Democratic Sentinel, Volume 16, Number 51, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 January 1893 — LOVE AND WAR. [ARTICLE]

LOVE AND WAR.

BY WILLIAM WESTFALL.

A summer night at Geneva, and a nautical fete on Geneva’s historical lake. The narrow stretch of water between the two sides of the city thronged with boats, great and small, all aglow with Chinese lanterns: rockets shooting skywards in rapid succession, their course marked by trails of lierv rain; at intervals the boom of cannon and the shouts of excited spectators. '• “ Good ! Very well, done, and how beautiful!” exclaimed Baron von liohenstein, who, together with Dr. Burt and myself, were watching the spectacle trorn one of the balconies of the Hotel ae ia Paix. “Yes, it is very fine. The fireworks are splendid. How beautifully the lights are reflected in the water. And then the ‘cannon thunder.’ You have seen war, Herr Baron; does it not rather remind you of a battle?” “A very small one. A single battery of light artillery would make more noise. Yes, I have seen war—seen it on a large scale—and though we Germans are supposed to be fond of fighting, I want to see no more of it. A battle-field strewn with thousands of corpses is a fearful sight, and when among the slain there are dear comrades and, it may be, kinsmen, and one thinks of the sorrowing hearts at home, it is hard to rejoice even over the greatest victory. Yet I must not speak ill of war, for to war I owe the happiness of my life.” “The happiness of your life? How was that, Herr Baron?” “Ach, Gott, Meinherr! Thereby hangs a tale. 1 ’ “So much the better. I like tales, above all when they relate to love and war, and if I am not indiscreet ”

“You go too fast. How know you that my tale relates to love and war?” ’‘You spoke of owing to war the happiness of your life” “So! you think, then, that one cannot have a life of happiness without love? You are right. But I am not good at tale-telling. I daresay, though, that my dear brother-in-law here, Dr. Bart, who is a born narrator, and knows the story almost better than I know it myself, will oblige you. Tell him all about it, Victor. The fete is nearly over, and, while you discourse on war, our friend here and , myself will smoke the calumet of peace.” “A. very convenient arrangement,” said the Doctor, smiling. “I don’t smoke, so you are willing that I should have all the talk to myself. Convenient, yet •carcelv fair; and Hermann does himself scant justice. He can talk almost as well as he can fight.” “Ach! That .s paying my power to fight a very poor compliment, Victor.” “On the contrary, it is paying your power of talk a high one. However, I wilj tell my part of the story—that in which. I played the principal part, on condition that you do the rest.” “Good! It’s a bargain,” returned von Hohcnstcin. “By the time you have finished your tale I shall have finished my pipe. Then I will begin; for smoke, though a good listener, is a bad talker. Go on.” Whereupon Dr. Bart, turning to me, began as follows:

“In the year 1870 I was a young surgeon living here in my native city, very eager to work, yet with very little work' to do. So when the war broke out I offered my services, first to the Germans, then to the French, and failing to find employment from either, I enrolled myself as a volunteer in the International Ambulance Corps, which took the field under the protection of the Red Cross of the Geneva Convention. In that capacity I made the campaign of Sedan with the army of Marshal MacMahon. “On August 23, 1870. we found ourselves at Vouziers, a small town of three thousand inhabitants, between Mezieres and Verdun, in that same forest of Argonne which, in the previous century, was made classic by the exploits of Du mouriez. We had marched from Rheims and Chalons with MacMahon’s army, and were attached to the Seventh Corps d’Armee, then commanded by General Douay.

“Our first care was to establish a field hospital, which was soon filled with wounded soldiers, for though no general engagement had recently taken place there were continual affairs of outposts. “Meanwhile the army was in a state of dire confusion, marching and counter marching without apparent object, for the Marshal hesitated; he could not make up his mind whether to follow the dictates or prudence and fall back on Paris, threatened by the third German Army, under the command of the Crown Princes of Prussia and Saxony, or, yielding to the entreaties of the Government march to the rescue of Bazaine, who was at bay under the walls of Metz. “While MacMahon was halting between two opinions, the Germans were pushing forward w ith characteristic energy. On the 26th their cavalry patrols

