CHAPTER V.
THE BRIDGE OF FREYENTHAL.
Severe weather succeeded the battle of Minden, and the Scots Greys, while it continued, were ordered to cantonments in villages near the Lahn.
On a dull wet morning we paraded in our cloaks and bade adieu to the banks of the Weser, and to the fatal plain of the 1st of August. By sound of trumpet we fell into our ranks, and the corporal-major of each troop proceeded to call the muster-roll.
Alas! there was called over on that morning the name of more than one brave fellow who could respond to it no more, and over whom the autumn grass was sprouting.
Amid the snows of winter we idled away our time in those dreary villages of Prussian Westphalia, till Major Shirley arrived with a message of a peculiar nature for Colonel Preston.
Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, to whose staff the major was now attached (Lord Sackville having been summarily dismissed the service by the king), sent him to inform the colonel that in the district named the Rodhargebirge, a certain baron named Conrad of Freyenthal—whose character would have suited admirably one of Anne Radcliffe's romances—had placed his wife in a dungeon or vault of his residence, and kept her a prisoner therein, while a mistress occupied her place, as the ballads say, "in bower and hall." The orders of his royal highness were, that we should send a party there to free and protect the lady, and also to blow up a bridge of the Lahn close by Freyenthal, which had been partially undermined already by M. Monjoy, an engineer of the French rear-guard already mentioned.
Guided by a peasant, Colonel Preston went with the Light Troop in person on this service, and as it was not likely to be a desperate one, Major Shirley accompanied us, and contrived to play me a trick which I had reason long to remember.
We marched from our cantonment an hour before daybreak, when the sharp crescent moon was waning coldly behind the hills, and the bronze-like conical outlines of the fir-trees cut acute angles against the clear blue sky. After passing through a wooded defile in the mountains, we reached the castle of Freyenthal, a small square tower, surrounded by a barbican wall, and perched on an insulated mass of rock, at the base of which the Lahn poured over a great cascade, that was then almost a mass of icicles.
Close by this tower the river was spanned by the ancient stone bridge which we had such special orders to blow up.
Before this feudal fortress we sounded a trumpet thrice, but met with no response, and could see no one, nor any sign of life about the place, save the dark smoke that ascended from the chimneys into the clear winter sky. The arched gate of the outer wall was strong, and being securely barred within, defied all our efforts.
While ten of our men dismounted, and under the order of a German engineer officer proceeded to examine and make use of the old French mine under one of the piers of the bridge, Colonel Preston, whose temper was apt to be chafed by trifles, deliberately blew up the gate of the tower by a petard which he had brought for the express purpose.
Roused from his apathy or his potations by this unexpected explosion, the proprietor of Freyenthal, a stern-looking man, with powdered hair, a hooked nose, and fierce, black, bushy eyebrows, rushed bareheaded and unarmed into the courtyard, accompanied by two or three men-servants of bloated and forbidding appearance.
Then Colonel Preston in a few words acquainted him with the orders of Prince Ferdinand of Brunswick, and required the immediate surrender of the baroness—our errand and intention. But, undaunted by the colonel's rank and the aspect of his troop of horse crowding all the pathway that led to the tower, the baron roughly taunted him with "unwise interference in domestic affairs, and with being an insolent braggart to boot."
On hearing this, the fiery old man leaped from his horse, tossed its bridle to an orderly, and drawing his sword, offered the baron the use of another, as well as of a pistol, saying—
"I scorn to take advantage of any man—we are now on equal terms."
The German uttered a hoarse oath, snatched the pistol, cocked it, and fired straight at the head of Colonel Preston, who would undoubtedly have been shot had I not struck the barrel up with my sword. At the same instant our trumpeter, who was close by the colonel, struck the would-be assassin to the earth by a blow of his trumpet.
The wife of this most irritable Teuton we found exactly in the plight Shirley had described, immured in a vault, a cold and miserable place, the sole furniture of which was a truckle-bed. We put the baron in her place, and sent her by her own request, to the Lutheran Convent at Marburg, while her rival was made to ride the cheval de bois for an hour, with a carbine slung at each foot.
