“Come what come may,” we were out of hated France, and our pulses beat with joy that the glorious river intervened between us and the land of our bondage and sufferings. “Flow on, thou shining river,” I repeated from the song of Erin’s modern poet, “flow on; for neither French gendarmes, French spies, nor French laws can reach us across thy broad and noble expanse of flowing waters. Here French chains cannot corrode the body, nor can French despotism and tyranny prostrate the spirit, and eat, like the canker-worm, into the heart.” Such were our reflections as we left the banks of this river of salvation and proceeded to the neighbouring village.

It was about seven in the morning that we entered into a tavern—if so it could be called. A servant-maid and child were the only people up. We gave ourselves out as French travellers from Prussia going into France, and who wanted their breakfast.

The landlady was forthwith roused; breakfast was prepared; a barber, who was also a surgeon, was sent for, and we got shaved, had our clothes brushed, and again made ourselves look “somewhat like gentlemen.” We found the house very well calculated for our purpose, and this barber and surgeon proved to be an intelligent sort of a man. Rastadt, he told us, was but three leagues off; and from different questions we put to him, we found that we must have crossed the Rhine close to Durlach. Rastadt was on the river Merg, and about four miles north from Baden, the capital of the margravate.

We quitted our village inn at about nine, having well satisfied our landlady for our excellent breakfast and timely accommodation. We had fed like cormorants upon coffee, and delicious bread and butter, and felt all the refreshments of shorn beards, washed skins and tolerably well-brushed clothes.

We now directed our course towards Rastadt. Batley was very lame. Everybody that passed took notice of him, and it became too evident that it was impossible for him to continue the journey many hours longer. As I have before observed, we had intended to leave him and the doctor the moment we had got across the river into Germany; but we now agreed not to quit our other friend. The great and difficult point was, where to place the invalid, so as to secure his safety until he should recover the use of his limbs. He regretted not having remained where we had breakfasted.

Rastadt then appeared to us an open town. We thought it too dangerous, however, to pass through it; we therefore made a dÉtour, and struck off the road to a small village about two leagues distant, where we went into a public-house. They could not speak French, nor could we sufficiently explain in their language what we wanted respecting our sick friend. An old man was sent for as interpreter, who happened to be a shoemaker. We began by ordering a pair of shoes for Batley; and then observed that we were Frenchmen from Prussia, going to Strasbourg; that our comrade, Batley, was knocked up, and we wished it explained to the people that we meant to leave him with them a few days until he had gathered strength. We requested he would pay every attention to the guest and act as his interpreter. They agreed to our wishes; a bed was immediately prepared for him; we dined together, and then took our leave of this poor fellow, and a painful leave it was.

We continued our pretended route, until we lost sight of the village, and then changed our course. We commiserated greatly the misfortunes of our poor companion, and feared that even the shoemaker would discover what he was, as he spoke French so very indifferently.[27] The day was closing very fast, and it behoved us to look out for a lodging for the night.

We advanced towards a large village, situated in our direction. It was quite dusk. We passed through it to the opposite extremity, by which time it was about eight o’clock. We were undecided how to act, and it began to rain very hard. We were met by an old man genteelly dressed, walking on very fast, to avoid getting wet. He stopped, evidently with a design to speak to us. We accosted him in French; asked him what distance the palace of Baden was from us, and if we were likely to fall in shortly with any place at which we could put up for the night, in the direction we were then going. He replied in broken French, which we were pleased to hear, that it would be midnight before we could arrive at any sort of place that would answer our purpose; and as the weather was bad, and the hour so very late, he advised us to turn back with him to the village we had just passed, where there were excellent accommodations; and he would take upon himself to show us to a decent tavern, where we should be well attended to and made comfortable.

The kind and disinterested manner in which the old gentleman accosted us induced us to accept of his services. He accordingly conducted us to a genteel house, close to a glass manufactory, where the workmen lodged. We ordered supper, invited the old gentleman to partake of it, which, after some hesitation, he agreed to. I apprehended they might demand to see our passports, which lessened my enjoyment until nearly bed-time; but I then made myself quiet upon that head. We spoke to each other, and conversed with such of the workmen as could speak French. I am certain they took us for Frenchmen, which was a fortunate circumstance, and perhaps prevented their making any further inquiries. Shortly after supper our good friend departed, and we were shown to our chamber, where each had an excellent bed. The hail and rain which beat against the windows, convinced us of what we should have suffered had we not taken the good old man’s advice.

