“To-morrow; so be it. The young miners under your leadership must be the first to raise the standard. And you, my brave Jonas?”
“Six hundred heroes from the Färöe Islands, who for three days have lived on chamois flesh and bear’s fat in Bennallag forest, only ask a blast from the horn of their old captain, Jonas of Loevig town.”
“Good! And you, Kennybol?”
“All those who carry an axe in the gorges of Kiölen, and climb the rocks with bare knees, are ready to join their brothers, the miners, when they need them.”
“Enough. Tell your comrades that they need not doubt their victory,” added the envoy, raising his voice; “for Hans of Iceland will be their captain.”
“Is that certain?” asked all three at once, in a voice of mingled hope and fear.
The envoy answered: “I will meet you four days hence, at the same hour, with your united forces, in Apsyl-Corh mine, near Lake Miösen, on Blue Star plain. Hans of Iceland will be with me.”
“We will be there,” said the three leaders. “And may God not desert those whom the Devil aids!”
“Fear nothing from God,” said Hacket, with a sneer. “Stay; you will find flags for your troops among the ruins of Crag. Do not forget the war-cry, ‘Long live Schumacker! We will rescue Schumacker!’ Now we must part; day will shortly break. But first, swear the most profound secrecy as to what has passed between us.”
Without a word each of the three chiefs opened a vein in his left arm with the point of his sword; then, seizing the envoy’s hand, each let a few drops of blood trickle into it.