The Northern Light Part 54

Stadinger saw and heard nothing of what was going on around him, he saw only his master. Egon appeared to be unconscious; the blonde hair was thrown back, the eyes were closed, and under the mantle with which the man had covered him was the blood-soaked uniform.

"Your highness!" said the old man in low, heart-rending tones. "Look at me, speak to me! It is your old Stadinger."

The well-known voice found its way to the dying man's ear; he opened his eyes slowly, and a faint smile crossed his face as he recognized his faithful servant.

"My old ghost of the woods," he said softly; "and you are with me at the last."

"But you'll not die, your highness," murmured Stadinger. His whole body was in a tremble, but he never took his eyes from his adored master.

"No, you will not die, you will not die .'"

"Do you think it is so hard?" said Egon quietly. "Yesterday you were quite right, a burden was on my heart, now it is light. Take a greeting to dear Rodeck, and the forest, and to the lady of Ostwalden."

"To whom? To Frau von Wallmoden?" asked Stadinger, thinking he had not heard aright.

"Yes, tell her I send her my last greeting; she must think of me sometimes."

The words came slowly, brokenly, from the lips which would so soon refuse to do further service, but there was no mistaking their full significance. Eugen was startled when he heard his sister's name, and bent over the dying man, who looked into the countenance which so resembled Adelheid's, and again a smile lighted his face. Then he raised his head and laid it heavily on the breast of his old ghost of the woods, and the sunny blue eyes closed forever.

It was a short, painless battle with death, a peaceful falling to sleep.

Stadinger hardly breathed while life remained in the body of him he had nursed as a babe and cherished as a man, but was to lose forever now.

When all was over the old man lost control of himself, and threw himself in despair on the body of his beloved master, and sobbed like a child.

Yonder, on the other side of the mountain-pa.s.s, the clear, bright winter sun lighted up the citadel which had just surrendered to the German troops. The garrison which had occupied it were marching off prisoners of war, while a portion of the victors were already on their way to the fort.

General von Falkenried, surrounded by his staff, was standing in the market-place of the little city, and was just on the point of marching to the fortress. The helmets and guns of the men gleamed brightly in the morning sun as they marched in solemn order toward the citadel.

General von Falkenried, who had been giving various orders, now turned to his officers and gave the signal to move forward.

At that moment a rider came dashing down the main street at a mad galop.

His n.o.ble horse was covered with sweat and froth, and his flanks were bleeding from the sharp spurs which had been pressed into his side. The rider's face was covered with blood, too, which evidently came from a wound in the forehead which had been hastily bound with a cloth. As if fleeing before a storm, he heeded naught in his path, but rushed on in his mad ride toward the market-place where the commanding general was to be found.

Just a few steps from his goal the horse's strength gave out and he fell. But in the same instant the rider had sprung from the saddle, and hastened to the commander-in-chief.

"I come from General M----."

Falkenried drew a sharp, quick breath; he had not recognized the blood-stained face, he only knew that the man must have come on some important mission, but the tone of the man's voice gave him some premonition of the truth.

Hartmut swayed for a moment and put his hand to his head--it seemed as if he, like his horse, would succ.u.mb at the last moment; but he gathered himself together for a final effort.

"It is a warning from the general--there is treachery, the citadel is to be blown up as soon as our men are in it--here are the dispatches."

He tore the dispatches from his breast and handed them to Falkenried.

The officers were startled by the unexpected news, and gathered around their chief waiting the corroboration or denial of the statement just made, but a strange sight met their eyes. Their general, who never lost his presence of mind, no matter how unexpected or how dreadful the calamity which he faced, stood gazing at the orderly as if a ghost had risen from the earth, still holding the unopened dispatches in his hand.

"Herr General, the dispatches!" said one of the adjutants, half aloud.

He understood his leader as little as did the others. It was enough to bring Falkenried to his senses. He tore open the dispatches and learned their contents in a second, then again he was a soldier who thought of nothing but duty. He gave his orders in a loud, clear voice, the officers hurried hither and thither, cries of command were given, and signals sounded in every direction, and a few minutes later the division marching to the fortress was brought to a standstill, while the withdrawing garrison was also brought to a sudden halt.

Now the alarm signal was sounded from the citadel. Neither friend nor foe knew what it signified, only the newly conquered fort must be evacuated at once. The orders were carried out promptly. Despite the haste there was no disorder; the troops turned to march back to the city as they marched from it.

Falkenried still stood in the same place issuing orders, receiving communications, while with glance and word he watched and guided all.

But he found a minute's time to turn to his son, he to whom he had given no sign of recognition.

"You are bleeding--your wound must be bound."

Hartmut shook his head.

"Later; first I must see the retreat and know we are saved."

The fearful excitement kept him up. He swayed no more, but watched with feverish impatience every movement of the troops. Falkenried looked at him, then he said:

"Which way did you come?"

"Over the pa.s.s."

"Why, the enemy hold it," cried the General.

"Yes--they hold it."

"And yet you came that way?"

"There was no choice; we only knew it last night, and I had no time for any other."

"That's a piece of heroism without parallel," said a high officer, who had just come up with a communication and heard the last words. "Man, how did you dare to run such a risk?"

Hartmut was silent; he raised his eyes slowly, and looked at his father.

Now he was not afraid to meet those eyes, and in them he read that he was absolved.

But even the strength of him who has ventured all--and won, has its limits.

His father's face was the last he saw, then a b.l.o.o.d.y veil covered his eyes; he felt the blood again, hot and wet, running down his face, and all was night to him as he sank to the ground.

There was a roar and a shock which made the whole city quake and tremble. The citadel whose outline rose bold and clear toward the blue heavens seemed suddenly to be turned into a seething, glowing crater, vomiting flame. Within the bursting walls a very h.e.l.l seemed to gape, as the shower of stones rose in the air only to sink again in the fiery hollow, and, as the gigantic wreck burned and blazed, it made one mighty pillar of fire reaching to the very heavens above--a vengeful, hideous flame of death.

The warning had not come a moment too soon. In spite of all precautions there had been some victims who lived in the immediate vicinity of the citadel and could not be reached, who were either blown to pieces or severely wounded; though in comparison with the fearful calamity which might have occurred and would have paralyzed all Germany, the loss was slight.

The General with his officers and all his troops were saved.

The General, with his wonted foresight and energy, had taken every precaution to avoid the terrible catastrophe, while his coolness, his example, had done more than anything else to inspire both officers and men to action. But now, when his duty as commander-in-chief was done, he had his rights as a father.

Hartmut had been carried, when he fell, to a house near by, and lay unconscious on his narrow cot. He neither saw nor heard his father, who stood with the surgeon by his side.

Falkenried looked earnestly at the pale, worn face and closed eyes, then he turned to the surgeon and said:

"Do you consider the wound mortal?"

The physician shrugged his shoulders.