He shut his eyes dizzily. His senses were still somewhat dazed from his potations; he could not rouse himself to a clear awakening.

The woman turned towards him. A charming, rather bold face bent down over him, and a pair of hot, eager lips were pressed to his. And Reimers, after the s.p.a.ce of years behind him, was once again in that mood in which he had of yore committed acts of folly.

A few weeks later Senior-lieutenant Reimers had a consultation with the surgeon-major, Dr. Andreae.

"What you tell me, doctor," he said at the end, "is very much like a death-sentence, so far as a man's domestic happiness is concerned. He must never hope to found a family?"

"No," replied Andreae; "a decent man does not marry under such circ.u.mstances. If he does, he commits a crime, consciously or unconsciously, not only upon a woman, but upon his children."

"Thank you, doctor." And Reimers would have taken leave, but Andreae stopped him at the door.

"I beg of you, my dear Reimers," he said, "not to take too tragic a view of your case. I a.s.sure you, many men in like circ.u.mstances make out a very tolerable existence. Among the younger men of the present generation the average is enormously high, though fortunately most cases are not so serious as yours. Quite alarmingly high, the average, to us doctors.

"But after all, life is not entirely concerned with this one relation to the other s.e.x. Those who find themselves cut off from domestic happiness in this particular are often most excellent officers. In peace they can devote themselves entirely to their profession without other distractions; so that it benefits somewhat, as does the Catholic Church by the services of her celibate priesthood. And in active warfare it seems to me that such men must enjoy something of the fatalism of Islam. All is not lost, my dear fellow! I hear everywhere the greatest praise of your capacity and talents as an officer. So be brave, and throw the others as mere ballast behind you. You have a guiding star in your profession--is it not so?"

Reimers nodded.

"You are right, doctor," he said, "and I am much obliged to you."

He looked weary and broken as he went out at the door. In a thoughtless moment he had destroyed his one chance of happiness. That moment he must expiate, and he knew he was strong enough to bear the burden.

But it seemed to him that it was not this alone that had decided his fate. He felt as though a grey veil had descended over his whole future; even over all that in his imagination had elevated him above the more sordid chances of destiny.

Could this be because that star to which the doctor had pointed him was losing its brilliancy?

Gloomily he trod the woodland path to the town. Down below in a field behind the barracks an old sergeant was giving the a.s.sistant trumpeters a lesson. The lads blew forth a horribly ill-tuned unison. Then the sergeant set his own trumpet to his lips, and the notes of the dismissal rang clearly through the air:--

[Ill.u.s.tration: (musical score)]

The signal that in the manuvres indicated the close of each evolution.

CHAPTER XIV

After eighteen months of service Gustav Weise was made bombardier.

Captain von Wegstetten thought this would now be a safe experiment with the erstwhile social-democrat.

But more non-commissioned officers were still required.

Sergeant Wiegandt had gone away on April 1: Wegstetten's best non-com., and now the blissful husband of the beaming Frieda. He would have been made deputy sergeant-major very shortly; but not even this prospect had been sufficient to retain him. At Michaelmas two more non-commissioned officers would obtain their discharge; Heppner was dead; Heimert was in a mad-house; there were strange faces everywhere, instead of the old tried experienced men. And even so there were not enough of them.

In this embarra.s.sment Wegstetten bethought himself of Vogt. He was an honest steady lad, on whom one could depend. All his superiors praised him, and, besides, he had good blood in his veins, inherited from his father, the brave old sergeant, with his iron cross and his medal for bravery.

Vogt did not prove to be particularly willing. Every plough in its furrow, every mower deftly at work, awakened in him longings for his old agricultural pursuits. He wore his uniform with a good grace; there was no help for it, and grumbling would have only made the life harder.

But to stay on longer than necessary--for that he had no hankering.

Wegstetten knew how to tackle his men. He talked glibly to the gunner about the honour and distinction to be won as a non-commissioned officer, not forgetting to observe how much the father at home would rejoice to see the son following in his footsteps.

Vogt asked his father's advice, and the turnpike-keeper wrote back: "Jump at your captain's offer, my lad. As an old soldier, I am very glad to think of my boy as a non-commissioned officer. Never mind about me. The pleasure you give me will make me young and strong, so that I shall be able to keep the place going till you come home again at last."

So Vogt signed on for another year.

But directly he found himself committed he began to regret his decision.

He had been very lonely in the battery since his comrade Klitzing's death. He had not felt inclined to strike up a friendship with any one else; none of them were quite his sort. Despite his good nature, Truchsess was a lazy obtuse kind of fellow. Count Plettau, to be sure, was different; for though one never quite knew whether he was in jest or earnest, still one could have something like rational conversation with him. And Plettau took a real interest in the st.u.r.dy peasant lad, in whom he recognised an outlook on life so different from his own as to fill him with constant amazement. He told Vogt about the peasants of his own Westphalian home, who in many cases had lived on their land from generation to generation, and knew no higher source of pride than to call themselves peasant-farmers.

