give battle. Wallenstein was not,
however, to be tempted, but kept his whole army busy with the spade and
axe further intrenching his position. The next day the king brought his
guns nearer to the enemy’s camp, and for twenty-four hours kept up a
heavy fire. The only result, however, was that Wallenstein fell back
a few hundred yards on to two ridges, on one of which was the ruined
castle called the Alte Veste; the other was known as the Altenburg. The
ascent to these was steep and craggy, and they were covered by a thick
forest. Here Wallenstein formed in front of his position a threefold
barrier of felled trees woven and interlaced with each other, each
barrier rising in a semicircle one above the other. Before the Swedish
cannon ceased to fire the new position of the Imperialists had been made
impregnable.

Unfortunately for Gustavus he had at this moment lost the services
of the best officer in his army, Sir John Hepburn, whom he had always
regarded as his right hand. The quarrel had arisen from some trifling
circumstance, and Gustavus in the heat of the moment made some
disparaging allusion to the religion of Hepburn, who was a Catholic and
also to that officer’s love of dress and finery. The indignant Hepburn
at once resigned his commission and swore never again to draw his sword
in the service of the king--a resolution to which he adhered, although
Gustavus, when his anger cooled, endeavoured in every way to appease the
angry soldier.

As he persisted in his resolution Colonel Munro was appointed to the
command of the Green Brigade. It is probable that the quarrel was the
consummation of a long standing grievance. Hepburn as well as the other
Scottish officers had shared the indignation of Sir John Hamilton when
the latter resigned in consequence of the Swedish troop being placed in
the post of honour at the storm of the castle of Marienburg after the
Scots had done all the work. There had, too, been much discontent among
them concerning the Marquis of Hamilton, whom they considered that
Gustavus had treated ungenerously; and still more concerning Lieutenant
Colonel Douglas, whom Gustavus had committed to a common prison for
a slight breach of etiquette, a punishment at which the English
ambassador, Sir Harry Vane, remonstrated, and which the whole Scottish
officers considered an insult to them and their country.

There were probably faults on both sides. The Scottish troops were the
backbone of the Swedish army, and to them were principally due almost
the whole of the successes which Gustavus had gained. Doubtless
they presumed upon the fact, and although Gustavus recognized his
obligations, as is shown by the immense number of commands and
governorships which he bestowed upon his Scottish officers, he may
well have been angered and irritated by the insistance with which they
asserted their claims and services. It was, however, a most unfortunate
circumstance that just at this critical moment he should have lost the
services of an officer whose prudence was equal to his daring, and who
was unquestionably one of the greatest military leaders of his age.

It is probable that had Hepburn remained by his side the king would
not have undertaken the attack upon the impregnable position of the
Imperialists. Deprived of the counsellor upon whose advice he had
hitherto invariably relied, Gustavus determined to attempt to drive
Wallenstein from his position, the decision being finally induced by a
ruse of the Imperialist commander, who desired nothing so much as that
the Swedes should dash their forces against the terrible position he
had prepared for them. Accordingly on the 24th of August he directed
a considerable portion of his force to march away from the rear of his
position as if, alarmed at the superior strength of the Swedes, he had
determined to abandon the heights he had so long occupied and to march
away.

Gustavus fell into the trap, and prepared at once to assault the
position. Two hundred pieces of artillery heralded the advance, which
was made by the whole body of the musketeers of the army, drafted
from the several brigades and divided into battalions 500 strong, each
commanded by a colonel. It was a terrible position which they were
advancing to storm. Each of the lines of intrenchments was surmounted
by rows of polished helmets, while pikes and arquebuses glittered in
the sunshine; but it was not long that the scene was visible, for as the
battalions approached the foot of the Altenburg 80 pieces of artillery
opened from its summit and from the ridge of the Alte Veste, while
the smoke of the arquebuses drifted up in a cloud from the lines of
intrenchments.

Steadily and in good order the Scotch and Swedish infantry pressed
forward, and forcing the lower ditch strove to climb the rocky heights;
but in vain did they strive. Over and over again they reached the
intrenchments, but were unable to force their way through the thickly
bound fallen trees, while their lines were torn with a storm of iron
and lead. Never did the Scottish soldiers of Gustavus fight with greater
desperation and valour. Scores of them rolled lifeless down the slope,
but fresh men took their places and strove to hack their way through the
impenetrable screen through which the Imperialist bullets whistled like
hail.

At last, when nigh half their number had fallen, the rest, exhausted,
broken, and in disorder, fell suddenly back. Gustavus in person then led
on his Finlanders, but these, after a struggle as obstinate and heroic
as that of their predecessors, in their turn fell back baffled. The
Livonians next made the attempt, but in vain.

In the meantime a sharp conflict had taken place between the Imperial
cavalry and the Swedish left wing. Wallenstein’s cuirassiers, hidden by
the smoke, charged right through a column of Swedish infantry; but this
success was counterbalanced by the rout of Cronenberg’s Invincibles,
a magnificent regiment of 1500 horsemen, by 200 Finland troopers. The
troops of Duke Bernhard of Weimar, among whom were still the Scottish
regiments of Hamilton and Douglas, marched against the heights which
commanded the Alte Veste, and drove back the Imperialists with great
loss. Five hundred musketeers of the Green Brigade under Colonel Munro
then pushed gallantly forward and posted themselves far in advance,
resisting all attempts of the Imperialists to drive them back, until
Lieutenant Colonel Sinclair, who was now in command of Munro’s own
regiment, brought it forward to his assistance. Until the next morning
this body of one thousand men maintained the ground they had won in
spite of all the efforts of the Imperialists to dislodge them.

Colonel Munro was severely wounded in the left side. Lieutenant Colonel
Maken, Capt. Innis, and Capt. Traill were killed, and an immense number
of other Scottish officers were killed and wounded. The news was brought
down to Gustavus of the advantage gained by Duke Bernhard, but he
was unable to take advantage of it by moving his army round to that
position, as he would have exposed himself to a counter attack of the
enemy while doing so. He therefore launched a fresh column of attack
against the Alte Veste.

This was followed by another and yet another, until every regiment in
the army had in its turn attempted to storm the position, but still
without success.

The battle had now raged for ten hours, and nightfall put an end to
the struggle. Hepburn had all day ridden behind the king as a simple
cavalier, and had twice carried messages through the thick of the fire
when there were no others to bear them, so great had been the slaughter
round the person of the king.

It was the first time that Gustavus had been repulsed, and he could
hardly yet realize the fact; but as messenger after messenger came in
from the different divisions he discovered how terrible had been his
loss. Most of his generals and superior officers had been killed or
wounded, 2000 men lay dead on the field, and there were nigh three times
that number of wounded.

The Imperialists on their side lost 1000 killed and 1500 wounded; but
the accounts of the losses on both sides differ greatly, some placing
the Imperial loss higher than that of the Swedes, a palpably absurd
estimate, as the Imperialists, fighting behind shelter, could not have
suffered anything like so heavily as their assailants, who were exposed
to their fire in the open.

Hepburn bore the order from the king for Munro’s troops and those of
Duke Bernhard to retire from the position they had won, as they were
entirely cut off from the rest of the army, and would at daylight have
had the whole of the Imperialists upon them. The service was one of
great danger, and Hepburn had to cut his way sword in hand through the
Croats who intervened between him and his comrades of the Green Brigade.
He accomplished his task in safety, and before daylight Munro’s men
and the regiments of Duke Bernhard rejoined the army in the plain. But
though repulsed Gustavus was not defeated. He took up a new position
just out of cannon shot of the Altenburg, and then offered battle to
Wallenstein, the latter, however, well satisfied with his success,
remained firm in his policy of starving out the enemy, and resisted
every device of the king to turn him from his stronghold.

For fourteen days Gustavus remained in position. Then he could hold out
no longer. The supplies were entirely exhausted. The summer had been
unusually hot. The shrunken waters of the Pegnitz were putrid and
stinking, the carcasses of dead horses poisoned the air, and fever
and pestilence raged in the camp. Leaving, then, Kniphausen with eight
thousand men to aid the citizens of Nuremberg to defend the city should
Wallenstein besiege it, Gustavus marched on the 8th of September by
way of Neustadt to Windsheim, and there halted to watch the further
movements of the enemy.

Five days later Wallenstein quitted his camp and marched to Forsheim.
So far the advantage of the campaign lay with him. His patience and iron
resolution had given the first check to the victorious career of the
Lion of the North.

Munro’s regiment, as it was still called--for he was now its full
colonel, although Lieutenant Colonel Sinclair commanded it in the
field--had suffered terribly, but less, perhaps, than some of those
who had in vain attempted to force their way up the slopes of the Alte
Veste; and many an eye grew moist as at daybreak the regiment marched
into its place in the ranks of the brigade and saw how terrible had been
the slaughter among them. Munro’s soldiers had had but little of that
hand to hand fighting in which men’s blood becomes heated and all
thought of danger is lost in the fierce desire to kill. Their losses
had been caused by the storm of cannonball and bullet which had swept
through them, as, panting and breathless, they struggled up the steep
slopes, incapable of answering the fire of the enemy. They had had their
triumph, indeed, as the Imperial regiments broke and fled before their
advance; but although proud that they at least had succeeded in a day
when failure was general, there was not a man but regretted that he had
not come within push of pike of the enemy.

Malcolm Graheme had passed scatheless through the fray--a good fortune
that had attended but few of his brother officers. His uncle was badly
wounded, and several of his friends had fallen. Of the men who had
marched from Denmark but a year before scarce a third remained in the
ranks, and although the regiment had been strengthened by the breaking
up of two or three of the weaker battalions and their incorporation
with the other Scottish regiments, it was now less than half its former
strength. While Gustavus and Wallenstein had been facing each other at
Nuremberg the war had continued without interruption in other parts, and
the Swedes and their allies had gained advantages everywhere except in
Westphalia and Lower Saxony, where Pappenheim had more than held his own
against Baudissen, who commanded for Gustavus; and although Wallenstein
had checked the king he had gained no material advantages and had
wrested no single town or fortress from his hands. Gustavus was still in
Bavaria, nearer to Munich than he was, his garrisons still holding Ulm,
Nordlingen, and Donauworth, its strongest fortresses.

He felt sure, however, that it would be impossible for Gustavus to
maintain at one spot the army which he had at Windsheim, and that
with so many points to defend he would soon break it up into separate
commands. He resolved then to wait until he did so, and then to sweep
down upon Northern Germany, and so by threatening the king’s line of
retreat to force him to abandon Bavaria and the south and to march to
meet him.

At present he was in no position to risk a battle, for he had already
detached 4000 men to reinforce Holk, whom he had sent with 10,000
to threaten Dresden. The 13,000 Bavarians who were with him under
Maximilian had separated from him on his way to Forsheim, and on
arriving at that place his army numbered but 17,000 men, while Gustavus
had more than 40,000 gathered at Windsheim.

Gustavus, on his part, determined to carry out his former projects, to
march against Ingolstadt, which he had before failed to capture, and
thence to penetrate into Upper Austria. But fearful lest Wallenstein,
released from his presence, should attempt to recover the fortresses in
Franconia, he despatched half his force under Duke Bernhard to prevent
the Imperial general from crossing the Rhine. Could he succeed in
doing this he would be in a position to dictate terms to the emperor in
Vienna.

On the 12th of October he reached Neuberg, on the Danube, and halted
there, awaiting the arrival of his siege train from Donauworth.
While making the most vigorous exertions to press on the necessary
arrangements for his march against Vienna he received the most urgent
messages to return to Saxony. Not only, as he was told, had Wallenstein
penetrated into that province, but he was employing all his influence to
detach its elector from the Protestant cause, and there was great fear
that the weak prince would yield to the solicitations of Wallenstein and
to his own jealousy of the King of Sweden.

No sooner, in fact, had Gustavus crossed the Danube than Wallenstein
moved towards Schweinfurt, and by so doing drew to that place the
Swedish army under the command of Duke Bernhard. He then suddenly
marched eastward at full speed, capturing Bamberg, Baireuth, and
Culmbach, and pushed on to Colberg.

The town was captured, but the Swedish Colonel Dubatel, who was really
a Scotchman, by name M’Dougal, a gallant and brilliant officer, threw
himself with his dragoons into the castle, which commanded the town, and
defended it so resolutely against the assaults of Wallenstein that
Duke Bernhard had time to march to within twenty miles of the place.
Wallenstein then raised the siege, marched east to Kronach, and then
north to Weida, on the Elster. Thence he pressed on direct to Leipzig,
which he besieged at once; and while the main body of his troops were
engaged before the city, others took possession of the surrounding towns
and fortresses.

Leipzig held out for only two days, and after its capture Wallenstein
marched to Merseburg, where he was joined by the army under Pappenheim.
Thus reinforced he was in a position to capture the whole of Saxony. The
elector, timid and vacillating, was fully conscious of his danger and
the solicitations of Wallenstein to break off from his alliance with the
King of Sweden and to join the Imperialists were strongly seconded by
Marshal Von Arnheim, his most trusted councillor, who was an intimate
friend of the Imperialist general.

It was indeed a hard decision which Gustavus was called upon to make. On
the one hand Vienna lay almost within his grasp, for Wallenstein was
now too far north to interpose between him and the capital. On the other
hand, should the Elector of Saxony join the Imperialists, his position
after the capture of Vienna would be perilous in the extreme. The
emperor would probably leave his capital before he arrived there, and
the conquest would, therefore, be a barren one. Gustavus reluctantly
determined to abandon his plan, and to march to the assistance of
Saxony.



CHAPTER XVII THE DEATH OF GUSTAVUS


The determination of Gustavus to march to the assistance of Saxony once
taken, he lost not a moment in carrying it into effect. General Banner,
whom he greatly trusted, was unfortunately suffering from a wound, and
until he should recover he appointed the Prince Palatine of Burkenfeldt
to command a corps 12,000 strong which he determined to leave on
the Danube; then strengthening the garrisons of Augsburg, Rain, and
Donauworth, he set out with the remainder of his army on his march to
Saxony.

From Donauworth he marched to Nuremberg, stayed there forty-eight hours
to recover the fortress of Lauf, and, having forced the garrison of that
place to surrender at discretion, pushed on with all possible speed to
Erfurt, which he had fixed upon as the point of junction for his several
corps. The Green Brigade formed a portion of the force which Gustavus
left behind him in Bavaria under the Prince Palatine. So terribly
weakened were the Scottish regiments by the various battles of the
campaign, in all of which they had borne the brunt of the fighting,
that Gustavus determined reluctantly to leave them behind for rest and
reorganization.

Hepburn, Sir James Hamilton, Sir James Ramsay, and the Marquis of
Hamilton, who like Hepburn had quarrelled with Gustavus, left the
Swedish army the day after they arrived at Neustadt, after marching
away from Nuremberg. All the Scottish officers in the Swedish army
accompanied Hepburn and his three companions along the road for a long
German mile from Neustadt, and then parted with great grief from the
gallant cavalier who had led them so often to victory.

Malcolm Graheme did not remain behind in Bavaria with his comrades of
the Green Brigade. Gustavus, who had taken a great fancy to the young
Scotch officer, whose spirit of adventure and daring were in strong
harmony with his own character, appointed him to ride on his own
personal staff. Although he parted with regret from his comrades,
Malcolm was glad to accompany the king on his northward march, for there
was no probability of any very active service in Bavaria, and it was
certain that a desperate battle would be fought when Gustavus and
Wallenstein met face to face in the open field.

At Erfurt Gustavus was joined by Duke Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar with his
force, which raised his army to a strength of 20,000. The news of his
approach had again revived the courage of the Elector of Saxony, who
had occupied the only towns where the Elbe could be crossed, Dresden,
Torgau, and Wittenberg--he himself, with his main army of 15,000 men,
lying at Torgau. From him Gustavus learned that the Imperial army was
divided into three chief corps--that of Wallenstein 12,000 strong, that
of Pappenheim 10,000, those of Gallas and Holk united 16,000, making a
total of 38,000 men.

So great was the speed with which Gustavus had marched to Erfurt that
Wallenstein had received no notice of his approach; and believing that
for some time to come he should meet with no serious opposition, he had
on the very day after the Swedes reached Erfurt despatched Gallas with
12,000 men into Bohemia. A division of his troops was at the same time
threatening Naumburg, whose possession would enable him to block the
only easy road with which Gustavus could enter the country held by him.

But Gustavus at Erfurt learned that Naumburg had not yet fallen, and
marching with great rapidity reached the neighbourhood of that town
before the Imperialists were aware that he had quitted Erfurt, and
cutting up a small detachment of the enemy who lay in his way, entered
the town and at once began to intrench it. Wallenstein first learned
from the fugitives of the beaten detachment that Gustavus had arrived at
Naumburg, but as his own position lay almost centrally between Naumburg
and Torgau, so long as he could prevent the Swedes and Saxons from
uniting, he felt safe; for although together they would outnumber him,
he was superior in strength to either if alone. The Imperialist general
believed that Gustavus intended to pass the winter at Naumburg, and he
had therefore no fear of an immediate attack.

In order to extend the area from which he could draw his supplies
Wallenstein despatched Pappenheim to secure the fortress of Halle; for
although that town had been captured the fortress held out, and barred
the main road to the north. From Halle Pappenheim was to proceed to the
relief of Cologne, which was menaced by the enemy.

Having done this, Wallenstein withdrew from the line of the Saale and
prepared to distribute his army in winter quarters in the towns of the
district, he himself with a portion of the force occupying the little
town of Lutzen. But Gustavus had no idea of taking up his quarters for
the winter at Naumburg; and he proposed to the Elector of Saxony that if
he would march to Eilenberg, midway to Leipzig, he himself would make
a detour to the south round Wallenstein’s position and join him there.
Without waiting to receive the answer of the elector, Gustavus, leaving
a garrison in Naumburg, set out at one o’clock in the morning on the
5th of November on his march; but before he had proceeded nine miles he
learned from a number of gentlemen and peasants favourable to the
cause that Pappenheim had started for Halle, that the remainder of
the Imperial army lay dispersed among the towns and villages of the
neighbourhood, and that Wallenstein himself was at Lutzen.

Gustavus called his generals together and informed them of the news.
Learning that Lutzen was but five miles distant--as it turned out, a
mistaken piece of information, as it was nearly twice as far--he ordered
that the men should take some food, and then wheeling to the left, push
on towards Lutzen.

It was not until some time later that Wallenstein learned from the
Imperial scouts that Gustavus was upon him. It was then nearly five
o’clock in the evening, and darkness was at hand. Considering the heavy
state of the roads, and the fact that Gustavus would have in the last
three miles of his march to traverse a morass crossed by a bridge over
which only two persons could pass abreast, he felt confident that the
attack could not be made until the following morning.

Mounted messengers were sent in all directions to bring up his troops
from the villages in which they were posted, and in the meantime the
troops stationed around Lutzen were employed in preparing obstacles to
hinder the advance of the Swedes. On either side of the roads was a low
swampy country intersected with ditches, and Wallenstein at once set his
men to work to widen and deepen these ditches, which the troops as they
arrived on the ground were to occupy. All night the troops laboured at
this task.

In the meantime Gustavus had found the distance longer and the
difficulties greater than he had anticipated; the roads were so heavy
that it was with difficulty that the artillery and ammunition wagons
could be dragged along them, and the delay caused by the passage of the
morass was very great.

Indeed the passage would have been scarcely possible had the men of an
Imperial regiment of cuirassiers and a battalion of Croats, who were
posted in a village on the further side of the morass, defended it; but
instead of doing so they fell back to an eminence in the rear of the
village, and remained there quietly until, just as the sun set, the
whole Swedish army got across. The cuirassiers and Croats were at once
attacked and put to flight; but as darkness was now at hand it was
impossible for Gustavus to make any further advance, and the army was
ordered to bivouac as it stood. The state of the roads had defeated the
plans of Gustavus. Instead of taking the enemy by surprise, as he had
hoped, and falling upon them scattered and disunited, the delays which
had occurred had given Wallenstein time to bring up all his forces, and
at daybreak Gustavus would be confronted by a force nearly equal to
his own, and occupying a position very strongly defended by natural
obstacles.

Before the day was won, Pappenheim, for whom Wallenstein would have sent
as soon as he heard of the Swedish advance, might be on the field,
and in that case the Imperialists would not only have the advantage of
position but also that of numbers. It was an anxious night, and
Gustavus spent the greater part of it in conversation with his generals,
especially Kniphausen and Duke Bernhard.

The former strongly urged that the army should repass the morass and
march, as originally intended, to effect a junction with the Saxons.
He pointed out that the troops were fatigued with their long and weary
march during the day, and would have to fight without food, as it had
been found impossible to bring up the wagons with the supplies; he
particularly urged the point that Pappenheim would arrive on the field
before the victory could be won. But Gustavus was of opinion that the
disadvantages of retreat were greater than those of action. The troops,
hungry, weary, and dispirited, would be attacked as they retired, and
he believed that by beginning the action early the Imperialists could be
defeated before Pappenheim could return from Halle.

Gustavus proposed to move forward at two o’clock in the morning; but
fate was upon this occasion against the great Swedish leader. Just as on
the previous day the expected length of the march and the heavy state of
the roads had prevented him from crushing Wallenstein’s scattered army,
so now a thick fog springing up, making the night so dark that a soldier
could not see the man standing next to him, prevented the possibility of
movement, and instead of marching at two o’clock in the morning it was
nine before the sun cleared away the fog sufficiently to enable the
army to advance. Then, after addressing a few stirring words to his men,
Gustavus ordered the advance towards Chursitz, the village in front of
them.

The king himself led the right wing, consisting of six regiments of
Swedes, supported by musketeers intermingled with cavalry. The left,
composed of cavalry and infantry intermixed, was commanded by Duke
Bernhard. The centre, consisting of four brigades of infantry supported
by the Scottish regiments under Henderson, was commanded by Nicholas
Brahe, Count of Weissenburg.

The reserves behind each of these divisions were formed entirely of
cavalry, commanded on the right by Bulach, in the centre by Kniphausen,
and on the left by Ernest, Prince of Anhalt. The field pieces, twenty
in number, were disposed to the best advantage between the wings. Franz
Albert of Lauenburg, who had joined the army the day before, rode by
the king. A short halt was made at Chursitz, where the baggage was left
behind, and the army then advanced against the Imperialists, who at once
opened fire.

