torrent, the horses of the vehicle took fright and dashed wildly across the battle-field, while the courage of the soldiers seemed to ooze out as their favourite liquor, for the van-guard began to hesitate, and the rear-guard made a retrograde movement towards the village they had just left. In tones of authority, Charles the Great cried, “Forward, march!” but our men seemed as if suddenly dispossessed of life, since there was not one who made the least advance. Probably their conduct was owing to the fact, that while their leader had insisted that they should follow the direction of his plume, that plume was constantly seen, though, perhaps, unintentionally, in the rear, as if to imply that the path of honour lay towards the village.
The second cannon was fired, and again with some effect, for my horse became very restless, and I could not refrain from glancing occasionally round, to discover whether the path of retreat was still unoccupied, till, when the enemy let fall their musket shots and several of the French cavalry rode towards my detachment, I shrieked aloud, in frantic tones, “Take aim—fire!” and then pressing my hand over my eyes, exclaimed, involuntarily, “Heaven have pity on me!” as I sought to turn my hard-mouthed nag in the direction of the village. Just then my obedient soldiery fired, and my horse, frightened as much as his master, leapt high in air, and then tore directly to the open plain, where the enemy were stationed. Three French cavalry galloped after me, but as they saw me suddenly turn upon them, (thanks to my bewildered steed,) with drawn sabre in my hand, the effort to keep my chapeau on my head with the sabre hand gave me quite a military mien, they in turn became alarmed by my seeming valour, and dashed off at full speed, while my Pegasus, in spite of bit and bridle, galloped madly after them.
I swore, I lamented, I cried aloud, “Halt! halt!” but no, nothing would suit him but to follow in their track. At length they chose a narrow by-way through the woods; instantly my steed took the same direction, while, struck as if with panic, the enemy drove spurs in their horses’ sides, while my bewitched Rosinante drew upon them at every moment. Doubtless my foes held me for a most determined fellow, if one might judge from the frightened glances which they occasionally cast behind them. On turning the corner of the pine forest, we suddenly reached the open plain, where the Freneh army had pitched their tents, and just then, because of my losing my stirrup, the fugitives escaped, and several soldiers fired upon me, while my horse, making a side leap, threw me, like a heavy sack, to the ground. “Farewell, Frederica! false world, farewell!” I sighed—for, like the soldiers, I gave myself up for dead.
The fellows sprang towards me; tremblingly I looked up. They demanded my sword, and I relinquished it without a word. One of them now proposed rifling me of my small effects, but just then my three fugitives came up, and declared that, as a reward for my valour and courage, I had a right to their full protection; and now, as prisoner of war, I was led to a small tent, where sat a French colonel, along with several of his officers, at breakfast. After inquiring from the guard the circumstances of my capture and the reason of my having thus rashly driven into their very camp, they turned towards me, and questioned of my rank and station in the army, and whether war was my constant occupation.
What could I answer? They would have thought me insane had I declared myself Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy; therefore, thinking it best to make the most of my hateful military title, I informed them that I was adjutant-general of the Prussian troops! Some one has said that clothes make the man, and I am sure that titles do, for the colonel immediately insisted that I should partake of their breakfast of cold roast and Malaga.
CHAPTER TWELFTH.
PRISONER OF WAR.
The officers now mounted their steeds, and I remained under the care of a strong guard, in whose company I sat before a huge fire, and gladly warmed my frost-bitten limbs, while my reflections naturally turned to conjectures concerning the issue of my present imprisonment; for although in all sincerity I had assured the officers that I would give them my word of honour never again to be found in arms against the emperor, yet they declared that my fate rested with a higher power; that they could not act in the matter, but that I must be carried to Frankfort, and from thence would be probably transported, with other prisoners of war, to France. “To France! to a prison for life!” was my sad expectation. What a change from the time when I sat quietly in my poet’s chamber, adding a fresh ode to my list of expected victories, or reading Plutarch in the society of my tobacco pipe; then, after giving lessons to my scholars in their respective houses, to pass a few moments each evening in the vicinity of the beloved Frederica, who listened in smiling trustfulness as I sketched glowing pictures of some far-off future.
But just then a thought struck me—it was the fact of having those very productions at that very minute in my pocket, all filled as they were with invectives and taunts against Napoleon. I felt there was not a moment to lose, and watching an opportunity when my guard were called to the window by some passing excitement, I drew the dangerous manuscript from its hiding-place, tossed it quickly into the blazing fire, and watched its destruction with even more joy than I had hailed its birth.
But the deed was not entirely unnoticed, for just then one of the guard turned round, and inquired
