Produced by Shaun Pinder, Elisa and the Online Distributed
Internet Archive)

                            THE YEAR NINE.

                        _A Tale of the Tyrol._

                                  BY

                     THE AUTHOR OF "MARY POWELL."

               _Pro libertate victi, pro fama victores._

                                LONDON:

                Printed for ARTHUR HALL, VIRTUE, & CO.

                        25, _Paternoster Row_.

                                 1858.

                               CONTENTS.

                                                   PAGE
      CHAPTER I.

  THE THUNDER STORM                                   1

      CHAPTER II.

  THE INN KITCHEN                                    12

      CHAPTER III.

  THE SHOOTING MATCH                                 25

      CHAPTER IV.

  WOLFSTHRUN                                         40

      CHAPTER V.

  "'TIS TIME!"                                       47

      CHAPTER VI.

  THE FIRST SUCCESS                                  63

      CHAPTER VII.

  INNSBRUCK                                          78

      CHAPTER VIII.

  STILL SUCCESSFUL                                   92

      CHAPTER IX.

  HOME                                              103

      CHAPTER X.

  GUERILLA WARFARE                                  118

      CHAPTER XI.

  TYROLESE COURTSHIP                                130

      CHAPTER XII.

  BERG ISEL                                         145

      CHAPTER XIII.

  THE LATTER END OF A FRAY, AND THE BEGINNING OF A
  FEAST                                             159

      CHAPTER XIV.

  TROUBLED WATERS                                   171

      CHAPTER XV.

  THE GORGE OF THE EISACH                           182

      CHAPTER XVI.

  THE THIRD VICTORY OF BERG ISEL                    195

      CHAPTER XVII.

  REVERSES                                          210

      CHAPTER XVIII.

  DANGER                                            224

      CHAPTER XIX.

  WINTER ON THE MOUNTAINS                           239

      CHAPTER XX.

  THE CHÂLET                                        253

      CHAPTER XXI.

  TYRANNY RAMPANT, GRACE TRIUMPHANT                 266

THE YEAR NINE.

CHAPTER I.

THE THUNDER STORM.

It was dusk; and the mountains were reverberating with loud
thunder-claps, while the rain helped to swell a turbid river that swept
through the valley, and past the door of a small _wirth-haus_ or inn,
known less by its sign of "The Crown," than as "am Sand," by reason of
the strip of sand on which it was built.

A cheerful looking, comely woman, clad in a superabundance of
woollen petticoats, was busy at the stove, cooking the supper of a
foot-traveller who read a crumpled newspaper at the window; while
surrounding the kitchen-table, three or four peasants, who had been
driven in by the rain, were hungrily supping milk-porridge from a
large bowl common to them all. A pretty girl of sixteen, after adding
to their meal a basket of coarse rye-cakes, spread a small table for
the stranger, who, as soon as his supper was served, fell upon it with
avidity. His hostess, meanwhile, retired to the end of the kitchen,
where there was a great meal-bin, and began to set the bread for the
morrow's baking, closely watched, all the time, by two little girls
with long braids of hair hanging down their backs.

"The thunder still rumbles," said a man who was quietly smoking near
the stove. He was about forty years of age; his person was strong and
manly, with slightly rounded shoulders; his full, dark eyes beamed
with gentleness; his clustering, deep brown hair fell low on his
broad forehead, and continued round his face in a beard that became
coal-black towards the chin. He looked kind and enduring rather than
impetuous, and not unaptly represented the image of strength in repose.

He wore a close-fitting grass-green coat over a scarlet waistcoat, on
which hung a rosary and crucifix between his green, embroidered braces;
black knee-breeches, scarlet stockings, and laced half-boots. The quiet
self-possession of his manner bespoke him the _wirth_, or master of the
inn.

"The thunder still rumbles," said he.

"Aye aye, Sandwirth," answered one of the peasants, grinning; "better
to be under cover than half-way between this and St. Martin's."

"Father," said a lad, running into the house, "two men are coming
hither. And I think," added he eagerly, under his breath, "the tallest
of them is Joseph Speckbacher."

"Hist!" said his father, laying aside his pipe, while he glanced
furtively at the stranger.

At the same time, the rustics, having finished their supper, departed,
without caring for the skirt of the storm, which they pronounced
clearing off, though large drops continued to fall heavily.

"Those labourers seem content with homely fare," said the traveller,
pushing aside his plate.

"They don't taste meat once a fortnight," said the Sandwirth, "and yet
you see what strong, active fellows they are. Shall you take a bed
here, sir, to-night?"

"No, I would sooner go on, if it were not for the storm."

"It will soon blow over," said the Wirth.

"Perhaps you have a book to lend me, meanwhile?"

"Oh, yes," said the girl Theresa, bringing him one with alacrity.

"This? Hum! the 'South German Plutarch,'" muttered the traveller--"I
doubt if I shall not drop asleep over it."

And, laying his legs up on a wooden stool, he began to turn over the
leaves.

Two men here came in, panting and laughing. "What a storm!" cried one,
laying his conical hat with its drenched feather on the table. "How are
you, Anderl?" extending his brown muscular hand to him.

"Well; praised be Jesus Christ!" said the Sandwirth, reverently; to
which the two others replied with seriousness--

"For ever and ever, Amen!"

It is the usual Tyrolese ejaculation, when a new comer enters the
house. There is something simple and solemn in it, when spoken
reverently, which it always is.

"How is your good Maria?" said the Sandwirth's wife, coming forward.
"And your little boy, Anderl's namesake?"

"Well, both of them, thanks to God; though Maria has now three
youngsters on her hands. But, Sandwirth, have you heard the news? The
Archduke--"

"Hist!" again said the Sandwirth softly, laying his hand on the other's
breast; and indicating by a wary glance of his eye, the presence of the
stranger. The other replied by a look. His companion, a younger man,
gave a gesture of impatience, and whispered, "Is he going to stay?"

"All in good time," said the Sandwirth cheerily. "We are just going to
sup, and you will join us. One thing at a time will last the longer."

"Aye, Anderl, that is always your word," said his wife,
good-humouredly, as she placed about four pounds of boiled bacon on the
table. "You never could bear to season eating with business."

"Have you a good horse to sell, just now, Sandwirth?" said the younger
and shorter of the newly arrived, by way of general conversation.

"How should I have a horse to sell?" returned the Wirth, dragging
a heavy wooden bench towards the table. "I know no more of selling
horses, Franz, than you do of selling brandy."

At which they all laughed, as a capital joke. The family and their two
friends then sat down to their homely meal.

"So you are going to give us a shooting-match on Sunday," said the
young man whom the Wirth had called Franz.

"Ye--s," said the Sandwirth reluctantly; "but I don't altogether like
it."

"You don't? And why not, Sandwirth?"

"I doubt it's being quite right."

"Why, it brings you plenty of custom!"

"Aye, Franz; and, in your eyes, that settles the question; but I doubt
if it be a good way of spending the Sabbath. If I were a maker of laws,
which I'm never likely to be, I'd put down Sabbath-breaking."

"But, Sandwirth," said the taller man, in a peculiarly full, rich,
earnest voice, "the Sandwirths, your ancestors, used to give Sabbath
shooting-matches on this very spot. Look at the glorious old targets
hanging like trophies on your wall. I remember, the first time I ever
came in sight of this house was on a Sunday afternoon, and the sharp,
quick, rattling reports of the rifles echoed among the hills. You
yourself stood umpire among a knot of young fellows in green jackets
and red sashes; and your grey-headed father sat at a long table covered
with hammers, screw-drivers, powder-flasks, ramrods, and everything
that could be wanted."

"He did so, Speckbacher. You bring the scene before me." And the
Wirth's deep-set, large dark eyes seemed dwelling on some far-off
picture.

"You yourself hit the bull's eye twice, Anderl!"

"I did so, Joseph. 'Twas the day that I told old Gasper, who called me
a beardless boy, that if he lived long enough, he should see my beard
reach my girdle; and he laughed and said, when that day came, he would
give me two oxen."

"So that's the reason you wear a beard!" cried Franz. "But, Sandwirth,
surely such a match as that we have been speaking of, was fine sport!
I call it play, not work; and therefore no breaking of the Sabbath."

The Sandwirth, however, would not retract.

"Play like that," said he, thoughtfully and impressively, as though he
weighed every word before he spoke it, "is often as fatiguing as work;
and it sometimes leads to quarrels, and to taking God's holy name in
vain. Anyhow, it is not _rest_; and God bade us _rest_, mind you, on
the Sabbath-day."

"Pleasure _is_ rest," said Franz.

"No, pleasure is often the hardest of work," said the Sandwirth.

"That's true, too," said Speckbacher, as if a sudden light streamed in
upon him.

"Well, I know, to lie on my back with nothing to do but twiddle my
thumbs, would to me be the hardest work of all," said Franz.

"I wonder," said Speckbacher, after a short pause, "if such are your
views, that you mean to have a Sunday shooting-match at all."

"I've a purpose," said the Wirth in a low voice; and then, in a louder
key, as he rose and went towards the door, "I am going forth to look at
the weather, sir," said he. "The storm has, I think, overblown; but if
not, and you like to pass the night here, my wife shall prepare you a
bed."

"By no means; if the weather is really clearing up," said the
traveller, "I shall yet push on; for it is not late."

"The clouds have rolled off, and the valley is sparkling in the last
sun-gleam," said the Wirth.

"Very well. How much to pay?"

"Fifty kreutzers," said the hostess.

"Can you change me this zwanziger?"

While the good woman was mustering change, the traveller rested his
chin on his knuckles, and attentively surveyed Speckbacher.

He was undeniably one of Nature's chieftains. His height was uncommon,
and his lofty carriage of the neck and head, when excited, worthy of
one of the old Greeks. But often that gallant head drooped, and a look
of deep depression shaded his countenance. There was something intrepid
in his mien; he was one from whom you would never expect to hear a lie,
or a sentiment that was base. His language was homely, but energetic;
his features were good, his hair and eyes coal-black. His age might be
thirty-five.

Franz was full ten years younger, and had tolerable features, but a
kind of rakish, good-for-nothing air that was rather repelling.

"Why won't you have anything to say to me?" he was asking Theresa. "You
seem to be knitting all your wits into that blue worsted stocking. If
Rudolf, now, were here, you'd brighten up directly."

"But as he isn't, there's no occasion for it," said Theresa,
carelessly, and continuing to knit with all her might.

"What a pleasant voice you have, Theresa! I wish you would sing us a
song."

"That's likely, isn't it?" said the girl.

"Come now, do."

"Thank you, I am going to take my little sisters to bed." And she moved
away from him. He looked after her with a mixture of admiration and
pique.

