CHAPTER XXXIX.
THE FRANKENDÖR.
Sir Alexander Leslie, who was designated "Governor of all the cities upon the Baltic coast," made a rapid and able survey of the whole town; and, for its immediate defence, ordered the erection of new barricades to defend our avenues, and batteries to sweep those of the enemy. Fascines were made and filled with earth; all houses near the gates were loopholed for musketry, and had their lower rooms filled with stones and rubbish, to prevent the passage of the German cannon-shot; while all edifices of every kind that impeded the fire of our batteries or musketry, were instantly levelled to the ground.
In every way the Scottish marshal proved himself worthy of the high trust reposed in him by the allied princes of the north. While some of our soldiers who had been bakers (or, as we call them, baxters), were ordered to prepare vast quantities of biscuit for the garrison and the citizens, others were employed in making up ball-cartridges, cannon baskets, platforms, and other military works. New wells were sunk, the old repaired, and tanks were filled with water, while the hospitals were cleaned out and purified. Amid all this lively bustle—which was a severe reprehension on the inertness of Colonel Holka—the poor citizens forgot the horrors of their two months' siege, and worked among our soldiers with ardour and satisfaction.
Wallenstein was aware that 5000 Scots had entered the city under Leslie, whom he knew to be the most able general of the great Gustavus. He was also aware, by what he knew of Leslie's military character, acuteness, and resources, that, unless crushed, he might be foiled before that city, he had so solemnly sworn to win; thus, taking advantage of the unusual commotion within it, he made a fresh reconnaissance, and, observing that the Frankendör was the weakest and least defensible post, resolved on assailing it during that night.
Our soldiers were bivouacked within this ravelin that overlooked the Frankenlake. There I had left them for an hour to visit Ernestine; but the hour gradually extended from one to two, and from two to three, and the church clocks which still survived the various bombardings of the last few weeks, were just striking the hour of eleven, on the 24th of June—a day by old memories the dearest to a Scottish heart—when the report of two heavy cannon fired from the citadel, pealed over the roofs and streets of the unfortunate town, announcing a night attack.
The thought flashed like lightning upon me, that the regiment might be engaged—that I had been three hours absent, and that Sir Donald might miss me from my post. Thus, to start up, to snatch my sword and steel-bonnet, to press my lip to the pale cheek of Ernestine, and hurry into the street, were all the work of a moment, and I was away!
A storm was raging, and though the season was summer, and the month was June, it was a severe one. A torrent of rain had fallen, and a tempest of wind had swept over the city, levelling many of the shattered houses on the stray passengers and on our working parties; but I had been so pleasantly occupied during my tête-à-tête with Ernestine, that I had heard nothing of it; and now, on issuing into the street, I was surprised to find it covered by puddles of mud and water, while dust, fragments of tiles, and wet leaves, were swept past me on the hurrying wind. Dark clouds enveloped the sky, and after pausing for a moment in the dark and unlighted thoroughfare, irresolute which way to turn, the report of a volley of musketry drew me towards a part of the long and deserted way, by which I reached the Frankendör, arriving just in time to find my comrades about to be engaged, and our drums beating the Point of War. Being wetted by the rain their sound was dull and hollow, but the wild pipes were shrill and high as ever.
Though the scenery was flat and level, there was something impressive and terrific in the storm, and the night was so dark, that, when I assumed command of my company at one of the faces of the ravelin, I could not discern the enemy.
Before us lay the dark bosom of the Frankenlake; above was a black and stormy sky, where enormous masses of vapour were rolling and intermingling on the wings of that squalling wind, which swept over Stralsund in loud and incessant gusts. The rain had ceased, and there was at times a close, oppressive, and sulphurous heat.
Suddenly, like a mighty gorge between two black mountains, the clouds were divided in heaven; a lambent light edged with brilliance their torn and rugged outlines, and the forked lightning was shot from the opening, like long red arrows of fire.