A Little Garrison Part 11

On the afternoon of December 22d, Sergeant Schmitz returned from jail.

The poor fellow had greatly changed. The black moustache, formerly twisted and waxed so as to describe an angle in exact imitation of the Kaiser's, was drooping, and his face was pale and worn. He looked shyly at all the privates whom he met in the streets, and when one of them saluted him, he deemed it a special act of courtesy. He thought he read in everybody's eyes:

"This man is a criminal,--a man punished for grave insubordination!"

When he reported himself to the chief of the squadron, the latter said, with some show of feeling:

"Sorry, my dear Schmitz, that I have to lose you. You were always a man of whom I felt proud, and who did his duty as few others did. But the colonel has commanded me to cancel the capitulation agreement[14]

and to dismiss you forthwith. Console yourself with the thought that you have become the victim of a dirty intrigue. I wish you well, and if I can be of any service to you, you know where to find me. And so, farewell!"

[14] "Capitulation" means an arrangement by which a non-commissioned officer agrees to serve the government for a certain term of years.--TR.

Schmitz felt the tears spurting from his eyes, as his chief went towards the stable. His captain was really sorry to lose him. Schmitz had always been one of the pillars of discipline in the squadron, and now this train of misfortune had removed him and plunged him into misery. It was a most unfortunate thing.

Schmitz went to the sergeant-major, who gave him his papers and the fifty marks due him. The sergeant-major, too, felt sorry for him. He gave him a fervent shake of the hand.

"Have you any further claims on the regiment, Schmitz?" he asked.

"Since the manuvres last year I've been suffering with rheumatism."

"But you didn't tell me about that, Schmitz, at the time, and considerably over a year has elapsed since then."

"Well, I didn't report it then because I did not want to disturb the run of things by my absence. I knew the captain was bothered a good deal at the time."

"Yes, yes, that is all very well. I will report your statement at once to the regiment, but I'm afraid it will be too late. Meanwhile you had better deliver up all the regimental property."

So then Schmitz went up to his room, packed all his things, and put his private belongings in a small trunk. But before doffing his uniform he went to the neighboring city and purchased for himself a civilian's suit, a collar, and a hat. These took about all the money which had been paid him.

Then he carried everything of the government's outfit to the quartermaster, to whom he likewise sold some of the private regimentals he had bought with his own money. The sabre he kept as a memento.

And then came the hardest of all,--the farewell from his comrades and his horses. Every one had a friendly word for him, for he had been a good comrade and had never been puffed up with his own importance.

Many a mute pressure of the hand told him that they all felt sorry for him, and that they, as much as he himself, thought the treatment to which he had been subjected an act of injustice. The privates, too, pressed up to him to say a word of good-bye. Often he had berated them soundly, but they all knew him as a decent fellow, and as one who had never badgered them unnecessarily.

As the noon service drew towards its close, Schmitz went into the stable. What a pang for him! Never in his life had a thing seemed so hard to him. All the beasts he loved so well turned and craned their necks towards him, leaving the savory hay and their oats for a moment as soon as they heard his voice, and gazing at him with such intelligence as if they appreciated his woe to the full. The sense of desolation almost overpowered him.

He had filled his pockets with sugar, and he began with "Clairette,"

feeding the sweet morsels to all his quadruped friends. "Clairette"

lifted her forefoot, begging for one more piece. He laid his head against the velvety neck of the animal, stroking caressingly the silky nostrils and around the fine eyes, then kissing her on the white spot just below. The mare seemed to understand him. She whinnied softly, and gave him a sad glance of parting. Next came old "Marie." How much longer would she be able to stand the service? And thus he visited them, one by one, in token of farewell. The last one was "Napoleon"; but even he showed to-day no trace of his accustomed ill temper. He gave the strange man in civilian clothes a long look of doubt and forbearance.

A last, lingering glance to his hundred darlings, and then he painfully suppressed a tearful sob, and climbed up to his late quarters to get his trunk.

There he met the sergeant-major of his squadron.

"Your invalid claims, Schmitz, have been disallowed. The colonel says you would have had to make a report at the time. Now it is too late.

