Historical fiction; Italy -- History -- Revolution of 1848 -- Fiction; War stories
General Schoneck and General Pierson walked away laughing, and
the younger officers were left to themselves. Half-a-dozen of them
interlaced arms, striding up toward the Porta Nuova, near which, at the
corner of the Via Trinita, they had the pleasant excitement of beholding
a riderless horse suddenly in mid gallop sink on its knees and roll
over. A crowd came pouring after it, and from the midst the voice of
a comrade hailed them. 'It's Pierson,' cried Lieutenant Jenna. The
officers drew their swords, and hailed the guard from the gates.
Lieutenant Pierson dropped in among their shoulders, dead from want of
breath. They held him up, and finding him sound, thumped his back. The
blade of his sword was red. He coughed with their thumpings, and sang
out to them to cease; the idle mob which had been at his heels drew back
before the guard could come up with them. Lieutenant Pierson gave no
explanation except that he had been attacked near Juliet's tomb on his
way to General Schoneck's quarters. Fellows had stabbed his horse, and
brought him to the ground, and torn the coat off his back. He complained
in bitter mutterings of the loss of a letter therein, during the first
candid moments of his anger: and, as he was known to be engaged to the
Countess Lena von Lenkenstein, it was conjectured by his comrades that
this lady might have had something to do with the ravishment of the
letter. Great laughter surrounded him, and he looked from man to man.
Allowance is naturally made for the irascibility of a brother officer
coming tattered out of the hands of enemies, or Lieutenant Jenna would
have construed his eye's challenge on the spot. As it was, he cried out,
'The letter! the letter! Charge, for the honour of the army, and rescue
the letter!' Others echoed him: 'The letter! the letter! the English
letter!' A foreigner in an army can have as much provocation as he
pleases; if he is anything of a favourite with his superiors, his
fellows will task his forbearance. Wilfrid Pierson glanced at the blade
of his sword, and slowly sheathed it. 'Lieutenant Jenna is a good actor
before a mob,' he said. 'Gentlemen, I rely upon you to make no noise
about that letter; it is a private matter. In an hour or so, if any
officer shall choose to question me concerning it, I will answer him.'
The last remnants of the mob had withdrawn. The officer in command at
the gates threw a cloak over Wilfrid's shoulders; and taking the arm of
a friend Wilfrid hurried to barracks, and was quickly in a position to
report himself to his General, whose first remark, 'Has the dead horse
been removed?' robbed him of his usual readiness to equivocate. 'When
you are the bearer of a verbal despatch, come straight to quarters,
if you have to come like a fig-tree on the north side of the wall in
Winter,' said General Schoneck, who was joined presently by General
Pierson.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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