A lieutenant, whose name was Bach, a Dane by nation, mounted guard
every fourth day, and was the terror of the whole garrison; for,
being a perfect master of arms, he was incessantly involved in
quarrels, and generally left his marks behind him. He had served in
two regiments, neither of which would associate with him for this
reason, and he had been sent to the garrison regiment at Glatz as
punishment.

Bach one day, sitting beside me, related how, the evening before, he
had wounded a lieutenant, of the name of Schell, in the arm. I
replied, laughing, "Had I my liberty, I believe you would find some
trouble in wounding me, for I have some skill in the sword." The
blood instantly flew in his face; we split off a kind of pair of
foils from an old door, which had served me as a table, and at the
first lunge I hit him on the breast.

His rage became ungovernable, and he left the prison. What was my
astonishment when, a moment after, I saw him return with two
soldiers' swords, which he had concealed under his coat.--"Now,
then, boaster, prove," said he, giving me one of them, "what thou
art able to do." I endeavoured to pacify him, by representing the
danger, but ineffectually. He attacked me with the utmost fury, and
I wounded him in the arm.

Throwing his sword down, he fell upon my neck, kissed me, and wept.
At length, after some convulsive emotions of pleasure, he said,
"Friend, thou art my master; and thou must, thou shalt, by my aid,
obtain thy liberty, as certainly as my name is Bach." We bound up
his arm as well as we could. He left me, and secretly went to a