Just as the traveller, after some inquiries about the roads, was about
to depart, two more men hastily entered. The first was a Capuchin
friar, of stalwart make, with the hood of his brown woollen gown pulled
so forward that nothing could readily be made out of him but a thick,
flowing beard of the hue that partial mothers are apt to call auburn,
though others often pronounce it red.

"The peace of God rest on this house, through Jesus Christ our Lord!"
said he.

"For ever and ever!" meekly responded the rest.

The Capuchin's companion was a light, active young mountaineer of
three-and-twenty, brown as a nut, and well becoming the picturesque
national costume. As soon as Theresa, who was just leaving the kitchen,
saw him, she reddened very much, and hastily withdrew.

"How the Passeyr is swollen already!" said the Capuchin.

"Is the water out?" cried the traveller, suddenly. "Then I don't know
that I've any mind to go on."

"Pooh, pooh!" said the Sandwirth, rather impatiently, "the river
cannot have overflowed its banks. You see it has not hindered these
foot-travellers. However, sir," changing his tone to one more
conciliatory, "if you will oblige us with your company, you shall have
as good and clean a bed as any in the Tyrol, though I cannot promise
you a flounced pillow and satin damask coverlet, such as you might get
at Botzen."

"No, no, I'll take my chance," said the man of indecision. "Is there
any one here that will see me through the valley?"

"You cannot well miss your road, sir; but my boy Johann shall start you
on it, if you will."

"Thank you; I will give him a few kreutzers."

"No need, sir, thank you."

And the Sandwirth saw him out, and gave him some encouragement about
the weather, and watched him off; and then returned laughing. The
others laughed too.

"Gone at last!" exclaimed Franz. "I thought he never would make up his
mind."

"Now for business," said Speckbacher, looking eager.

"I have hardly spoken to Father Joachim yet," said the Sandwirth,
approaching the Capuchin, and kneeling. "Your blessing, father!"

The Capuchin, before blessing him, threw back his hood, thereby
revealing a frank, determined, intelligent countenance. He was by no
means an old man; probably a few years younger, even, than Speckbacher,
and apparently his equal in strength.

"Anna, is there still any supper left?" said the Sandwirth, rather
apprehensively.

"Certainly," replied his wife; "I hope Father Joachim will never find
our larder quite empty. Johann caught a trout weighing three pounds,
this morning."

"Draw in, Rudolf," said the Sandwirth cheerfully to the young
mountaineer; "and don't sit at that awful distance, my lad, as if you
were not one of us."

Rudolf bashfully obeyed. At the same time, Theresa, who had tucked
up her little sisters with considerable expedition, re-entered, and
began sedulously to assist her mother in preparing Father Joachim's
supper. She had not been absent many minutes, yet had contrived to slip
on clean white full sleeves under her trim violet velvet bodice--a
circumstance which did not escape the vigilant eye of Franz.

CHAPTER II.

THE INN KITCHEN.

"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!"

CHAPTER III.

THE SHOOTING MATCH.

Sunday afternoon presented a busy scene at the _wirth-haus_. Groups
of gaily-dressed peasants were standing about, many talking fast and
eagerly, others quietly, and a little apart. Here stood a woman in an
extinguisher-shaped black worsted cap, with her massive arms akimbo,
talking to another apparently strong enough to build a house, who
wore a globular cap of fur; while, between them, stood a third in
a grass-green gown, very short-waisted, and with three rows of red
binding round the skirt, her head covered by a gaudy handkerchief, tied
under the chin. They looked worthy compatriots of the women of the
Vorarlberg, who, during the Thirty Years' War, drove a Swedish division
out of the Lechthal, and killed them to a man. There was more of the
lioness that might be roused to defend her cubs, in them, however, than
of the _poissarde_; they had hard hands, strong arms, kind hearts, and
firm wills.

The young girls, who were mostly sunburnt, and pleasant-looking
rather than pretty, had bestowed considerable attention on their
hair, which was braided in long shining tails, tied with gay ribands,
and surmounted in some cases by jaunty little straw hats, rather
bigger than daisies, and wreathed with primroses, blue hyacinths, and
anemones. Among the young men and lads, red sashes, green jackets, and
blue stockings were rife; each had his tall, conical hat with gold cord
and tassels, flower, or feather; his rifle, plated buckles, and flower
in his button-hole. They did not seem to have much to say to the young
girls, for flirtation is very little countenanced in the Tyrol.

The target was set up at a distance of two hundred and fifty paces.
There were the benches, the beer-tables, and the long board on
tressels, covered with balls, powder-flasks, and everything likely
to be wanted for the sport. The rifles that were to do such goodly
service were heavy and clumsy, with triggers so delicate as almost to
be set off by a gust of wind. Theresa actively assisted her mother in
waiting on the company. Johann sidled up to little Anderl Speckbacher
and got him off to a bank, where they could watch the shooting, their
arms round each other's necks. The two little girls held their mother's
apron as long as they could, and finally found themselves some juvenile
companions.

Franz was very smart; but, somehow, his clothes always looked as if
they had been made for somebody else; and were worn with a slouching
air, as if he felt too fine for his company. On the other hand,
Rudolf's glossy suit of green velveteen fitted without a crease, and
he did not seem to think either of himself or his dress, but to have
alert, disengaged attention for whatever was going on.

Talking to Hofer and Speckbacher was a man of thirty, with piercing
blue eyes, a bold but not prepossessing countenance, indicative of
great sharpness, and stooping a little, neither like a mountaineer nor
a soldier, though he had been a militia captain and major. This was
Martin Teimer, who had come from Clagenfurt to talk over the rising
with his compatriots. He had been appointed by General Chastelar, chief
of the peasants of the Upper Innthal, and seemed rather inclined, his
two companions thought, to plume himself on it. These three men had
an eye to everything that was going on around them; and now and then
separated and mingled among the groups, speaking to men here and there,
till, in time, they had had a short private colloquy with every man on
the ground; returning to each other from time to time, and comparing
notes.

Meanwhile, the rifles were in full action: now circle one, now circle
two was hit, now the bull's eye; and even without looking round, it
was easy to tell by the cheerful, the triumphant, or the moderated
acclamations, what had been the rifleman's success.

Speckbacher, returning from one of these progresses, observed to
Hofer, "I don't much like that youth, Franz Raffel; he is shallow,
vain-glorious, and given to talk. He would be better among the châlets."

"Thither he shall go, if we can get him," said Hofer; "but he is
somewhat slippery to get hold of; half his time, he is skulking about,
smuggling brandy across the frontier; and as we want a good store of it
just now, I at present make him useful."

"Rudolf is worth a score of him," said Speckbacher; "and I think your
pretty Theresa thinks so too. I would not discourage that youngster,
Anderl, even if Martin Teimer were to come forward--"

"Of a surety, no," said Hofer, quietly. "The lad is a good lad. We
shall see what stuff he is made of this summer; and, if he quits
himself well, he shall have Theresa at the end of it. You and I were
little more than two-and-twenty when we took our brides to church; and
Theresa is already nearly as old as her mother was. But we have other
matters in hand just now. I see one or two together whom I want to
speak to, only Franz is within earshot of them. Do you draw him off."

Speckbacher immediately went up to him, and asked whether he could let
him have some brandy; and Hofer joined a couple of elderly men, who
were just sitting down side by side on a bench under a tree.

"There hasn't been such a match as this a good while," one was saying;
"but, dear me, what matches we used to have when I was a lad! I'm not
more than fifteen or twenty years older than that marksman who is
taking aim now, but I don't believe he'll hit the white. Crack! Well,
they're making a piece of work about it--I suppose he's hit the bull's
eye."

"Here comes one that can do more than that," said the other. "Anderl!
you have not shot, to-day."

"Boys' play," said Hofer with indifference.

"But you could show them what a man can do."

"Brag, neighbours? No good of brag. Besides, these lads shoot well,
many of them. There was some good shooting before you came."

"People always say that of everything," said the other. "I've no spirit
for these things now."

"Ah, things will befall shortly, that will put you in spirits."

"What mean you, Sandwirth? Is anything going to happen?"

Hofer nodded.

The two men put their heads close to his, and looked eager.

"We shall rise, soon."

"_Rise?_ What, the Tyrol?"

Another nod.

"Under whom?"

"Nobody in particular. All of us under God."

They lifted up their hands and eyes.

"But is it certain? How do you know?"

"Of some one that knows. Quite certain."

"_Himmel!_--Did you get us together to-day to tell us this?"

"Yes."

"'Tis time!" cried one of the men in an impassioned under-tone. "Why
should we be turned over from one master to another like a flock of
sheep? How did the King of Bavaria guarantee our ancient rights and
usages? With a piece of sheepskin. None of his promises have been
kept: our representative States have been suppressed, our public funds
seized, our Church property confiscated; and, as though this were not
enough, taxes have been imposed upon us. The Emperor is afraid of
France; but are _we_?"

"Not one of us, as we shall presently show them," said Hofer.
"Buonaparte is already in the field against our Emperor, but we
shall be quickly down upon him. Communications have been opened with
the Archduke John, who is immediately going to effect a powerful
diversion. Troops are about to march to our assistance."

"Why, neighbour, if you were to speak this out, every Tyrolese would
rise directly!"

"True; but the moment, though close at hand, is not quite come. In a
day or two, perhaps, you will receive a little billet inscribed '_'Tis
time_'--the whole country will be up directly!"

"Come, I'll try _my_ hand at the rifle this moment!" cried the old man,
throwing aside his stick, and hastening towards the crowd. He was known
and respected--they made way for him.

"Old Spickbart is going to try a shot!" cried Franz to Rudolf--"What
sport! I'll bet you a quart of brandy he don't hit the target at all!"

The good man's hand shook so that his ball only hit the outer circle.

"I'll try again," said he.

"Yes, do," said the Sandwirth kindly; and looking round him as he
spoke. There was not a smile, except on the face of Franz.

"You and I used often to shoot together," said Hofer. "Now then. Don't
be in a hurry."

This time Spickbart hit the bull's eye. He was much applauded, and
looked greatly elated.

"Ah, I thought I could!" said he, wagging his head. "The fault was only
in my hand; not in my eye.--Now, you, Hofer."

"No, no," said Hofer.

"Oh yes, Sandwirth! Please, Sandwirth!" cried many voices.

"You silly boys," said he, looking about for his own rifle; "what do
you want me to play with you for?"

A feather from some hat lay at his feet. He picked it up and gave it to
Rudolf.

"There, go and hold it up fifty paces beyond the target."

"Rather you than me," said Franz with a shrug, as Rudolf walked off.