exchanged pistol shots with the scouts of the Seventh Corps, which formed the the right wing of the Marshal's afmy and would fc* the first to receive the enemy’s onset. * “A battle seemed imminent. General Douay made his dispositions, fortified the heights, issued his orders, and concentrated his command. But on the morning of the 27th came an order fiom the headquarter staff to fall back iu the direction of Mezieres and Paris. The movement had, however, bardlv begun when still other orders were issued. The Seventh Corps was to march on Buzancv. This meant that the influence of Paris had prevailed, and Mac Mahon was about to hazard everything in a desperate attempt to ‘join hands with Bazaine,’ au attempt which resulted in the fall of the empire and the ruin of France. “Lite in the afternoon the Seventh Corps passed through Vouzicrs for the third or fourth time. The men went anyhow, singing songs, falling out when it pleased them, cursing aud shouting, marching to death with despair in their hearts and a laugh on their lips.

“In one of the officers of an infantry regiment I recognized an old friend from the neighborhood of Ferney. The recognition was mutual, and he asked me to bear him company for a mile or two. We found so much to talk about that the shades of evening were falling before 1 remembered that I had to return to Vouzicrs. But going back was hardly less difficult than it would be to swim against the currents of the Rhone, as it rushes under the arches of the Pont du Mont Blanc. The road was so crowded with troops, horses, guns and carriages that progress was impossible. For every step I made forward I was forced two steps backward. In the end I took to the fields, but only to lose my way iu the darkness, and despairing of finding it before daylight, I‘turned into a cattle shed, folded myself in my cloak and fell fast asleep. “I awoke with the first glimmerings of dawn and, hastily rising, made for the nearest road, with the intention of returning tc Vouzicrs, although 1 had only the vaguest idea as to the direction iu which it lay. While I was hesitating which way to take, a sound like the trampling of horses’ hoofs and the rattle of accoutrements fell on my ear. ‘Douay's rear guard,’ I thought, ‘they will tell me the way.’ But the next moment I heard voices, and from the shadow of a wood emerged a squadron of Uhlans. They were chanting a hymn, the words of which brought vividly to my mind the Roman gladiators’ last greeting to the Emperor before they joined iu mortal combat, Ave! Ctesar! morituri te salutant (Hail, Cicsar! the dying salute thee). “The refrain of the hymn, as well as I can remember, ran thus: “ ‘Oh, sun so red! oh sun so red! Light me to a warrior's bed. Yestreen moupted, lance iu rest, To-day a bullet through the breast, Morrow in the cold, cold ground, For God and Fatherland!’

“I waited until the party came up. “ ‘Who are you, and what are you doing here!’ asked au under officer, riding forward. “I told him. “‘I don’t believe a word you have said,’ answered the man sternly. ‘We have just come from Vouziers, and I can assure you there was not a Red Cross ambulance in the place. You are a spy.’ “Against this imputation I warmly protested, pointed to my uniform, and produced my case of instruments. “‘A uniform is nothing. Anybody can have a case of instruments. Where’s your pass;’ “Unfortunately I had left it at my headquarters, and the only proofs of my identity aud good faith which I could show were my card case and a few letters from friends at Geneva.

“ ’Letters are nothing. Anybody may have letters. It is a clear case. You are a spy, disguised as an officer of the International Ambulauce.’ t “Just then a lieutenant came up and demanded an explanation. “The under officer explained. “ ‘As you say, a dear case, 1 replied the lieutenant. ‘Let the fellow be shot.’ “Against this summary justice I protested with all the energy of a man who pleads for his life. “ ‘You may save your breath,’ said the lieutenant. ‘You are found here under suspicious circumstances, and without a pass. As likely as not you are a franc tireur in disguise. You speak German with a French accent. Shoot him, sergeant.’ “And shot I should have been to a dead certainty if another officer of higher rank had not arrived in the very nick of time. He also demanded an explanti'ion, which was of course promptly given. Then he questioned me closely, asking, among otherthings, where I had received my medical education. “ ‘At the Medical School of Geneva and the University of Warsburg.’ “ ‘Then you know Professor Goering?” “I did know Professor Goering, and mentioned several facts which led iny questioner to believe that the account I gave of myself was probably true, but be said that until I could furnish proofs of my identity mid good faith it would be his duty to detain me as a prisoner on parole, which,*l need hardly observe, I gave with great alacrity. “The officer who saved my life Was Baron Hermann von Ilohenstein.

