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Otto of the Silver Hand
X. How Hans Brought Terror to the Kitchen
Hans found himself in a pretty pickle in the chimney, for the soot got into his one eye and set it to watering, and into his nose and set him to sneezing, and into his mouth and his ears and his hair. But still he struggled on, up and up; “for every chimney has a top,” said Hans to himself “and I am sure to climb out somewhere or other.” Suddenly he came to a place where another chimney joined the one he was climbing, and here he stopped to consider the matter at his leisure. “See now,” he muttered, “if I still go upward I may come out at the top of some tall chimney-stack with no way of getting down outside. Now, below here there must be a fire-place somewhere, for a chimney does not start from nothing at all; yes, good! we will go down a while and see what we make of that.”
It was a crooked, zigzag road that he had to travel, and rough and hard into the bargain. His one eye tingled and smarted, and his knees and elbows were rubbed to the quick; nevertheless One-eyed Hans had been in worse trouble than this in his life.
Down he went and down he went, further than he had climbed upward before. “Sure, I must be near some place or other,” he thought.
As though in instant answer to his thoughts, he heard the sudden sound of a voice so close beneath him that he stopped short in his downward climbing and stood as still as a mouse, with his heart in his mouth. A few inches more and he would have been discovered; – what would have happened then would have been no hard matter to foretell.
Hans braced his back against one side of the chimney, his feet against the other and then, leaning forward, looked down between his knees. The gray light of the coming evening glimmered in a wide stone fireplace just below him. Within the fireplace two people were moving about upon the broad hearth, a great, fat woman and a shock-headed boy. The woman held a spit with two newly trussed fowls upon it, so that One-eyed Hans knew that she must be the cook.
“Thou ugly toad,” said the woman to the boy, “did I not bid thee make a fire an hour ago? and now, here there is not so much as a spark to roast the fowls withall, and they to be basted for the lord Baron’s supper. Where hast thou been for all this time?”
“No matter,” said the boy, sullenly, as he laid the fagots ready for the lighting; “no matter, I was not running after Long Jacob, the bowman, to try to catch him for a sweetheart, as thou hast been doing.”
The reply was instant and ready. The cook raised her hand; “smack!” she struck and a roar from the scullion followed.
“Yes, good,” thought Hans, as he looked down upon them; “I am glad that the boy’s ear was not on my head.”
“Now give me no more of thy talk,” said the woman, “but do the work that thou hast been bidden.” Then – “How came all this black soot here, I should like to know?”
“How should I know?” snuffled the scullion, “mayhap thou wouldst blame that on me also?”
“That is my doing,” whispered Hans to himself; “but if they light the fire, what then becomes of me?”
“See now,” said the cook; “I go to make the cakes ready; if I come back and find that thou hast not built the fire, I will warm thy other ear for thee.”
“So,” thought Hans; “then will be my time to come down the chimney, for there will be but one of them.”
The next moment he heard the door close and knew that the cook had gone to make the cakes ready as she said. And as he looked down he saw that the boy was bending over the bundle of fagots, blowing the spark that he had brought in upon the punk into a flame. The dry fagots began to crackle and blaze. “Now is my time,” said Hans to himself. Bracing his elbows against each side of the chimney, he straightened his legs so that he might fall clear His motions loosened little shower of soot that fell rattling upon the fagots that were now beginning to blaze brightly, whereupon the boy raised his face and looked up. Hans loosened his hold upon the chimney; crash! he fell, lighting upon his feet in the midst of the burning fagots. The scullion boy tumbled backward upon the floor, where he lay upon the broad of his back with a face as white as dough and eyes and mouth agape, staring speechlessly at the frightful inky-black figure standing in the midst of the flames and smoke. Then his scattered wits came back to him. “It is the evil one,” he roared. And thereupon, turning upon his side, he half rolled, half scrambled to the door. Then out he leaped and, banging it to behind him, flew down the passageway, yelling with fright and never daring once to look behind him.
All the time One-eyed Hans was brushing away the sparks that clung to his clothes. He was as black as ink from head to foot with the soot from the chimney.
“So far all is good,” he muttered to himself, “but if I go wandering about in my sooty shoes I will leave black tracks to follow me, so there is nothing to do but e’en to go barefoot.”
