The Woodcutter of Gutech Part 2

"The Bible, sir, G.o.d's word," answered Meta, without hesitation.

"A very blessed book, and a very blessed message it contains," observed the gentleman. "But how came you young foresters to possess it, and to learn to read it?"

"I learned at Herr Gellet's school," answered Meta, "and a good man who came by this way, sold us the book at a small price. It is worth ten times the sum we gave, I am sure of that."

"And where do you live?" asked the gentleman.

Meta told him.

"And is your grandfather sick, that he is not with you?" he inquired.

"Alas! he has been cast into prison for listening to a preacher of G.o.d's word," said Meta, "and we know not what they are going to do with him, whether they will burn him, as they have done others, or keep him shut up."

The n.o.bleman, for such by his appearance they supposed him to be, continued looking with great interest at Meta, while she was speaking.

Having made further inquiries about the old woodcutter, he joined several of his companions who had been standing all the time at a little distance, scarcely perceived till now by Meta and Karl. One of them had been holding his horse, which he mounted, and rode away, conversing with him through the forest.

Karl having made up his f.a.gots, proceeded homewards, talking with Meta as they went, about the interview with the n.o.bleman, and wondering who he could be. "I wonder whether he is the Count Furstenburg, whose castle is, I know, some short distance off, though I have never been up to it. I have several times seen the tops of the towers over the trees.

Yet whenever I have heard his name mentioned he has been spoken of as a fierce, cruel lord, tyrannical both to his dependants and even to those of his own family. I know I have heard of all sorts of bad things about him, but grandfather never likes to speak of him."

"Then I am sure that n.o.ble cannot be the Count Furstenburg," said Meta: "he spoke so gently and looked so kindly at us."

Scarcely had they entered their cottage than they heard horses' hoofs approaching it. Karl ran out to see who it was, while Meta was preparing the supper.

"Oh, Meta!" exclaimed Karl, running back, "it is that dreadful man, Johann Herder, our grandfather's great enemy! His coming bodes us no good."

They consulted whether they should bolt the door, but Meta advised that they should show no alarm; and as Herder could easily break open the door, it would be useless to try and keep him out.

In another minute Herder entered the cottage. He cast a frowning glance around him. "Where is your grandfather?" he asked.

"I am afraid, sir, he is in prison," answered Meta.

"Why is he there?" he asked again.

"Karl says, because he was listening to a preacher of the gospel,"

answered Meta.

"He was a.s.sisting in creating a disturbance rather," observed Herder.

"I am sure grandfather is not the man to do that," exclaimed Karl. "I was with him, and he was as quiet as any man could be."

"Then you ought to have been taken prisoner too," exclaimed the farmer.

"I must see to that. And what book is that you have by your side, maiden?" he asked, glancing at Meta's Bible, which she was prepared to read.

"G.o.d's word, sir," said Meta, firmly. "We always read it before sitting down to meals. It is by reading it that we learn of salvation. This book says, 'Faith cometh by hearing,' or reading G.o.d's word, and by faith we are saved."

"Those are strange doctrines you are speaking," said the rough man, yet feeling, perhaps, more than he was willing to acknowledge, the force of her words, and greatly struck by her calmness and bravery.

"They cannot be new, sir," answered Meta, "for they were written by the apostles themselves, nor are they strange, for the same reason."

"I came not to discuss such matters," said Herder, turning away. "My reason for coming here was to tell your grandfather that he must move out of this cottage, as I have bought it. As he is not here, I give you the notice, and let me tell you that the opinions you utter are very dangerous. They are not such as to please the priests or bishop; take care, therefore, what you are about." Without further words, Herder turned round, unwilling it seemed to look any longer on the young girl and her brother who had so boldly confronted him. Leaving the cottage, he mounted his horse and rode off.

The young people could not help being alarmed. It would be a sad thing to have to leave their old home, and for their grandfather, when he got out of prison, to be obliged to seek for a new one. His other threats also boded them no good. They had, however, strength the rough man knew nothing of. As soon as they were again alone, they knelt down and prayed for protection, nor failed to obtain the comfort prayer will always bring. They then returned to the table and partook of their yet untasted supper. Before it was finished, a knock was heard at the door.

"Shall I open it?" asked Karl. "Perhaps it is Herr Herder come back again."

"Oh, no!" said Meta, "he would not knock. We should not be afraid to open the door."

Karl withdrew the bolt, and who should he see but the book-hawker, Gottlieb Spena! They recognised him at once. He entered, and saluting them, kindly inquired for their grandfather. "I trust he has not been taken from you," he said, with an expression of anxiety.

"Indeed he has, sir," said Meta, "but not by death;" and in a few words she explained what had happened.

"That is very sad, but G.o.d will protect you, my children," he observed, placing his pack, as he had before done, in a corner of the room. "We must try and obtain his liberation. The people of Germany will no longer submit to persecution. However, I trust that, by some means, your grandfather's liberation may be obtained."

