Читать книгу The Year Nine: A Tale of the Tyrol - Anne Manning - Страница 6

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"WHO was that stranger, Anderl?" said Father Joachim.

"A flat-faced Bavarian, I think, father," said the Sandwirth: "cunning as a fox! He took note of every word we said."

"You said nothing incautious, then, I hope?"

"Nothing whatever, father; we talked of shooting-matches and Sabbath-breaking."

"Good. Now then—here is a bag of money."

"For what, father?"

"For laying in stores of various sorts; which you, as an innkeeper, may do without suspicion. You may, perhaps, even contrive to conceal some ammunition."

"Doubtless, father; though this is not a particularly good hiding-place."

"You will be at some expense too about your shooting-matches."

"You think them quite justifiable, father?"

"Quite, my son. I think, in this instance, the end will justify the means. This will be a holy war; and the meetings, ostensibly for sport, will cover our arrangements. None among us are traitors, but some may be indiscreet, and these must not be trusted, but quietly sent away to the mountain châlets. This will be mortifying, but they will still be of service, for some must keep our flocks and herds, or how can the others be spared to fight? There must be one common purpose among us, without heart-burnings or jealousies."

"There must. There shall."

"It is easy to say there must,—there shall,—but are you yourself, Hofer, willing to co-operate with Martin Teimer, or perhaps even occasionally to be subordinate to him? There has been some coldness, I think, between you?"

"On my side, none," said the Sandwirth, after a little hesitation; "I bear him no ill will, nor do I know why he should bear any to me. The man's an able man; more so than I; and has already been raised from a private to a major in the militia, though, just now, he only keeps a tobacco-shop, which is no better, I take it, than keeping a wirth-haus. That's neither here nor there. I'll co-operate with him, or serve under him, whenever it needs."

"This is the spirit that must reign among us all," said Father Joachim. "We must exemplify the Scripture rule, 'Let each esteem other better than himself.' 'Him that is greatest among you, let him be your servant;' if by being so, he can be of the most good. Do you go with me, my children? Can you submit to this? Will you be content?"

"We will!" was simultaneously responded. The two young men spoke lowest: Rudolf, from the modesty natural to him; Franz, because he thought the requirement rather hard.

"Then listen to me. Prepare for action. In a few days we shall rise."

"Hurrah! hurrah!"

And short, loud, abrupt shouts burst from the men's lips. The next instant, their glowing eyes were fixed on the Capuchin in profound silence.

"Yes, my children,—here is the proclamation," continued Father Joachim, drawing a paper from his bosom; "hear it—

"'To arms, Tyroleans! To arms! The hour of deliverance is at hand. Your beloved emperor, Francis, calls on you to arm in a most holy cause, which, after a long and treacherous peace, stands forth like a rock in the deluge, the last remaining defence of the liberties of Europe!

"'You must now either rise while Napoleon is busy in another part of Europe, attempting to load the Spaniards with a foreign yoke, or wait till he has accomplished that project, and returns to crush Austria, the only remaining obstacle to his aim at universal power.

"'Your choice is made! Then look up to us! Everything is already in motion. You will again see at your head your beloved Archduke John, to whom every inch of the Tyrol is known and endeared, and whose greatest pain is ever to be separated from you.

"'It is impossible that a separation between Austria and Tyrol, like that of 1805, can again take place—a separation so bitterly felt! Bavaria declared that the Tyrolese should not only retain their ancient rights and freedom, but that their welfare should be promoted in every possible manner, and "that no iota of their constitution should be changed."

"'How your honest hearts rejoiced at this royal promise! But how has it been kept? You have seen your abbeys and monasteries destroyed, your church property confiscated, your churches profaned, your bishops and priests banished. Your knights and nobles have been stripped of their old, hereditary honours; your cities and courts of justice, your industrious citizens and tradespeople, have alike had their interests sacrificed; heavy taxes have been imposed, and no mercy has been shown towards those who could not pay them.

"'Tyroleans! when you recollect all this,—when you consider the treacherous conduct of the Bavarians, and remember that you have never taken the oath of allegiance to them,—you will have but one thought, one purpose; and your lips will alone utter the word Deliverance!'"

"God save the emperor!" ejaculated the Sandwirth.

"And bless our cause!" added Speckbacher, deeply moved.

