FOUR men, two of whom wore the brown serge gowns of Capuchins, might have been seen, on the fourth of June, sitting on the bank of a foaming river, and presently rising in stilts from the pebbly bed of the river itself, sounding their way in advance, as they crossed it, by the aid of long poles. These were Hofer, Eisenstecken, Father Joachim, and Father Peter, on their way to Rattenberg, where they were to meet Hormayr, Baron Taxis, the engineer Hauser, and the chiefs of the lower Innthal. At this time, the Inn was so swollen by recent and heavy rains, as to be both difficult and dangerous to cross; but the bridges had all been destroyed during the warfare, and our friends had only this hazardous mode of fording the river.

"I'm going!" cried Father Peter, in alarm, as the running water, flashing in the sun, dazzled his eye.

"Why, brother, didst never walk on stilts before?" cried Father Joachim, catching him by the arm, and heartily laughing. "Shame on you for a faint heart. Steady, steady. Don't upset me, though, good brother."

"Or I may chance to get a rap on the head with that staff," muttered Father Peter. "There! I'm out of the perilous waters at last,—the most dangerous voyage I ever undertook."

Saying which, he scrambled out on the other bank, giving a lurch, however, as he did so, which entangled his stilt in one of Father Joachim's, and nearly gave him a ducking. The excellent Capuchin turned exceedingly red, but suppressed his wrath, if he felt any, merely observing, "Thou deservest a crack on the pate most assuredly, good brother!"

Then, having burst into a jolly laugh, that made the hills ring again, he suddenly stopped short, wiped his eyes, and went on, silent as night; till at length he said to Hofer—

"A laugh is worth a zwanziger now and then. Or else, it makes my heart sore to pass along this valley, only a few weeks ago in the highest possible state of cultivation, and diversified with villages in the neatest order; now presenting on every side a spectacle of ruin and desolation."

"Eheu," sighed Father Peter, in response, "'Incenderunt igni sanctuarium tuum; in terra polluerunt nominis tui.'"

"Nevertheless, brother," rejoined Father Joachim, "'LÆtabitur justus in Domino, et sperabit in eo, ut laudabuntur omnes recti corde;' which, if we interpret for the benefit of the unlearned, is as much as to say, the righteous shall, notwithstanding, rejoice in the Lord and put their trust in Him; and all they that are true of heart shall be glad."

"The Bavarians may trust in their chariots and horses," said Hofer, "but we will trust in the Lord our God."

"Ah, I wish we had some more horses, though," broke in Eisenstecken, "for we are miserably deficient in cavalry."

"What on earth should we do with cavalry?" cried Father Joachim. "Why, our very want of it makes us respected the more, because our successes can only be attributed to our natural intrepidity and resolution."

"Pardon me, father; our successes can only last among the hills, we cannot compete with the enemy in the plains."

"Never mind that," interposed Father Peter, setting aside an objection that could not be answered. "Let them keep their plains to themselves, as long as we have our hills."

While talking in this desultory fashion, they came up with one of those rustic processions so common in the mountains, when the cows, having exhausted the pastures in the valleys, are driven up the hills for the summer. The tinkling of bells, and rustic sounds of music which accompanied it, could be heard far off. First came the senner, or milker, at the head of the cows, with ribbons of many colours bedecking his hat and shoes, and a long staff in his hand, with which he gesticulated in a theatrical manner. Immediately after him marched the principal cow of a herd amounting to some hundreds, belonging to different farmers; her head and neck were decorated with immense garlands of the gayest flowers, interspersed with knots and streamers, pink, blue, and yellow, and bearing a deep-toned bell suspended by an embroidered strap. The other cows succeeded, each adorned with smaller bells, streamers, and garlands, and quite aware of their subordinate dignity. Then came the galleter, driving the heifers and calves, and having in his charge the fetters and halters of the whole herd. Then followed the goat-keeper, with a long train of goats; then the schÄfer, or shepherd, with his numerous flocks of sheep; and lastly, the sandirne, or pig-driver, with his unruly herd.

When the senner in advance of this procession came near enough to be recognised, he proved to be Franz, who was a good herdsman enough, and being never very fond of either smuggling or fighting when they threatened much danger, was very glad to get a safe, and, in the eyes of mountaineers, honourable, employment for the rest of the summer. He enjoyed the pomp and circumstance of the procession amazingly, and hardly less so the prospect of occasional long, lonely hours of luxurious idleness which were sure to follow, when lying at full length on thymy banks watching his charge.

Lenora had trimmed his hat and shoes with the greatest taste, helped him to furbish up the bells, and provided him with many little comforts. As soon as he saw he was recognised by acquaintance, his self-importance increased ten-fold. He attitudinized, strutted, and flourished his staff, till he made, as Giuseppe contemptuously observed, quite an ape of himself. Hofer, pitying him more than he deserved for the inglorious life he was going to lead, spoke a few kind words to him, and the priests gave him their blessings.

There is, or was, a good old inn, in the quaint little old-fashioned town of Rattenberg. In the best room of this inn, the three barons were already awaiting the Tyrolese, and chafing a little at their not having arrived first.

"Here they come at last," muttered Baron Hauser; "four of them, and we have only ordered covers for six."

"Who is the fourth?" said Baron Hormayr, looking up from his papers; "Teimer, perhaps."

"No; two Capuchins, Hofer, and a tall, swarthy youth—"

"Oh, Eisenstecken—I forgot the second Capuchin—he may be of use, but he is not equal to Father Joachim. Well, Hofer, here at last, man!"

"The Inn was turbid, baron, and the bridges broken."

"Ha! how did you ford it?"

"On stilts."

