Once the wretched wife went to Wegstetten, the captain of their battery, in the vain hope that he might be able to help her.
"Just consider a little, Frau Heppner," he suggested, "whether you yourself may not be somewhat to blame. For it is impossible that a man so regular in his duties, who never has to be found fault with, can be as violent as you make out. You exaggerate a bit, my good woman."
After this she resigned herself angrily to her miserable fate.
Wegstetten was not wrong in his praise of Heppner. Outside his own quarters Heppner was a blameless non-commissioned officer; one who knew his duties as well as any, and was strictly obedient to rules and regulations. He handled the men smartly, his brutal, leonine voice being audible all over the parade-ground; yet he never permitted himself any undue licence of speech.
In general, if his men took the trouble to try, he got on well enough with them. It was a satisfaction to him to command a well-drilled body of men; if they behaved themselves he showed them thorough good-will. Only now and then he would fix on a man and worry him to the utmost permissible limit in a grim, cold way almost past endurance. It would always be one of the weaker sort; pale-faced lads he could never endure. And occasionally in other ways the rough animal nature of the man would show itself. If any one got hurt, Heppner was the first to run up--not to help, but to see the blood; he would watch it flow with unmistakable pleasure in his eager eyes.
His special forte was the breaking-in of chargers. In the riding-school he was thoroughly in his element; particularly under cover in the winter, when the horses steamed and the dim lamps glowed red through the dust. With the air of a conqueror he would mount some horse which had refused a jump. His hand could be as soft as satin or as hard as steel, and he would always try gentle means first. Throwing himself back on the hind-quarters, where the weight tells most, and thus driving the brute involuntarily forward till with his powerful legs he had forced it up to the obstacle, with one final squeeze he would get it over. If a refractory horse fell with him, he would be out of the saddle in a moment, and would wait, rein in hand, smiling quietly, until the animal was up again snorting. Then he would remount, and four or five times must the rebellious horse take the jump; then at last his rider would be satisfied.
Heppner's voice would sometimes sound quite good-humoured during riding instruction; he would then relax somewhat. He knew that his men would ride well when it came to the point; for that the sixth battery must have the best horsemen was an understood thing.
Thus it will be seen that the brutality Heppner displayed at home he could successfully repress when on duty. But the most remarkable thing about this man, who behaved like a brute to his wife, and had no affection for his comrades, was the metamorphosis he underwent if the horses were in question. Towards those beautiful animals he showed an almost womanly tenderness. They all knew him, and he loved them all, though naturally he had his favourites among them. There was Udo, a light-brown gelding, who could kneel down. And Zulu, almost black, would shake his head when asked if he were French, but nodded when one said, "A German artillery-man, aren't you?" Heppner would take them sugar every day, or other tit-bits, which he would divide among them with scrupulous fairness.
If by chance a horse fell ill, Heppner's devotion amounted to actual self-sacrifice, and he would anticipate the orders of the vet. with marvellous acuteness. Once only had he mal-treated a subordinate, a driver whom as a rule he particularly liked. He gave him a blow which caused the blood to spurt from both nose and mouth, because he had, when on stable duty, allowed Dornröschen to get caught in her chain. Dornröschen was Heppner's own riding-horse, and the very apple of his eye.
It was chiefly among these beautiful and intelligent animals that the more human element in Heppner's nature came out, and his love for them almost amounted to superstition. There must always be a goat about the stables, for it was an old belief that the strong smell of that animal was a preventive of disease, and the long-bearded Billy was the special protégé of the deputy sergeant-major. Now and then there were difficulties concerning him; as, for instance, when an unexpected attack in the rear knocked the major down in the dust before the whole corps. It was only by desperate entreaty that Heppner succeeded in saving the life of the bleating culprit, and then a curious chance led to his reinstatement. The very first night that the goat was turned out of the barracks, two of the horses began to cough the vet. hinted at bronchitis--four weeks only from the manœuvres, and bronchitis!--Billy was at once restored to his place in the stables, and both horses ceased to cough.