Conrad's journeys were not always comfortable. English lads taunted him, gayly dressed young men ordered him out of their path, the bearers of sedan chairs thrust him rudely against the house walls. But still he walked about, watching and listening.
Presently he heard terrifying threats. The Londoners determined to wait no longer to wreak their vengeance upon Blackheath. Conrad hurried down the long road to make report to his father.
"They mean to attack us with knives, father. They declare they will have no mercy upon us!"
"They would not dare," answered John Conrad. "We are under the protection of the Queen."
Nevertheless, John Conrad called together his friends, and together they drew up a humble petition, praying that the English people continue to look kindly upon them and to bestow bounty upon them.
But the petition availed nothing. That very night, Conrad, lying in his corner of the tent near the edge of the camp, heard the sound of rough voices and heavy steps. Springing up, he looked out the door. On the heath a large company had gathered, carrying knives and sickles which gleamed in the moonlight. With a shout Conrad roused his family, whose cries in turn roused the sleepers in the neighboring tents. The attacking party was defeated, not so much by the resistance of the Germans, few of whom had arms, as by a warning that the soldiers were coming from London. The Germans were not seriously hurt, but the event was ominous.
Still the days grew shorter, and the dark nights longer, and the air colder. Hundreds gathered round the fires, and among them John Conrad counseled further patience and continued courage. Frequently he read to them from Conrad's little book, at whose directions for life on the ocean and in the new land there were now bitter smiles and long sighs. They had ceased to think of the new country with its rich soil, its mild climate, and its strange, interesting aborigines, except to envy the Indian his indifference to the comforts of civilization.
Upon the day of the first snow, Conrad went early into the city. He had earned a penny a few days before by carrying some bales from a ship to a warehouse, and he hoped to earn more.
Until noon he walked about the streets. Again and again he was cursed and threatened. The Londoners had not finished with the Germans in spite of their temporary defeat. At noon he ate the piece of black bread which he had put into his pocket, and then went into a cold church to rest. Presently he fell asleep, and when he woke late in the afternoon the church was almost dark. He was miles away from Blackheath and he must set out promptly or the dangers of the way would be doubled. The week before he had been caught in a fog and had spent the night inside a garden gate on the ground.
Leaving the church, he hurried on as fast as he could. It seemed to him that another fog was rapidly gathering over the city. His long walks and the insufficient food had made him weak, but it was better to start on the homeward journey than to linger. He might fall into evil hands and never see his father or brothers or sisters again. The words of old Redebach in far-away Gross Anspach came back to him as he stepped out from the church door into an open square,—"As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place." Perhaps old Redebach was right!