The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “Keith, if we take Lobositz today, let a most careful search be made, over the ground the cavalry passed, for his body. If it is found, so much the worse. If not, it will be a proof that he is either wounded or unhurt, and that he has been carried off by the Austrian cavalry; who passed over the same ground as ours, and who certainly would not trouble themselves to carry off his body.”

  CHAPTER 6

  A Prisoner

  The next morning a horse was brought round for Fergus, and he at once started, under the escort of a captain and Lieutenant Kerr and fifty troopers, with thirteen other officers taken prisoners at Lobositz. Seven hundred rank and file had also been captured. These, however, were to march under an infantry escort on the following day. Fergus afterwards learned that sixteen officers, of whom eleven belonged to the cavalry, had been killed; and eighty-one officers and about eighteen hundred men wounded in the desperate fighting at Lobositz.

  Fergus found that among the Austrians the battle of the previous day was considered a victory, although they had lost their advanced post at Lobositz.

  “I cannot say it seemed so to me,” he said to the lieutenant, as they rode away from the camp.

  “Why, we have prevented the king from penetrating into Bohemia.”

  “But the king could have done that three days ago, without fighting a battle,” Fergus said; “just as Schwerin did at Koeniggraetz. There would have been no need to have marched night and day across the mountains, in order to give battle to an army nearly twice the strength of his own. His object was to prevent you from drawing off the Saxons, and in that he perfectly succeeded.”

  “Oh, there are other ways of doing that! We had only to keep along the other side of the Elbe until we faced Pirna, then they could have joined us.”

  “It sounds easy,” Fergus laughed, “but it would not be so easy to execute. These mountain defiles are terrible, and you may be sure that the king will not be idle while you and the Saxons are marching to meet each other.

  “However, it was a hard-fought battle, and I should think that our loss must be quite as great as yours; for your artillery must have played terrible havoc among our infantry, as they marched to the assault of the village.”

  “Yes. I hear this morning that we have lost about a hundred and twenty officers killed and wounded, and about two thousand one hundred and fifty men, and nearly seven hundred missing or prisoners. What your loss is, of course, I can’t say.”

  “I cannot understand your taking so many prisoners,” Fergus said.

  “A great many of them belong to the cavalry. You see, all who were dismounted by the fire of our guns were captured when our horse swept down.”

  “Ah, yes! I did not think of that. I saw a good many men running across the plain when I galloped out.”

  Two of the officers belonged to the 3rd Royal Dragoon Guards, half of which regiment had taken part in the reconnaissance; and both their horses, like his own, had been shot under them. As soon as they were brought up from the tents where they had been lodged, they exchanged a cordial greeting with Fergus. He no longer belonged to the regiment, as on his promotion he had been gazetted from it on to the staff; but during the time he had drilled with them, in Berlin, he had come to be well known to all of them.

  “I thought that it was you, lieutenant,” one of them said. “I was not far from you, when you charged through those Austrians. I was unhorsed as we went forward, and was running back when I saw them come out. There were a good many of us, and I thought their object was to capture us. It was no use running, and I threw myself down, in hopes they would think I had been knocked over. You passed within thirty yards of me. Our guns opened so heavily on them, after you had got through, that I thought it prudent to keep quiet a little longer before I made a move; and the result was that the Austrian cavalry, as it came along in the pursuit of our men, picked me up.

  “Do you know where we are bound for?”

  “Prague in the first instance, but beyond that I cannot say. I suppose it will depend a good deal on what takes place now. There is no doubt the Saxons will have to surrender; and I suppose that, anyhow, they will send us farther away, unless indeed there is an exchange of prisoners.”

  A long day’s ride took them to Prague. The news of the battle had been sent off the night before, and as it had been reported as a victory, the inhabitants were in a state of great delight. Bonfires blazed in the streets, church bells rang in triumphant peals, and the whole population was abroad. The arrival of this party, with prisoners, afforded a welcome confirmation of the news.

  There were a few yells and hoots, as they rode along in charge of their escort; but as a rule the people stood silent, as if in respect for their misfortunes, for most of the captives were wounded. They were taken to the military prison, and comfortable quarters assigned to them; and the wounds of those who required it were redressed by a surgeon. There was a hearty parting between Fergus and Kerr, as the latter, after handing over his prisoners, turned to ride off with the escort to the barracks.

  “I start early tomorrow for the camp again,” he said. “If you are kept here, I am sure to see you again before long.”

  Fergus shared a room with Captain Hindeman, an officer of the 3rd.

  “I don’t think it at all likely we shall remain here,” the latter said. “It is more probable that we shall be sent to Olmuetz, or to one of the smaller fortresses in Moravia. The war is, they will think, likely to be confined to Bohemia until the spring; if indeed the king does not have to stand on the defensive. I cannot help thinking, myself, that we should have done better if we had let things go on quietly till the spring. It is not probable that Russia and Austria would have been more ready, then, than they are now; and we should have had the whole summer before us, and might have marched to Vienna before the campaign was over. Now they will all have the winter to make their preparations, and we shall have France, Austria, and Russia, to say nothing of Poland, on our hands. It is a tremendous job even for Frederick to tackle.”

