"Yes!" continued Gregers; "and I beseech of you, for the sake of that friendship of which you have given me so many proofs, to grant it."
"It is already granted, my dear general, if even only on this account, that within another hour I may not be in a condition to accede to anyone"s wishes."
"With the third national regiment, on the left wing of the army, there is one Captain Kruse in command of a company. I particularly wish that his life may be saved, if possible. Will you, therefore, kindly place him accordingly?"
"Colonel Eifeler," cried Reventlow, beckoning to one of the nearest officers, "be so good as to order a portion of the third national regiment, under Captain Kruse, to serve as cover for the height, on which his majesty has determined to take the command."
The colonel touched his cap, put spurs to his horse, and galloped off.
Gregers Daa thanked Reventlow with a long and warm pressure of the hand, and then went on to join his own men.
The Danish army was drawn up on a hill, behind a mora.s.s; its left wing was protected by a river, its right by a large and thick forest of firs. Two hours before the commencement of the action the Saxon cavalry had arrived, and had united with the Danish.
The Swedes commenced the battle with a brisk cannonade, and stormed the hill under their watchword, "_Mit Gott and Jesu Hulfe!_" Shortly after all was enveloped in smoke, which the wind drove over against the enemy. The fire of musketry mingled with the louder booming of the cannon; the signal trumpets sounded; the drums rolled, and men were falling in the agonies of death.
An old chronicle says that the battle, "with great effusion of blood, lasted until five o"clock. As no one on either side would give any quarter, there were fewer prisoners made; officers fought each other as in a duel, and such were the individual combats, that the Danish and Swedish officers were generally found dead, lying close to each other on the field of slaughter."
The same chronicle tells us that the Swedes stormed the hill three times. The last time they were so fortunate as to be able to take up their position at the foot of the hill, without the Danes having the power to hinder them. Two attempts had been made in vain. The Danes were beaten back, the Saxon cavalry gave way, and fled in disorder; Steenbock followed up his good fortune, and sent troops to pursue them.
The Danes, too, were beginning to give way, for the enemy"s cannon, loaded with grape, and discharged from a short distance, was making terrible havoc among them.
At that moment a squadron of Danish horse, led by a tall, thin officer, came dashing down the hill, and for the third time made an attempt to drive back the enemy. The spirited hors.e.m.e.n dropped on all sides, but others, who had escaped unharmed, continued their onset, and fell upon their foes, their brave leader charging at their head. The cannons were silent, while musket and pistol shots flew hotly around. Shouts of triumph--groans from the wounded horses--prayers--the moans of the dying--and wild cries of encouragement, issued from that confused mult.i.tude, immersed in dust and smoke, amidst which were to be seen sabres flashing and sinking, and in the hottest of the fight the tall officer, who seemed invulnerable himself though he dealt destruction around.
From a height at a little distance King Frederick had witnessed the whole. He had seen the two unsuccessful attempts to drive the enemy back, and the dragoons who had galloped down the hill to make the third effort. Gregers Daa"s name was in the mouth of everyone around. It was he who was speeding on to fulfil his promise.
This furious attack took the Swedes by surprise, and they began at length to draw back. It was in vain that Steenbock sent them reinforcements; before these reached the battlefield he beheld his troops, as if panic-struck, take wildly to flight, and heard the noise made by the dragoons as they spiked the Swedish cannon.
In the midst of the field, among heaps of the wounded and dying on both sides of him, lay their commander, the heroic Gregers, struck by a pistol-ball, while he was trying to wrest the colours from a Swedish officer.
This episode--the gallant conduct of the dragoons--had given the Danes time to recover themselves, and the battle was resumed with fury at another place. Some of the dragoons jumped from their horses, and bore their wounded general away from the field. Gregers was carried to the village, and into the very same room in which, the evening before, he had been so humbled and insulted.
