All Hullin's friends, and those of Marc-Dives and Mother Lefevre, with high gaiters bound around their legs, and old muskets upon their shoulders, trooped in the silence of the woods to the gorges of the Valtin. The thought of the enemy pouring over the plains of Alsace to surprise their glens and defiles nerved every heart and arm. The tocsin at Dagsbourg, at Walsch, and at Saint-Quirin ceased not to call the country's defenders to arms.
Imagine the Jaegerthal, at the foot of the old burg, in the early morning hour, when the giant arms of the trees begin to break through the shadows, and when the approach of day softens somewhat the intense cold of the night. The snow lies deep upon the ground. Imagine the old saw-pit with its flat roof, its heavy wheel glittering with icicles; a fire of sawdust shining from within, but paling before the morning twilight, and around the fire fur caps and slouched hats and dark faces crowded together; further on, in the woods, and along the winding valley, were other fires lighting up groups of men and women seated on the snow.
As the sky grew brighter friends began to recognize each other.
"Hold! There is Cousin Daniel of Soldatenthal. You here too?"
"As you see, Heinrich, and my wife too."
"What! Cousin Nanette! But where is she?"
"Yonder, by the large oak, at Uncle Hans's fire."
They clasp each other's hand. Some slept, some piled branches and broken planks upon the fires. Flasks passed around, and those who had warmed themselves made way for their shivering neighbors. But impatience was gaining upon the crowd.
"Ah!" cried one, "we have not come here only to stretch our legs. It is time to look around, to agree upon our movements."
"Yes! yes! let us organize and elect our leaders!" cried many.