Lesson 66: Shot at But Not Killed

On the 14th of October, 1806, the great battle of Jena was fought by the French and Prussians. The French were victorious, and the Prussians lost sixty thousand men and six hundred cannon. The city of Berlin, the capital of Prussia, fell into the hands of the French.

Although the battle was over, there was not yet an end to the horrors of war. Through clouds of cannon smoke, were heard in all directions shrieks of fear, yells of rage, and cries of pain and lamentations. Villages were burned, and the innocent inhabitants were seen fleeing in every direction. Davoust, the Marshal in command of the French, and called by the Germans, the "Butcher of Hamburg," took up his quarters for the night in one of the most convenient houses to the battle-field. Having given all proper directions for the morning, he had taken his cloak, and was just retiring to a room to take some sleep, when an officer entered, and said, "Pardon me, General, but here is a case which demands attention. These German dogs must be taught to respect us. The soldiers of one of our companies, who went to stay in the village of Waldorf, have been driven away by the people, and two of them have been been very much injured." Davoust's cold eye glittered with rage, and, stopping for one moment at the door of his bedroom, he exclaimed: "Send a lieutenant and twenty men; pick out any ten of the vagabonds, and shoot them down!" Having said this, he went to bed. Of course his order had to be obeyed.

The next morning, at sunrise, Lieutenant Lamotte, with twenty men, marched over the hills to seek the village of Waldorf. It was a disagreeable business, and the sooner it was over the better; and in fifteen minutes more, the French soldiers marched into the village.

Halting in an open space between the church and the two principal beer-houses, the officer summoned the inhabitants together. The whole village was already awake, for they slept little the night before. Their ears were still stunned with the din of yesterday's battle, and visions of burning houses and fleeing people still danced before their eyes. At the command of the Lieutenant, the soldiers seized all the male inhabitants, and forcibly placed them in a line before them. The women and children stood off at a little distance, waiting in terrible anxiety, for no one understood the words that were spoken, but all imagined that something terrible was about to happen.

Just at this time, the son of the village pastor made his appearance. He was a young man of twenty, who was studying theology, with the view of becoming his father's successor, and fortunately knew something of the French language. The appearance of things at once told him that his help was wanted, and immediately addressing himself to Lieutenant Lamotte, he begged him to give him some explanation of these strange procceedings. "I am ordered to punish this village," answered the Lieutenant, "for your treatment of our soldiers last night. The Marshal orders that ten of you be instantly shot. The only thing I can do is, that you draw lots among yourselves, or else point me out the persons who were guilty of the outrage."

"But!" exclaimed the young man, "your General has been misinformed. No French soldiers have visited our village before you. There are two other villages of the same name, called Upper and Lower Waldorf which lie farther down the valley. You can soon satisfy yourself that this village is entirely innocent, and I entreat you not to shed the blood of our harmless people!"

"There is no time for investigation," said the officer, "I was ordered to proceed to Waldorf, and here I am; and I am ordered to shoot ten of you. I wait until you make choice of that number, and so soon as my soldiers shoot them, I will return to headquarters. I must obey orders."

By this time, the people learned the fate that was in store for them. The women, with tears, and employing gestures, crowded around the Lieutenant, begging him to spare their sons and husbands; the men stood silent, with pale faces and dumb imploring eyes. The scene was evidently painful both to the officers and soldiers, accustomed as they were to deeds of war and blood. They were anxious to put an end to the matter, and leave. But the clergyman's son, determined, if possible, to save the lives of his innocent neighbors, continued to urge his plea with all the zeal and eloquence in his power. Lieut. Lamotte struggled awhile between his sense of duty and his sense of humanity. At last, he consented to wait until he could send a note to headquarters, and ask the General what he should do in the difficult case; for it seemed to him very unjust to punish the people of one village for the sins of another.

Meanwhile, the inhabitants waited, in the most painful suspense, for an answer to the note sent to headquarters. The Lieutenant and his soldiers, having had nothing to eat that morning, now became very hungry.