Wallenstein had posted his left so as to be covered by a canal, while
his right was protected by the village of Lutzen. On some rising ground
to the left of that village, where there were several windmills, he
planted fourteen small pieces of cannon, while to support his front,
which was composed of the musketeers in the ditches on either side of
the road, he planted a battery of seven heavy pieces of artillery.

The main body of his infantry he formed into four massive brigades,
which were flanked on both sides by musketeers intermixed with cavalry.
Count Coloredo commanded on the left, Holk on the right, Terzky in the
centre.

As the Swedish army advanced beyond Chursitz the seven heavy pieces
of artillery on the side of the road opened upon them, doing much
execution, while their own lighter guns could not reply effectively. The
Swedes pressed forward to come to close quarters. The left wing, led
by Duke Bernhard, was the first to arrive upon the scene of action.
Gallantly led by the duke his men forced the ditches, cleared the road,
charged the deadly battery, killed or drove away the gunners, and rushed
with fury on the Imperialist right.

Holk, a resolute commander, tried in vain to stem the assault; the
ardour of the Swedes was irresistible, and they scattered, one after
the other, his three brigades. The battle seemed already lost when
Wallenstein himself took his place at the head of the fourth brigade,
and fell upon the Swedes, who were disordered by the rapidity and ardour
of their charge, while at the same moment he launched three regiments of
cavalry on their flanks.

The Swedes fought heroically but in vain; step by step they were driven
back, the battery was recaptured, and the guns, which in the excitement
of the advance the captors had omitted to spike, were retaken by the
Imperialists.

In the meantime on the right the king had also forced the road, and had
driven from the field the Croats and Poles opposed to him, and he was on
the point of wheeling his troops to fall on the flank of the Imperialist
centre when one of Duke Bernhard’s aides-de-camp dashed up with the news
that the left wing had fallen back broken and in disorder.

Leaving to Count Stalhaus to continue to press the enemy, Gustavus,
accompanied by his staff, rode at full gallop to the left at the head of
Steinboch’s regiment of dragoons. Arrived on the spot he dashed to the
front at a point where his men had not yet been forced back across the
road, and riding among them roused them to fresh exertions. By his side
were Franz Albert of Lauenberg and a few other followers. But his pace
had been so furious that Steinboch’s dragoons had not yet arrived. As
he urged on his broken men Gustavus was struck in the shoulder by a
musketball. He reeled in his saddle, but exclaimed, “It is nothing,” and
ordered them to charge the enemy with the dragoons. Malcolm Graheme and
others on his staff hesitated, but the king exclaimed, “Ride all,
the duke will see to me.” The cavalry dashed forward, and the king,
accompanied only by Franz Albert, Duke of Lauenberg, turned to leave the
field, but he had scarcely moved a few paces when he received another
shot in the back. Calling out to Franz Albert that it was all over with
him, the mortally wounded king fell to the ground.

Franz Albert, believing the battle lost, galloped away; the king’s
page alone remained with the dying man. A minute later three Austrian
cuirassiers rode up, and demanded the name of the dying man. The page
Leubelfing refused to give it, and firing their pistols at him they
stretched him mortally wounded beside the dying king. Gustavus then, but
with difficulty, said who he was. The troopers leapt from their horses
and stripped his rich armour from him, and then, as they saw Steinboch’s
dragoons returning from their charge, they placed their pistols close to
the king’s head and fired, and then leaping on their horses fled.

Great was the grief when Malcolm, happening to ride near the body,
recognized it as that of the king. An instant later a regiment of
Imperialist cavalry charged down, and a furious fight took place for
some minutes over the king’s body. It was, however, at last carried
off by the Swedes, so disfigured by wounds and by the trampling of the
horses in the fray as to be unrecognizable.

The news of the fall of their king, which spread rapidly through
the ranks, so far from discouraging the Swedes, inspired them with a
desperate determination to avenge his death, and burning with fury they
advanced against the enemy, yet preserving the most perfect steadiness
and order in their ranks.

In vain did Wallenstein and his officers strive to stem the attack of
the left wing, their bravery and skill availed nothing to arrest that
furious charge. Regiment after regiment who strove to bar their way
were swept aside, the guns near the windmills were captured and turned
against the enemy. Step by step the Imperial right wing was forced back,
and the centre was assailed in flank by the guns from the rising ground,
while Stalhaus with the right wing of the Swedes attacked them on their
left.

Hopeless of victory the Imperialist centre was giving way, when the
explosion of one of their powder wagons still further shook them.
Attacked on both flanks and in front the Imperialist centre wavered,
and in a few minutes would have been in full flight. The Swedish victory
seemed assured, when a mighty trampling of horse was heard, and emerging
from the smoke Pappenheim with eight regiments of Imperial cavalry
dashed into the fray.

Pappenheim had already captured the citadel of Halle when Wallenstein’s
messenger reached him. To wait until his infantry, who were engaged in
plundering, could be collected, and then to proceed at their pace to
the field of battle, would be to arrive too late to be of service, and
Pappenheim instantly placed himself at the head of his eight regiments
of magnificent cavalry, and galloped at full speed to the battlefield
eighteen miles distant. On the way he met large numbers of flying Poles
and Croats, the remnants of the Austrian left, who had been driven from
the field by Gustavus; these he rallied, and with them dashed upon the
troops of Stalhaus who were pursuing them, and forced them backward.
The relief afforded to the Imperialists by this opportune arrival
was immense, and leaving Pappenheim to deal with the Swedish right,
Wallenstein rallied his own right on the centre, and opposed a
fresh front to the advancing troops of Duke Bernhard and Kniphausen.
Inspirited by the arrival of the reinforcements, and burning to turn
what had just appeared a defeat into a victory, the Imperialists
advanced with such ardour that the Swedes were driven back, the guns on
the hills recaptured, and it seemed that in this terrible battle victory
was at last to declare itself in favour of the Imperialists.

It needed only the return of Pappenheim from the pursuit of the Swedish
right to decide the day, but Pappenheim was not to come. Though driven
back by the first impetuous charge of the Imperial cavalry, the Swedes
under Stalhaus, reinforced by the Scottish regiments under Henderson,
stubbornly opposed their further attacks.

While leading his men forward Pappenheim fell with two musketballs
through his body. While lying there the rumour for the first time
reached him that Gustavus had been killed. When upon inquiry the truth
of the rumour was confirmed, the eyes of the dying man lighted up.

“Tell Wallenstein,” he said to the officer nearest to him, “that I am
lying here without hope of life, but I die gladly, knowing, as I now
know, that the irreconcilable enemy of my faith has fallen on the same
day.”

The Imperialists, discouraged by the fall of their general, could
not withstand the ardour with which the Swedes and Scottish infantry
attacked them, and the cavalry rode from the field. Elsewhere the
battle was still raging. Wallenstein’s right and centre had driven Count
Bernhard, the Duke of Brahe, and Kniphausen across that desperately
contested road, but beyond this they could not force them, so stubbornly
and desperately did they fight. But Stalhaus and his men, refreshed and
invigorated by their victory over Pappenheim’s force, again came up
and took their part in the fight. Wallenstein had no longer a hope of
victory, he fought now only to avoid defeat. The sun had already set,
and if he could but maintain his position for another half hour darkness
would save his army.

He fell back across the road again, fighting stubbornly and in good
order, and extending his line to the left to prevent Stalhaus from
turning his flank; and in this order the terrible struggle continued
till nightfall. Both sides fought with splendid bravery. The Swedes,
eager for the victory once again apparently within their grasp, pressed
on with fury, while the Imperialists opposed them with the most stubborn
obstinacy.

Seven times did Piccolomini charge with his cavalry upon the advancing
Swedes. Seven times was his horse shot under him, but remounting each
time, he drew off his men in good order, and in readiness to dash
forward again at the first opportunity. The other Imperialist generals
fought with equal courage and coolness, while Wallenstein, present
wherever the danger was thickest, animated all by his courage and
coolness. Though forced step by step to retire, the Imperialists never
lost their formation, never turned their backs to the foe; and thus
the fight went on till the darkness gathered thicker and thicker, the
combatants could no longer see each other, and the desperate battle came
to an end.

In the darkness, Wallenstein drew off his army and fell back to Leipzig,
leaving behind him his colours and all his guns. In thus doing he threw
away the opportunity of turning what his retreat acknowledged to be a
defeat into a victory on the following morning, for scarcely had he left
the field when the six regiments of Pappenheim’s infantry arrived from
Halle. Had he held his ground he could have renewed the battle in the
morning, with the best prospects of success, for the struggle of
the preceding day had been little more than a drawn battle, and the
accessions of fresh troops should have given him a decided advantage
over the weary Swedes. The newcomers, finding the field deserted, and
learning from the wounded lying thickly over it that Wallenstein had
retreated, at once marched away.

In the Swedish camp there was no assurance whatever that a victory had
been gained, for nightfall had fallen on the Imperialists fighting as
stubbornly as ever. The loss of the king, the master spirit of the war,
dispirited and discouraged them, and Duke Bernhard and Kniphausen held
in the darkness an anxious consultation as to whether the army should
not at once retreat to Weissenburg. The plan was not carried out, only
because it was considered that it was impracticable--as the army would
be exposed to destruction should the Imperialists fall upon them while
crossing the terrible morass in their rear.

The morning showed them that the Imperialists had disappeared, and that
the mighty struggle had indeed been a victory for them--a victory won
rather by the superior stubbornness with which the Swedish generals held
their ground during the night, while Wallenstein fell back, than to the
splendid courage with which the troops had fought on the preceding
day. But better far would it have been for the cause which the Swedes
championed, that they should have been driven a defeated host from the
field of Lutzen, than that they should have gained a barren victory at
the cost of the life of their gallant monarch--the soul of the struggle,
the hope of Protestantism, the guiding spirit of the coalition against
Catholicism as represented by Ferdinand of Austria.

The losses in the battle were about equal, no less than 9000 having
fallen upon each side--a proportion without precedent in any battle of
modern times, and testifying to the obstinacy and valour with which on
both sides the struggle was maintained from early morning until night
alone terminated it.

It is said, indeed, that every man, both of the yellow regiments of
Swedish guards and of the blue regiments, composed entirely of English
and Scotchmen, lay dead on the field. On both sides many men of high
rank were killed. On the Swedish side, besides Gustavus himself, fell
Count Milo, the Count of Brahe, General Uslar, Ernest Prince of
Anhalt, and Colonels Gersdorf and Wildessein. On the Imperialist
side Pappenheim, Schenk, Prince and Abbot of Fulda, Count Berthold
Wallenstein, General Brenner, Issolani, general of the Croats, and six
colonels were killed. Piccolomini received ten wounds, but none of them
were mortal.

Holk was severely wounded, and, indeed, so close and desperate was the
conflict, that it is said there was scarcely a man in the Imperial army
who escaped altogether without a wound.



CHAPTER XVIII WOUNDED


A controversy, which has never been cleared up, has long raged as to the
death of Gustavus of Sweden; but the weight of evidence is strongly in
favour of those who affirm that he received his fatal wound, that in
the back, at the hand of Franz Albert of Lauenburg. The circumstantial
evidence is, indeed, almost overwhelming. By birth the duke was the
youngest of four sons of Franz II, Duke of Lauenburg. On his mother’s
side he was related to the Swedish royal family, and in his youth lived
for some time at the court of Stockholm.

Owing to some impertinent remarks in reference to Gustavus he fell into
disfavour with the queen, and had to leave Sweden. On attaining manhood
he professed the Catholic faith, entered the Imperial army, obtained
the command of a regiment, attached himself with much devotion to
Wallenstein, and gained the confidence of that general. While the
negotiations between the emperor and Wallenstein were pending Franz
Albert was employed by the latter in endeavouring to bring about a
secret understanding with the court of Dresden.

When Gustavus was blockaded in Nuremberg by Wallenstein Franz Albert
left the camp of the latter and presented himself in that of Gustavus as
a convert to the Reformed Religion and anxious to serve as a volunteer
under him. No quarrel or disagreement had, so far as is known, taken
place between him and Wallenstein, nor has any explanation ever been
given for such an extraordinary change of sides, made, too, at a moment
when it seemed that Gustavus was in a position almost desperate. By his
profession of religious zeal he managed to win the king’s heart, but
Oxenstiern, when he saw him, entertained a profound distrust of him, and
even warned the king against putting confidence in this sudden convert.

Gustavus, however, naturally frank and open in disposition, could not
believe that treachery was intended, and continued to treat him with
kindness. After the assault made by Gustavus upon Wallenstein’s position
Franz Albert quitted his camp, saying that he was desirous of raising
some troops for his service in his father’s territory. He rejoined him,
however, with only his personal followers, on the very day before the
battle of Lutzen, and was received by Gustavus with great cordiality,
although the absence of his retainers increased the general doubts as to
his sincerity.

He was by the king’s side when Gustavus received his first wound. He
was riding close behind him when the king received his second and fatal
wound in the back, and the moment the king had fallen he rode away from
the field, and it is asserted that it was he who brought the news of the
king’s death to Wallenstein.

Very soon after the battle he exchanged the Swedish service for the
Saxon, and some eighteen months later he re-embraced the Roman Catholic
faith and re-entered the Imperial army.

A stronger case of circumstantial evidence could hardly be put together,
and it would certainly seem as if Lauenburg had entered the Swedish
service with the intention of murdering the king. That he did not carry
out his purpose during the attack on the Altenburg was perhaps due to
the fact that Gustavus may not have been in such a position as to afford
him an opportunity of doing so with safety to himself.

It is certainly curious that after that fight he should have absented
himself, and only rejoined on the eve of the battle of Lutzen. The only
piece of evidence in his favour is that of Truchsess, a chamberlain of
the king, who, affirmed that he saw the fatal shot fired at a distance
of ten paces from the king by an Imperial officer, Lieutenant General
Falkenberg, who at once turned and fled, but was pursued and cut down by
Luckau, master of horse of Franz Albert.

The general opinion of contemporary writers is certainly to the effect
that the King of Sweden was murdered by Franz Albert; but the absolute
facts must ever remain in doubt.

On the morning after the battle Wallenstein, having been joined by
Pappenheim’s infantry, sent a division of Croats back to the battlefield
to take possession of it should they find that the Swedes had retired;
but on their report that they still held the ground he retired at once
from Leipzig, and, evacuating Saxony, marched into Bohemia, leaving the
Swedes free to accomplish their junction with the army of the Elector,
thus gaining the object for which they had fought at Lutzen.

After the death of the king, Malcolm Graheme, full of grief and rage at
the loss of the monarch who was loved by all his troops, and had treated
him with special kindness, joined the soldiers of Duke Bernhard, and
took part in the charge which swept back the Imperialists and captured
the cannon on the hill. At the very commencement of the struggle his
horse fell dead under him, and he fought on foot among the Swedish
infantry; but when the arrival of Pappenheim on the field enabled the
Imperialists again to assume the offensive, Malcolm, having picked up
a pike from the hands of a dead soldier, fought shoulder to shoulder in
the ranks as the Swedes, contesting stubbornly every foot of the ground,
were gradually driven back towards the road.

Suddenly a shot struck him; he reeled backwards a few feet, strove to
steady himself and to level his pike, and then all consciousness left
him, and he fell prostrate. Again and again, as the fortune of the
desperate fray wavered one way or the other, did friend and foe pass
over the place where he lay.

So thickly strewn was the field with dead that the combatants in their
desperate struggle had long ceased to pick their way over the fallen,
but trampled ruthlessly upon and over them as, hoarsely shouting their
battle cry, they either pressed forward after the slowly retreating foe
or with obstinate bravery strove to resist the charges of the enemy.
When Malcolm recovered his consciousness all was still, save that
here and there a faint moan was heard from others who like himself lay
wounded on the battlefield. The night was intensely dark, and Malcolm’s
first sensation was that of bitter cold.

It was indeed freezing severely, and great numbers of the wounded who
might otherwise have survived were frozen to death before morning; but
a few, and among these were Malcolm, were saved by the frost. Although
unconscious of the fact, he had been wounded in two places. The first
ball had penetrated his breastpiece and had entered his body, and a few
seconds later another ball had struck him in the arm. It was the first
wound which had caused his insensibility; but from the second, which
had severed one of the principal veins in the arm, he would have bled to
death had it not been for the effects of the cold. For a time the life
blood had flowed steadily away; but as the cold increased it froze and
stiffened on his jerkin, and at last the wound was staunched.

It was none too soon, for before it ceased to flow Malcolm had lost a
vast quantity of blood. It was hours before nature recovered from the
drain. Gradually and slowly he awoke from his swoon. It was some time
before he realized where he was and what had happened, then gradually
his recollection of the fight returned to him.

“I remember now,” he murmured to himself, “I was fighting with the
Swedish infantry when a shot struck me in the body, I think, for I
seemed to feel a sudden pain like a red hot iron. Who won the day, I
wonder? How bitterly cold it is! I feel as if I were freezing to death.”

So faint and stiff was he, partly from loss of blood, partly from being
bruised from head to foot by being trampled on again and again as the
ranks of the combatants swept over him, that it was some time before
he was capable of making the slightest movement. His left arm was, he
found, entirely useless; it was indeed firmly frozen to the ground; but
after some difficulty he succeeded in moving his right, and felt for the
flask which had hung from his girdle.

So frozen and stiff were his fingers that he was unable to unbuckle the
strap which fastened it; but, drawing his dagger, he at last cut through
this, and removing the stopper of the flask, took a long draught of
the wine with which it was filled. The relief which it afforded him was
almost instantaneous, and he seemed to feel life again coursing in his
veins.

After a while he was sufficiently restored to be enabled to get from his
havresack some bread and meat which he had placed there after finishing
his breakfast on the previous morning. He ate a few mouthfuls, took
another long draught of wine, and then felt that he could hope to hold
on until morning. He was unable to rise even into a sitting position,
nor would it have availed him had he been able to walk, for he knew not
where the armies were lying, nor could he have proceeded a yard in any
direction without falling over the bodies which so thickly strewed the
ground around him.

Though in fact it wanted but two hours of daylight when he recovered
consciousness, the time appeared interminable; but at last, to his
delight, a faint gleam of light spread across the sky. Stronger and
stronger did it become until the day was fairly broken. It was another
hour before he heard voices approaching. Almost holding his breath he
listened as they approached, and his heart gave a throb of delight as he
heard that they were speaking in Swedish. A victory had been won, then,
for had it not been so, it would have been the Imperialists, not the
Swedes, who would have been searching the field of battle.

“There are but few alive,” one voice said, “the cold has finished the
work which the enemy began.”

Malcolm, unable to rise, lifted his arm and held it erect to call the
attention of the searchers; it was quickly observed.

“There is some one still alive,” the soldier exclaimed, “an officer,
too; by his scarf and feathers he belongs to the Green Brigade.”

“These Scotchmen are as hard as iron,” another voice said; “come, bring
a stretcher along.”

They were soon by the side of Malcolm.

“Drink this, sir,” one said, kneeling beside him and placing a flask of
spirits to his lips; “that will warm your blood, I warrant, and you must
be well nigh frozen.”

Malcolm took a few gulps at the potent liquor, then he had strength to
say:

“There is something the matter with my left arm, I can’t move it, and I
think I am hit in the body.”

“You are hit in the body, sure enough,” the man said, “for there is
a bullet hole through your cuirass, and your jerkin below it is all
stained with blood. You have been hit in the left arm too, and the blood
is frozen to the ground; but we will soon free that for you. But before
trying to do that we will cut open the sleeve of your jerkin and bandage
your arm, or the movement may set it off bleeding again, and you have
lost a pool of blood already.”

Very carefully the soldiers did their work, and then placing Malcolm on
the stretcher carried him away to the camp. Here the surgeons were all
hard at work attending to the wounded who were brought in. They had
already been busy all night, as those whose hurts had not actually
disabled them found their way into the camp. As he was a Scotch officer
he was carried to the lines occupied by Colonel Henderson with his
Scotch brigade. He was known to many of the officers personally, and no
time was lost in attending to him. He was nearly unconscious again by
the time that he reached the camp, for the movement had caused the wound
in his body to break out afresh.

His armour was at once unbuckled, and his clothes having been cut the
surgeons proceeded to examine his wounds. They shook their heads as
they did so. Passing a probe into the wound they found that the ball,
breaking one of the ribs in its course, had gone straight on. They
turned him gently over.

“Here it is,” the surgeon said, producing a flattened bullet. The
missile indeed had passed right through the body and had flattened
against the back piece, which its force was too far spent to penetrate.

“Is the case hopeless, doctor?” one of the officers who was looking on
asked.

“It is well nigh hopeless,” the doctor said, “but it is just possible
that it has not touched any vital part. The lad is young, and I judge
that he has not ruined his constitution, as most of you have done, by
hard drinking, so that there is just a chance for him. There is nothing
for me to do but to put a piece of lint over the two holes, bandage it
firmly, and leave it to nature. Now let me look at his arm.

“Ah!” he went on as he examined the wound, “he has had a narrow escape
here. The ball has cut a vein and missed the principal artery by an
eighth of an inch. If that had been cut he would have bled to death in
five minutes. Evidently the lad has luck on his side, and I begin to
think we may save him if we can only keep him quiet.”

At the earnest request of the surgeons tents were brought up and a
hospital established on some rising ground near the field of battle for
the serious cases among the wounded, and when the army marched away
to join the Saxons at Leipzig a brigade was left encamped around the
hospital.

Here for three weeks Malcolm lay between life and death. The quantity of
blood he had lost was greatly in his favour, as it diminished the risk
of inflammation, while his vigorous constitution and the life of fatigue
and activity which he had led greatly strengthened his power. By a
miracle the bullet in its passage had passed through without injuring
any of the vital parts; and though his convalescence was slow it was
steady, and even at the end of the first week the surgeons were able to
pronounce a confident opinion that he would get over it.

But it was not until the end of the month that he was allowed to move
from his recumbent position. A week later and he was able to sit up. On
the following day, to his surprise, the Count of Mansfeld strode into
his tent.

“Ah! my young friend,” he exclaimed, “I am glad indeed to see you so
far recovered. I came to Leipzig with the countess and my daughter;
for Leipzig at present is the centre where all sorts of political
combinations are seething as in a cooking pot. It is enough to make one
sick of humanity and ashamed of one’s country when one sees the greed
which is displayed by every one, from the highest of the princes down to
petty nobles who can scarce set twenty men in the field.

