LUXEMBURG—GENERAL VIEW
VI
THE CAPTAIN’S STORY
Friedrich Reinmuth had always been an unsettled and discontented youth; if his days were sad he complained because they were so and if they were prosperous he still found fault. It was not strange that, being of such a nature, he should already have tried many vocations, although yet a young man. At the time of my story he had become a soldier, and while he often fretted and chafed under the rigor of military discipline, he did not find it easy to shift from its shackles as had been his wont in other occupations.
By chance he formed a friendship with an old and grizzled comrade, who, although he had served almost two score years in the army, was still hale and strong. The old man had been in the midst of numberless desperate engagements but had always come out of the fray unscathed. Queer stories were whispered about him among his soldier companions, but only whispered, for it was believed, and with reason, that he would take summary vengeance on anyone who crossed his path. He had murdered his own brother in a fit of fury, and to him was also imputed the assassination of the Baron of Reynold, who rebuked the fiery-tempered man on some trifling point; but he had never been brought to justice for any of his crimes. There was a vague rumor that Gottfried Winstedt had sold himself to the devil in return for the power to resist all mortal weapons and to escape all human justice—this it was that made him invulnerable in battle and shielded him from the wrath of the law.
But Friedrich in his association with this man for the space of two months had noted little extraordinary about him. He never guessed why the veteran broke an habitual reserve to become his companion until one night when they were conversing on the eve of battle. As they sat moodily together by a waning camp-fire the older man, who had been even more morose than usual during the day, broke the silence. In a melancholy voice he said:
“I have somewhat to tell you now, for before the set of tomorrow’s sun I will be—God in Heaven, where will I be?—but let it pass; I dare not think of it. My life has been one of unparalleled wickedness; I have committed crimes the very recital of which would appall the most hardened criminal in the Kingdom, but I would not recite them to you if I could, for what would avail the monotonous story of vice and bloodshed for which there is no repentance? You have heard the rumors that these accursed fools have whispered of me—I will not say whether they be true or no. But long foreseeing—yes, foreknowing my fate—I have sought for someone in whom I might confide. I was drawn toward you—I hardly know why—yet I dare not wholly trust in you. Upon one condition, nevertheless, I will commit to you something of vast and curious importance.”
Friedrich in his amazement was silent and the veteran brought forth from the folds of his faded cloak a small sandalwood box, which he held toward the young man.