Berthier, who was then at Vienna, excited general indignation by the hypocrisy of his affected pity for him, which led him even to assert that his death would give great pain to Napoleon, who would never have permitted it, could he have helped it.
The spot on which he fell is still regarded as holy ground. His body, instead of being left for some time, as is usual, at the place of execution, was immediately borne by the grenadiers on a black bier to St. Michael's church, where it lay in state, watched by a guard of honour, that the people might see that the famous chieftain was actually slain.
The funeral then took place with all the impressive solemnity of the Roman Catholic ritual, as though, by the honour they paid his remains, the French were anxious to compensate for the injuries they had done him while living.
The voice of bitter weeping was heard from am Sand. The valleys of the Tyrol were in sorrow. Troops of dejected or indignant peasants were seen hurrying across the mountains, to attend the funeral services in the parish churches of the Passeyrthal. The widow and orphans refused to be comforted. A messenger from the Emperor Francis arrived at am Sand, offering the family an asylum in Austria, with money enough to settle themselves, and a pension of two thousand florins. But, no; Anna Hofer could not bring herself to leave am Sand. She accepted the pension, and the promise to provide for her son; but she herself would never quit the old walls.
Speckbacher was not immediately aware of Hofer's fall. We left him in his mountain fastnesses, dwelling among perpetual snows, and only approaching the haunts of men when impelled by hunger. On one of these occasions, he was cautiously approaching a group of people, consisting of a man, woman, and some children, near the little village of Volderberg, when it struck him that they appeared to be fugitives like himself, and would probably prove unable to assist him in his need.
On approaching them, O joy! he beheld his Maria, with her children and honest Zoppel. They had been driven from their home, and knew not whither to turn, unless to some humble kinsfolk of Zoppel's. Gratitude for their reunion made them, for a time, insensible to their privations. Zoppel's good cousin made them welcome to some out-buildings, where Zoppel supported them for some weeks by the labour of his hands. Even in this poor refuge, they enjoyed sweet, though sorrowful, communion: Maria had the children to occupy her, and Speckbacher carved chamois-horns delicately, and made those exquisite little bassi-relievi of birds, with feathers fastened on paper, for which the Tyrolese are so famous.
At length his hiding-place was suspected; they withdrew to the ruin of an old castle, perched on a dizzy peak. Here, too, his enemies tracked him; so he was obliged to tear himself again from his beloved family, and seek refuge in a cavern on the Gemshaken, one of the most inaccessible heights of the Eisglet Scherr. Taking advantage of a fearful snow-storm, which answered the purpose of effacing his footsteps, he, aided by Zoppel, succeeded in conveying to this dangerous place a stock of provisions, sufficient to last a temperate mountaineer a fortnight or three weeks. When these were exhausted, he could only depend on the wild animals he caught by stratagem, which he was obliged to eat raw, as the smoke of a fire would have betrayed him to his enemies. Endeavour to realize the terrible condition of this man—his solitude, inaction, exposure to intense cold, miserable food, and perpetual danger! And yet, though fallen on evil times, he seems to have bated no jot of heart or hope; but, in the true spirit of a man and a Christian, to have endured.
At the close of winter, when the snow began to melt, he had ventured a few paces from his cavern, when an avalanche from the summit of the Gemshaken suddenly descended with an awful noise, and swept him along with it, down a descent of not less than half a league.
Though to escape with life was marvellous, he had not much reason to exult in his good fortune, for he had dislocated his hip; and, finding himself unable to return to his cavern, he painfully crawled towards the little village of Volderberg, which had formerly given shelter to him with his family. He did not reach the cottage of Zoppel's kinsman, Hans, till after dark. Hans, hearing a slight sound outside, thought a wolf was prowling round the cottage, and approached the door cautiously with his rifle. On beholding a man crouching down, he at first took him for a spy, and was half ready to give him the reception he had intended for the wolf; but on hearing Speckbacher faintly say, "Hans, don't you know me?" he became overwhelmed with joy and grief.