Donat Henchy O'Brien

Leaving Kaufbeuern on the left hand—Crossing the Wardach and the Lech—A welcome ferry-boat—The town of Weilheim—A long and exhausting march—The soporific of fatigue—The ferry over the river Inn—Frightened at a soldier—A false alarm—Crossing the river—The town of Reichenhall—Our approach to the Bavarian frontiers—The increase of dangers—Passing barriers with success—A supposition that we were in the Austrian dominions—A woeful miscalculation and a narrow escape from its fatal consequences—An unexpected demand for passports—An evasion—The Bavarian and Austrian confines—Our extreme danger—Anticipating the galleys—A track through a wood at the foot of a mountain—A flight—The boundary passed, and the fugitives in the Emperor’s dominions—Soldiers in ambush—The fugitives captured—Feigning to be Americans from Altona—Rage of the Bavarian guard at being outwitted.

It was on the 8th of October (1808) that we took leave of our consumptive and inquisitive landlord, and left Kaufbeuern on the left hand in passing. If his lungs, throughout life, had been as actively employed in asking questions as they had been whilst we were with him, the only wonder is that they had lasted him so long. We crossed the Wardach, and directed our course towards SchÖngau. At about six in the evening it began to snow so very hard that we took shelter in an adjacent village for the night. It was small, and suited us very well. At the public-house there was a shoemaker at work for the family, and they had the kindness to allow him to repair our shoes.

The next morning we proceeded on our journey, though the weather was very severe, snowing, and blowing right in our faces. Barklimore was much better, and we did not deem it prudent to remain long in one place. At noon, finding an excellent halting-house, in consequence of the severity of the weather, and being wet to the skin, we stopped at it: this little public-house supplied us with a large blazing fire. We dried our clothes, got refreshed, and went to bed early. At daybreak we recommenced our journey; and, at about eleven, we saw SchÖngau, which appeared to be a very strong place, and consequently to us a place of danger. We could discover no possibility of crossing the Lech without passing close by, if not through it. We consulted what was best to be done, and, without hesitation, decided upon turning to the left and keeping on the banks of that river, until we could find some other place to cross over. We accordingly continued to the northward about eight miles, when we perceived a ploughman at work with some strong horses in an adjacent field. It immediately struck me that, by mounting, we might be able to swim over the river on the back of the horses. I accordingly made the proposal to the ploughman, and endeavoured to strike a bargain. The stupid lout took all as a joke, and laughed me to scorn; but when he found that I was really in earnest, he considered me little less than mad to entertain such an idea. At last, after incessantly repeating the word schiff, he pointed to a ferry-boat on the opposite side. On this we came close down to the river; and, after waving and making signals for some time, we had the satisfaction of seeing a man put off in a boat. Notwithstanding that, from the late heavy falls of rain, the flood was very strong, he conducted himself across in a very masterly style, and then ferried us over in a manner equally satisfactory. We joyfully paid him his usual fare, which was about one penny, and by eight at night we had retraced our steps on the opposite bank by a distance of eight miles, for the purpose of regaining the high road. Weilheim was the next large town in our route, but we halted at a small village. We were dreadfully knocked up, and having obtained refreshment, we went to bed, and found that the best soporific on earth was fatigue. Not all “the drowsy syrups of the world” could “medicine us to a more sweet sleep” than the long and dreary march we had taken.

In the morning we proceeded on our journey, and by ten we made a circuit round Weilheim, with its castle, crossed the Amper, and directed our course for TÖtz. At night we sought shelter in a peasant’s hut, at the foot of the lofty range of mountains that separate Bavaria from the Tyrol.