He stooped and drawing the pointed soft leather shoes from his feet, he threw them upon the now blazing fagots, where they writhed and twisted and wrinkled, and at last burst into a flame. Meanwhile Hans lost no time; he must find a hiding-place, and quickly, if he would yet hope to escape. A great bread trough stood in the corner of the kitchen – a hopper-shaped chest with a flat lid. It was the best hiding place that the room afforded. Without further thought Hans ran to it, snatching up from the table as he passed a loaf of black bread and a bottle half full of stale wine, for he had had nothing to eat since that morning. Into the great bread trough he climbed, and drawing the lid down upon him, curled himself up as snugly as a mouse in its nest.
For a while the kitchen lay in silence, but at last the sound of voices was heard at the door, whispering together in low tones. Suddenly the door was flung open and a tall, lean, lantern-jawed fellow, clad in rough frieze, strode into the room and stood there glaring with half frightened boldness around about him; three or four women and the trembling scullion crowded together in a frightened group behind him.
The man was Long Jacob, the bowman; but, after all, his boldness was all wasted, for not a thread or a hair was to be seen, but only the crackling fire throwing its cheerful ruddy glow upon the wall of the room, now rapidly darkening in the falling gray of the twilight without.
The fat cook’s fright began rapidly to turn into anger.
“Thou imp,” she cried, “it is one of thy tricks,” and she made a dive for the scullion, who ducked around the skirts of one of the other women and so escaped for the time; but Long Jacob wrinkled up his nose and sniffed. “Nay,” said he, “me thinks that there lieth some truth in the tale that the boy hath told, for here is a vile smell of burned horn that the black one bath left behind him.”
It was the smell from the soft leather shoes that Hans had burned.
The silence of night had fallen over the Castle of Trutz-Drachen; not a sound was heard but the squeaking of mice scurring behind the wainscoting, the dull dripping of moisture from the eaves, or the sighing of the night wind around the gables and through the naked windows of the castle.
The lid of the great dough trough was softly raised, and a face, black with soot, peeped cautiously out from under it. Then little by little arose a figure as black as the face; and One-eyed Hans stepped out upon the floor, stretching and rubbing himself.
“Methinks I must have slept,” he muttered. “Hui, I am as stiff as a new leather doublet, and now, what next is to become of me? I hope my luck may yet stick to me, in spite of this foul black soot!”
Along the middle of the front of the great hall of the castle, ran a long stone gallery, opening at one end upon the court-yard by a high flight of stone steps. A man-at-arms in breast-plate and steel cap, and bearing a long pike, paced up and down the length of this gallery, now and then stopping, leaning over the edge, and gazing up into the starry sky above; then, with a long drawn yawn, lazily turning back to the monotonous watch again.
A dark figure crept out from an arched doorway at the lower part of the long straight building, and some little distance below the end gallery, but the sentry saw nothing of it, for his back was turned. As silently and as stealthily as a cat the figure crawled along by the dark shadowy wall, now and then stopping, and then again creeping slowly forward toward the gallery where the man-at-arms moved monotonously up and down. It was One-eyed Hans in his bare feet.
Inch by inch, foot by foot – the black figure crawled along in the angle of the wall; inch by inch and foot by foot, but ever nearer and nearer to the long straight row of stone steps that led to the covered gallery. At last it crouched at the lowest step of the flight. Just then the sentinel upon watch came to the very end of the gallery and stood there leaning upon his spear. Had he looked down below he could not have failed to have seen One-eyed Hans lying there motionlessly; but he was gazing far away over the steep black roofs beyond, and never saw the unsuspected presence. Minute after minute passed, and the one stood there looking out into the night and the other lay crouching by the wall; then with a weary sigh the sentry turned and began slowly pacing back again toward the farther end of the gallery.
Instantly the motionless figure below arose and glided noiselessly and swiftly up the flight of steps.
Two rude stone pillars flanked either side of the end of the gallery. Like a shadow the black figure slipped behind one of these, flattening itself up against the wall, where it stood straight and motionless as the shadows around it.
Down the long gallery came the watchman, his sword clinking loudly in the silence as he walked, tramp, tramp, tramp! clink, clank, jingle.
