Jasper County Democrat, Volume 3, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 January 1901 — OUR STORY TELLER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

OUR STORY TELLER

SAVED BY A BOY.

<T? T sunset on a tine spring eventhere was a great stir and bustle In a quiet little upland village of the Tyrol, the southwesternmost province of Austria. War bad broken out between Austria and France, and Hie French were advancing with a large army toward the Austrian border; so that the Tyrolese hills, which lay nearest to them would be likely to feel the first sweep of their fury. - - - - ■ Great was the excitement, and varied were the reports that flew about. Some •aid the invaders were coming from the south, on the side of Italy; other were equally sure that they were coming from the north, on the side of Germany. But, anyhow, it was certain that they were coming ami that when they came they would burn every house and kill every man that fell in their way. But the brave German mountaineers were not the men to be scared by any danger, however sudden and terrible. Tire bead man of the village, linns Godrel, was himself an old soldier, ami needed no one to teach him what to do when an enemy was coming. He at once set everybody to work, building barricades of felled trees, laying huge Btones along the hillside to roll down upon the assailants, and posting his best marksthen in the thicket on either side of the road by which the French must come; and he was especially careful to stock with frosh wood the beacon on the hilltop that overhung the village, and to station a trusty man beside it, with orders to light the slgualfire the moment he caught sight of the advane In g ene my.— This was a tine time for the village boys, and, above all, for little Gottfried Godrel, Han’s son, who now saw for the first time the stir and excite-

merit of war, which he had hitherto known only from his father’s stories. All day long be and his comrades paraded the little village with toy Hags fastened to sticks, or went Into the pine woods to play at lighting the French, lying in wait behind the trees like riflemen, and then suddenly bursting forth upon their Imaginable enemies with a tremendous ‘'Helsa!” (hurrah). But as day passed after day, and nothing was seen or heard of the French, the mountain men began to relax their watchfulness, and to grumble at having to stand on guard all day, looking out for an enemy that never came, when they wanted to be going on with their work and earning money. One man wished to attend to his goats, another to cut his wood, a third to get ready his butter and cheese for the next market. Poor Hans Godrol hnd hard work to keep his recruits together, and, in fact, but for the fear of being laughed at and called cowards, they would probably have all gone off in a body. The worst grumbler of all was a big, bony, ill-looking wood-cutter called Franz Listlg, and when the men were mustered one morning for their usual duty, and Franz was missing, every one took It for granted that he had got tired of the service and had gone home In disgust But presently a hunter come In from the higher ridges, who had found Llstig’s cap and hatchet on the edge of a precipice, along which there were marks of sliding feet In the ■now, as if someone had slipped and fallen over the brink. “See now, my sons,” shouted Godrel's deep, strong voice, amid the general silence of horror, "what happens to skulkers and deserters. Fie who turns his back on the flag of the Fatherland can never come to a good end.” The old soldier's fiery words sank deep into every heart and there was do more grumbling for the next day or two. On the third evening after Llstig's disappearance a great cloud of sgioke was seen to go up suddenly from the hilltop above the village. The signal-fire was kindled!

"The French are coming!’’ ran from mouth to mouth. Every man cocked his gun and stood his post, while the boys, with little Gottfried at their head, rushed at a breakneck pace up the steep side of Beacon Hill to catch their first glimpse of the advancing enemy. All along the great plain below’ a rolling dust cloud was rising like a mtst, and through it appeared long lines of bl ue-roa ted gren a diers w 11h gll t taring bayonets, ami trains of horses dragging cannon, and masses of helmeted dragoons, and hussars all ablaze with gold lace, flourishing their shining sabres. But the dauntless mountain lads looked down upon thlFterflble magnificence of the spectacle as coolly as if it were only a circus. "If there are not guns enough for us, we can roll down stones on the Frenchmen!’’ cried Gottfried, manfully. “They won’t get up here quite so easily as they think.’’ Hut it soon appeared that they were not thinking of "getting up” at all, for, instead of turning off toward the hills, t hey k ept straiglll on acrosstheplahi, and vanished at length into the gathering darkness of night. Evidently they meant to attack some other point, and the long-expected assault was not coming, after all! Then Godrel’s band broke up at once, with a good deal of mingled growling and laughing. Some of the men were rather sulky at having taken so much trouble for nothing, but others made fun of the “chicken-hearted Frenchmen,” for whom one look at the Ty rolese hil Is ha d been enough, and one or two who had not looked very happy when the first alarm was given, now began to hold their heads high and to talk big of what they would havg

