"What has he done? Where is he?" anxiously inquired Martella. "Speak! be quick! listen, father!"
The wounded man raised himself with difficulty and spoke:
"We stood within range of the enemy's batteries. Shot after shot tore through our ranks. Many were falling. Everybody sheltered himself. Ernst stood upright, and said in a clear voice, 'Stand firm! Face the bullets! That's the way to be brave.' Finally, we advanced, when a lieutenant was shot in the forehead; our sergeant stepped into his place, and he also fell. Then Ernst took command, and marched along by the drummer. Bang! then the drummer was shot. Ernst unloosened the drum from his body, and drummed for us. He beat a powerful flourish, and cried out, 'Give it to them!' Then there came a shell, and I lay on the ground and saw nothing more. When I came to myself, I still heard drumming. But all at once there was a report, a cry--and the drumming ceased."
Martella tore up the wreath; but she quickly seized the grasses and flowers and held them with a convulsive grasp.
"Away! away! we must find him!" she exclaimed. "We must find him! He is living!"
Ikwarte and Wolfgang hastened with the wounded man into a neighboring house. Not far off, a wagon stopped. They returned with it, and Wolfgang and Martella sat in it with me. So we drove on through the entire night. Ikwarte knew where the miller's son was sheltered. We were silent; only Martella murmured to herself, "Keep up, Ernst; keep up! We are coming! Oh! mother in heaven, look down upon him!"
We were obliged to get out--the road crossed the fields. I went a little distance, but could go no farther. Both of the faithful servants begged that Wolfgang would stay with me. We sat down by the roadside, and noticed a moving object quite near us. It was a wounded horse, that raised its head, and then, with a rattle in its throat, fell back dead.
We heard Martella, across the field, calling, "Ernst! Ernst! my Ernst! where are you! Ernst! we are here, your father and I!" Then we heard nothing more.
A chill seized me. The ground was damp, and Wolfgang insisted that I should sit upon the dead horse, whose body was still warm. We quietly waited. In the heavens the clouds were scudding by, and here and there the stars sparkled. In the village a clock commenced striking. Wolfgang counted aloud: it struck eleven.
Now some one approached; my name was called. It was Ikwarte.