"Gipsy! from Pomerania flee, Or thus it shall be done to thee."

These words the robber crew had set to some sort of rude melody, and now sang it and danced to it round the sign, the fellow with the horse-cloth in the midst of them, the merriest of them all.

The moment they got a glimpse of their captain, men, women, and children ran off like mad to the waggon, clapping their hands and shouting, "Huzzah! huzzah! what a n.o.ble captain! Had he brought them anything to drink?" And when he said "Yes," and handed out three barrels of wine, there was no end to the jubilee of cheering. Then he must give them handsel, and after that they would make a large fire and swear fealty to him round it, as was the manner of the gipsies, for the band was mostly composed of gipsies, and numbered about fifty men altogether.

_Summa_.--A great fire was kindled, round which they all took the oath of obedience to their captain, and he swore fidelity to them in return. Then a couple of deer were roasted; and after they had eaten and drunk, the singing and dancing round the great sign-board was resumed, until the broad daylight glanced through the trees.

People may see from this to what a pitch of lawlessness and disorder the land came under the reign of Duke Johann. For, methinks, these robbers would never have dared to make such a mock of the authorities, only that my Lord Duke had shut up all the courts of justice in the kingdom.

During their jollity, our knave Appelmann cast his eyes upon a gipsy maiden, called the handsome Sioli; a tall, dark-eyed wench, but with scarcely a rag to cover her. Therefore he bade Sidonia run to her luggage, and take out one of her own best robes for the girl; but Sidonia turned away in great wrath, exclaiming--

"This was the way he kept his promise to her. She had given him all, and followed him even hither, and yet he cared more for a ragged gipsy girl than for her. But she would go away that very night, anywhere her steps might lead her, if only away from her present misery. Let him give her the Duke's diamonds, and she would leave him all the herons' feathers, and never come near him any more."

But my knave only laughed, and bid her come take the diamonds if she wanted them, they were in his bosom. Then the gipsy girl and her mother, old Ussel, began to mock the fine lady. So Sidonia sat there weeping and wringing her hands, while Johann laughed, danced, drank, and kissed the gipsy wench, and finally threatened to go and take a robe himself out of the luggage, if Sidonia did not run for one instantly.

However, she would not stir; so Konnemann, the miller, took pity on her, and would have remonstrated, but Johann cut him short, saying--

"What the devil did he mean? Was he not the captain? and why should Konnemann dare to interfere with him?"

Then he strode over to the waggon to plunder Sidonia's baggage, which, when she observed, her heart seemed to break, and she kneeled down, lifted up her hands, and prayed thus:--

"Merciful Creator, I know Thee not, for my hard and unnatural father never brought me to Thee; therefore on his head be my sins.

But if Thou hast pity on the young ravens, who likewise know Thee not, have pity upon me, and help me to leave this robber den with Thy gracious help."

Here such a shout of laughter resounded from all sides, that she sprang up, and seizing the best bundle in the waggon, plunged into the wood, with loud cries and lamentation; whilst Appelmann only said--

"Never heed her, let her do as she pleases; she will be back again soon enough, I warrant."

Accordingly, scarcely an hour had elapsed, when the unhappy maiden appeared again, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the whole band, who mocked her yet more than before. She came back crying and lamenting--

"She could go no further, for the wolves followed her, and howled round her on all sides. Ah! that she were a stone, and buried fathoms deep in the earth! That shameless knave, Appelmann, might indeed have pitied her, if he hoped for pity from G.o.d; but had he not taken her robe to put it on the gipsy beggar? She nearly died of shame at the sight. But she would never forgive the beggar's brat to the day of judgment for it. All she wanted now was some good Christian to guide her out of the wild forest. Would no one come with her? that was all she asked."

And so she went on crying, and lamenting in the deepest grief.

_Summa_.--When the knave heard all this, his heart seemed to relent; perhaps he dreaded the anger of her relations if she were treated too badly, or, mayhap, it was compa.s.sion, I cannot say; but he sprang up, kissed her, caressed her, and consoled her.

"Why should she leave them? He would remain faithful and constant to her, as he had sworn. Why should the gown for the beggar-girl anger her? When they get the herons' feathers on the morrow, he would buy her ten new gowns for the one he had taken." And so he continued in his old deceiving way, till she at last believed him, and was comforted.

