CHAPTER VI.

THE FIRST SUCCESS.

The warm spring sun is shining on a valley watered by more than one winding river, and with green pastures dotted with cows and sheep peacefully feeding. It is closed in by hills green to their summits, with only a few patches of snow in their hollows. Behind these soar craggy and fearful rocks, above which wheel one or two vultures, and high overhead the kingly eagle; who perhaps discerns some human quarry in the depths below. Dead bodies must certainly be lying here and there in the gorges; for now and then carrion crows, sated with their impure repast, rise slowly on their flapping wings, and fly heavily away.

In the sunniest and prettiest part of the valley is a little village of some dozen whitewashed huts, that look clean and comfortable at a distance. The village is surely deserted! not a creature seems in it except an old purblind woman, sitting outside her door on a stone; and she is straining her cracked voice in vain efforts to make herself heard.

"Hannes!--Lenora!--Franz!" cries she, quite in a rage: and then pausing, as if spent,--"Why doesn't somebody answer? They've all gone away and left me, I do believe! Here's a condition to be in! Suppose now my clothes had caught fire, or the French were to come, or a wolf, or an evil spirit--precious help I should have! This is the way we old folks are treated, as soon as ever we can't slave for other people any longer. Hallo! some of you! Am I to split my throat? You'll come home and find me dead some of these days. Dear me! they won't mind; it's no use spending my breath. The village is asleep or dead, I think; I can hear a crow caw a mile off!"

When the peevish old woman became quite quiet, she heard a footstep slowly approaching her; and presently a man lounged up to her.

"Why, Franz, that must be you!" cried she; "I know your step, you always drag your feet along the ground so."

"So would anybody's feet," said Franz, "if they were as tired as I am."

"Why, what has tired you?--lying under a hedge, watching the cows."

"Don't you go to believe, mother, I've been wasting my time like _that_. The cows are competent to take care of themselves."

"What have you been doing, then?"

"What have I been doing? Why, now, there's a question! Why, the world's turned upside down, I think; and you sit here, blinking in the sun, and know nothing about it."

"How am I to know anything if you all run away and leave me? What's happened?"

"What's happened! Why, Speckbacher has taken Halle!"

"No!--"

"--Has, though--That's one thing. When you've given over disbelieving that, I'll tell you something else."

"Well, say thy say, tiresome boy."

"Hofer's in Innsbruck!"

"The Sandwirth? What, prisoner?"

"Prisoner! No, mother, quite the other way. We've turned out the Bavarians!"

"What, out of Innsbruck?"

"Aye, out of Innsbruck. Twenty thousand of us got together on the heights about the city--"

"Thou must needs have a finger in the pie, I warrant thee!--"

"Well, I thought, as there were so many of us, I might as well see what turned up. Well, first we cut off all their retreats, by girdling them in all round, blocking up the roads, and breaking down the bridges. Then, we opened a brisk fire on the Bavarians who were posted on the upper bridge of the Inn, and drove them from their guns."

"What then?"

"Then we rushed on, waving our hats, and shouting, 'Long live the Emperor!' striking down some of the enemy with the butt-ends of muskets, throwing others over the bridge into the water, and following the rest into the city like a swarm of bees. We soon made them feel we could _sting_, too. You never heard such a cracking of rifles in your life. Five thousand shooting-matches at once?--Pshaw, nothing to come near it. Then such a smoke! Then such a noise! Every one for himself and all the world else--hallooing, shouting, capering, as if they had no end to their strength, and sounding the pig-call in derision."

"I'll warrant them!"

"General Kinkel and his men were garrisoning the town; but what could they do, you know, mother? They knew the ways of the city, however--the streets, passages, gates, and so forth--better than we, so they were soon inside the houses, peppering down upon the Tyrolese from the windows. Well, now you'd surely think, that as we had the advantage of them in the open ground, the Bavarians would now have the advantage of us from the houses. Not so, mother. How it was, I know not, but they could not keep their own: our sharpshooters picked off every man-jack that showed but the tip of his nose at the windows; so at length they threw down their arms--"

"They _did_?"

"And cried for mercy!--Didn't we make an uproar then! However, there was still a good bit of fighting; here and there were strong posts they wouldn't give up, and stout hearts that wouldn't give in. At the barracks, I believe every man was shot down. At last, they--the Tyrolese, I should say--got to the house of the Bavarian Commander-in-Chief--Kinkel, that is,--and were calling to him to surrender, when up comes Colonel Dittfurt--"

"Who's he?"

"Oh, mother, you ought to know by this time. He it was, you know, that was the principal cause of the Tyrol being separated from Austria, and that lately said, 'With two regiments of cavalry added to his infantry, he would cut every one of us ragamuffins down.'"

"Ah, no good ever comes of brag."

"Well, I don't know about that," said Franz, running his fingers through his rough hair; "but no good came of it to him this time, at any rate. He had already got two bullets in his body, they say; but as soon as his house was attacked, he rushed forth, waving his sword over his head. A third ball then struck him near the heart; blood came out of his mouth, and down he came upon his knees. Some of our men hastened up to take him prisoner; he turns about his head, and faintly calls to his men, 'You dogs, don't be cowards,' or something to that purpose; and evidently did not even then give in. Whizz! comes another bullet, which hits him in the head, and lays him along the ground."

