A gentle knight of old Brandenburg

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MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED

Chapter II Among Brigands

ON a certain stormy March day in the year 1731, the good old Margrave of Bayreuth and his son Frederick Henry, the Hereditary Prince, were sitting before the broad fireplace in the little mountain-bounded, snow-covered castle of Bayreuth, discussing the interesting subject of marriage and giving in marriage.

Although neither the prince nor his father had ever seen the fair Princess Wilhelmina of Prussia and Brandenburg, nor had dreamed that she could ever become even an incident in their lives, her name sprang to their lips with a persistency that now, in the light of subsequent events, seems to have been almost prophetic.

Outside the grim little castle the mountains were clothed in snow and ice, and the wind howled among the tiny peaks. The mountains were little more than mimic mountains, as Bayreuth was a mimic principality and its ruler a mimic prince, though in blood and rank the equal of any king east of the Rhine.

Although the old Margrave was in a way a mimic prince, because Bayreuth was small, he was not a mimic man. He was a man in the fullest, rarest and best sense of the word, for his life had been one of truth to himself and to all mankind. In his old age he lived happily in his little castle nestling among the mountain peaks, reaped the harvest of a manhood well tilled, and watched the sun as it set tranquilly on a life of sweet content.

No small part of the Margrave's reward was his son, Prince Henry or "Fritz Henry," as he was familiarly known by his friends. The fact that Prince Henry was oVer six feet tall soon played an important part in shaping his destiny. He had spent several years in the armies of England, France and Italy, where of course he had learned the ways of the world, but notwithstanding this questionable wisdom, had retained his father's .gentleness of nature and purity of heart. At a time when nearly every man was a drunken roue, Fritz Henry seemed to have taken disgust from the evil on every side, and had profited by the bad example.

The old Margrave, too, differed from his princely brothers in many respects. He had, in his youth, made a marriage for love, and later in life had not tried to strengthen himself by forcing Ms children into repugnant alliances.

At the time of this conversation between Fritz Henry and his father, August the Stark was King of Poland and Elector of Saxony. He was the most dissolute of men. His family, it was said, consisted of one hundred and sixtyfive sons and daughters, who were true children of a bad father. For many years he had been a kindly guardian to the small state of Bayreuth, paying to the Margrave a liberal pension in accordance with the terms of an old treaty.

Having many daughters to dispose of, King August one day suggested to his ministers a scheme for relieving his family congestion, and at the same time honoring his old friend of Bayreuth, by giving to the Hereditary Prince a fair daughter of Saxony to wife. He selected one of his daughters and asked his advisers to take the subject of her marriage to Fritz Henry under consideration. Fortunately for Henry, affairs of state moved slowly in Saxony, being constantly interrupted by matters of more importance that were conducive to the king's pleasure and entertainment.

A hint of this kindly intention had been sent by a friend in Dresden to the Margrave of

Bayreuth, and had brought consternation in its wake to father and son.

The morals of King August's court were not conducive to the growth of perfect womanhood, so as the daughter about to be proposed by his Majesty was neither good, handsome nor rich, Prince Henry quite naturally did not want her for a wife, nor did the Margrave want her for a daughter-in-law.

While the wind howled and screamed among the turrets and towers of Bayreuth Castle, the Margrave and Prince Henry sat in their armchairs before the fire, greatly troubled by the questionable honor their powerful friend and neighbor would thrust upon them.

"If we refuse King August's daughter, we shall offend him," said the Margrave. "He will withdraw his support from Bayreuth and may cut off our allowance. If he ceases payment how shall we support our old retainers'? We cannot turn them out into the bleak winds. I am not deeply concerned for myself, but I must care for these old men and women who have been my friends and helpers all through life, and though I am poor, I must divide my crust with them. If we offend King August there will be no crust, for I am powerless to compel him to hold to the treaty. Still I cannot bear that you should marry this painted courtesan of Dresden."

"I will marry her, father," said Prince Henry after a long pause, "if my refusal will bring misfortune to you. It would be hard and life would be a dreary prospect afterwards; but I will do it if it is your wish."

"You shall not marry her, even though your refusal may cost me my state. There is but one way to evade refusal or marriage. You must disappear — run away — before King August sends word of his intention. Go at once and do not tell me where you are going. Then when Dresden's envoys arrive, I can say with truth that I do not know where you are. Immediately after you have gone I will cause it to be known in Dresden that you are away from home, and we may be able to avert the offer, at least for a time. You have lived so much away from home that your absence will not seem unusual."

