On a certain morning, subsequent to Von Rahden's arrival at Glatz, the young artillery cadets were assembled on the parade-ground outside the gates of the fortress, and went through their exercise with four light guns, drawn, as was then the custom, by recruits instead of horses. Holsche, who was also known as the "Straw-bonnet" commandant, from his desperate defence of a detached work of the fort of Silberberg, which bore that name, was present. Although usually free and jocose with his subordinates, on that day he was grave and preoccupied, and twisted his black mustache with a thoughtful air. It was an oppressive and stormy morning, and distant thunder mingled with the sound of cannon, which the wind brought over from Bohemia.
"By a succession of marches and flank movements, Holsche took us through the river Neisse, which flowed at the extremity of the parade-ground, and was then almost dry. We proceeded across the country, and finally halted in a shady meadow. Here the word of command brought us round the lieutenant, who addressed us in a suppressed voice:—'Children,' said he, pointing towards Bohemia, 'yonder will I lead you; there you will be received with open arms. There, horses, not men, draw the guns, and many of you will be made sergeants and even officers. Will you follow me?' A loud and unanimous hurra was the reply. For a quarter of an hour on we went, over hedge and ditch, at a rapid pace. A heavy rain soaked the earth and rendered it slippery, the wheels of the gun-carriages cut deep into the ground, until we panted and nearly fell from our exertions to get them along. Suddenly the word was given to halt. 'Boys,' cried the lieutenant, 'many of you are heartily sick of this work; that I plainly see. Listen, therefore! I will not have it said that I compelled or over-persuaded any one. He who chooses may return, not to the town, but home to his mother. You children, in particular,' he added, stepping up to the first gun, to which five young lads, of whom I was the least, were attached as bombardiers, 'you children must remain behind.' Against this decision we all protested. We would not go back, we screamed at the top of our voices. Holsche seemed to reflect. After a short pause, the tallest and stoutest fellow in the whole battery came to the front, and in a voice broken by sobs, begged the lieutenant to let him go home to his mother. 'Oho!' shouted Holsche, 'have I caught you, you buttermilk hero? Boys!' he continued, addressing himself to all of us, 'how could you believe that my first proposal was a serious one? I only wished to ascertain how many cowards there were amongst you. Thank God, there is but one! Help me to laugh at the fellow!' A triple shout of laughter followed the command; then 'Right about' was the word, and in an hour's time, weary and wet through, we were again in our barracks."
The pluck and hardihood displayed on this occasion by the boy-bombardier won the favour of Holsche, who took him into the society of the officers, gave him private lessons in mathematics, and did all he could to bring him forward in his profession. But, soon afterwards, Rahden's destination was altered, and, instead of continuing in the artillery, he was appointed to the second regiment of Silesian infantry, now the eleventh of the Prussian line. In this regiment he made his first campaigns, and served for nearly twenty years. In the course of the war he frequently fell in with his friend Holsche, and we shall again hear of that eccentric but gallant officer.
The year 1813 found Von Rahden, then nineteen years of age, holding a commission as second lieutenant in the regiment above named, and indulging in brilliant day-dreams, in which a general's epaulets, laurel crowns, and crosses of honour, made a conspicuous figure. But a very small share of these illusions was destined to realisation. For the time, however, and until experience dissipated them, they served to stimulate the young soldier to exertion, and to support him under hardship and suffering. Such stimulus, however, was scarcely needed. The hour was come for Germany to start from her long slumber of depression, and to send forth her sons, even to the very last, to victory or death. The disasters of the French in Russia served as signal for her uprising.
"The great events which the fiery sign in the heavens (the comet of 1811) was supposed to forerun, came to pass in the last months of the following year. The French bulletin of the 5th December 1812, announced the terrible fate of the Grande Armée, and removed the previously existing doubt, whether it were possible to humble the invincible Emperor and his presumptuous legions. It was a sad fate for veteran soldiers, grown grey in the harness, to be frozen to death, or, numbed and unable to use their weapons, to be defencelessly murdered. Such was the lot of the French, and although they were then our bitterest foes, to-day we may well wish that they had met a death more suitable to brave men. At Malo-Jaroslawetz, at Krasnoi, and by the Beresina, whole battalions of those frozen heroes were shot down, unable to resist. Do the Russians still commemorate such triumphs? Hardly, one would fain believe. No man of honour, in our sense of the word, would now command such massacres; for only when our foes are in full possession of their physical and moral strength, is victory glorious. But at that time I lacked the five-and-thirty years' experience that has enabled me to arrive at these conclusions; I was almost a child, and heartily did I rejoice that the whole of the Grande Armée was captured, slain, or frozen. The joy I felt was universal, if that may serve my excuse.
