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Updated: May 17, 2025
The officers sat round the table with glowing cheeks and listened to their worshipped general who, in innocent gayety, related some scenes from his youth, and made his hearers laugh so loud, so rapturously, that the walls trembled, and Fritz Kober, who was crouching down in the bushes, could with difficulty prevent himself from joining in heartily.
"Because I have been so accustomed to be where you are!" said Fritz Kober, quietly. "When I heard Deesen call for a tailor, and you answered, 'Here! here! I stepped out of my tent and followed you; nothing more! But you would also know why I look at you? Well, while it pleases me to see you sewing, it brings strange and pleasant thoughts to my mind."
However, he tore the uniform away from Charles Henry rather roughly, and hastened to put it on. "Folly," said he, "the coat squeezes me, that is all! Besides, it is not wise to fool away our time in silly talking. Let us go onward." "Directly over the battle-field?" said Charles Henry, shuddering. "Directly over the battle-field," said Kober, "because that is the nearest way."
The soldiers looked back, frightened and trembling. "Tell me," said the king, "what use were you going to make of the wood?" "Cook noodles, sire," said Fritz Kober; "Henry Buschman promised to cook noodles for us, and the bacon is already cut; but we have no wood."
Side by side, whispering in low tones, lay the soldiers for the hour seemed to all too solemn to be broken by any loud sound. No hearts were so full of gratitude and joy as those of Charles Henry Buschman and Fritz Kober. In the pressure of the battle they had been separated and had not again met during the engagement.
As soon, then, as the leading Brethren in Herrnhut such as John de Watteville, Leonard Dober, David Nitschmann, the Syndic, Frederick Köber, and others had recovered from the shock occasioned by Zinzendorf's death, they set about the difficult task of organizing the work of the whole Moravian Church.
Then turning, with a kindly expression, to Fritz Kober, he said: "Can you write?" "Not well, your majesty; but Charles Henry Buschman can write much better than I. He is a scholar." "Is that true?" said the king, gayly, to Charles. "He will say 'No, sir king; he cannot bear to be praised.
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