King Frederick soon after entered the chamber, went up to the bed, and leaning over him, took his hand, while he exclaimed:
"How this disaster goes to my heart, my dear general! I have sent for my own surgeon; he will be here presently, and he will do all that he can to preserve to our fatherland a life so invaluable as yours."
"You are mistaken, my liege," replied Gregers. "The surgeon will be of no use, and I am only fulfilling my destiny. Had your majesty been unequal, yesterday evening when you put upon me the humiliation of doubting my courage, I would have killed you; _that_ being impossible, there was nothing for it but to let myself be killed. The ball is in my breast. It will realize my wish."
The king uttered in a low voice some words full of admiration of a heroism that sought death on account of a hasty and inconsiderate expression from his lips.
When Gregers had finished speaking to the king, he turned his head away from him. His eyes met those of Kruse, who was kneeling on the other side of the bed. A sweet and happy smile stole over the pale countenance of the dying man, as he held out his hand to the captain.
"You see that my presentiments were correct," he whispered, in a weak and failing voice. "Now she will be happy, and you also; now you may love each other freely--for ever. And when you are happiest, sometimes spare a thought to me--an old man, who was ignorant that it was he who hindered your happiness--who went away when he discovered it. Farewell, my son. Be kind to her, whom we both love!"
Gregers drew a deep sigh, clasped his feeble hands, and his spirit fled to other worlds!"
A month later, two persons were sitting in one of the drawing-rooms at Hald; the one was Jeanne, the other Captain Kruse, who the same day had arrived with the general"s body from Holstein. Gregers Daa had been buried in his family vault in the cathedral at Viborg. Jeanne had read the letter he had addressed to her in his tent the evening before the battle. Kruse related to her, word for word, what had pa.s.sed the same evening between them. Jeanne wept bitterly while he spoke, and when he had finished there was a long and unbroken silence in the room. A little after, Jeanne held out her hand to him, and said,
"Leave me, now, my friend. I wish to be alone."
There was something of decision and earnestness in the tone in which she spoke that alarmed the captain." He held her hand in his while he asked:
"And when may I come back?"
"Never! Never come back!" replied Jeanne, with the utmost composure, "for I no longer love you!"
Kruse stood petrified. Then he whispered in accents which betrayed the deepest despair:
"And your vows, and your a.s.surance that if you did not belong to _him_, no living creature should separate us?"
"I have not forgotten all that," she replied; "but I now belong to him more than ever I did. Go, Jacob Kruse, I beseech of you. It is not the living which separates us, but the dead!"
Having thus spoken she left the room.
What strange contradictions there are in a woman"s heart! Jeanne kept her word, and remained until her death a lonely and sorrowing widow.
The following year Kruse fell at the siege of Tonning.
HERR SINCLAIR.
BY E. STORM.
Herr Sinclair o"er the briny wave His course to Norway bent; "Midst Guldbrand"s rocks he found his grave; There, his last breath was spent.
Sinclair pa.s.s"d o"er the billows blue For Swedish gold to fight; He came, alas! he little knew Norwegian dust to bite.
Bright beams that night the pale moon flung-- The vessel gently roll"d-- A mermaid from the ocean sprung And Sinclair"s fate foretold.
"Turn back, turn back, thou Scottish chief!
Hold"st thou thy life so cheap?
Turn back, or give my words belief, Thou"lt ne"er repa.s.s this deep!"
"Light is thy song, malicious elf!
Thy theme is always ill!
Could I but reach thy hated self That voice should soon be still!"
He sail"d one day--he sail"d for three-- With all his va.s.sal train; On the fourth morn--see--Norway--see!
Breaks on the azure main.
By Romsdal"s coast he steers to land, On hostile views intent; The fourteen hundred of his band Were all on evil bent.
With lawless might, where"er they go They slaughter and they burn; They laugh to scorn the widow"s woe: The old man"s pray"r they spurn.
The infant in its mother"s arms, While smiling there--they kill.
But rumours strange, and wild alarms Soon all the country fill.