What was that? An exulting cry rang through the night air. A warrior
had succeeded in penetrating the hostile citadel untouched and setting
his foot on the hearth!
Two or three times we enjoyed the delight of battle; and when towards
midnight it closed, we threw ourselves-glowing from the strife and
blackened by the smoke of the hearth-fires-down on the greensward around
the women's fire, where boiled eggs and other good things were served,
and meanwhile the mugs of foaming beer were passed around the circle.
One patriotic song after another was sung, and at last each Bergwacht
withdrew to its citadel and lay down on the moss to sleep under the
sheltering roof. Two sentinels marched up and down, relieved every half
hour until the early dawn of the summer Sunday brightened the eastern
sky.
Then "Huup!"--the Keilhau shout which summoned us back to the institute-
rang out, and a hymn, the march back, a bath in the pond, and finally the
most delicious rest, if good luck permitted, on the heaps of hay which
had not been gathered in. On the Sunday following the Bergwacht we were
not required to attend church, where we should merely have gone to sleep.
Barop, though usually very strict in the observance of religious duties,
never demanded anything for the sake of mere appearances.
And the bed of my own planning! It consisted of wood and stones, and was
covered with a thick layer of moss, raised at the head in a slanting
direction. It looked like other beds, but the place where it stood
requires some description, for it was a Keilhau specialty, a favour
bestowed by our teachers on the pupils.
Midway up the slope of the Kolm where our citadels stood, on the side
facing the institute, each boy had a piece of ground where he might
build, dig, or plant, as he chose. They descended from one to another:
Ludo's and mine had come down from Martin and another pupil who left the
school at the same time. But I was not satisfied with what my
predecessors had created. I spared the beautiful vine which twined
around a fir-tree, but in the place of a flower-bed and a bench which I
found there Ludo and I built a hearth, and for myself the bed already
mentioned, which my brother of course was permitted to occupy with me.
How many hours I have spent on its soft cushions, reading or dreaming or
imagining things! If I could only remember them as they hovered before
me, what epics and tales I could write!
No doubt we ought to be grateful to God for this as well as for so many
other blessings; but why are we permitted to be young only once in our
lives, only once to be borne aloft on the wings of a tireless power of
imagination, so easily satisfied with ourselves, so full of love, faith,
and hope, so open to every joy and so blind to every care and doubt, and
everything which threatens to cloud and extinguish the sunlight in the
soul?
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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