Harper's Round Table, March 9, 1897

HOW TOM RODMAN JOINED THE GERMAN ARMY.

BY POULTNEY BIGELOW.

"Thomas," said Professor Schinkel, as they were in the midst of supper, "run down and see what all the noise is about."

Tom Rodman was only fifteen years old; but like most Yankee boys of his age, he was pretty quick at getting news. He knew that the French Emperor had declared war against the Germans; he knew that soldiers were being marched from every village of the father-land, and he knew also that the Rhine was near to the frontier of France. He was just then--this was in 1870--living in the family of Professor Schinkel, at Slaugenstein on the Rhine, and quickly made up his mind that the noise he heard in the street was made by troops marching to the war. So, with a big piece of brown-bread in his hand and another in his mouth, he sprang down stairs two steps at a time, and opened the front door. The street was full of soldiers who wore helmets of black leather on their heads, and who looked very brown and strong. They all seemed to be looking for something; they had been marching all day, and each soldier carried a knapsack that weighed quite as much as a very heavy child.

As Tom Rodman was wondering what these soldiers wanted, a big corporal with a straw-colored beard and blue eyes came up, measured the house with his eyes, counted the windows, then pulled out a piece of chalk, and wrote on the door,

"One corporal and seven men!"

Tom now noticed that other doors in the street were being treated in the same way, and quickly learned why; the whole town was to become night quarters for the troops marching to the war.

"Is the Herr Professor at home?" asked the corporal.

"Yes; come this way," said Tom, now very much excited.

The corporal knocked at the professor's door, and walked in with a sharp military tread. He then stood bolt-upright, put one hand to the side of his helmet, after the soldier fashion, and said, in a voice that could be heard all over the house,

"I beg to tell you most respectfully, Herr Professor Schinkel, that it is my duty to bring here for this night one corporal and seven men!"

"You are heartily welcome, Herr Corporal," said the professor. "I am glad that I am able to do a little good at this time for the brave men who are going to war for the sake of our common country."

All was now bustle in the Schinkel family. The seven soldiers came tramping up stairs, and were made as comfortable as was possible. Tom ran out to the baker's and the butcher's, and came running back with bread and meat. The soldiers had laid aside their guns, knapsacks, and coats, and each did his share in getting supper ready.

Corporal Kutchke was invited to eat at the professor's table; and he made the evening pass rapidly by telling stories about life in the army. Tom liked the corporal, for he was a big, healthy, strong man, full of enterprise. The professor found that Kutchke had been in the same university as himself, and they had many friends in common. Tom thought he would give anything if he could only be a soldier like Kutchke, and go to the war. The corporal noticed Tom's excitement, and said, "Herr Professor, why don't you send your son there to fight for his country?"

The professor laughed. "My son? Why, he's not my son. He's not German. Tom is an American boy. His name is Tom Rodman. His mother is the widow of a distinguished American artillery officer, and she has sent him here to learn German in my family."

"Well," said Corporal Kutchke, "you do surprise me! The boy speaks such good German that I never thought he could be a foreigner. But of course foreigners don't care about fighting for us!"

II.

The door was pushed open with much force, and one of the soldiers marched into the room, knocked his heels together, stood very stiff and still, then said, with a very clear but yet rather sad voice,

"Private Rothmann has been taken very ill."

"Hulloo!" thought Tom, "that is a funny name for a German; it sounds like mine."

Corporal Kutchke ordered the private to run and inform the army surgeon, while he himself went up stairs to learn what he could. Rothmann was very pale and weak. The heat of the day had affected him on the march, and he was now tossing about in a feverish manner. The surgeon came and said that Rothmann was wholly unfit to march, and must be left behind. He was at once taken to the hospital. As soon as Rothmann was gone, Tom Rodman went up to help the corporal about getting bedding for his men. He found Kutchke seated on a drum rubbing his nose with a drum-stick.

"Million Schock Donnerwetter!" said Kutchke. "What will my Captain say? I shall be blamed because he fell ill. And it's not my fault. It's the fault of all the people along the road, who keep giving the soldiers cigars and sausage, and make them useless for hard work."

III.

When Tom went up to his room that night he felt very sore at not being allowed to go and fight with Corporal Kutchke, and he feared lest people might think him a coward. He sat down on the edge of his bed, and began to make plans for running away and joining the army in spite of the professor. Just then he noticed the uniform which Rothmann had left behind when they had so hastily taken him to the hospital. He jumped up, quickly stripped off his coat and trousers, and dressed himself in the uniform of a Prussian foot-soldier. The fit was not perfect, but as he looked at himself in the glass he felt his shoulders straighten up and his chest swell out with pride, and when he had finally put on the knapsack and the cartridge-belt, and the warlike helmet with the brass spike on top, he looked as though he had been made for this particular uniform. He was just about reaching for Rothmann's gun, which had been hung against the wall, when the door was thrown open, and Corporal Kutchke stood facing him, looking as though he had seen a ghost.

"What is it? Who are you? Are you Rothmann?"

Tom burst into a hearty laugh, and the corporal was so delighted at finding that Tom was not the ghost of Rothmann that he too joined.

Suddenly Corporal Kutchke slapped Tom on the back and said: "I have a grand idea. Do you want to be a soldier?"

"Yes, indeed," said Tom.

"Will you march with us to-morrow at daybreak?"

"Certainly," said Tom.