While the baron's Westphalian wine and beer were freely brought from his cellar for the use of the troop; while he growled and swore in his vault, and while the bridge of the Lahn was being undermined, Colonel Preston desired me to take ten men with me, and ride a mile or two into the country on the other side of the river, to reconnoitre the district, to see or inquire about the disposition of the enemy, but to avoid all risk.
"Come, Gauntlet," said Shirley, as I tightened my waistbelt and put my foot in the stirrup; "take a parting cup ere you go."
"Excuse me, major," said I, coldly; "I have had wine already—and the hour is not yet noon."
"Toast Miss Gauntlet, man—Zounds! here in Westphalia, so far away from Old England. To your fair cousin's health!" he exclaimed, holding out a silver-rimmed horn of wine.
"To Aurora, then!" said I, and drained the wine, after clinking our horns together in true German fashion, while Shirley's usual smile expanded into a laugh, and when he laughed it always portended mischief.
"Come, my lads," said I, to my chosen ten; "forward—trot!"
"Don't ride too far, Gauntlet," cried Shirley, still laughing loudly, "for the bridge is quite undermined."
"How that fool laughs at his own folly," thought I, as we crossed the antique bridge at a hard trot, and rode into the frozen country beyond. From the bank of the Lahn the ground sloped gradually upward for miles, though intersected here and there by thickly wooded ravines; thus, as we traversed the snow, when looking back we could distinctly see the old tower of Freyenthal, standing dark and grim with its smoky chimneys above the half-frozen river.
The country seemed partially deserted, and any peasants or woodcutters who saw us, fled at our approach, and concealed themselves. We rode several miles, and by the wayside passed the ruins of many roofless cottages and deserted farms; but now Hob Elliot assured me that in the clear frosty air he "more than once had heard the rumble of wheels—perhaps of artillery."
As we saw nothing even in the most distant portion of the level and snow-clad landscape, I ridiculed this notion; but Hob was obstinate, and stuck to his fears on the subject.
"Excuse me, sir," said he, "but I know that I may take the liberty of talking to you, for when I lay in hospital at Minden, wounded, sick, and dying as I thought, no hand was more ready than yours to help me. Never did my auld mother at hame, when I was a yellow-haired bairn, tread mair lightly by my cradle than you did by my straw pallet, to see that I took those devilish draughts of old Drs. Blackstrap and Probe of ours."
"But what about all that now, Hob?—to the point."
"Well, sir, if I might recommend—I'm an older soldier than you—we should go threes about now, and get back, for the bridge is undermined, and that Major Shirley——"
"Well?" said I, as Hob paused.
"He had a queer twinkle in his eye as we rode off."
"What, Hob—you do not mean—you cannot insinuate——"
"Pardon me, sir," said the big burly trooper, lowering his voice; "but he laughed in the faces of the dead at Minden—faces that in life he was grave enough before, and I dinna like a bane in his body."
"Come, come, Hob, you must not speak in this way to me. The major is esteemed a good officer."
"I know that, sir," replied the trooper, dryly; "but by whom?"
"Well," said I, impatiently, "by whom?"
"The worst men in the army."
"Hum—he is a brave man at all events, Hob."
"Yes, sir—we all saw that when he bungled the orders for Lord George Sackville at Minden, and cost the poor general his commission—he that was there under fire, as brave as a lion, in the old red coat that he had worn at Fontenoy."
"Good or bad, Hob, brave or not, it is perilous work for you to speak thus of an officer."
"Well, sir, I beg your pardon," replied the obstinate trooper, "but I can't help having my own thoughts of him, and they are unco queer ones."
Just as he said this we reached the brow of an eminence, over which the road dipped suddenly down into a hollow; and there just beneath us, we saw a train of some thirty laden waggons, proceeding leisurely under an escort of at least three companies of French troops, the Volontaires de Clermont. Thus the rumble of wheels so long heard by Hob, was now completely accounted for!