  They remained for three weeks at Prague, and were then informed by the governor that he had orders for them to be removed to Olmuetz. Accordingly, the next day eight of the officers started on horseback, under an escort. When they reached Bruenn they found that they were to be separated, and the next morning Captain Hindeman and Fergus were taken to the fortress of Spielberg.

  “An awkward place either to get in or out of, Drummond,” the captain said, as they approached the fortress.

  “Very much so,” Fergus agreed. “But if I see a chance, I shall certainly do my best to escape before spring.”

  “I don’t think there is much chance of that,” the other said gloomily. “If we had been left at Prague, or even at Bruenn, there might have been some chance; but in these fortresses, where everything is conducted on a very severe system, and they are veritable prisons, I don’t think that anything without wings has a chance of getting away.”

  As a rule, officers taken prisoners in war enjoyed a considerable amount of liberty; and were even allowed to reside in the houses of citizens, on giving their parole. The enforced embodiment of the Saxons in the Prussian army had, however, excited such a storm of indignation throughout Europe that it greatly damaged Frederick’s cause. It was indeed an unheard-of proceeding, and a most mistaken one, for the greater part of the Saxons seized opportunities to desert, as soon as the next campaign began. It was the more ill-advised, since Saxony was a Protestant country, and therefore the action alienated the other Protestant princes in Germany, whose sympathies would have otherwise been wholly with Prussia; and it was to no small extent due to that high-handed action that, during the winter, the Swedes joined the Confederacy, and undertook to supply an army of 50,000 men; France paying a subsidy towards their maintenance, and the members of the Confederacy agreeing that, upon the division of Prussia, Pomerania should fall to the share of Sweden. Thus it may be said that the whole of Central and Northern Europe, with the exception only of Hanover, was leagued agai
nst Prussia.

  It was a result of this general outburst of indignation that, instead of being kept in a large town and allowed various privileges, the prisoners taken at the battle of Lobositz were treated with exceptional severity, and confined in isolated fortresses. Fergus and his companion were lodged in a small room in one of the towers. The window was strongly barred, the floor was of stone, the door massive and studded with iron. Two truckle beds, a table, and two chairs formed the sole furniture.

  “Not much chance of an escape here,” Captain Hindeman said, as the door closed behind their guards.

  “The prospect does not look very bright, I admit,” Fergus said cheerfully; “but we have a proverb, ‘Where there is a will there is a way’. I have the will certainly and, as we have plenty of time before us, it will be hard if we do not find a way.”

  He went to the window and looked out.

  “Over a hundred feet,” he said, “and I should say a precipice fully as deep at the foot of the wall. At any rate, we have the advantage of an extensive view.

  “I am glad to see that there is a fireplace, for the cold will be bitter here, when the winter sets in. I wonder whether the rooms above and below this are tenanted?”

  Hindeman shrugged his shoulders. He was not, at present, in a mood to take interest in anything. It was now the end of October, and Fergus was very glad when the door opened again, and a warder came in with two soldiers, who carried huge baskets of firewood; and it was not long before a large fire was blazing on the hearth.

  Day after day passed. Fergus turned over in his mind every possible method of escape, but the prospect looked very dark. Even if the door were open, there would be difficulties of all sorts to encounter. In the middle of the day many people went in and out of the fortress, with provisions, wood, and other matters; but at sunset the gates were shut, and sentries placed on the walls; and on getting out he would have to cross an inner courtyard, and then pass through a gateway—at which a sentinel was posted night and day—into the outer court, which was surrounded by a strong wall over thirty feet high, with towers at the angles.

  Escape from the window would be equally difficult. Two long and very strong ropes would be required, and the bars of the window were so massive that, without tools of any kind, it would be impossible to remove them.

  A month later Captain Hindeman fell ill, and was removed to the infirmary. Fergus was glad of his departure. He had been so depressed that he was useless as a companion and, so long as he remained there, he altogether prevented any plan of escape being attempted; for difficult as it might be for one person to get away, it would be next to impossible for two to do so.

  For an hour in the day, the prisoners had leave to walk on the wall. His fellow prisoner had never availed himself of this privilege; but Fergus always took his daily exercise, partly to keep himself in health, partly in hopes that a plan of escape might present itself. A sentry, however, was always posted on the wall while the prisoners were at exercise; and on the side allotted for their walk, the rock sloped away steeply from the foot of the wall. The thought of escape, therefore, in broad daylight was out of the question; and Fergus generally watched what was going on in the courtyard.

  In time he came to know which was the entrance to the apartments of the governor and his family, where the married officers were quartered, and where the soldiers lodged. He saw that on the ground floor of the tower he occupied were the quarters of a field officer belonging to the garrison.

  One day he saw a number of men employed in clearing out someunused quarters, on one side of the outer courtyard, and judged that an addition was about to be made to the garrison. This gave substance to a plan that he had been revolving in his mind. That evening, when the warder brought him his food, he said carelessly:

  “I see you have some more troops coming in.”

  “Yes,” the man replied, “there are three hundred more men coming. They will march in tomorrow afternoon. They will be getting the room on the first floor, below here, cleared out tomorrow morning for the officer who commands them.”