"Ha, ha! that made you late, I suppose."

"And wet, too," said Father Joachim, shaking his gown.

"Ha, ha! Capuchins on stilts! The idea is amusing."

"I don't know what to say to that," said Father Peter bluntly, "unless you find amusement in the discomfort of your fellow-creatures."

"Pardon, good father. Hungry men are apt to be captious, and I feared our fish would be spoilt; here it comes,—let us hope for the best."

Father Joachim said grace, and they fed like hungry men as much as heroes. After the dishes were removed, which was not in less than an hour, they began to talk of business.

"We want a map," said Baron Taxis; "Hauser, have you one?"

Hauser produced a map, but it was too small, and proved to be incorrect. Hofer eyed it with contempt.

"I can draw a better map than that," said he, dipping his finger in his glass, and making various small slops on the table. "This is Hobranz, and this is Kempten; here are our men of the Vorarlberg, and here the Bavarians."

"You have made Kempten too large in proportion to Hobranz," said Baron Hauser, superciliously.

"The position is the question, not the size," said Hofer; which was so undeniably the case, that the baron did not reply to it.

"Well then, here is Fuessen," said Hormayr. "The men of Vorarlberg must try to effect a junction with Teimer somewhere hereabouts; and Major Dietrich, advancing by Ettal, will assist the communication; while you, Taxis, will advance towards Clagenfurt; and Leinengen towards Trent. We shall muster little short of thirty thousand men, regulars and Tyrolese; and if this movement succeeds, my judgment is, that it will lead to the entire liberation of the Tyrol."

The discussion lasted long; and the council broke up, animated with sanguine hopes of success. In a few days the scheme was attempted. Unfortunately, Martin Teimer, by some mistake, overshot his mark, and being ignorant of the country, strayed away from the men of Vorarlberg, and fell in with a detachment of the enemy, by whom he was nearly made prisoner. Meanwhile, the Vorarlbergers, whose eagerness had made them begin the fight early in the day, were disappointed of Teimer's expected support; and only owing to their great intrepidity and coolness, were able to retire in good order: which was all they had to console them for not winning a brilliant victory. Count Leinengen was threatened with bombardment in Trent, and Hormayr and Hofer were hastening to his relief, when they learnt that the enemy had retired. A few subsequent skirmishes in the mountains had no result of importance.

Suddenly the news reached the combatants of the decisive battle of Wagram, one of the most brilliant fields ever won by Buonaparte, and disastrous in its effects on the Austrian cause. All further resistance being abandoned by the vanquished, they were glad to conclude the armistice of Znaim, by which they agreed to evacuate the Tyrol.

Words cannot describe the trouble and indignation of the Tyrolese, when this news, which they at first refused to believe, was fully confirmed. Eisenstecken, and a party of his companions in arms, rushed into the little cottage which gave Hofer temporary shelter, and passionately implored him to be their chief, and prevent the Austrian troops from leaving the country.

With mild and pacifying words he assured them how wrong and fruitless this would be. They then besought him at least forcibly to detain the Austrian ammunition, and attempt the liberation of their country without the assistance of those who were deserting them.

Hofer demurred about the ammunition, but declared himself ready to obey the call of his countrymen, and appointed a time and place for deciding on what should be done. His listeners heard him joyfully, and hastened away to spread the glad tidings; Eisenstecken not hesitating to attempt to draw off from their allegiance as many of the Austrian privates as he could.

Meanwhile, Hofer, summoned by Hormayr to resign his command, required twelve hours for deliberation. Part of this interval was spent in grave and sorrowful consultation with his fellow chiefs, and much of it in deep and fervent prayer.

At the end of the time, "We have fought for the rights of Austria," said he—"we will now fight for our own."

This decision was hailed by the Tyrolese with transport. Attachment and loyalty to the house of Austria had ever been their prominent characteristics; they had been incited to rise by the Emperor himself, and had fought for him faithfully and well. Deserted by him, their independence was now at stake; and while despotism crushed the liberties of nearly all Europe, this handful of heroic mountaineers resolved to free themselves or perish.

The Tyrolese flocked to Hofer's standard the instant it was raised; the Austrian troops in the Vorarlberg deserted their leaders and enthusiastically joined the insurgents. Many of the Austrian troops who had begun to march homewards, were persuaded by the Tyrolese to turn back. Nearly the whole of Taxis's corps deserted him, and quietly marched to Hofer, deaf to threats and entreaties. Hofer, who had declared himself willing to fight under Leinengen as a simple soldier if his countrymen preferred it, found himself unanimously elected Commander-in-Chief.

Poor Baron Hormayr was in a pitiable state of mind; annoyed beyond measure at the armistice, yet with every feeling of a disciplinarian outraged by the extremely irregular conduct of the Tyrolese and the insubordination of his own troops. Looking upon Hofer and Speckbacher as the magicians by whom alone the storm could be quelled, he sent for the former, and earnestly, importunately besought him to think well of what he was about before he refused to lay down his arms.

But Hofer was immoveable. He had deliberated in great trouble on what was right and necessary; and having besought divine direction, his conviction was now unshaken as to the duty of maintaining the cause, whether successfully or not. In his previous summons to Hormayr, he had been taken by surprise, had been very irresolute, had shifted from foot to foot, played with his pistols and sword, spoken absently, and betrayed all the marks of vacillation. He had had time to ponder and to pray; and now Hormayr might as well have tried to move Mount Brenner.

As for Father Joachim, he had gone off, in a fit of desperation, to his convent at Brixen, where he shut himself up in his cell, rolled on the ground, smote himself on the breast, and tore handfuls out of his bushy red beard.