"I'm not a bit afraid," said Rudolf.

He had no need to be. Crack went the rifle; puff went the feather.
There it lay, in two little fragments; Rudolf's finger and thumb unhurt.

"Well--that was the coolest thing!" ejaculated Franz, as the hills rang
with acclamations.

"Yes, he's cool enough, that lad; without any brag," said Hofer,
quietly putting down his piece.

"Franz was not thinking of _him_," said Speckbacher, grasping his
friend's hand.

"I _was_," said Hofer softly. "I've tested the boy."

Speckbacher gave him a quick look.

"He stood fire well."

"Yes, and expects no notice taken of it. Did it never occur to you that
William Tell's little son was as brave as William Tell?"

"Never till this minute! Do you hear that, Anderl?"

Speckbacher's little son pressed his hand, and then stroked it, looking
up in his father's face.

"I should not have minded having the apple set on my head for _you_ to
shoot at, father."

"Would not you, my little boy?" And Speckbacher's brown hand fondly
stroked the boy's brown curls.

The sun was now nearly set. Hofer, as the best shot, was carried round
the ground, with flags, songs, and garlands; and another target added
as a trophy to those on his already honoured walls. He and Speckbacher
had pretty well ascertained whom they could depend on; a few more
earnest words spoken, and they were all on their way to their homes.

Hofer re-entered the house, with his hand on Rudolf's shoulder.

"Here's a young fellow, now," said he cheerfully to his wife, "who had
faith that I would not blow his right hand to pieces, and disable him
for life, just out of brag."

"Of course you would not, Sandwirth," said Rudolf. "What good would it
have done you?"

"Ah, my boy, I might have attempted something I could not achieve!"

"You? No! you'll never do that."

"Well, I hope not. How well everything has gone off to-day! I am so
glad Spickbart hit the bull's eye."

"I am so glad you hit the feather," said his wife.

"Oh, there was nothing in that. Poor Spickbart is getting in years, and
a little shaky; but there's a man's true spirit in him yet."

"What a bustle and noise there has been; I'm glad it's over."

"So am I, Anna. But it has been a very important meeting."

"A few of the girls wanted to get up a dance; but I knew that would
never do."

"You were quite right. Let us dance when the day is won, not before."

"Art weary, man?"

"A little, dear. Open a fresh bottle of beer."

She did, and sat down close opposite to him, looking at him
affectionately with her large brown eyes.

Rudolf and Theresa were talking in low, lover-like tones, at the door,
under covert of the balustraded gallery. The young ones were at play.

Franz presently lounged in.

"I'm going now, Sandwirth," said he, approaching Hofer, whose hand was
locked in his wife's. "Any commands?"

"Only about the brandy."

"Oh, yes, we talked that over before. You shall have it."

"What impression has this day made on you, Franz?"

"Well--it's been very hot, for the time of year."

"I was not thinking of the weather. Have you had a pleasant afternoon's
sport?"

"Well, no--there was too much business mixed up with it. Sport is one
thing, and business another. Besides, I only hit the bull's eye twice,
and Rudolf hit it five times; whereas, the last time, you know--"

"Yes, I remember."

"So that, altogether, you see--No, it was a poor match, I call it.
Sport's sport, and business is business; isn't it, Sandwirth?"

"I can't gainsay that. Well, Franz, I'm afraid you don't look forward
with much pleasure to a busy campaign this summer."

"I hope to do my duty as well as other people," said Franz, looking
down. "What must be done, must. Of course, we shall none of us like it."

"Do you call that speaking like a bold, hearty young man? Why, you
ought to rouse up at the sound of the war trump!"

"Oh, yes, of course; so I do."--yawning.

"Thou'rt sleepy, lad," said Anna, rather contemptuously.

"No, I'm quite awake," said Franz.

"Now," said the Sandwirth, "there will be plenty of different kinds of
work to do this summer; so that all people's tastes may be suited.
There will be plenty of fighting; those who are active and stirring,
and fond of their country, will like that. There will be plenty of
message-carrying from one post to another; this will be attended with
occasional risk, and will require much activity and dexterity, and will
be equally honourable and useful with the other. There will be plenty
of hard labour, felling trees, rolling stones, making barricades,
carrying ammunition up precipitous heights; this will be as useful as
the others: plenty of night-watching; this will be fatiguing rather
than dangerous, and as useful as the others. Then, while so many are
away from their herds and their flocks, some will be absolutely needed
to look after the stock; and these will be as useful as the others.
Which of all these various posts will best suit your fancy?"

"Well, that requires consideration," said Franz, pulling a wooden stool
to the table, and sitting down opposite to Hofer. "Let me see. First,
there's fighting. You know, Sandwirth, that I've dealt so long in
foreign brandy, that I know a little what danger is--"

"Of course; and therefore--"

"And therefore, if I don't choose fighting, people can't say I'm
afraid. Can they, now?"

"Whether they can or no, is little to the purpose."

"Just so. Well, then; as to the message-carrying; that, as you say, is
useful, but dangerous; to which I may add vexatious."

"I don't know why it need be."

"Don't you? Why, I look upon it as one of the most plaguy,
uninteresting, abasing employments a fellow can undertake; and without
getting any credit by it."

"Let it pass, then. There are plenty whom it will suit very well."

"Oh yes! Well, then, let me see. What comes next? Oh, manual labour.
Felling trees, and so forth. Do you know, Sandwirth, my mother asked
me, last Christmas, to chop up a billet of wood for the fire, and I hit
myself such a blow on the left hand with the axe,--here, just at the
fleshy part of the thumb,--that I carry the mark of it, as you may see,
to this day. And my mother said it _might_ have brought on lock-jaw!"

"Did she, though?"

"Death in three days," said Franz solemnly. "These handicraft jobs,
you see, require practice. They amount almost to trades. Now, a trade
requires an apprenticeship; and I've never had one to a woodcutter: so
that, altogether, I might do myself more hurt than anybody else."

"Many people do."

"That's considered then. Well, what comes next? Night-watching. Oh,
yes, I would not at all mind taking my turn at that, though I'm a
dreadful one for falling asleep."

"A sleepy sentinel would not be of much use."

"No; only everybody must sleep sometimes; and they that work hardest
sleep soundest."

"Just so."

"As for carrying provisions up the hills, little chaps like your Johann
are equal to that, I think."

"I should hope so."

"--Which they are not with regard to looking after stock. That's a
man's business. As you said, it's just as useful and honourable as the
others--"

"I said useful, though not honourable,--"

"No, you didn't _say_ it, you know--I knew what you meant. And it isn't
every one that understands stock, or would be for taking the trouble of
it."

"No, indeed! You're quite right there."

"So that, as I _do_ understand it, and don't mind the trouble of
it,--why, to oblige _you_, I'll undertake it."

"Thank you heartily, Franz! You will indeed oblige me very much!"

"Come, that's cordial!" said Franz, as Hofer held out his hand to him.
"I'm quite glad I've decided as I have."

"So am I. I hoped you would get round to it, but did not know how to
propose it."

"Oh, I'll do it; and do it well. Bless you! you mightn't have had a
head of cattle left!"

"And then where should we be?"

"There's no knowing," said Franz, with a sapient shake of the head.
"Well, good night."

The voices at the door had been perfectly silent during this dialogue;
and Hofer had once or twice heard a stifled laugh.

Franz, however, pre-occupied, and quite self-satisfied with what he
considered a masterly piece of tactics, walked off.

"What a deal of trouble that young fellow has saved me, to be sure!"
muttered Hofer. Then, raising his voice, "Now, then, dear children,
come in and sing the vesper hymn."

CHAPTER IV.

WOLFSTHRUN.

Perched on a certain height not far from Sterzing, stands a certain old
castle, one of the many that crest the Tyrolese mountains, and which,
on investigation, too often disappoint the traveller by proving either
desolate ruins, or garrisoned to overflowing by Austrian soldiers. But
the castle in question was both habitable and inhabited; a good and
even luxurious breakfast was spread in the lofty hall, which combined
the adjuncts of modern civilization with the romantic architecture of
feudal times; and a fine-looking military man, perhaps turned fifty,
sat reading despatches, while his daughter, a young lady of eighteen,
poured out coffee for him and a young cavalry officer, who was already
attacking the potted game.

"This seems an admirable proclamation of the Archduke's," said the
Baron, at length throwing aside his papers and beginning his breakfast.
"You will soon have plenty to do, Gerhardi."

"I hope we may," said Colonel Gerhardi. "Our just and numerous
complaints will lie before the tribunal of the world. The Archduke
calls it a holy war, and so do I. So great a power as Napoleon
Buonaparte's cannot be opposed alone, and therefore all the nations
ought to make common cause against him."

"Ought and will are two things," said Baron Sternach drily. "I should
embark in this war with much more readiness than I do, if I saw our way
safely and victoriously out of it; but if, after a fruitless though
brilliant struggle, we are reduced to make inglorious conditions of
peace, it would have been better to leave the matter alone."

"Ah, papa, don't throw cold water on us!" cried Hildegarde. "Why should
not we be the liberators of Europe? As soon as the rising once takes
place, I know you will take part in it as warmly as any."

"Certainly; for the danger of the brave is always less than that of the
coward; even if duty and discipline have no influence. My only fear is
lest we rush hastily into an unconsidered struggle with a foe whose
power, hitherto, nothing has been able to withstand."

"The tables will turn on him, some day, sir, you'll see," said Colonel
Gerhardi.

"I hope I may see it. All we have to do, just now, is to obey our
superior in command; and he gives the word to advance. Did you ever
chance to see Hofer?"

"Yes, Baron; I have seen him twice. He was one of the peasant deputies
to the States once, I think? A plain, homely, honest-hearted fellow,
seemingly. We didn't think much of him."

"Not as much, perhaps, as he deserved. I saw him in the year 1805,
when he was chosen from his native valley as deputy to the Archduke
John; which showed that the Tyrolese already looked upon him with
considerable confidence, though he could not have been much turned of
thirty. And he was summoned again by the Archduke, you know, to Vienna,
this January, which shows that he saw some ground of reliance in him."

"As a matter-of-fact witness, I should suppose, Baron. He would tell
the Archduke exactly what was the state of popular feeling, and how
many fighting men could be depended on, without the least hesitation
or exaggeration. I conclude him to be a man of strict truth; who would
neither speak disparagingly of a rival, nor praise him insincerely to
curry favour. This struck me with regard to what he said of Martin
Teimer. Hormayr put it to him closely: was Teimer a reliable man, or
was he not? Hofer spoke very briefly of him; he would not dispraise
him, even by an inuendo: neither would he say more in his praise than
he felt. Baron Hormayr noticed this to us afterwards, as if Hofer were
jealous of him; but I did not think him so. I thought he spoke the
simple truth."

