With this outburst Fru Marta drew back; possibly from fear of another rotten turnip.
The other voice was that of an old man, who, in powerful tones, cried to the soldiers:
"Lay down your arms, and give up your leaders, then the rest may go in peace. If not, there will be a dance, the like of which Korsholm has never seen, and we will see to it that the bows are well rosined."
"May all the demons seize you, rascal peasant!" answered a voice from the courtyard, which clearly belonged to the jovial sergeant, Bengt Kristerson. "If I had you down here I would, blitz-donner-kreutz-Pappenheim, teach you to insult brave soldiers with offers of surrender. Go ahead, boys; clear the gateway, and drive the crew back to their porridge kettles!"
Fortunately none of the conscripts had muskets, which had not yet been distributed, and very few possessed swords. Most of them had only extinguished brands, fragments of broken carriages, and faggots snatched from a wood-pile in the yard. Thus armed, the warriors bore down upon the entrance.
At the first onset the recruits were received with such vigorous blows, that numbers had broken heads. Soon the press at the gate became so dense that no arm could be raised or blow dealt; those in front struggled furiously to extricate themselves, whilst the rest closed upon them and rendered all movement impossible. Strong arms and broad shoulders exerted themselves fruitlessly to make a way through the crowd. At last the pressure from within became so great, that the first ranks of the peasants were broken, and about half of the soldiers cleared a way towards the open plain outside the ramparts, whilst the remainder were again penned up in the courtyard.
A regular battle began. Poles, sticks, whips, and fists were used. Many a vigorous blow was delivered, which would have been much better bestowed on Isolani's Croats; many a fine exploit was performed, more in place on the German battlefields. The soldiers were split in two parties by the gate, and although the most numerous, soon had the worst of it. The youngest recruits took to flight, and ran towards the town; some were overpowered and badly beaten; others, including the old veterans, retired to the ramparts, and with backs to the wall defended themselves valiantly.
Victory now seemed on the side of the peasants, when their opponents received new assistance. The peasants at the gate, who on account of the struggle outside, forgot the enemy within, were surprised by the penned-up soldiers, who now rushed out to help their comrades. The latter thus relieved, fell upon the peasants with redoubled ardour; the affray became more and more involved, and victory more and more uncertain; both parties had defeats to avenge, and the rage on both sides increased as their strength became equal.
Over this scene of tumult, confusion, and wild conflict, the silvery August moon beamed like a heavenly eye. All the inlets shone in the moonlight; and in the tree-tops and the moist grass glittered millions of dewdrops, like pearls on summer's green robe. All nature seemed at peace; a gentle breeze from the west rippled the surface of the sea, and passed softly over the land; the monotonous roll of the surf upon the beach was heard in the distance, and the twinkling, silent stars looked down into the dark waters. When the yard was empty, Fru Marta and her men ventured out again to behold the strife from the ramparts. The courageous old lady undoubtedly wished to join in some way in the contest, for she cried to the peasants in a loud voice:
"That's right, boys, go ahead; let the sticks fly; many have danced to worse tunes!"