  Fergus had, all along, considered that there would be no difficulty in suddenly attacking and overpowering the warder, when he came in or out of his room, for no special precautions were taken. The fact that the prisoners were all in their uniforms, and that on showing themselves below they would be instantly arrested, seemed to forbid all chance of their making any attempt to escape. It was the matter of clothes that had, more than anything else, puzzled Fergus; for although he thought that he might possibly obtain a uniform from some officer’s quarters, it was evident that the guard would at once perceive that he was not one of the officers of the garrison. The arrival of the fresh detachment relieved him of this difficulty, and it now seemed that a way of escape was open to him.

  Much depended upon the hour at which the regiment would arrive. The later they did so the better, and as the weather had for some days been terribly rough, and the roads would be deep and heavy, it was likely that they would not arrive until some time past the hour fixed.

  The next afternoon he listened for the roll of drums that would greet the arrival of the newcomers. Just as the door opened, and the sergeant entered with a lantern, he heard the sound that he had been listening for.

  Nothing could have happened more fortunately. As the man was placing his supper on the table, Fergus sprang suddenly upon him, hurled him down on to his face, and then fastened his hands behind him with a rope he had made from twisted strips of one of his rugs. He was not afraid of his calling out, as the window looked outside, and it was blowing half a gale. Moreover, the sound of drums below would aid to prevent any noise being heard from the courtyard.

  “I don’t want to hurt you, sergeant,” he said, “but I do want my liberty. I must put a bandage round your mouth, to prevent you from calling; but you know as well as I do that there would be no chance of your being heard, however loud you might shout.

  “Now, in the first place I am going to see if I can get a uniform. If I cannot, I must come back and take yours.”

  Binding the sergeant’s legs as well as his arms, and putting a muffler over his mouth, Fergus went out, leaving his own jacket and cap behind him. The key was in the door. He turned it and put it in his pocket, shot the heavy bolts, and ran downstairs. When he got to the bottom, he tried the door of the major’s quarters. It was unbolted, and he felt absolutely certain that the major would be out as, with the other officers, he would have gone down to the gate to receive those of the incoming detachment.

  On opening the door, he saw the articles of which he was in search—a long cloak and a regimental cap. These he at once put on. After a further search, he found a pair of military pantaloons and a patrol jacket. Throwing off the cloak, he rapidly changed his clothes. He wanted now only a regimental sword to complete the costume, but he trusted to the long cloak to hide the absence of this.

  Throwing the things that he had taken off under the bed, he went out, closed the door behind him, locked it, and took the key. He had with him the short sword carried by the warder, and he relied upon this to silence the sentry, at the passage leading to the outer court, should he attempt to stop him.

  This, however, was most unlikely. The night was dark, and there was no light burning; and at this hour, with fresh troops arriving and a general movement in the fortress, there could be no question of a countersign being demanded by a sentry in the interior of the place. The man, indeed, only drew himself up and saluted, as he dimly made out an officer coming from the major’s quarters.

  The courtyard beyond was half full of soldiers. The newcomers had just fallen out. Some were being greeted by members of the garrison who had known them before, officers were chatting together; and Fergus made his way, unnoticed in the darkness, to the gate. As he had hoped, the baggage waggons were making their way in.

  A sentry was placed on each side of the gate.

  “Now then,” he said sharply, “hurry on with these waggons. The commandant w
ants the gate shut, as soon as possible;” and passing the sentry, he went on as if to hurry up the rear of the train.

  Taking him for one of the officers of the newly-arrived party, the sentry stepped back at once, and he passed out.

  There were six waggons still outside and, unnoticed, he passed these and went down the road. He had brought with him under his cloak the sergeant’s lantern and, as soon as he was half a mile from the fortress, he took this out in order to be able to proceed the more rapidly. He had taken particular notice of the country from his prison window and, when he came down into a broad road running along the valley, he turned at once to the south.

  His plans had all been carefully thought out, while in prison. He knew perfectly well that, without money, it would be altogether impossible for him to traverse the many hundred miles that lay between him and Saxony. There would be a hot pursuit when, in the morning, he was found to have gone; but it would hardly be suspected that he had taken the road for Vienna, as this would be entirely out of his way.

  Happily, he was not altogether penniless. He had always carried five or six gold pieces, sewn up in the lining of his jacket with the letters with which he had been furnished by Count Eulenfurst, as a resource in case of being taken prisoner. He wished now that he had brought more, but he thought that it might prove sufficient for his first needs.

  He walked all night. His candle burnt out, in two hours after starting; but at eleven the moon rose, and its light enabled him to keep the road without difficulty. As morning dawned, he approached a good-sized village some forty miles from his starting point and, waiting for an hour until he saw people stirring, Fergus went to the posting house and shouted for the postmaster. The sight of a field officer, on foot at such an hour of the morning, greatly surprised the man when he came down.

  “My horse has fallen and broken its neck,” Fergus said, “and I have had to walk some miles on foot. I have important despatches to carry to Vienna. Bring round a horse, without a moment’s delay.”