"We'll fetch him out, and paint him black too!"
"And we'll tie him on his black nag, and lead him through the country, shouting: 'Look at him!'"
Then followed more whistling, bawling, crashing, rattling, and a sharp, jangling sound, produced by banging pots and kettles together. It was a most infernal din.
Then arose in Sonnenkamp's memory a vision of the past,—the image of a man accused of having incited slaves to revolt, driven through the streets, naked, tarred and feathered, pelted with rotten apples and cabbage stumps. The scene changed, and on the gallows hung John Brown.
The report of a gun was heard, and the voice of Pranken, crying:—
"Shoot the dogs down! I'll take the responsibility!"
Only one more shot resounded; then the raging mob came surging against the gate, which gave way with a crash, and in rushed the frantic rabble, all with black faces, and the cry arose:—
"We'll choke the whole of 'em!"
"Where is he?"
"Give him up, or we'll smash everything to pieces!" Sonnenkamp hastened down from the roof through the house, and, standing on the open balcony, heard Eric's voice, warning the crowd in powerful tones:—