“Then Napoleon was sent to Elba.  But the victors quarrelled amongst themselves, while Talleyrand and Metternich tore our Vaterland into strips, and set brother against brother.  And our blood, and the grief for the widows and the fatherless, went for nothing.”

Richter paused to light his pipe.

“After a while,” he continued presently, “came the German Confederation, with Austria at the head.  Rid of Napoleon, we had another despot in Metternich.  But the tree which Jahn had planted grew, and its branches spread.  The great master was surrounded by spies.  My father had gone to Jena University, when he joined the Burschenschaft, or Students’ League, of which I will tell you later.  It was pledged to the rescue of the Vaterland.  He was sent to prison for dipping his handkerchief in the blood of Sand, beheaded for liberty at Mannheim.  Afterwards he was liberated, and went to Berlin and married my mother, who died when I was young.  Twice again he was in prison because the societies met at his house.  We were very poor, my friend.  You in America know not the meaning of that word.  His health broke, and when ’48 came, he was an old man.  His hair was white, and he walked the streets with a crutch.  But he had saved a little money to send me to Jena.

“He was proud of me.  I was big-boned and fair, like my mother.  And when I came home at the end of a Semester I can see him now, as he would hobble to the door, wearing the red and black and gold of the Burschenschaft.  And he would keep me up half the night-telling him of our ‘Schlager’ fights with the aristocrats.  My father had been a noted swordsman in his day.”

He stopped abruptly, and colored.  For Stephen was staring at the jagged scar, He had never summoned the courage to ask Richter how he came by it.

“Schlager fights?” he exclaimed.

“Broadswords,” answered the German, hastily.  “Some day I will tell you of them, and of the struggle with the troops in the ‘Breite Strasse’ in March.  We lost, as I told you because we knew not how to hold what we had gained.

“I left Germany, hoping to make a home here for my poor father.  How sad his face as he kissed me farewell!  And he said to me:  ’Carl, if ever your new Vaterland, the good Republic, be in danger, sacrifice all.  I have spent my years in bondage, and I say to you that life without liberty is not worth the living.’  Three months I was gone, and he was dead, without that for which he had striven so bravely.  He never knew what it is to have an abundance of meat.  He never knew from one day to the other when he would have to embrace me, all he owned, and march away to prison, because he was a patriot.”  Richter’s voice had fallen low, but now he raised it.  “Do you think, my friend,” he cried, “do you think that I would not die willingly for this new country if the time should come.  Yes, and there are a million like me, once German, now American, who will give their lives to preserve this Union.  For without it the world is not fit to live in.”