"And few there be that speak it," said the Baron. "Well, we shall soon
see what is in them both. Hormayr is a sensible, gentlemanlike man, and
good officer."

"A little wanting in ardour, don't you think, Baron?"

"Pooh, pooh, you young fellows have too much. You think to carry things
by a _coup-de-main_."

"That's what Buonaparte did, sir, many times in Italy. We were
continually too slow for him."

"Well, well, we shall not be, now. We begin to-morrow; and that is near
enough at hand even for _you_, I should think."

"You are not afraid of leaving my cousin here, Baron?"

"Why should I be? Women and children will be respected. I mean her and
her aunt to be very useful to us; for I expect that this empty old
castle will be filled with wounded men, and Hildegarde must tend them
like the heroines of old song."

"Ah, that I gladly will," cried Hildegarde. "As soon as you and
Adolph ride off, I shall summon the servants, tell them what is to
be expected, and superintend their immediate preparations for the
reception of the sick."

"The strong-rooms and dungeons must be looked to also," said the Baron;
"for we may expect many prisoners."

"Ah, papa! don't put any of them down into those dark holes full of
newts and toads, only fit for the barbarous times!"

"Certainly not; but we must provide for their security, nevertheless,
or they may seize the castle and put _you_ into one of the dark holes,
instead."

"Ugh!--I am sure I should not live through the night! My hair would
turn quite white. Why, Adolph, you have no idea what terrible stories
are told of those dungeons--"

"Old wives' tales--"

"_True_ tales. Bones have been found. Human hair sticking to the wall.
Stains of blood!--"

"Well, well, we are not going to repeat those things. You may pet your
prisoners as much as you like, so long as you do not let them run away,
nor run away with them."

"With _one_ of them, papa, I suppose you meant to say. Well, I accept
your _carte-blanche_; but you must leave me the cellar-key."

"To treat the captive knight like the fair, Saracen?"

"Sick men require wine, papa. And I must have beef and mutton, and
bread and beer, in unlimited quantities, for those who are well."

"Nay, Hildegarde, as my fortune is not unlimited, I see it will be
to my interest to effect a very speedy exchange of prisoners--if the
enemy have the good luck to make any. But here are we reckoning on the
captured and wounded before the battle is fought!"

And, hastily despatching his breakfast, the Baron collected his papers
together, and went away to give various orders.

"I hope the campaign will be a short and a brilliant one," said
Hildegarde anxiously. "I shall so long for papa to return."

"My mother will soon join you," said Adolph. "But if you are in the
least fear--"

"Oh no! All my fears are for him; I have none for myself. There is
nothing I shall more gladly do than help to nurse the poor men who
have been wounded in fighting for our liberties. Terrible gashes and
amputations, indeed, I do not feel quite equal to. If we could get a
medical man to remain in the castle,--"

"Why should not you? Some of the Capuchins are very clever. Father
Joachim Haspinger has been an army chaplain, and is preparing for
service again. He is as good, I am told, at setting a limb as at
breaking a head. His reputation and influence among the peasantry are
immense. What a pleasant day that was, Hildegarde, when we visited the
Capuchin convent at Brixen!"

"Yes; and, do you know, we had another very pleasant excursion in the
Passeyrthal after you had rejoined your regiment. A storm came on, and
we took refuge in Hofer's Inn, _am Sand_. We did not see him; but his
wife and pretty daughter were very attentive to us.--Ah! the horses
are coming round," said Hildegarde, interrupting herself; and her eyes
filled with tears as her father returned to take leave of her; but she
brushed them away, and kissed him with a smile. She accompanied them to
the gate.

CHAPTER V.

"'TIS TIME."

Ding-dong, ding-dong! Clang!--go the little and great church bells.
Bang! go the cannon; crack, crack! the rifles. The Tyrol is up!

The night of the eighth of April was dark and gloomy. General Chastelar
and Baron Hormayr passed it in riding through the Austrian troops to
give the necessary orders for the intended movement, and to see that
everything was in a state of preparation. The stillness which reigned
around was only broken by the measured tramp of many feet, the hollow
rattle of artillery, the lumbering of ammunition-wagons, and now and
then a clear-toned voice issuing a brief order.

Hofer and Martin Teimer, during this wakeful night, were busy in the
Sandwirth's kitchen, drawing up a general order to this effect:--

"On the 11th of April General Chastelar will arrive at Innsbruck, and
General Hiler at Brixen.

"The Archduke John directs the men of Pusterthal to occupy the pass
of Mulbach, and the Rittnern that of the Kuntersweg, that we may be
possessed of the strongest position before the Bavarians are alarmed,
and attempt to fly from Brixen to Botzen.

"Kolbe, by order of the Archduke, is to command at Kuntersweg, take
charge of prisoners, and protect the persons and papers of those
Bavarian officers who have been distinguished for their inveteracy
against the Austrian government and the Tyrol from all injury and
ill-treatment; but on no pretence to allow them to proceed from Ritten
to Botzen. At Kaltern Joseph Morandel is chosen commander by the
Archduke, and has received orders what to do. Count Arzt commands at
Nonsburg, and Baron Hormayr is Commissary-General.

"Given at Sand, in Passeyr, on the 9th of April, 1809.

                                            "MARTIN TEIMER,
                                            "ANDREW HOFER, _Publican_."

While it was yet dark, Teimer was hastening over the mountains to
Oberinthal, to join the Austrians; and Hofer to the muster-ground
of the men of Passeyr, appointed on the shooting-match day. With
dawning light, the eagerly-watching peasants, lower down the rivers,
saw sawdust floating on the surface of the Passeyr and the Inn, and
understood the signal; while, among the hills and mountains, billets,
inscribed "'Tis time!" flew from hand to hand, from house to house,
like the fiery cross: and men hastily caught up their rifles, buckled
on their shot-belts, and poured forth.

At three o'clock in the morning the Austrian advanced guard was in
motion. Chastelar and Hormayr harangued their troops, inciting them to
ardour; and before the march had lasted a couple of hours, the thunder
of distant guns and the tumultuous din of alarm-bells resounded through
the valleys. Innumerable fires were discovered on the heights; and as
Chastelar's division advanced up the Drauthal, thousands of men, women,
and children came forth to meet it, waving green boughs, and pressing
forwards to kiss the hands and even the feet of their deliverers. The
force consisted, in all, of sixteen battalions of foot, and three
squadrons of horse.

Meanwhile, Hofer, at the head of five thousand strong, was crossing the
Jauffen, to intercept the enemy between Brixen and the Brenner.

On reaching the muster-ground, a succession of short, abrupt, hearty
cheers had greeted him. He said little more than "Are we all ready,
brothers? Then no time is to be lost;" but his look was as gay as a
bridegroom's, and they started forth like guests hurrying to a wedding.

Passing the little village of St. Leonard, they struck up to the old
Castle of Jauffen; and then began to climb a steep and stony path
resembling the dry bed of a torrent, being strewn with boulders; shaded
here and there with walnuts and budding elders. Presently the path ran
along a precipitous slope, high above the valley, and occasionally
crossing chasms on most insecure-looking bridges of poles, carelessly
laid across, that required Tyrolean nerves to tread in confidence.
These men thought nothing whatever about it, unless the idea occurred
how easily they could pull the loose poles after them if the enemy were
behind.

The last village on their ascent was Walten. Up to this point they had
chatted and occasionally sung a verse or two of some patriotic song;
but now they must husband their breath; there would not be another rood
of level ground. Now pastures, now fir-woods, here and there a lonely
cottage, but still ascending. They get beyond the straggling pines, to
bare, thin turf, with the rock frequently forcing itself through it.
Here and there are cool, bubbling springs, at which many slake their
thirst.

Poles, to guide the winter traveller, are next reached; then, a tall
cross, in passing which each man reverently crosses himself. And now
they are on the topmost ridge.

They look around from their seven thousand feet elevation with a
feeling of satisfaction. This is not the Jauffen, but above it; the
amphitheatre of rocky peaks around and below them, and the wild
glaciers of the Oetzthal and Stubagerthal, are familiar to them all;
yet not so much so as to have lost their power of impressing the
imagination. They stand a few minutes, silent and serious, in the felt
presence of the God who made the mountains. The Tyrolese are deeply
religious: the scenes around them continually bring them into communion
with the God of nature; and the perils by which they are environed, as
constantly remind them of their dependence on the God of redemption.

Onward again they go, down to a turfy little level where Hofer bids
them halt. It is now nearly noon; each man has brought a rye-cake or
two; they make their frugal meal, and drink water from the spring.
Hofer has a bottle of beer, which he shares as far as it will go.

After this temperate repast, the five thousand resume their march.
Among the firs once more; then another rude cross; then a little
oratory in the rock, with a carved and painted representation of the
Saviour on the crucifix in a railed recess, with seats and kneeling
benches in front. Still downwards leads their path, towards Sterzinger
Moss, between banks covered with wild strawberry blossoms.

Hereabouts they fell in with several peasants from the neighbourhood of
Mauls and Mittelwald, who seemed in great excitement. Hofer immediately
stepped on to meet them. "What is going forward, brothers?" cried he.

"Much," replied one of them eagerly. "A French column has taken
possession of the bridge of Laditch, and the Bavarians have seized the
bridge of St. Lorenzen. Both are being furiously contested for, and it
would be well if we could get up with them in time to be of assistance
to our men at either place; but here is another detachment of Bavarians
close upon us."

"Never mind; we'll beat them first, and help the others afterwards."

"Are you Hofer's men?"

"Yes; that is, I am Hofer. We are all brethren. Where are the
Bavarians?"

"In the Valley of the Eisach. They are this side Sterzing already."

"All the better! Never fear!"

"Fear! Certainly not--even our women and girls are not afraid. See,
they are driving our hay-wagons, and singing and shouting as they come.
We could not wait for them, but they will soon be up with us; and the
wagons will afford us excellent cover, with the advantage of height,
for firing on the enemy; besides being moveable barricades."

"Capital! He was a clever fellow who thought of it."

"A woman thought of it--my daughter Margaret!"

"Excellent!--Well, we have no time to lose."

"No, we shall see them directly. They are under Colonel Dittfurt, who
wants to join General Kinkel."

"He shall not, if we can help it.--Brothers! there is little to say.
These two forces must be prevented from meeting. One of them is close
upon us. Prepare for immediate action."

