His defeat came about thus. One day the assertion was made by Ferber, that, whether we liked it or not, a German must be looked upon as the "father of the French Revolution," for Minister Necker, though born in Geneva, was the son or grandson of a Küstrin postmaster. This seemed to my father a perfectly preposterous assertion, and he combated it with a rather supercilious mien, till it was finally shown to be substantially correct. Then my father's arrogance, growing out of a conviction of his superior knowledge, was transformed first into respect and later into friendship, and even twenty years after, whenever we drove from our Oderbruch village to the neighboring city of Küstrin, he never had much to say about Crown Prince Fritz, or Katte's decapitation, but regularly remarked: "Oh yes, Necker, who may be called the father of the French Revolution, traced his ancestry back to this city of Küstrin. I owe the information to Ferber, Captain Ferber, whom we called Teinturier. It is a pity he could not give up his aqua vitæ. At times it was pitiable."

Yes, pitiable it was, but not to us children, who, on the contrary, always broke out into cheers whenever the captain, usually in rather desolate costume, came staggering up the Great Church Street to find a place to continue his breakfast. We used to follow close behind him and tease and taunt him till he would try to catch and thrash one or the other of us. Occasionally he succeeded; but I always escaped with ease, because I chose for my teasings only days when it had rained a short time before. Then there stood in the street between our house and the church on the other side a huge pool of water, which became my harbor of refuge. Holding my stilts at the proper angle, I sprang quickly upon them as soon as I saw that Teinturier, in spite of his condition, was close on my heels, and then I marched triumphantly into the pool of water. There I stood like a stork on one stilt and presented arms with the other, as I continued scoffing at him. Cursing and threatening he marched away, the poor captain. But he took care not to make good his threats, because in his good moments he did not like to be reminded of the bad ones.

We had several playgrounds. The one we liked best perhaps was along the "Bulwark," at the point where the side street branched off from our house. The whole surroundings were very picturesque, especially in the winter time, when the ships, stripped of their topmasts, lay at their moorings, often in three rows, the last pretty far out in the river. We were allowed to play along the "Bulwark" and practice our rope-walking art on the stretched hawsers as far as they hung close to the ground. Only one thing was prohibited. We were not allowed to go on board the ships, much less to climb the rope ladders to the mastheads. A very sensible prohibition. But the more sensible it was, the greater was our desire to disregard it, and in the game of "robber and wayfarer," of which we were all very fond, disregarding of this prohibition was almost a matter of course. Furthermore, discovery lay beyond the range of probability; our parents were either at their "party" or invited to dine out. "So let's go ahead. If anybody tells on us, he will be worse off than we."

So we thought one Sunday in April, 1831. It must have been about that time of year, for I can still recall the clear, cold tone of the atmosphere. On the ship there was not a sign of life, and on the "Bulwark" not a human soul to be seen, which further proves to me that it was a Sunday.

I, being the oldest and strongest, was the robber, of course. Of the eight or ten smaller boys only one was in any measure able to compete with me. That was an illegitimate child, called Fritz Ehrlich (Honorable), as though to compensate him for his birth. These boys had set out from the Church Square, the usual starting-point of the chase, and were already close after me. I arrived at the "Bulwark" exhausted, and, as there was no other way of escape, ran over a firm broad plank walk toward the nearest ship, with the whole pack after me. This naturally forced me to go on from the first ship to the second and from the second to the third. There was no going any further, and if I wished, in spite of this dilemma, to escape my enemies, there was nothing left for me but to seek a hiding-place on the ship itself, or at least a spot difficult of access. I found such a place and climbed up about the height of a man to the top of the superstructure near the cabin. In this superstructure was usually to be found, among other rooms, the ship's cuisine. My climbing was facilitated by steps built in the perpendicular wall. And there I stood then, temporarily safe, gazing down as a victor at my pursuers. But the sense of victory did not last long; the steps were there for others as well as for me, and an instant later Fritz Ehrlich was also on the roof. Now I was indeed lost if I foiled to find another way of escape. So, summoning all my strength, I took as long a running start as the narrow space would permit and sprang from the roof of the kitchen over the intervening strip of water back to the second ship and then ran for the shore, as though chased by all the furies. When I had reached the shore it was nothing to run to the base in front of our house and be free. But I was destined not to enjoy my happiness very long, for almost the very moment I once more had solid ground beneath my feet I heard cries of distress coming from the third and second ships, and my name called repeatedly, which made me think something must have happened. Swiftly as I had made for the shore over the noisy plank walk, I now hastened back over it. There was no time to lose. Fritz Ehrlich had tried to imitate my leap from the kitchen, but, failing to equal my distance, had fallen into the water between the ships. And there the poor boy was, digging his nails into the cracks in the ship's hull. Swimming was out of the question, even if he knew anything about it. Besides, the water was icy cold. To reach him from the deck with the means at hand was impossible. So I grasped a piece of rope hanging from a rope ladder and, letting myself down the side of the ship, tried every way I could think of to lengthen my body as much as possible, till finally Fritz was barely able to catch hold of my left foot, which reached furthest down, while I held on above with my right hand. "Take hold, Fritz!" But the doughty fellow, who may have realized that we should both be lost if he really took a firm hold, contented himself with laying his hand lightly upon the toe of my boot, and little as that was, it nevertheless sufficed to keep his head above water. To be sure, he may have been by natural endowment a "water treader," as they are called; or he may have had the traditional luck of the illegitimate, which seems to me on second thought more probable. In any case he kept afloat till some people came from the shore and reached a punt-pole down to him, while some others untied a boat lying at Hannemann's Clapper and rowed it into the space between the ships to fish him out. The moment that the saving punt-pole arrived some man unknown to me reached down from the ladder, seized me by the collar, and with a vigorous jerk hoisted me back on deck.

On this occasion not a word of reproach was uttered, though I could not say as much of any other occasion of the kind. The people took Fritz Ehrlich, drenched and freezing, to a house in the immediate neighborhood, while the rest of us started home in a very humble frame of mind. To be sure, I had also a feeling of elation, despite the fact that my prospects for the future were not of the pleasantest. But my fears were not realized. Quite the contrary. The following morning, as I was starting to school, my father met me in the hall and stopped me. Neighbor Pietzker, the good man with the nightcap, had been tattling again, though with better intentions than usual.

"I've heard the whole business," said my father. "Why, in the name of heaven, can't you be obedient! But we'll let it pass, since you acquitted yourself so well. I know all the details. Pietzker across the street …"

Hereupon I was allowed to go to school.

SIR RIBBECK OF RIBBECK[3]

By THEODOR FONTANE