"I'll take your advice at once, father. If King August offers his fine daughter, you shall give your consent, subject, of course, to my approval, and I'll give my approval when— when they find me."

The old Margrave sat musing and gazing into the fire. Presently he said:

"I have sometimes hoped that King Frederick William of Prussia and Brandenburg might give you his second daughter, Charlotte. They say she is beautiful, but I am told she is very young, willful and thoughtless. Her temper may improve with age, but on the other hand, it may grow to be like her father's, in which case — " The Margrave held up his hand warningly, and after a brief pause concluded: " — in which case I should not want her for a daughter-in-law."

"Probably she is better than she is painted," suggested Henry.

"She may be, she may be. I believe the old king might be induced to give her to you if we were to allow him time to make up his stubborn mind, or if we could in some manner convince him that we do not want her. The subject was once broached by Grumkow but nothing came of it." The Margrave sat musing for a moment then continued: "If even a small part of what is said about the Prussian king is true, he must be an old devil — stark mad. Prince Fritz, I hear, is a fine boy, and the world is full of Wilhelrnina's praises. But I am told the king hates them, and it is feared at Berlin he will work some great injury to them one of these fine davs in a fit of madness. It is said that he dotes on his daughter Charlotte, who defies him, disobeys him and has her own way in everything. Her father has given her the nickname "Don't Care" because that is her one answer when he grows angry and threatens her."

Henry laughed and said : ' ' She must be interesting," and after a long thoughtful pause, the Margrave resumed:

"The Princess Wilhelmina must be a rare, lovable character. Those who know her say that in all the world there is no princess equaling her in beauty, gentleness and wisdom. You know our friend King August fell desperately in love with her during his recent visit to Berlin, and doubtless would have married her at once had she not been betrothed to Prince Frederick of England. She may yet become King August's bride if the English treaty falls. It has long been tottering. Did you ever hear of her meeting with the Great Bear of the North, Peter of Russia?"

"No, father."

"When Peter first clapped eyes on the little princess, then a child, he was so charmed with her fresh young beauty that he took her in his arms and kissed her till she slapped his face. Then he laughed and cried out: 'Ah, my little beauty, you are fit to be queen of queens !' rNot with you as king of kings!' she replied. The czar was so delighted with her spirit and her quick retort that he would have embraced her again, but she fled in childish indignation. Ah, my son, if you could have this beautiful Wilhelmina for your wife, how happy I should be. But she is for England or Dresden, or for some one who will aid King Frederick William in his Prussian policy, or perhaps I should say, who will answer Grumkow's purposes. I should be content with her younger sister for your wife, and am willing to run the risk of her temper.'*

"I want neither," said Henry. "I want no wife, not I. I'll be faithful to my sword, and who knows but I may some day win a wife whom I shall want for her own sake. When I find her I'll bring her home to dear old Bayreuth for your blessing."

"You shall have it, my son, if she is naught but the virtuous daughter of a burgher."

Prince Henry rose from his chair and stood with his back to the fire, while the old Margrave walked over to the window and gazed out on the snowstorm. After a long silence Prince Henry rang a bell and a page responded.

"Tell my servant Peter to come to me at, once," said the prince.

Henry remained by the fireside and his father continued to gaze out the window. The old Margrave knew what the summons for Peter meant.

" Are you going now?" he asked, regretfully, turning his face toward his son. "You have been home less than a fortnight, and the storm has an ugly look. ' '

"I don't want to go, father," said Henry, going to the Margrave's side and resting his hand gently on his shoulder. "I am running away from the princess of Dresden. Your advice is good, as usual. There is but one way to evade this marriage : lose myself in some out of the way corner of the world. I can't do it too quickly. To-morrow may be too late, so I'll go at once."

"You are right," answered the Margrave, "and I must not detain you."

When Peter came Prince Henry said : * ' Saddle the horses and arrange my saddle bags for a journey. I'll wear the breastplate and steel cap, and carry my hand guns and sword. Make haste, Peter, and bring the horses to the drawbridge as soon as possible. I'll be in the courtyard ready to start in half an hour. You, of course, go with me."

Half an hour later the prince and Peter were riding out beneath the castle gates, bound for any place that would save Henry from King August's kindly purposes.

Soon after they had left the castle gates, Henry said: "We'll ride off into the mountains and let chance determine our route. I wish to be unknown. From now on, Peter, remember that I am Captain Henry Churchill. You are English and I speak English as if I were English born. So I'll take an English name, and we may easily pass for Englishmen. We are Captain Henry Churchill and servant Peter, of Cheapside, London, England."