"The air is keen, and the walk before sunrise has sharpened our appetites," said the Lieutenant, "can you give us any refreshments from your hidden supplies?" As soon as this request was made known to the people by the pastor's son, many of the women brought the coffee which they had prepared for their own breakfasts, with mugs of beer and two or three small cheeses, of which the soldiers partook with a keen relish. The company of victims looked on in silence, and even some of them whispered in their own language, "We are feeding our executioners."

"Even if that should be true," replied the pastor's son, "we are merely doing what Christ has taught us to do--we are feeding our enemies. Let us show them that we are Christians." This rebuke had its effect. The supplies of food were increased, and the soldiers eat to their full satisfaction. As the stomach fills, the heart enlarges; and the soldiers began to say among themselves, "It is a pity that these good fellows should be shot by mistake."

Just at this time, the messenger returned with the word from the commanding General, Davoust, which contained these words; "Waste no time. I care not which village is punished. An example must be made. Do your duty, and return instantly!" O what a cruel answer!

"Choose your ten men," cried the Lieutenant, "and be quick about it!" And now lamentations burst forth on all sides. The women clung around the men, and the men, overcome with terror, uttered loud cries and prayers for mercy. Here the pastor's son stepped out, and, falling on his knees before the villagers, and addressing the Lieutenant in French, said: "I do not kneel to you, but I am going to pray to God that he may remove this slaughter from your soul!"

As the officer met his eyes, full of sublime calmness and courage, his own suddenly filled with tears. He turned to his men who stood drawn up in line behind him. They looked at him, but not a word was spoken. Their hands were on the locks of their guns, ready to aim and fire, and waiting only for the word of command. Here the officer turned suddenly to the young man, who was still kneeling and praying, a few steps before him, and, beckoning him to approach, whispered to him in an agitated voice, "My friend, I will save you by a stratagem. Choose ten of your most courageous men; place them in a line before me, and I will order my men to shoot them through the head. At the instant I give the order to fire, they must all fall flat to the ground. My soldiers will aim high, and none will be injured. As soon as the volley is fired, I will give the order to march, but none must stir until we get out of sight."

These words were instantly translated to the people, but so great was their panic that no one offered to move. The pastor's son took his place on the line, in the vacant space before the line of soldiers. "I offer myself," said he, "as one, trusting in God that we shall all be saved, and I call upon those of you who have the hearts of men in your bosoms to stand beside me."

Young Conrad, a sturdy farmer, and just married, joined him, casting a most tender look upon his young wife, who turned deadly pale, but spake not a word. One by one, eight more walked out with tottering steps, and took their places on the line. The women shuddered, and hid their eyes; the men looked on in terror; the children gazed on and clung to their parents in silent wonder. The place was as still as death, and none knew what a moment would bring forth.

Again the Lieutenant surveyed his men. "Take aim!" he commanded, "aim at their heads, that your work may be well done." Then came the last command--"Fire!" but, in the moment which passed between the word of command and the ringing volley the ten men were already falling. The crack of the muskets, and the sound of their bodies as they struck the ground were heard at the same instant. Without pausing a moment, the Lieutenant cried, "Right about--face--forward march!" and the measured tramp of the soldiers rang down the narrow village street, and they were soon gone out of sight.

The women uncovered their eyes and gazed. There lay the ten men, motionless, and, to all appearance, dead. With wild cries, all gathered around them, but, in a moment their cries of despair were turned into shouts of joy. Then followed weeping embraces, and as all rose from the ground, there was clapping of hands, and dancing, and hysterical laughter and sobs, all combined. The pastor's son, uncovering his head, knelt down, and while all reverently followed his example, he uttered a most eloquent prayer of thanksgiving to God for their strange and merciful deliverance.

What this young man had done, was not suffered to go unrewarded. A blessing rested on his labors and his life. In the course of time he became a clergyman; filled for a while his father's place; and afterwards, seeking a wider field of usefulness, became a Doctor of Divinity, and a distinguished leader in the political and religious changes of modern Germany.