"They're coming!" screamed a woman, standing up on the top of a wagon,
piled high with hay; and her little boy immediately hitting the horses
nearest him with a stick, they pulled forward with a jerk which overset
the woman on the hay, and made some hundreds of men laugh. It has a
curious effect when a multitude of voices utter a "He-he-he!"

Hofer saw at once where to dispose the wagons in the defile; not an
unnecessary direction was given, for he was ever a man of few words;
often a look, a gesture sufficed; and the Tyrolese obeyed him as the
Roman legion obeyed Cæsar in Britain--"_at a word, and at the moment_."

Soon, those who were in the rear heard the crack of rifles in front.
It would seem as though the Bavarians were taken by surprise; for
at first they fell back, returning only a few scattered shot; but
presently they recovered themselves and began a continuous fire of
musketry. As the defile, however, would only permit a small body of
them to enter it, their superiority of numbers was of no advantage to
them in a _coup-de-main_, and only availed in filling up the ranks of
those who were constantly shot down. Four-fifths of their bullets were
wasted on rocks, trees, and brushwood; while their ambuscaded foes,
entrenched behind trusses of hay, tree-stumps, and heaps of stones,
securely picked them off and hardly threw away a shot.

Margaret, quick-witted lass, danced and capered at the top of her
father's wagon, crying and almost screaming, "Never mind the Bavarian
smoke-pellets!"

Towards evening, a strong detachment of French afforded a diversion
in favour of the Bavarians, and assailed the Tyrolese from the other
end of the defile by an incessant fire, for some time without effect.
At length, overpowered by numbers, they were beginning to give way,
when at this critical moment Colonel Gerhardi, the "Adolph" who had
breakfasted at Wolfsthrun, appeared on the heights with between two and
three hundred light horse, and immediately charged the enemy, shouting
loudly. In a few minutes the firing of the French and Bavarians
ceased; the Tyrolese uttered exclamations of joy and thankfulness, some
fell on their knees to bless Heaven, while others cheered on their
allies.

The Bavarians retreated towards Sterzing, with considerable loss of
killed, wounded, and prisoners; while the French division fled in the
opposite direction. Hofer and his men spent the night on the heights;
and with dawning day were again attacked by the Bavarians, who rallied
on Sterzinger Moss; but the Tyrolese sharpshooters, sheltered by the
rocks, made dreadful havoc amongst them, and the artillerymen were
several times shot away from their guns.

At length, the Tyrolese made a desperate charge, armed with spears,
pitchforks, scythes, axes, and any implements they could muster; while
others on the verge of the heights, hurled down masses of rock on their
opponents. After some hours, the Bavarians gave way; and having lost
several of their best officers and above two hundred and forty men
killed and wounded, threw down their arms and surrendered.

The old castle of Wolfsthrun had been prepared, as well as
circumstances permitted, for the reception of wounded men and
prisoners, by Hildegarde Von Sternach; and she was not a little glad
that Adolph's mother had already joined her, when a messenger from him
informed her that five hundred and eighty prisoners were being brought
up to the castle.

Hofer and his companions, like hungry men as they were, were meantime
devouring their remnant of rye-cakes with abundance of Spartan sauce,
and slaking their thirst at the springs. At this moment, Rudolf came
panting up to Hofer, whom he had found with no small difficulty.

"Sandwirth!" exclaimed he, "what a night you must have had! So have
we, but we kept possession of the bridges; and General Chastelar
opportunely came up to us just as the French received reinforcements
from Mantua. You bade me let you know how things were going, or I would
not have left, for the men of Innthal were about to attack them in
front, while the men of Whippthal fell on them from the rear."

Another Tyrolese here came up, and said, "I've been looking out along
the Sterzing road, Sandwirth, and met a man who told me that a strong
force of Bavarians is trying to reach Innsbruck, under General Wrede;
but the peasants swarm the rocks and impede their march, having broken
the bridges, and blocked up the roads with felled trees. I am sorry to
add, that the Bavarians, being much exasperated, are committing every
sort of excess."

"No doubt of their being exasperated, brother," said Hofer. "May be,
we should feel so in their place; but since we see how ugly it is in
them, do not let us, who have not the same excuse, be tempted to the
smallest pillage, cruelty, or violence; otherwise God will cease to
bless us."

How fared it, meanwhile, with Speckbacher? He was sharpening a coulter
outside the stable of his little cottage at Rinn, which stands amidst
a clump of larch and beech-trees; when Maria his wife smilingly came
up to him to show him that his youngest infant had just cut its first
tooth, and to ask him if it did not remind him of a pearl upon a
rose-leaf. Just then, his rustic servant Zoppel put a little slip of
wood into his hand, bearing the inscription roughly endorsed, "'Tis
time!"

Down went the coulter; he kissed wife and infant, and hurried into
the house, followed, wherever he went, by his little son Anderl, who
wistfully eyed him as he took up his rifle.

The last word having been spoken cheerily, Speckbacher sped on his way,
watched only for a minute by Maria, who felt a tear glistening in her
eye and did not wish him to see it. So she re-entered the house.

Meanwhile, the little boy ran after him.

"Father! let me go too!"

"You? you little rogue! No, no, not this time. You must stay at home
and take care of your mother."

"But she doesn't want taking care of, father!--Besides, there's
Zoppel.--Do let me go!"

"When you are a bigger boy, you shall, I promise you."

"Perhaps there will be no fighting _then_."

"All the better."

"Please let me go, father!"

"What good could a little chap like you do?"

"Take care of you, father!"

"Ha, ha! Capital! I hope to take care of myself, dear boy."

"But, father, you want me to be brave, like you, when I come to be a
man. How can I be, unless I look on, and see what brave men do?"

Speckbacher felt his throat swell. He turned about, took the boy in his
arms, lifted him up from the ground, and kissed him several times.

"There," said he. "Go home now, like a good boy. Another time."

There was a tear on the little boy's cheek as he stood watching the
retreating figure--a tear that had not fallen from his own eyes. He
brushed it off--looked at it--and then trotted away into the brushwood;
from whence, as he kept running along, he could get glimpses of his
father, himself unseen. Once he saw Speckbacher pause and look back;
perhaps to see if his little boy had obeyed him and gone home. After
that, he never looked back again; he pressed forward to the things
that were before him.

The young boy still went on; his short, quick steps keeping pretty
well up with his father's strides. Children that walk much with their
parents generally step out well. Now and then he had to force his
way among the bushes, or go a little way round; for which he made up
afterwards by running. He had no settled purpose, except just to keep
his father a little longer in sight.

At length he grew tired and thought he must give up. Just then a man
joined Speckbacher and stopped him to speak to him, pointing towards
Halle. Anderl sat down and had a long rest. When Speckbacher went on
again, the little boy felt refreshed, and was able to follow him with
ease. Presently some men came running down the hills by various paths,
and joined Speckbacher. They all walked on very fast. Afterwards they
reached a vast body of men, who shouted when they saw Speckbacher till
the hills rang again. When he came up to them they had a long parley,
frequently pointing towards Volders and Halle; and they finished by all
walking off together in that direction, with Speckbacher at their head.

The little boy now thought he could not turn back; it was too exciting
to be resisted; and, as he had now had a second good rest, he trotted
on again, keeping up with them as a little dog does with a spirited
horse.

By and by the men halted. They sat down on the grass near a spring, and
pulled out some rye-cakes and began to eat. This was their supper. The
sun was going down, and they did not want to fall on the Bavarians, in
Volders, till dark. Anderl did not know this. He was surprised, and
a little afraid, to find himself alone, so far from home, when night
was drawing on; but he never thought of leaving his father. To look
on and see some thousand men eating while he was fasting, was rather
tantalizing; however, he did so very patiently; and when, after a long
rest, they renewed their march, he saw one, who had been talking in
preference to eating, leave a rye-cake behind him. As soon as they were
sufficiently in advance, Anderl ran down and seized the cake, pursuing
his way while he ate it.

The men were now getting among the trees, overhanging a road, and
moving stealthily so as not to be easily seen. Anderl was startled by
a church-clock striking quite near him; and could imperfectly make out
white buildings here and there, a river, and a bridge. Presently a
discharge of fire-arms was heard in advance. Some horsemen dashed along
the road, and were shot down. Others dashed after them, and shared the
same fate. Others again and again filled up the road, maintaining a
fire that would have been destructive had it not, as little Anderl
observed, been expended on bushes and trees. Presently a bullet nearly
hit him; only, _as it did not_, he picked it up and put it in his
pocket. At last he had collected quite a little heap, regardless of the
shot that whistled round him.

By and by he observed that his father, towards whom he had crept with
the instinct of affection, ceased firing, though the enemy was not yet
silenced. What could be the reason? It struck him that he must have
expended all his bullets; which, indeed, was the case. So he ran up
to him with his handkerchief, which was now quite full of them, and
plucked him by the sleeve, saying, "Father, here are some more to go on
with."

It would have been worth a world to you to see Speckbacher's start!

"_You_ here?" said he, in amaze.

"Yes, father; I could not bear to lose sight of you, so I kept running
on till the firing began; and then, when I saw how the Bavarians wasted
their bullets, I picked up as many as I could. If you'll use these,
father, I'll soon bring you some more."

Speckbacher could not speak. He caught him to his heart, gave him a
hug, held him there a moment, and then set him down.

"Off with you into cover, you young rogue," said he; "never mind any
more bullets."

And, handing a few of them to a comrade who stood close by, he
said, with a choke in his voice, "These will hit the mark, surely,
considering how they have been brought!"

That night Speckbacher and his companions drove the Bavarians out of
Volders. At daybreak they were at the gates of Halle.

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.

CHAPTER VII.

INNSBRUCK.

Picture to yourself an old cathedral-town in the midst of a valley
about three miles across, hemmed in by magnificent mountains six to
eight thousand feet high, from whose summits the wolves are said to
look down into the very streets. The city stands on a deep, impetuous
river--the Inn; and hence its name, Innsbruck, or Inn's Bridge.

This city is but of moderate extent; but few towns of its size contain,
in the modern part, better and handsomer buildings; and its suburbs are
remarkable for cleanliness and elegance. The old part of the city is
picturesque enough: there you may see tumble-down old houses nodding
with age, having rickety outside staircases leading to old, rickety
wooden galleries or balconies; crumbling walls kept together with
old timbers nailed outside in various quaint fashions; upper floors
overhanging lower ones, and supported with rows of carved brackets, or
by poles imbedded in the pavement below; antique gables, fantastically
decorated, with grotesque heads on the spouts between them.

Many of these antiquated streets have low arcades, which afford capital
shelter to women who sell fruit, cakes, cheeses, sausages, and get
through a great deal of gossip. The shops are homely and primitive,
with very few outward allurements to attract customers. They are mostly
in the "general" line, and deal indifferently in groceries, medicines,
straw-hats, coarse thread, ready-made garments, and old rags and
bottles.

