This unsatisfactory communication, and the utter inability of the youth
to furnish any account of himself, determined the captain to have
nothing to do in the matter; so he immediately handed his charge over
to the police. Taken to the guardroom, a close examination was made of
the strange arrival. His attire consisted of a coarse shirt,
pantaloons, and a peasant's jacket, in which was a white handkerchief
marked "K.H." (Kaspar Hauser). He was of medium height,
broad-shouldered, and well built; his skin was white and fine, his
limbs delicately moulded, and his hands small and beautifully formed.
The soles of his feet were as soft as the palms of his hands, and were
covered with blisters, which seemed to account for his difficulty in
walking. But subsequent investigation offered further elucidation upon
this point; it showed that his feet had never before been compressed by
shoes, and that owing to the confined position in which the unfortunate
boy had been retained, the joint at the knees, instead of being a
protuberance when the leg was straightened, formed a hole or
depression. Whilst under examination he manifested neither dread nor
astonishment, but continued to cry and point to his feet. His
behaviour excited the compassion of the officials, and one of them
offered him some meat and beer; but he rejected them with disgust,
partaking, however, of bread and water with apparent relish.
The usual interrogations were put to him, as to his name, whence he
came, and his travelling pass; but all in vain. Beyond his frequently
repeated expression, "I want to be a trooper as my father was," little
could be got out of him. Some of the spectators began to fancy the lad
was playing a part, and their suspicions were increased when, upon
writing materials being offered to him, he took a pen, and slowly and
clearly wrote "Kaspar Hauser." Unable to make out whether he was an
idiot or an impostor, he was removed to a tower near the guard-house,
where rogues and vagabonds were confined. Given a straw bed, he lay
down and slept soundly.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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