Frederick the Great and His Family [126]
sent the two foremost ones reeling to the floor, causing the others to fall back in disamy.
Trenck raised his hand with a shout of exultation, armed with another stone, and fixing his wild, triumphant glance upon the commandant, he cried:
"You see it is useless to endeavor to take me while living. Order the guards to fire! Let me die!"
The commandant lacked the power to do as Trenck requested, however willing he may have been to grant his request. Instead of continuing his threats, he withdrew into another chamber, signing to the major to follow him.
Trench still stood with uplifted arm when the major returned. And now, as the stern, much-feared commandant had left, no one withheld the tender sympathy that was almost breaking the hearts of the lookers-on. Trenck saw it written upon every countenance, and he to whom a look and word of pity had been so long unknown, felt deeply touched. His expression became milder, and as the major, whom he had known in the other prison, commenced to speak to him in gentle, loving tones, and implored him not to cause his ruin, for all the punishment would fall upon his head, as, through his negligence, Trenck had been allowed to retain his knife--as he finished, Trenck's arm fell to his side, and tears streamed from his eyes.
"No one," said he, gently--"no one shall become unhappy through me, for misery is a fearful thing. I will make no further resistance, if you will swear to me that no heavy chains shall be put upon me--that I shall suffer no unworthy punishment."
The major promised him, in the commandant's name, that if he ceased to resist, no further notice would be taken of the affair.
"Then," whispered Trenck, with a bitter smile, "I must suffer anew-- suffer forever."
He approached the door and drew off the chains. "Now, guards," said he, "the door can be opened. The wild beast has become tame."
Then, with a low moan, he sank fainting upon the floor. He was lifted up and laid upon his bed. Tears were in every eye, but Trenck did not see them; he did not hear their low, whispered words of sympathy and friendship. Death, from whom Trenck had once more been torn, had sent her twin sister, insensibility, to cause him to forget his sufferings for a while.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BATTLE OF COLLIN.
Lost!--the battle was lost! This was the cry of woe throughout the Prussian camp--this was the fearful cry that palsied the hands of those who could not endure defeat.
The Prussians who had defeated the enemy at Losovitz and Prague, were condemned to yield the palm of victory at Collin to their enemy's commander, Marshal Daun. They had fought bravely, desperately for this victory; and when all was over, death would have been preferable to defeat.
The Prussians were beaten, though their king, Ziethen, and Moritz von Dessau--all of them heroes--were in the field. At the first thought of the possibility of losing the battle, there was a fearful panic throughout the army.
"We are lost! lost!"--and this cry caused them to throw down their arms and fly, as if followed by a thousand furies; as victory--was impossible, they wished at least to save their lives.
It was in vain that the officers implored them to rally again and fall upon the enemy. They did not heed. In vain that the king himself rode among them, pointing with his sword to the enemy, and crying:
"Forward' forward, boys! Would you live forever? Death comes to all!"
They looked at him stubbornly; they feared not now his piercing, eagle glance, his royal countenance. They looked and said:
"We have worked hard enough to-day for eightpence," and then continued their flight.
But the king could not yet be brought to believe the truth. He still trusted in the possibility of victory. He clung with desperation to this hope; he let his voice be heard--that voice that generally had such power over his soldiers; he called them to him, and pointed out to them the enemy's battery; he ordered the band to play a martial air to inspire the men. This call brought a few faithful soldiers around him--only
Trenck raised his hand with a shout of exultation, armed with another stone, and fixing his wild, triumphant glance upon the commandant, he cried:
"You see it is useless to endeavor to take me while living. Order the guards to fire! Let me die!"
The commandant lacked the power to do as Trenck requested, however willing he may have been to grant his request. Instead of continuing his threats, he withdrew into another chamber, signing to the major to follow him.
Trench still stood with uplifted arm when the major returned. And now, as the stern, much-feared commandant had left, no one withheld the tender sympathy that was almost breaking the hearts of the lookers-on. Trenck saw it written upon every countenance, and he to whom a look and word of pity had been so long unknown, felt deeply touched. His expression became milder, and as the major, whom he had known in the other prison, commenced to speak to him in gentle, loving tones, and implored him not to cause his ruin, for all the punishment would fall upon his head, as, through his negligence, Trenck had been allowed to retain his knife--as he finished, Trenck's arm fell to his side, and tears streamed from his eyes.
"No one," said he, gently--"no one shall become unhappy through me, for misery is a fearful thing. I will make no further resistance, if you will swear to me that no heavy chains shall be put upon me--that I shall suffer no unworthy punishment."
The major promised him, in the commandant's name, that if he ceased to resist, no further notice would be taken of the affair.
"Then," whispered Trenck, with a bitter smile, "I must suffer anew-- suffer forever."
He approached the door and drew off the chains. "Now, guards," said he, "the door can be opened. The wild beast has become tame."
Then, with a low moan, he sank fainting upon the floor. He was lifted up and laid upon his bed. Tears were in every eye, but Trenck did not see them; he did not hear their low, whispered words of sympathy and friendship. Death, from whom Trenck had once more been torn, had sent her twin sister, insensibility, to cause him to forget his sufferings for a while.
CHAPTER VII.
THE BATTLE OF COLLIN.
Lost!--the battle was lost! This was the cry of woe throughout the Prussian camp--this was the fearful cry that palsied the hands of those who could not endure defeat.
The Prussians who had defeated the enemy at Losovitz and Prague, were condemned to yield the palm of victory at Collin to their enemy's commander, Marshal Daun. They had fought bravely, desperately for this victory; and when all was over, death would have been preferable to defeat.
The Prussians were beaten, though their king, Ziethen, and Moritz von Dessau--all of them heroes--were in the field. At the first thought of the possibility of losing the battle, there was a fearful panic throughout the army.
"We are lost! lost!"--and this cry caused them to throw down their arms and fly, as if followed by a thousand furies; as victory--was impossible, they wished at least to save their lives.
It was in vain that the officers implored them to rally again and fall upon the enemy. They did not heed. In vain that the king himself rode among them, pointing with his sword to the enemy, and crying:
"Forward' forward, boys! Would you live forever? Death comes to all!"
They looked at him stubbornly; they feared not now his piercing, eagle glance, his royal countenance. They looked and said:
"We have worked hard enough to-day for eightpence," and then continued their flight.
But the king could not yet be brought to believe the truth. He still trusted in the possibility of victory. He clung with desperation to this hope; he let his voice be heard--that voice that generally had such power over his soldiers; he called them to him, and pointed out to them the enemy's battery; he ordered the band to play a martial air to inspire the men. This call brought a few faithful soldiers around him--only