Thursday, September 19th, four P.M., was fixed for the funeral of Gunner Heinrich Karl Klitzing, "accidentally killed on September 16th, and to be buried in the nearest convenient churchyard." The order ended with the words; "The cost of the funeral shall be provisionally defrayed by the regiment."
During the intervening three days the manœuvring force had moved on to the plain, so that they lay at a distance of nearly fifteen miles from the castle. On foot this would mean a march of four hours, and it was therefore impossible to allow many of the men to take part in the funeral. On Wednesday evening the sergeant read out the order that "those who wished to attend the ceremony, and felt able to undertake the fatiguing march there and back, should come forward."
The men looked grave. Nearly all of them would have liked to show this last sign of respect to the comrade who had died so honourable a death; but to be on their feet for eight hours, and that after the fatigue of the manœuvres, was too much.
Only three gave in their names: Count Plettau, Wolf, and Truchsess,
Senior-lieutenant Güntz looked surprised. He had never expected it from the first two, and such a decision from the fat brewer certainly showed great devotion. But, in any case, their intentions were excellent, and so they must have their way.
He himself would see to Vogt, who was again on duty, the wound on his forehead covered with plaster; the gunner should ride on the box of his own carnage. For he, as the officer commanding the battery, Reimers as its lieutenant, and the sergeant-major, were, in a way, obliged to attend the funeral. Besides these, Sergeant Wiegandt was to go with them as representative of the other non-commissioned officers; while head-quarters Colonel Falkenhein and Major Schrader had notified their intention of being present with their adjutants.
At the end of one of the wings of the castle there was a small room arranged as a chapel, and an enclosure which adjoined the park was used as a graveyard.
A fine drizzle was falling, so the short service was held in the chapel.
Nothing was lacking in the obsequies of the poor clerk. The major, from his private means, had doubled the sum to be spent on the funeral, A beautiful oak coffin therefore stood in the centre of the little chapel, covered with the wreaths sent by the battery comrades of the dead man, by Schrader on the part of the division, and by Falkenhein on that of the regiment. They were thick wreaths of laurel, adorned with simple ribbon bows. The white-haired widow of the keeper of the castle had also picked all the flowers she could find still spared by autumn, and had made wreaths of many-coloured asters and dahlias, with which she had decorated the coffin, somewhat fantastically. While rummaging in the attics, she had found in some corner a chest, forgotten for perhaps a hundred years, full of old-fashioned moulded candles, and with these she had filled two many-branched candelabra.
The pastor stood at the head of the coffin and began the service; behind him the sexton had taken up his position with folded hands. On either side sat the officers and men, holding their helmets on their knees and looking on with serious countenances. The old woman knelt crouching on a prie-dieu, and hid her face in her hands. When the pastor had pronounced a final "Amen," the four gunners raised the coffin on their shoulders and bore it to the little graveyard. The sexton preceded the coffin, and behind it followed, in order, the pastor, the two staff officers, Güntz and Reimers, the two adjutants, Heppner and Wiegandt, and last came the woman and her son.