The sun had now sunk below the horizon, and the bells that rang from many a church for evening prayer, summoned the weary labourer to rest and sleep. The heavy dews of night were already moistening the ground, and its mist was veiling the woods, the lake, and the sloping banks. Now broke upon the ear the cheering yet plaintive music of wind instruments. It seemed to come nearer and nearer, and must undoubtedly have proceeded from the boat we had observed putting off from the opposite shore. When the music ceased, we could distinctly hear the voices of the party in the boat, and presently after the slight noise made by their landing. We stood still for a few minutes, expecting to see them ascending the hill, but soon perceived that, on the contrary, they were going in another direction, for the sound of the voices became fainter and fainter, and was lost at last apparently among the woods to the west. Had it not been that the airs they had played were of the newest fashion, we might have fancied it a fairy adventure--a procession of woodland elves, or the bridal of the elf king himself.
The shades of night were falling around. Here and there a star glimmered faintly in the pale-blue skies. In the north-west was visible a red segment over the horizon, where the king of day was wandering beneath, on his way to lighten another hemisphere. Now, all was still; only at a distance on the heath we heard the plover's melancholy note, and beneath us, on the lake, the whizzing of the water-fowls' wings as they skimmed its darkened surface. 'Let us go homewards now!' cried my cousin. 'Yes, home!' I replied. But we had not gone far before we both stopped at once with a 'Hush! hark!' From the margin of the wood, through which we had just come, issued suddenly the sound of harmonious voices, singing as a duet a Tyrolese air. There is something indescribably charming and touching in this unison of voices, especially in the open air, when the sweet tones seem to float upon the gentle breeze; and now, at the calm evening hour, when the surrounding hills were awakened from the deep repose into which they had just subsided, the sweet tones had the effect of the nightingale's delightful song. My cousin seized my hand and pressed it, as if to entreat that I should not, by any exclamation, disturb his auricular treat. When the vocalists ceased, he sighed deeply. I gazed in astonishment on him; he was in general so gay, and yet at that moment tears actually stood in his eyes! I attributed to the mighty enchantment of music, the power of softening and agitating the hardest and the lightest heart, and I remarked this to him.
'Ah, well!' he replied, 'the human breast is like a sounding-board, which, although untouched, yet gives an echo when certain chords are struck.'
'You are right,' I said; 'as, for instance, the story of the tarantula dance.'
He sighed again, and said gravely,--
'But such chords must be connected with peculiar events--must awaken certain recollections--yes'--he took my hand, and pointing to the trunk of a tree which had fallen, we placed ourselves on it--'yes, my friend, yon air recalls to me a souvenir which I have in vain tried to forget. Will you listen to the story?'
'Tell it,' I said, 'though I can partly guess what it must be.'
It was on such an evening as this (he continued), about two years ago, that, accompanied by a friend, I had gone on a little tour of pleasure to Lake Esrom. We remained sitting a long time on a fallen tree before we could prevail on ourselves to wend our way homewards, so charmed were we with the beauty of the scenery and of the evening. We had just arisen when a Tyrolese air--the very one you and I have recently heard--sung delightfully as a duet, attracted our attention. It came from the side of the lake, but the sounds appeared to be gradually approaching nearer. We soon heard the plashing of oars, which kept time to the music, and shortly after we saw a boat making for the part of the shore where we were. When the song was ended, there was a great deal of talking and laughing in the boat, and the noise seemed to increase the nearer they came to the shore. We now saw distinctly the little skiff and its merry freight. 'Lay aside your oars!' said one; 'I will steer you straight in to the land.' They did so. 'I know a quicker way of making the land,' cried another, as he sprang up, and striding from gunwale to gunwale, set the boat rocking frightfully. 'Be quiet! be quiet!' roared a third; 'are you mad? The fool will upset the boat!' 'You shall have a good ducking for that,' said the madcap, swaying the boat still more violently. Then came shouts of laughter mingled with oaths; in the midst of the uproar a loud voice called out, 'Be done. I tell you! Fritz cannot swim.' But it was too late--the boat was full of water--it upset. Happily it was only a short way from the shore. In one moment they were all silent; we heard only the splashing and hard breathing of those who were swimming. There were six of them. Presently one of them cried, 'Fritz! Fritz! come here! take hold of me!' Then cried another, 'Fritz, come to me!' And then several voices shouted, 'Fritz! Fritz! where are you?' Two of them had by this time reached the shore, and they stood looking anxiously at those who were still swimming in the lake. One of them began counting, 'Three, four!' Then crying in a voice of extreme consternation, 'One is wanting!' he sprang again into the water, and the other instantly followed his example!
My friend and I could no longer remain mere spectators of this scene; we threw off our coats and were speedily in the water, searching with the party for their lost friend. We thought he must be under the boat; therefore we all gathered round the spot where it lay keel upwards, and the best swimmer dived beneath it. In vain! he was not there. But at a little distance, amidst the reeds, one of us observed something dark--it was the missing Fritz! He was brought on shore; but he was lifeless. Zealously, anxiously, did we try all means of restoring him; they were of no avail. It was decided that he should be carried to the nearest house. A plank, which had formed one of the seats of the boat, and which had floated to the shore, was taken up; he was placed upon it, and they carried him towards the road. We followed them mechanically. What a contrast to their late boisterous mirth was their present profound silence! We had not proceeded far, when one of the foremost of the bearers turned round and exclaimed, 'Where is Sund?' We all looked back, and beheld the unfortunate madcap who had caused the accident half-hidden behind a tall bush, stuffing his pockets with pebbles.
'He will drown himself,' said the person who had just spoken; 'we must take him with us.'