done if the French had come on in earnest. The next day everybody was at work again as usual. Haus Godrel himself Mid not think it worth while to keep watch, now that the French had gone past, and even the man who tended the beaconfire came and went to his hut. But there was one person in the village who was not quite so confident as the rest, and that was little Gottfried Godrel. He remembered all that his father had told him of the devices used in war to deceive the enemy and throw him off his guard. » True, it was not easy to see what trick there could be here, but Gottfried felt uneasy, nevertheless; and the result was that without saying a word to any one, he piled fresh wood on to the beacon, and watched beside it for three nights running. On the fourth morning, just about daybreak, the boy awoke with a start, and a strange feeling of there being something wrong. There was already light enough to see all around from the great height at which he stood, and hlg first glance showed him something tbst made his bold heart stand still. Along the snowy slope of the Rudclsberg a long, dark-blue line, crested with bright points, was creeping onward like some huge caterpillar, slowly but steadily, nearer and nearer every moment. The French were coming nt last—and coming, too, not by the road, but by an old, disused goat-path which some of the Tyorlese themselves could not “have followed without a guide. How had these strangers lon med the secret of it? There must be treachery somewhere! Quick as lightning the boy fired the pile, and the resinous pine wood crackled Into a broad, red blaze. But just then a terrible thought struck him. The villagers, on seeing the signal, would of course expect the enemy by the high road—they would never think of the goat-track, by which the French could come right up behind the village, and thus, so to speak, turn all the German defenses inside out. There was only one thing to be done—he must go down with the news himself. But before be could reach the

village by the long, difficult, winding foot-path, the French w’ould have got past the narrowest part of the goattrack, and It would be too late to stop them. At that moment his eye fell upon the “log-slide,” which went straight as a plumb-line down the steep mountain side to the village. Just at the top lay a huge tree-trunk, lopped, barked and all ready for shooting down. Could he bestride, that trunk, plunge down this terrible short-cut, and reach the foot alive? Perhaps and even If it cost him his life, he was determined to try. Between the stumps of the two great branctes that forked off from the main trunk there was a narrow hollow, into which the daring noy wedged himself firmly. • Then, with a violent push of his right foot he loosened the log from its place and shot down the fearful descent like an arrow. Everything seemed to spin round him as he flew—hills, woods, rocks, streams, all dancing in the air together, while the boom of the falling log sounded In Ills ears like one continuous peal of thunder. If It should turn over, or even swerve to one side, he would be crushed to death on the spot; but he cared not for that. Down,T!bWii, down he flew, dizzy and breathless, till suddenly there came a violent shock, and the flying log stood still, and he saw, dimly as if in a dream, the outermost huts of the village before him, while beside him stood two men, staring at him as if they had seen a ghost. _ _____ "The French—the Kudelsberg goattrack!” was all he could say; but it was quite enough. “Karl,” cried the younger of the two to his comrade, “off with you, and tell the lads to get their guns, and run for their lives to the Kudelsberg. I’ll go on before and hew down the bridge.” And aw ay flew Kaspar the wood-cut-ter, axe In hand, while Karl darted off In the opposite direction. The bridge of which Kaspar ITpoke was a rude plank framework which spanned a deep black chasm worn by a torrent in the side of the Kudelsberg, just at the narrowest and most dangerous point of the goat-path along which the enemy were advancing. This bridge once broken, the march of the French would be effectually stopped; but could he get there in time? Kaspar was famous for his swiftness of foot; but never—not even when he won a race against all the best runners of the district—had he made such speed j as now. The snow was more than an-1 kle-deep. but he dashed through it like a mountain goat, and at length, spent' and gasping for breath, came out upon the narrow ledge-path, and saw that he was the only living thing upon it. So far, so good; but at any moment, the foremost Frenchman might come, round the corner on the other jside of the bridge, and there was no time to be lost. To work went the trusty ax, and the white splinters and chips of wood flew up in the air like a shower of spray. One plank was cut through, a second, a third, and now the trembling bridge hung by a single support over the black abyss below, when suddenly, not fifty yards from the brink of chasm, there Issued from behind a projecting crag the tall figure and dark, sallow face of a French grenadier! And beside him j stood the missing woodmen, Franz Llstlg, who had betrayed the path to his country’s enemies. But just at that moment Kaspar’s quick ear caught the trample of hurrying feet behind him, and knew that his comrades were coming up to the rescue. “Let them kill me now, if they like!” he muttered through his clenched teeth. “There are enough of our lads behind to stop them, and my work Is done!” One more sturdy blow and the broken 1 bridge fell thundering and crashing into the abyss. But mingling with the crush came a sharp report and stifled cry. The baffled assailants had vented their rage on poor Kaspar with a volley of musketry, and the gallant fellow lay bleeding in, the snow. But he did not fall unavenged. The concussion of the air, caused by the tiring, loosened the great mass of snow that hung threatening overhead, and down it come with a rush and a roar like the bursting of a mighty wave, hurling headlong Into the fearful gulf below the three foremost Frenchmen and their traitor guide, Franz Llstig. The rest turned and fled, and the village was saved—saved by one daring child! As for poor Kaspar, he was hit In no less than three pjaces, and his comrades shook their head# and exchanged gloomy looks as they raised him and bore him slowly homeward. But he recovered In the end, and lived to tell for many a year afterward how hundreds of armed men had been baffled by the courage and cleverness of a single boy.

“one more sturdy blow and the BROKEN BRIDGE FELL THUNDERING AND CRASHING INT« THE ABYSS.”

“ita LOOSENED THE LOO FROM ITS PLACE AND DOWN THE FEARFUL DESCENT LIKE AN ARROW.”