Debit and Credit Part 75

"Good," replied Fink. "Here are your arms; this double-barrel is light; one barrel loaded with ball, the other with slugs. The bag of bullets is under your bed."

"You think of standing a siege, then?" inquired Anton.

"We must either not seek to defend ourselves at all, but surrender at the friendly discretion of the approaching band, or we must hold out to our last bullet. We are all prepared for the latter course; perhaps surrender would be the wiser, but I own it does not suit my taste. As there is a master of the house, however, still extant, he may decide; go to the baron."

Anton hurried through the pa.s.sage to the other wing. Even when at a distance he could hear the chairs knocked about in the baron's room.

There was an angry "Come in," and he entered. The baron was standing in the middle of the room, highly excited. "I hear," said he, "that there is something going on. I must consider it an unpardonable want of attention that I have not been apprised of it."

"Your pardon, baron," replied Anton; "we only heard a few minutes ago that a band of the enemy's cavalry and scythe-bearers was moving on toward your property. We sent off a messenger in all speed to the nearest military station, then bolted the door, and now we wait your orders."

"Send me Herr von Fink," replied the baron, authoritatively.

"He is at this moment in the guard-room."

"I beg that he will take the trouble of coming to me at once," cried the angry n.o.bleman. "I can not discuss military matters with you. Fink is a gentleman, and half a soldier; I will give all necessary instructions to him. What are you waiting for?" rudely continued he. "Do you young people suppose that you are to trifle with me because I have the misfortune to be blind? He at least whom I feed and pay shall respect my commands."

"Father!" cried Lenore, on the threshold, looking imploringly at Anton.

"You are right, baron," replied Anton; "I crave your forgiveness for having in the hurry of the moment forgotten my first duty. I will send Herr von Fink here at once." Then hastening off, he made his friend acquainted with the baron's angry mood.

"He is a fool," said Fink.

"Go up at once," urged Anton; "the ladies must not suffer from his temper." Then throwing on a laborer's jacket, he sprang out through the door into the rain and to the back farm-yard.

There he found a dreary scene of confusion. German families from the neighboring villages had taken refuge in the guard-house, and sat there with their children, and some of their goods and chattels round them.

There were about twenty persons lying on the floor--men, women, and children, the women lamenting, the children weeping, the men looking gloomily down. Several of them belonged to the village militia, and some had their guns with them. Their little carts stood in the yard.

Servants, horses, cows, were all running against each other. Anton called the superintendent to his a.s.sistance.

He next made over the farm-horses and the cattle to the most trustworthy of the servants, and to the German dairy-maid. Calling aside the head servant, a resolute kind of man, he described to him a place in the thicket, not far from the sand-pit, where man and beast might lie concealed, and be in some degree protected from the weather. Thither the man was to drive the cattle, and to keep a sharp look-out for the bailiff, who was to have the management of the wood-party. Next he desired the maid to leave a cow behind, opened the gate himself, and saw them all set out toward the forest.

"What are we to do with the horses of the baron and of Herr von Fink?"

hurriedly asked the superintendent.

"They must be brought, together with some of the vehicles, into the court-yard, come what will. Who knows whether we shall not have to fly, after all?"

Accordingly, Anton had Karl's newly-painted carts laden with sacks of potatoes, meal, oats, and as much hay as they could hold. He had the great water-b.u.t.t brought in too, and filled to the brim with fresh water. The skies were still pouring down bucketfuls, and the servants had to load in the drenching rain. All was confusion; and weeping and cursing, in German and Polish, was heard on every side. As Anton approached the fugitives, the screams of the women grew louder, the men surrounded him and began to relate their disasters, the children clung about his knees: it was a mournful spectacle. Anton did what he could to comfort them. "Above all, be quiet; we will protect you as well as we can. I hope the military may come to our aid, meanwhile you will be safe in the castle. You have been faithful to us in this season of distress; as long as we have bread you shall not want."

After a quarter of an hour of extreme exertion Anton returned to the castle. The servants drove the carts to the back door, the troop of fugitives followed. People still poured in from the German villages around, and soon the smith of Kunau, with some of his near neighbors, stood at the castle gate. The whole party was now got into order, the horses unharnessed, the carts unloaded. The women and children were led by Anton into two rooms on the lower floor, which, were dark indeed, but far more comfortable than the guard-house in the soaked fields. The bringing in the horses was the most troublesome part of the matter; about a dozen of them had to crowd up beneath an open shed, poorly protected from rain or bullets. The water-b.u.t.t was placed in the middle of the yard, and the potato-carts pushed up to the paling, to serve, in case of need, as a position for the guard. Next, all the men capable of bearing arms were a.s.sembled by the smith, and, besides Fink's laborers and four servants, fifteen German peasants were mustered, the larger number of them armed. Their footsteps sounded heavy in the long pa.s.sages, and joining the laborers in the hall, the whole force was seen at once, Fink in his hunting-coat walking quietly up and down before his own corps. Anton now went up to him and gave in his report.