“Each and all are struggling to make terms by which he may better
himself, and may add a province or an acre, as the case may be, to his
patrimony at the expense of his neighbours. Truly I wonder that the
noble Oxenstiern, who represents Sweden, does not call together the
generals and troops of that country from all parts and march away
northward, leaving these greedy princes and nobles to fight their own
battles, and make the best terms they may with their Imperial master.

“But there, all that does not interest you at present; but I am so full
of spleen and disgust that I could not help letting it out. We arrived
there a week since, and of course one of our first inquiries was for
you, and we heard to our grief that the Imperialists had shot one of
their bullets through your body and another through your arm. This, of
course, would have been sufficient for any ordinary carcass; but I knew
my Scotchman, and was not surprised when they told me you were mending
fast.

“I had speech yesterday with an officer who had ridden over from this
camp, and he told me that the doctors said you were now convalescent,
but would need repose and quiet for some time before you could again
buckle on armour. The countess, when I told her, said at once, ‘Then we
will take him away back with us to Mansfeld.’ Thekla clapped her hands
and said, ‘That will be capital! we will look after him, and he shall
tell us stories about the wars.’

“So the thing was settled at once. I have brought over with me a horse
litter, and have seen your surgeon, who says that although it will be
some weeks before you can sit on a horse without the risk of your wound
bursting out internally, there is no objection to your progression in a
litter by easy stages; so that is settled, and the doctor will write to
your colonel saying that it will be some months before you are fit for
duty, and that he has therefore ordered you change and quiet.

“You need not be afraid of neglecting your duty or of getting out of the
way of risking your life in harebrained ventures, for there will be no
fighting till the spring. Everyone is negotiating at present, and you
will be back with your regiment before fighting begins again. Well, what
do you say?”

“I thank you, indeed,” Malcolm replied. “It will of all things be the
most pleasant; the doctor has told me that I shall not be fit for duty
until the spring, and I have been wondering how ever I should be able to
pass the time until then.”

“Then we will be off without a minute’s delay,” the count said. “I sent
off the litter last night and started myself at daybreak, promising the
countess to be back with you ere nightfall, so we have no time to lose.”

The news soon spread that Malcolm Graheme was about to leave the camp,
and many of the Scottish officers came in to say adieu to him; but time
pressed, and half an hour after the arrival of the count he started
for Leipzig with Malcolm in a litter swung between two horses. As they
travelled at a foot pace Malcolm did not find the journey uneasy, but
the fresh air and motion soon made him drowsy, and he was fast asleep
before he had left the camp an hour, and did not awake until the sound
of the horses’ hoofs on stone pavements told him that they were entering
the town of Leipzig.

A few minutes later he was lying on a couch in the comfortable
apartments occupied by the count, while the countess with her own hands
was administering refreshments to him, and Thekla was looking timidly
on, scarce able to believe that this pale and helpless invalid was the
stalwart young Scottish soldier of whose adventures she was never weary
of talking.



CHAPTER XIX A PAUSE IN HOSTILITIES


Never had Malcolm Graheme spent a more pleasant time than the two months
which he passed at Mansfeld. Travelling by very easy stages there he
was so far convalescent upon his arrival that he was able to move about
freely and could soon ride on horseback. For the time the neighbourhood
of Mansfeld was undisturbed by the peasants or combatants on either
side, and the count had acted with such vigour against any parties of
brigands and marauders who might approach the vicinity of Mansfeld,
or the country under his control, that a greater security of life and
property existed than in most other parts of Germany. The ravages made
by war were speedily effaced, and although the peasants carried on their
operations in the fields without any surety as to who would gather the
crops, they worked free from the harassing tyranny of the petty bands of
robbers.

As soon as he was strong enough Malcolm rode with the count on his
visits to the different parts of his estates, joined in several parties
got up to hunt the boar in the hills, or to make war on a small scale
against the wolves which, since the outbreak of the troubles, had vastly
increased in number, committing great depredations upon the flocks and
herds, and rendering it dangerous for the peasants to move between their
villages except in strong parties.

The evenings were passed pleasantly and quietly. The countess would
read aloud or would play on the zither, with which instrument she would
accompany herself while she sang. Thekla would sit at her embroidery and
would chat merrily to Malcolm, and ask many questions about Scotland
and the life which the ladies led in that, as she asserted, “cold and
desolate country.” Sometimes the count’s chaplain would be present and
would gravely discuss theological questions with the count, wearying
Malcolm and Thekla so excessively, that they would slip away from the
others and play checkers or cards on a little table in a deep oriel
window where their low talk and laughter did not disturb the discussions
of their elders.

Once Malcolm was absent for two days on a visit to the village in
the mountains he had so much aided in defending. Here he was joyfully
received, and was glad to find that war had not penetrated to the quiet
valley, and that prosperity still reigned there. Malcolm lingered at
Mansfeld for some time after he felt that his strength was sufficiently
restored to enable him to rejoin his regiment; but he knew that until
the spring commenced no great movement of troops would take place, and
he was so happy with his kind friends, who treated him completely as one
of the family, that he was loath indeed to tear himself away. At last
he felt that he could no longer delay, and neither the assurances of the
count that the Protestant cause could dispense with his doughty services
for a few weeks longer, or the tears of Thekla and her insistance that
he could not care for them or he would not be in such a hurry to leave,
could detain him longer, and mounting a horse with which the count had
presented him he rode away to rejoin his regiment.

No military movements of importance had taken place subsequent to the
battle of Lutzen. Oxenstiern had laboured night and day to repair as far
as possible the effects of the death of Gustavus. He had been left by
the will of the king regent of Sweden until the king’s daughter, now a
child of six years old, came of age, and he at once assumed the supreme
direction of affairs. It was essential to revive the drooping courage
of the weaker states, to meet the secret machinations of the enemy, to
allay the jealousy of the more powerful allies, to arouse the friendly
powers, France in particular, to active assistance, and above all to
repair the ruined edifice of the German alliance and to reunite the
scattered strength of the party by a close and permanent bond of union.

Had the emperor at this moment acted wisely Oxenstiern’s efforts would
have been in vain. Wallenstein, farseeing and broad minded, saw the
proper course to pursue, and strongly urged upon the emperor the
advisability of declaring a universal amnesty, and of offering
favourable conditions to the Protestant princes, who, dismayed at the
loss of their great champion, would gladly accept any proposals which
would ensure the religious liberty for which they had fought; but the
emperor, blinded by this unexpected turn of fortune and infatuated by
Spanish counsels, now looked to a complete triumph and to enforce his
absolute will upon the whole of Germany.

Instead, therefore, of listening to the wise counsels of Wallenstein he
hastened to augment his forces. Spain sent him considerable supplies,
negotiated for him with the ever vacillating Elector of Saxony, and
levied troops for him in Italy. The Elector of Bavaria increased his
army, and the Duke of Lorraine prepared again to take part in the
struggle which now seemed to offer him an easy opportunity of increasing
his dominions. For a time the Elector of Saxony, the Duke of Brunswick,
and many others of the German princes wavered; but when they saw that
Ferdinand, so far from being disposed to offer them favourable terms to
detach them from the league, was preparing with greater vigour than
ever to overwhelm them, they perceived that their interest was to remain
faithful to their ally, and at a great meeting of princes and deputies
held at Heilbronn the alliance was re-established on a firmer basis.

Before, however, the solemn compact was ratified scarce one of the
German princes and nobles but required of Oxenstiern the gratification
of private greed and ambition, and each bargained for some possession
either already wrested or to be afterwards taken from the enemy. To the
Landgrave of Hesse the abbacies of Paderborn, Corvey, Munster, and Fulda
were promised, to Duke Bernhard of Weimar the Franconian bishoprics,
to the Duke of Wurtemburg the ecclesiastical domains and the Austrian
counties lying within his territories, all to be held as fiefs of
Sweden.

Oxenstiern, an upright and conscientious man, was disgusted at the
greed of these princes and nobles who professed to be warring solely
in defence of their religious liberties, and he once exclaimed that he
would have it entered in the Swedish archives as an everlasting memorial
that a prince of the German empire made a request for such and such
territory from a Swedish nobleman, and that the Swedish noble complied
with the request by granting him German lands. However, the negotiations
were at last completed, the Saxons marched towards Lusatia and Silesia
to act in conjunction with Count Thurn against the Austrians in that
quarter, a part of the Swedish army was led by the Duke of Weimar into
Franconia, and the other by George, Duke of Brunswick, into Westphalia
and Lower Saxony.

When Gustavus had marched south from Ingolstadt on the news of
Wallenstein’s entry into Saxony he had left the Count Palatine of
Birkenfeld and General Banner to maintain the Swedish conquests
in Bavaria. These generals had in the first instance pressed their
conquests southward as far as Lake Constance; but towards the end of
the year the Bavarian General Altringer pressed them with so powerful an
army that Banner sent urgent requests to Horn to come to his assistance
from Alsace, where he had been carrying all before him. Confiding his
conquests to the Rhinegrave Otto Ludwig, Horn marched at the head of
seven thousand men towards Swabia. Before he could join Banner,
however, Altringer had forced the line of the Lech, and had received
reinforcements strong enough to neutralize the aid brought to Banner by
Horn. Deeming it necessary above all things to bar the future progress
of the enemy, Horn sent orders to Otto Ludwig to join him with all the
troops still remaining in Alsace; but finding himself still unable to
resist the advance of Altringer, he despatched an urgent request to Duke
Bernhard, who had captured Bamberg and the strong places of Kronach
and Hochstadt in Franconia, to come to his assistance. The duke at once
quitted Bamberg and marched southward, swept a strong detachment of the
Bavarian army under John of Werth from his path, and pressing on reached
Donauwurth in March 1633.

Malcolm had rejoined his regiment, which was with Duke Bernhard, just
before it advanced from Bamberg and was received with a hearty welcome
by his comrades, from whom he had been separated nine months, having
quitted them three months before the battle of Lutzen.

The officers were full of hope that Duke Bernhard was going to strike
a great blow. Altringer was away on the shore of Lake Constance facing
Horn, Wallenstein was in Bohemia. Between Donauworth and Vienna were
but the four strong places of Ingolstadt, Ratisbon, Passau, and Linz.
Ingolstadt was, the duke knew, commanded by a traitor who was ready to
surrender. Ratisbon had a Protestant population who were ready to open
their gates. It seemed that the opportunity for ending the war by a
march upon Vienna, which had been snatched by Wallenstein from Gustavus
just when it appeared in his grasp, was now open to Duke Bernhard.
But the duke was ambitious, his demands for Franconia had not yet been
entirely complied with by Oxenstiern, and he saw an opportunity to
obtain his own terms. The troops under his orders were discontented,
owing to the fact that their pay was many months in arrear, and private
agents of the duke fomented this feeling by assuring the men that their
general was with them and would back their demands. Accordingly they
refused to march further until their demands were fully satisfied. The
Scotch regiments stood apart from the movement, though they too were
equally in arrear with their pay. Munro and the officers of the Brigade
chafed terribly at this untimely mutiny just when the way to Vienna
appeared open to them. Duke Bernhard forwarded the demands of the
soldiers to Oxenstiern, sending at the same time a demand on his own
account, first that the territory of the Franconian bishoprics should at
once be erected into a principality in his favour, and secondly, that
he should be nominated commander-in-chief of all the armies fighting in
Germany for the Protestant cause with the title of generalissimo.

Oxenstiern was alarmed by the receipt of the mutinous demands of the
troops on the Danube, and was disgusted when he saw those demands
virtually supported by their general. His first thought was to dismiss
Duke Bernhard from the Swedish service; but he saw that if he did so the
disaffection might spread, and that the duke might place himself at
the head of the malcontents and bring ruin upon the cause. He therefore
agreed to bestow at once the Franconian bishoprics upon him, and gave a
pledge that Sweden would defend him in that position.

He declined to make him generalissimo of all the armies, but appointed
him commander-in-chief of the forces south of the Maine. The duke
accepted this modification, and had no difficulty in restoring order in
the ranks of his army. But precious months had been wasted before this
matter was brought to a conclusion, and the month of October arrived
before the duke had completed all his preparations and was in a position
to move forward.

While the delays had been going on Altringer, having been joined by the
army of the Duke of Feria, quitted the line of the Danube, in spite
of Wallenstein’s absolute order not to do so, and, evading Horn and
Birkenfeldt, marched into Alsace. The Swedish generals, however, pressed
hotly upon him, and finally drove him out of Alsace. Ratisbon being left
open by Altringer’s disobedience to Wallenstein’s orders, Duke Bernhard
marched upon that city without opposition, and laid siege to it.
Maximilian of Bavaria was himself there with a force sufficient to
defend the city had he been supported by the inhabitants; but a large
majority of the people were Protestants, and, moreover, bitterly hated
the Bavarians, who had suppressed their rights as a free city.

Maximilian wrote urgently to the emperor and to Wallenstein, pledging
himself to maintain Ratisbon if he could receive a reinforcement of
5000 men. The emperor was powerless; he had not the men to send, but he
despatched to Wallenstein, one after another, seven messengers,
urging him at all hazards to prevent the fall of so important a place.
Wallenstein replied to the order that he would do all in his power, and
in presence of the messengers ordered the Count of Gallas to march
with 12,000 men on Ratisbon, but privately furnished the general with
absolute orders, forbidding him on any account to do anything which
might bring on an action with the duke.

Wallenstein’s motives in so acting were, as he afterwards assured the
emperor, that he was not strong enough to divide his army, and that he
could best cover Vienna by maintaining a strong position in Bohemia, a
policy which was afterwards justified by the event. Ratisbon resisted
for a short time; but, finding that the promised relief did not arrive,
it capitulated on the 5th of November, Maximilian having left the town
before the surrender.

The duke now pushed on towards Vienna, and captured Straubing and
Plattling. John of Werth, who was posted here, not being strong enough
to dispute the passage of the Isar, fell back towards the Bohemian
frontier, hoping to meet the troops which the emperor had urged
Wallenstein to send to his aid, but which never came. Duke Bernhard
crossed the Isar unopposed, and on the 12th came within sight of Passau.

So far Wallenstein had not moved; he had seemed to comply with the
emperor’s request to save Ratisbon, but had seemed only, and had not
set a man in motion to reinforce John of Werth. He refused, in fact, to
fritter away his army. Had he sent Gallas with 12,000 men to join John
of Werth, and had their united forces been, as was probable, attacked
and defeated by the Swedes, Wallenstein would have been too weak to save
the empire. Keeping his army strong he had the key of the position in
his hands.

He had fixed upon Passau as the point beyond which Duke Bernhard should
not be allowed to advance, and felt that should he attack that city he
and his army were lost. In front of him was the Inn, a broad and deep
river protected by strongly fortified places; behind him John of Werth,
a bitterly hostile country, and the river Isar. On his left would
be Wallenstein himself marching across the Bohemian forest. When,
therefore, he learned that Duke Bernhard was hastening on from the Isar
towards Passau he put his army in motion and marched southward, so as to
place himself in the left rear of the duke. This movement Duke Bernhard
heard of just when he arrived in sight of Passau, and he instantly
recognized the extreme danger of his position, and perceived with his
usual quickness of glance that to be caught before Passau by Wallenstein
and John of Werth would be absolute destruction. A moment’s hesitation
and the Swedish army would have been lost. Without an hour’s delay he
issued the necessary orders, and the army retraced its steps with all
speed to Ratisbon, and not stopping even there marched northward
into the Upper Palatinate, to defend that conquered country against
Wallenstein even at the cost of a battle.

But Wallenstein declined to fight a battle there. He had but one army,
and were that army destroyed, Duke Bernhard, with the prestige of
victory upon him, could resume his march upon Vienna, which would then
be open to him. Therefore, having secured the safety of the capital, he
fell back again into winter quarters in Bohemia. Thus Ferdinand again
owed his safety to Wallenstein, and should have been the more grateful
since Wallenstein had saved him in defiance of his own orders.

At the time he fully admitted in his letters to Wallenstein that the
general had acted wisely and prudently, nevertheless he was continually
listening to the Spaniards, the Jesuits, and the many envious of
Wallenstein’s great position, and hoping to benefit by his disgrace,
and, in spite of all the services his great general had rendered him,
was preparing to repeat the humiliation which he had formerly laid upon
him and again to deprive him of his command.

Wallenstein was not ignorant of the intrigue against him. Vast as
were his possessions, his pride and ambition were even greater. A
consciousness of splendid services rendered and of great intellectual
power, a belief that the army which had been raised by him and was to
a great extent paid out of his private funds, and which he had so often
led to victory, was devoted to him, and to him alone, excited in his
mind the determination to resist by force the intriguers who dominated
the bigoted and narrow minded emperor, and, if necessary, to hurl the
latter from his throne.



CHAPTER XX FRIENDS IN TROUBLE


One day in the month of December, when Malcolm Graheme was with his
regiment on outpost duty closely watching the Imperialists, a countryman
approached.

“Can you direct me to Captain Malcolm Graheme, who, they tell me,
belongs to this regiment?”

“You have come to the right man,” Malcolm said. “I am Captain
Graheme--what would you with me?”

“I am the bearer of a letter to you,” the man said, and taking off his
cap he pulled out the lining and brought out a letter hidden beneath it.

“I am to ask for some token from you by which it may be known that it
has been safely delivered.”

Malcolm cut with his dagger the silk with which the letter was fastened.
It began:

“From the Lady Hilda, Countess of Mansfeld, to Captain Malcolm Graheme
of Colonel Munro’s Scottish regiment.--My dear friend,--I do not know
whether you have heard the misfortune which has fallen upon us. The
town and castle of Mansfeld were captured two months since by a sudden
assault of the Imperialists, and my dear husband was grievously wounded
in the defence. He was brought hither a prisoner, and Thekla and I also
carried here. As the count still lies ill with his wounds he is not
placed in a prison, but we are treated as captives and a close watch
is kept upon us. The count is threatened with the forfeiture of all his
possessions unless he will change sides and join the Imperialists, and
some of his estates have been already conferred upon other nobles as a
punishment for the part he has taken.

“Were my husband well and free he would treat the offers with scorn,
believing that the tide will turn and that he will recover his
possessions. Nor even were he certain of their perpetual forfeiture
would he desert the cause of Protestantism. Moreover, the estates which
I brought him in marriage lie in the north of Pomerania, and the income
there from is more than ample for our needs. But the emperor has ordered
that if the count remain contumacious Thekla shall be taken from us and
placed in a convent, where she will be forced to embrace Catholicism,
and will, when she comes of age, be given in marriage to some adherent
of the emperor, who will with her receive the greater portion of her
father’s lands.

“She is now sixteen years old, and in another year will be deemed
marriageable. My heart is broken at the thought, and I can scarce see
the paper on which I write for weeping. I know not why I send to you,
nor does the count know that I am writing, nor does it seem possible
that any aid can come to us, seeing that we are here in the heart
of Bohemia, and that Wallenstein’s army lies between us and you. But
somehow in my heart I have a hope that you may aid us, and at any rate I
know that you will sympathize with us greatly. I feel sure that if there
be any mode in which we may be aided it will be seized by your ready
wit. And now adieu! This letter will be brought to you by a messenger
who will be hired by a woman who attends us, and who has a kind heart
as well as an eye to her own interests. Send back by the messenger
some token which she may pass on to me, that I may know that you have
received it. Send no written answer, for the danger is too great.”

Malcolm twisted off two or three links of the chain which had long
before been presented to him by the count, and then, until relieved from
duty, paced up and down, slowly revolving in his mind what could best
be done to aid his friends. His mind was at last made up, and when his
company was called in he went to his colonel and asked for leave of
absence, stating his reasons for wishing to absent himself from the
regiment.

“It is a perilous business, Malcolm,” Colonel Munro said. “I have scarce
a handful of the friends with whom I joined Gustavus but three years and
a half ago remaining, and I can ill spare another; nevertheless I will
not stay you in your enterprise. The Count of Mansfeld has been a steady
ally of ours, and is one of the few who has appeared to have at heart
the cause of Protestantism rather than of personal gain.

“Moreover, he is as you say a friend of yours, and has shown you real
kindness in time of need. Therefore go, my boy, and Heaven be with you!
It is not likely that there will be any more serious fighting this
year. Wallenstein lies inactive, negotiating now with Saxony, now with
Oxenstiern. What are his aims and plans Heaven only knows; but at any
rate we have no right to grumble at the great schemer, for ever since
Lutzen he has kept the emperor’s best army inactive. Make it a point,
Malcolm, to find out, so far as you can, what is the public opinion in
Bohemia as to his real intentions. If you can bring back any information
as to his plans you will have done good service to the cause, however
long your absence from the camp may be.”

That evening Malcolm packed up his armour, arms, court suits, and
valuables, and sent them away to the care of his friend the syndic of
the clockmakers of Nuremberg, with a letter requesting him to keep them
in trust for him until he returned; and in the event of his not arriving
to claim them in the course of six months, to sell them, and to devote
the proceeds to the assistance of sick or wounded Scottish soldiers.
Then he purchased garments suitable for a respectable craftsman, and
having attired himself in these, with a stout sword banging from his
leathern belt, a wallet containing a change of garments and a number
of light tools used in clockmaking, with a long staff in his hand, and
fifty ducats sewed in the lining of the doublet, he set out on foot on
his journey.

It was nigh three weeks from the time when he started before he arrived
at Prague, for not only had he to make a very long detour to avoid the
contending armies, but he was forced to wait at each considerable town
until he could join a company of travellers going in the same direction,
for the whole country so swarmed with disbanded soldiers, plunderers,
and marauding bands that none thought of traversing the roads save in
parties sufficiently strong to defend themselves and their property.
None of those with whom he journeyed suspected Malcolm to be aught but
what he professed himself--a craftsman who had served his time at a
clockmaker’s in Nuremberg, and who was on his way to seek for employment
in Vienna.

During his three years and a half residence in Germany he had come
to speak the language like a native, and, indeed, the dialect of the
different provinces varied so widely, that, even had he spoken the
language with less fluency, no suspicion would have arisen of his being
a foreigner. Arrived at Prague, his first care was to hire a modest
lodging, and he then set to work to discover the house in which the
Count of Mansfeld was lying as a prisoner.

