"Well, my good man," he said, "I can't do that for you! You can't have it sc.r.a.ped away! Anyhow, you're wearing the sleeve of the king's uniform over the watchword of revolution; and if you want to do more, you can put on a thick coating of lanoline and dust it with rice-powder. Then n.o.body will see it."

"Thank you, doctor," said Weise, standing up. "What do I owe you for your trouble?"

"Nothing at all, my man!" said the little doctor, laughing. "It's been no trouble; only a pleasure!"

And the non-commissioned officer went off to the nearest druggist's, where he bought the largest tube of lanoline in the shop and half a pound of rice-powder.

The military prisoner Wolf could hardly believe his eyes when he saw his former comrade Vogt dressed in the grey prison clothes. The prisoners had been ordered out for open-air work and were standing in the corridor, but at some distance from each other; it was quite impossible to get nearer together, and speaking was strictly forbidden.

The guard stepped into their places around the little band, and it was as usual well rubbed into the minds of the latter that these armed sentries carried loaded weapons, and were not supposed to hold their hands in any case of attempted escape. "Halt!" would be called three times, and they would fire if the word of command were not obeyed. The non-commissioned officer in command made this announcement, and then the doors were unlocked and thrown open.

Out in the yard the sunlight only touched the upper storey of one of the wings, and within the high walls the air felt icy cold. As from the bottom of a shaft they looked up to the clear sky overhead, and then stepped out into the real sunshine and felt the warmth of the bright rays.

During the time of the autumn manuvres, and until the early part of the new year, the enormous parade-ground was deserted. The drilling of the troops went on in the barrack-yard, and it was only after the inspection of recruits was completed that exercises took place in the big ground.

The prisoners were ordered to get the place tidy for the spring and repair any damages that had occurred during the summer. The princ.i.p.al work, however, was the banking up of a high obstacle wall, and beyond it to dig a deep ditch; both for use in the artillery driving-exercises. This was an unspeakably fatiguing business. The soil, to a depth of several feet, consisted of light fine sand. In this they stood ankle deep, loading their wheelbarrows; yet the ditch never seemed to grow any deeper, nor the wall any higher. It was like working with water which continually flowed in again.

Whilst work was going on it was easy for one man to approach another.

When Vogt and Wolf pa.s.sed each other for the first time, one pushing his wheelbarrow before him, the other trotting with his empty barrow down into the ditch, they exchanged melancholy nods. Later it came about that they were standing next each other shovelling the loose sand into their barrows. True, speaking was forbidden; but it was possible to murmur words almost without moving the lips, yet so as to be perfectly intelligible.

"How do you come to be here?" was Wolf's first question.

Vogt related his story, often interrupted by the progress of their work; but when he had deposited his barrowful up above, he always managed to return to the neighbourhood of his erstwhile comrade in the regiment, and at last he had told the whole history of his crime.

Wolf gave a short bitter laugh. He was heartily sorry for this poor fellow, but was not this a new example of the fact that socialists had no need to work hard at propaganda? The ripe fruit was ready to drop into their laps without any co-operation of their own. This Vogt, the bravest of soldiers, the most amenable of men, fitted for a post in the royal body-guard, was wheeling his barrow here amongst thieves and ruffians of all sorts. And beside him the blood-red social-democrat!

And then he listened as Vogt went on to tell of his other acquaintances in the battery; each day, of course, his narrative was interrupted, and sometimes they had only time for a few words.

Weise had been promoted to be non-commissioned officer! That everlasting chatterer, who only owed it to his gift of the gab that he had been able to boast of himself as confidential agent of his union!

Was not this a topsy-turvy world?

But no. Weise fitted his position to a nicety. His fluent adaptability was in its right place. Little Captain von Wegstetten would have no non-commissioned officer under him better calculated to satisfy his desires than Gustav Weise. If he had remained a social-democrat, thought Wolf to himself, he would simply have been a pliant tool in the hands of some stronger member of the party. He was not to be relied on either here or there.

How different was Vogt, the peasant! Honour and steadfast faith looked out of his quiet grey eyes. Wolf began to take him in hand.

The echoes of those hastily whispered words as to the great injustice and oppression of the present, and the glorious equality and freedom of the future, rang the clearer and the more insistently for being awakened within the walls of a prison. Two men, who could with a clear conscience acquit themselves of any guilty intention, were here herding with common criminals and carting sand like them.

