"Who is that?"
The coachman drove on, and gave no answer; until, at a sharp turn, we came
upon the bruised and now breathless body of the young officer, who had so
recently obeyed the savage behests of his brutal commander. There was a
musket--shot right in the middle of his fine forehead, like a small blue
point, with one or two heavy black drops of blood oozing from it. His pale
features wore a mild and placid expression, evincing that the numberless
lacerations and bruises, which were evident through his tom uniform, had
been inflicted on a breathless corpse.
The stuhl wagen had carried on for a mile farther or so, but the firing
seemed to approximate, whereupon our host sung out, "Fahrt Zu,
Schwager--Wir Kommen nicht weiter."
The driver of the stuhl wagen skulled along until we arrived at the
beautiful, at a mile off, but the beastly, when close to, village of
Blankanese.
When the voiture stopped in the village, there seemed to be a
nonplusation, to coin a word for the nonce, between my friend and his
sisters. They said something very sharply, and with a degree of
determination that startled me. He gave no answer. Presently the
Amazonian attack was renewed.
"We shall go onboard," said they. "Very well," said he; "but have
patience, have patience!"
"No, no. Wann wird man sich einschiffen mussen?"
By this time we were in the heart of the village, and surrounded with a
whole lot, forty at the least, of Blankanese boatinen.
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