This he had no difficulty in doing without exciting suspicion, for the
count was a well known personage, and he soon found that he and his
family had apartments in a large house, the rest of which was occupied
by Imperialist officers and their families. There was a separate
entrance to the portion occupied by the count, and a sentry stood always
at the door.

The day after his arrival Malcolm watched the door from a distance
throughout the whole day, but none entered or came out. The next morning
he resumed his watch at a much earlier hour, and presently had the
satisfaction of seeing a woman in the attire of a domestic issue
from the door. She was carrying a basket, and was evidently bent upon
purchasing the supplies for the day. He followed her to the market, and,
after watching her make her purchases, he followed her until, on her
return, she entered a street where but few people were about. There he
quickened his pace and overtook her.

“You are the attendant of the Countess of Mansfeld, are you not?” he
said.

“I am,” she replied; “but what is that to you?”

“I will tell you presently,” Malcolm replied, “but in the first place
please inform me whether you are her only attendant, and in the next
place how long you have been in her service. I can assure you,” he went
on, as the woman, indignant at thus being questioned by a craftsman who
was a stranger to her, tossed her head indignantly, and was about to
move on, “that I ask not from any impertinent curiosity. Here is a ducat
as a proof that I am interested in my questions.”

The woman gave him a quick and searching glance; she took the piece
of money, and replied more civilly. “I am the only attendant on the
countess. I cannot be said to be in her service, since I have been
placed there by the commandant of the prison, whither the count will
be moved in a few days, but I have been with them since their arrival
there, nigh three months since.”

“Then you are the person whom I seek. I am he to whom a certain letter
which you wot of was sent, and who returned by the messenger as token
that he received it two links of this chain.”

The woman started as he spoke, and looked round anxiously to see that
they were not observed; then she said hurriedly:

“For goodness sake, sir, if you be he, put aside that grave and earnest
look, and chat with me lightly and laughingly, so that if any observe us
speaking they will think that you are trying to persuade me that my face
has taken your admiration. Not so very difficult a task, methinks,” she
added coquettishly, acting the part she had indicated.

“By no means,” Malcolm replied laughing, for the girl was really good
looking, “and were it not that other thoughts occupy me at present you
might well have another captive to look after; and now tell me, how is
it possible for me to obtain an interview with the count?”

“And the countess, and the Fraulein Thekla,” the girl said laughing,
“for I suppose you are the young Scottish officer of whom the young
countess is always talking. I don’t see that it is possible.”

“Twenty ducats are worth earning,” Malcolm said quietly.

“Very well worth earning,” the woman replied, “but a costly day’s work
if they lead to a prison and flogging, if not to the gallows.”

“But we must take care that you run no risk,” Malcolm said. “Surely such
a clever head as I see you have can contrive some way for me to get in.”

“Yes; it might be managed,” the girl said thoughtfully. “The orders were
strict just at first, but seeing that the count cannot move from his
couch, and that the countess and the fraulein have no motive in seeking
to leave him, the strictness has been relaxed. The orders of the sentry
are stringent that neither of the ladies shall be allowed to set foot
outside the door, but I do not think they have any orders to prevent
others from going in and out had they some good excuse for their visit.”

“Then it is not so impossible after all,” Malcolm said with a smile,
“for I have an excellent excuse.

“What is that?” the woman asked.

“The clock in the count’s chamber has stopped, and it wearies him to lie
there and not know how the time passes, so he has requested you to fetch
in a craftsman to set it going again.”

“A very good plan,” the girl said. “There is a clock, and it shall stop
this afternoon. I will find out from the sentry as I go in whether he
has any orders touching the admission of strangers. If he has I will
go across to the prison and try and get a pass for you. I shall come to
market in the morning.”

So saying, with a wave of her hand she tripped on towards the house,
which was now near at hand, leaving Malcolm to arrange his plans for
next day. His first care was to purchase a suit of clothes such as would
be worn by a boy of the class to which he appeared to belong. Then he
went to one of the small inns patronized by the peasants who brought
their goods into market, and without difficulty bargained with one of
them for the purchase of a cart with two oxen, which were to remain at
the inn until he called for them. Then he bought a suit of peasant’s
clothes, after which, well satisfied with the day’s work, he returned to
his lodging. In the morning he again met the servant.

“It was well I asked,” she said, “for the sentry had orders to prevent
any, save nobles and officers, from passing in. However, I went to the
prison, and saw one of the governor’s deputies, and told him that the
count was fretting because his clock had stopped, and, as while I said
so I slipped five ducats the countess had given me for the purpose into
his hand, he made no difficulty about giving me the pass. Here it is.
Now,” she said, “I have earned my twenty ducats.”

“You have earned them well,” Malcolm replied, handing them to her.

“Now mind,” she said, “you must not count on me farther. I don’t know
what you are going to do, and I don’t want to know. I have run quite
a risk enough as it is, and mean, directly the count is lodged in the
prison, to make my way home, having collected a dowry which will enable
me to buy a farm and marry my bachelor, who has been waiting for me for
the last three years. His father is an old curmudgeon, who has declared
that his son shall never marry except a maid who can bring as much money
as he will give him. I told Fritz that if he would trust to my wits and
wait I would in five years produce the dowry. Now I have treble the sum,
and shall go off and make Fritz happy.”

“He is a lucky fellow,” Malcolm said laughing. “It is not every one who
gets beauty, wit, and wealth all together in a wife.”

“You are a flatterer,” the girl laughed; “but for all that I think
myself that Fritz is not unfortunate.”

“And now tell me,” Malcolm asked, “at what time is the sentry generally
changed?”

“At sunrise, at noon, at sunset, and at midnight,” the girl replied;
“but what is that to you?”

“Never mind;” Malcolm laughed; “you know you don’t want to be told what
I’m going to do. I will tell you if you like.”

“No, no,” the girl replied hurriedly. “I would rather be able to always
take my oath on the holy relics that I know nothing about it.”

“Very well,” Malcolm replied; “then this afternoon I will call.”

Having hidden away under his doublet the suit of boy’s clothes, and with
the tools of his trade in a small basket in his hand, Malcolm presented
himself at three o’clock in the afternoon to the sentry at the door
leading to the count’s apartments. The soldier glanced at the pass and
permitted him to enter without remark.

The waiting maid met him inside and conducted him upstairs, and ushered
him into a spacious apartment, in which the count was lying on a couch,
while the countess and Thekla sat at work beside him. She then retired
and closed the door after her. The count and Thekla looked with surprise
at the young artisan, but the countess ran to meet him, and threw her
arms round his neck as if she had been his mother, while Thekla gave a
cry of delight as she recognized him.

“Welcome a thousand times! Welcome, my brave friend!” the countess
exclaimed. “What dangers must you not have encountered on your way
hither to us! The count and Thekla knew not that I had written to
you, for I feared a failure; and when I learned yesterday that you had
arrived I still kept silence, partly to give a joyful surprise to my
lord today, partly because, if the governor called, I was sure that this
child’s telltale face would excite his suspicion that something unusual
had happened.”

“How imprudent!” the count said, holding out his hand to Malcolm. “Had
I known that my wife was sending to you I would not have suffered her to
do so, for the risk is altogether too great, and yet, indeed, I am truly
glad to see you again.”

Thekla gave Malcolm her hand, but said nothing. She had now reached an
age when girls feel a strange shyness in expressing their feelings; but
her hand trembled with pleasure as she placed it in Malcolm’s, and her
cheek flushed hotly as, in accordance with the custom of the times, she
presented it to his kiss.

“Now,” the count said, “do not let us waste time; tell us quickly by
what miracle you have arrived here, and have penetrated to what is
really my prison. You must be quick, for we have much to say, and your
visit must be a short one for every third day the governor of the prison
pays me a visit to see how I am getting on, and I expect that he will be
here ere long.”

“Then,” Malcolm said, “I had best prepare for his coming, for assuredly
I am not going to hurry away.”

So saying, he lifted down the great clock which stood on a bracket on
the wall, and placed it on a side table. “I am a clockmaker,” he said,
“and am come to put this machine, whose stopping has annoyed you sadly,
into order.”

So saying, he took some tools from his basket, removed the works of the
clock, and, taking them in pieces, laid them on the table.

“I spent much of my time at Nuremberg,” he said, in answer to the
surprised exclamations of the count, “in learning the mysteries of
horology, and can take a clock to pieces and can put it together again
with fair skill. There, now, I am ready, and if the governor comes he
will find me hard at work. And now I will briefly tell you how I got
here; then I will hear what plans you may have formed, and I will tell
you mine.”

“For myself, I have no plans,” the count said. “I am helpless, and
must for the present submit to whatever may befall me. That I will not
renounce the cause of my religion you may be sure; as for my wife, we
know not yet whether, when they remove me to the fortress, they will
allow her to accompany me or not. If they do, she will stay with me, but
it is more likely that they will not. The emperor is merciless to those
who oppose him. They will more likely keep her under their eye here or
in Vienna. But for ourselves we care little; our anxiety is for Thekla.
It is through her that they are striking us. You know what they have
threatened if I do not abandon the cause of Protestantism. Thekla is to
be placed in a convent, forced to become a Catholic, and married to the
man on whom the emperor may please to bestow my estates.”

“I would rather die, father, than become a Catholic,” Thekla exclaimed
firmly.

“Yes, dear!” the count said gently, “but it is not death you have to
face; with a fresh and unbroken spirit, it were comparatively easy to
die, but it needs an energy and a spirit almost superhuman to resist the
pressure which may be placed on those who are committed to a convent.
The hopelessness, the silence, the gloom, to say nothing of threats,
menaces, and constant and unremitting pressure, are sufficient to break
down the firmest resolution. The body becomes enfeebled, the nerves
shattered, and the power of resistance enfeebled. No, my darling, brave
as you are in your young strength, you could not resist the influence
which would be brought to bear upon you.”

“Then it is clear,” Malcolm said cheerfully, “that we must get your
daughter out of the clutches of the emperor and the nuns.”

“That is what I have thought over again and again as I have lain here
helpless, but I can see no means of doing so. We have no friends in the
city, and, could the child be got safely out of this place, there is
nowhere whither she could go.”

“And it is for that I have sent for you,” the countess said. “I knew
that if it were in any way possible you would contrive her escape and
aid her to carry it out.”

“Assuredly I will, my dear countess,” Malcolm said. “You only wanted a
friend outside, and now you have got one. I see no difficulty about it.”

At this moment the door suddenly opened; the waiting maid put in her
head and exclaimed, “The governor is alighting at the door.” Malcolm at
once seated himself at the side table and began oiling the wheels of the
clock, while the countess and Thekla took up their work again and seated
themselves, as before, by the couch of the count. A moment later the
attendant opened the door and in a loud voice announced the Baron of
Steinburg.

The governor as he entered cast a keen glance at Malcolm, and then
bowing ceremoniously approached the count and inquired after his health,
and paid the usual compliments to the countess. The count replied
languidly that he gained strength slowly, while the countess said
quietly that he had slept but badly and that his wound troubled him
much. It was well for Thekla that she was not obliged to take part
in the conversation, for she would have found it impossible to speak
quietly and indifferently, for every nerve was tingling with joy at
Malcolm’s last words. The prospect had seemed so hopeless that her
spirits had sunk to the lowest ebb. Her mother had done her best to
cheer her, but the count, weakened by pain and illness, had all along
taken the most gloomy view. He had told himself that it was better for
the girl to submit to her fate than to break her heart like a wild bird
beating out its life against the bars of its cage, and he wished to show
her that neither he nor the world would blame her for yielding to the
tremendous pressure which would be put upon her.

For himself, he would have died a thousand times rather than renounce
his faith; but he told himself that Thekla was but a child, that women
cared little for dogmas, and that she would learn to pray as sincerely
in a Catholic as in a Protestant church, without troubling her mind as
to whether there were gross abuses in the government of the church, in
the sale of absolutions, or errors in abstruse doctrines. But to Thekla
it had seemed impossible that she could become a Catholic.

The two religions stood in arms against each other; Catholics and
Protestants differed not only in faith but in politics. In all things
they were actively and openly opposed to each other, and the thought
that she might be compelled to abjure her faith was most terrible to the
girl; and she was firmly resolved that, so long as her strength lasted
and her mind was unimpaired, she would resist whatever pressure might
be placed upon her, and would yield neither to menaces, to solitary
confinement, or even to active cruelty. The prospect, however; had
weighed heavily upon her mind. Her father had appeared to consider any
escape impossible; her mother had said nothing of her hopes; and the
words which Malcolm had spoken, indicating something like a surety of
freeing her from her terrible position, filled her with surprise and
delight.

“Whom have you here?” the governor asked, indicating Malcolm by a motion
of the head.

“It is a craftsman from Nuremberg. The clock had stopped, and the count,
with whom the hours pass but slowly, fretted himself at not being able
to count them; so I asked our attendant to bring hither a craftsman
to put it in order, first sending her with a note to you asking for
permission for him to come; as you were out your deputy signed the
order.”

“He should not have done so,” the baron said shortly, “for the orders
are strict touching the entry of any here. However, as he has taken the
clock to pieces, he can put it together again.” So saying he went over
to the table where Malcolm was at work and stood for a minute or two
watching him. The manner in which Malcolm fitted the wheels into their
places, filing and oiling them wherever they did not run smoothly,
satisfied him that the youth was what he seemed.

“You are young to have completed your apprenticeship,” he said.

“It is expired but two months, sir,” Malcolm said, standing up
respectfully.

“Under whom did you learn your trade?” the governor asked; “for I have
been in Nuremberg and know most of the guild of clockmakers by name.”

“Under Jans Boerhoff, the syndic of the guild,” Malcolm replied.

“Ah!” the baron said shortly; “and his shop is in--”

“The Cron Strasse,” Malcolm said promptly in answer to the implied
question.

Quite satisfied now, the baron turned away and conversed a few minutes
with the count, telling him that as the surgeon said he could now be
safely removed he would in three days be transferred to an apartment in
the fortress.

“Will the countess be permitted to accompany me?” the count asked.

“That I cannot tell you,” the baron replied. “We are expecting a
messenger with his majesty’s orders on the subject tomorrow or next day.
I have already informed you that, in his solicitude for her welfare, his
majesty has been good enough to order that the young countess shall
be placed in the care of the lady superior of the Convent of St.
Catherine.”

A few minutes later he left the room. Not a word was spoken in the room
until the sound of horse’s hoofs without told that he had ridden off.

As the door closed the countess and Thekla had dropped their work and
sat anxiously awaiting the continuance of the conversation. The count
was the first to speak.

“How mean you, Malcolm? How think you it possible that Thekla can
escape, and where could she go?”

“I like not to make the proposal,” Malcolm said gravely, “nor under
any other circumstances should I think of doing so; but in a desperate
position desperate measures must be adopted. It is impossible that in
your present state you can escape hence, and the countess will not leave
you; but what is absolutely urgent is that your daughter should be freed
from the strait. Save myself you have no friends here; and therefore,
count, if she is to escape it must be through my agency and she must be
committed wholly to my care. I know it is a great responsibility; but if
you and the countess can bring yourselves to commit her to me I swear to
you, as a Scottish gentleman and a Protestant soldier, that I will watch
over her as a brother until I place her in all honour in safe hands.”

The count looked at the countess and at Thekla, who sat pale and still.

“We can trust you, Malcolm Graheme,” he said after a pause. “There are
few, indeed, into whose hands we would thus confide our daughter; but we
know you to be indeed, as you say, a Scottish gentleman and a Protestant
soldier. Moreover, we know you to be faithful, honourable, and true.
Therefore we will, seeing that there is no other mode of escape from the
fate which awaits her, confide her wholly to you. And now tell us what
are your plans?”



CHAPTER XXI FLIGHT


“I THANK you, count, and you, dear lady,” Malcolm said gratefully, “for
the confidence you place in me, and will carry out my trust were it to
cost me my life. My plan is a simple one. The guard will be changed in
half an hour’s time. I have brought hither a suit of boy’s garments,
which I must pray the Countess Thekla to don, seeing that it will be
impossible for her to sally out in her own garb. I show my pass to
the sentry, who will deem that my companion entered with me, and is my
apprentice, and will suppose that, since the sentry who preceded him
suffered him to enter with me he may well pass him out without question.
In the town I have a wagon in readiness, and shall, disguised as a
peasant, start with it this evening. Thekla will be in the bottom
covered with straw. We shall travel all night.

“Tomorrow, when your attendant discovers that your daughter has escaped,
she will at once take the news to the governor. The sentries will all be
questioned, and it will be found that, whereas but one clockmaker came
in two went out. The city will be searched and the country round scoured
but if the horsemen overtake me they will be looking for a craftsman and
his apprentice, and will not suspect a solitary peasant with a wagon.

“The first danger over I must be guided by circumstances; but in any
case Thekla must travel as a boy to the end of the journey, for in such
troubled times as these it were unsafe indeed for a young girl to travel
through Germany except under a strong escort of men-at-arms. I design
to make my way to Nuremberg, and shall then place her in the hands of
my good friend Jans Boerhoff, whose wife and daughters will, I am sure,
gladly receive and care for her until the time, which I hope is not far
off, that peace be made and you can again rejoin her.”

“The plan is a good one,” the count said when Malcolm had concluded,
“and offers every prospect of success. ‘Tis hazardous, but there is no
escape from such a strait as ours without risk. What say you, wife?”

“Assuredly I can think of nothing better. But what say you, Thekla?
Are you ready to run the risks, the danger, and the hardships of such a
journey under the protection only of this brave Scottish gentleman?”

“I am ready, mother,” Thekla said quickly, “but I wish--I wish”--and she
hesitated.

“You wish you could go in your own garments, Thekla, with jewels on
your fingers and a white horse to carry you on a pillion behind your
protector,” the count said with a smile, for his spirits had risen
with the hope of his daughter’s escape from the peril in which she was
placed. “It cannot be, Thekla. Malcolm’s plan must be carried out to the
letter, and I doubt not that you will pass well as a ‘prentice boy. But
your mother must cut off that long hair of yours; I will keep it, my
child, and will stroke it often and often in my prison as I have done
when it has been on your head; your hair may be long again before I next
see you.”

His eyes filled with tears as he spoke, and Thekla and the countess both
broke into a fit of crying. Leaving them by themselves, Malcolm returned
to his work, and in half an hour had replaced the machinery of the clock
and had set it in motion, while a tender conversation went on between
the count and countess and their daughter. By this time the sun had
set, and the attendant entered and lighted the candles in the apartment,
saying, as she placed one on the table by Malcolm, “You must need a
light for your work.” No sooner had she left the room than Malcolm said:

“I would not hurry your parting, countess, but the sooner we are off now
the better.”

Without a word the countess rose, and, taking the clothes which Malcolm
produced from his doublet, retired to her chamber, followed by Thekla.

“Malcolm Graheme,” the count said, “it may be that we shall not meet
again. The emperor is not tender with obstinate prisoners, and I have no
strength to support long hardships. Should aught happen to me I beseech
you to watch over the happiness of my child. Had she been a year older,
and had you been willing, I would now have solemnly betrothed her to
you, and should then have felt secure of her future whatever may befall
me. Methinks she will make a good wife, and though my estates may be
forfeited by the emperor her mother’s lands will make a dowry such as
many a German noble would gladly accept with his wife.

“I might betroth her to you now, for many girls are betrothed at a far
younger age, but I would rather leave it as it is. You are young yet,
and she in most matters is but a child, and it would be better in every
way did she start on this adventure with you regarding you as a brother
than in any other light. Only remember that if we should not meet again,
and you in future years should seek the woman who is now a child as your
wife, you have my fullest approval and consent--nay, more, that it is my
dearest wish.”

“I thank you most deeply for what you have said, count,” Malcolm replied
gravely. “As I have seen your daughter growing up from a child I have
thought how sweet a wife she would make, but I have put the thought from
me, seeing that she is heiress to broad lands and I a Scottish soldier
of fortune, whose lands, though wide enough for me to live in comfort at
home, are yet but a mere farm in comparison with your broad estates.
I have even told myself that as she grew up I must no longer make long
stays in your castle, for it would be dishonourable indeed did I reward
your kindness and hospitality by winning the heart of your daughter; but
after what you have so generously said I need no longer fear my heart,
and will, when the time comes, proudly remind you of your promise. For
this journey I will put all such thoughts aside, and will regard Thekla
as my merry playfellow of the last three years. But after I have once
placed her in safety I shall thenceforward think of her as my wife who
is to be, and will watch over her safety as over my greatest treasure,
trusting that in some happy change of times and circumstances you
yourself and the dear countess, whom I already regard almost as my
parents, will give her to me.”

“So be it,” the count said solemnly. “My blessing on you both should
I ne’er see you again. I can meet whatever fate may be before me with
constancy and comfort now that her future is assured--but here they
come.”

The door opened, and the countess appeared, followed by Thekla,
shrinking behind her mother’s skirts in her boyish attire.

“You will pass well,” the count said gravely, for he knew that jest now
would jar upon her. “Keep that cap well down over your eyes, and try
and assume a little more of the jaunty and impudent air of a boy.
Fortunately it will be dark below, and the sentry will not be able
to mark how fair is your skin and how delicate your hands. And now
farewell, my child. Let us not stand talking, for the quicker a parting
is over the better. May God in heaven bless you and keep you! Malcolm
knows all my wishes concerning you, and when I am not with you trust
yourself to his advice and guidance as you would to mine. There, my
darling, do not break down. You must be brave for all our sakes. Should
the emperor hold me in durance your mother will try and join you ere
long at Nuremberg.”

While the count was embracing Thekla, as she bravely but in vain tried
to suppress her tears, the countess opened the door, and glanced into
the anteroom to see that all was clear and the attendant in her own
apartment. Then she returned, kissed her daughter fondly, and placed her
hand in Malcolm’s, saying to the latter, “God bless you, dear friend!
Take her quickly away for her sake and ours.” One last adieu and Malcolm
and Thekla stood alone in the anteroom.

“Now, Thekla,” he said firmly, “be brave, the danger is at hand, and
your safety and escape from your fate, and my life, depend upon your
calmness. Do you carry this basket of tools and play your part as my
apprentice. Just as we open the door drop the basket and I will rate you
soundly for your carelessness. Keep your head down, and do not let the
light which swings over the door fall upon your face.”

