William redoubled his diligence, but to no purpose; the nearer the approach of the important day, the more alarming grew his misfortunes; every shot missed. At length he was almost afraid to fire a gun, lest he should do some mischief; for he had already lamed a cow and almost killed the cowherd.
“I insist upon it,” said the gamekeeper Rudolph, one evening, to the party, “I insist upon it that some wizard has bewitched William, for such things could not happen naturally; therefore let us endeavour to loosen the charm.”—“Superstitious stuff!” interrupted Bertram, angrily; “an honest woodsman should not even think of such trash. Do you forget the three things which a forester ought to have, and with which he will always be successful, in spite of sorcery? Come, to your wits, answer my query.” “That can I truly,” answered Rudolph; “he should have great skill, a keen dog, and a good gun.” “Enough,” said Bertram; “with these three things every charm may be loosened, or the owner of them is a dunce and no shot.”
“Under favour, father Bertram,” said William, “here is my gun; what have you to object against it? and as for my skill, I do not like to praise myself, but I think I am as fair a sportsman as any in the country; nevertheless, it seems as if all my balls went crooked, or as if the wind blew them away from the barrel of my gun. Only tell me what I shall do. I am willing to do any thing.” “It is singular,” muttered the forester, who did not know what else to say.
“Believe me, William,” again began Rudolph, “it is nothing but what I have said. Try only once: go on a Friday, at midnight, to a cross road, and make a circle round you with the ramrod, or with a bloody sword, which must be blessed three times, in the name of Sammiel.”—“Silence!” interrupted Bertram, angrily: “know ye whose name that is? he is one of the fiend’s dark legion. God protect us and every Christian from him!” William crossed himself devoutly, and would hear nothing further, though Rudolph still maintained his opinion. He passed the night in cleaning his gun, and examining minutely every screw, resolving, at dawn of day once more to sally forth, and try his fortune in the forest. He did so, but, alas! in vain. Mischiefs thickened round him: at ten paces distance he fired three times at a deer; twice his gun missed fire, and although it went off the third time, yet the stag bounded away unhurt into the midst of the forest. Full of vexation, he threw himself under a tree, and cursed his fate, when suddenly a rustling was heard among the bushes, and a queer-looking soldier with a wooden leg came hopping out from among them.
“Holloa! huntsman,” he began, laughing at the disconsolate-looking William, “what is the matter with you? Are you in love, or is your purse empty, or has any body charmed your gun? Come, don’t look so blank; give me a pipe of tobacco, and we’ll have a chat together.”
William sullenly gave him what he asked, and the soldier threw himself down in the grass by the side of him. The conversation naturally turned upon woodcraft, and William related his misfortunes to him. “Let me see your gun,” said the soldier. William gave it. “It is assuredly bewitched,” said he of the wooden leg, the moment he had taken it in his hand; “you will not be able to fire a single shot with it; and if they have done it according to rule, it will be the same with every gun you shall take into your hands.”
William was startled; he endeavoured to raise objections against the stranger’s belief in witches, but the latter offered to give him a proof of the justice of his opinions. “To us soldiers,” said he, “there is nothing strange; and I could tell you many wonderful things, but which would detain us here till night. But look here, for instance: this is a ball which is sure of hitting its mark, because it possesses some particular virtue: try it; you won’t miss.” William loaded his gun, and looked around for an object to aim at. A large bird of prey hovered high above the forest, like a moving dot;—“Shoot that kite,” said the one-legged companion. William laughed at his absurdity, for the bird was hovering at a height which the eye itself could scarcely reach. “Laugh not, but fire,” said the other, grimly; “I will lay my wooden leg that it falls.” William fired, the black dot sunk, and a huge kite fell bleeding to the ground. “You would not be surprised at that,” said he of the wooden leg to the huntsman, who was speechless and staring with astonishment; “you would not, I repeat, be surprised at that, if you were better acquainted with the wonders of your craft. Even the casting such balls as these is one of the least important things in it; it merely requires dexterity and courage, because it must be done in the night. I will teach you for nothing when we meet again; now I must away, for the bell has told seven. In the mean time—here, try a few of my balls; still you look incredulous—well—till we meet again.”—
The soldier gave William a handful of balls, and departed. Full of astonishment, and still distrusting the evidence of his senses, the latter tried another of the balls, and again struck an almost unattainable object: he loaded his gun in the usual manner, and again missed the easiest! He darted forward to follow the crippled soldier, but the latter was no longer in the forest; and William was obliged to remain satisfied with the promise which he had given of meeting him again hereafter.
Great joy it gave to the honest forester when William returned, as before, loaded with game from the forest. He was now called upon to explain the circumstance; but not being prepared to give a reason, and above all, dreading to say any thing upon the subject of his infallible balls, he attributed his ill luck to a fault in his gun, which he had only, he pretended, last night discovered and rectified. “Did I not tell you so, wife,” said Bertram, laughing. “Your demon was lodged in the barrel; and the goblin which threw down father Kuno this morning, sat grinning, on the rusty nail.” “What say you of a goblin,” demanded William; “and what has happened to father Kuno?” “Simply this,” replied Bertram: “his portrait fell of itself from the wall this morning, just as the bell tolled seven; and the silly woman settled it that a goblin must be at the bottom of the mischief, and that we are haunted accordingly.”
“At seven,” repeated William, “at seven!” and he thought, with a strange feeling of affright, of the soldier who parted from him exactly at that moment. “Yes, seven,” continued Bertram, still laughing. “I do not wonder at your surprise; it is not a usual ghostly hour, but Anne would have it so.” The latter shook her head doubtfully, and prayed that all might end well; while William shivered from head to foot, and would secretly have vowed not to use the magic balls, but that the thought of his ill luck haunted him. “Only one of them,” said he, internally; “only one of them for the master-shot, and then I have done with them for ever.” But the forester urged him the next instant to accompany him into the forest; and he dared not excite fresh suspicions of his want of skill, nor offend the old man by refusing, he was again compelled to make use of his wondrous balls; and in the course of a few days he had so accustomed himself to the use of them, and so entirely reconciled his conscience to their doubtful origin, that he saw nothing sinful or even objectionable in the business. He constantly traversed the forest, in the hope of meeting the strange giver of the balls; for the handful had decreased to two, and if he wished to make sure of the master-shot, the utmost economy was necessary. One day he even refused to accompany Bertram, for the next was to be the day of trial, and the chief forester was expected; it was possible he might require other proofs than the mere formal essay, and William thus felt himself secure. But in the evening, instead of the commissary, came a messenger from the duke, with an order for a large delivery of game, and to announce that the visit of the chief forester would be postponed for eight days longer.