I rushed back to the inn, and up the stairs; but what was my horror to hear the sound of voices, and the tramp of feet, in the sick room I had left in silence. As I entered, I saw the landlord and the servant, assisted by the doctor, endeavouring to hold down the Baron on his bed, who with almost superhuman strength, pushed them from him in his efforts to rise. His features were wild to insanity, and the restless darting of his glistening eye, showed that he was under the excitement of delirium.
“The effort may kill him,” whispered the doctor in my ear; “this struggle may be his death.”
“Leave me free, sir!” shouted the sick man. “Who dares to lay hands on me—stand aside there—the peloton will take ground to the right,” continued he, raising his voice as if commanding on parade; “Ground arms!”
Just at this instant, the heavy clank of the firelocks was heard without, as though in obedience to his word. “Hark!” said he, raising his hand—“Not a word—silence in the ranks.” And in the deadly stillness we could now hear the sentence of death, as it was read aloud by the Adjutant. A hoarse roll of the drum followed, and then, the tramp of the party as they led forward the prisoner, to every step of which the sick man kept time with his hand.
We did not dare to move—we knew not at what instant our resistance might be his death.
“Shoulder arms!” shouted out the officer from the Platz.
“Take the orders from me,” cried Elgenheim wildly. “This duty is mine—no man shall say I shrunk from it.”
“Present arms—Fire——”
“Fire!” shouted Elgenheim, with a yell that rose above the roll of musketry; and then with a groan of agony, he cried out, “There—there—it’s over now!” and fell back, dead, into our arms.
***** *****