he fiddler struck up a lively polka. the members of the band, two by two, begun to dance. gates, entering into the spirit of the joke, impressed tom as a not unwilling partner, and morton was seized by one of his captors and compelled to join in. but herr schmidt looked on stupidly, and stood motionless.
alonzo gave a signal for the music to cease.
“why don’t you dance?” he demanded sternly of the german.
“ich kann nicht. i have never learn,” said johann, in a tone of apology.
“then i will teach you,” and the lieutenant seized the unwilling teuton, and forced him to jump and caper as well as his great bulk would permit.
gradually the rest stopped, and fixed their eyes upon the dutchman’s unwilling gambols. the lieutenant had threatened him with instant death if he did not do his best, and the distressed teuton, fearing to be shot, exerted himself to please his captor.
“the lieutenant threatened the dutchman with instant death if he did not do his best.”
if the reader will imagine a frisky elephant, he can form some idea of mynheer’s wonderful feats, as in panic-stricken resignation he hopped and jumped at the will of the lieutenant. but he was short of breath and yielded at last to fatigue, sinking in a heap upon the earth.
“i can no more,” he said, panting heavily. “i am ausgespielt!”
“he looks played out,” said the lieutenant. “dick, bring him a drop of brandy.”
“have you any lager,” asked herr schmidt eagerly.
“no; don’t deal in that article. brandy is better.”
“nothing so good as lager,” murmured johann, closing his eyes and panting.
nevertheless he took the brandy, and was mischievously plied with more till, sad as i am to record it, the worthy johann got decidedly fuddled, and losing sight of his unfortunate position, volunteered a german song, which convulsed his audience with mirth.
“you’re a jolly old boy,” said the lieutenant, slapping him on the shoulder. “won’t you stay with us and take up our trade?”
“what’s der wages?” asked johann gravely.
“fifty dollars a month and found.”
“you give me fifty dollars a month, and then you find me,” repeated the dutchman soberly.
probably this was not meant as a joke, but it was so understood, and herr schmidt was amazed at the universal merriment which followed. but he bethought himself of a condition.
“i must have my katrine and my kinder here, too.”
“what’s kinder?” asked jack.
“children. i know enough german for that,” said tom.
“i don’t know about that,” said the lieutenant gravely. “is katrine beautiful?”
“she was once,” said johann. “she is now one fine woman.”
“and you will promise to help us in all our undertakings?”
“what will you have me to do?” asked the teuton with returning intelligence.
“stop travelers on the highway—make them give up their money—and if they won’t, shoot ’em,” said the lieutenant.
“you want me to be one robber!” exclaimed herr schmidt in horror, “and kill de people! i cannot do it. i am a good man. i am not a robber.”
“if you will join us,” said the lieutenant with a wink to his men, “we’ll make you our captain—that is, if you steal a good deal of money.”
“nein, nein!” said herr schmidt vehemently. “i will not do it—katrine would leave me. she would not live with her johann if he was become a robber.”
“is that your fixed, unalterable determination?” demanded the lieutenant, assuming a fierce look.
“ich verstehe nicht—i not understand,” stammered the captive.
“you won’t accept our flattering proposal, then?”
“i cannot indeed, my good friend,” said the german piteously. “i shall make one very poor robber.”
“fancy him at the head of the band,” said jack laughing.
the idea was ludicrous. the robbers laughed till the tears run down their cheeks, and the other three prisoners joined in.
the lieutenant recovered himself first. he frowned, and in a harsh voice said, in a mock, imperious tone:
“remove him at once to the dungeon. he has spurned my offer. he despises our companionship. let him prepare for a most terrible retribution.”
the affrighted dutchman was borne back to the subterranean apartment, groaning piteously under the impression that he was to be killed on the morrow. but his fatigue was great, and in spite of his mental distress, half an hour had not passed before snoring of a particularly boisterous character apprised his fellow-prisoners that he was asleep. happy are they who can so readily command the blissful oblivion of slumber.