At eleven the next morning we discovered the town of TÖtz, in a valley on the Amper. In general, the sight of a town is gratifying to a traveller, and gratifying in proportion to its size. In our case the reverse was the fact; and every town was an object of alarm, and especially if it were of any considerable magnitude or population. TÖtz appeared a place difficult to pass. We turned to the southward, and after marching many a dreary league over mountains, and through forests and morasses, we luckily discovered a bridge, which we crossed without any interruption. I observed on the river a number of floats and rafts which were admirably constructed, and they were adroitly steered with the stream, which was excessively rapid. Even this semblance of an approach to nautical affairs filled my mind with thoughts of my profession, and gave gladness to my heart. Having passed the bridge, we were enticed to enter a public-house, where we procured some fish, bread, and beer for dinner. There were a number of both sexes intoxicated in this house; they all appeared to be employed in conducting the timber down the river, and reminded me of Billingsgate and Wapping ballast-heavers. Although it rained excessively hard, we were under the necessity of proceeding. Barklimore got a lift in a waggon for three or four miles, and the waggoner declined receiving payment for it. I must, in justice to continental inhabitants, observe that this feature of disinterestedness is frequent on the Continent; how far it may be common in our own country I leave to every man’s experience.

On the 12th, at daylight, we recommenced our route towards Neubeuern, and in the evening, at eight, we stopped for the night at a small village, where the inn was very decent, and we were well entertained. In the morning we parted from these good folks, but who were apparently not very partial to the French.

At eleven we espied Neubeuern. It is a fort, situated on the side of a hill, on a branch of the river Inn; we were on the opposite side to it, and were very much confused and at a loss how to get across. There appeared a small town also, which I suppose bore the same name. We approached the banks of the river, and discovered a ferry-boat on the opposite side. On each bank sheers were erected, with a stay or rope from one side to the other, to which the ferry-boat was made fast with a long rope and traveller to traverse upon the stay. It was constructed in such a manner, that (let the current be however rapid) one man was sufficient to conduct the ferry-boat across. There was, on our side, a shed with seats for passengers to rest themselves, and wait for their conveyance. In this place we found an old man, who, from his garb and apron, we supposed to be either a hatter or dyer. He spoke no other language than German; he lived (as he made us understand) in the opposite village, and was actually a hatter by trade. He informed us that the ferryman was getting his dinner, and would not attend until after one o’clock. We inquired whether the fortress was strong, although, whether strong or weak, it was evidently strong enough to capture us, and to keep us in durance vile. The answer was, that it contained “only a few veterans,” a species of force we particularly objected to; for, although we could get to windward of raw recruits, it was not easy to impose upon old campaigners. This hatter seemed to measure the inside of our heads, and his inquisitive disposition was very far from agreeable to us, under our awkward circumstances. He at last asked us if we were going to Saltzburg. This was a convenient question, for our answering in the affirmative gave us the plausible opportunity of inquiring how far Saltzburg was off. “Fifteen leagues” was the reply, and I need not say that not one of us felt his heart rebound at the news that he was so far from this point towards his journey’s end.

We dreaded lest there should be an examination of travellers, and an inspection of passports, so near to the frontier garrison; but in vain did we sound the hatter on the subject.

One o’clock arrived; the ferryman approached, but he was accompanied by a soldier, with an immense feather, which waved so terrifically in the air that it seemed ominous of our capture and subsequent fate. We dared not ask the hatter another question, lest it should create suspicions, and although we had time to make any escape, we reflected that we had no other means of crossing the river. In fact, we were unsettled. We considered and reconsidered, resolved and abandoned our resolution. Consternation certainly prevailed over our councils, which ended in our agreeing to wander in the fields, and watch what might be the object of the soldier with his immense feather. The poet[29] has the line,

but never were men less pleased with a feather than I and my companions. We agreed that if this man made towards us, we were to separate in different directions, and thus try to baffle him; if he took the common high road, we were to conclude that he had not come across the river for our capture. We were in a great state of alarm. At length the boat touched the shore. The son of Mars, with the feather in his cocked-hat, jumped out of the boat. Every eye was upon him, and each of us had one leg in advance ready to fly his approach, when, to our inexpressible joy, he did not condescend to look upon us, but pursued his course towards the high road. Never was contempt more welcome to the disregarded or despised. We got into the ferry-boat with the hatter, and landed on the opposite banks.

The fare was a mere trifle. We had to change a florin, and, although we would willingly have paid five times the sum, if we could have afforded it, to get clear off, we waited to have our change regularly made out, which took some time, as the pieces were so difficult to be comprehended, and the ferry-man had to borrow a part from the hatter. But we dreaded, if we had not been thus particular, they might have suspected that all was not right, and given information at the garrison. Matters being arranged, we continued our route carelessly, until we were out of sight of the fortress; then we pushed on as fast as we possibly could, to make up for the delay of the ferry.