“Three days afterwards was fought the qattle of Sedan, which gave the coup de grace to France and established the unity of Germany. On the morrow of the fight, thanks to my new found friend, I was permitted to help the German surgeons in their arduous work, and my ability in this regard being accepted as proof of my good faith, I was set at liberty. Moreover, the chief of the medical staff offered me a position ns supernumerary staff surgeon, an offer which I gladly accepted, and accompanied Baron von Hoheustein to Paris, there to take part in the siege. “And now, Hermann, I think I may leave you to tell the sequel." “I will try,” said the Baron, knocking the ashes out of his pipe. “I will try, and all the more willingly as it can be told quickly. I like not much speaking. “But I must first of all tell you that Victor is too modest. lie has omitted a material part of his story. He obtained his liberty and his appointment less because of what he did after the .battle than of what he did during the battle. He, a prisoner on parole and accused of being a spy, risked his life to save that of his captors. He dressed the wounds of my dear old friend. General von Elsenbaum under fire, there being no other surgeon at liberty, and helped to carry him out of action. For that brave deed he received the personal thanks of the king and von Moltke. He showed more courage that day than many a fighting officer who won the Iron Cross. “Well, as he has told you, we went together to Paris, lived in the same quarters, and became fast friends, and shall remain friends as long as both do live. It was a hard winter, and we had a rough

time. In the last days of the siege I got desperately wounded in a cavalry combat near St. Cloud—my head was laid open by a sabft stroke at the very moment a bullet went through my body. “The doetbrs said that I must die, that nothing could save me. One alone refused to regard my case as hopeless, and to him I am indebted for my life. His name is Victor Bart. “I did not know it then, for I lay many days unconscious, but I knew afterward that lie treated me with consummate skill, and watched over me day and night. So you see it cost him much more trouble to save my life than it cost me to save his. And then, when I was getting better, another came and helped me to get well. A nurse, she was, oh! such a sweet nurse—the sweetest you ever did see. She had soft, dark eyes, a low, sweet voice, and a face so lovely that words are too weak to describe it. At first, being still weak, I really thought, she was a visitant from heaven; and one day I told Victor that an augel had be -n smoothing my pillow and giving me to drink. “Victor laughed heartily. “That is my sister Lucie,” he said, “A false report reached Geneva that I had been hurt, and she came to nurse me, but as I did not need a nurse, I set her to nurse you.” “I felt glad she was not an angel from heaven, for I had already fallen in love with her, and one fine May morning, when I could move about a little, as we were walking under the chestnut trees, I told her what was in my mind. I began by saying that I did not know which to be the more thankful for—the wound on my head or the bullet through mybody. “Thankful for hurts that nearly killed you, Baron!” she exclaimed. “S'ou are surely joking or” “‘lam neither joking nor delirious, Mademoiselle Bart. I was never more serious in my life. If I had not been wounded, you would not have been my Durse, and I should have missed the happiest time I have ever known. Your good brother has saved my life. Will you share it with me, Lucie? For I love you so dearly that I would rather lose it than live unloved by the angel of undreams.’

“I cannot, tell you how Lucie answered, or whether she answered at all in words; but I read her i nswer in her eyes, and we were both very happy. “And then I told Victor, aud he was very glad, and he proposed—the war being over and myself convalescent—that I should travel home by way of Geneva and make the acquaintance of his people. “This offer I gladly accepted, and wrote to tell my people, who lived at Nuremberg, of all that had come to pass; and my mother and my sister, Natalie, met us at Geneva, and we stayed there several weeks. “Natalie was a beautiful blonde, with blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and it was almost a matter of course that Victor and she should fall iu love with each other; and the day on which Lucie and I learned that her brother and my sister were betrothed was the second happiest of our lives. We were all married at the same time; and every other year Victor and Natalie visit us at Nuremberg, aud every other year we visit them at Geneva. “That is the end of the story, and when I have smoked one more pipe we will join the ladies in the saloon, and I shall have the pleasure of introducing you to Madame Victor Bart and the Baroness von llohenstein. Afterward we will go to the Jardin Anglais and listen to the music. I will also introduce you to my sister, Helenchen, so there will be a lady for each of us,”