For a minute or two Thekla stood struggling to master her emotions. Then
she said, in a quiet voice, “I am ready now,” and taking up the basket
of tools she followed Malcolm down the stairs. Malcolm opened the door,
and as he did so Thekla dropped the basket.

“How stupid you are!” Malcolm exclaimed sharply. “How often have I told
you to be careful! You don’t suppose that those fine tools can stand
being knocked about in that way without injury? Another time an’ you are
so careless I will give you a taste of the strap, you little rascal.”

“What is all this?” the sentry asked, barring the way with his pike,
“and who are you who are issuing from this house with so much noise? My
orders are that none pass out here without an order from the governor.”

“And such an order have I,” Malcolm said, producing the document.
“There’s the governor’s seal. I have been sent for to repair the clock
in the Count of Mansfeld’s apartment, and a rare job it has been.”

The sentry was unable to read, but he looked at the seal which he had
been taught to recognize.

“But there is only one seal,” he said, “and there are two of you.”

“Pooh!” Malcolm said scornfully. “Dost think that when ten persons are
admitted to pass in together the governor puts ten seals on the pass?
You see for yourself that it is but a young boy, my apprentice. Why, the
governor himself left scarce an hour ago, and was in the apartment with
me while I was at work. Had it not been all right he would have hauled
me to the prison quickly enough.”

As the sentry knew that the governor had left but a short time before
he came on guard this convinced him, and, standing aside, he allowed
Malcolm and his companion to pass. Malcolm made his way first to the
apartment he had occupied, where he had already settled for his lodging.

Leaving Thekla below he ran upstairs, and hastily donned the suit of
peasant’s clothes, and then making the others into a bundle descended
again, and with Thekla made his way to the quiet spot outside the city
gates where the wagon was standing ready for a start. He had already
paid the peasant half the sum agreed, and now handed him the remainder.

“I should scarce have known you,” the peasant said, examining Malcolm by
the light of his pinewood torch. “Why, you look like one of us instead
of a city craftsman.”

“I am going to astonish them when I get home,” Malcolm said, “and shall
make the old folks a present of the wagon. So I am going to arrive just
as I was when I left them.”

The peasant asked no farther questions, but, handing the torch to
Malcolm, and telling him that he would find half a dozen more in the
wagon, he took his way back to the town, where he intended to sleep in
the stables and to start at daybreak for his home.

He thought that the transaction was a curious one; but, as he had
been paid handsomely for his wagon, he troubled not his head about any
mystery there might be in the matter. As soon as he had gone Malcolm
arranged the straw in the bottom of the wagon so as to form a bed; but
Thekla said that for the present she would rather walk with him.

“It is weeks since I have been out, and I shall enjoy walking for a
time; besides, it is all so strange that I should have no chance to
sleep were I to lie down.”

Malcolm at once consented, and taking his place at the head of the oxen,
he started them, walking ahead to light the way and leading them by
cords passed through their nostrils. He had not the least fear of
pursuit for the present, for it had been arranged that the countess
should inform their attendant that Thekla was feeling unwell, and had
retired to bed, and the woman, whatever she might suspect, would
take care not to verify the statement, and it would be well on in the
following morning before her absence was discovered.

Malcolm tried his best to distract Thekla’s thoughts from her parents,
and from the strange situation in which she was placed, and chatted to
her of the events of the war since he had last seen her, of the route
which he intended to adopt, and the prospects of peace. In two hours’
time the girl, unaccustomed to exercise, acknowledged that she was
tired; she therefore took her place in the wagon.

Malcolm covered her up with straw and threw some sacks lightly over
her, and then continued his journey. He travelled all night, and in the
morning stopped at a wayside inn, where his arrival at that hour excited
no surprise, as the peasants often travelled at night, because there was
then less chance of their carts being seized and requisitioned by the
troops. He only stopped a short time to water and feed the oxen, and
to purchase some black bread and cheese. This he did, not because he
required it, for he had an ample supply of provisions in the cart far
more suited for Thekla’s appetite than the peasant’s fare, but to act
in the usual manner, and so avoid any comment. Thekla was still asleep
under the covering, which completely concealed her. Malcolm journeyed on
until two miles further he came to a wood, then, drawing aside from the
road, he unyoked the oxen and allowed them to lie down, for they had
already made a long journey. Then he woke Thekla, who leaped up gaily
on finding that it was broad daylight. Breakfast was eaten, and after a
four hours’ halt they resumed their way, Thekla taking her place in
the wagon again, and being carefully covered up in such a manner that
a passerby would not suspect that anyone was lying under the straw
and sacks at one end of the wagon. Just at midday Malcolm heard the
trampling of horses behind him and saw a party of cavalry coming along
at full gallop. The leader drew rein when he overtook the wagon.

“Have you seen anything,” he asked Malcolm, “of two seeming craftsmen, a
man and a boy, journeying along the road?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I have seen no one on foot since I started an
hour since.”

Without a word the soldiers went on. They had no reason, indeed,
for believing that those for whom they were in search had taken that
particular road. As soon as Thekla’s disappearance had been discovered
by the waiting woman she had hurried to the governor, and with much
perturbation and many tears informed him that the young countess was
missing, and that her couch had not been slept on. The governor had at
once hurried to the spot. The count and countess resolutely refused to
state what had become of their daughter.

The sentries had all been strictly questioned, and it was found that the
mender of clocks had, when he left, been accompanied by an apprentice
whom the sentry previously on duty asserted had not entered with him.
The woman was then closely questioned; she asserted stoutly that she
knew nothing whatever of the affair. The count had commissioned her to
obtain a craftsman to set the clock in order, and she had bethought her
of a young man whose acquaintance she had made some time previously, and
who had informed her in the course of conversation that he had come
from Nuremberg, and was a clockmaker by trade, and was at present out of
work. She had met him, she said, on several occasions, and as he was a
pleasant youth and comely, when he had spoken to her of marriage she
had not been averse, now it was plain he had deceived her; and here she
began to cry bitterly and loudly.

Her story seemed probable enough, for any friend of the count who
had intended to carry off his daughter would naturally have begun by
ingratiating himself with her attendant. She was, however, placed in
confinement for a time. The count and countess were at once removed
to the fortress. Orders were given that the town should be searched
thoroughly, and any person answering to the description which the
governor was able to give of the supposed clockmaker should be arrested,
while parties of horse were despatched along all the roads with orders
to arrest and bring to Prague any craftsman or other person accompanied
by a young boy whom they might overtake by the way. Several innocent
peasants with their sons were pounced upon on the roads and hauled to
Prague; but no news was obtained of the real fugitives, who quietly
pursued their way undisturbed further by the active search which was
being made for them. The anger of the emperor when he heard of the
escape of the prize he had destined for one of his favourite officers
was extreme. He ordered the count to be treated with the greatest
rigour, and declared all his estates and those of his wife forfeited,
the latter part of the sentence being at present inoperative, her
estates being in a part of the country far beyond the range of the
Imperialist troops. The waiting maid was after some weeks’ detention
released, as there was no evidence whatever of her complicity in the
affair.

Malcolm continued his journey quietly towards the frontier of Bavaria;
but, on arriving at a small town within a few miles of Pilsen, he
learned that Wallenstein had fallen back with his army to that place.
Much alarmed at the news he determined to turn off by a cross road and
endeavour to avoid the Imperialists. He had not, however, left the place
before a party of Imperialist horse rode in.

Malcolm was at once stopped, and was told that he must accompany the
troops to Pilsen, as they had orders to requisition all carts for the
supply of provisions for the army. Malcolm knew that it was of no use to
remonstrate, but, with many loud grumblings at his hard lot, he moved to
the marketplace, where he remained until all the wagons in the place and
in the surrounding country had been collected.

Loud and bitter were the curses which the peasants uttered at finding
themselves taken from their homes and compelled to perform service for
which the pay, if received at all, would be scanty in the extreme. There
was, however, no help for it; and when all were collected they started
in a long procession guarded by the cavalry for Pilsen. On arriving
there they were ordered to take up their station with the great train of
wagons collected for the supply of the army.

Thekla had from her hiding place heard the conversation, and was
greatly alarmed at finding that they were again in the power of the
Imperialists. No one, however, approached the wagon, and it was not
until darkness had set in that she heard Malcolm’s voice whispering to
her to arise quietly.

“We must leave the wagon; it will be impossible for you to remain
concealed here longer, for tomorrow I may be sent out to bring in
supplies. For the present we must remain in Pilsen. The whole country
will be scoured by the troops, and it will not be safe to traverse the
roads. Here in Pilsen no one will think of looking for us.

“Wallenstein’s headquarters are the last place where we should be
suspected of hiding, and you may be sure that, however close the search
may be elsewhere, the governor of Prague will not have thought of
informing Wallenstein of an affair so foreign to the business of war as
the escape from the emperor’s clutches of a young lady. I have donned my
craftsman dress again, and we will boldly seek for lodgings.”

They soon entered the town, which was crowded with troops, searching
about in the poorer quarters.

Malcolm presently found a woman who agreed to let him two rooms. He
accounted for his need for the second room by saying that his young
brother was ill and needed perfect rest and quiet, and that the filing
and hammering which was necessary in his craft prevented the lad from
sleeping. As Malcolm agreed at once to the terms she asked for the
rooms, the woman accepted his statement without doubt. They were soon
lodged in two attics at the top of the house, furnished only with a
table, two chairs, and a truckle bed in each; but Malcolm was well
contented with the shelter he had found.

Seeing that it would be extremely difficult at present to journey
further, he determined to remain some little time in the town, thinking
that he might be able to carry out the instructions which he had
received from Colonel Munro, and to obtain information as to the plans
of Wallenstein and the feelings of the army.

“You will have to remain a prisoner here, Thekla, I am afraid, almost
as strictly as at Prague, for it would not do to risk the discovery that
you are a girl by your appearing in the streets in daylight, and after
dark the streets of the town, occupied by Wallenstein’s soldiers, are no
place for any peaceful persons.

“I may as well be here as at Nuremberg,” Thekla said, “and as I shall
have you with me instead of being with strangers, the longer we stay
here the better.”

The next morning Malcolm sallied out into the town to see if he could
find employment. There was, however, but one clockmaker in Pilsen,
and the war had so injured his trade that he had discharged all his
journeymen, for clocks were still comparatively rare luxuries, and were
only to be seen in the houses of nobles and rich citizens. Knowing that
Wallenstein was devoted to luxury and magnificence, always taking with
him, except when making the most rapid marches, a long train of baggage
and furniture, Malcolm thought it possible that he might obtain some
employment in his apartments. He accordingly went boldly to the castle
where the duke had established himself, and, asking for his steward,
stated that he was a clockmaker from the workshop of the celebrated
horologist, Master Jans Boerhoff, and could repair any clocks or watches
that might be out of order.

“Then you are the very man we need,” the steward said. “My master, the
duke, is curious in such matters, and ever carries with him some half
dozen clocks with his other furniture; and, use what care I will in
packing them, the shaking of the wagons is constantly putting them
out of repair. It was but this morning the duke told me to bring a
craftsman, if one capable of the work could be found in the town, and
to get the clocks put in order, for it displeases him if they do not all
keep the time to the same minute. Follow me.”

He led the way into the private apartments of the duke. These were
magnificently furnished, the walls being covered with rich velvet
hangings. Thick carpets brought from the East covered the floors.
Indeed, in point of luxury and magnificence, Wallenstein kept up a state
far surpassing that of his Imperial master.

There were several clocks standing on tables and on brackets, for
Wallenstein, although in most respects of a clear and commanding
intellect, was a slave to superstition. He was always accompanied by an
astrologer, who read for him the course of events from the movements of
the stars, who indicated the lucky and unlucky days, and the hours at
which it was not propitious to transact important business. Hence it
was that he placed so great an importance on the exact observance of the
hour by his numerous time pieces.

“Here are some of the clocks,” the steward said, indicating them. “Of
course you cannot work here, and they are too heavy to be removed,
besides being too costly to intrust out of my charge, I will have a room
prepared in the castle where you can work. Come again at noon with your
tools, and all shall be in readiness.”

At the hour appointed Malcolm again presented himself.

“The duke has given personal instructions,” he said, “that a closet
close by shall be fitted up for you, in order that he himself if he
chooses may see you at work.”

Malcolm was conducted to a small room near at hand. Here one of the
clocks which had stopped had been placed on the table, and he at once
set to work. He soon discovered that one of the wheels had been shaken
from its place by the jolting of the wagons, and that the clock could be
set going by a few minutes work. As, however, his object was to prolong
his visit to the castle as long as possible, he set to work and took it
entirely to pieces. Two hours later the door opened and a tall handsome
man of commanding presence entered. Malcolm rose and bowed respectfully,
feeling that he was in the presence of the great general.

“You come from Nuremberg,” Wallenstein said, “as I am told, and have
learned your craft in the workshop of Master Jans Boerhoff, who is well
known as being the greatest master of his craft.”

Malcolm bowed silently.

“It is strange,” Wallenstein muttered to himself, “that this young man’s
destiny should be connected with mine; and yet the astrologer said that
he who should present himself at the castle nearest to the stroke of
nine this morning would be a factor in my future, and, as my steward
tells me, the clock sounded nine as this young man addressed him.” He
then asked Malcolm several questions as to the work upon which he was
engaged, and then said abruptly: “Dost know the day and hour on which
you were born?”

Malcolm was somewhat surprised at the question, for he had not heard the
muttered words of Wallenstein, but he at once replied that he had heard
that he was born at the stroke of midnight on the last day in the year.

The duke said no more, but left the closet and proceeded at once to an
apartment near his own bed chamber, which, although he had arrived but
a few hours previously, had already been fitted up for the use of his
astrologer. The walls were hidden by a plain hanging of scarlet cloth;
a large telescope stood at the window, a chart of the heavens was spread
out on the table, and piles of books stood beside it. On the ceiling the
signs of the zodiac had been painted, and some mystical circles had been
marked out on the floor. A tall spare old man with a long white beard
was seated at the table. He rose when Wallenstein entered.

“I cannot but think,” the duke said, “that your calculations must for
once have been mistaken, and that there must have been an error in the
hour, for I see not how the destiny of this craftsman, who seems to be a
simple lad, can in any way be connected with mine.”

“I have made the calculation three times, your grace,” the old man
replied, “and am sure there is no error.”

“He was born,” Wallenstein said, “at midnight on December 31st, 1613.
Work out his nativity, and see what stars were in the ascendant, and
whether there are any affinities between us.”

“I will do so at once,” the astrologer said; “by tonight I shall be able
to give your grace the information you require.”

“Tonight,” the duke said, “we will go over your calculations together
as to our great enterprise. It is all important that there should be no
mistake. I have for a whole year remained inactive because you told
me that the time had not yet come, and now that you say the propitious
moment is approaching would fain be sure that no error has been
committed. All seems well, the troops are devoted to me, and will
fight against whomsoever I bid them. By lavish gifts and favours I have
attached all my generals firmly to me, and soon this ungrateful emperor
shall feel how rash and foolish he has been to insult the man to whom
alone he owes it that he was not long ago a fugitive and an exile, with
the Swedes victorious masters of his capital and kingdom.

“Have not I alone saved him? Did not I at my own cost raise an army and
stand between him and the victorious Gustavus? Have not I alone of all
his generals checked the triumphant progress of the invaders? And yet
he evades all his promises, he procrastinates and falters. Not one step
does he take to give me the sovereignty of Bohemia which he so solemnly
promised me, and seems to think that it is honour and reward enough for
me to have spent my treasure and blood in his service. But my turn is at
hand, and when the hand which saved his throne shall cast him from it
he will learn how rash he has been to have deceived and slighted me.
And you say that the stars last night all pointed to a favourable
conjunction, and that the time for striking the great blow is at hand?”

“Nothing could be better,” the astrologer said; “Jupiter, your own
planet, and Mars are in the ascendant. Saturn is still too near them to
encourage instant action, but he will shortly remove to another house
and then your time will have come.”

“So be it,” Wallenstein said, “and the sooner the better. Now I will
leave you to your studies, and will ride out to inspect the troops, and
to see that they have all that they need, for they must be kept in the
best of humours at present.”



CHAPTER XXII THE CONSPIRACY


The next day Wallenstein again entered Malcolm’s workroom and said
abruptly to him: “What deeds of bravery have you performed?”

Malcolm looked astonished.

“In an idle moment,” the duke said, “having an interest in nativities
and seeing that you were born between two years, I asked my astrologer
to work out the calculations. He tells me that it was fated that you
should perform deeds of notable bravery while still young. It seemed
the horoscope of a soldier rather than of a craftsman, and so I told the
sage; but he will have it that he has made no mistake.”

Malcolm hesitated for a moment; the blind faith which the otherwise
intelligent and capable general placed in the science of astrology was
well known to the world. Should he deny that he had accomplished any
feats, the duke, believing implicitly the statement which his astrologer
had made him, would suspect that he was not what he seemed; he therefore
replied modestly, “I have done no deeds worthy relating to your
excellency, but I once swam across a swollen river to direct some
travellers who would otherwise have perished, and my neighbours were
good enough to say that none in those parts save myself would have
attempted such a feat.”

“Ah!” the duke exclaimed in a tone of satisfaction, “as usual the stars
have spoken correctly. Doubtless as great courage is required to swim a
river in flood as to charge into the ranks of the enemy.”

So saying Wallenstein left the room, filled with a desire to attach to
himself the young man whom his adviser had assured him was in some
way connected with his destiny. Wallenstein a day or two later offered
Malcolm to take him into his permanent service, saying that he was
frequently plagued by the stoppages of his clocks, and desired to have
a craftsman capable of attending to them on his establishment. He even
told the young man that he might expect promotion altogether beyond his
present station.

Malcolm could not refuse so flattering an offer, and was at once
installed as a member of Wallenstein’s household, declining however the
use of the apartment which the steward offered him, saying that he had a
sick brother lodging with him in the town. Mingling with the soldiers in
the evenings Malcolm learned that there were rumours that negotiations
for peace were going on with Saxony and Sweden. This was indeed the
case, but Wallenstein was negotiating on his own behalf, and not on that
of the emperor. So far but little had come of these negotiations, for
Oxenstiern had the strongest doubts of Wallenstein’s sincerity, and
believed that he was only trying to gain time and delay operations
by pretended proposals for peace. He could not believe that the great
Imperialist general, the right hand of the emperor, had any real
intention of turning against his master. Towards the end of January
there was some excitement in Pilsen owing to the arrival there of all
the generals of the Imperialist army save only Gallas, Coloredo, and
Altringer.

Malcolm was sure that such a gathering could only have been summoned
by Wallenstein upon some matter of the most vital importance, and he
determined at all hazards to learn what was taking place, in order that
he might enlighten Oxenstiern as to the real sentiments of the duke.
Learning that the principal chamber in the castle had been cleared, and
that a meeting of the officers would take place there in the evening, he
told Thekla when he went home to his meal at midday that she must not be
surprised if he did not return until a late hour. He continued his work
until nearly six o’clock, the time at which the meeting was to begin,
and then extinguishing his light, he made his way through the passages
of the castle until he reached the council chamber, meeting with no
interruption from the domestics, who were by this time familiar with his
person, and who regarded him as one rising in favour with their master.
He waited in the vicinity of the chamber until he saw an opportunity for
entering unobserved, then he stole into the room and secreted himself
behind the arras beneath a table standing against the wall, and where,
being in shadow, the bulge in the hanging would not attract attention.

In a few minutes he heard heavy steps with the clanking of swords and
jingling of spurs, and knew that the council was beginning to assemble.
The hum of conversation rose louder and louder for a quarter of an
hour; then he heard the door of the apartment closed, and knew that the
council was about to commence. The buzz of conversation ceased, and then
a voice, which was that of Field Marshal Illo, one of the three men in
Wallenstein’s confidence, rose in the silence. He began by laying before
the army the orders which the emperor had sent for its dispersal to
various parts of the country, and by the turn he gave to these he found
it easy to excite the indignation of the assembly.

He then expatiated with much eloquence upon the merits of the army
and its generals, and upon the ingratitude with which the emperor had
treated them after their noble efforts in his behalf. The court, he
said, was governed by Spanish influence. The ministry were in the pay of
Spain. Wallenstein alone had hitherto opposed this tyranny, and had thus
drawn upon himself the deadly enmity of the Spaniards. To remove him
from the command, or to make away with him entirely, had, he asserted,
been long the end of their desires, and until they could succeed they
endeavoured to abridge his power in the field. The supreme command was
to be placed in the hands of the King of Hungary solely to promote
the Spanish power in Germany, as this prince was merely the passive
instrument of Spain.

It was only with the view of weakening the army that six thousand troops
were ordered to be detached from it, and solely to harass it by a winter
campaign that they were now called upon at this inhospitable season
to undertake the recovery of Ratisbon. The Jesuits and the ministry
enriched themselves with the treasure wrung from the provinces, and
squandered the money intended for the pay of the troops.

The general, then, abandoned by the court, was forced to acknowledge
his inability to keep his engagements to the army. For all the services
which for two-and-twenty years he had rendered to the house of Austria,
in return for all the difficulties with which he had struggled, for all
the treasures of his own which he had expended in the Imperial service,
a second disgraceful dismissal awaited him. But he was resolved the
matter should not come to this; he was determined voluntarily to resign
the command before it should be wrested from his hands, “and this,”
 continued the speaker, “is what he has summoned you here to make known
to you, and what he has commissioned me to inform you.”

It was now for them to say whether they would permit him to leave them;
it was for each man present to consider who was to repay him the sums
he had expended in the emperor’s service; how he was ever to reap the
rewards for his bravery and devotion, when the chief who alone was
cognizant of their efforts, who was their sole advocate and champion,
was removed from them.

When the speaker concluded a loud cry broke from all the officers that
they would not permit Wallenstein to be taken from them. Then a babel
of talk arose, and after much discussion four of the officers were
appointed as a deputation to wait upon the duke to assure him of the
devotion of the army, and to beg him not to withdraw himself from
them. The four officers intrusted with the commission left the room and
repaired to the private chamber of the general. They returned in a short
time, saying that the duke refused to yield.