In these dwellings a great many generations have been born and brought
up; have eaten, drunk, slept, talked over the news of the day, thought
the world was coming to an end because of some matter which the next
generation thought infinitely unimportant and succeeding generations
have forgotten altogether;--marketed, made good bargains, bad bargains,
grown poor, grown well-to-do in the world, fallen sick, got well again,
gone to weddings and funerals, gone to church at six o'clock in the
morning, made friends, made enemies, been disappointed in friends,
lived down the slanders of enemies, found life a very hard battle,
sometimes won it, sometimes not, resolved never to be deceived again,
or to do a wrong or foolish thing any more, found that cheerfulness
is a salve for many reverses, and contentment a great set-off against
straitened means, remembered how much better everything was in their
young days, grown old before they were aware of it, ailed a little,
dropped aside and out of sight, except of the priest, doctor, and one
or two old friends,--in short, been, and done, and felt, and enjoyed,
and suffered, just like the rest of the world.

If the spiders could talk, doubtless they would be able to tell you
many interesting stories of these people; for the human heart is the
same all over the world, but its experiences are infinitely various; as
various as human faces.

At the court-end are the triumphal arch built by Maria Theresa; the
Neustadt, a fine wide street, with a fountain in the centre; the
town-hall, the theatre, and the spacious palace assigned as the
residence of the governor of the Tyrol. These buildings are surrounded
by public pleasure-grounds, well planted, and extending to the fine
chestnut avenue on the banks of the river, which is a favourite resort
of the townspeople in fine weather.

The market-place, too, is very gay. There you may see old women in red
jackets and witch-like hats, squatted behind a small spread of eggs,
butter, salad, onions, lettuces, &c.: young girls, in tight-laced
purple bodices, and short, full, snow-white sleeves, arranging baskets
of peaches and apricots; children, with brown, ruddy faces, offering
for sale large nosegays of rhododendrons, harebells, cowslips,
anemones, lilies-of-the-valley, honeysuckles; or little heaps of small
bright scarlet strawberries; men, unloading ox-wains of fire-wood, or
shouldering little sacks of corn, steering their way amid piles of
coarse earthenware, spread on the ground.

But the chief glory of Innsbruck is its churches; especially its
_Hofkirch_, or Cathedral, the wonders of which are hardly to be
sufficiently explored in a single day. Here is the famous tomb of the
Emperor Maximilian the First, who died in 1519: and who is represented
at the top of the tomb, kneeling, with his face towards the altar.
Round the sides of this tomb, which is about six feet high and thirteen
feet in length, are a wonderful series of what have been poetically
called "pictures in marble"--exquisite carvings, that is, in Carrara
marble, of various events in the Emperor's life. Guarding this tomb,
as it were, in stern and solemn array, are eight-and-twenty colossal
bronze statues of famous princes, warriors, and chieftains; including
our own king Arthur. "When the gloom of evening," says Inglis, "begins
to fall among these dark-visaged and gigantic kings and knights, the
effect is almost terrific."

Round and about this wondrous tomb, with looks of simple surprise
and admiration, strayed many of Hofer's rustic companions on the
famous 11th of April, as well as Hofer himself. When his heart
heaved within him as he gazed on the effigies of those mighty men
of renown, he little thought that, in times to come, times not far
distant, travellers from distant lands would flock to that old
church, to see--not the eight-and-twenty champions, nor the kneeling
emperor,--but, the presentment of a humble, heroic Tyrolese peasant,
with face upturned to Heaven, one hand grasping the national banner,
the other holding the barrel of the rifle slung from his shoulder. "We
know what we are," said poor Ophelia, "but we know not what we shall
be."

Even in the gladness of that day, there was a heaviness at his heart.
His companions were shouting, singing, and waving their feathered hats
round the Imperial eagle as they carried it through the streets--_he_
was standing, lonely, in the church; kneeling; praying.

It was not a long prayer, but a hearty one; a prayer such as God loves.
"O God! I thank Thee for this day's success, but I know not whither it
will lead. Oh, guide us, guide us, for Thy goodness' sake, O Lord, in
Christ Jesus!"

It _was_ a success. Eight thousand French and Bavarians had laid down
their arms, and surrendered at discretion, with their eagles, colours,
and munitions of war; while only twenty-six Tyrolese had been killed,
and forty-two wounded. Hofer personally knew some of the twenty-six,
however, and felt a manly sorrow for them: _only_ twenty-six dead men
may leave behind them a good many sad hearts.

The enemy's cavalry took to flight, but were stopped and made prisoners
by Speckbacher, in the meadows near Halle.

Meanwhile, our friends in the green jackets, who were perambulating
the streets of Innsbruck, assembled themselves together in front of
the Palace, and amused themselves by shooting down the Bavarian lion
from over the entrance; after which their patriotic souls were vexed by
seeing the hated blue and white stripes of Bavaria decorating sundry
buildings; whence a great cry for paint-pots arose, and they ransacked
the oilmen's shops for all their stores of black and yellow paint, and
with hog's hair brushes and ladders, set themselves diligently to work
to efface the enemy's emblems and substitute the Imperial colours.

Some others of these merry hearts thought nothing wanting but a little
good music; and, as all the instruments they were able to muster
among themselves, proved to be two fifes, two fiddles, two rusty iron
pot-lids, and a few Jews'-harps, they did not scruple to impress the
Bavarian band into their service, and make them patrol the city playing
triumphal tunes in honour of their own defeat.

There were likewise certain native ballad-singers of the itinerant
order, who turned a good many pence, that is to say kreutzers, this
day, by vocalizing on their own account, at tavern-doors and in public
places, to the great delight of the Tyrolese, who sat on benches and on
door-steps, listening to them while they quaffed hot coffee in thick
ale-glasses, or tasted for the first, and perhaps last time in their
lives, iced rum and water.

Others of them were not too tired to get up a game of bowls in the
market-place, which excited immense merriment among themselves,
and crowds of townspeople at the windows, with whom they talked as
comfortably as if they had known them a hundred years. Just as they had
had enough of it, Punch very opportunely made his appearance, and kept
them amused till it was dark. Then they lay down on the ground, in and
about the town, and slept soundly all night.

Hofer thought he should like to see a play. So, to the theatre he went,
where, on asking what there was to pay, the money-taker with a bow
replied, "Nothing." So he walked into the boxes, and picked out the
very best place; where his remarkable dress and person drew on him the
attention of every one in the house.

But if they thought a good deal of him, he was very little aware of
it; for there were a great many things to employ his attention. In
the first place, there seemed to him a great waste of wax lights;
half the number would have been quite sufficient. In the second
place, the ladies' dresses appeared to him a great deal too low, too
short, and too scanty: he hardly liked to look at them, and was very
glad to see no other Tyrolese in the house. In the third place, the
orchestral music, when it struck up, quite took him by surprise: he had
a sensitive though untutored ear, and a tender heart; its dying falls
and gradual swells, its minors, its concords, its plaintive and its
impassioned strains, nearly overpowered him.

Luckily, the curtain drew up, the music ceased, and the play began.
Hofer could not understand much of it. But, on the whole, he thought
it funny, and concluded it clever,--and did not know whether he should
ever care to go to a play again.

"They seem to make very light of swearing," thought he; "I have
frequently heard them take God's holy name in vain. Some of their
dresses, also, are immodest, and as for their music, it makes a man's
heart like cream-cheese. The story, too, by what I can make out of
their acting, is of two young persons who deceive their parents very
much, tell many lies, and think only of their own selfish wishes; yet
they are rewarded and applauded at the last, while the old people are
laughed at for having been ill-used. So that, altogether, I am glad to
see none of our dear Tyrolese here to-night, for it would soften and
demoralize them."

With these reflections, the thoughtful father of a family quitted his
seat at the end of the performance, and stood about in the lobby,
looking rather bewildered and uncertain which was his way out; while
many smart townspeople of the upper classes looked at him with
curiosity and interest as they passed. Our English readers may wonder
that, after such a day of stern realities, people could be found with
minds sufficiently disengaged to enter a theatre;--but our continental
neighbours are as fond of their play as--what shall we say?--an
Englishman of his dinner. Both parties _can_ go without it, if there be
some stringent necessity; but never from inclination.

Hofer was not quite so new to Innsbruck as the generality of his
comrades. He had never passed a night there, indeed, but he had
occasionally, though rarely, gone thither on business connected with
his trade, which had brought him into some slight acquaintance with a
brother innkeeper, by name Michael Stumff, whose sign was the "Goldener
Adler."

As Hofer stood in the lobby of the theatre, spoken to by none, though
gazed on by many, a pretty looking young woman, with a respectably
dressed young man for her companion, came up and accosted him.

"So you have come to see our theatre, Sandwirth," said she, frankly.
"Do you not know who I am? I am Alouise Stumff, Michael Stumff's
daughter."

"Ah, Alouise! I did not know you at first," said Hofer, looking
pleased, and holding out his brown hand to her rather red one.

"Are you going to spend the night in Innsbruck, Sandwirth?" said
Alouise, who addressed him with perfect ease and a little affability,
as if it were kind of her to take notice of him. "My father will be
very glad if you will take a bed at his house."

"That will suit me well," said Hofer, in his plain, homely manner. "I
was considering where to bestow myself. So I will go home with you, if
it please you, Alouise."

"Come along, then," said Alouise briskly. "This young man is a
neighbour's son, Sandwirth, Leopold Mayer; we are very old friends."

When they reached the "Goldener Adler," Michael Stumff was surprised
and rather pleased to see his old acquaintance.

"Why, Sandwirth, this is an unexpected honour," said he. "You are
kindly welcome."

"Praised be Jesus Christ," said Hofer, reverently using the greeting
customary among the Tyrolese; but, perceiving that the other did not
respond "for ever and ever, Amen," he after a pause, continued:

"Unexpected enough, it may be, Michael Stumff; but an honour I cannot
think it. However, I am glad you say I am kindly welcome."

"How can you be otherwise," said Stumff, "when you have performed such
a glorious work this day, leading the men of Passeyr on to victory?"

"Oh no, oh no," said Hofer, "there was no leading in the case. We were
all just as equal as so many sheep. God was our shepherd."

"The Bavarians were more like sheep, to my thinking," said Stumff, with
a jovial laugh. "They _did_ run, to be sure!"

"Better for both parties that they should save us the necessity of
shooting them," said Hofer. "However, I don't expect we've seen the
last of them."

"I was just going to ask you, Sandwirth--(let us have supper,
Alouise)--Surely you don't think them put down with one day's drubbing?"

