CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TWO CANNONEERS.
Elise uttered a cry of terror, and stared at her lover with wide-opened eyes. But Gotzkowsky's countenance was illuminated with a dark and savage joy. "Ah, at last, then!" said he, letting go the arm of his daughter, and grasping his sword.
But the colonel advanced proudly and collectedly toward him. "Here am
I, sir," said he; "here am I, to defend myself and avenge an insult."
"I have driven you out of your hiding-place, as the fox draws the badger out of his kennel," cried Gotzkowsky, with derisive laughter, purposely calculated to irritate the anger of the young officer to the highest pitch.
The two men stood opposite to each other, and gazed at one another with faces full of hatred and rage. Elise threw herself between them, and falling on her knees before her father, exclaimed, "Kill me, father; save your honor—kill me!"
But Gotzkowsky slung her pitilessly aside. "Away!" cried he, roughly. "What do you here? Make room for us! Here is a man with whom I can fight for my honor."
Feodor stepped quickly toward Elise, who was still kneeling on the floor, wringing her hands, and sobbing from intense pain. He raised her up, and whispering a few words in her ear, led her to the sofa. He then turned to Gotzkowsky, and said, "Your honor is pure and unspotted, sir! Whatever you may think of me, you must respect the virtue of your daughter. She is innocent."
"Innocent," cried Gotzkowsky derisively, "innocent! why, your very presence has polluted the innocence of my daughter."
"Father, kill me, but do not insult me!" cried she, a dark glow suffusing her cheeks.
"Pour out your anger on me," said Feodor ardently. "It is a piece of barbarism to attack a defenceless girl."
Gotzkowsky laughed out loud and scornfully: "You speak of barbarism, and you a Russian!"
An exclamation of rage escaped the colonel; he seized his sword and drawing it quickly advanced toward Gotzkowsky.
"At last!" cried Gotzkowsky, triumphantly, raising his blade. But Elise, beside herself, and heedless of the flashing steel, threw herself between them. With burning words she entreated Feodor to spare her father, and not to raise his sword against him. But Gotzkowsky's voice overpowered hers. Such wild words of contempt and insulting rage issued from his lips, that the young officer, hurt in his military honor, did not dare to listen to the voice of his beloved. It was he now who pressed Elise back, and with raised arm placed himself opposite to her father.
"You must kill me, sir, or wash out this insult with your blood," cried he, preparing himself for the combat.
Both were then silent. It was a terrible, unearthly silence, only broken by the clash of their swords or the occasional outcries of anger or savage joy, as one or the other received or gave a blow. Elise raised her head to heaven and prayed; every thing became confused before her eyes, her head swam, and she felt as if she would go crazy. She prayed God that He would release her by madness or death from the suffering of this hour, or that He would point out to her some way of deliverance or escape. But in the violence of their dispute and combat, the two men had not heard that there arose suddenly in the house a loud tumult and uproar; they had not perceived that a guard of soldiers was drawn up in the street, and that the commanding officer with a loud voice was demanding the delivery of the cannoneer who had taken refuge in this house.
As no attention was paid to the demand, the officer had ordered his soldiers to break open the doors of the house and enter by force. But Bertram had anticipated this proceeding by having the door opened, and requesting the Austrian officer to search the house with his men, and convince himself that no one was concealed in it. With most industrious energy, and mindful of the price which had been set on the head of the cannoneer, the soldiers searched every room in the house, and had finally arrived at the closed door of the hall.
Just as the combat between the two had reached its greatest violence, it was interrupted by fierce blows at the door from butts of muskets, and they were compelled to refrain from their imbittered struggle. They stopped and listened, but Elise sprang from her knees, rushed with a cry of delight to the door and threw it open. An officer of De Lacy's chasseurs entered with some of his soldiers, while the rest of the men filled the entrance hall and passages of the house with noise and confusion.
With a commanding tone the Austrian officer demanded the delivery of the cannoneer, who, he asserted, had been seen by all to take refuge in this house, whence it was impossible that he could have escaped, as it had been immediately surrounded. And as no one answered his threats, but only a sullen silence was opposed to his violently repeated demand, he swore that he would burn down the house and let no one escape if the refugee was not given up at once.
Gotzkowsky had at first stood like one stunned, and scarcely heard what the officer demanded of him. Gradually he began to recover from his stupefaction and regain strength to turn his attention to things around him. He raised his head from his breast, and, as if awaking from a dream, he looked around with bewildered amazement. The Austrian officer repeated his demand still more haughtily and threateningly. Gotzkowsky had now recovered presence of mind and composure, and declared with a determined voice, that no one was concealed in his house.
"He is here!" cried the Austrian. "Our men have followed his track thus far, and marked this house well. Deliver him up to us, to avoid bloodshed," and, turning to his soldiers, he continued, "Search all the rooms-search carefully. The man is hidden here, and we—"
Suddenly he interrupted his order, and gazed earnestly at the door through which his soldiers were pressing in.
"Had not this cannoneer, as he fled thither, a white cloak around him, and did he not wear a broad-brimmed hat?" asked he.
As the soldiers answered affirmatively, the officer stepped toward the door, and drew from under the feet of his men the cloak and hat of the cannoneer. A wild yell of joy broke from the soldiers.
"Do you still persist in denying that this man is concealed here?" asked the officer, raising the cloak.
Gotzkowsky did not answer, but gazed on the ground absorbed in deep thought.