"It will be comparatively easy," said Father Joachim, "for Bavaria to penetrate our country as far as Innsbruck; but, from that point, our enemies will find themselves in a complete network of defiles, ravines, gorges, and valleys—"

"From which, if we let them escape, we shall be fools!" cried Speckbacher.

"They are many, and we are few, my son."

"They fight for kreutzers, and we for freedom, father."

"True; and therefore I believe we shall win the day, but it will be a hard-fought one. From Carinthia the foe will approach us through the valley of the Drave; from Italy through the valley of the Adige. We must hem them in, and cut them off, before they effect a junction. No time must be lost in fortifying the mountain passes. On the 9th of April, a division of Austrian troops will advance—"

"God be thanked! Under the Archduke John?"

"Under General Chastelar and Baron Hormayr. You look disappointed, Hofer; but they are good men and true.—Directly they begin to march, the Tyrol must rise. You must ring your alarm-bells and kindle your beacons; send messages to every dwelling within reach, and billets inscribed ''Tis time' to those afar off. Saw-dust scattered on the rivers will be a signal to the men lower down the valleys that you are in arms. The foe will probably endeavour to reach the Brenner by way of Brixen—"

"He must be intercepted!"

"Undoubtedly. Who will lead the men of the Passeyrthal over the Jauffen? Andreas Hofer, will you?"

A deep red flush rose to the Sandwirth's temples. He rose; and, in a low, firm voice, replied—

"I will."

"Let us make some memoranda, then, of men and places—"

Some humble writing implements were placed on the table; and Hofer, after trying the point of a stumpy pen on his thumb, offered it, with a crumpled piece of paper, to Father Joachim, who, however, produced his own pocket-book, while the Sandwirth and Speckbacher reckoned up to him the number of men they thought they might muster. Rudolf presently went round to Theresa, and whispered, "Can you give me some bits of wood? I might be cutting some billets and inscribing them."

She mutely nodded, went out, and returned with her apron full. He took out his clasp-knife and quietly set to work; and Franz, after a lazy fashion, helped him.

"Five thousand strong," at length said the Capuchin.

"There or thereabouts," said Hofer. "Speckbacher must count up the men about Halle."

His little boy here stole up to him.

"So, Johann," said his father, in a lowered voice, while Speckbacher reckoned up the men of Halle, "you set the stranger on his way. Did he say anything to you?"

"Only asked a heap of questions about the shooting match, father."

"Humph! Nothing else?"

"Only about Speckbacher—"

"What of me?" hastily said Speckbacher, overhearing him.

"Only who you were. I said you took wood to the salt-works."

"Humph! Was that all?"

"He asked me about Franz."

"What did you tell him?" said Franz.

"Oh, nothing—I only said you sold horses; and sometimes brandy."

"You might have let that alone, youngster," muttered Franz, looking a little annoyed; while the others laughed.

"What said you of me, my little man?" inquired Father Joachim, without pausing from his writing.

"What could I say, father, but that you were Father Joachim, of the Capuchin convent at Brixen, and that we all loved your reverence dearly?" said Johann.

"You told him my name, then," muttered Father Joachim.

"Did you say anything of Rudolf, Johann?" said Theresa softly, with a little pull at her brother's hair.

"I said he was a goodish sort of a fellow," said Johann doggedly; "and that I believed he came here to look after you."

"I'll pay you for it!" whispered she indignantly; and giving him a little push, she hastily went out; Rudolf furtively looking after her.

"My little lad," said the Capuchin gently, "you must learn more discretion, or you will be a child all your life. Well, Hofer, I think these will be enough?"

"Enough and to spare," said the Sandwirth; "with God's blessing."

"Children, let us ask it."

Every knee was bent in prayer, while Father Joachim fervently invoked the aid of the God of battles. This concluded the conference. Solemnized, and with burning hearts, they retired to rest; while the Bavarian traveller carried the very little he knew to the best market for it.

A lovely April morning succeeded this eventful night. Scarcely had the sun begun to gild the mountain-tops, when Theresa stood beside the river with her milk-pail on her head, inquiring of Rudolf, who was fishing in the shade, how many trout he had caught for Father Joachim's breakfast.

Carrying a pail or pitcher on the head gives the neck an erect, noble carriage—reining it up, as it were: and Theresa, in her short, scanty grass-green petticoat, and black bodice laced with scarlet, might have stood for the Princess Nausicaa, as her laughing black eyes looked down on the young fisherman from beneath their long lashes.