"Surely, no," said Hofer; "I look to see them again in a day or two,
or at furthest, by the end of the week, and then with God's blessing,
we'll drub them again."

"And shall you all keep together here, in Innsbruck, till then?"

"We cannot. This is a busy time with us in the field; we must plough
and sow."

"But, directly your backs are turned the enemy will come back! Besides,
what are you going to do with all your prisoners?"

"I'll think of it on my pillow," said Hofer. "Now, supper."

For he was true to the saying his wife quoted of him. "One thing at a
time will last the longer." And besides, the Wirth of the "Goldener
Adler" was not Speckbacher; and he had no mind to tell him all his
plans before he had digested them.

"Well, and so you've been to the play," said Stumff, slicing away at a
ham, and hospitably loading Hofer's plate. "How did you like it?"

"Some things I liked; others I liked not."

"What did you like?"

"The house was beautiful as a dream--but where was the good of it?
Directly the play is over all melts away, like a day's frost!"

"_All?_ what?"

"Why,--the impression."

"Oh! well, but we can renew the impression every night; and we do not
want it all day."

"Truly no," said Hofer. "And I doubt its being good to renew it every
night."

"Why?"

"Too softening and enervating."

Stumff laughed a jolly laugh.

"Did not you like the music, Sandwirth?" cried Alouise.

"Too much," said he, sighing. "It made my heart ready to burst."

"The dancing, then?"

"Not at all."

Alouise smiled. "Oh!" said she, "you are getting too grave and steady,
at your time of life; but you would have liked it when you were young."

"Perhaps I should--perhaps I should not; but that would not have made
it good or bad."

"Then, the ladies' dresses, Sandwirth?"

"Ah!" with a grimace.

Stumff laughed. "What of them?" said he.

"Too little dress--too much exposure."

"Why, there's no satisfying you, Sandwirth."

"Oh, yes," said he, smiling. "One play has satisfied me--I don't want
to go again."

"Your daughter would like it," said Alouise, decisively.

"I should not wish to give her a taste for such things," said Hofer.
"She is perfectly content as she is."

"And that's more than I can say of _my_ girl sometimes," said Stumff,
with a smile and a shrug, as Alouise left them for a few minutes.

"I wonder," said Hofer, after a short silence, "that you let _her_ go
to the theatre."

"I should be considered quite a bear, not only by her, but by all
Innsbruck, if I denied her," said Stumff. "No, no, Sandwirth,--we
town-folks are not quite the same with you village-folks,--it does our
girls no hurt, I believe--or, if it does, we can't help it. And now,
as you seem tired, I'll show you your bed. What! you must take your
dearly-beloved rifle along with you, hey? Ha, ha!"

CHAPTER VIII.

STILL SUCCESSFUL.

When Michael Stumff came down to breakfast the next morning, he looked
round for his guest in vain.

"Where's the Sandwirth?" said he to Alouise.

"Half way to the Brenner, I suppose," said Alouise. "Why, father, you
must have slept heavily, if you did not hear the uproar this morning!
The alarm-bells began to ring before it was light, and a dozen country
fellows came running down the street, bawling 'Sandwirth! Sandwirth!'
Open flew the Sandwirth's window; he gives a _jödel_[1] that might be
heard a mile off, which makes them stop short. 'Here I am, my boys,'
cries he, 'what's the matter?' The next moment they were all under
his window. 'Speckbacher took Halle yesterday!' cries one. 'Hurra!'
cries Hofer. 'But the French and Bavarians are coming down upon us
from the Brenner,' cries another. 'Aha! then we'll go to meet them,'
cries Hofer; 'I'll be with you this minute.' And his door flew open.
I just popped my head out of mine, and said, 'Sandwirth, I'll be down
directly, if you will wait for some breakfast.' 'No time, thank you,'
replied he, running along the gallery. 'Just one cup of coffee!'
cried I. 'No, dear; we are going to breakfast on gunpowder,' says he,
laughing: and so off. Dear me, it quite set my heart a-beating; it was
all in such a moment. Who knows? Perhaps the Bavarians may be masters
of Innsbruck again, before nightfall, father?"

"There's no knowing, child."

"I don't know that I could have done less than ask the Sandwirth home,
father, when I saw him last night, standing about, in the lobby,
looking quite puzzled."

"Certainly not, child. The poor, simple fellow"--said Stumff, with an
air of complacent superiority--"would have come to mischief of one sort
or another, for he knows as little as a child. A brave, honest heart,
and a good marksman, Alouise; and when you've said that, you've said
all. Give me my breakfast quick, child, that I may go out and look
about me a little."

Alouise poured out his coffee, and gave him a slice of bread, and then
hurried to the house door, calling eagerly to one or two persons who
were hurrying along, to ask them what was going forward. They only
replied, "Atzwanger is turning out the armed burghers," and ran off;
and her father, with his mouth full, soon followed, bidding her take
good care of the house. So there was she, alone in the midst of bustle,
feeling solitude doubly lonely, till at length she called to a little
boy who was cleaning knives, and said,--

"Dolf, run down to the gates, and bring me word what is going on."

When he was gone, she thought he would perhaps not return; and felt
more solitary than ever, till the young man who had escorted her to the
theatre dropped in.

"We're in a fine mess," said he. "Here are the Bavarians coming back."

"Aye--what shall we do? Perhaps they will get possession of Innsbruck
again."

"Very likely. For my part, I hope they will."

"Oh, Leopold! How can you be so unpatriotic?"

"Why, you see, Alouise, Buonaparte is sure to get the better of us in
the end, so he may as well beat us at once and have done with it."

"Perhaps he won't beat us in the end."

"Oh, yes, he will."

"That's no argument. Why don't you go and help fight?"

"Thank you, I'm not that way inclined. I told Atzwanger I'd sprained
my trigger-finger. What's all that hammering about, up stairs? Are you
putting up defences?"

"Oh, no! A poor lame man lodges in our attic, who is amusing himself by
making a barrel-organ, with a curious set of dancing automatons at the
top. His whole heart is in it. He thinks the Tyrolese war nothing in
comparison. Indeed, I doubt if he knows there is one."

"Oh, come!"

"Well, I'll take him up his breakfast, and hear what he has to say
about it; and you can hear what I say and what he says, if you prick up
your ears."

Leopold went to the foot of a dark, steep back-stair, up which Alouise
tripped, with a coffee-pot and some bread; and after she had tapped at
the door he heard the following dialogue:--

"Come in!"

"I've brought you some breakfast, Martin."

"Thank you; though I am almost too busy to eat it."

"How are you getting on?"

"Take care! don't tread on that barrel!"

"I don't see one."

"Not a beer-barrel, but an organ-barrel."

"Oh, I see; well, do you know what a bustle we were in, yesterday?"

"Chimney-sweeps?"

"Chimney-sweeps! no! Why, the Tyrolese took Innsbruck, and drove out
the Bavarians!"

"You don't say so! Soho! hum! A pretty piece of work. I'll hear all
about it presently, or the glue will get cold. I'm afraid, you see,
Alouise, that this glue is not strong enough; which is the reason why
the woodwork will not stick. Soho!--poor Tyrolese!"

"Poor Bavarians, you mean! Why, the Tyrolese won the day!"

"Oh, did they so really? Well, now,--humph!--poor fellows!"

"And we had one of them to sleep here, last night."

"Really, really! By the bye, are you anything of a mechanician?"

"Not in the least."

"Then it's no use asking you the thing I want to know. Hum!--poor
Innsbruckers--poor Tyrolese, I mean."

"But, Martin, we Innsbruckers _are_ Tyrolese."

"To be sure, to be sure--who doesn't know that? This tiresome glue!
That was just what I was saying."

"That? What?"

"Well--now you puzzle me--I think this will stick, at last."

"Well, I see you don't take any interest in the matter, so I won't
waste your time. Perhaps the Bavarians will have recovered possession
of the town before bedtime."

"Perhaps so, perhaps so--nothing more likely."

She ran down stairs, laughing. "Just the old story," said she to
Leopold; "every man thinking his own affairs of more importance than
those of all the world besides. How now, Dolf?" to the boy, who ran in
glowing and panting.

"There's fine work, mistress. They're barricading the gates with casks
and wagons, and closing all the houses. May I go back?"

"No, no, you must not leave me."

"I'll bring you word every ten minutes how things are going on.--It's
so jolly!"

"Well, Dolf, if you will promise me very faithfully indeed to do that,
you may go; and I'll give you a cake at supper-time besides. But mind
you keep an eye, if you can, on my father."

Away scampered the boy; and Leopold prepared to go too.

"Don't you go," said Alouise. "I shall be afraid."

"Oh, very well," said he, stretching himself and yawning. She gave him
an old newspaper, which he began to pore over; but on returning to the
kitchen after a short absence, she found him gone.

"That's just the way," said she to herself, pouting; "much he cares
for my safety, in spite of the pretty things he said to me last night.
I suppose Nannette will be off next, if I do not go to look after her."

Nannette was stretching her head out of one of the upper windows, so
intent on catching all she could of the distant uproar, that she was
not aware of her mistress's presence till Alouise gave a smart pluck at
her dress. However, Alouise had no sooner set her to scour the bedrooms
than she herself went up to the very top of the house, which had, like
many of the dwellings in the Tyrol, a sort of open story or penthouse
raised over the flat roof, from whence she could descry a little, but
not much, of the stir near the gates.

Dolf returned once or twice to report various successes, including the
capture of General Wrede, and, towards nine o'clock (for they are early
people), numbers of men running through the streets, waving their hats
and shouting, proclaimed the day to be won by the Tyrolese.

In consequence of a letter which Martin Teimer had compelled General
Kinkel to write to the Bavarian commander, General Wrede himself,
accompanied by a French officer, had ridden to the gates, with so
strong a guard, that the Tyrolese, considering them aggressors, drove
them back with great loss, and took the General and his companion
prisoners. The discomfited fugitives carried back to their lines such
a formidable account of the strength and fury of the Tyrolese, that
the French and Bavarians were thrown into the greatest consternation,
especially the latter, who had lost their principal officer.

Martin Teimer, accompanied by Baron Taxis and Atzwanger, the leader
of the armed burghers, and also by several Tyrolese leaders, repaired
to the French lines, where they were courteously received by Colonel
Bisson, who protested he intended no injury to the town, and merely
wished to carry his troops unmolested to Augsburg. He made no
stipulation for the Bavarians. Teimer, inspirited by his capture of
Wrede, would hear of nothing short of the surrender of the whole army,
to which Bisson a little impatiently replied that he would rather
sacrifice every man under his command.

