CHAPTER XXI.
AMONG THE WOUNDED.
When a man lies fettered at the bottom of a jolting waggon, and,unable to help himself, is made a pillow for wounded wretches, whosefeverish struggles go near to stifling him; and when to these miseriesare added the heat of a sultry night, thirst, and the near prospect ofdeath, passion soon dies down. Anger gives place to pain and the chillof apprehension. The man begins to know himself again--forgets hisenemies, thinks of his friends.
It was so with me. The general's back was not turned before I ceasedto cry out; and that gained me the one alleviation I had--that I wasnot gagged. They piled the waggon with bleeding, groaning men,--of ourside, of course, for no quarter was given to the other,--and Ishuddered as each mangled wretch came in. Still, I had my mouth free.If I could not move, I could breathe, and hear what passed round me. Icould see the dark night sky lit up by the glare of the fires, or,later, watch the stars shining coldly and indifferently down on thisscene of pain and misery.
When the waggon was full they drove us, jolting and wailing, to anappointed place, and took out some, leaving only enough to cover thefloor thickly. And then, ah me! the night began. That which at firsthad been an inconvenience, became in time intolerable pain. The ropescut into my flesh, the boards burned my back; we were so closelypacked, and I was so tightly bound that I could not move a limb. Everymoment the wounded cried for water, and those in pain wailed andlamented, while all night the wolves howled round the camp. In onecorner, a man whose eyes were injured babbled unceasingly of hismother and his home. Hour by hour, for the frenzy held him all night,he rolled his head, and chattered, and laughed! In the morning hedied, and we thanked God for it.
The peasant and the soldier sup the real miseries of war; the nobleand the officer, whose it is to dare death in the field, but rarely,very rarely to lie wounded under the burning sun or through thefreezing night, only taste them. A place of arms falls; there isquarter for my lord and a pass and courtesy for my lady, but edge andpoint for the common herd. To risk all and get nothing--or a penny aday, unpaid--is the lot of most.
When morning at last dawned, I was half dead. My head seemed bursting;my hands were purple with the tightness of my bonds. Deep groans brokefrom me. I moved my eyes--the only things I could move--in an agony.Round me I heard the sick thanking God as the light grew stronger, andmuttering words of hope. But the light helped me little. Where I lay,trussed like a fowl, I could see nothing except the sky--whence thesun would soon add to my miseries--and the heads of the two men whosat propped against the waggon boards next to me.
I took one of these to be dead, for he had slipped to one side, andthe arm with which he had stayed himself against the floor of thewaggon stood out stiff and stark. The other man had the comfort of thecorner; there was a cloak under him and a pad behind him. But his headwas sunk on his breast, and for a while I thought him dead too, andhad a horrible dread that he would slide over on to my face and stifleme. But he did not, and by-and-by, when the sun had risen, and I feltthat I could bear it no longer, he woke up and raised his fierce,white face and groaned.
It was Ludwig. He stared at me for a minute or more in a dazed, stupidfashion. Then he moved his leg and cried out with pain. After that helooked at me more sensibly, and by-and-by spoke.
'Donner, man!' he said. 'What is it? You look like a ripe mulberry.'
I tried to answer him, but my lips and throat were so parched andswollen I could only murmur. He saw my lips move, however, and guessedhow it was with me.
'They have tied you up with a vengeance!' he said with a grim smile.'Here, Franz! Willibrod! Who is there? Come, some one. Do you hear,you lazy knaves?' he continued in a hoarse croak. 'When I am aboutagain I will find some of you quicker heels!'
A man just risen came grumbling to the side of the waggon. Ludwig badehim climb in and loosen my bonds, and set me up against the side.
'And take away that carrion!' he added brutally. 'Dead men pay nofares. That is better. Ay, give him some water. He will come round.'
I did presently, though for a time the blood flowing where it had beenbefore restrained, caused me horrible pain, and my tongue, when Itried to thank him, seemed to be too large for my mouth. But I couldnow sit up, and stretch my limbs, and even raise my hands to my mouth.Hope returned. My thoughts flew back to Marie Wort. Her pale face andlarge eyes rose before my eyes, and filled them with tears. Then therewas my lady. And the Waldgrave. Doubtless he, poor fellow, was dead.But the rest lived--lived, and would soon look to me, look to any onefor help. On that I became myself again. I shook off the pain andlethargy and despair of the night, and took up the burden of life. Ifmy wits could save us, or, failing them, some happy accident, I wouldnot be wanting. I had still a day or two, and all the chances of ajourney.
Ludwig gave me food and a drink from his flask. I thanked him again.
'You are a man!' he said, shrugging his shoulders. 'It was a pity youwould knot your own rope. As for these chicken-hearted tremblers,' hecontinued, squinting askance at our companions, 'a fico for them! Tocall themselves soldiers and pule like women! Faugh! I am sick ofthem!'