"There's a wary fellow under that yellow stone," answered Rudolf; "I caught a gleam, just now, of his bright back-fin."

"I don't believe you did—I dare say it was only the water that sparkled. I would undertake to milk all the cows in the Passeyrthal, before you caught fish enough for dinner."

"Try me," said he, leaning back on his elbow to look up full at her. "Though I have but a four-acre farm, it's in full cultivation, quite productive enough for you and me, with a good wooden cottage on it, too. I'll catch you a fish for dinner every day."

"What nonsense, Rudolf, you do talk!"

"No nonsense at all. I'm quite in earnest; but you do love to cut up a poor fellow."

"No, I don't," said Theresa, looking down, though she could not bend her head. "Shall you come to the shooting-match on Sunday?"

"To be sure I shall. The match will be only a feint."

"Do you like the prospect of war?"

"Certainly—Don't you?"

"If my father does not get hurt, nor—nor one or two friends—"

"Martin Teimer, I suppose."

"What care I for Martin Teimer?"

"Franz Raffel, then!"

"Rudolf, how can you be so stupid?"

"Speckbacher—"

"Certainly, for one. We all love dear Speckbacher."

"Theresa! What wild tales they tell of him! They say that, being early left his own master, it soon ceased to be sufficient excitement to him to follow the roe or wage war with the lammergeyer from morning to-night, in the most savage, inaccessible places, so that he at length left his home altogether, and joined a set of lawless companions who dwelt among the caverns; supporting himself with his rifle when it was successful, but at other times joining predatory parties into the Bavarian dominions."

"Something I have heard of this," said Theresa, in a low voice; "but Maria Schmeider reclaimed him—"

"No, he was checked by the sudden and terrible end of one of his companions—"

"At any rate, he has been one of the best of husbands, and most honest of men, ever since he married; and their little cottage at Rinn is the scene of perfect happiness—"

"There is a touch of romance in him, still, however. Franz told me just now, as we returned from mass, that on their road yesterday, through thunder and lightning, Speckbacher gave him such wonderful descriptions of the salt caverns near Halle, that it seemed like a fairy tale."

"Very likely," said Theresa. "I have heard him speak of them to my father, and say how he should delight to take him through them. My father liked the idea, but I confess it would make me shudder. All sunlight is excluded; you begin by plunging down three hundred steps that seem as though conducting you to the very centre of the earth; the red light of your torch falls on murky subterranean lakes, beneath towering walls of sparkling salt. How horrible, should one fall into one of those lakes! Speckbacher says there are no fewer than forty-eight caverns, and that some of the galleries connecting them are three leagues in length. He called it a capital place for hide and seek."

"Aye, or for storing brandy, as that scamp Franz said," muttered Rudolf.

"Much obliged," said Franz, sauntering up. "Hope I'm no interruption."

"None at all," said Rudolf, watching his trout.

"Listeners never hear good of themselves," said Theresa tartly.

"I didn't know you were talking secrets, or I wouldn't have intruded," said Franz, throwing himself on the grass. "So I'm a scamp, am I?"

"Well, I'm sorry I used the word, and that's truth," said the good-natured Rudolf.

"I suppose you think it, though," said Franz, jerking a stone into the river.

"Oh, don't trouble the water!" cried Theresa, hastily. "How can you be such a spoil-sport?"

"Spoil-sport, am I?" said Franz doggedly. "Well, perhaps I am. Now I know my titles and designations. Franz Scamp Spoil-sport."

"Better take care not to deserve them, then," said Theresa pettishly. "If you stay out here much longer, we shall breakfast without you."

And pitching her voice, which was both sweet and clear, rather high, she went towards the house, singing one of the popular national airs in praise of liberty.

Franz followed the songstress into the house; and Rudolf, who, having exchanged his worm for a smaller one, (for trout loathe large baits,) was just going to try his luck again when little Johann, running up to him, and looking on for a minute with very round eyes, exclaimed—

"Why, you mustn't do that!—Why, that's father's pet trout, that feeds out of his hand and weighs fifteen pounds! Why, that trout has lived under that stone twenty-eight years! Father'll be finely angry with you, I can tell you, if you think of eating that trout! Why, he'd as soon eat me!"