Another deputation was sent to pray him in even stronger terms to remain
with them. These returned with the news that Wallenstein had reluctantly
yielded to their request; but upon the condition that each of them
should give a written promise to truly and firmly adhere to him, neither
to separate or to allow himself to be separated from him, and to
shed his last drop of blood in his defence. Whoever should break this
covenant, so long as Wallenstein should employ the army in the emperor’s
service, was to be regarded as a perfidious traitor and to be treated by
the rest as a common enemy.

As these last words appeared to indicate clearly that Wallenstein had no
thought of assuming a position hostile to the emperor, or of defying his
authority, save in the point of refusing to be separated from his army,
all present agreed with acclamations to sign the documents required.

“Then, gentlemen,” Marshal Illo said, “I will have the document for your
signatures at once drawn up. A banquet has been prepared in the next
room, of which I invite you now all to partake, and at its conclusion
the document shall be ready.”

Malcolm from his hiding place heard the general movement as the officers
left the apartment, and looking cautiously out from beneath the arras,
saw that the chamber was entirely empty. He determined, however, to
remain and to hear the conclusion of the conference. He accordingly
remained quiet for upwards of an hour. During this time the attendants
had entered and extinguished the lights, as the guests would not return
to the council chamber.

He now left his hiding place and made his way to the door which
separated him from the banqueting hall. Listening intently at the
keyhole, he heard the clinking of glasses and the sound of voices loudly
raised, and he guessed that the revelry was at its height. More and more
noisy did it become, for Marshal Illo was plying his guests with wine in
order that they might sign without examination the document which he had
prepared for their signatures. Feeling confident that none would hear
him in the state at which they had now arrived, Malcolm cautiously
opened the door an inch or two, and was able to hear and see all that
passed.

It was another hour before Marshal Illo produced the document and passed
it round for signature. Many of those to whom it was handed signed it
at once without reading the engagement; but one more sober than the
rest insisted on reading it through, and at once rising to his feet,
announced to the others that the important words “as long as Wallenstein
shall employ the army for the emperor’s service,” which had been
inserted in the first draft agreed to by Wallenstein and the deputation,
had been omitted.

A scene of noisy confusion ensued. Several of the officers declared that
they would not sign the document as it stood. General Piccolomini, who
had only attended the meeting in order that he might inform the emperor,
to whom he was devoted, of what took place there, had drunk so much wine
that he forgot the part he was playing, and rose to his feet and with
drunken gravity proposed the health of the emperor.

Louder and louder grew the din of tongues until Count Terzky, who was
alone with Illo and Colonel Kinsky in Wallenstein’s confidence, arose,
and in a thundering voice declared that all were perjured villains
who should recede from their engagement, and would, according to their
agreements be treated as enemies by the rest. His menaces and the
evident danger which any who might now draw back would run, overcame the
scruples of the recalcitrants, and all signed the paper. This done
the meeting broke up, and Malcolm, stealing away from his post of
observation, made his way back to his lodgings.

He slept little that night. What he had seen convinced him that
Wallenstein was really in earnest in the propositions which he had made
to Oxenstiern and the Elector of Saxony, and that he meditated an
open rebellion against the emperor. It was of extreme importance that
Oxenstiern should be made acquainted with these facts; but it would
be next to impossible to escape from Pilsen, burdened as he was with
Thekla, and to cross the country which intervened between the two armies
and which was constantly traversed by cavalry parties and scouts of both
sides.

After much deliberation, therefore, he determined upon the bold course
of frankly informing Wallenstein who he was and what he had heard, and
to beg of him to furnish him with an escort to pass through the lines in
order that he might make his way with all speed to Oxenstiern in order
to assure him of the good faith of the duke and of the importance of
his frankly and speedily accepting his proposals. It was possible, of
course, that he might fall a victim to Wallenstein’s first anger when he
found out that he had been duped, and the plot in which he was engaged
discovered; but he resolved to run the risk, believing that the duke
would see the advantage to be gained by complying with his proposal.

It was necessary, however, to prepare Thekla for the worst.

“Thekla,” he said in the morning, “an end has come to our stay here.
Circumstances have occurred which will either enable us to continue our
journey at once and in safety or which may place me in a prison.”

Thekla gave a cry of surprise and terror. “I do not think, my dear
girl,” Malcolm went on, “that there is much fear of the second
alternative, but we must be prepared for it. You must obey my
instructions implicitly. Should I not return by nightfall you will know
that for a time at least I have been detained. You will tell the woman
of the house, who is aware that I am employed by Wallenstein, that I
have been sent by him to examine and set in order the clocks in his
palace in Vienna in readiness for his return there, but that as you were
too unwell to travel I have bade you remain here until I return to fetch
you.

“You have an ample supply of money even without the purse of gold which
the duke presented to me yesterday. You must remain here quietly until
the spring, when the tide of war is sure to roll away to some other
quarter, and I trust that, long ere that, even should I be detained,
I shall be free to come to you again; but if not, do you then despatch
this letter which I have written for you to Jans Boerhoff. In this
I tell him where you are, in order that, if your mother comes to him
asking for you, or your parents are able to write to him to inquire for
you, he may inform them of your hiding place. I have also written you a
letter to the commander of any Swedish force which may enter this town,
telling him who you are, and praying him to forward you under an escort
to Nuremberg.”

“But what shall I do without you?” Thekla sobbed.

“I trust, my dear, that you will not have to do without me, and
feel convinced that tomorrow we shall be upon our way to the Swedish
outposts. I only give you instructions in case of the worst. It troubles
me terribly that I am forced to do anything which may possibly deprive
you of my protection, but my duty to the country I serve compels me to
take this step, which is one of supreme importance to our cause.”

It was long before Thekla was pacified, and Malcolm himself was
deeply troubled at the thought that the girl might be left alone and
unprotected in a strange place. Still there appeared every probability
that she would be able to remain there in safety until an opportunity
should occur for her to make her way to Nuremberg. It was with a heavy
heart, caused far more by the thought of Thekla’s position than of
danger to himself, that he took his way to the castle; but he felt that
his duty was imperative, and was at heart convinced that Wallenstein
would eagerly embrace his offer.

It was not until midday that he was able to see the duke. Wallenstein
had been greatly angered as well as alarmed at the resistance which his
scheme had met with on the previous evening. He had believed that his
favours and liberality had so thoroughly attached his generals to
his person that they would have followed him willingly and without
hesitation, even in a war against the emperor, and the discovery that,
although willing to support him against deprivation from his command,
they shrunk alarmed at the idea of disloyalty to the emperor, showed
that his position was dangerous in the extreme.

He found that the signatures to the document had for the most part been
scrawled so illegibly that the writers would be able to repudiate them
if necessary, and that deceit was evidently intended. In the morning he
called together the whole of the generals, and personally received them.
After pouring out the bitterest reproaches and abuse against the court,
he reminded them of their opposition to the proposition set before them
on the previous evening, and declared that this circumstance had induced
him to retract his own promise, and that he should at once resign his
command.

The generals, in confusion and dismay, withdrew to the antechamber, and
after a short consultation returned to offer their apologies for their
conduct on the previous evening and to offer to sign anew the engagement
which bound them to him. This was done, and it now remained only for
Wallenstein to obtain the adhesion of Gallas, Altringer, and Coloredo,
which, as they held important separate commands, was necessary for the
success of his plan. Messengers were accordingly sent out at once to
request them to come instantly to Pilsen.

After this business was despatched and Wallenstein was disengaged he was
informed that Malcolm desired earnestly to speak to him on particular
business. Greatly surprised at the request, he ordered that he should be
shown in to him.

“Your excellency,” Malcolm began when they were alone, “what I am about
to say may anger you, but as I trust that much advantage may arise from
my communication, I implore you to restrain your anger until you hear me
to the end, after which it will be for you to do with me as you will.”

Still more surprised at this commencement, Wallenstein signed to him to
continue.

“I am, sir,” Malcolm went on, “no clockmaker, although, indeed, having
worked for some time in the shop of Master Jans Boerhoff at the time of
the siege of Nuremberg, I am able to set clocks and watches in repair,
as I have done to those which have been placed in my hands here. In
reality, sir, I am a Scottish officer, a captain in the service of
Sweden.”

Wallenstein gave a short exclamation of angry surprise. “You must not
think, sir, that I have come hither in disguise to be a spy upon the
movements of your army. I came here unwillingly, being captured by your
troops, and forced to accompany them.

“I left the Swedish camp on a private mission, having received there a
missive from the Countess of Mansfeld, who, with her husband, was a kind
friend of mine, telling me that they were prisoners of the emperor at
Prague, and begging me to come to their assistance. Bethinking me of
the occupation which had amused my leisure hours during the weary months
when we were shut up by you in Nuremberg, I obtained leave of absence,
attired myself as a craftsman, and made my way to Prague. There I found
the count confined to his couch by a wound and unable to move. The
countess had no thought of quitting him. Her anxiety was wholly for her
daughter, a girl of fifteen, whom the emperor purposed to shut up in a
convent and force to change her religion, and then to bestow her hand
upon one of his favourites, with her father’s confiscated estates as her
dowry.

“I succeeded in effecting her escape, disguised as a boy; I myself
travelling in the disguise of a peasant with a wagon. We were making our
way towards the Swedish lines when we came across your army, which had,
unknown to me, suddenly moved hither. I and my cart were requisitioned
for the service of the army. On the night of my arrival here I resumed
my disguise as a craftsman, left my wagon, and with my young companion
took up my lodging here, intending to remain quietly working at the
craft I assumed until an opportunity offered for continuing our journey.
Accident obtained me employment here, and as rumour said that overtures
for peace were passing between yourself and the Swedish chancellor,
I may frankly say that I determined to use the position in which I
accidentally found myself for the benefit of the country I served, by
ascertaining, if I could, how far your excellency was in earnest as
to the offers you were making. In pursuance of that plan I yesterday
concealed myself and overheard all that passed in the council chamber
with the officers, and at the banquet subsequently.”

Wallenstein leapt to his feet with an angry exclamation.

“Your excellency will please to remember,” Malcolm went on quietly,
“that I could have kept all this to myself and used it to the benefit or
detriment of your excellency, but it seemed to me that I should benefit
at once your designs and the cause I serve by frankly acquainting you
with what I have discovered. It would be a work of time for me to make
my way with my companion through the lines of your army and to gain
those of the Swedes. I might be slain in so doing and the important
information I have acquired lost.

“It is of all things important to you that the Swedish chancellor, whose
nature is cautious and suspicious, should be thoroughly convinced that
it is your intention to make common cause with him and to join him heart
and soul in forcing the emperor to accept the conditions which you and
he united may impose upon him. This the information I have acquired will
assuredly suffice to do, and he will, without doubt, at once set his
army in motion to act in concert with yours.”

Wallenstein paced the room for a minute or two in silence.

“The stars truly said that you are a brave man and that your destiny is
connected with mine,” he said at length, “for assuredly none but a brave
man would venture to tell me that he had spied into my councils. I see,
however, that what you say is reasonable and cogent, and that the news
you have to tell may well induce Oxenstiern to lay aside the doubts
which have so long kept us asunder and at once to embrace my offer.
What, then, do you propose?”

“I would ask, sir,” Malcolm replied, “that you would at once order a
squadron of horse to escort me and my companion through the debatable
land between your army and that of the Swedes, with orders for us
to pass freely on as soon as we are beyond your outposts and in the
neighbourhood of those of the Swedes.”

“It shall be done,” Wallenstein said. “In half an hour a squadron of
horse shall be drawn up in the courtyard here, and a horse and pillion
in readiness for yourself and the maiden. In the meantime I will myself
prepare a letter for you to present to the Swedish chancellor with fresh
proposals for common action.”



CHAPTER XXIII THE MURDER OF WALLENSTEIN


Malcolm hurried back to his lodging, where he was received with a cry
of delight from Thekla, who had passed the time since he had left her on
her knees praying for his safety. He told her at once that she was about
to be restored to safety among friends, that her troubles were at an
end, and she was again to resume her proper garments which she had
brought with her in the basket containing his tools at the time of her
flight.

A few minutes sufficed to make the change, and then she accompanied
Malcolm to the castle. Wallenstein’s orders had been rapidly carried
out; a squadron of cavalry were formed up in the courtyard, and in front
of them an attendant held a horse with a pillion behind the saddle.
Malcolm lifted Thekla on to the pillion and sprang into the saddle in
front of her. One of Wallenstein’s household handed a letter to him and
then gave him into the charge of the officer commanding the squadron,
who had already received his orders. The officer at once gave the word
and rode from the castle followed by the cavalry.

As soon as they were out of the town the pace was quickened, and the
cavalcade proceeded at a trot which was kept up with few intermissions
until nightfall, by which time twenty miles had been covered. They
halted for the night in a small town where the soldiers were billeted
on the inhabitants, comfortable apartments being assigned to Malcolm and
his charge.

Soon after daybreak the journey was continued. A sharp watch was now
kept up, as at any moment parties of the Swedish cavalry making a raid
far in advance of their lines might be met with. No such adventure
happened, and late in the afternoon the troop halted on the crest of a
low hill.

“Here,” the officer said, “we part. That town which you see across
the river is held by the Swedes, and you will certainly meet with no
molestation from any of our side as you ride down to it.”

Malcolm thanked the officer for the courtesy he had shown him on the
journey, and then rode forward towards the town. It was getting dusk as
he neared the bridge, but as he came close Malcolm’s heart gave a bound
as he recognized the green scarves and plumes worn by the sentries at
the bridge. These seeing only a single horseman with a female behind
him did not attempt to question him as he passed; but he reined in his
horse.

“Whose regiment do you belong to?” he asked.

The men looked up in surprise at being addressed in their own language
by one whose attire was that of a simple craftsman, but whom they now
saw rode a horse of great strength and beauty.

“We belong to Hamilton’s regiment,” they replied.

“And where shall I find that of Munro?”

“It is lying in quarters fifteen miles away,” one of the soldiers
answered.

“Then we cannot get on there tonight,” Malcolm said. “Where are your
officers quartered?”

A soldier standing near at once volunteered to act as guide, and in a
few minutes Malcolm arrived at the house occupied by them. He was
of course personally known to all the officers, and as soon as their
surprise at his disguise and at seeing him accompanied by a young lady
had subsided, they received him most heartily.

Thekla was at once taken to the house of the burgomaster, which was
close at hand, and handed over to the wife of that functionary for the
night, and Malcolm spent a merry evening with the Scottish officers,
to whom he related the adventures which had so satisfactorily
terminated--making, however, no allusion to the political secrets which
he had discovered or the mission with which he was charged. He was soon
furnished from the wardrobes of the officers with a suit of clothes,
and although his craftsman attire had served him well he was glad to don
again the uniform of the Scottish brigade.

“You have cut your narrative strangely short at the end, Graheme,”
 Colonel Hamilton said when Malcolm brought his story to a conclusion.
“How did you get away from Pilsen at last, and from whom did you steal
that splendid charger on whom you rode up to the door?”

“That is not my own secret, colonel, and I can only tell you at present
that Wallenstein himself gave it to me.”

A roar of incredulous laughter broke from the officers round the table.

“A likely story indeed, Graheme; the duke was so fascinated with your
talents as a watchmaker that he bestowed a charger fit for his own
riding upon you to carry you across into our lines.”

“It does not sound likely, I grant you,” Malcolm said, “but it is true,
as you will acknowledge when the time comes that there will be no longer
any occasion for me to keep the circumstances secret. I only repeat,
Wallenstein gave me the honour of an escort which conducted me to the
crest of the hill two miles away, where, if your sentries and outposts
had been keeping their eyes open, they might have seen them.”

It was late before the party broke up, but soon after daylight Malcolm
was again in the saddle, and with Thekla as before on the pillion he
continued his journey, and in three hours reached the town where his
regiment was quartered.

Alighting at the door of the colonel’s quarters, he led Thekla to his
apartments. The colonel received him with the greatest cordiality and
welcomed Thekla with a kindness which soon put her at her ease, for
now that the danger was past she was beginning to feel keenly the
strangeness of her position.

She remembered Colonel Munro perfectly, as he and the other officers of
the regiment had been frequently at her father’s during the stay of the
regiment at Maintz. The colonel placed her at once in charge of the
wife of one of the principal citizens, who upon hearing that she was the
daughter of the Count of Mansfeld, well known for his attachment to the
Protestant cause, willingly received her, and offered to retain her
as her guest until an opportunity should occur for sending her on to
Nuremberg, should Malcolm not be able at once to continue his journey to
that city.

“That,” Colonel Munro said as soon as Malcolm informed him of the
extremely important information he had gained, “is out of the question.
Your news is of supreme importance, it alters the whole course of
events, and offers hopes of an early termination of the struggle. There
is no doubt that Wallenstein is in earnest now, for he has committed
himself beyond reparation. The only question is whether he can carry the
army with him. However, it is clear that you must ride with all haste
to Oxenstiern with your tidings; not a moment must be lost. He is in the
Palatinate, and it will take you four days of hard riding at the least
to reach him.

“In the meantime, your little maid, who by the way is already nearly a
woman, had best remain here--I will see that she is comfortable and well
cared for, and after all she is as well here as at Nuremberg, as there
is no fear now of an advance of the Imperialists. In case of anything
extraordinary occurring which might render this town an unsafe abiding
place, I will forward her in safety to Nuremberg, even I if I have to
detach a score of my men as her escort.”

Before mounting again Malcolm paid a hurried visit to Thekla, who
expressed her contentment with her new abode, and her readiness to stay
there until he should return to take her to Nuremberg, even should it be
weeks before he could do so.

“I quite feel among friends now,” she said, “and Colonel Munro and your
Scotch officers will, I am sure, take good care of me till you return.”

Glad to feel that his charge was left in good hands Malcolm mounted
his horse with a light heart and galloped away. Four days later he was
closeted with the Swedish chancellor, and relating to him the scene in
the castle at Pilsen. When he had finished his narrative Oxenstiern, who
had, before Malcolm began, read the letter which Wallenstein had sent
him, said:

“After what you tell me there can be no longer the slightest doubts of
Wallenstein’s intention. Ever since the death of the king he has been
negotiating privately with me, but I could not believe that he was
in earnest or that such monstrous treachery was possible. How could I
suppose that he who has been raised from the rank of a simple gentleman
to that of a duke and prince, and who, save the fortunes which he
obtained with his wives, owes everything to the bounty of the emperor,
could be preparing to turn his arms against him?”

“It is true that he has done great things for Ferdinand, but his
ambition is even greater than his military talent. Any other man would
have been content with the enormous possessions and splendid dignity
which he has attained, and which in fact render him far richer than his
Imperial master; but to be a prince does not suffice for him. He has
been promised a kingdom, but even that is insufficient for his ambition.
It is clear that he aims to dethrone the emperor and to set himself up
in his place; however, his ingratitude does not concern me, it suffices
now that at any rate he is sincere, and that a happy issue out of the
struggle opens before us henceforth.

“I can trust him thoroughly; but though he has the will to join us has
he the power? Wallenstein, with his generals and his army fighting for
the emperor, is a mighty personage, but Wallenstein a rebel is another
altogether. By what you tell me it seems more than doubtful whether his
officers will follow him; and although his army is attached to him, and
might follow him could he put himself at its head, it is scattered in
its cantonments, and each section will obey the orders which the general
in its command may give.

“Probably some of those who signed the document, pledging their fidelity
to Wallenstein, have already sent news to the emperor of what is being
done. It is a strange situation and needs great care; the elements are
all uncertain. Wallenstein writes to me as if he were assured of the
allegiance of the whole of his army, and speaks unquestionably of his
power to overthrow the emperor; but the man is clearly blinded by his
ambition and infatuated by his fixed belief in the stars. However, one
thing is certain, he and as much of his army as he can hold in hand are
now our allies, and I must lose no time in moving such troops as are
most easily disposable to his assistance.

“I will send to Saxony and urge the elector to put in motion a force to
support him, and Duke Bernhard shall move with a division of our troops.
I will at once pen a despatch to Wallenstein, accepting his alliance and
promising him active aid as soon as possible.

“What say you, young sir? You have shown the greatest circumspection
and ability in this affair. Will you undertake to carry my despatch?
You must not travel as a Scottish officer, for if there are any traitors
among the officers of Wallenstein they will assuredly endeavour to
intercept any despatches which may be passing between us in order to
send them to the emperor as proofs of the duke’s guilt.”

“I will undertake the task willingly, sir,” Malcolm replied, “and doubt
not that I shall be able to penetrate to him in the same disguise which
I before wore. When I once reach him is your wish that I should remain
near him, or that I should at once return?”

“It were best that you should remain for a time,” the chancellor said.
“You may be able to send me news from time to time of what is passing
around the duke. Before you start, you shall be supplied with an
ample amount of money to pay messengers to bring your reports to me.
Wallenstein hardly appears to see the danger of his situation; but you
will be more clear sighted. It is a strange drama which is being played,
and may well terminate in a tragedy. At any rate the next month will
decide what is to come of these strange combinations.”

The horse on which Malcolm had ridden was knocked up from the speed at
which he had travelled, and, ordering it to be carefully tended till his
return, he obtained a fresh horse and again set out. He made the journey
at the same speed at which he had before passed over the ground, and
paused for a few hours only at Amberg, where he found Thekla well and
comfortable, and quite recovered from the effects of her journeys and
anxiety. She received him with delight; but her joy was dashed when she
found that, instead of returning to remain with his regiment, as she had
hoped, he was only passing through on another mission.

At Amberg he again laid aside his uniform and donned his costume as a
craftsman. Colonel Munro gave him an escort of twenty troopers; with
these he crossed the river at nightfall, and, making a detour to avoid
the Imperialist outposts, rode some fifteen miles on his way. He then
dismounted and handed over his horse to his escort, who at once started
on their way back to Amberg, while he pursued his journey on foot
towards Pilsen. It was late the next evening before he reached the town;
and on arriving he learned that Wallenstein was still there.

The Imperialist general, immediately upon obtaining the signature of
his officers, had sent to urge Altringer and Gallas, who had been absent
from the meeting, to come to him with all speed. Altringer, on pretence
of sickness, did not comply with the invitation. Gallas made
his appearance, but merely with the intention of finding out all
Wallenstein’s plans and of keeping the emperor informed of them.
Piccolomini had, immediately the meeting broke up, sent full details
of its proceedings to the court, and Gallas was furnished with a secret
commission containing the emperor’s orders to the colonels and officers,
granting an amnesty for their adhesion to Wallenstein at Pilsen, and
ordering them to make known to the army that it was released from its
obedience to Wallenstein, and was placed under the command of Gallas
himself, who received orders, if possible, to arrest Wallenstein.