For my part, the sights I saw from the waggon seemed more depressing.In every direction parties were moving, burying our dead, puttingwounded horses out of their misery, collecting plunder. One divisionwas at work driving the poor lowing cattle, already over-driven, backthe way they had come, through the pass and up the river bank. Anotherwas righting such of the waggons as had been overturned, or draggingthem out of the nether part of the valley. Everywhere men wereworking, shouting, swearing, spurning the dead. All showed that thegeneral did not mean to linger, but would secure his booty by a timelyretreat to his camp.
They came by-and-by and horsed our waggon and turned us round, andpresently we took our place in the slow, creaking procession, andbegan to move up the pass. I looked everywhere for my lady, but couldsee nothing of her. The noise was prodigious, the dust terrible, theglare intolerable. I was thankful when some kind heart brought awaggon cloth and stretched it over us. After that things were better;and between the heat and the monotony of the motion I fell asleep, andslept until the afternoon was well advanced.
Then a singular thing occurred. The waggon which followed ours wasdrawn by four horses abreast, whose heads as they plodded wearilyalong at the tail of our waggon were so close to us that we could seeeasily into the vehicle, which was full of wounded men, and coveredwith an awning. We could see easily, I say; but the steady cloud ofdust through which we moved and the white glare of the sunlight gaveto everything so phantom-like an appearance that it was hard to saywhether we were looking on real things.
Be that as it may, the first thing I saw when I awoke and rubbed myeyes, was the Waldgrave's face! He lay in the front part of thewaggon, his head on the side-board. Thinking I dreamed, or that thedust deceived me, I rubbed my eyes again and looked. Still it was he.His eyes were closed. He was pale, where the dust did not hide allcolour; his head moved with the motion of the wheels. But he seemed tobe alive, for even while I looked, a man who sat by him leaned forwardand moistened his forehead with water.
Trembling with excitement, I touched Ludwig on the shoulder. 'Look!' Isaid. 'The Waldgrave!'
He looked and nodded. 'Yes,' he said, chuckling. 'Now you see what youhave done for yourself. And all for nothing!'
'But who took him up?' I persisted.
'The general,' he answered sententiously. 'Who else?'
'Why?' I cried in a fever. 'Why did he do it?'
Ludwig shrugged his shoulders. 'He knows his own business,' he said.'I suppose that he found he had life in him.'
'Did he take him up at once? After I was seized?'
'Of course. Whether he will live or no is another matter.'
The helpless way in which the dusty, bedraggled head rolled as thewaggon jolted, warned me of that. Still, he was alive. He might live;and I longed to be beside him, to tend and nurse him, to make the m
ostof the least hope. But my eyes fell on my fettered hands; and when Ilooked again he had disappeared. He had sunk down in the cart, and wasout of sight. I was left to wonder whether he was dead, or had onlychanged his posture for another more comfortable. And the dust growingever thicker, and the sun-glare less as the day advanced, I presentlylost sight even of the waggon.
We lay that night in a coppice on the left bank of the river. Eachwaggon halted where it stood at sunset, so that there was no commoncamp, but all along the road a line of bivouacs. But for the cloud ofanxiety which darkened my mind, and the cords which bound my hands andconstantly reminded me of my troubles, I might have enjoyed thecomparative quietness of that night, the evening coolness, the softgreen light, the freshness of leaf and bough, which lapped us roundand seemed so much the more refreshing, as we had passed the day in afever of heat and dust. But the unexpected sight of the Waldgrave hadexcited me; and I confess that as we came nearer to the camp, thetremors I felt on my own account grew more violent. I recalled with ashudder the shooting-match at which I had been present, and theleather targets. I drew vivid pictures of another shooting-match inthe same valley--of my lady looking on in ignorance, of minutes ofsuspense, of a sudden pang, a gagged scream, of hours of lingeringtorture.
Against such dreams the silence and beauty of the night werepowerless, and the morning found me wakeful and unrefreshed, dividedbetween reluctance to desert my lady and the instinct which bade memake an attempt at escape by the way, and while the chances of thejourney were still mine. How I might have acted had a favourableopportunity presented itself, I cannot say; but as things went, I didnothing, and a little before sunset on the third day we gained thecamp.
Then, I confess, I wished with all my heart that I had taken anychance, however slight. At sight of the familiar lines, the dusty,littered roads, the squalid crowds that came out to meet us, my gorgerose. The very smell of the place which I had so hated gave me qualms.I turned hot and cold as we rumbled slowly through the throng and onepointed me out to another, and I saw round me again the dark, loweringfaces, the unsexed women, the horde of vile sutlers and footboys. Theysurged round the waggon, jeering and staring; and if I had shrunk fromthem when my hands were free, I loathed them still more now that I laya prisoner and any moment might place me at their mercy.