Here the roll of a carriage was heard, and as many of the band as were not quite drunk seized their muskets and pikes, and rushed in the direction of the sound. But behold, the waggon and horses, with all Sidonia's luggage, was off! For, in truth, the equerry, seeing Johann's treachery, had secretly followed him, hiding himself in the bushes till it grew dark, but near enough to observe all that was going on; then, watching his opportunity, and knowing the robbers were all more or less drunk, he sprang upon the waggon, and galloped away as hard as he could. Johann gave chase for a little, but the equerry had got too good a start to be overtaken; and so Johann returned, cursing and raging, to the band. Then they all gathered round the fire again, and drank and caroused till morning dawned, when each sought out a good sleeping-place amongst the bushwood. There they lay till morn, when Johann summoned them to prepare for their excursion to the Duke's gardens at Zachan.

CHAPTER IX.

_How his Highness, Duke Barnim the elder, went a-hawking at Marienfliess--Item, of the shameful robbery at Zachan, and how burgomaster Appelmann remonstrates with his abandoned son._

After Duke Barnim the elder had resigned the government, he betook himself more than ever to field-sports; and amongst others, hawking became one of his most favourite pursuits. By this sport, he stocked his gardens at Zachan with an enormous number of herons, and made a considerable sum annually by the sale of the feathers. These gardens at Zachan covered an immense s.p.a.ce, and were walled round. Within were many thousand herons' nests; and all the birds taken by the falcons were brought here, and their wings clipped. Then the keepers fed them with fish, frogs, and lizards, so that they became quite tame, and when their wings grew again, never attempted to leave the gardens, but diligently built their nests and reared their young. Now, though it cost a great sum to keep these gardens in order, and support all the people necessary to look after the birds, yet the Duke thought little of the expense, considering the vast sum which the feathers brought him at the moulting season.

Accordingly, during the moulting time, he generally took up his abode at a castle adjoining the gardens, called "The Stone Rampart," to inspect the gathering in of the feathers himself; and he was just on his journey thither with his falconers, hunters, and other retainers, when the robber-band caught sight of him from the wood. His Highness was seated in an open carriage, with Trina Wehlers, the baker's daughter, by his side; and Sidonia, who recognised her enemy, instantly entreated Johann to revenge her on the girl if possible; but, as he hesitated, the old gipsy mother stepped forward and whispered Sidonia, "that she would help her to a revenge, if she but gave her that little golden smelling-bottle which she wore suspended by a gold chain on her neck." Sidonia agreed, and the revenge soon followed; for the Duke left the carriage, and mounted a horse to follow the chase, the falconer having unloosed a couple of hawks and let them fly at a heron.

Trina remained in the coach; but the coachman, wishing to see the sport, tied his horses to a tree, and ran off, too, after the others into the wood. The hawk soared high above the heron, watching its opportunity to pounce upon the quarry; but the heron, just as it swooped down upon it, drove its sharp bill through the body of the hawk, and down they both came together covered with blood, right between the two carriage horses.

No doubt this was all done through the magic of the gipsy mother; for the horses took fright instantly, plunged and reared, and dashed off with the carriage, which was over-turned some yards from the spot, and the baker's daughter had her leg broken.

Hearing her screams, the Duke and the whole party ran to the spot; and his Highness first scolded the coachman for leaving his horses, then the falconer for having let fly his best falcon, which now lay there quite dead. The heron, however, was alive, and his Grace ordered it to be bound and carried off to Zachan. The baker's daughter prayed, but in vain, that the coachman might be hung upon the next tree. Then they all set off homeward, but Trina screamed so loudly, that his Grace stopped, and ordered a couple of stout huntsmen to carry her to the neighbouring convent of Marienfliess, where, as I am credibly informed, in a short time she gave up the ghost.

Now, the robber-band were watching all these proceedings from the wood, but kept as still as mice. Not until his Grace had driven off a good s.p.a.ce, and the baker's daughter had been carried away, did they venture to speak or move; then Sidonia jumped up, clapping her hands in ecstasy, and mimicking the groans and contortions of the poor girl, to the great amus.e.m.e.nt of the band, who laughed loudly; but Johann recalled them to business, and proposed that they should secretly follow his Highness, and hide themselves at Elsbruck, near the water-mill of Zachan, until the evening closed in. In order also to be quite certain of the place where his Grace had laid up all the herons' feathers of that season, Johann proposed that the miller, Konnemann, should visit his Grace at Zachan, giving out that he was a feather merchant from Berlin. Accordingly, when they reached Elsbruck, the miller put on my knave's best doublet (for he was almost naked before), and proceeded to the Stone Rampart, Sidonia bidding him, over and over again, to inquire at the castle when the young Lord of Wolgast and his bride were expected at Stettin. The Duke received Konnemann very graciously, when he found that he was a wealthy feather merchant from Berlin, who, having heard of the number and extent of his Grace's gardens at Zachan, had come to purchase all the last year's gathering of feathers. Would his Highness allow him to see the feathers?