Gallas on his arrival perceived the impossibility of executing his
commission, for Wallenstein’s troops and officers were devoted to him,
and not even the crime of high treason could overcome their veneration
and respect for him. Finding that he could do nothing, and fearful that
Wallenstein should discover the commission with which he was charged,
Gallas sought for a pretence to escape from Pilsen, and offered to go to
Altringer and to persuade him to return with him.

Wallenstein had no doubts of the fidelity of the general, and allowed
him to depart. As he did not return at once Piccolomini, who was also
most anxious to get out of the grasp of Wallenstein, offered to go and
fetch both Gallas and Altringer. Wallenstein consented, and conveyed
Piccolomini in his own carriage to Lintz. No sooner had Piccolomini
left him than he hurried to his own command, denounced Wallenstein as a
traitor, and prepared to surprise the duke in Pilsen. Gallas at the same
time sent round copies of his commission to all the Imperial camps.

Upon his arrival Malcolm at once proceeded to the castle, and, finding
the steward, requested him to inform the duke that he had returned. In
a few minutes he was ushered into his presence, and handed to him the
letter from Oxenstiern. Wallenstein tore it open without a word and gave
an exclamation of satisfaction as he glanced it through.

“This is opportune indeed,” he said, “and I thank you for bringing me
the news so rapidly. Well did the astrologer say that my destiny to
some extent depended on you; this is a proof that he was right. The
chancellor tells me that the Duke of Saxe-Lauenberg will march instantly
with four thousand men to join me, and that Duke Bernhard will move down
at once with six thousand of the best Swedish troops. I may yet be even
with the traitors.”

Although the defection of Gallas and Piccolomini and the news of the
issue of the Imperial proclamation had fallen with stunning force upon
Wallenstein, he had still faith in the fidelity of the army at large,
and he had already despatched Marshal Terzky to Prague, where all the
troops faithful to him were to assemble, intending to follow himself
with the regiments at Pilsen as soon as carriage could be obtained from
the country round. His astrologer still assured him that the stars were
favourable, and Wallenstein’s faith in his own destiny was unshaken.

Upon finding that Malcolm had orders to remain with him until he was
joined by Duke Bernhard, he ordered handsome apartments to be prepared
for him, and as there was no longer any reason why the fact that a
Swedish officer was in the castle should be concealed, he commanded that
Malcolm should be furnished with handsome raiment of all sorts and a
suit of superb armour. Upon the following morning Wallenstein sent for
him.

“I have bad news,” he said. “General Suys with an army arrived at Prague
before Terzky got there, and I fear that the influence of Piccolomini,
Gallas, and Altringer have withdrawn from me the corps which they
command. Terzky will return tomorrow morning, and I shall then march
with him and the troops here to Egra. There I shall effect a junction
with Duke Bernhard, who is instructed to march upon that town.”

The duke, though anxious, still appeared confident; but the outlook
seemed to Malcolm extremely gloomy. The whole army save the regiments
around Pilsen had fallen away from Wallenstein. His princely generosity
to the generals and officers and his popularity among the troops had
failed to attach them to him now that he had declared against the
emperor, and it appeared to Malcolm that he would be able to bring over
to the Swedish cause only the corps which he immediately commanded.

Still his defection could not but cause a vast gap in the Imperial
defences, and the loss of the services of the greatest of their leaders
would in itself be a heavy blow to the Imperialist cause, which had been
almost solely supported by his commanding talents and his vast private
income. Terzky arrived on the following morning, and the same afternoon
Wallenstein with the whole of the troops at Pilsen marched towards Egra.

Among the officers attached to Wallenstein’s person was a Scotchman
named Leslie, to whom and a few other confidants Wallenstein had
confided his designs. Wallenstein had at once introduced Malcolm to him,
and the two rode in company during the march to Egra. Malcolm did not
find him a cheerful companion. They chatted at times of the engagements
in which both had taken part although on opposite sides; but Malcolm saw
that his companion was absent and preoccupied, and that he avoided any
conversation as to the turn which events had taken.

At the end of the first day’s ride Malcolm came to the decided
conclusion that he did not like his companion, and, moreover, that his
heart was far from being in the enterprise on which they were engaged.
The following day he avoided joining him, and rode with some of the
other officers. Upon their arrival at Egra the gates were opened at
their approach, and Colonel Butler, an Irishman who commanded the
garrison, met Wallenstein as he entered, and saluted him with all
honour. Wallenstein was pleased to find that the disaffection which had
spread so rapidly through the army had not reached Egra.

A few hours after he had entered the town Wallenstein received the news
that an Imperial edict had been issued proclaiming him a traitor and an
outlaw; he also learned that the corps under the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg
was within a day’s march of Egra. As soon as the duke retired to his
apartments Leslie sought out Colonel Butler, and revealed to him
the purposes of Wallenstein, and informed him of the Imperial order
absolving the army from their allegiance to him. The two men, with
Lieutenant Colonel Gordon, another Imperialist officer, at once
determined to capture Wallenstein and to hand him over as a prisoner to
the emperor.

In the afternoon Leslie had an interview with Wallenstein, who told him
of the near approach of the Dukes of Saxe-Lauenburg and Saxe-Weimar, and
informed him of his plans for advancing from Egra direct into the heart
of Bohemia.

The treacherous officer at once hurried away with the news to his two
associates, and it was agreed that the near approach of the Saxons
rendered it impossible for them to carry out their first plan, but that
instant and more urgent steps must be taken. That evening a banquet was
given by Butler to Wallenstein and his officers. The duke, however, was
too anxious to appear at it, and remained in his own apartment, the
rest of the officers, among them Wallenstein’s chief confidants, Illo,
Terzky, and Kinsky, together with Captain Neumann, an intimate adviser
of Terzky, were among the guests. Malcolm was also present.

The banquet passed off gaily, Wallenstein’s health was drunk in full
bumpers, and his friends boasted freely that in a few days he would
find himself at the head of as powerful an army as he had ever before
commanded. Malcolm had naturally been placed at the table near his
compatriots, and it seemed to him that their gaiety was forced and
unnatural, and a sense of danger came over him.

The danger indeed was great, although he knew it not. The drawbridge
of the castle had been drawn up, the avenues leading to it guarded, and
twenty infantry soldiers and six of Butler’s dragoons were in hiding in
the apartment next to the banqueting hall.

Dessert was placed on the table; Leslie gave the signal, and in an
instant the hall was filled with armed men, who placed themselves behind
the chairs of Wallenstein’s trusted officers with shouts of “Long live
Ferdinand!” The three officers instantly sprang to their feet, but
Terzky and Kinsky were slain before they had time to draw their swords.

Neumann in the confusion escaped into the court, where he too was cut
down. Illo burst through his assailants, and placing his back against a
window stood on his defence. As he kept his assailants at bay he poured
the bitterest reproaches upon Gordon for his treachery, and challenged
him to fight him fairly and honourably. After a gallant resistance, in
which he slew two of his assailants, he fell to the ground overpowered
by numbers, and pierced with ten wounds.

Malcolm had sprung to his feet at the commencement of the tumult, but
was pressed down again into his chair by two soldiers, while Leslie
exclaimed, “Keep yourself quiet, sir, I would fain save you as a fellow
countryman, and as one who is simply here in the execution of his duty;
but if you draw sword to defend these traitors, you must share their
fate.”

No sooner had the murder of the four officers been accomplished than
Leslie, Butler, and Gordon issued into the town. Butler’s cavalry
paraded the streets, and that officer quieted the garrison by telling
them that Wallenstein had been proclaimed a traitor and an outlaw, and
that all who were faithful to the emperor must obey their orders. The
regiments most attached to Wallenstein had not entered the city, and the
garrison listened to the voice of their commander.

Wallenstein knew nothing of what had taken place in the castle, and had
just retired to bed when a band of Butler’s soldiers, led by Captain
Devereux, an Irishman, burst into his apartment. The duke leaped from
his bed, but before he could snatch up a sword he was pierced through
and through by the murderers’ halberts.

So fell one of the greatest men of his age. Even to the present day
there are differences of opinion as to the extent of his guilt, but
none as to the treachery with which he was murdered by his most trusted
officers. That Wallenstein owed much gratitude to the emperor is
unquestionable, but upon the other hand he had even a greater title to
the gratitude of Ferdinand, whose crown and empire he had repeatedly
saved. Wallenstein was no bigot, his views were broad and enlightened,
and he was therefore viewed with the greatest hostility by the violent
Catholics around the king, by Maximilian of Bavaria, by the Spaniards,
and by the Jesuits, who were all powerful at court. These had once
before brought about his dismissal from the command, after he had
rendered supreme services, and their intrigues against him were again
at the point of success when Wallenstein determined to defy and dethrone
the emperor. The coldness with which he was treated at court, the marked
inattention to all his requests, the consciousness that while he was
winning victories in the field his enemies were successfully plotting
at court, angered the proud and haughty spirit of Wallenstein almost to
madness, and it may truly be said that he was goaded into rebellion.
The verdict of posterity has certainly been favourable to him, and the
dastardly murder which requited a lifetime of brilliant services has
been held to more than counterbalance the faults which he committed.



CHAPTER XXIV MALCOLM’S ESCAPE


After the fall of Wallenstein’s colonels Malcolm was led away a
prisoner, and was conducted to a dungeon in the castle. It was not until
the door closed behind him that he could fairly realize what had taken
place, so sudden and unexpected had been the scene in the banqueting
hall. Five minutes before he had been feasting and drinking the health
of Wallenstein, now he was a prisoner of the Imperialists. Wallenstein’s
adherents had been murdered, and it was but too probable that a like
fate would befall the general himself. The alliance from which so much
had been hoped, which seemed to offer a prospect of a termination of the
long and bloody struggle, was cut short at a blow.

As to his own fate it seemed dark enough, and his captivity might last
for years, for the Imperialists’ treatment of their prisoners was harsh
in the extreme. The system of exchange, which was usual then as now,
was in abeyance during the religious war in Germany. There was an almost
personal hatred between the combatants, and, as Malcolm knew, many of
his compatriots who had fallen into the hands of the Imperialists had
been treated with such harshness in prison that they had died there.
Some, indeed, were more than suspected of having been deliberately
starved to death.

However, Malcolm had gone through so many adventures that even the scene
which he had witnessed and his own captivity and uncertain fate were
insufficient to banish sleep from his eyes, and he reposed as soundly on
the heap of straw in the corner of his cell as he would have done in the
carved and gilded bed in the apartment which had been assigned to him in
the castle.

The sun was shining through the loophole of his dungeon when he awoke.
For an hour he occupied himself in polishing carefully the magnificently
inlaid armour which Wallenstein had presented him, and which, with the
exception of his helmet, he had not laid aside when he sat down to the
banquet, for it was very light and in no way hampered his movements, and
except when quartered in towns far removed from an enemy officers seldom
laid aside their arms. He still retained his sword and dagger, for his
captors, in their haste to finish the first act of the tragedy, and to
resist any rising which might take place among the soldiery, had omitted
to take them from him when they hurried him away.

On examination he found that with his dagger he could shove back the
lock of the door, but this was firmly held by bolts without. Thinking
that on some future occasion the blade might be useful to him, he pushed
the dagger well into the lock, and with a sharp jerk snapped it off at
the hilt. Then he concealed the steel within his long boot and cast the
hilt through the loophole.

Presently a soldier brought him his breakfast--a manchet of bread and
a stoup of wine. He was visited again at dinner and supper. Before the
soldier came in the first time Malcolm concealed his sword in the straw,
thinking that the soldier would be sure to remove it if he noticed it.
The man who brought his breakfast and dinner was taciturn, and made
no reply to his questions, but another man brought his supper, and he
turned out of a more communicative disposition.

“What has happened?” he repeated in reply to Malcolm’s question. “Well,
I don’t know much about it myself, but I do know that Wallenstein is
dead, for the trooper who rides next to me helped to kill him. Everyone
is content that the traitor has been punished, and as the troops have
all pronounced for the emperor every thing is quiet. We had a good
laugh this afternoon. The colonel sent out one of our men dressed up in
Wallenstein’s livery to meet the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg and invite him
to come on at once and join him here. The duke suspected no danger, and
rode on ahead of his troops, with a few attendants, and you should have
seen his face, when, after passing through the gates, he suddenly found
himself surrounded by our men and a prisoner. Bernhard of Saxe-Weimar
will be here tomorrow, as they say, and we shall catch him in the same
way. It’s a rare trap this, I can tell you.”

The news heightened Malcolm’s uneasiness. The capture of Duke Bernhard,
the most brilliant of the German generals on the Protestant side, would
be a heavy blow indeed to the cause, and leaving his supper untasted
Malcolm walked up and down his cell in a fever of rage at his impotence
to prevent so serious a disaster.

At last he ate his supper, and then threw himself upon the straw, but he
was unable to sleep. The death of Wallenstein had made a deep impression
upon him. The Imperialist general was greatly respected by his foes. Not
only was he admired for his immense military talents, but he carried on
the war with a chivalry and humanity which contrasted strongly with the
ferocity of Tilly, Pappenheim, and Piccolomini. Prisoners who fell into
his hands were always treated with courtesy, and although, from motives
of policy, he placed but little check upon the excesses of his soldiery,
no massacres, such as those which had caused the names of Tilly and
Pappenheim to be held in abhorrence by the Protestants of Germany, were
associated with that of Wallenstein. Then, too, the princely dignity and
noble presence of the duke had greatly impressed the young soldier, and
the courtesy with which he had treated him personally had attracted
his liking as well as respect. To think that this great general, this
princely noble, the man who alone had baffled the Lion of the North, had
been foully murdered by those he had trusted and favoured, filled him
with grief and indignation, the more so since two of the principal
assassins were Scotchmen.

The thought that on the morrow Duke Bernhard of Weimar--a leader
in importance second only to the Chancellor of Sweden--would fall
unsuspiciously into the trap set for him goaded him almost to madness,
and he tossed restlessly on the straw through the long hours of the
night. Towards morning he heard a faint creaking of bolts, then there
was a sound of the locks of the door being turned. He grasped his sword
and sprang to his feet. He heard the door close again, and then a man
produced a lantern from beneath a long cloak, and he saw Wallenstein’s
steward before him. The old man’s eyes were bloodshot with weeping, and
his face betokened the anguish which the death of his master had caused
him.

“You have heard the news?” he asked.

“Alas!” Malcolm replied, “I have heard it indeed.”

“I am determined,” the old man said, “to thwart the projects of these
murderers and to have vengeance upon them. None have thought of me. I
was an old man, too insignificant for notice, and I have passed the day
in my chamber lamenting the kindest of lords, the best of masters. Last
evening I heard the soldiers boasting that today they would capture
the Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and I determined to foil them. They have been
feasting and drinking all night, and it is but now that the troopers
have fallen into a drunken slumber and I was able to possess myself of
the key of your dungeon.

“Here is your helmet. I will lead you to the stable, where I have
saddled the best and fastest of my master’s horses. You must remain
there quietly until you deem that the gates are open, then leap upon the
horse, and ride for your life. Few will know you, and you will probably
pass out of the gate unquestioned. If not, you have your sword to cut
your way. Once beyond the town ride to meet the duke. Tell him my master
has been murdered, that Egra is in the hands of the Imperialists, and
that Saxe-Lauenburg is a prisoner. Bid him march on this place with his
force, take it by assault, and leave not one of the assassins of my lord
living within its walls.”

“You will run no risk, I hope, for your share in this adventure,”
 Malcolm said.

“It matters little to me,” the old man replied. “My life is worthless,
and I would gladly die in the thought that I have brought retribution on
the head of the murderers of my master. But they will not suspect me. I
shall lock the door behind us, and place the key again in the girdle of
the drunken guard, and then return to my own chamber.”

Quietly Malcolm and his conductor made their way through the castle and
out into the courtyard. Then they entered the stables.

“This is the horse,” the steward said, again uncovering his lantern. “Is
he not a splendid animal? He was my master’s favourite, and sooner than
that his murderers should ride him I would cut the throat of the noble
beast with my dagger; but he has a better mission in carrying the
avenger of his master’s blood. And now farewell. The rest is in your
own hands. May Heaven give you good fortune.” So saying, the old man set
down his lantern and left Malcolm alone.

The latter, after examining the saddle and bridle, and seeing that every
buckle was firm and in its place, extinguished the light, and waited
patiently for morning. In two hours a faint light began to show itself.
Stronger and stronger it grew until it was broad day. Still there were
but few sounds of life and movement in the castle. Presently, however,
the noise of footsteps and voices was heard in the courtyard.

Although apprehensive that at any moment the stable door might open,
Malcolm still delayed his start, as it would be fatal were he to set out
before the opening of the gates. At last he felt sure that they must
be opened to admit the country people coming in with supplies for the
market. He had donned his helmet before leaving his cell, and he now
quietly opened the stable door, sprang into the saddle, and rode boldly
out.

Several soldiers were loitering about the courtyard. Some were washing
at the trough and bathing their heads beneath the fountain to get rid
of the fumes of the wine they had indulged in overnight. Others were
cleaning their arms.

The sudden appearance of a mounted officer armed from head to foot
caused a general pause in their occupation, although none had any
suspicion that the splendidly attired officer was a fugitive; but,
believing that he was one of Leslie’s friends who was setting out on
some mission, they paid no further heed to him, as quietly and without
any sign of haste he rode through the gateway of the castle into the
town. The inhabitants were already in the streets, country women with
baskets were vending their produce, and the market was full of people.
Malcolm rode on at a foot pace until he was within sight of the open
gate of the town. When within fifty yards of the gate he suddenly came
upon Colonel Leslie, who had thus early been making a tour of the walls
to see that the sentries were upon the alert, for Duke Bernhard’s force
was within a few miles. He instantly recognized Malcolm.

“Ah!” he exclaimed, “Captain Graheme--treachery! treachery! shut the
gate there,” and drawing his sword, threw himself in Malcolm’s way.

Malcolm touched the horse with his spur and it bounded forward; he
parried the blow which Leslie struck at him, and, with a sweeping cut
full on the traitor’s helmet, struck him to the ground and then dashed
onward. A sentry was beginning to shut the gate, and his comrades were
running out from the guardhouse as Malcolm galloped up.

The steward had fastened the holsters on to the saddle, and Malcolm,
before starting, had seen to the priming of the pistols in them. Drawing
one he shot the man who was closing the gate, and before his comrades
could run up he dashed through it and over the drawbridge.

Several bullets whizzed around him, but he was soon out of range, and
galloping at full speed in the direction in which the steward had told
him that Duke Bernhard was encamped. In half an hour he reached the
Swedish lines, and rode at once to the tent of the duke who was upon the
point of mounting; beside him stood a man in the livery of Wallenstein.
As he rode up Malcolm drew his pistol, and said to the man:

“If you move a foot I will send a bullet through your head.”

“What is this?” exclaimed the duke in astonishment, “and who are you,
sir, who with such scant courtesy ride into my camp?”

Malcolm raised his vizor. “I am Captain Graheme of Munro’s regiment,”
 he said, “and I have ridden here to warn your excellency of treachery.
Wallenstein has been foully murdered. Egra is in the hands of the
Imperialists, the Duke of Saxe-Lauenburg has been beguiled into a trap
and taken prisoner, and this fellow, who is one of Butler’s troopers,
has been sent here to lead you into a like snare.”

“Wallenstein murdered!” the duke exclaimed in tones of horror.
“Murdered, say you? Impossible!”

“It is but too true, sir,” Malcolm replied; “I myself saw his friends
Illo, Terzky, and Kinsky assassinated before my eyes at a banquet.
Wallenstein was murdered by his favourites Leslie and Gordon and the
Irishman Butler. I was seized and thrown into a dungeon, but have
escaped by a miracle to warn you of your danger.”

“This is a blow indeed,” the duke said mournfully. Turning to his
attendants he ordered them to hang the false messenger to the nearest
tree, and then begged Malcolm to follow him into his tent and give him
full details of this terrible transaction.

“This upsets all our schemes indeed,” the duke said when he had
concluded. “What is the strength of the garrison at Egra?”

“There were Butler’s dragoons and an infantry regiment in garrison there
when we arrived; six regiments accompanied us on the march, and I
fear that all these must now be considered as having gone over to the
Imperialists.”

“Then their force is superior to my own,” the duke said, “for I have but
six thousand men with me, and have no artillery heavy enough to make
any impression upon the walls of the town. Much as I should like to meet
these traitors and to deal out to them the punishment they deserve, I
cannot adventure on the siege of Egra until I have communicated this
terrible news to the Swedish chancellor. Egra was all important to us as
affording an entrance into Bohemia so long as Wallenstein was with
us, but now that he has been murdered and our schemes thus suddenly
destroyed I cannot risk the destruction of my force by an assault upon
the city, which is no longer of use to us.”

Much as Malcolm would have liked to have seen the punishment of
Wallenstein’s treacherous followers, he could not but feel that the
duke’s view was, under the circumstances, the correct one. The tents
were speedily struck, and the force fell back with all speed towards
Bavaria, and after accompanying them for a march or two, Malcolm left
them and rode to join his regiment, the duke having already sent off
a messenger to Oxenstiern with a full account of the murder of
Wallenstein.

As none could say what events were likely to follow the changed
position of things, Malcolm determined at once to carry out the original
intention of placing Thekla under the care of his friends at Nuremberg,
in which direction it was not probable that the tide of war would
for the present flow. After staying therefore a day or two with his
regiment, where his relation of the events he had witnessed caused
the greatest excitement and interest, Malcolm obtained leave from his
colonel to escort Thekla to Nuremberg.

In order that they might pass in perfect safety across the intervening
country Munro gave him an escort of twelve troopers, and with these he
journeyed by easy stages to Nuremberg, where the worthy syndic of the
clockmakers and his wife gladly received Thekla, and promised to treat
her as one of their own daughters.

Here Malcolm took possession of his arms and valises, which he had sent,
upon starting for Prague, to the care of Jans Boerhoff; not indeed that
he needed the armour, for the suit which Wallenstein had given him was
the admiration and envy of his comrades, and Munro had laughingly said
that since Hepburn had left them no such gallantly attired cavalier had
ridden in the ranks of the Scottish brigade.