About seven o’clock in the evening we halted at a very convenient house on the roadside; got beds and supper; and at daylight recommenced our walk. We were now on the high road to Reichenhall, the last Bavarian town we should have to pass. Each of us was in excellent spirits, and almost confident of getting clear, from the success that had lately attended us. We exerted all our force to get as soon as possible into the Austrian territories, and walked at least twelve leagues this day, till, being very much fatigued, we agreed to proceed to a village on the borders of the lake of Kempsee, and to stop there for the night. We soon made out a public-house; got supper, and retired to bed. The people were civil, and not at all inquisitive.

We rose early and pursued our journey. We met several people, but none, to our joy, seemed to possess the slightest spirit of curiosity. We found out that we were still three leagues from Reichenhall. We advanced apace, but with precaution, knowing how particular they generally are on the frontiers. We also agreed, if we could get immediately safe into Austria, to avoid Saltzburg altogether, and make directly for Trieste. Barklimore was becoming exhausted. The roads were rough and dreary, and not a village or human dwelling was to be seen, even to the utmost verge of the horizon. As we drew near to Reichenhall, we overtook two waggons, and prevailed upon one of the waggoners to give a lift to our lame and disabled companion. Never was an arrangement more fortunate, for no sooner had he got accommodated in the waggon than two Bavarian gendarmes came in view. Hewson and myself sought concealment on the other side of the road, and thus did we escape detection.

For several days past I had observed that all the notices and directions on the roadside were both in German and in French. The road we were travelling was quite new, and it appeared that it had been made since the battle of Austerlitz, in order to facilitate the future entry of the French into the Austrian dominions. It was on a magnificent scale, and must have cost immense sums, being cut through stupendous rocks and mountains. It was the finest military road I had ever beheld, and evinced the gigantic project that Napoleon must have had in contemplation.[30]

We were apparently within two miles of the town, and we begged the waggoner to let our friend descend. The too good-natured fellow offered to carry him into the town, and we were obliged to pretend that we had some idea of stopping at a friend’s house in the neighbourhood. A friend’s house in the neighbourhood!—never were poor beings more friendless or more unacquainted with a neighbourhood.

We were now at our wits’ ends, and it was too late to even attempt to make a circuit of the town, in order to smuggle ourselves into the Austrian territories, which must be at least four or five miles off. The surrounding mountains seemed calculated to baffle the most experienced traveller in any effort to get through their passes by night, or even by day; and what could be done by poor ignorant and forlorn fugitives like us?

All matters having been deliberately weighed and considered, we resolved to take our abode in a public-house, at a little distance on the roadside; and this, we trusted, would be our last night in Bavaria. We accordingly entered it, and found several decent people. I made our host understand that our comrade had been taken suddenly ill, that I wished to get him to bed as soon as we could, and that we preferred remaining with him to going into town, as it was then late. He politely told us we should be instantly accommodated.

At about half-past eight we were shown to bed, and were in great spirits. The next morning would decide our destiny, and we were very sanguine. We knew it was necessary to be cautious also in Austria, but considered that the great point would be attained when we should be out of the power of the Confederation of the Rhine. I confess I sometimes thought how unfortunate we should be if arrested in the vicinity of the last Bavarian town, and again conducted back to the horrible Mansion of Tears. I frankly declare, I would have preferred death as the alternative.

At the dawn of day on the 17th of October we rose, ordered a cup of coffee each, and pushed forward with great circumspection for the town of Reichenhall, and saw very few people moving. Everything, we imagined, favoured us; but the next moment we discovered a bridge, which we inevitably must pass; at the end of it was a turnpike and the Bavarian colours, blue and white, which we were tolerably well acquainted with. There were two men who appeared at a short distance from the turnpike. We were on the bridge. The two men entered a house close to the turnpike. We advanced rapidly. Supposing it to be a most favourable opportunity, we passed the turnpike very fortunately, and turned short round to the right, which led us directly as we wished, and also clear of the town. We then passed another barrier, where there was not a house to be seen, and being so near to that we just passed, we conjectured that both were superintended by the same people.