Within three feet of the motionless figure behind the pillar he turned, and began retracing his monotonous steps. Instantly the other left the shadow of the post and crept rapidly and stealthily after him. One step, two steps the sentinel took; for a moment the black figure behind him seemed to crouch and draw together, then like a flash it leaped forward upon its victim.
A shadowy cloth fell upon the man’s face, and in an instant he was flung back and down with a muffled crash upon the stones. Then followed a fierce and silent struggle in the darkness, but strong and sturdy as the man was, he was no match for the almost superhuman strength of One-eyed Hans. The cloth which he had flung over his head was tied tightly and securely. Then the man was forced upon his face and, in spite of his fierce struggles, his arms were bound around and around with strong fine cord; next his feet were bound in the same way, and the task was done. Then Hans stood upon his feet, and wiped the sweat from his swarthy forehead. “Listen, brother,” he whispered, and as he spoke he stooped and pressed something cold and hard against the neck of the other. “Dost thou know the feel of this? It is a broad dagger, and if thou dost contrive to loose that gag from thy mouth and makest any outcry, it shall be sheathed in thy weasand.”
So saying, he thrust the knife back again into its sheath, then stooping and picking up the other, he flung him across his shoulder like a sack, and running down the steps as lightly as though his load was nothing at all, he carried his burden to the arched doorway whence he had come a little while before. There, having first stripped his prisoner of all his weapons, Hans sat the man up in the angle of the wall. “So, brother;” said he, “now we can talk with more ease than we could up yonder. I will tell thee frankly why I am here; it is to find where the young Baron Otto of Drachenhausen is kept. If thou canst tell me, well and good; if not, I must e’en cut thy weasand and find me one who knoweth more. Now, canst thou tell me what I would learn, brother?”
The other nodded dimly in the darkness.
“That is good,” said Hans, “then I will loose thy gag until thou hast told me; only bear in mind what I said concerning my dagger.”
Thereupon, he unbound his prisoner, and the fellow slowly rose to his feet. He shook himself and looked all about him in a heavy, bewildered fashion, as though he had just awakened from a dream.
His right hand slid furtively down to his side, but the dagger-sheath was empty.
“Come, brother!” said Hans, impatiently, “time is passing, and once lost can never be found again. Show me the way to the young Baron Otto or – .” And he whetted the shining blade of his dagger on his horny palm.
The fellow needed no further bidding; turning, he led the way, and together they were swallowed up in the yawning shadows, and again the hush of night-time lay upon the Castle of Trutz-Drachen.
XI. How Otto was Saved
Little Otto was lying upon the hard couch in his cell, tossing in restless and feverish sleep; suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon him and a voice whispered in his ear, “Baron, Baron Otto, waken, rouse yourself; I am come to help you. I am One-eyed Hans.”
Otto was awake in an instant and raised himself upon his elbow in the darkness. “One-eyed Hans,” he breathed, “One-eyed Hans; who is One-eyed Hans?”
“True,” said the other, “thou dost not know me. I am thy father’s trusted servant, and am the only one excepting his own blood and kin who has clung to him in this hour of trouble. Yes, all are gone but me alone, and so I have come to help thee away from this vile place.”
“Oh, dear, good Hans! if only thou canst!” cried Otto; “if only thou canst take me away from this wicked place. Alas, dear Hans! I am weary and sick to death.” And poor little Otto began to weep silently in the darkness.
“Aye, aye,” said Hans, gruffly, “it is no place for a little child to be. Canst thou climb, my little master? canst thou climb a knotted rope?”
“Nay,” said Otto, “I can never climb again! See, Hans;” and he flung back the covers from off him.
“I cannot see,” said Hans, “it is too dark.”
“Then feel, dear Hans,” said Otto.
Hans bent over the poor little white figure glimmering palely in the darkness. Suddenly he drew back with a snarl like an angry wolf. “Oh! the black, bloody wretches!” he cried, hoarsely; “and have they done that to thee, a little child?”
“Yes,” said Otto, “the Baron Henry did it.” And then again he began to cry.
“There, there,” said Hans, roughly, “weep no more. Thou shalt get away from here even if thou canst not climb; I myself will help thee. Thy father is already waiting below the window here, and thou shalt soon be with him. There, there, cry no more.”