There were many tears on Thekla’s part as her young protector bade her
adieu, for there was no saying how long a time might elapse before she
might again see him, and Malcolm was sorely tempted to tell her that
he had her father’s consent to wooing her as his wife. He thought it,
however, better to abstain from speaking, for should he fall in the
campaign her grief would be all the greater had she come to think of
him as her destined husband, for her hearty affection for him already
assured him that she would make no objection to carrying out her
father’s wishes.

Shortly after rejoining his regiment Malcolm received a communication
from the Swedish chancellor expressing in high terms his approbation of
the manner in which he had carried out his instructions with regard to
Wallenstein, and especially for the great service he had rendered
the cause by warning the Duke of Saxe-Weimar of the trap which the
Imperialists had set for him.

The death of Wallenstein was followed by a short pause in the war. It
had entirely frustrated all the plans and hopes of the Protestants, and
it caused a delay in the movement of the Imperialists. The emperor, when
he heard of Wallenstein’s death, heaped favours and honours upon the
three men who had plotted and carried out his murder, and then appointed
his son Ferdinand, King of Hungary, to the chief command of the army,
with General Gallas as his principal adviser.

The Duke of Lorraine marched with an army to join the Imperialists, who
were also strengthened by the arrival of 10,000 Spanish veterans, and
early in May the new Imperial general entered the Palatinate and marched
to lay siege to Ratisbon. To oppose the Imperial army, which numbered
35,000 men, Duke Bernhard, after having drawn together all the troops
scattered in the neighbourhood, could only put 15,000 in the field. With
so great a disparity of force he could not offer battle, but in every
way he harassed and interrupted the advance of the Imperialists, while
he sent pressing messages to Oxenstiern for men and money, and to
Marshal Horn, who commanded in Alsace, to beg him march with all haste
to his assistance.

Unfortunately Horn and Duke Bernhard were men of extremely different
temperaments. The latter was vivacious, enterprising, and daring even to
rashness, ready to undertake any enterprise which offered the smallest
hope of success. Marshal Horn, on the other hand, although a good
general, was slow, over cautious and hesitating, and would never move
until his plans appeared to promise almost a certainty of success.
Besides this, Horn, a Swede, was a little jealous that Duke Bernhard, a
German, should be placed in the position of general-in-chief, and this
feeling no doubt tended to increase his caution and to delay his action.

Consequently he was so long a time before he obeyed the pressing
messages sent by the duke, that Ratisbon, after a valiant defence,
surrendered on the 29th of July, before he had effected a junction with
the duke’s army. The Imperialists then marched upon Donauworth, and this
place, after a feeble defence, also capitulated. The duke, heartbroken
at seeing the conquests, which had been effected at so great a loss of
life and treasure, wrested from his hands while he was unable to strike
a blow to save them, in despair marched away to Swabia to meet the
slowly advancing army of Marshal Horn.

No sooner was the junction effected than he turned quickly back and
reached the vicinity of Nordlingen, only to find the enemy already there
before him, and posted on the more advanced of the two heights which
dominate the plain. By a skillful manoeuvre, however, he was enabled to
throw within its walls a reinforcement to the garrison of eight hundred
men.

Nordlingen, an important free town, stands on the south bank of the
Ries, some 18 miles to the northeast of Donauworth. It was surrounded by
a wall, interspersed with numerous towers, sufficiently strong to guard
it against any surprise, but not to defend it against a regular siege by
a numerous army. The vast plain on which the town stands is broken near
its centre by two heights rising at a distance of three thousand yards
from each other.

The height nearest to the town, which is very steep and craggy, is known
as the Weinberg, the other is called Allersheim; a village stands some
three hundred yards in advance of the valley between the heights, and is
nearer to the town than either of the two eminences.

The Scotch brigade formed part of Duke Bernhard’s command. It was now
nearly two years since a pitched battle had been fought, for although
there had been many skirmishes and assaults in the preceding year no
great encounter had taken place between the armies since Gustavus fell
at Lutzen, in October, 1632, and the Scotch brigade had not been present
at that battle. In the time which had elapsed many recruits had arrived
from Scotland, and Munro’s regiment had been again raised to the
strength at which it had landed at Rugen four years before. Not half a
dozen of the officers who had then, full of life and spirit, marched in
its ranks were now present. Death had indeed been busy among them. On
the evening of their arrival in sight of the Imperialist army the two
Grahemes supped with their colonel. Munro had but just arrived from the
duke’s quarters.

“I suppose we shall fight tomorrow, Munro,” Major Graheme said.

“It is not settled,” the colonel replied; “between ourselves the duke
and Horn are not of one mind. The duke wants to fight; he urges that
were we to allow Nordlingen to fall, as we have allowed Ratisbon and
Donauworth, without striking a blow to save it, it would be an evidence
of caution and even cowardice which would have the worst possible effect
through Germany. Nordlingen has ever been staunch to the cause, and the
Protestants would everywhere fall away from us did they find that we had
so little care for their safety as to stand by and see them fall into
the hands of the Imperialists without an effort. It is better, in
the duke’s opinion, to fight and to be beaten than to tamely yield
Nordlingen to the Imperialists. In the one case honour would be
satisfied and the reformers throughout Germany would feel that we had
done our utmost to save their co-religionists, on the other hand there
would be shame and disgrace.”

“There is much in what the duke says,” Nigel Graheme remarked.

“There is much,” Munro rejoined; “but there is much also in the
arguments of Horn. He reasons that we are outnumbered, the enemy is
superior to us by at least a third, and to save the town we must attack
them in an immensely strong position, which it will cost us great
numbers to capture.

“The chances against our winning a victory are fully five to one.
Granted the fall of Nordlingen will injure us in the eyes of the princes
and people of Germany; but with good management on our part the feeling
thus aroused will be but temporary, for we should soon wipe out the
reverse. Of the 35,000 men of which the Imperial army is composed, 8000
at least are Spaniards who are on their way to Flanders, and who will
very shortly leave it.

“On the other hand the Rhinegrave Otto Ludwig is with 7000 men within a
few marches of us; in a short time therefore we shall actually outnumber
the enemy, and shall be able to recover our prestige, just as we
recovered it at Leipzig after suffering Magdeburg to fall. We shall
recapture the towns which he has taken, and if the enemy should dare
to accept battle we shall beat him, and shall be in a position to march
upon Vienna.”

“Horn’s arguments are the strongest,” Nigel Graheme said gravely; “the
course he advises is the most prudent one.”

“Undoubtedly,” Munro replied; “but I think that it will not be followed.
The duke is of a fiery spirit, and he would feel it, as most of us would
feel it, a disgrace to fall back without striking a blow for Nordlingen.
He has, too, been goaded nearly to madness during the last few days by
messengers and letters which have reached him from the reformed princes
and the free towns in all parts of Germany, reproaching him bitterly for
having suffered Ratisbon and Donauworth to fall into the hands of the
enemy without a blow, and he feels that his honour is concerned. I have
little doubt that we shall fight a great battle to save Nordlingen.”



CHAPTER XXV NORDLINGEN


While Colonel Munro and his companions were discussing the matter a
council of war was being held, and Duke Bernhard’s view was adopted by
all his generals, who felt with him that their honour was involved in
the question, and that it would be disgraceful to march away without
striking a blow to save the besieged city. Horn, therefore, being
outvoted, was forced to give way. Up to nightfall the Imperialists had
showed no signs of an intention to occupy the Weinberg, their forces
being massed on and around the Allersheim Hill. It was determined
therefore to seize the Weinberg at once, and the execution of this step
was committed to Horn.

The choice was most unfortunate. The service was one upon the prompt
carrying out of which victory depended, and Horn, though a brave and
capable commander, was slow and cautious, and particularly unfitted for
executing a service which had to be performed in a dark night across a
country with which he was not familiar. Taking with him four thousand
chosen musketeers and pikemen and twelve guns he set out at nine
o’clock, but the rough road, the dikes, and ditches which intercepted
the country impeded him, and the fact that he was unacquainted with the
general position of the country made him doubly cautious, and it was not
until midnight that he reached the foot of the hill.

Here, unfortunately, he came to the conclusion that since he had
encountered such difficulties in crossing the flat country he should
meet with even greater obstacles and delays in ascending the hill in the
dark; he therefore took the fatal resolution of remaining where he
was until daylight, and accordingly ordered the column to halt. Had he
continued his march he would have reached the summit of the Weinberg
unopposed, and the fate of the battle on the following day would have
been changed. But the Imperialist leaders, Gallas and Cardinal Infanta
Don Fernando, had not been unmindful of the commanding position of the
hill upon which Horn was marching, and had given orders that it should
be occupied before daylight by four hundred Spaniards.

The commander of this force was as over prompt in the execution of his
orders as Horn was over cautious. He reached the top of the Weinberg
before midnight, and at once set his men to work to intrench themselves
strongly. As soon as daybreak enabled Horn to see the fatal consequences
which had arisen from his delay he ordered his men to advance. With
their usual gallantry the Swedes mounted the hill and rushed at the
intrenchment. It was defended with the greatest obstinacy and courage by
the Spaniards; but after desperate fighting the Swedes forced their way
into the work at two points, and were upon the point of capturing the
position when an ammunition wagon accidentally exploded in their midst,
killing great numbers and throwing the rest into a temporary disorder,
which enabled the Spaniards to drive them out and again occupy the
intrenchments.

Before the Swedes had fully recovered themselves the Spanish cavalry,
which at the first sound of the conflict the cardinal had ordered to
the spot, charged them in flank and forced them to a precipitate retreat
down the hillside. Bitterly regretting his delay at midnight, Horn
brought up fresh troops, and after addressing encouraging words to those
who had been already repulsed, led the united body to the assault.

But the Weinberg, which had been occupied in the early morning by only
four hundred men, was now defended by the whole of the Spanish infantry.
Vain now was the energy of Horn, and ineffectual the valour of his
troops. Time after time did the Swedes climb the hill and strive to
obtain a footing on its crest, each assault was repulsed with prodigious
slaughter. Duke Bernhard was now fully engaged with the Imperialists on
the Allersheim, and was gradually gaining ground. Seeing, however,
how fruitless were the efforts of Horn to capture the Weinberg, he
despatched as many of his infantry as he could spare to reinforce the
marshal. Among these was Munro’s regiment.

“Now, my brave lads,” Colonel Munro shouted, as he led his regiment
against the hill, “show them what Scottish hearts can do.” With a cheer
the regiment advanced. Pressing forward unflinchingly under a hail
of bullets they won their way up the hill, and then gathering, hurled
themselves with a shout upon the heavy masses of Spanish veterans. For a
moment the latter recoiled before the onset; then they closed in around
the Scotch, who had already lost a third of their number in ascending
the hill.

Never did the famous regiment fight with greater courage and fury; but
they were outnumbered ten to one, and their opponents were soldiers of
European reputation. In vain the Scotchmen strove to break through the
serried line of pikes which surrounded them. Here and there a knot of
desperate men would win a way through; but ere others could follow them
the Spanish line closed in again and cut them off from their comrades,
and they died fighting to the last.

Fighting desperately in the front rank Munro and his officers encouraged
their men with shouts and example; but it was all in vain, and he at
last shouted to the remains of his followers to form in a solid body and
cut their way back through the enemy who surrounded them. Hemmed in as
they were by enemies the Scottish spearmen obeyed, and, headed by their
colonel, flung themselves with a sudden rush upon the enemy. Before the
weight and fury of the charge the veterans of Spain gave way, and the
Scots found themselves on the crest of the hill which they had lately
ascended. No sooner were they free from the Spanish ranks than the
musketeers of the latter opened fire upon them, and numbers fell in the
retreat. When they reached the foot of the fatal hill, and bleeding and
breathless gathered round their commander, Munro burst into tears on
finding that of the noble regiment he had led up the hill scarce enough
remained to form a single company. Seven times now had Horn striven
to carry the hill, seven times had he been repulsed with terrible
slaughter, and he now began to fall back to join the force of Duke
Bernhard. The latter, recognizing that the battle was lost, and that
Horn, if not speedily succoured, was doomed, for the Imperialists,
flushed with victory, were striving to cut him off, made a desperate
attack upon the enemy hoping to draw their whole forces upon himself,
and so enable Horn to retire. For the moment he succeeded, but he was
too weak in numbers to bear the assault he had thus provoked. John of
Werth, who commanded the Imperial cavalry, charged down upon the Swedish
horsemen and overthrew them so completely that these, forced back upon
their infantry, threw them also into complete disorder.

The instant Horn had given the orders to retreat, Colonel Munro, seeing
the danger of the force being surrounded, formed up the little remnant
of his regiment and set off at the double to rejoin the force of the
duke. It was well that he did so, for just when he had passed over the
intervening ground the Imperialist cavalry, fresh from the defeat of the
Swedes, swept across the ground, completely cutting off Horn’s division
from that of the duke. A few minutes later Marshal Horn, surrounded
on all sides by the enemy, and feeling the impossibility of further
resistance with his weakened and diminished force, was forced to
surrender with all his command.

Duke Bernhard narrowly escaped the same fate; but in the end he managed
to rally some nine thousand men and retreated towards the Maine. The
defeat was a terrible one; ten thousand men were killed and wounded, and
four thousand under Horn taken prisoners; all the guns, equipage, and
baggage fell into the hands of the enemy.

Nordlingen was the most decisive battle of the war; its effect was to
change a war which had hitherto been really only a civil war--a war of
religion--into one with a foreign enemy. Hitherto France had contented
herself with subsidizing Sweden, who had played the principal part.
Henceforward Sweden was to occupy but a secondary position. Cardinal
Richelieu saw the danger of allowing Austria to aggrandize itself at the
expense of all Germany, and now took the field in earnest.

Upon the other hand Nordlingen dissolved the confederacy of the
Protestant German princes against Ferdinand the Second. The Elector of
Saxony, who had ever been vacillating and irresolute in his policy,
was the first to set the example by making peace with the emperor. The
Elector of Brandenburg, Duke William of Weimar, the Prince of Anhalt,
the Duke of Brunswick-Luneburg, the Duke of Mecklenburg, Pomerania, and
the cities of Augsburg, Wurzburg, and Coburg, and many others hastened
to follow the example of all the leading members of the Protestant
Union.

Dukes Bernhard of Weimar and William of Cassel were almost alone in
supporting the cause to maintain which Gustavus Adolphus had invaded
Germany. The Swedish army, whose exploits had made the court of Vienna
tremble, seemed annihilated, and well might the emperor deem that his
final triumph over Protestantism was complete when he heard of the
battle of Nordlingen, for as yet he dreamed not that its result would
bring France into the field against him.

Malcolm Graheme was one of the few officers of Munro’s regiment who
burst his way through the Spanish lines on the top of the Weinberg. He
was bleeding from several wounds, but none of them were serious. Nigel
was beside him as they began to descend the hill; but scarcely had he
gone a step when he fell headlong, struck by a ball from an arquebus.
Malcolm and one of the sergeants raised him, and between them carried
him to the foot of the hill; then, when the remains of the regiments
started to rejoin Duke Bernhard, they were forced to leave him. Although
Malcolm kept up with his regiment in the retreat he was so utterly
exhausted by loss of blood that he could no longer accompany them. By
the death of so many of his seniors he was now one of the majors of the
regiment, if that could be called a regiment which was scarce a company
in strength. A few days after the battle Colonel Munro received orders
to march with his shattered remnant, scarce one of whom but was from
wounds unfit for present service, by easy stages to North Germany, there
to await the arrival of reinforcements from Scotland, which might raise
the regiment to a strength which would enable it again to take the
field.

Malcolm remained behind until his strength slowly returned. The colonel,
before leaving, had bade him take his time before rejoining, as months
would probably elapse before the regiment would again be fit for
service. As soon as he was able to travel he journeyed to Nuremberg.
On arriving at the abode of Jans Boerhoff he learned that Thekla was
no longer an inmate of the family. The Count of Mansfeld had died in
prison, and the countess had arrived at Nuremberg and had taken up her
abode there. Malcolm made his way to the house she occupied. The meeting
was an affecting one. Malcolm was greatly grieved over the death of
his staunch friend, and joined in the sorrow of the countess and her
daughter. A few days after his arrival the countess said to him:

“I am of course aware, Malcolm, of the conversation which the count had
with you concerning Thekla, and my wishes fully agreed with his on the
subject. In other times one would not speak of marriage when
Thekla’s father had been but two months dead; but it is no time for
conventionalities now. All Southern Germany is falling away from the
Protestant cause, and ere long we may see the Imperialists at the gate
of Nuremberg, and it may be that in a few months the whole of Germany
will be in their power. Therefore, I would that there should be no
delay. Thekla is nearly seventeen; you are twenty-one--over young both
to enter upon the path of matrimony; but the events of the last few
months have made a woman of her, while you have long since proved
yourself both in thoughtfulness and in valour to be a man. Thekla is
no longer a great heiress. Since Nordlingen we may consider that her
father’s estates have gone for ever, mine may follow in a few months.
Therefore I must ask you, are you ready to take her without dowry?”

“I am,” Malcolm said earnestly, “and that right gladly, for I love her
with all my heart.”

“It needs no questioning on my part,” the countess said, “to know that
she loves you as truly, and that her happiness depends wholly on you. I
saw her anguish when the news came of the terrible defeat at Nordlingen
and of the annihilation of some of the Scottish regiments. My heart was
wrung by her silent despair, her white and rigid face, until the news
came that you were among the few who had survived the battle, and, in
the outburst of joy and thankfulness at the news, she owned to me that
she loved you, her only fear being that you cared for her only as a
sister, since no word of love had ever passed your lips. I reassured her
on that score by telling her of your conversation with her father, and
that a feeling of duty alone had kept you silent while she remained
under your protection.

“However, Malcolm, she will not come to you penniless, for, seeing that
it was possible that the war would terminate adversely, and determined
to quit the country should he be forbidden to worship according to
his own religion here, the count has from time to time despatched
considerable sums to the care of a banker at Hamburg, and there are now
10,000 gold crowns in his hands.

“There are, moreover, my estates at Silesia, but these I have for
sometime foreseen would follow those of my husband and fall into the
hands of the emperor. Before the death of the count I talked over the
whole matter with him, and he urged me in any case, even should you fall
before becoming the husband of Thekla, to leave this unhappy country and
to take refuge abroad.

“Before his death I had an interview with my nearest kinsman, who
has taken sides with the Imperialists, and to him I offered to resign
Thekla’s rights as heiress to the estate for the sum of 10,000 crowns.
As this was but three years revenue of the estates, and it secured their
possession to him whether the Imperialists or Swedes were victorious in
the struggle, he consented, after having obtained the emperor’s consent
to the step, and I have this morning received a letter from him saying
that the money has been lodged in the hands of the banker at Hamburg,
and Thekla and I have this morning signed a deed renouncing in his
favour all claim to the estate. Thus Thekla has a dowry of 20,000 gold
crowns--a sum not unworthy of a dowry even for the daughter of a Count
of Mansfeld; but with it you must take me also, for I would fain leave
the country and end my days with her.”

“Do you keep the dowry so long as you live, countess,” Malcolm said
earnestly. “It is more than the richest noble in Scotland could give
with his daughter. My own estate, though small, is sufficient to keep
Thekla and myself in ease, and my pleasure in having you with us will
be equal to hers. You would wish, of course, that I should quit the army
and return home, and, indeed, I am ready to do so. I have had more
than enough of wars and fighting. I have been preserved well nigh by
a miracle, when my comrades have fallen around me like grass. I cannot
hope that such fortune would always attend me. The cause for which I
have fought seems lost, and since the Protestant princes of Germany are
hastening to desert it, neither honour nor common sense demand that I,
a soldier of fortune and a foreigner, should struggle any longer for it;
therefore I am ready at once to resign my commission and to return to
Scotland.”

“So be it,” the countess said; “but regarding Thekla’s dowry I shall
insist on having my way. I should wish to see her in a position similar
to that in which she was born, and with this sum you can largely
increase your estates and take rank among the nobles of your country.
Now I will call Thekla in and leave you to ask her to agree to the
arrangements we have made.

“My child,” she went on, as Thekla in obedience to her summons entered
the apartment, “Malcolm Graheme has asked your hand of me. He tells
me that he loves you truly, and is willing to take you as a penniless
bride, and to carry you and me away with him far from these terrible
wars to his native Scotland--what say you, my love?”

Thekla affected neither shyness or confusion, her colour hardly
heightened as in her sombre mourning she advanced to Malcolm, and laying
her hand in his, said:

“He cannot doubt my answer, mother; he must know that I love him with my
whole heart.”

“Then, my daughter,” the countess said, “I will leave you to yourselves;
there is much to arrange, for time presses, and your betrothal must be
quickly followed by marriage.”

It was but a few days later that Malcolm led Thekla to the altar in St.
Sebald’s Church, Nuremberg. The marriage was a quiet one, seeing that
the bride had been so lately orphaned, and only Jans Boerhoff and
his family, and two or three Scottish comrades of Malcolm’s, who were
recovering from their wounds at Nuremberg, were present at the quiet
ceremony. The following day the little party started for the north.
Malcolm had already received a letter from Oxenstiern accepting
his resignation, thanking him heartily for the good services he had
rendered, and congratulating him on his approaching wedding.

Without adventure they reached Hamburg, and there, arranging with the
banker for the transmission of the sum in his hands to Edinburgh, they
took ship and crossed to Scotland.

Three months later Malcolm was delighted by the appearance of his uncle
Nigel. The latter was indeed in dilapidated condition, having lost an
arm, and suffering from other wounds. He had been retained a prisoner
by the Imperialists only until he was cured, when they had freed him in
exchange for an Imperial officer who had been captured by the Swedes.

Thekla’s dowry enabled her husband largely to increase his estates. A
new and handsome mansion was erected at a short distance from the old
castle, and here Malcolm Graheme lived quietly for very many years with
his beautiful wife, and saw a numerous progeny rise around them.

To the gratification of both, five years after her coming to Scotland,
the Countess of Mansfeld married Nigel Graheme and the pair took up
their abode in the old castle, which was thoroughly repaired and set in
order by Malcolm for their use, while he and Thekla insisted that the
fortune he had received as a dowry with his wife should be shared by the
countess and Nigel.



THE END





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