"Well, Franz, he died like a soldier--"

"Mother, he isn't dead yet--Don't you hurry me--We then captured him and carried him off to the guard-house--"

"_You?_"

"Not exactly I, but our people. And there, as he lay, ready to die from loss of blood, says he to one of our fellows--Rudolf, in fact,--'Who is your leader, young man?'--'We've none in particular,' says Rudolf,--which was true enough, only he needed not to have exposed us so, just then, for no good, to a man of the Colonel's quality, who, of course, thought it very despicable of us. If I'd been Rudolf, I'd have clapped a dozen names together, mother, and said 'that's our commander.'"

"Then thou wouldst have been a fool, Franz,--and thou art little better. Well, is that all?"

"No--'We've no chief in particular,' says Rudolf--the ninny!--'We all,' says he, 'fight for God,' says he, 'and for our Emperor, and our fatherland,' says he. 'One for all, and all for one,' says he."

"Ah, as long as folks will do that last," said the old woman, sighing, "they're sure to win the day. But their evil tempers, and evil passions, and piques, and private interests, tugging at their hearts like so many evil spirits, part them asunder; and then the Evil One laughs!"

"Well," said Franz, "all that's beyond me; and you can't expect a young fellow just come from such a stirring scene, to be much in the humour for preaching: but, however, you haven't heard all yet. Colonel Dittfurt could not make this out--(no wonder!)--it would have made him think very small of us, if he had. 'Well,' says he, 'I can't believe that, young man; for I've _seen_ your Commander-in-Chief,' says he, 'frequently rallying you to-day,' says he, 'and rushing past me on a milk-white horse,' says he. Well; when that got about, somebody wiser than the rest said dying men could often see further than others into the spirit-world; and that, 'twas very likely, one of the saints, of a martial turn, had really headed us, though invisibly; and that therefore it was most agreeable to reason to suppose it was St. James."

"St. James? why St. James?" said the old woman slowly. "Was he a fighting man?"

"There you pose me," replied Franz; "but, you see, he's the patron saint of the city!"

"Ah, that explains!" said his mother. "And did the Colonel die upon that?"

"Oh no, he's lingering now, but quite given over; and has a priest with him. Father Donay--you know him, mother?"

"No, I don't."

"You know _of_ him then, and that's much the same--almost as good."

"Or almost as bad, Franz. I don't know any good of him."

"Why, now, didn't he get me out of a scrape, when I'd like to have been shot?"

"By telling a lie, Franz."

"Fiddlestick, mother! 'A charitable fraud,' he called it, mother."

"Well, Franz, he'll take his payment out of you, some day or other, 'tis my opinion, if he finds you can be of any use to him."

"If I can be of any use to him, certainly I will, out of gratitude, mother. One good turn, you know, deserves another."

"And one bad turn--I mean one bad or deceitful or treacherous action to screen a companion is often followed, in due course, by that companion being asked, nay, commanded, to do some dirty trick in return."

"Well, mother, you will have your say. But I was going to tell you, that Martin Teimer joined us just as Dittfurt fell, and helped us well; and as soon as it was known that the Commander-in-Chief was captured and mortally wounded, the Bavarians lost all heart, and laid down their arms to a man. So, then we had jolly work!"

"Ah, don't tell me all about the slaying and slaughtering!"

"Why, there was _none_, mother! A Tyrolese kill a captured foe in cold blood?--Oh, fie!"

"All about the sacking and pillaging, then--"

"Well, a few of the Jews' houses were attacked; but to no good; for Father Joachim and the Sandwirth made our fellows refund everything they had thought lawful spoil--"

"Ha, ha!"

"Oh, come, it was no joking matter. I think a Christian might fleece a Jew, without much harm done. However, others thought differently; and 'tis a certain fact, mother, that one of our fellows, who had carried off the heavy iron door of a Jew's strong room before the stir was made by the Sandwirth, and got clear of the city with it, walked fourteen hours, that is to say all last night, with that great heavy iron door on his back, thinking it mighty clever to get it safe to his cottage."

"What did he mean to do with it?"

"I doubt if he knows, any more than I do. However, he had been at home an hour or so, and was telling his wife, who had just been confined, all about the day's work, with great glee; when--in walks the priest. 'What have we here?' says he, stumbling over the iron door. As soon as ever he heard how it was come by,--'Now you go,' says the priest, 'and carry that door all the way back again. The commandment says, Thou shalt not steal, without saying of Jew or Christian; take it back this minute! It will be a suitable penance; for believe me, my son, thou hast sinned.' So the poor fellow heaved it up again, though his back was half broken already, and trudged away with it, as meek as a lamb; and when I met him, he was half way to Innsbruck."

"He'll come back with a lightened heart, as well as lightened shoulders, Franz."