"Then," said Kutchke, "I will take good care of you. It is against the regulations, but in war-time we cannot be so strict. Your name is Rodman, and you must make believe that you are the man Rothmann whom we have left behind. You are both about the same size, and the Captain is not likely to notice anything amiss, for I will drill you so that you will soon be as good as any of the recruits. You are very big for your age, and you will have splendid stories to tell when you come back from the war."

"But what about the professor?" said Tom.

"Oh, that is simple enough," said the corporal. "Just write him a few lines telling him that you have gone to defend the father-land against the French, and he will forgive you in the end, even if he is angry for the moment."

IV.

There was hard marching for poor Tom, and his knapsack weighed very heavily on his young shoulders, and now and then he would gladly have gone back to his comfortable bed at the professor's, had he not been anxious to show his German comrades that an American could make a good soldier--for Tom was a very patriotic boy. One night, as they were cooking their supper at the camp-fire, Kutchke whispered in Tom's ear that some of their scouts had seen French uniforms in the distance, and that there would soon be a fight.

At about two o'clock in the morning his company was drawn up ready to march, although it was pitch-dark. The Captain made them a short speech, telling them they must make no noise, for they hoped to get very near to the enemy before being seen, and if they fought well, many of them might hope to get the Iron Cross, which is the most highly prized war medal in the German army.

Then each soldier held his hand carefully against his side so as to prevent the rattling of his tin water-bottle against his bayonet-scabbard, and thus they marched for about an hour in silence, keeping a sharp lookout to right and left.

Suddenly was heard ping-ping-ping, the sound of rifle-bullets whizzing over their heads, and soon commenced a clatter of infantry fire, for the French had discovered the movements of this company in the faint light of the dawning day. But it was too late for effective resistance on the part of the enemy, who were taken by surprise, and had to retreat up the slopes of a gentle hill, on the top of which stood six cannon in a row; but, curiously enough, they were pointing in the opposite direction from Tom. As soon as the noise of the firing was heard, Tom heard the bugles blowing, and knew from this that the French would soon be firing off their big guns at them. Then the Captain roared out to them to run as hard as they could and capture these six pieces of cannon before they could be turned round and fired off; so they all started with a great hurrah, and arrived at the guns just as the French artillerymen were trying to move them into proper positions. Tom could not tell exactly what happened, excepting that there seemed to be hundreds of swords waving in the air and a constant rattling of infantry fire. Now and then a man dropped, but Tom was too excited to notice why he dropped. His blood was aroused, and he thought only of keeping near Kutchke and winning the Iron Cross. There was one cannon which was just about to be fired, when Kutchke sprang at the man in charge and knocked him down with the butt of his rifle; but no sooner was this done than another man sprang forward to fire the gun, and three Frenchmen attacked Kutchke at once. Then Tom sprang forward like a wild-cat and smashed the gun of a Frenchman who was just about sticking his bayonet through Kutchke's back, and at this the other two ran away. Then the Captain, who was fighting close to them, shouted out, "Well done, Rodman; you have saved Kutchke's life!" And the soldiers near by shouted "Hurrah!" still more vigorously, and looked at Rodman as though they were proud of him.

But now the Captain commenced to be anxious for the safety of his company, and ordered the men to harness up the horses to the French cannon so as to get them back as trophies, for there were signs in the distance that large forces of French were coming up. They had no sooner brought the horses up to be harnessed, than a regiment of French cavalry was seen galloping towards them in a cloud of dust. On they came with loud shouts, and there was no time to waste. Tom's company was ordered to lie down beneath the guns and not to fire until the horses were close to them, and then to give them a volley all together. This plan worked splendidly, for the French were so surprised by this sudden response that there was much confusion amongst them, and they hesitated. Tom noticed a French officer carrying a flag, which in war is considered a very precious trophy. When that Frenchman saw the effect of the first volley, he looked about him as though ready to run away, and when a second volley was fired, which killed more Frenchmen, he wheeled round with the flag in his hand and put spurs to his horse. But Tom did not wait for orders in the presence of such an opportunity. He seized the nearest artillery horse, jumped into the saddle in the twinkling of an eye, and made straight for the flying French officer. The race was an exciting one, and Tom soon discovered that it was likely to be a dangerous one; for they soon left the battle-field behind them, and he had before him the prospect of fighting a desperate man. Tom had no weapons, for he had thrown away his gun, and at the same time he had cast off his knapsack and cartridge-belt. Tom shouted to the Frenchman that he must surrender, but the Frenchman paid no attention to it; so Tom took off the stirrup leathers from the saddle while his horse kept up his furious pace. He hung the two stirrups on to one leather, and joined the two leathers together so that they would stretch a long distance. Then he swung this around his head as though it had been a long sling, and waited for a time to use it. The Frenchman was not a very good rider, and the country over which he rode was rather rough, so that he did not dare to turn round in the saddle, excepting just enough to point his pistol at Tom, and fire it off without hitting anything. Tom was gaining inch by inch, and at last was ready for a blow. A narrow and rapid river was close ahead of them, and the Frenchman no doubt felt that escape was hopeless without a struggle; so he drew his sword, wheeled his horse, and attacked Tom for the purpose of running him through the body. Tom kept cool, swung his long leather gently around his head, and just at the moment when the Frenchman was ready to make his lunge he gave all his strength to a final swing that brought the stirrups together against the left cheek of the Frenchman, who fell to the ground stunned and bleeding. One blow was enough, and Tom sprang from his horse, seized the flag and sword from the enemy and then fetched water from the river and bandaged up the Frenchman's wound. Tom would have staid longer with this French officer had it not been that French troops made their appearance over the tops of the ridges.