The French uttered a shout on beholding us, and proceeded to handle their muskets, by priming, loading, and casting about, while we wheeled round our horses and departed without further ceremony to reach the bridge of Lahn.
A hundred or more of the French tossed aside their knapsacks, haversacks and everything that might encumber them, and rushed up the slope to the crest of the eminence. Here they poured a confused volley after us which did no harm, but I could see the bullets ripping up the frozen snow far in front. Then with a yell the Volontaires dashed after us in pursuit.
A partial thaw, which had been setting in, made portions of the snow-covered road deep and heavy, but we soon left the French infantry far in our rear, though they continued to follow us double quick, determined to have a little shooting if possible, as they had enjoyed none since the day of Minden.
We soon distanced them more than a mile, and ere long saw the tower of Freyenthal dotted with the red coats of our comrades, and with rather anxious eyes I measured the long slope that lay between us and the bridge, where we could see our working party, now that their mining task was over, sitting on the parapets in their shirt sleeves, and conversing. Near them, on horseback, was an officer, in whom, by his kevenhüller hat and scarlet feather, I had no difficulty in recognising Major Shirley.
As we came on at a hand-gallop, we suddenly saw a commotion among our men at the bridge as they pointed towards the enemy. Then Shirley seemed to gesticulate violently, and order them to fall back, waving a match which he had snatched from one of them, and which was smoking in his hand.
We saw him stoop from his saddle and fire the train!
In a minute after this there was a roar in the still air; amid a cloud of dust and smoke the old bridge of the Lahn rose bodily aloft, almost in a solid mass, and then sank in foam and ruin among the blocks of melting ice that rolled over the cascade below.
"Treachery!" cried Hob Elliot, shaking his clenched and gauntleted hand; "he has blown up the bridge and cut off our retreat!"
In another moment we all reined up our breathless horses at the edge of the steep rocks, through which the swollen winter stream was roaring and boiling in its mad career towards the Rhine.
"In the name of Heaven," I exclaimed, filled with anger and apprehension, "why has this been done? Rascals, who ordered this?—you have ruined us."
"Major Shirley is alone to blame, sir, not we," replied a sergeant on the other side, saluting me as he spoke; and though the black stream that roared between us was only thirty yards broad, the nature of its banks and its force defied all attempts to cross by swimming.
"It is most unfortunate, my dear Gauntlet," cried Shirley, with a bland and broader smile than usual on his face—"most unfortunate affair—the more so as the enemy are coming rapidly on."
"But, sirrah, what in the world tempted you to commit this act of folly?" I demanded, furiously.
"My dear fellow—ah, ah! you should remember the old saw—in this world expect everything, and be astonished at nothing. I crave your pardon, as it is not pleasant to have one's promotion stopped, and be a prisoner of war. 'Twas all a mistake—a deuced error in judgment, as the Court said which shot Admiral Byng. But don't attempt to swim the river," he exclaimed, on seeing that in my fury I made my horse rear wildly up; "it is too broad, too deep and rapid. Surrender with a good grace—discretion is the better part of valour. Here come the French Light Troops. Zounds! and they are firing, too!"
And with an ironical smile, which I could see distinctly, he waved his hand with a mock salute, and somewhat hastily entered the tower of Freyenthal, for a few scattered files of the Volontaires de Clermont, when they came up, opened a fire upon our men, who, in bewilderment at the whole affair, were loitering at the other end of the ruined bridge.
"I have swam baith Esk and Liddle in full flood, and damn me if I won't swim this!" exclaimed Hob Elliot, who was about to spur his horse madly into the stream, when I caught his bridle. And thus, in less than five minutes, with my ten troopers, I found myself disarmed, dismounted, and marched off a prisoner of war, in presence of Colonel Preston and the remainder of the Light Troop, through the cowardice or treachery—I knew not which—of Shirley the aide-de-camp.