Just as I thought. Here is something for you,--the bill of your attorney, who has asked the regiment to collect the amount due him.

It's a matter of sixty marks; and if you are unable to pay it he threatens to seize your property."

Schmitz had almost forgotten about that.

"Within an hour I shall have the money," said he, after reflecting a moment.

Then he went down to the city and entered the store of a watchmaker.

He laid on the counter his watch and chain and asked in a firm voice:

"What will you give me on this? I need money!"

The watchmaker examined both, and then said, with something of a sneer:

"Twenty marks. That is all I can give you."

Schmitz calculated silently. He still had thirty-five, and twenty more made fifty-five. So he needed another five marks. He removed a ring from his finger, a little gift from his mother.

"What is this worth to you?"

"Ten marks!"

"Good, give it to me!"

Schmitz pocketed silently the two gold pieces, then went to the barracks, paid the sergeant-major the sixty marks, and took his trunk away. He was just in time to catch the evening train.

Those who saw this pale, downcast man, with his small trunk, seated in the car, scarcely supposed that he was until recently a royal Prussian sergeant, dismissed in disgrace from long service because of a small offence, without a penny, but with rheumatism in all his bones, and with his patriotism destroyed, thrust into the street to seek a new and precarious means of living, after spending his best strength, his health, and his youth in the service of his country.

On the summit of the hill, whence he could discern the barracks, the snow glistening on its roof, he cast a last look at the spot where he had spent so many years. He raised his arms with a threatening gesture, and a curse escaped his lips.

In the train which carried him off there were numerous soldiers of his regiment, singing and joking, on their way home for the holidays.

Christmas Eve had come. All the world--thousands, millions--were happy. They felt the charm of this most beautiful Christian festival,--a day which moves to softness the hardest hearts. But Schmitz, an outcast, felt nothing but bitterness and shame. His glance dwelt on the lighted windows where all these happy people were celebrating, and he vowed vengeance.

Friedrich Rose meanwhile occupied a badly warmed cell, undergoing a fortnight's confinement because of his alleged inattention while on duty as sentinel.

Through the narrow window of his cell he could espy the quarters occupied by the third squadron, a couple of stories higher, in the same building; the row of windows was shining with the brilliant lights of a gigantic Christmas tree, standing in the centre of the large hall. The sounds of a pathetic Christmas hymn were floating down to him, as it was intoned by the throats of the men. Shivering with cold, he sat on the edge of his hard pallet, and a tear rolled down his cheek. Again his thoughts dwelt with his friends at home, far away, and wrath filled his soul.

What disillusionment the year had brought him since he had begun his term as volunteer! His father, once sergeant-major in a regiment of Guard Cuira.s.siers, had often described to him a soldier's life in vivid colors, and had expressed his hope to see, some day, his boy himself advanced to the grade of sergeant.

But that prospect was now gone. His punishment brought with it as a consequence the impossibility of ever rising from the ranks.

His one-time zeal for his calling had changed suddenly to a violent distaste for everything connected with the service. At one blow the enthusiastic, ambitious recruit had turned into one of the many soldiers who serve in the army simply because they are compelled to do so, and who are longing for the day when they will be able to doff the uniform forever.

And why all this?

Not because he had knowingly neglected his duty, but because one of the officers, one of the men whom he had until recently looked up to as demiG.o.ds, had in his drunken spleen selected him for a victim. And that which this officer had maintained in his report had to stand as an absolute fact, no matter how untrue; and if he or anybody else should express doubts of its accuracy it would mean a new and punishable offence.

In answer to the questions asked by the chief of his squadron, Rose had stated the occurrence quite truthfully, and had a.s.sured him solemnly of his innocence. But the adjutant had replied to this that the man wanted to exculpate himself by untrue statements. The report was, therefore, accepted as it read.

Was it to be expected that Muller would admit his own wrong, admit that he had in his semi-drunkenness misinterpreted the facts, and that he had been in an unpleasant frame of mind at the time? Of course not.

That would have meant charging himself with an offence. How could he, the infallible regimental adjutant, own up to an error? No, he was never mistaken; and what difference did it make, anyway, if this raw recruit did get a fortnight's term in the "cooler"?