He Walked Around the Horses | Page 7

to wear a greatcoat in comfort, so I wore
mine, and in the right side pocket, where my prisoner couldn't reach, I put a little leaded
bludgeon, and also a brace of pocket pistols. Hartenstein was going to furnish me a guard
as well as a driver, but I said that I would take a servant, who could act as guard. The
servant, of course, was my orderly, old Johann; I gave him my double hunting gun to
carry, with a big charge of boar shot in one barrel and an ounce ball in the other.
In addition, I armed myself with a big bottle of cognac. I thought that if I could shoot my
prisoner often enough with that, he would give me no trouble.
As it happened, he didn't, and none of my precautions--except the cognac--were needed.
The man didn't look like a lunatic to me. He was a rather stout gentleman, of past middle
age, with a ruddy complexion and an intelligent face. The only unusual thing about him
was his hat, which was a peculiar contraption, looking like a pot. I put him in the carriage,
and then offered him a drink out of my bottle, taking one about half as big myself. He
smacked his lips over it and said, "Well, that's real brandy; whatever we think of their
detestable politics, we can't criticize the French for their liquor." Then, he said, "I'm glad
they're sending me in the custody of a military gentleman, instead of a confounded
gendarme. Tell me the truth, lieutenant; am I under arrest for anything?"
"Why," I said, "Captain Hartenstein should have told you about that. All I know is that I
have orders to take you to the Ministry of Police, in Berlin, and not to let you escape on
the way. These orders I will carry out; I hope you don't hold that against me."
He assured me that he did not, and we had another drink on it--I made sure, again, that he
got twice as much as I did--and then the coachman cracked his whip and we were off for
Berlin.
Now, I thought, I am going to see just what sort of a madman this is, and why Hartenstein
is making a State affair out of a squabble at an inn. So I decided to explore his unrealistic
beliefs about the state of affairs in Europe.
After guiding the conversation to where I wanted it, I asked him:
"What, Herr Bathurst, in your belief, is the real, underlying cause of the present tragic
situation in Europe?"

That, I thought, was safe enough. Name me one year, since the days of Julius Caesar,
when the situation in Europe hasn't been tragic! And it worked, to perfection.
"In my belief," says this Englishman, "the whole mess is the result of the victory of the
rebellious colonists in North America, and their blasted republic."
Well, you can imagine, that gave me a start. All the world knows that the American
Patriots lost their war for independence from England; that their army was shattered, that
their leaders were either killed or driven into exile. How many times, when I was a little
boy, did I not sit up long past my bedtime, when old Baron von Steuben was a guest at
Tarlburg-Schloss, listening open-mouthed and wide-eyed to his stories of that gallant lost
struggle! How I used to shiver at his tales of the terrible winter camp, or thrill at the
battles, or weep as he told how he held the dying Washington in his arms, and listened to
his noble last words, at the Battle of Doylestown! And here, this man was telling me that
the Patriots had really won, and set up the republic for which they had fought! I had been
prepared for some of what Hartenstein had called unrealistic beliefs, but nothing as
fantastic as this.
"I can cut it even finer than that," Bathurst continued. "It was the defeat of Burgoyne at
Saratoga. We made a good bargain when we got Benedict Arnold to turn his coat, but we
didn't do it soon enough. If he hadn't been on the field that day, Burgoyne would have
gone through Gates' army like a hot knife through butter."
But Arnold hadn't been at Saratoga. I know; I have read much of the American War.
Arnold was shot dead on New Year's Day of 1776, during the storming of Quebec. And
Burgoyne had done just as Bathurst had said; he had gone through Gates like a knife, and
down the Hudson to join Howe.
"But, Herr Bathurst," I asked, "how could that affect the situation in Europe? America is
thousands of miles away, across the ocean."
"Ideas can cross oceans quicker than armies. When Louis XVI decided to