at there comes by
way of Erlangen, guided forward from that place by the Rittmeister von
Katte, a certain messenger and message, which proved of deep importance
to his Royal Highness. The messenger was Lieutenant Katte's servant: who
has come express from Berlin hither. He inquired, on the road, as he was
bidden, at Erlangen, of Master's Cousin, the experienced Rittmeister,
Where his Royal Highness at present was, that he might deliver a Letter
to him? The Master's Cousin, who answered naturally, "At Anspach," knew
nothing, and naturally could get to know nothing, of what the message
in this Letter was. But he judged, from cross-questionings, added to dim
whispering rumors he had heard, that it was questionable, probably in
an extreme degree. Wherefore, along with his Cousin the Lieutenant's
messenger to Anspach, the Rittmeister forwarded a Note of his own to
Lieutenant-Colonel Rochow, of this purport, "As a friend, I warn you,
have a watchful eye on your high charge!"--and, for his own share,
determined to let nothing escape him in his corner of the matter. This
note to Rochow, and the Berlin Letter for the Crown-Prince reach Anspach
by the same hand; Lieutenant Katte's express, conscious of nothing,
delivering them both. Rochow and the Rittmeister, though the poor Prince
does not know it, are broad awake to all movements he and the rash
Lieutenant may make.

Lieutenant Katte, in this Letter now arrived, complains: "That he never
yet can get recruiting furlough; whether it be by accident, or that
Rochow has given my Colonel a hint, no furlough yet to be had: will,
at worst, come without furlough and in spite of all men and things,
whenever wanted. Only--Wesel still, if I might advise!" This is the
substance of Katte's message by express. Date must be the end of July,
1730; but neither Date nor Letter is now anywhere producible, except
from Hearsay.

Deeply pondering these things, what shall the poor Prince do? From
Canstatt, close by Stuttgard, a Town on our homeward route,--from
Canstatt, where Katte was to "appear in disguise," had the furlough been
got, one might have slipt away across the Hills. It is but eighty miles
to Strasburg, through the Kniebiss Pass, where the Murg, the Kinzig, and
the intricate winding mountain streams and valleys start Rhine-ward:
a labyrinthic rock-and-forest country, where pursuit or tracking were
impossible. Near by Strasburg is Count Rothenburg's Chateau; good
Rothenburg, long Minis