1816: the Grandest Tour

Germany: Chapter 11

The men of the Burschenschaft Teutonia awoke in the misty, gray morning and straggled back to town in small groups. For Tobias and George, it was an exhilarating reminder of their own college days. Taking over an abandoned castle for a secret society book-burning, however, was a shade removed from even their wildest stunts at Cambridge.

Needless to say, the evening left all three visitors fully enchanted. They agreed to linger a few more days in Erlangen, and during this time saw much of Karl and Dittmar, relaxed in town, and planned the next steps of their journey.

Then, late one afternoon after returning from a walk, a student burst in on their rooms. They didn't know the young man, but from his hurried statements Tobias made out that they needed to come at once. Karl and Dittmar were calling everyone to assemble: the Ruttli was under attack!

All three shoved on their boots in a hurry and followed the messenger out. Linking up with some other Burschenschafters in the street, they saddled some horses from the inn and rode out, two on each animal. When they came within sight of the hill-fort everyone gasped: the whole structure was in flames. A gray-black pillar of smoke stretched cruelly up to the heavens.

"How did it happen?" George asked. "Does anyone know?" They'd just alighted next to Karl and Dittmar, who led an advance group up the hill to investigate.

"No one knows yet," said Dittmar bitterly, "but I can guess."

"Stay behind me!" Karl yelled to the whole group. "We can't let anyone go in – the whole thing could collapse."

The line of students advanced until within a few yards of the walls. They could feel the heat, and the smoke cloud was almost too thick to breath in.

"Everyone stop!" said Karl. "Spread out on the perimeter – see if you spot anything unusual."

George, Tobias, and Isaac ended up fanning out to the right in a column led by Dittmar. He plunged ahead as if into battle, his eyes raking over the inferno for any clue, or foe. The Ruttli was now a pitiful sight. The whole structure of the dining hall was burning and unsalvageable, along with anything they'd left there. All three visitors felt a sharp pang of loss to see this magical place, which they'd only just discovered, now consigned to nothingness by the brutal elements.

"Stop! Who's there!" Dittmar yelled.

Those behind looked where he pointed and saw the flash of a coat whip around the outer walls, disappearing into the woods.

"After him!" said Dittmar, sprinting off at full tilt.

Everyone in earshot followed. The chase took them through a dense thicket of pines and broadleafs, and nobody but Dittmar seemed to have a view of their quarry. He, meanwhile, ran with all his pent up anger and gusto, fine athlete that he was. Shouting abuse at whomever they pursued, he soon led them out of the trees and within sight of the river.

Clear of the forest George could see it wasn't just one, but three men they were chasing. They were all young, and wore similar garb to their student pursuers – if perhaps a little finer in quality. Ten to one they were men of the Landmannschaft, George thought.

"Halt you cowardly dogs!" Dittmar cried, bounding down the slope still ahead of his fellows. The three who fled made no response, and on reaching the river shed their coats in a hurry and jumped straight in. The current flowed at a sluggish pace but was strong, and the Landmannschafters battled all the way to stay their course.

Everyone stopped short at the riverbank, eyeing the current and breadth of the water with trepidation. It was nearly twenty yards across. Dittmar alone cursed his friends for cowards and threw off his own coat. The fleeing trio were already halfway to the far bank, so Dittmar brushed aside the others' cautions and waded in by himself.