The peasant yielded this point at once. Wolf and he were both being punished unjustly. And the world was full of injustice.

"Then you belong to us," said Wolf.

"How do you mean?" asked Vogt. "To you?"

"Why, you are a social-democrat!"

"Am I?" said Vogt. "Perhaps. I don't know."

"If you think like that you must be."

"Well, but I don't want a revolution, or anything of the kind; though it is all the same to me whether we have a king or a republic. I only want to have my work, and to do it as I like, and to be left alone."

"The one leads to the other," said Wolf. "If things are to become better there must be a different form of government."

He went on further to speak of the brotherhood which should include all nations of the earth, so that there should be no more war and no more soldiers. Who else was it but the princes and rulers that hindered the coming of this fair unity of hearts? The people certainly desired ever-enduring peace. The oppressive sense of captivity stirred him to eloquence that fired his own imagination, and finally even inflamed the sober judgment of Vogt.

The peasant nodded: "Yes, yes. That would be fine!"

He could form no clear picture of that brilliant future. All men brothers? No more quarrelling and no more war? No one who would give orders to others? No one who would demand taxes and rent? Was this really possible?

But the other man spoke in such a convinced manner, he seemed so certain, that there was hardly room for doubt. And these were the aims of those social-democrats of whom people were so afraid, thinking they wanted to destroy and annihilate everything!

Of course they were right. Everything would be better then, and more beautiful. And to work for that would be worth one's trouble! One could give one's life for it if need be.

They were on the way back to the prison after their work. Vogt and Wolf stepped along side by side in the ranks. The long lean man seemed to be merely skin and bone; his cheeks had fallen in, the grey prison clothes hung loosely on his limbs. But his eyes glowed and sparkled as though with an inward fever, and a proud smile was on his lips. Vogt nodded to him. The gesture was the expression of a solemn vow.

The troop of prisoners arrived at the gate. A heavy shower of rain drove them to take shelter in the arched doorway, and they stood pressed closely together waiting for the door to open.

Suddenly Vogt felt Wolf's hand seize his own in a firm grip.

"I think we are now at one about this, comrade?" he heard him whisper.

And the peasant returned the strong pressure, and answered, "Yes, comrade."

Each day in prison resembled every other; they pa.s.sed slowly by like a chain of exactly equal links.

When the ground became frozen and neither spade nor pickaxe could be used, the prisoners were given straw mats to plait or sacks to sew.

Then Vogt used to swear to himself. "d.a.m.n it all! Why didn't I straighten my knees? What did it matter to me that the lieutenant had such a stuck-up way with him?" Thank G.o.d the first three months of the five had pa.s.sed by, and in January he would return to the garrison.

Then there would be two more months to serve; till in March, in the first days of spring, he would be free.

But before that, when December was just beginning, bad news came to him from outside.

His father was dead. And, worse still, he was already buried when the son first heard of the occurrence. But that had been the old man's wish.

It all sounded like an old story, this that was told to the military prisoner Vogt, as he stood in the office by the superintendent of the prison, a little sickly-looking captain of infantry.

The village-elder from home had come himself all this long way to inform the son of his father's death. There he stood, big, fat, and strong, in his sheepskin cloak; a freer breath of air seemed to have come in with him, and he related all there was to tell. It was not even certain when the turnpike-keeper had died.

With the departure of summer the old man had seemed gradually to decay.

In spite of that, however, he steadily refused to have any one to help him; and when the cold weather put a stop to work in the field he was seen no more by the neighbours.

The little house looked lifeless with its closed shutters, and only the thin line of smoke which ascended from the chimney at morning and midday betrayed the presence of a living creature.

Then came the hard frost at the beginning of winter. The boy who daily fetched away the milk that Vogt sold reported one day that the pitcher of milk had not been left in the yard for him as usual. But there was nothing extraordinary about that. Perhaps the queer old man had wanted to make b.u.t.ter. The peasants thought it was just some new fancy of his.

At midday some one drove past the turnpike-keeper's house, taking corn to the mill, and observed that no smoke was coming from the chimney.

Why had old Vogt got no fire? Even if he didn't want to cook food for himself, the cows ought to have their warm meal. On his way home the same peasant heard the cows mooing incessantly in a troubled manner, and he related all this at the ale-house in the evening.