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Main > Fairy tale > All authors > Andersen Hans Christian > Fairy tale "Golden Treasure"

Golden Treasure

" said the father.

"Without any arms or legs!" said the mother. "No, thank you, I'd rather keep my Golden Treasure whole!"

"Dr-rum! Dr-rum! Dr-rum!" beat the fire drum, and all the drums joined in. War really did come; the soldiers marched out, and the drummer's boy marched with them. "Red-top!" "Golden Treasure!" The mother wept; the father imagined him coming home famous; the state musician thought he would have been better off staying home and studying music.

"Red-top!" the soldiers said, and Peter laughed, but when some of them called him "Foxy" his mouth tightened and he looked straight ahead, as if that name did not concern him. The boy was smart, carefree, and good-humored, and that made him a favorite with his older comrades. Many nights he had to sleep under the open sky, in rain and mist, wet to the skin; but his good humor never failed. His drumsticks beat, "Dr-rum-a-lum! Everybody up!" Yes, he was certainly a born drummer boy.

It was a day of battle; the sun was not yet up, but it was morning; the air was cold and the fight was hot; the morning was foggy, but there was a still heavier fog from gunpowder. Bullets and grenades flew overhead and into heads, bodies, and limbs; still the command was "Forward!" One after another sank to his knees with bleeding temple and pale white face. The little drummer boy's color was still healthy; he wasn't hurt at all. With flashing eyes he watched the regimental dog running before him, and the animal was really happy, as if the whole thing were in fun and they were firing the bullets only to play with him.

"March! Forward, march!" was the command given the drummers; but sometimes orders have to be changed, with good reason, and now the word was, "Retreat!" But the little drummer boy still sounded, "March forward!" not understanding that the orders had been changed. The soldiers obeyed the drum, and it was lucky they did, for the mistake resulted in victory.

Lives and limbs were lost in the battle. The grenade tears away the flesh in bleeding fragments; the grenade sets fire to the straw heap where the poor wounded has dragged himself, to lie forsaken for many hours, forsaken perhaps until dead.

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