"Not Cheapside, your Highness," suggested Peter. "Cheapside is no place for a gentleman to hail from. We'll say Westminster."

"Very well," returned Henry. "We are from Westminster. But you must not say 'your Highness' ; it must be Captain Churchill."

"Ah yes," returned Peter. "I'll remember, your Highness — that is, Captain Churchill."

Henry and old Peter soon left the main road and took a mountain path over which their horses ploughed through the snow till near sunset, when they came to the main highway between Coburg and Chemnitz. As they turned into the road they saw six men approaching from the west, all heavily armed and roughly dressed. One of the men hailed in German, and Henry waited till the little company came up to him. The captain or leader of the party seemed to be a Frenchman, for when he addressed Henry he spoke French, freely mingled with English and German. After he concluded that Henry was an Englishman, he spoke English.

"May I ask, are we on the right road to Chemnitz!" the French captain inquired.

"The way to Chemnitz is a crooked one," answered Henry, smiling and speaking English, which he was sure the fellow would understand, ' ' and it is hard to say when one is on the right road. There are so many turnings and forkings in the mountains that you will lose your way if you are unfamiliar with the route. We are traveling to Chemnitz and I shall be glad to show you the way."

Henry hoped he might be able to induce the rough but stout band of warriors, who were all well armed and well mounted, to enlist under his banner. With so goodly a company, he was sure he would be welcomed into any army of Europe. His offer of guidance, therefore, was not entirely disinterested.

The French captain, who seemed grateful, promptly accepted Henry's offer, and the party at once started forward toward Chemnitz.

Soon the storm increased and became so violent that the travelers agreed to stop for the night at a small village inn, where Henry offered to pay the cost of entertainment.

When he sprang from his horse, one of the troopers muttered to his neighbor: "Himmel! He's a long one. We must capture him. The master would give us a thousand marks for the fellow."

Prince Henry entered the inn to bespeak entertainment for his party, and Peter led the horses to the stable. The six travelers were left to themselves.

"Der Teufel, but we must take him," said one of the Germans, speaking to the leader. "He's a fine long one, and will bring us a good price."

"Shall we try to take him to-night?" asked another.

"We might take him while he sleeps," suggested the first speaker.

"We'll see, we'll see," answered the captain, impatiently. "All in good time. Don't think. Don't talk. Don't make plans. Leave the talking, thinking and planning to me. All that you blockheads have to do is to keep your 2 mouths shut and mind your own business. Your business is to strike when I tell you, and to keep still at all other times. Understand? As for this fellow, we shall see what we shall see. 'Be quick slowly' is the master's word, 'but be quick'."

"Yes, yes, 'but be quick'. That's the master's word," answered one of the men.

"And we will be quick," returned the captain. "But our long friend here would fight like forty devils, and we'll wait for a good opportunity to take him without a conflict. We don't want to seek broken heads for ourselves, and the master might break our heads for good and all if we broke this fellow's. He will be worth a great deal more to us with a whole head. Now, I say we'll travel with him till he trusts us ; then he'll fall quietly into our net."

Soon after a late supper, the house was lost in darkness and its tired occupants were lost in sleep. Henry and Peter occupied a room by themselves, and their six traveling companions slept on the floor of the taproom. There was a whispered discussion among the ruffians concerning the best course to be followed in capturing their man, but as there were many miles to be traveled before reaching Chemnitz, and as the road wound through a mountainous, barren and uninhabited country, the cautious Frenchman thought it better to take the chance of surprising him next day in the mountains rather than to try to seize him at the inn.

The next morning Prince Henry, Peter and their six companions started on their journey in a terrific snowstorm. Henry hoped that when they reached Chemnitz he should be able to capture his friends and form a little company to be offered, with himself, to the prince or king making the highest bid. He hoped to make his capture with blandishments and gold. The six ruffians, on the other hand, expected to make theirs by force.

After leaving the inn, each mile of the road carried the travelers farther into the mountains, and within a few hours they were in the midst of a wild cluster of small peaks and precipices. Snow had fallen heavily over night, and in many places the road was hidden. After the party had penetrated well into the heart of the mountains the road was entirely lost, and Henry sprang from his horse to reconnoiter on foot. Peter and three of the men were two hundred yards in the rear ; the other three, including the French captain, were with Henry.

Henry threw his reins over the pommel of the saddle, and leaving his horse, walked a short distance ahead to sound the snow, hoping to find the road. His pistols were in his saddle, and his sword, being cumbersome, had been left with them. Before he had taken twenty steps from his horse the others dismounted and quickly overtook him. The captain, following closely at his heels, called to him, saying politely but somewhat nervously :

"I have a word to speak with you, my friend. ' '

Henry turned in surprise and looked into the muzzle of a hand gun.