Meta and Karl warmly thanked their friend, and begged him to partake of their humble fare. This he did, seeing that there was abundance.

Suddenly he exclaimed, "I have thought of a plan. I will endeavour to gain admittance to your grandfather, and if so, I trust the means may be given him to escape from the prison." As it was somewhat late, the book-hawker gladly availed himself of the shelter of the hut for the night, while he amply repaid his young hosts by reading and expounding the Scriptures to them, greatly to their satisfaction.

CHAPTER SIX.

The old woodcutter sat in his cell, his spirits yet unbroken, and resolved, as at first, to adhere to the faith. Still, accustomed as he had been to a life in the open air, his spirits occasionally flagged and his health somewhat suffered. Often and often he thought to himself, as he examined the walls of his prison, "If I had an iron tool of some sort, I doubt if these walls would long contain me." But everything he had possessed had been taken from him when he was first brought to prison, and not even a nail could he find with which to work as he proposed. He was seated on his heap of straw, and the gaoler entered with his usual fare of brown bread and water.

"I have a message for you, old man," said the gaoler, who, though rough in appearance, spoke sometimes in a kind tone. "A holy monk wishes to see you, and bade me tell you so."

"I have no desire to see a monk," answered Moretz. "He cannot make me change my faith, and it would be time lost were he to come to me."

"But he brings you a message from your grandchildren," said the gaoler.

"He bade me say that if you refused to see him--"

Moretz thought an instant. "Let him come then," he answered.

The gaoler nodded and took his departure. In a short time he returned, ushering in a st.u.r.dy, strong-looking man in a monk's dress. The gaoler retired, closing the door.

"You do not know me, friend Moretz," said his visitor, in a low voice.

"I have been admitted, that I might give you spiritual comfort and advice," he said, in a louder tone, "and I gladly accepted the office."

His visitor talked for some time with Moretz, producing from under his dress a book from which he read, though not without difficulty, by the gleam of light which came in through the small opening which has been spoken of. From another pocket he produced two iron instruments carefully wrapped up, so as not to strike against each other. "Here is a strong chisel," he said, "and here is a stout file. I have heard of people working their way through prison walls with worse instruments than these. Now farewell, friend Moretz. The time I am allowed to remain with you is ended, and the gaoler will be here anon to let me out of the prison."

"I fear you run a great risk," said Moretz, warmly thanking his visitor.

"For the Lord's people I am ready to run any risk," was the answer, and just then the gaoler was heard drawing back the bolts. The friar took his departure.

The old woodcutter was once more left alone. He had piled up his straw on the side of the wall on which the opening was placed. He now carefully drew it back, and began working away at a stone which had before been hidden by it. His success surpa.s.sed his expectations.

There had been a drain or a hole left for some purpose, carelessly filled up. Thus hour after hour he sc.r.a.ped away, carefully replacing the straw directly he heard the gaoler's step near his door. What a sweet thing is liberty! The woodcutter's chief difficulty was to hide the rubbish he dug out, the straw being scarcely sufficient for that purpose. As he was working, however, he let his chisel drop. He thought the stone on which it dropped emitted a hollow sound. He worked away in consequence, to remove it, and great was his satisfaction to find beneath a hole of some size. He was now able to labour with more confidence. In a short time he had removed the stone from the wall, giving him an aperture of sufficient size to pa.s.s through. The earth beyond was soft. And now he dug and dug away, following up the hole in the pavement. He was afraid sometimes that his hands covered with earth might betray him, but the gaoler's lantern was dim, and he managed always to conceal them as much as possible when the man entered.

At length he felt sure from the height he had worked that he was near the surface of the earth on the outside. He now feared lest it might fall in during the daytime, and this made him hesitate about working except during the hours of the night. He had saved up as many crusts of bread as his pockets would hold, in order, should it become necessary for him to lie concealed for any length of time, that he might have wherewith to support life. And now the time arrived when he believed that he should be able to extricate himself altogether. He waited till the gaoler had paid his last visit, and then watched anxiously till the thickening gloom in his cell showed him that night was approaching. He had all along of course worked in darkness, so that it being night made no difference to him. He now dug away bravely, and as he had not to carry the earth into the hole, he made great progress. At length, working with his chisel above his head, he felt it pierce through the ground. Greater caution was therefore necessary, lest the falling earth should make a noise.

The fresh air which came down restored his strength, and in a few minutes he was able to lift himself out of the hole. He did not, however, venture to stand up, but lying his length on the ground, gazed around him. The dark walls of the old castle rose up on one side. On the other, at the bottom of a steep bank, was the moat, partly filled up, however, with rubbish. Beyond, another bank had to be climbed, and beyond that again was the wild open country, the castle being just outside the walls of the town. He quickly formed his plan.