"Nobody, nobody is going to do it!" cried a voice from the crowd.
"And who is going to take care of our wives and children when we are crippled, and can't earn bread for them? Perhaps they are going to put us in the new almshouse, which has just been built outside of the King's Gate, and which they call the Oxen-head."
"No, no, we won't go into the Oxen-head!" screamed the people. "We won't fight! let us go home."
"Yes, go home, go home!" cried Krause and Kretschmer, delighted, and
Pfannenstiel repeated after them—
"Let us go home!"
And indeed the groups began to separate and thin out; and the two editors, who had descended from their bench, mixed with the crowd, and enforced their peaceful arguments with zealous eloquence.
But it seemed as if Fortune did not favor them, for now down the neighboring street came Gotzkowsky with his band of armed workmen. He drew them up in front of the town-hall. The sight of this bold company of daring men, with determined countenances and flashing eyes, exercised a magical influence on the people; and when Gotzkowsky addressed them, and with overpowering eloquence and burning words implored them to resist, when with noble enthusiasm he summoned them to do their duty, and to remember their honors as men, the versatile crowd began again to cry out—"Arms, arms! give us arms!"
But the humpbacked shoemaker still remained cowed and timid, and the threatenings of the preachers of peace still sounded in his ears. He threw up his arms and cried out: "Children, remember what the gentlemen told us. Have nothing to do with fighting. Be wise and prudent!"
"The devil take your prudence!" cried Gotzkowsky. In an hour like this we have no need of prudence; we want courage! Won't you fight?"
"No, we won't!" cried the shoemaker, resolutely. "We want to keep our arms and legs."