Having anticipated all aggravations of difficulties as we approached the frontier, we were overjoyed at finding the system of police not so strict as we expected: we now considered ourselves safe. We advanced a mile, and thought ourselves in the Austrian territories. Our happiness was inconceivable. Our dangers, we thought, were over, and we were now in a country which, though not in alliance with England, had been subsidised on former occasions to the extent of so many millions by her, and had so common a cause with us in putting down the general enemy. We felt almost as if we were at home. So secure were we that we began to be less attentive to dangers of any sort.

The road became excessively heavy; and, although I had passed through by far worse roads under more difficult circumstances, my prospects of triumph made me fastidious or sportive. A cut, or pathway, appeared to lead through fields in one direction, and I chose to take it, as I thought it would shorten our distance, while Hewson pursued the high-road in preference. On looking back, I found that Barklimore was following my steps a good way behind, though in a short time I entirely lost sight of Hewson. I had made an obtuse angle, and saved some distance, and I soon got into the road again; but, to my great uneasiness, in vain did I look for my friend. I conjectured that, although he had the longest route, he must have walked so very fast as to more than make up for the difference; and that, consequently, he was ahead of me. Presently, to my great astonishment and utter dismay, I made the woeful discovery that we were still in the Bavarian territories; for I perceived close to me a turnpike, with the adjacent house bearing the Bavarian arms. Fortunately, the door was shut, and I passed it with a palpitating heart, thanking Heaven for my hair-breadth escape. I then quickened my pace; and, looking back with great anxiety, to my unspeakable joy I found that Barklimore had passed with equal success.

I now became exceedingly alarmed for the safety of our friend Hewson, and concluded that, under the idea that he was in the Austrian dominions, he might have incautiously approached the barrier we had just escaped, and have been captured. I stopped to wait Barklimore’s coming up, that we might counsel what was best to be done. In the midst of our perplexity and distress, to my unspeakable joy I perceived Hewson a long way ahead of us, and making towards us with precipitation. How he could have got so far in advance was to me inexplicable. I hastened towards him, and expressed my astonishment at his separating from us at such a critical moment. He briefly retaliated, and said, that as we had cut off such a large angle by crossing the fields, he naturally concluded that we were further advanced than himself. But there was no time to be lost in recriminations; for our danger was extreme. Hewson, with much trepidation, told us that we were still on Bavarian ground, and that a short way in advance he had come to the line of demarcation between the two countries, and at the nearest point of which there was a barrier, with a guard; and he added, “The Austrian officer had stopped me, and demanded my passport. With all the presence of mind I could assume,” said Hewson, “I told him that my companions, who were following me, had all our papers, and he desired me to wait until you arrived, but I contrived to elude his vigilance, and have hastened to acquaint you with our danger.”

We received this woeful intelligence with pallid faces and knit brows, but our alarm was increased when Hewson continued, “I met the wife of the man who looks out at yon Bavarian gate, or turnpike, and she asked me if I had shown my passport and papers to her husband; of course I answered that I had.”

Here, then, we were in as desperate a situation as any we had ever been in. Never had we had to contend with dangers more numerous or extreme. It appeared but too evident to us, that, when the woman told her husband of what Hewson had stated to her, a pursuit of us would be commenced, and a hue and cry raised for our apprehension. If the Austrian officer had refused to let Hewson pass without a passport when he was unsuspected, it was evident that he would not let us go through when the Bavarian soldiers were in chase of us. It was hopeless to go directly to the Austrian guard, confess who and what we were, and surrender ourselves as prisoners, on the confidence of the amity which had formerly existed between England and Austria, and of the good feelings which the Austrians ought to entertain towards the English. Whichever way we turned, new difficulties presented themselves, and we were distracted with the thought of being taken after having overcome so many dangers, travelled so many hundred miles, and arrived at a point at which even a few yards over an imaginary line of separation might save us.