"Well, why don't you say it?" he returned, concealing his surprise. He did not indicate by even so much as the fall of an eyelid that he saw the hand gun.

"Because — because — " stammered the somewhat disconcerted captain. "Because I like you and don't like the task ahead of me."

"What is the task ahead of you?" asked Henry. "Surely you don't intend to murder me."

"Mon Dieu, Monsieur! No, no, far from it! Far from it, I assure Monsieur," answered the Frenchman, hastily and politely. "It grieves me even to tell Monsieur that he is my prisoner. ' '

The other two men immediately lifted their hand guns and pointed them at Henry. At the same moment the leader whistled, when the three men who were with Peter seized the old man and informed him that, for the small sum of half a pfennig, they would blow his brains out. Trifling as the inducement was, Peter did not offer it, but allowed himself to be made captive.

"I see you have captured my servant," said Henry, "and as I am unarmed, I will make terms of surrender if you will be at all reasonable."

"I'm sorry. I grieve — I almost weep," said the polite captain, placing his hand on his heart and bowing low before Henry. "But I cannot give myself the pleasure of even promising Monsieur to be reasonable. I passionately wish I could, but it is impossible to make the promise, since the whole proceeding from Monsieur's standpoint, and perhaps from my own, is hardly to be justified between gentlemen. But I'll be pleased to hear what Monsieur has to say if he will be so kind as to say it with — with — what is it you English say? — Ah — suddenness. ' '

"Tell me first why you wish to capture me," asked Henry, smiling at the Frenchman's "suddenness".

"Ah, Monsieur's request is not at all unexpected, and it is so reasonable that I should gladly make full answer if it would be — if it would be — what would you English say? Ah— to the expediency. But my heart is sore because I cannot tell it to you."

"Do you expect to rob me?" asked Henry, feeling sure, however, that robbery was not the purpose.

"Ah, the good God of my father and of my mother forbid," answered the Frenchman.

"Do you expect to hold me for ransom?" queried Henry. "If so, you will be disappointed, for I am poor as a church mouse, and all my friends could not raise a hundred pistoles."

"No, no, it is not ransom we want," answered the captain protestingly. "It is only Monsieur — Monsieur himself. He will pardon, but it may reassure Monsieur if I tell him that we know he is a poor devil who must coin his sword into crowns and pistoles if he would have money. Yes, we know, Monsieur — I should say 'Meester', that is the way you English speak it — we know Meester has no money that he would not give to us for the asking if we needed it. In our brief comradeship we have learned that he is generous. We have learned to love Meester, and if he will accept our guidance, we will put money in his purse rather than take it from him. ' '

"Take our horses, our arms and my purse and let us go. There is more money in the purse than you suppose," said Henry, ceasing to be amused by the Captain's polite speeches, and tossing the purse at the fellow's feet.

"No, no. We have horses and arms to spare," returned the captain. "As for your purse, keep it, and we will put more gold in it if need be."

The captain took the purse from the snow and politely returned it to Henry. The situation was growing bewildering to the young man.

" If it is neither robbery nor ransom, tell me, pray, what in the devil's name you want with me," demanded Henry, smiling in spite of suppressed anger. "Do you believe that I am a criminal? Do you imagine that you know me?"

Henry knew the ruffians did not know him, for evidently the French captain supposed he had captured an Englishman.

"Indeed we do not believe that Meester is a criminal. We know he is not. We love him and we want him to go with us because — just because we want the pleasure of his company.

That is why we are taking you; — at least that is all the why I can give you."

"You know nothing of me. You do not even know where I am from," insisted Henry.

"Nor do we want to know," answered the fellow, shrugging his shoulders. * ' Meester may be English. Who can tell? But in view of the uses to which he will be put, it is greatly to our interest not to know what he is or where he is from, and though the information would be to us pleasing, we beg that he will not honor us with it. Monsieur is himself, and that is all sufficient for us to know."

"Where do you mean to take me?" asked Henry.

"Ah, Monsieur's request is so reasonable that to refuse it is to pain," responded the captain, bowing before Henry. "Pardon my seeming discourtesy. I cannot give you light. You will learn all these interesting facts from my master after — a long journey. If you have any more reasonable questions, I beg you to make haste, for we must be traveling."

The captain was beginning to show his teeth.

