“Methinks that will scarcely be needful,” answered his companion; “your Walter here is already quite capable of taking your place should occasion demand.”
“I should be glad to have him at my side,” said Irmy; “he is a good lad, and it pleases me not a little that he seems to take as kindly to the use of arms as I did in my younger days.”
The youths by this time had overtaken them.
“Father,” called Walter, “are those vineyards we see over yonder on the hill?”
“Truly, my son; and they yield a wine more precious to us Swiss than any in all the world, for upon that hill some of the noblest sons of Switzerland lie buried. From the vines that grow above them is made a wine we call ‘Switzer’s blood’ and drink in remembrance of the battle of Saint Jacob, to honor the fallen and as an inspiration to the present generation to emulate their fathers in courage and devotion to the Fatherland.”
“You have often promised to tell us,” said Walter, “what happened thirty years ago, when you were so sorely wounded by the French.”
“Come then; let us go up the hill and seat ourselves; from there we shall have a better view of the battle-field,” replied the Councillor. When this had been done he began as follows:
“Thirty years ago matters stood with us much as they now do. The Confederates were never in harmony: cities and cantons conspired against one another, and the nobles were the enemy of both. Schwyz was at strife with Zurich over some hereditary question; and Zurich, being powerless to cope single-handed against the older cantons, did not scruple to ally herself with Austria, the hereditary foe of the Confederation. Civil strife, the worst of all wars, broke out; many towns and castles were destroyed. One of our most formidable enemies was Thomas von Falkenstein, who from his stronghold at Farnsburg committed constant depredations upon us Confederates, and at last seized upon one of my father’s pack-trains going from Genoa to Basle, laden with Indian spices. This roused the people to fury, and together with a force from other cantons we young men of Basle camped before Farnsburg, toward which we sent salute after salute with our carbines.
“Then a report reached us that the Dauphin of France was approaching with a vast army, some said of a hundred thousand, others a hundred and fifty thousand, and still others two hundred thousand men, fierce marauders who had grown wild and lawless during the Thirty Years’ War between France and England. ‘Arme Gecken,’[3] or miserable beggars, the people called them, because though they subsisted on pillage and plunder they still looked ragged and half starved. Wild confusion arose in camp at this news, and all were eager to rush at once against the foe. There were six thousand of us stout Switzers; why should we fear one hundred thousand Frenchmen? The leaders had hard work to make us listen to reason and consent that the main part of our force should remain before the beleaguered castle, while twelve hundred of us went down into the valley of the Birs to learn the truth of the report.
“Hemmann Seevogel was placed in command, and we rode briskly off down the hill. When we reached the Birsthal we were warned that the enemy was much too strong for us, but we laughed to scorn all caution, and the mighty herdsmen of Schwyz and Uri smote the trees as they passed with their iron-spiked clubs till great pieces flew from them, to show how much stronger they were than any foe could possibly be. A few of the leaders would have turned back, but the scoffs and jeers of their comrades forced them to keep on.