I had seen nothing of the Waldgrave or the waggon which carried himfor nearly two days, but as we passed through the gates I caught sightof the latter moving slowly on, a little way in front of us. Bothwaggons halted inside the camp while the wounded were taken out. Iprepared to follow, but was bidden to stay. Then I began to realize myposition. When the waggon bore me on alone--alone, though two or threepikemen and a rabble of gibing, grinning horse-boys marched besideme--I felt my blood run cold, and found my only consolation in thefact that the other waggon still went in front, and seemed to be boundfor the same goal.
'What are you going to do with me?' I asked one of the ruffians whoguarded me.
'Prison,' he answered laconically.
And a strange prison it was. On the verge of the camp, near the river,where a snug farmhouse had once stood, rose four gaunt walls,blackened with smoke. The roof was gone--burned off; but the rooftree,charred and soot-begrimed, still ran from gable to gable. A strong,high gate filled the room of the door; the windows had been brickedup. When I saw the waggon which preceded me halt before thismelancholy place, I looked out between hope and fear--fearing some actof treachery, hoping to see the Waldgrave. But the blackguard crowdwhich surrounded the doorway was so great that it hid everything; andI had to curb my impatience until in turn my waggon stopped in themidst of them.
A mocking voice called to me to descend, and though I liked the lookof the place little, and the aspect of the gang still less, I had nochoice but to obey. I scrambled down, and passed as quickly as I coulddown the lane opened for me. A row of more villainous faces it hasseldom been my fate to see, but the last on the right by the gate wasso much the worst, that it caught my eye instantly. It was seamed withscars and bloated with drink, and it wore a ferocious grin. I was notsurprised when the knave, a huge pikeman, dealt me, as I passed, abrutal shove with his knee, which sent me staggering into theenclosure, where I fell all at length on my face.
The blow hurt my hip cruelly, and yet the sight of that drunken,ugly giant filled me with a rush of joy and hope that effaced allother feelings. I forgot my fellow-prisoners, I forgot even theWaldgrave--who to be sure was there, sitting doubled up against thewall, and looking very white and sick. For the man with the seamedface was Drunken Steve of Heritzburg, whom we had left behind us inthe castle, to be cured of his wounds. I had punished him a dozentimes; almost as often my lady had threatened to drive him from theplace and her service. Always he had had the name of a sullen, wilfulfellow. But I had found him staunch as any tyke in time of need. Fordogged fidelity and a ferocious courage, proof against the utmostdanger, I knew that I could depend on him against the world; while theprompt line of conduct he had adopted at sight of me led me to hopesomething from wits which drink had not yet deadened.
It was well I had this spark of hope, for I found the Waldgrave soill as to be beyond comfort or counsel, and without it I should havebeen in a parlous state. The place of our confinement was roofless,ill-smelling, strewn with refuse and filth, a mere dog-yard. A littlestraw alone protected us from the soil. Everything we did was watchedthrough the open bars of the gate; and bad as this place was, weshared it with two soldiers, who lay, heavily shackled, in one corner,and sullenly eyed my movements.
I did what I could for the Waldgrave, and then, as darknessfell, I sat down with my back to the wall and thought over ourposition--miserably enough. Half an hour passed, and I was beginningto nod, when a slight noise as of a rat gnawing a board caught my ear.I raised my head and listened; the sound came from the gate. I stoodup and crept towards it. As I expected, I found Steve on guardoutside. Even in the darkness it was impossible to mistake his hugefigure.
'Hush!' he muttered. 'Is it you, master?'
'Yes,' I replied in the same tone. 'Are you alone?'
'For the moment,' he answered hoarsely. 'Not for long. So speakquickly. What is to be done?'
Alas! that was more than I could say. 'What of my lady?' I repliedvaguely. 'Is she here? In the camp?'
'To be sure.'
'And Marie Wort? The Papist girl?'
'Yes, yes.'
'Then you must see Marie,' I answered. 'She will know my lady's mind.Until we know that, we can do nothing. Do not tell her where I am--itmay hurt the girl; or of the Waldgrave, but learn how they are. Ifthings are bad with my lady, bid them gain time. You understand?'
'Yes, yes,' he grunted. 'And that is to be all, is it? You will havenothing done to-night?'
'What, here?'
'To be sure.'
'No, no,' I replied, trembling for the man's rashness. 'We can donothing here until horses are got and placed for us, and the pass-wordlearned, and provisions gathered, and half a dozen other things.'
'Donner! I don't know how all that is to be done,' he muttereddespondently.
'Nor I,' I said with a shiver. 'You have not heard anything of a--ashooting-match, have you?'
'It is for Sunday,' he answered.
'And to-day is Tuesday,' I said. 'Steve! you will not lose time?'
'No, no.'
'You will see her in the morning? In the morning, lad,' I continuedfeverishly, clinging to the bars and peering out at him. 'I must getout of this before Sunday! And this is Tuesday! Steve!'
'Hush!' he answered. 'They are coming back.'
My Lady Rotha: A Romance Page 22