"One more," answered Henry. "What are you going to do with my servant?"

"Ah, at last there is to me of pleasure," responded the French captain, still speaking

English. "You ask to me a question that I can answer. It will be to detain your servant for an hour after we have resumed our journey. Then it will be to relieve him of his arms, and to warn him not to follow us on pain of death. Then it will be to direct him to return forthwith to his home, and to tell your friends that it has been to you to be captured by a band of kindhearted brigands."

"May I have a word with my servant?" asked Henry.

"Mon Dieu! Again it is to pain. I grieve. I weep. I — "

"Oh, well, let us start at once," interrupted Henry. ' ' If poor old Peter is to be kept in the cold for an hour after we start, he will be frozen if we don't go immediately. Will you give him this silver? I fear the old man has no money."

"Ah, that is to me of pleasure once more," cried the Frenchman. "But permit. I myself will give to Peter of gold. Silver were unworthy. ' '

The captain hurried down the road to where Peter and his captors were standing, spoke briefly to one of the men, handed Peter a gold coin and said :

"When you return to England, tell your master's friends he was captured by brigands, but tell them also that no harm shall befall him. If you attempt to follow us, you will be shot. Now, you may understand."

Peter intimated that he fully understood the distressing situation, and the captain returned to Henry.

After removing all arms from Henry's saddle, the Frenchman said again in French :

"Now, if Monsieur will kindly mount his horse, we'll continue our journey. Will it not be a novel experience for Monsieur to ride with brigands ? ' '

"You're not a brigand," answered Henry, * ' and I am sure you are acting under a mistake. A word of explanation from you might save me a great deal of annoyance, and might avert serious trouble for you later on."

"There is no mistake, Monsieur," answered the French captain. "I pledge you my word we do not even think we know who you are. We hope you are nobody. If you are anybody, our work will all have been in vain, and our master, instead of being pleased, as we hope he will be, may be greatly displeased."

"Who is your master?" asked Henry.

"Our master?" repeated the French captain. "Oh, our master? Why, our master is the devil. Yes, that is it. He is the devil. I tell you not one word — not one syllable — not one letter of untruth. He is really the devil, and when you know him you will learn that I am a truthful man. I cannot tell you more. Therefore, mount, my dear Monsieur, and though your questions are all reasonable and ought to be answered, please reserve them till a time when you can make them to one who can and doubtless will answer you in full, though perhaps not to your entire satisfaction. Come, come. Shall I bind Monsieur's wrists, or will he give me his parole and go with us peaceably?"

"I give my parole," answered Henry.

"I thank Monsieur for his kindness, and trust him without a doubt, for of course Monsieur knows that a broken parole means death. I trust him, but with his permission, I'll tie one end of this rope to his horse's bit, and the other end to Big John yonder. There! Now we are ready! Permit me to assist Monsieur to mount."

"I need no help," said Henry, laughing. "I am still strong enough to mount a horse. I thank you, captain, for your politeness, but you have not frightened me so badly that I am weak."

"Would anything frighten Meester?" asked the captain, smiling pleasantly. "When my master, the devil, learns that we have brought him a man who fears nothing, neither the mouth of a gun nor the face of the devil, he will say, 'Good, good', for he loves a brave man, and I, perhaps, shall receive a handful of pistoles the more."

"May it be a double handful of pistoles," answered Henry, not to be outdone in politeness. Then he mounted his horse.

After all were mounted they moved forward. The French captain, who earlier in the day had affected ignorance of the road, now seemed to know it well enough, and led the way through a mountain pass, leaving poor old Peter tearfully watching his master, as Henry rode out of sight on his journey to a world of new happenings, and perhaps of marvelous fortune.

Chapter III His Mother And Hek Son

AT three o'clock in the afternoon of the same stormy day in March, Adolph, Margrave of Schwedt, was very drunk, and his mother sitting near him* was sound asleep. Usually at three o 'clock his serene Highness was still quite alert, for it was not Adolph 's custom to reach his maximum condition until say four or half past. By that time the servants felt themselves more or less aggrieved if he were not asleep, since in the household of the Margrave, the mice would play when Adolph was drunk.

The cause of the advanced stage reached by the Margrave at so early an hour on that particular day was an exciting conversation, approaching at times to the point of discussion, that had been carried on during the earlier part of the afternoon, chiefly by his mother, the Margravine.

So it may be easily understood that while the Margravine's animated discourse postponed for a time her Highness 's after-dinner nap, it advanced Adolph 's happiness by an hour, and brought forgetfulness before its time, as long continued good advice is apt to do.