THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
a while. Then pursuing our way we found the railing in its old place, dipped under it, and soon perceived a gleam of light through a mass of dark leaves, which suggested that the opening was immediately before us. We stood still once more to make our pistols ready for action. Whether after having been so wet, they would have gone off is very questionable. After all we had suffered, we were now determined to do our utmost. But the field was clear, the chain of guards had disappeared. The cornfield lay immediately before us. A low whistle on our part was promptly answered, and our man joined us a moment later.
He reported that the road was free. We marched vigorously on and in less than an hour we reached the village of Steinmauern. Our friend conducted us to the bank of the Rhine and showed us a boat in which a man lay fast asleep. He was quickly roused, and our friend announced to him that we were the men he was to take across the Rhine. “That will cost five florins,” growled the boatman, who, upon my question as to what countryman he was, told me he came from Coblenz. I gave him the reward asked for, and offered also some more money to our kind friend. “You have given me already enough,” he said; “what you still have you will be very much in need of. My name is Augustin Loeffler. Perhaps we may meet again in this world. God protect you.”
Then we shook hands most cordially and parted. We fugitives stepped into the boat, and our friend wandered back to Rastatt. Many years later, when I was Secretary of the Interior in the government of the United States, I received one day a letter from Augustin Loeffler. It was dated at a little place in Canada. He wrote me that he had left Germany a short time after the revolutionary period, and was doing very well in his new home. He had read in the newspapers that I
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