"Hans Haberkorn is right!" called out half a dozen voices.
"Shame on the good-for-nothing fellow who thinks only about himself!" cried others, and pressed toward the table from which Hans Haberkorn quickly jumped. The place he vacated was again occupied by big John Mertens, who had a large farm on the moor between the Mohawk and the creek, near the church, and by some was considered to be better off than Herkimer himself. In any case one could always be sure that John Mertens would oppose anything that Herkimer and the minister wanted, of whom he observed that they always stuck under the same cover. With this--his favorite expression--he began his discourse, saying: That one might well know what to think of a plan that had been formed without consulting him, John Mertens, who also had a word to say, having ten head of cattle in the pasture more than people whom he would not name; nor would he speak of the sheep and the English hogs which he had first introduced; that every child knew that one could not bring sheep out of a stable when the roof over their heads was afire; nor could one drive fifty hogs away so fast that a lame Indian could not overtake them, not to speak of a dozen who could run. They might think of John Mertens so or so, but he is an honest fellow who does not hide his meaning behind a bush. This was what he wanted to say--The discourse of the big farmer was very confused, and was partly lost in the fat of his double chin; but his adherents, of whom the number was not small, showed their approbation with screams and yells. The opposite party did not fail to pay back such an answer as was due. A dreadful tumult arose, which Nicolas Herkimer's powerful voice could not overcome. It seemed as if the consultation on whose issue the weal or woe of hundreds hung, through the folly and conceit of a couple of dozen would end in empty confusion and disorder.
Suddenly there stood beside Nicolas Herkimer a person, the mere sight of whom, as with a blow, brought the boisterous assembly to order, as though a dead man had become alive and wished to address them. The giant-long, skeleton-lean form of Christian Ditmar, whose bony hands were stretched apart as if in conjuration, while, from under the thick fur cap the gray hair in disordered strands was whipped by the wind about his ghost-like face, was awe-inspiring. Then he raised his voice, which now shrieked frantically, and then again rung out like thunder, and thus spoke:
"So is being fulfilled the Word of God: 'The sins of the fathers shall be visited upon the children to the third and fourth generation.' Yes, the sins of the fathers. You have quarreled with each other and raised your arms against each other while French wolves are howling around the German flock, and have worried and killed as their wicked hearts desired. They murdered my parents and brothers and sisters. I saw it with my own eyes. I saw too my parents' house go up in flames, and our neighbors' houses burning, and the city became a ruin and an ash-heap--the beautiful proud city on the Neckar. Among the ruins wandered weeping wives looking among the ashes for the bones of husbands and brothers, and cried: 'Woe!' 'Woe!' 'A deadly curse on you hangmen and murdering incendiaries!'
"I, a weak boy, cried along with them: 'Woe! Woe! A curse upon you, you hangmen, and murdering incendiaries!' After many years I came here, and again found them, the mean French wolves, howling around the German flock; and I disputed with the rest and separated from the others, and went out with my wife and my sons to take vengeance on those who had killed my parents and all my kindred. How did the vengeance look when my four brave boys lay dead at their father's feet, each with a bullet through his breast?"
Christian Ditmar was silent a few moments. He must suppress the sadness that rose in his heart at these recollections. He then proceeded with increasing emotion:
"And so you have suffered and bled, earlier and later, under the greedy teeth. However I, who have suffered more than you all, I tell you that I deserved it since I blindly followed the voice of my heart crying for vengeance and did not hearken to the advice of more prudent men; and so you have deservedly suffered, and will suffer, since you also will not listen, you fools and madmen, and propose to separate as you came, the one this way, the other that, by which the wolves will again have an easy play. But then your own and your children's blood will rest on you as my children's blood has come upon me. Here--!"
Christian Ditmar tore his fur cap from his head. A broad, fearful scar ran like a stream of blood over the high forehead from one temple to the other.
"Here!" he repeated, while with his forefinger he pointed to the track of blood; "here! here!" He raised both hands to his head, and with a dull cry that rang dreadfully through the silent assembly, he fell helpless. Nicolas Herkimer caught him in his arms; but soon the old man gathered himself up and, with Lambert's help, who quickly sprang to his aid, descended from the table and walked slowly to the entrance into the door-yard, supported by the strong arm of his wife and attended by Lambert.
"Have you now heard?" said Aunt Ursul to the rest who crowded around, helpful and eager. "Have you now heard, you straw-heads? Why do you stand about here and gape? I can take care of my old man alone. Better go and do what he has told you. You also stay here, Lambert, and when you pass our house stop a moment. I wish to speak with you."