Our campaign commander was a stickler for military discipline, so I rather feared the chop. On the other hand I drew hope from being a young man in the best of health who’d always done well against the enemy and gained something of a reputation for boldness. However, the hope was dodgy, to say the least, and since such tiffs were almost daily occurrences an example had to be set. Meanwhile our side, having just laid siege to a fortified rats’ nest and demanded its handover, had received a firm ‘no’ (they knew we had no heavy artillery with us, you see). So our Count von der Wahl drew up his entire army outside said citadel and had a trumpeter once more sound the call to surrender, threatening that otherwise he’d storm the place. His answer was the following letter:
Most Excellent Count etc. I note from Yr. Excellency’s missive the instruction of which Yr. Ex. begs to inform me on behalf of his Imp. Maj. the HRE. However, Yr. Ex. will know how remiss (not to say irresponsible) it would be for a soldier to abandon to the enemy such a stronghold as this in any circumstances short of the direst emergency. For which reason I hope Yr. Ex. will not take it the wrong way if I insist on holding out until I see weapons fit for purpose ranged against me. If in any other regard (his present duties excepted) I can be of use to Yr. Ex., rest assured that I remain
Yr. Ex.’s faithful servant
(name supplied)
There followed wide-ranging discussion in our camp. Doing nothing was scarcely an option. Storming the place without breaching the walls would have meant extensive bloodshed and might not have worked. And sending to Münster or Hamm for big guns and all associated equipment would have cost a lot of time, effort and expense. Everyone was consulted, and it occurred to me that here was my opportunity to get out of a tight spot. All we lacked was heavy artillery, and I devoted a great deal of thought to the problem of duping the enemy into believing we had some. As soon as I’d worked out how it could be done, I sent word to the lieutenant colonel. I’d had a brainwave, I told him, about how the place could be taken easily and inexpensively, but I’d have to be pardoned and set free first. Several older, hardened soldiers scoffed, ‘Huh! The fellow can feel the noose tightening. He thinks he can talk his way out.’ However, the lieutenant colonel himself and others acquainted with me took my words at face value. The former went to see the general in person and told him of my plan, adding all sorts of stuff that he knew about me. Even the count had heard of the Huntsman, so he gave orders for my chains to be temporarily removed and for me to be brought before him. I arrived to find him at table. By way of introduction, my lieutenant colonel told him a story about me: ‘One day back in spring, when this man (“the Huntsman”, they call him) was doing sentry duty for the first time at St James’s Gate in Soest, there was a cloudburst with almighty claps of thunder and a lashing wind. People came streaming into the citadel from the surrounding fields to find shelter, and seeing the hurrying mob of folk on foot and men on horseback he had the presence of mind to call the guard to arms, thinking that with the place in such chaos would be an ideal time for the enemy to invade.’ The lieutenant colonel ploughed on: ‘At the back of the queue an old hunchbacked woman farted richly as she hurried past, muttering, “Damned if I haven’t been feeling this weather in my bones for the last fortnight!” The Huntsman overheard and, happening to have a staff in his hand, rapped the crone over the hump and said, “You could’ve let off sooner, you old witch! Did you have to wait till it was my turn on watch?” When his superior protested, the Huntsman replied, “Well – serves her right. A month back the old crone heard a man pleading for a good downpour. We’re honest folk – why weren’t we treated to this earlier? Our barley and hops might have done better then!” ’ At this the count (a sourpuss, generally) burst out laughing. I groaned, thinking, ‘If the lieutenant colonel recounts such rubbish, he’s bound to have told the general other tricks I’ve got up to.’ However, despite everything (my introduction included), I was presented.
When the count asked me what I had to say, this was my reply: ‘Esteemed lord etc., both my crime and Your Excellency’s lawful command and prohibition rightly deny me my life. That said, the lifelong service owed to my most noble master, His Holy Roman Imperial Majesty, by his most humble servant requires that I do all I can, within my limited means, to clobber the enemy while advancing the military aims of said most highly esteemed HRIM.’ Here the count broke in: ‘Didn’t you bring me that black man recently?’ ‘Yes, noble lord,’ I answered. He said then, ‘Right, your enthusiasm and loyalty do perhaps merit a reprieve, but you have a plan for dislodging the enemy from this citadel – am I correct? I want them out sharpish, mind, and if possible without killing the lot.’ I replied, ‘The place wouldn’t stand a heavy bombardment, so your humble servant reckons any resistance would soon fold if they simply feared we had cannon.’ ‘Any twit could have told me that,’ the count snorted, ‘but what’s going to convince them?’ I had my answer ready: ‘Their own eyes,’ I said. ‘I’ve been observing their lookout post through my telescope. From this distance I reckon we can fool them if we just mount some lengths of tree trunk the size of well shafts onto carts and have big teams of horses haul them into the open. The watchers will think we’ve got huge guns, especially if Yr. Ex. arranges for some earthworks to be thrown up in the vicinity to make it look as if we mean to dig the weapons in.’ ‘My dear fellow,’ the count answered, ‘they’re not kids in there, you know. They’ll see through the whole thing like a window. And if the ruse doesn’t come off,’ he continued, turning to the officers around him, ‘we’ll be the laughing stock of the district!’ ‘But, sir,’ I countered, ‘I’ll make the sound of cannon ring in their ears if you’ll just bring me a couple of those outsize muskets and an empty wine butt. You’re right: without sound there’d be no effect at all. However, if my plan fails and you do get teased, blame me as the inventor. I’m under sentence of death anyway, so the mockery will end with my execution.’ The count was still not convinced, but my lieutenant colonel managed to persuade him, saying I was blessed with good fortune in such matters and the trick would undoubtedly work. Thinking there might be a chance anyway, the count told his underling to go ahead and make the arrangements – adding (half in jest) that, in the event of success, he (the count) must receive all the credit.
That afternoon three giant logs were dragged into position by twenty-four horses each (two would have done) in full view of the enemy. Meanwhile, I collected three heavy muskets and a vast barrel from a nearby castle and rigged them up the way I needed them. This was done under cover of darkness. Priming the guns with a double load of powder, I had them fired inside said barrel (from which one end had been removed) to sound as if we were making three trial shots. The noise was like thunder. Anyone would have sworn blind this was very heavy artillery indeed. The whole performance caused the general to laugh like a drain, and he promptly made the enemy another offer – this time with the proviso that, if they didn’t accept his terms by nightfall, in the morning they’d get it in the neck. Hostages were exchanged immediately, an agreement was signed, and that same evening a gate of the town was thrown open to us. I was laughing, too: not only did the count make me a gift of the life I’d forfeited by infringing his ban; he also, that very night, set me free, ordering the lieutenant colonel in my presence to give me the first stripe that became available. This he was unable to do, though, having so many cousins and brothers-in-law, all jostling to keep me out of the queue.