Teimer, without deigning a reply, returned to the Tyrolese, who
immediately opened a deadly fire on the enemy. Their shouts and
impetuosity so petrified the French grenadiers that for a while they
stood motionless without returning a shot. The French officers conjured
Bisson to surrender on honourable terms to Teimer, whom they recalled
for the purpose, and Bisson at length most reluctantly countersigned
the following articles, which the reader may decide whether honourable
or not.

 "In the name of Francis the First, Emperor of Austria, the French and
 Bavarian troops at Steinach and Wiltau, agree to the following terms:--

 "First. That they shall immediately lay down their arms.

 "Second. That the whole body of the eighth division shall surrender to
 the Austrian troops at Schwatz.

 "Third. That any Tyrolese who have been made prisoners shall be set
 free.

 "Fourth. The officers of the French and Bavarian army shall be set
 free, with their swords, baggage, horses, &c., untouched.

 "Given by me for his Royal Highness Archduke John, at Innsbruck, April
 13, 1809, at half-past eight in the forenoon.

                                  "MARTIN TEIMER,
                                  "_Major and Authorized Commissioner_.

 "Countersigned,

          "ARMANCE,
          "VARIN,
          "BISSON,[C]
          "_&c. &c._"

The prisoners thus made, were marched to Schwatz, and thence to
Salzburg, under the escort of _women_; as men could not be spared for
the occasion. The success of this day (achieved before nine o'clock in
the morning) was undoubtedly mainly owing to Martin Teimer; as General
Chastelar, though pushing on from Sterzing, did not arrive in time
to be of any use. Buonaparte, however, provoked at the issue of the
day, and not stooping to such ignoble prey, at present, as Tyrolean
innkeepers and tobacconists, issued an act of outlawry against "the
person named Chastelar, styling himself a general in the Austrian
service," charging him (without the least ground) with the massacre of
prisoners; and sentencing him, if caught, to be tried by martial law,
and, if found guilty, to be shot in twenty-four hours.

Meanwhile the worthy general was thinking it no scorn to entertain
Hofer and Martin Teimer at his table, and talk over the events of the
day. The Tyrolese are temperate and abstemious to a proverb; but these
mountaineers had fought hard and were hungry; they probably had never
heard the Wise King's injunction, "When thou sittest to eat with a
ruler, consider diligently what is before thee; and put a knife to thy
throat if thou be given to appetite;" and therefore drank the sweet and
ate the fat with relish that was too little disguised to escape the
satirical notice of certain junior officers, by whom it was afterwards
turned against them. After all, they ate and drank but moderately, and
were much fuller of their success than their dinner; yet they spoke
but moderately too, and in simple phrase; and their censors decided
them to be phlegmatic. The good-natured Chastelar pushed the wine
towards them and bade them drink to the Emperor.

CHAPTER IX.

HOME.

Anna Hofer was kneeling before the crucifix in the corner of her
kitchen, praying as fervently as if she had been privileged to own
a purer faith; and, with every bead that ran through her fingers,
letting fall a tear far more precious than a pearl of great price. What
opportunity had she had of living under a better dispensation? Romanism
was the only form of Christianity the Tyrolese were acquainted with;
and while, among their invaders, infidelity was rampant, the simplicity
and fervour of their piety made them, as far as in them lay, champions
of the Christian faith.

Anna, then, knelt before the crucifix, wrestling in prayer, with groans
and sighings that could not be uttered. Judge of her revulsion of
feeling, when a beloved voice close to her said, "Anna!"

"Oh, my good man, is't thou?" And she cast herself into his arms.
"What, then! is the war over, husband?"

"Dearest woman, no! But we have a little breathing space; for a little
while our enemies are scattered, and the men of Tyrol too. As soon as
they make head again, we shall swarm about them like bees. Meanwhile,
we must plough, and we must sow."

"I _have_ sown our field, Anderl. It was ploughed already."

"Dear wife--" and he kissed her. "How hast thou sown it?"

"That which was buckwheat, with barley and rye; and that which was
barley and rye, with buckwheat."

"Right. Where's Theresa?"

"Looking after the horse. The children are keeping the cows, goats, and
sheep. Here comes Theresa."

Theresa flew up to her father, and embraced him; then overwhelmed him
with a thousand questions.

"One at a time will last the longer," said he; and drawing her to his
knee, with his wife close beside him, he rehearsed to them in detail
what has here been recounted more briefly; interjecting warm praise of
Chastelar, Hormayr, and Martin Teimer.

"See here," continued he, pulling forth a paper, "what a beautiful
letter our dear Emperor has written us:--

"'My dear and faithful Tyrolese!'--"

--"No! does our Franzel really say so?" interrupted Anna, eagerly
leaning over his shoulder, to satisfy herself. "How beautifully
expressed! A petty commandant, look you, would hardly be so affable!"--

"'My dear and faithful Tyrolese! Since the sacrifices which the
unfortunate year 1805 compelled me to make, when I was obliged to
separate from you, my heart has been constantly with you, my honest,
affectionate children!'"--

"_That_'s warm from the heart, anyhow!" muttered Anna.

"'As a last proof of my affection, I stipulated for the preservation
of your Constitution; and it gave me the greatest pain to see
this--this'"--

"Institution," suggested Theresa.

"No, nonsense--'This stipulation disregarded, which I had made for your
advantage; but, alas! at that time I was unable to assist you, and
could only lament your fate in private.'"--

"Poor dear man! doubtless it cost him many a secret tear," interjected
Anna.

"'When a new cause again obliged me to draw my sword, my first thought
was to become again your father. An army was put in motion to effect
your deliverance; but before it could meet our common enemy, you had by
your gallantry struck a decisive blow, and proved to the whole world,
as well as myself, what you are ready to do to become again a part of
that kingdom under which for centuries past you have lived contented
and happy--'"

"Beautiful, beautiful!" ejaculated Anna. "What golden words!"

"There's some more, mother," said Theresa.

"'Your efforts have touched my heart--I know your courage; I am ready
to meet all your wishes, and to count you amongst the best and most
faithful subjects in the Austrian dominions. It will be my earnest
endeavour to prevent our being again separated: millions, who were
long your brothers, will be eager to draw their swords in the cause!
I trust, therefore, in you; and you may rely on me. So, by God's
assistance, Austria and the Tyrol will be again united as they were in
former years.

                                                       "'FRANCIS.

  "'SCHARDING, _April 18, 1809_.'"

"Dear, dear, dear, only think of an emperor like him to write in that
way to a poor man like thee, Anderl," said Anna.

"Not to me in particular," said Hofer; "to all my weapon-brothers as
well."

"At any rate, he could not speak more fair, nor more handsome--dear
Franzel! Do let me look close at his letter with my very own eyes. Why,
now, the dear Emperor spells Tyrol with two l's, as you do, Anderl,
sometimes; but he writes a deal better," nudging him with her elbow.

"As an emperor is likely to do," said Hofer, his good white teeth
gleaming right merrily through his black beard. "Why, now, I copied
that letter myself, and it's my own handwriting: so a precious one you
are to have a cut at me!"

"You? Why, you told me it was the Emperor's!"

"Aye, his words, but not his penmanship. Why, think you there was a man
of us all that would not get a copy of it, if he could?"

"Oh well, I thought his hand wondrous like thine, man. Don't you
believe you took me in! Why, didn't I find out the two l's?"

"Aye, but you thought them the emperor's!"

"Never mind! the sense is the thing. This letter deserves to be framed
and glazed; aye, framed in gold: and since we can't afford that, I'll
paste it against the wall."

"Well, that's not a bad notion. Is dinner ready?"

"Yes, father," said Theresa, slipping from his knee, and hastening to
spread the table. "You've dined with a many strange people, I suppose,
since you went away."

"That have I, girl,--with General Chastelar and Baron Hormayr; but
great folks eat so fast and talk so fast, there's no taking one's
comfort. They snatch away your plate before 'tis empty, bob a dish
under your nose, and whisk it off if you look at it twice before you
help yourself."

"A good way of having a dinner for next day," said Anna, laughing.

"Aye, aye; and when I and the men of Passeyr got to Botzen, where
Baron Hormayr and all his staff came out to receive us with honour, he
uncovering his head and letting his hair blow about in the wind,--I
warrant you, General Marschall refused to sit down to table with a
humble man like me; just as if a guest wasn't good enough for him that
was good enough for Hormayr!"

"Well! to think of that!" cried Anna indignantly. "I hope the Baron
told him a piece of his mind."

"No, no; he had too much temper and sense," said Hofer. "He just made
a little grimace to me behind his back, and I took no umbrage; only it
showed the nature of the man."

"What a good thing Baron Hormayr is not of his sort," said Theresa.

"Oh, the general has his merits, after all," said Hofer, stroking his
beard. "He is a good fighting man, but his pride is so great, that not
even his own soldiers like him. See, dear women, how evil a thing pride
is."

"And what is being done now, Anderl?"

"Much. The regular troops are assisting the Tyrolese to hem in the
enemy in the Lower Tyrol. The _landsturm_ from Meran and the Vintsghaw
are advancing on the right side of the Etsch; and those of Etsch and
Fleims are keeping the passes of Rochetta and Bucco di Vela. Baron
Hormayr and Martin Teimer want General Chastelar to attack the enemy in
the Lower Tyrol at once; but he's too slow, too slow. By not coming up
in time, he let us take Innsbruck without him: and Martin Teimer won
all the glory of making Bisson and Wrede lay down their arms."

"Martin Teimer is no favourite of mine," said Anna, pouring out the
porridge.

"Ah, he has done good service, nevertheless. General Chastelar finds
fault with our training, calls us round-shouldered, and who knows
what?--and wants to drill us a little. He won't be able to turn a
wild lark into a piping bulfinch, though, it's my opinion. As long
as we beat the enemy, what does it signify how we do it? He is doing
real good service, however, by giving muskets to those who have no
fire-arms, but only spears and such like of their own manufacture. Now,
then, where are the children?"

Theresa went to the door to give a jödel, which would answer the
purpose of a dinner-bell; but, changing her purpose, returned, saying,
"Father, here is a young, olive-coloured man, who looks something like
a soldier, coming up to the house; in quest, apparently, of you."

Almost at the same instant, the young man stepped in, taking off his
cap and saluting Hofer in a foreign accent as Signor Andrea.

"_Come sta?_" returned Hofer, who rather piqued himself on a smattering
of Italian. "_Sedete voi. Andiamo pranzare--Fate lo stesso._"

"_Mille grazie_," returned the youth, who, however, preferred his own
German to Hofer's Italian. "The Signor Barone has sent me, Giuseppe