Hurrying along, he came suddenly upon Hainberger. The incident is curious and characteristic. Rapid inquiries and answers passed. It appeared that Hainberger was at the same barricades as Richard Wagner, who, he said, had just returned to the town in charge of a convoy of provisions, and a strong detachment of peasants, and Hainberger was sent in search of an ice for the parched Wagner. The significance of this incident should not be lost sight of. The character of “Wagner as I knew him” is herein painted accurately in a few lines. He was fond of luxury; a sort of Oriental craving possessed him; and, whether weighed down with debt and the horizon obscure, or in the midst of a nation’s throes for liberty, he would appease his luxurious senses. Hainberger was the messenger, first, because of his devotion, and secondly, because of his long legs, which enabled him to step over the barricades.
At the town hall he found the members of the provisional government--Heubner, Todt, Tzchirner--that had been appointed on the flight of the king, 4th May. With them were Bakunin and Heinze, a first lieutenant in the army, who had thrown in his lot with the people, and took the military lead during the outbreak. Heinze had no means of communicating his orders to anybody. Every man guarded the post he thought best, and left it at his discretion. The commander had no notion how many men he commanded; it was a chaos, a seething medley of uncontrolled enthusiasm. Up to the 5th May no one had realized the serious nature of the conflict; masses streamed hither and thither, were in a rough sort of manner marshalled and directed to defend certain streets; but it was a terribly unorganized mass, each man fighting as he thought best.
Roeckel placed himself at the disposal of the provisional government, and was appointed director of a district,--that in which Wagner worked. Roeckel visited the barricades, encouraged the people, and to open up communications with comrades in neighbouring streets, he had walls broken down and passages made through houses. But his chief crime, according to the government, was the making of pitch rings to be flung burning into public buildings held by the soldiers. The actual facts of the case were these: The barricades were too low; men could with little effort step over them. He hurriedly consulted Wagner, and it was agreed that a storming by the soldiers could only be prevented by covering the top of the barricades with some substance easy of ignition. Then Roeckel suggested tar or pitch rings; and while Wagner went off to his convoy supervision, Roeckel, with a body of men, set to work making these rings in the yard opposite the town hall. The work had only proceeded an hour when he received a message from the provisional government. His presence was urgently required elsewhere, so the ring-making was discontinued at once. This was on the Monday, or but one day after he had entered Dresden. That evening information was received that a convoy of provisions and a detachment of peasants were a few miles outside the city waiting to enter. It was raining hard, and very dark; only some person acquainted with the road and place would be of service. Roeckel knew both, and started with Hainberger. As their mission was of such importance, they deemed it advisable to wait until night had completely set in. The rain and darkness increasing, the utmost caution was imperative; but alas! they were met by a patrol of the Saxon troops, and Roeckel was taken prisoner, his companion Hainberger escaping, owing to his nimbleness. Roeckel was immediately taken before an officer and searched. On him were found papers inculpating Wagner and others. A few lines, too, from Commander Heinze as to the conduct of the people in the event of a sortie taking place, caused him considerable discomfort. His hands were tied behind him with rope which cut the flesh, and for the night he was left in a barn. Next morning, still tied, he was sent down the Elbe to Dresden under a strong escort, for the importance of the capture was soon known. On his way down, he passed his own house; his wife was at the window, and his children, attracted by the helmets of the troops, were on the banks, unconscious that their father was a prisoner on board. He was confined in a narrow, dark room, in his wet clothes, and saw no one for two days, by which time the firing in the town had ceased, and he knew then that the outbreak was at an end.