I instantly proposed that we should try to elude and pass the Austrian guard by avoiding the barrier, and crossing the boundary how we could, at any other point; and then, if we were taken, our last resource would be to claim the protection of the Austrian officer, as English subjects, and formerly, though not now, the allies of the emperor. At any risk, even at the cost of our lives, we were to avoid falling into the hands of the Bavarians, for then our inevitable fate would be a journey in chains back to the Mansion of Tears, a trial at Metz, and a sentence to the galleys.

Not a moment was lost. I surveyed the country, and espied a narrow pathway that led into a thick wood at the foot of an immense mountain. Into this by-path we immediately struck, and proceeded as rapidly as the nature of the track would admit of our using our legs. We expected to be pursued by the Austrian troops; and our only hope was to get so far into their territory, that, when captured, they would not think of returning us to the dreaded Bavarians.

We pursued the route with all possible speed, running, climbing, crawling, and scrambling, as the nature of the ground admitted or required, until at length we stopped, out of breath, in the middle of the wood, and, to our great joy, heard not the sound of a human voice or footstep in pursuit.

We took breath, and again proceeded. It was impossible to clamber the immense mountain, for its sides were perfectly inaccessible, and often to a great height perpendicular; and yet we cast a longing, lingering look upon its rugged steeps, and thought that if we could only gain one of its caves or fastnesses, our security would be perfect.

We kept the path through the wood, and in a short time we got a sight of the high-road; and, to the joy of exhausted lungs and palpitating hearts, we found that we were full a mile in the rear of the Austrian barrier. This was indeed happiness: happiness so great, so unexpected, and so much in contrast with all the circumstances of our previous position, that we distrusted even our senses that so plainly assured us of the fact.

We now set firm foot upon the spacious high-road, and were about to proceed with the elated feelings that made us think we could defy the world, and laugh at the book of fate or the tricks of the treacherous and fickle goddess, when, at our first step, a hoarse voice called on us to surrender, and up sprung four German soldiers from their hiding-place, behind a rock on the verge of the wood, and each presented a rifle at our heads. We concluded they were bandits, and had little to apprehend from them, as we had no property to lose, and knew that such gentry were not desirous of taking life, when there was no advantage to be derived from shedding blood. But we were soon undeceived, for whilst three of the fellows kept the muzzles of their pieces at our heads, the foremost of them very politely took off his hat to us. This was very like the scene in Gil Blas, when the beggar piteously implored the traveller, in the name of the Holy Virgin, to drop a marvadie in his cap, whilst he kept his carbine aimed at his head, as a broad hint of what he was to suffer if he was uncharitable. But the cases were not in point, and these turned out to be Austrian soldiers, and the leader civilly asked us for our passports. I showed him an old pocket-book, and pretended to look for mine, and which of course I could not find; but I showed him some envelopes in the German character, which I had provided for such an emergency. The phlegmatic German sergeant defeated all my excuses, by simply declaring that he was not a judge in such difficult cases, not a scholar (in fact, he could not read), and that his duty was to take us before his officer, pointing to the direction in which we knew the Austrian barrier lay. “Will you surrender?” said he; and what option of an answer was left to us in any case, when each had a rifle presented to his head? “Most willingly,” I replied, “but are we not in the Emperor’s dominions in Kaisersland?” How my heart beat with joy when he answered the “Yes, Sir,”—Ya Mynheer. Never did the sun behold more willing prisoners. We accompanied our captors to the officer. He was a young man, and spoke no other language than the German. However, we comprehended perfectly that he was displeased at our attempting to elude him and the guard. He examined us, and we made him understand as well as we could, “That we were Americans, who had escaped from the Danes at Altona, and were making the best of our way to Trieste, where we expected to procure a passage to our native country.” He desired one of his soldiers to go and inform the Bavarian at the next barrier that he wanted him. This circumstance occasioned me much uneasiness. I endeavoured to learn from him if he intended to send us to Salzburg. He said we should be conveyed to that city immediately. We were much pleased at this intelligence, as we dreaded being given up to the Bavarian, who now had arrived, and was astonished when the officer told him that he had let us pass without examining or interrogating us. Our friend from the barrier was excessively nettled at the information, and, had we been handed over to his tender mercies, he would have amply revenged himself for the manner in which our success had exposed him to the taunts of the officer of the rival nation.