"What know I?" said Franz with indifference. "After such a hard day's fight as we'd had, I think we might have had a few pickings. And there were the simple fellows that had never been in Innsbruck before, rambling in great parties about the streets, staring and making their remarks about everything, and crowding into the cathedral to see the emperor Max's great monument with those grim iron giants of dead kings to guard it--and women and girls pouring out of the old part of the city, to give us cakes, and cream-cheeses, and wine, and bread, and beer--whatever came first to hand, and laughing and chattering, and praising us, and saying what a glorious day!"

"Well, it _was_ a glorious day," said the old woman reflectively.

"So much, done so quickly!" continued Franz. "Why, mother! the town was ours by eleven o'clock! How surprised some of the men looked when they heard the clocks strike!--They had just then discovered and laid hold of the Imperial Eagle on the emperor Max's tomb; and, after tying a lot of red ribands round its neck and legs, they set it up aloft and carried it through the streets, shouting and singing, and saying they'd always be true to it. Meantime, another lot of fellows had come upon the pictures of our Franzel[A] and Hannes,[B] and had hauled them down and were carrying _them_ about, too, triumphing and making merry and crying they would shed their last drop of blood for them!"

"What a pity our Franzel was not there to hear it," said his mother; "it would have warmed his dear heart."

"They set the pictures against a sort of arch," pursued Franz, "and put lighted candles round them, and bawled 'Long live the Emperor!' There was a good deal of foolery in it."

"They were in mad spirits at their success, and no wonder," said the old woman; "especially if they had made free with the contents of the brandy-shops."

"No, mother, no.--Not one of them was drunk, nor the least inclined that way--I saw many of them drinking water, as if they could have drunk the sea dry; and others smacking their lips after a bottle of beer, or munching a rye-cake as if it were a feast for the emperor. Towards nightfall, they were completely tired out; numbers lay down to rest, in the streets, and were asleep in a moment; some on straw, some without it; while others prepared to camp out all night in the orchards. I thought I might as well be walking homewards as that, and so I started off: no doubt the Bavarians will be down upon them with reinforcements to-day or to-morrow."

"And then they'll lose all they've won," said the old woman. "Well, that will be a pity."

She sat musing upon it, while Franz went in-doors, and presently came out again, devouring a great rye-cake, and a lump of cheese. He sat down on an inverted milk-pail, and, while he continued eating, he watched a girl who was coming up from the valley with a long hazel wand in her hand.

She was dressed in a short, scanty petticoat of bright grass-green, with a black bodice that was laced in front over a chemise with short full sleeves of snowy whiteness. On her head she wore a small black, sugar-loaf hat, with a gay riband tied round it. Her appearance, at a distance, was excessively picturesque; but when she drew near, she proved to be very plain, with thick ankles, a thick waist, and large, red, coarse hands.

"Here comes Lenora," said Franz, at length; speaking with his mouth full.

"Soh!" said the old woman, with a kind of snort, "she is vouchsafing to return home at last, is she? She might have come to look after me in the course of this long morning, I should think. But girls now are not what girls used to be."

It would appear from this speech, that Lenora ought to have joined the couple who were seated outside the cottage, with the penitent air of one who had neglected her duty; but, on the contrary, she took up quite another tone.

"So, Mr. Franz!" shouted she, in a voice that would have filled St. Paul's, "you're come back again at last, are you, sir, after leaving me these twenty-four hours to do your work!--you might, at any rate, have had the civility to tell me you were going; but no, not you!"

"What's the matter now?" said Franz, doggedly.

"What's the matter?" repeated Lenora, still chafing; "why, have not I, in addition to my own work, had to do every bit of man's work that has been done about the place? Who, but for me, would have watered the horse, turned out the cows, sheep, and goats after milking, and a hundred things besides? As I was driving our sheep to pasture, Gaspard looked over the hedge, and 'Do the same for me, my good girl, will you?' says he, 'for I'm off with my rifle.' So there was I with two flocks of sheep on my hands, besides the cows and the goats; and, not knowing exactly how many sheep Gaspard had, I counted them twice very carefully, and, the second time, I missed one. So I wasn't by any means sure whether I had counted them wrong the first time, or whether one had strayed; but somehow I thought one had strayed, because I fancied I remembered that the number was an odd number, and now it was even; and also that I had remarked a weak-eyed, rather ill-looking ewe, that had something particular in its bleat. Well, I could see nothing of this ewe, so I made sure it had strayed; and, as it belonged to a neighbour, I was even more sorry for it than if it had been my own. So I sought it here, and I sought it there; first in all the likely, and next in all the unlikely places; and, meanwhile, the sun was scorching hot, as if it had been August. At last I got to the pass where one of your cows pitched over last spring--"

"That was a good way off," muttered Franz.

"Truly it was," said the girl, with self-pity; "however, there I trudged; and just as I had got to the brink of the ravine I heard that queer-sounding bleat. I looked down, and there was the ewe, who had toppled over and fallen into the upper part of a thorn-bush, from which she could not get out. So I had to scramble down, get hold of her, and lay her across my shoulders, climb up the bank again, and carry her all the way back. Such a weight she was! All this trouble you might have saved me."

--"Lenora!"--

"Well?"

"We've taken Innsbruck!"

"No!"--

He had to tell his story all over again.