While he was speaking Hans had stripped off his peddler’s leathern jacket, and there, around his body, was wrapped coil after coil of stout hempen rope tied in knots at short distances. He began unwinding the rope, and when he had done he was as thin as ever he had been before. Next he drew from the pouch that hung at his side a ball of fine cord and a leaden weight pierced by a hole, both of which he had brought with him for the use to which he now put them. He tied the lead to the end of the cord, then whirling the weight above his head, he flung it up toward the window high above. Twice the piece of lead fell back again into the room; the third time it flew out between the iron bars carrying the cord with it. Hans held the ball in his hand and paid out the string as the weight carried it downward toward the ground beneath. Suddenly the cord stopped running. Hans jerked it and shook it, but it moved no farther. “Pray heaven, little child,” said he, “that it hath reached the ground, for if it hath not we are certainly lost.”
“I do pray,” said Otto, and he bowed his head.
Then, as though in answer to his prayer, there came a twitch upon the cord.
“See,” said Hans, “they have heard thee up above in heaven; it was thy father who did that.” Quickly and deftly he tied the cord to the end of the knotted rope; then he gave an answering jerk upon the string. The next moment the rope was drawn up to the window and down the outside by those below. Otto lay watching the rope as it crawled up to the window and out into the night like a great snake, while One-eyed Hans held the other end lest it should be drawn too far. At last it stopped. “Good,” muttered Hans, as though to himself. “The rope is long enough.”
He waited for a few minutes and then, drawing upon the rope and finding that it was held from below, he spat upon his hands and began slowly climbing up to the window above. Winding his arm around the iron bars of the grating that guarded it, he thrust his hand into the pouch that hung by his side, and drawing forth a file, fell to work cutting through all that now lay between Otto and liberty.
It was slow, slow work, and it seemed to Otto as though Hans would never finish his task, as lying upon his hard couch he watched that figure, black against the sky, bending over its work. Now and then the file screeched against the hard iron, and then Hans would cease for a moment, but only to begin again as industriously as ever. Three or four times he tried the effects of his work, but still the iron held. At last he set his shoulder against it, and as Otto looked he saw the iron bend. Suddenly there was a sharp crack, and a piece of the grating went flying out into the night.
Hans tied the rope securely about the stump of the stout iron bar that yet remained, and then slid down again into the room below.
“My little lord,” said he, “dost thou think that if I carry thee, thou wilt be able and strong enough to cling to my neck?”
“Aye,” said Otto, “methinks I will be able to do that.”
“Then come,” said Hans.
He stooped as he spoke, and gently lifting Otto from his rude and rugged bed he drew his broad leathern belt around them both, buckling it firmly and securely. “It does not hurt thee?” said he.
“Not much,” whispered Otto faintly.
Then Hans spat upon his hands, and began slowly climbing the rope.
They reached the edge of the window and there they rested for a moment, and Otto renewed his hold around the neck of the faithful Hans.
“And now art thou ready?” said Hans
“Aye,” said Otto.
“Then courage,” said Hans, and he turned and swung his leg over the abyss below.
The next moment they were hanging in mid-air.
Otto looked down and gave a gasp. “The mother of heaven bless us,” he whispered, and then closed his eyes, faint and dizzy at the sight of that sheer depth beneath. Hans said nothing, but shutting his teeth and wrapping his legs around the rope, he began slowly descending, hand under hand. Down, down, down he went, until to Otto, with his eyes shut and his head leaning upon Hans’ shoulder, it seemed as though it could never end. Down, down, down. Suddenly he felt Hans draw a deep breath; there was a slight jar, and Otto opened his eyes; Hans was standing upon the ground.
A figure wrapped in a dark cloak arose from the shadow of the wall, and took Otto in its arms. It was Baron Conrad.
“My son – my little child!” he cried, in a choked, trembling voice, and that was all. And Otto pressed his cheek against his father’s and began crying.
Suddenly the Baron gave a sharp, fierce cry. “Dear Heaven!” he cried; “what have they done to thee?” But poor little Otto could not answer.
“Oh!” gasped the Baron, in a strangled voice, “my little child! my little child!” And therewith he broke down, and his whole body shook with fierce, dry sobs; for men in those days did not seek to hide their grief as they do now, but were fierce and strong in the expression of that as of all else.
“Never mind, dear father,” whispered Otto; “it did not hurt me so very much,” and he pressed his lips against his father’s cheek.
Little Otto had but one hand.
