“Hark ye, all! I hereby proclaim that he who dares to whisper of surrender, be he of the town or of the garrison, is a dastard and a poltroon, and shall be struck down on the spot. So shall we separate the wheat from the chaff. And if one word of fear or weakening escape my lips, let me be made the first example.” This effectually silenced all murmurs or complaints; and the Confederates at last assembled an army and advanced to their relief.
Rough, mountainous country and thick forests separated the Swiss from the Burgundian camp, which had been pitched on the plateau of Grisach behind rising ground, and was protected by a so-called “hedge,” a palisade surrounded on the outside by a wide trench, while within the earth had been thrown up to form a sort of breastwork for the defenders, and only the narrowest openings were left for outlet in case of need; to break through it in face of the mounted guns would seem well-nigh impossible. Moreover, behind this fortification stood the English archers ready with their deadly shafts to repulse any attempt at approach. The position was not badly chosen, and was disadvantageous only in that it afforded the cavalry no proper field for action.
Through these mountains two travellers were making their way. One of them was evidently laboring under some stress of mind, for he alternately spurred on and abruptly reined in his fiery steed, which was covered with foam, while the animal ridden by his more youthful companion still appeared fresh. He spoke little and kept his eyes fixed gloomily on the road that led to the camp of the Confederates. Soon they were challenged by the outposts, and the elder rider asked to be guided to the forces furnished by the city of Freiburg. A servant conducted them to that part of the encampment, and Hans Vögeli, the Captain of the band, stepped forward to learn their errand. Speech forsook him, however, when his eyes fell upon the older of the two horsemen, who reached down his hand kindly, saying, “You know me, then, brother Hans? I have come hither to fight beside you. That I am an exile from my native city, I well know, but to-morrow I hope to win back with my sword my right to citizenship.”
A scornful look came over the face of Hans Vögeli. “So!” he said contemptuously, “now that your master is on the verge of destruction, you deem it well to work with us for the Fatherland! Now the vagabond comes back and expects us to believe that he means fairly by us—as fairly, no doubt, as by his Duke and by the Governor whom he betrayed for the sake of a few months’ pay.”
Heinrich made no reply to these harsh words. He knew it was useless to attempt to change his brother’s sentiments toward him, but turning to his countrymen he reminded them of their boyhood days together; explained his reasons for entering the service of Burgundy, and besought permission to join them in the coming struggle, declaring he would prove himself not unworthy to fight in their ranks. Many were inclined in his favor, but Hans Vögeli cut matters short by roughly ordering both the riders to leave the camp at once. Perceiving the fruitlessness of his efforts, Heinrich turned his horse’s head.
“Come, Walter,” he said simply, and they made their way back through the camp to the outposts again. Walter Irmy, for he it was, did not venture to address his moody companion, and they galloped off in silence to the nearest farmhouse, where they obtained lodgings for the night. Early the next morning they were again in the saddle and rode back to the camp, only to find it already broken up and the army advancing to meet the enemy. From some horseboys Vögeli learned that the Freiburgers were in the vanguard and were to begin the attack that day. Slowly they followed after, and soon overtook the Confederates, who had halted where a thick forest concealed them from the eyes of the enemy, to observe their old custom of knighting before battle those most deserving of the honor. The first to receive it was René the dispossessed Duke of Lorraine, who had joined the Confederates with three hundred faithful followers to fight against Charles the Bold.
The impatient Switzers loudly protested against this delay, the more so as a heavy rain had been falling for some time. But the solemn ceremonies were not to be curtailed, nor was Duke René, the new knight, sparing in conferring the coveted honor. Many an honest fellow, indeed, without the necessary means to maintain his dignities, was forced to submit to the stroke of knighthood. It came to an end at last, however, and the handsome young prince remounted and rode slowly back to join his friends, followed by the admiring gaze of the Swiss.
“’Tis a pity,” they declared, “the noble lord is not of German blood: we cannot understand a word of his French gabble.” The delay that had been so irksome to the Swiss proved to their advantage in the end, for the Burgundians, after getting drawn up for battle in the drenching rain six long hours, with no sign of the enemy’s approach, had been ordered to return to the camp, where they quickly laid aside arms and armor and dispersed in search of rest or refreshment. The jaded chargers were also divested of their trappings and fed; even the Duke himself, usually so vigilant, retired to his pavilion at some distance from the camp and seated himself with his officers at the board.
Suddenly the Confederates issued from the forest which had concealed their approach and, halting once more, after the custom of their forefathers, knelt to invoke the aid of the God of Battles. An old gray-beard made the short prayer, all devoutly joining in the “Amen.” Just at that moment the sun broke through the clouds.
“Heaven has heard our prayer!” shouted the leaders joyfully. “Comrades, be stanch and bold! Think of your wives, your children, and your sweethearts! Forward, Confederates!”