"You bring us men," replied Fink; "that is all very well; but we did not want a whole clan of women and children into the bargain; the castle is as full as a bee-hive--more than sixty mouths; to say nothing of a dozen horses; spite of your potato-carts, we shall have to gnaw the stones before twenty-four hours are over."

"Could I leave them outside?" asked Anton, dryly.

"They would have been just as safe in the wood as here," said Fink, with a shrug.

"Possibly," replied Anton; "but to send off people to the forest in rain like this, without provisions, and in deadly terror, would have been barbarity for which I could not be responsible. Besides, do you think we should have got the men without their wives and children?"

"At all events, we can make use of the men," concluded Fink, "and you may manage the commissariat as you can."

Fink next gave arms to those who wanted them, and divided the forces into four sections, one for the yard, two for the upper and lower stories, and one as a reserve in the guard-room. Next he had an exact report of the enemy given him by the Kunau smith and others. Meantime Anton had rushed to the underground kitchen, where he gave the provisions in charge of the superintendent, and caused wood and water to be carried in by the baron's servants. A sack of potatoes and one of meal were placed near the hearth, and the great caldron put on the fire.

As he went out, he confided to the cook that a cow had been taken into the stable, that, at all events, the family might not be without milk at this doleful time. Old Barbette wrung her hands in anguish. "Alas! Mr.

Wohlfart, what a frightful thing it is!" cried she; "the b.a.l.l.s will be flying about in my kitchen."

"Heaven forbid!" said Anton; "the window is much too deep for that. No one can reach you; cook away in peace; the people are famished; I will send two of the stranger women down to help you."

"Who could eat in such danger as this?" cried she.

"We will all eat," said Anton, comfortingly.

"Will you have soup or potato-broth?" inquired Barbette, feverishly brandishing her spoon in her despair.

"Both, my good woman."

The cook held him back. "But, Mr. Wohlfart, there are no eggs for the family; indeed, there is not an egg in the whole house. Mercy on us! to think of this misfortune happening to-day, of all days. What will the baron say when he has no fresh egg this evening?"

"The devil take the eggs!" cried Anton, impatiently; "we must not be so particular to-day."

As he returned, Fink called to him, "All is ready; we may now quietly await their arrival. I am going to the tower, and taking a few good shots with me. If any thing happens, I am to be found there."

And again the hall was empty and the house quiet. The sentinels stood silently watching the edge of the forest; the rest of the men sat talking in a low voice in the guard-room; but the noise was unceasing in the apartment where the children were, and a constant communication was kept up between the kitchen and the occupied rooms in the lower story.

Anton walked to and fro in restless suspense from the house to the court, and back again to his own room, where he tied the baron's papers together; then through the pa.s.sages and to the guard-room. In this way one quarter of an hour after another pa.s.sed, till at length Lenore came from her mother's room crying, "This uncertainty is intolerable!"

"And we have no tidings from the farm either," replied Anton, anxiously; "but the rain is over, and whatever happens to-day will happen in sunshine. The clouds are breaking yonder, and the blue sky is seen through them. How is the baroness?"

"She is calm," said Lenore, "and prepared for every thing."

Both walked silently up and down the hall. At last Lenore went up to Anton, and pa.s.sionately exclaimed, "Wohlfart, it is horrible to me to think of you in a position such as this for our sakes."

"Is this position, then, so terrible?" asked Anton, with, a mournful smile.

"You do not perhaps feel it so," said Lenore, "but you are sacrificing for us far more than we deserve. We are ungrateful to you; you would be happier elsewhere."

She placed herself at the window, and wept bitterly.

Anton tried to soothe her. "If," said he, "you allude to the hasty expressions of the baron, you need not pity me on that account. You know what we have formerly said on that subject."

"It is not that alone," cried Lenore, weeping.

Anton knew as well as she did that it was not that alone, and felt that a confession lay in the words. "Be it what it may," said he, cheerfully, "why should you grudge me the pleasure of an adventure? Certainly I am an inexperienced soldier, but it seems that our enemies will not give me much opportunity of doing them any harm to-day."

"No one thanks you for all that you bear for our sakes. No one!" cried Lenore.

"No one?" repeated Anton. "Have I not a friend here who is only too much inclined to overrate the little I am able to do? Lenore, you have permitted me to draw nearer to you than would have been possible under ordinary circ.u.mstances. Do you reckon it nothing that I should have won some of a brother's privileges with regard to you?"

Lenore fervently seized and pressed his hand. "Even I have been different to you of late to what I should have been. I am very unhappy,"

cried she, pa.s.sionately. "I can not tell to any human being what I feel--not to my mother--not to you either. I have lost all confidence and all control." She pressed her handkerchief to her eyes.