'Gott hat sein plan Fur Jedenmann.'

"What do you see there, Herr Vorsteher?" cried he, as the old man stared with astonished eyes from the little window that commanded the valley.

"What is it you see?"

"The Dorf in the Kaunser-Thal seems all in commotion," answered the Vorsteher. "The people are packing every thing in their waggons, and preparing to fly."

"I know that," said Hans, quietly; "I saw it already."

"Thou hast seen it already?" muttered the old man, in trembling awe.

"Yes, I saw it all. Look sharply along the river side, and tell me if a child is not holding two mules, who are striving to get down into the stream to drink."

"G.o.d be around and about us!" murmured the Vorsteher; "his power is great!" He crossed himself three times, and the whole company followed the pious motion; and a low, murmuring prayer, was heard to fill the chamber.

"There is a waggon with eight bullocks, too, but they cannot stir the load," continued Hans, as, with closed eyes, he spoke with the faint accents of one half-sleeping.

"Who are these coming along the valley, Hans?" asked the Vorsteher; "they seem like our own Jagers, as well as my eyes can make out."

"He is asleep!" whispered his mother, with a cautious gesture to enforce silence.

It was true. Wearied, and faint, and dying, he had fallen into slumber.

While poor Hans slept, the tidings of which he was the singular messenger had received certain confirmation. The village scouts had already exchanged shots with the Bavarian troops upon the mountains, and driven them back. The guard at the Pontlatzer Brucke was seen to withdraw up the valley towards Landeck, escorting three field-pieces which had only arrived the preceding day. Every moment accounts came of garrisons withdrawn from distant outpost stations, and troops falling back to concentrate in the open country. It was seen, from various circ.u.mstances, that a forward movement had been intended, and was only thwarted by the inexplicable intervention of Hans Jorgle.

The Tyrolers could not fail to perceive that their own hour was now come, and the blow must be struck at once or never! So felt the leaders; and scarcely had the Bavarians withdrawn their advanced posts, than emissaries flew from village to village, with little sc.r.a.ps of paper, bearing the simple words, "_Es ist zeit!_--It is time!" while, as the day broke, a little plank was seen floating down the current, with a small flag-staff, from which a pennon fluttered--a signal that was welcomed by the wildest shouts of enthusiasm as it floated along:--the Tyrol was up! "_Fur Gott, der Kaiser, und das Vaterland!_" rung from every glen and every mountain.

I dare not suffer myself to be withdrawn, even for a moment, to that glorious struggle--one of the n.o.blest that ever a nation carried on to victory. My task is rather within that darkened room in the little hut, where, with fast-ebbing life, Hans Jorgle lay.

The wild cheers and echoing songs of the marching peasants awoke him from his sleep, which, if troubled by pangs of pain, had still lasted for some hours. He smiled, and made a gesture as if for silence, that he might hear the glorious sounds more plainly, and then lay in a calm, peaceful reverie, for a considerable time.

The Vorsteher had, with considerable difficulty, persuaded the poor widow to leave the bedside for a moment, while he asked Hans a question.

The wretched mother was borne, almost fainting, away; and the old man sat in her place, but, subdued by the anguish of the scene, unable to speak. At last, while the tears ran down his aged cheeks, he kissed the child's hand, and said,--

"Thou wilt leave us soon, Hans!"

Hans gave a smile of sad, but beautiful meaning, while his upturned eyes seemed to intimate his hope and his faith.

"True, Hans--thy reward is ready for thee!"

He paused a second, and then went on:--

"But even here, my child, in our own poor village, let thy devotion be a treasure, to be handed down in memory to our children, that they may know how one like themselves--more helpless, too--could serve his Vaterland. Say, Hans Jorgle, will it make thy last moments happier to think that our grat.i.tude will raise a monument to thee in the Dorf, with thy father's name, who fell at Elchingen, above thine own? The villagers have bid me ask thee this."

"My mother--my poor mother!" murmured Hans.

"She shall never want, Hans Jorgle. The best house in the Dorf shall not have a better fireside than hers. But my question, Hans--time presses."

Hans was silent, and lay with closed eyes for several minutes; then, laying his hand on the old man, he spoke with an utterance clear at first, but which gradually grew fainter as he proceeded,--

"Let them build no monument to one poor and humble as I am; mine were not actions glorious enough for trophies in the noon-day; but let the 'Nachtwachter' come here at midnight--at the same hour of my blessed dream--and let him wish me a good night. They who are sleeping will dream happier; and the waking will think, as they hear the cry, of Hans Jorgle!"