“Good stranger, I have no friends, all are at rest these many years; ye speak me fair, ye mean me well, but I know ye not; I am alone and forlorn in the world—­prithee lead me to her grave.”

During two years Conrad spent his days, from the early morning till the night, under the linden tree, mourning over the imaginary grave of his Catharina.  Catharina was the only company of the harmless madman.  He was very friendly toward her because, as he said, in some ways she reminded him of his Catharina whom he had lost “fifty years ago.”  He often said: 

“She was so gay, so happy-hearted—­but you never smile; and always when you think I am not looking, you cry.”

When Conrad died, they buried him under the linden, according to his directions, so that he might rest “near his poor Catharina.”  Then Catharina sat under the linden alone, every day and all day long, a great many years, speaking to no one, and never smiling; and at last her long repentance was rewarded with death, and she was buried by Conrad’s side.

Harris pleased the captain by saying it was good legend; and pleased him further by adding: 

“Now that I have seen this mighty tree, vigorous with its four hundred years, I feel a desire to believe the legend for its sake; so I will humor the desire, and consider that the tree really watches over those poor hearts and feels a sort of human tenderness for them.”

We returned to Necharsteinach, plunged our hot heads into the trough at the town pump, and then went to the hotel and ate our trout dinner in leisurely comfort, in the garden, with the beautiful Neckar flowing at our feet, the quaint Dilsberg looming beyond, and the graceful towers and battlements of a couple of medieval castles (called the “Swallow’s Nest” [1] and “The Brothers.”) assisting the rugged scenery of a bend of the river down to our right.  We got to sea in season to make the eight-mile run to Heidelberg before the night shut down.  We sailed by the hotel in the mellow glow of sunset, and came slashing down with the mad current into the narrow passage between the dikes.  I believed I could shoot the bridge myself, and I went to the forward triplet of logs and relieved the pilot of his pole and his responsibility.

1.  The seeker after information is referred to Appendix
    E for our captain’s legend of the “Swallow’s Nest”
    and “The Brothers.”

We went tearing along in a most exhilarating way, and I performed the delicate duties of my office very well indeed for a first attempt; but perceiving, presently, that I really was going to shoot the bridge itself instead of the archway under it, I judiciously stepped ashore.  The next moment I had my long-coveted desire:  I saw a raft wrecked.  It hit the pier in the center and went all to smash and scatteration like a box of matches struck by lightning.

I was the only one of our party who saw this grand sight; the others were attitudinizing, for the benefit of the long rank of young ladies who were promenading on the bank, and so they lost it.  But I helped to fish them out of the river, down below the bridge, and then described it to them as well as I could.