As the soldiers thronged into the room, the young Russian colonel had withdrawn himself to a remote part of the room, and taken the most lively interest in the scene acted before him. A word from him would have brought the whole affair to an end, for, as an involuntary listener, he had heard all that had transpired concerning the cannoneer. Consequently he knew exactly the hiding-place in which the latter had been concealed. But it had never come into his mind to play the informer and traitor. He was only intensely interested in the issue of the scene, and firmly determined, if the danger should grow more urgent, to hasten with his weapon to Gotzkowsky's assistance, and to defend him against the fury of the Austrians.
Gotzkowsky still stood silent. He was trying to devise some plan by which he might save the brave defender of Berlin, whose presence, after such positive proof, he could no longer deny.
As suddenly as lightning an idea seemed to penetrate his mind, his countenance cleared, and he turned with a singular expression in his eye to Colonel von Brenda.
"Well!" asked the officer, "do you still deny it?
"No, I cannot deny it any longer," said he, in a determined tone. "You are right, sir; the cannoneer who shattered your ranks is here in my house!"
The soldiers broke out again in a triumphant roar. But Elise looked at her father with anxious terror, and sought, trembling, to read in his countenance the meaning of these words. "Can he possibly be capable of betraying this man whom he has sworn to protect?" thought Feodor, and yielding to his curiosity he approached the group in the middle of the hall. Suddenly he felt Gotzkowsky's hand laid on his shoulder, and met his dark eye, full of hatred.
"Well," said Gotzkowsky, with a loud, defiant voice, "you are looking for the artilleryman, Fritz. Here he is!"
A scream and a burst of laughter were heard. It was Elise who uttered the scream, and the colonel who greeted this unexpected turn with a merry laugh. But Gotzkowsky did not allow himself to be confused by one or the other.
He laid his arm on Feodor's neck, and forced his countenance to assume a friendly expression. "Dear friend," said he, "you see it is vain any longer to deny it. Our stratagem has unfortunately failed."
"What stratagem?" asked the Austrian and Feodor, simultaneously.
Gotzkowsky replied in a sorrowful tone to Feodor: "Do not disguise yourself any longer, my son! you see it is useless." Then turning to the officer, he continued: "We had hoped that he might escape detection in this Russian uniform, left here by the adjutant of General Sievers, who was formerly a prisoner of war in my house, but unfortunately the hat and cloak have betrayed him."
Feodor von Brenda looked at Gotzkowsky with admiring wonder, and this rapidly invented ruse de guerre pleased him astonishingly.
It was a piquant adventure offered him by Gotzkowsky's hate and cunning, and he did not feel inclined to throw away such an original and interesting chance of excitement. He, the Russian colonel, and Count von Brenda, the favorite of the empress, degraded to a Prussian cannoneer, whose life was in danger! His wilful and foolhardy imagination was pleased with the idea of playing the part of a criminal condemned to death.
"Well," asked the Austrian officer, "do you acknowledge the truth of this statement, or do you deny being the cannoneer, Fritz?"
"Why should I deny it?" answered Feodor, shrugging his shoulders.
"This gentleman, who ought to have saved me, has already betrayed me.
I am the man whom you seek!"
With a scream of surprise, Elise threw herself toward her lover.
"No!" cried she, loudly, "no, he is—"
Her father's hand pressed heavily on her lips. "Another word, and you are a murderess!" whispered he.
The officer looked suspiciously at them. "You do not deny," asked he of Feodor, "that you are he who directed such a murderous fire on our lines? You do not deny that you are the artilleryman, Fritz, and that this cloak and hat belong to you?"
"I deny nothing!" replied Feodor, defiantly.
The officer called to some of his men and ordered them to shoulder arms, and take the prisoner in their midst; enjoining them to keep a sharp watch on him, and at the first attempt to escape, to shoot him down. But when he demanded his sword of the colonel, the latter recoiled, shocked, and resisted.
He now became aware of his foolhardiness and rashness, and that he had not considered or foreseen the dangerous and perhaps dishonorable consequences. However, as he had gone so far, he considered that it would be disgraceful and cowardly to retreat now. He was also desirous of pursuing to the end this adventure which he had begun with so much boldness and daring. He drew his sword, and with considerable strength breaking it in pieces, he threw them at the feet of the Austrian officer.
That officer shrugged his shoulders. "Your insolence will only make your situation worse. Remember, you are our prisoner."
"He must and shall die!" shouted the soldiers, thronging around
Feodor, angrily.
The officer ordered silence. "He must die," said he, "that is true; but we must first carry him to the general, to obtain the price offered for him."
The soldiers surrounded him and shoved him toward the door. But Elise broke through the crowd. With flashing eyes, and cheeks burning with a feverish excitement, she rushed toward Feodor. "No!" cried she, with all the ardor of love, "no, I will not leave you. You are going to your death!"
Feodor kissed her lightly on the forehead, and replied with a smile,
"I fear nothing. Fortune does not forsake a brave soldier."
He then took her by the hand and led her to her father. Gazing on him with a long and speaking look, he continued: "Here, Father Gotzkowsky, I bring your daughter to you: be a better father to her than you have been a friend to me. These are my farewell words."
He leaned forward as if to give Gotzkowsky a parting embrace, and whispered to him: "I hope we are now quit! I have atoned for my fault. You will no longer wish to punish your daughter for my transgression."
He then threw the white cloak around him, and bidding Elise, who leaned half fainting against her father, a tender farewell, he stepped back into the ranks of the guard.
"Attention! shoulder arms!" commanded the officer; and the Austrians left the hall with closed ranks, the prisoner in their midst.
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