_Summa_.--He had his wish; for his Grace brought him into a little room on the ground-floor, where lay two sacks full of the most perfect and beautiful feathers; and when the Duke demanded a thousand florins for them, the knave replied, "That he would willingly have the feathers, but must take the night to think over the price." Then he took good note of the room, and the garden, and all the pa.s.sages of the castle, and so came back in the twilight to the band with great joy, a.s.suring them that nothing would be easier than to rob the old turner's apprentice of his feathers.

Such, indeed, was the truth; for at midnight my knave Johann, with Konnemann and a few chosen accomplices, carried away those two sacks of feathers; and no one knew a word about the robbery until the next morning, when the band were far off in the forest, no one knew where. But a quarrel had arisen between my knave and Sidonia over the feathers: she wanted them for herself, that she might turn them into money, and so be enabled to get back to her own people; but Johann had no idea of employing his booty in this way.

"What was she thinking of? If those fine stallions, indeed, had not been stolen from him, he might have given her the feathers; but now there was nothing else left wherewith to pay the band--she must wait for another good prize. Meantime they must settle accounts with the young Lord of Wolgast, who, as Konnemann had found out, was expected at Stettin in seven days."

Now, the daring robbery at Zachan was the talk of the whole country, and as the old burgomaster, Appelmann, had heard at Friedrichswald about the horses and waggon, and his son's shameful knavery, he could think of nothing else but that the same rascal had stolen the Duke's feathers at So he took some faithful burghers with him, and set off for the forest, to try and find his lost son. At last, after many wanderings, a peasant, who was cutting wood, told them that he had seen the robber-band encamped in a thick wood near Rehewinkel; [Footnote: Two miles and a half from Stargard, and the present dwelling-place of the editor.] and when the miserable father and his burghers arrived at the place, there indeed was the robber-band stretched upon the long gra.s.s, and Sidonia seated upon the stump of a tree--for she must play the lute, while Johann, his G.o.dless son, was plaiting the long black hair of the handsome Sioli.

Methinks the knave must have felt somewhat startled when his father sprang from behind an oak, a dagger in his hand, exclaiming loudly, "Johann, Johann, thou lost, abandoned son! is it thus I find thee?"

The knave turned as white as a corpse upon the gallows, and his hands seemed to freeze upon the fair Sioli's hair; but the band jumped up and seized their arms, shouting, "Seize him! seize him!"

The old man, however, cared little for their shouts; and still gazing on his son, cried out, "Dost thou not answer me, thou G.o.d-forgetting knave? Thou hast deceived and robbed thy own Prince. Answer me--who amongst all these is fitter for the gallows than thou art?"

So my knave at last came to his senses, and answered sullenly, "What did he want here? He had done nothing for him. He must earn his own bread."

_Ille_.--"G.o.d forgive thee thy sins; did I not take thee back as my son, and strive to correct thee as a true and loving father?

Why didst thou run away from my house and the writing-office?"

_Hic._--"He was born for something else than to lead the life of a dog."

_Ille_.--"He had never made him live any such life; and even if he had, better live like a dog than as a robber wolf."

_Hic_.--"He was no robber. Who had belied him so? He and his friends were on their way to Poland to join the army."

_Ille_.--"Wherefore, then, had he tricked his Highness of Stettin out of the horses?"

_Hic_.--"That was only a revenge upon the equerry, to pay him back in his own coin, for he was his enemy, and had broken faith with him."

_Ille_.--"But he had robbed his Grace Duke Barnim, likewise, of the herons' feathers. No one else had done it."

_Hic_.--"Who dared to say so? He was insulted and belied by every one." Then he cursed and swore that he knew nothing whatever of these herons' feathers which he was making such a fuss about.

Meanwhile the band stood round with c.o.c.ked muskets, and as the burghers now pressed forward, to save their leader, if any violence were offered, Konnemann called out, "Give the word, master--shall I shoot down the churl?"

Here Johann's conscience was moved a little, and he shouted, "Back! back!--he is my father!"

But the old gipsy mother sprang forward with a knife, crying, "Thy father, fool?--what care we for thy father? Let me at him, and I'll soon settle thy father with my knife."

When the unfortunate son heard and saw this, he seized a heavy stick that lay near him, and gave the gipsy such a blow on the crown, that she rolled, screaming, on the ground. Whereupon the whole band raised a wild yell, and rushed upon the burgomaster.

Then Johann cried, almost with anguish, "Back! back! he is my father! Do ye not remember your oaths to me? Spare my father!

Wait, at least; he has something of importance to tell me."