Anton was beside himself. "Wretches!" cried he, running toward the offenders. But a strong arm was thrown around him, and a broken voice said, "Stop, Mr. Wohlfart, this is their day; to-morrow will be ours." Dashing away the unwelcome restraint, Anton saw the portly form of the Neudorf bailiff, and found himself surrounded by a number of dark-looking figures. These were the blue-coated German farmers, their faces full of grief and anger. "Let me go!" cried Anton, in a phrensy. But again the heavy hand of the bailiff was laid on his shoulder, and tears were in the man's eyes as he said, "Spare your life, Mr. Wohlfart; it is all in vain; we have nothing but our fists, and we are the minority." And, on the other side, his hand was grasped as if in a vice by the old forester, who stood there groaning and sobbing: "That ever I should live to see this day! Oh, the shame, the shame!" Again there rose a yell nearer them, and a voice cried, "Search the Germans; take their arms from them; let no one leave the market-place!" Anton looked round him hastily. "This we will not stand, friends, to be trapped here in a German town, and to have our escutcheon outraged by those miscreants."
A drum was heard at a distance. "It is the drum of the guard," cried the bailiff; "the town militia are assembling: they have arms."
"Perhaps all may not be lost yet," cried Anton; "I know a few men who are to be relied upon. Compose yourself, old friend," said he to the forester. "The Germans from the country must be enlisted; no one knows yet what we can do. We will, at all events, disperse in different directions, and reassemble at the fountain here. Let each go and call his acquaintances together. No time is to be lost. You go in that direction, bailiff; you, smith of Kunau, come with me." They divided; and Anton, followed by the forester and the smith, went once more round the market-place. Wherever they met a German there was a glance, a hurried hand-clasp, a whispered word—"The Germans assemble at the fountain;" and these spirited up the irresolute to join their countrymen.
Anton and his companions paused for a moment in the midst of the dense crowd around the wine-merchant's. About fifty men with scythes stood before the house, near them a dozen more with guns; the doors were still open, and people were still going in to get arms. Some young gentlemen were addressing the crowd, but Anton remarked that the Polish peasants did not keep their ranks, and looked doubtfully at each other. While the forester and the smith were giving the sign to the Germans, of whom many were assembled, Anton rushed up to a little man in working garments, and, seizing him by the arm, said, "Locksmith Grobesch, you standing here? Why do you not hasten to our meeting-place? You a citizen and one of the militia, will you put up with this insult?"
"Alas! Mr. Agent," said the locksmith, taking Anton apart, "what a misfortune! Only think, I was hammering away in my workshop, and heard nothing of what was going on. One can't hear much at our work. Then my wife ran in—"
"Are you going to put up with this insult?" cried Anton, shaking him violently.
"God forbid, Mr. Wohlfart; I head a band of militia. While my wife looked out my coat, I just ran over the way to see how many of them there were. You are taller than I; how many are there carrying arms?"
"I count fifty scythes," replied Anton, hurriedly.
"It is not the scythes; they are a cowardly set; how many guns are there?"
"A dozen before the door, and perhaps as many more in the house."