"Like some wasted and ghastly spectre, hung around with rags, its few rescued eagles shrouded in crape, the remains of the great French army recrossed the German frontier. Sympathy they could scarce expect in Germany; pity they found, and friendly arms and fostering care received the unfortunates. So great a mishap might well obliterate hostile feelings; and truly, it is revolting to read, in the publications of the time, that 'at N—— or B—— the patriotic inhabitants drove the French from their doors, refusing them bread and all refreshment.' Then, however, I rejoiced at such barbarity, which appeared to me quite natural and right. One thing particularly astonished me; it was, that amongst the thirty thousand fugitives, there were enough marshals, generals, and staff-officers to supply the whole army before its reverses. Either they had better horses to escape upon, or better cloaks and furs to wrap themselves in; thus not very conscientiously fulfilling the duty of every officer, which is to share, in all respects, the dangers and fatigues of his subordinates."[48]
The hopes and desires of every Prussian were now concentrated on one single object—the freedom of the Fatherland. Breslaw again became the focus of the whole kingdom. From all sides thousands of volunteers poured in, and the flower of Prussia's youth joyfully exchanged the comforts and superfluities of home for the perils and privations of a campaigner's life. Universities and schools were deserted; the last remaining son buckled on hunting-knife and shouldered rifle and went forth to the strife, whilst the tender mother and anxious father no longer sought to restrain the ardour of the Benjamin of their home and hearts. All were ready to sacrifice their best and dearest for their country's liberation. Women became heroines; men stripped themselves of their earthly wealth for the furtherance of the one great end. In Breslaw the enthusiasm was at the hottest. In an idle hour, Von Rahden had sauntered to the college, the Aula Leopoldina, and stood at an open window listening to a lecture on anthropology, delivered by a young, but already celebrated professor. Little enough of the learned discourse was intelligible to the juvenile lieutenant, but still he listened, when suddenly the stillness in the school was broken by the clang of wind instruments.
The people shouted joyful hurras, casements were thrown open, and thronged with women waving their handkerchiefs. Professor and scholars hurried to the windows and into the street. What had happened? It was soon known. A score of couriers, blowing furious blasts upon their small post-horns, dashed through the town-gates, and the next instant a shout of "War! War!" burst from ten thousand throats. The couriers brought intelligence of the alliance just contracted at Kalisch between the Emperor Alexander and the King of Prussia.
When the clamour and rejoicing amongst the students had a little subsided, their teacher again addressed them. All were silent. Twisting a small silver pencil-case between his thin fingers, he began as follows: "My young friends! It would be difficult to resume the thread of a lecture thus abruptly broken by the sound of the war-trumpet. At this moment our country demands of us other things than a quiet abode in the halls of study. I propose to you, therefore, that we all, without exception, at once join the ranks of our country's defenders, and henceforward wield the sword instead of the pen." This patriotic proposal was received with joyous applause. Professor Steffens and hundreds of his hearers left the lecture-room, exchanged the university gown for the uniform, and from that day were the pith and marrow of the black band of Lutzow. It is matter of history how Henry Steffens, at the head of his wild Jägers, greatly distinguished himself in the field, won the Iron Cross, and by his animated eloquence and noble example, drew thousands of brave defenders around the standard of German independence. Thirty-two years later, at Berlin, Baron von Rahden followed his mortal remains to their last resting-place.
Other examples of devotion, less known but not less touching, are cited in the volume before us. When the King of Prussia's celebrated proclamation "To my People," had raised German enthusiasm to its highest pitch, and the noble-hearted women of Silesia sent their jewels to the public treasury, replacing them by iron ornaments, a young girl at Breslaw, who had nothing of value to contribute, cut off the luxuriant golden tresses that adorned her graceful head, and sold them, that she might add her mite to the patriotic fund. The purchaser gave a high price, but yet made an enormous profit; for no sooner was the story known, than hundreds of those then arming for the fight flew to obtain a golden hair-ring, to wear as a talisman in the battle-field. This heroine, Baron von Rahden believes, was a Fraulein von Scheliha, a name noted in the annals of Prussian patriotism. The three sons of a Herr von Scheliha, officers in various regiments, fell in the campaign of 1813. Their mother and only sister died of broken hearts, and the father, bowed down under his grief, sold his estate and country-house, which now only served to remind him of his losses. The King of Prussia sent him the Iron Cross; and that and the sympathy of all who knew his sad history, were the only remaining consolations of the bereaved old man. A Silesian count, named Reichenbach, wrote to the King in the following terms: "If it please your majesty to allow me, I will send five thousand measures of corn and my draught oxen to the military stores for rations, and my best horses to the —— regiment of cavalry; I will equip all the men on my estates capable of bearing arms, and they shall join the —— regiment of infantry, and I will pay ten thousand thalers into the military chest. For my three sons I crave admission into the army as volunteers. And, finally, I humbly implore of your majesty that I myself; who, although advanced in years, am strong and willing, may be permitted to march by their side, to teach then to fight and, if needs be, to die. Meanwhile, my wife and daughters shall remain at home to prepare lint, sew bandages, and nurse the sick and wounded."