We agreed to be off very early, lest any accident should prevent our proceeding altogether. This point being settled, each soon composed himself to sleep, and in a few minutes were most soundly in the arms of Morpheus; nor did I open my wearied eyes, until I had been repeatedly called by my comrades the next morning. The weather was still very bad. However, we got our breakfast, and proceeded en route without asking to be directed to any particular place, in order that they might not suppose that we were unacquainted with the country. I knew it was necessary to keep to the southward, in order to avoid a chain of almost inaccessible mountains that would prevent our advancing into the interior. We were now surrounded with woods and deserts, and could not tell which way to turn or proceed. In this state of perplexity we luckily saw, at a distance, a peasant and a little boy loading a cart with wood. We made towards them, but it was a long time before we could make them understand that we had lost our way and wished to be directed towards Friburg, which we well knew to be to the southward of us. At length we succeeded, and the civil fellow left his boy and cart, and went with us nearly two miles in order to put us on the right road. We paid this honest and good creature for his trouble, though it was some time before we could prevail upon him to accept of anything.

About noon we passed the palace of the Margrave of Baden, and owing to the intricacies of the mountains that surrounded it, we were obliged to border upon it much closer than we wished. It had a romantic appearance. In one of the avenues through which we had to go, we perceived two officers on horseback. We immediately darted amongst the trees, and concealed ourselves until they had passed. We soon got on an immensely broad high road, when we saw a number of horsemen dressed in scarlet going before a carriage. The whole cavalcade was at full speed. We rapidly turned off towards some huts, and barely escaped confronting this formidable party. The peasantry were all uncovered as the carriage passed, and from this we of course inferred that it was the royal equipage; and, on inquiry, we were told that the person in the carriage was the Duke of Baden’s son, who had already assumed the title of king.[28] We were informed that we were in the proper direction for Friburg, and proceeded in great spirits.

We had to pass through several respectable villages on the highway. About six in the evening, in going through one, Barklimore being a good way in the rear, I heard him call out to us to stop, as there was a man who wanted to see our papers; but naturally we were in too great a haste to be retarded. The man certainly was looking very eagerly at us; but if he had been a police-officer he would not have hesitated to pursue us. He did not; and as our companion did not understand German, we inferred that his fears had made him misconstrue the fellow’s meaning.

About seven we discovered another village in the direction we had to take. We approached a public-house, called for some beer, and inquired if we could be supplied with beds? “No,” was the reply; but they directed us to another house where all the beds happened to be occupied; and these people sent us to a third, with no better success. We knew not what to do, and regretted much at not being able to remain in this little village for the night, as, from its appearance, we had no reason to be under the slightest apprehension. A person, whom we took for a publican, seeing us in a state of suspense, addressed us in French, and said, “Gentlemen, you appear to want lodgings; there is a small town, about two or three miles farther on, where you can get good accommodation.” We returned him thanks and appeared pleased at the intelligence; though, in fact, we dreaded being accommodated as he had described, lest, in the sequel, we might find ourselves accommodated gratis, with sundry extra cares and civilities forced upon us, much above our wants, and against our inclinations. I asked him if he did not suppose that the gate would be shut before we arrived. The sinister object of the question he did not see through, and to our great joy he replied that there were no gates at all, as the town was perfectly open. Upon this intelligence we resolved to proceed, although we determined to approach the place with great circumspection.

At about half-past nine we arrived at the town and it did not appear to be a place from which we could have much or anything to apprehend. We looked out for an inn, and, as usual, we resolved not to go to the first we should see, if we possibly could avoid it, nor in any case to enter any one that was not of an humble description.

At length we discovered one, and, from its appearance and locality, we were induced to enter it. We were disagreeably surprised; for we were shown into a genteel coffee-room, and, from the appearance of the guests, landlady, and servants, it was evident we had got into the very sort of inn which of all others we ought to avoid. However, it was too late to retreat. Hesitation would infallibly have exposed us to suspicion; and had we evinced any confusion, detection and apprehension would undoubtedly have ensued. We therefore put a bold face on the matter, and with an air of nonchalance, as if we had got into the sort of place we had been accustomed to, and wished to find, I called for some wine, and my friends ordered supper.

I was, however, indisposed, and ordered the chambermaid to light me to bed, informing my companions that I did not intend to undress until they should come to bed; and that if they happened to discover the slightest symptoms of danger, I would be ready at an instant to decamp. One very fortunate circumstance was, that “mine host,” Master Boniface, was disgustingly drunk, and although he often looked earnestly at us, as if he wished to ask us some questions, he was so far gone that he could not utter a syllable. I lay down on the bed full of anxiety; nor could I forget Barklimore’s fears of the man who, as he supposed, had challenged him for his papers.

