Many of the citizens sought safety in flight. The University was closed at the Elector's command, professors and students repairing to Torgau.
Katharine had learned from her husband, calmly to commit herself to the Lord's care, and to help, wherever she was able. The opportunity was thus given her, of heaping coals of fire upon the heads of many, who had closed their hearts to her in the time of her need.
For five weeks the plague had raged in Wittenberg, still sparing Katharine's household. Then one of her lodgers was stricken down, and died. She had no fear, at least not for herself,—for her desire was, to depart and be with Christ, and with her beloved husband. Yet she was concerned for her children's sake, and finally resolved to leave Wittenberg, and go to Torgau.
As usual, she lost no time in carrying out her decision. A few days later, a large, canvas-covered wagon held at the door of the Luther-house, to carry away the widow and her children with their most necessary belongings.
Katharine's eyes rested sadly upon the spot, where she had enjoyed so much happiness during her husband's life, and had experienced so much affliction since his death. The human heart is bound with a thousand cords to its earthly home; and not only the joys of the past, but its sorrows also, exercise a magnetic power, which makes parting a bitter trial.
Katharine was very sad. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, and she stood hesitating at the open gate, until the horses grew impatient and the driver urged her to make haste.
Their road led them through the Elster-gate, and past the garden, whose dense shrubbery recalled so many pleasant hours. Further on, at a little distance from the road, rose the summer-house beside the fountain, where her husband was wont to receive his friends, and where they spent many hours together in earnest labor or in cheerful talk. It seemed to her like taking leave of her life, as one by one, the scenes of her departed happiness vanished from her sight.
She sat lost in melancholy revery, and the children, divining her thoughts, feared to disturb her, or to relieve the heaviness of their own hearts. Only the driver was insensible to their grief, and swore lustily at his horses, who refused to settle to a quiet pace.
Katharine roused herself at last, and saw to her dismay that the horses were being controlled with difficulty. As they passed through the outskirts of a village, a dog ran out and barked at them. This so excited the frightened animals that they became entirely unmanageable. They plunged and dashed furiously down the road.
Katharine was in deadly fear. Scarcely conscious of herself, she suddenly rose from her seat, and sprang from the wagon. She could not have chosen a more unfavorable spot, for by the roadside ran a stream of water, with steep banks. In alighting, she struck against a stone and slipped into the water. With the help of a peasant who hurried to their assistance, the driver succeeded in quieting the horses; Katharine, wet to the skin, and stunned by her fall, was unable to rise; she was lifted into the wagon, and covered with warm wraps.