Then Vogt's eyes would brighten up. These men of the red mother-earth were people after his own heart.

"Yes," he said, "so it should be everywhere in Germany:

Peasant farm by peasant farm, Then shall none have hunger or harm!"

Vogt was grateful to the count for talking to him so sensibly and kindly; but still things were totally changed: he could not find any one to replace his faithful friend Klitzing. The poor fellow felt more and more lonely every day.

In addition to this he had many vexations to bear when on duty. Captain von Wegstetten and Lieutenant Reimers, who certainly both knew their business well, had always shown themselves satisfied with him; but a new senior-lieutenant was imported into the battery, a certain Brettschneider, who was always pulling Vogt up and finding fault with him.

Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider came from the Staff College, and the non-commissioned officers whispered it about that he was considered no end of a swell. Well, he might be clever and smart enough; but, nevertheless, the new officer was not infallible. When the exercises were going on he could make mistakes like every one else. One thing was certain: he was tremendously well-set-up. He always stood as straight and stiff as a ramrod, and he could scarcely turn his carefully groomed head, so high was his collar! Moreover, his pink, clean-shaven face never for one moment lost its expression of haughty disdain. The men avoided him as far as they could, for one seldom came near him without being called back and found fault with; and everybody--non-coms. and all--felt exasperated by the young man's conceited behaviour.

Devil take the fellow! Wegstetten and Reimers certainly did not make themselves cheap with the men. But when things were going right, they always had time for a word of praise and an appreciative smile. Even the sharp eyes of little Wegstetten could look quite good-humoured on occasion. But Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider always remained stand-offish, looking as if he had swallowed a poker.

All this incensed our honest Vogt. Of course it was true--confound it!

that a soldier was only doing his duty; still, one is but human, and one deserves a little recognition for hard and faithful service. And isn't that the right way to knit a lasting bond between officers and men, one that should prove valuable when hard times come?

During the gun-practice Vogt had been several times called over the coals by Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider. The bombardier did his duty in a cheerful spirit, and sometimes let fall half-audible jokes and chaff for his comrades' benefit. This much annoyed the officer in question, and he spiced his rebuke with the remark that he didn't know how a man who couldn't observe the first rudiments of discipline could aspire to being a non-commissioned officer!

Vogt laid this scolding to heart. He had meant no harm when he had called out "Hurry up!" to that dilatory old Truchsess. On the other hand, it could not be denied that Brettschneider was in the right: they were forbidden to speak unless it was absolutely necessary, and "necessary" his admonition had certainly not been.

Nevertheless, a bitter feeling of having been unjustly treated remained in Vogt's mind.

When they came back from the practice-camp he rejoiced to be once more doing ordinary drill; for at this he knew he was especially good, particularly in the gun-drill. He would be able now to show the senior-lieutenant what a capable fellow he was. And this time they would have to be more than usually particular over the exercises; the colonel himself was going to review the sixth battery.

The mantling and dismantling of the guns needed great prompt.i.tude and dexterity. Imaginary accidents were therefore said to have happened, and the men keenly competed together to see who should remedy them most quickly and satisfactorily.

The pole of Vogt's gun was supposed to be broken. In a second he had put on the spare iron bands that should in reality be fixed with nails, and then he wound coil after coil of stout rope round the join, till the pole was as if held in a strong web of cordage, and would be more likely to break in a new place than to give way again where it had broken before.

He had just finished this piece of work, when a gunner came running to say that the off-wheel of the gun-carriage had been destroyed by a shot, and must be replaced by a new one.

This was a serious piece of business. Three men would have to hold the heavy carriage while the two others fixed the scarcely less heavy wheel on to the axle. To make things worse, that blockhead Truchsess had hurt himself in removing the wheel that had been "destroyed," so that only four men were left. Vogt rolled up the spare wheel, but it was almost impossible to fix it; the heavy wheel was too c.u.mbersome for a single man.

The sweat ran in streams down Vogt's forehead into his eyes, making them smart terribly; but he would not give up, and at last with a tremendous effort managed to lift the wheel into place and slide it on to the axle. There was nothing to do now but to run the linch-pin through the axle and screw on the nave to keep all safe. This he did with trembling fingers.

Vogt raised himself. Thank G.o.d! Neither of the other five guns had got as far as his, and yet his had been the heaviest job. He told his men to keep still, and ran over to Senior-lieutenant Brettschneider to report the completion of his task.

Brettschneider was standing at the edge of the parade-ground in the shade of the baggage-shed, talking to Senior-lieu-tenant Reimers.

It was only while he was running that Vogt first noticed how severely he had strained himself. His heart hammered as though it would burst from his body, and his legs were trembling. With the back of his hand he wiped the sweat from his brow, and drew himself up in the prescribed fashion as he reported: "Gun six ready, sir. Pole mended and spare wheel fixed."