After their supper my friends came to bed. They informed me that they did not think that we were in any imminent danger, nor did they suppose that we were perfectly safe, as our security chiefly depended upon the state of the intoxication of the landlord. It was not very pleasant to have our liberties or lives dependent upon another man’s drunkenness; and we came to the determination to rise before the fellow could become sober, to pay our reckoning, and be off. At twilight we dressed ourselves, and awakened the servants, who instantly went and informed their master that we were preparing to depart. It was evident that we were in imminent danger. The landlord soon appeared, and, to our great joy, was in such a state of stupefaction that he could scarcely open his eyes. He demanded whither we were going so early? “To Strasbourg,” was my reply. He observed, we should be there very soon, it being only five leagues distant. We were aware of that, and wished him a good morning. By ten we were in sight of Offenburg—made its circuit, and got on the road to Gigenbach, which we saw about six o’clock. We then crossed the river Kinzig, and proceeded on the direct road towards TÜtlingen. I now perfectly recollected our route, from having so recently passed it with the Bavarians. At midnight we halted in a small poor village; got supplied with refreshments and a sort of bed. Barklimore had a severe fit of the fever and ague.

On the morning of the 22nd of September we got some breakfast, and proceeded. At about six we discovered a kind of fortress on the side of a mountain, over a small town. We advanced with all possible precaution; but as we approached, it appeared to be a place of little consequence, and we therefore walked forward boldly. We found ourselves close to the gate of a snug little town; and seeing no military or police-officers, we proceeded right through it. After passing the opposite gate, we stopped at a wine-house, refreshed ourselves, and were informed the name of the town was Hornberg. The next halting-place was Kriemhieldsach, where there was a post-house; it was about three or four leagues off, and on the verge of the Black Forest, which we had to march through before we arrived. All travellers, they informed us, preferred stopping at Hornberg, to going through so lonely and disagreeable a place as the Black Forest, and at so late an hour. However, we were exceptions to the general rule, and we marched on.

The Black Forest, so celebrated of late for Moreau’s retreat through it before the Austrians, is a name very appropriately given to this dreadful region, for I never in my life beheld a country so mountainous, dismal, and barren. It used formerly to be infested by banditti, and in the late wars, the Germans, lying concealed, used at convenient moments to issue forth and inflict the severest losses on the French troops; cutting off stragglers, capturing convoys, and making prisoners of all small detached corps. I was told that a French General, whose name I now forget, had been shot in his carriage whilst passing through the Forest, and that the postilions, who had heard the report of the rifle, never discovered his death until their arrival at Hornberg. We met with only two or three people before we got to Kriemhieldsach. The road on each side was lined with trees, and was admirably calculated for the tactics of banditti.

At about eleven we reached the post-house, rapped at the door, and demanded admittance.

“Who is there?—and what are you?” was asked by a person within.

“Three French travellers who want lodgings,” was my reply.

The door was immediately opened, and we were readily shown upstairs into the public-room. We could willingly have dispensed with publicity, and have put up with “a room in private”; but, happily, the appearance of the guests inspired us with confidence. We called for supper, and desired they would prepare our beds. They complied, and without asking a single question, or betraying the least signs of suspicion or inquisitiveness.

Our friend Barklimore had been very much indisposed all day, but the inn was not the best calculated in the world for a sick man’s slumbers; for, as we demanded our beds, the family of the innkeeper and all his guests began to dance. The music was what the Germans call a “doodle-sack”—a species of that harsh and discordant instrument that we call a Scotch bagpipe. Waltzing was introduced. The scene became animated. The doctor forgot his illness, engaged a pretty partner, and began to dance with great glee. This company all observed, “What a lively, merry people you Frenchmen are!” I could not help smiling at the remark, nor could I refrain from reflecting upon the vast difference between waltzing at night with a pretty German partner, and sleeping in the mud in the open air, or in the still worse dungeons of Bitche. My other companion, Hewson, caught the spirit of the scene, and joined the dance. I, however, remained an exception to the general company, and never moved from the table until the dance was over, and then we all retired to bed.

On the 23rd, in the morning, our invalid friend was not the better for the inspirations of Terpsichore. He was scarcely able to move. I then found the benefit of having remained quiet, whilst they had been displaying their agility on the light fantastic toe. However, weak as the doctor was, we paid our bill and pursued our route. Early in the afternoon, having fallen in with a small village, we halted, refreshed ourselves, and went to bed very early. The doctor was extremely ill, and sorry for having so strenuously supported the French character.

24th.—We departed as early as usual, and passed round several towns, and at eight in the evening stopped at a small village, and got refreshed. The people were particularly attentive, speaking often in praise of the French nation: they had very frequently some of our countrymen billeted on them. We left Rothweil upon the right, and were told we should be early the next day at TÜtlingen, where I was in hopes of being favourably received. We were in great spirits, passed the evening pleasantly, and imagined that our principal difficulties had been surmounted.

On Sunday, the 25th, we breakfasted, and passed on towards the much-wished-for town. At eleven we were in sight of it. I proposed to my companions to remain concealed in an adjacent wood, while I went into the town to try what could be done; they agreed to it; and we only regretted not having our companion Batley with us.

I entered the town about noon, and went where I expected some assistance, from my former knowledge of the place when conducted thither by the Bavarians, and the hopes then held out to me; but, to my great mortification, I could obtain none. I returned with these doleful tidings to my companions, assured them there was no danger, and went back again to use every effort to procure passports.

The second time I met with some people who promised to assist as much as they could in promoting my wishes. They got my companions into the town, and placed them upstairs in a friend’s tavern; there, in daily expectation of being supplied with what we wanted, we remained concealed until Tuesday, 4th October, a period of eight days, when, with depressed spirits, gloomy faces, and light purses, we were conducted before daybreak on the direct road to Memmingen, as we had determined to take that course to Saltzburg. We had been regularly deceived by some of those who had promised me assistance in the event of my ever coming again that way, and had only to thank our stars that we had not been betrayed.

During our stay in this place we procured an old German map, which we found of very material service to us. About noon we passed Mosskirch, keeping about two miles to the right of it. After nightfall we crossed the river Andalspach, and determined to stop at the first safe place we could find. We soon discovered a house on the roadside, and it appeared to be an inn. We entered, and called for bread and wine, which we found was all the provision that the miserable place afforded. This was good enough for us; but a light-horseman acted as waiter, and he spoke French, which created many unpleasant apprehensions in my mind. We asked for beds, and they declared they had not any; but the light-horseman told us that there was clean straw in the stable, to which we were welcome. We quitted the place, although we had been informed that the next village was more than a league distant, for I was not at all pleased with my military waiter. He was too kind and inquisitive.

We pursued our route at least a league through the centre of a forest. The road was very good. At last we heard a prodigious shouting ahead, and could not account for such a noise at so late an hour; however, it announced the proximity of a village—perhaps the one that had been described to us. We advanced apace. The shouting, singing, and confusion of noises still continued. We shortly discovered an immense concourse of people, of both sexes, on the road, coming towards us. They passed us decorated with ribands and cockades, from which we concluded it was a festival or wedding. We now saw the village very plainly, and soon arrived at it. We went to the first public-house we could discover, but it was so thronged that they could not receive us. By a great deal of persuasion we prevailed on them to direct us to another, where we got beds and refreshments. There were a great number of police-officers and soldiers in the first house, but they were so much elated and amused that they could not attend to make any observations upon us.

We paid excessively dear here for everything; and in the morning we quitted it, and proceeded towards Waldsee, a town of Suabia, with a castle. At about six in the evening we passed it, leaving it at a respectable distance on the right. At eight we stopped at a small village, where we got beds and supper. At daylight we recommenced our journey, and about four in the afternoon we discovered the river Iler, which we had to cross. We were quitting the territory of WÜrtemberg, and entering Bavaria. We saw a bridge, but imagined also that we could distinguish a look-out house or turnpike on it, which alarmed us not a little; so we concealed ourselves in a wood until dusk, and then advanced, and crossed the bridge without any difficulty. There were several houses on each side, but, fortunately, we saw no police-officer, or any person that could cause the least apprehension. We continued our route above a league, when we came to a tavern thronged with waggoners; but we got a private room and went very early to bed.

Our friend Barklimore was now seized with a very severe fit of fever, and it behoved us to be very circumspect in Bavaria, lest we should be obliged to quit our sick companion. The stimuli of danger and necessity enabled him the next morning to attempt the day’s fatigue. We walked very slowly in consideration of his illness.

At night we slept at a village; and not only were the people civil, but our landlady got our shirts washed for us, and dried by the next morning. This was not a slight task, considering how long we had worn them. We were much annoyed, however, by the landlord. He was in the last stage of consumption, and the short remainder of his life seemed to be devoted to inquisitiveness. In vain did we tell him we were French travellers going to Kaufbeuern, where we had many friends. His “whys” and “wherefores,” and his “what-thens” and “where-nexts” were most inconvenient to travellers in our suspicious circumstances. We assured him that from Kaufbeuern we should, in all probability, proceed to Saltzburg, but nothing would satisfy his curiosity; and whilst his wife was in the act of contributing to the refreshing of our bodies by washing our shirts, he was tormenting our minds by questions, one-tenth of which had we answered, or at least answered honestly, we should infallibly have seen ourselves in a few days on the high road to Bitche.