"Hang them by the heels!" suggested another.
"With a little fire underneath!" said a third.
"No fire! no noise!" ordered a fourth, who appeared to be in command. "Listen, comrades," whispered he Ito the prisoners lying on the ground, "was it Finnish you spoke?"
"Go to the devil!" said Vitikka in a rage.
"Maledicti, maledicti Fennones!" said the former speaker in the darkness. "You are mine!"
"Now they are coming!" cried one of the band, and the trampling of horses was heard on the road to Ingolstadt. The peasants remained still, and for greater safety gagged the prisoners. The approaching troop were provided with torches, and seemed to be Germans, who were returning from a marauding expedition. They were riding so quickly that they did not notice the barricade until they were close upon it; at the same moment a murderous fire opened upon them from behind this obstruction. Ten or twelve of the foremost fell to the ground, and their riderless horses reared and dragged them along by the stirrups; the greatest confusion prevailed amongst them, some turned back, riding over their comrades and the pack-horses; others fired off their pistols towards the enemy behind the barricade. The peasants rushed from their ambush and furiously attacked those that remained, and pulled them off their horses with lassos. In vain the horsemen endeavoured to defend themselves; in less than ten minutes the whole troop was scattered; eight or ten had escaped, fifteen were lying wounded on the road, and six or seven were made prisoners. Only four of the peasants had fallen. The revenge of the Bavarians was inhuman. They fired blank charges in the prisoners' faces, which burnt them black, and partially buried some of them in the ground and stoned them slowly to death.
When this terrible work was finished, they carried away the booty to a place of safety. Bertel and his companion were thrown across one of the horses, and they marched deep into the forest. After some time they stopped at a lonely farm, and the prisoners were dragged in and thrown on the floor in a separate room, while the peasants in the next room rejoiced over their victory, and drank captured wine. A deathly pale monk now entered the room, carrying a sword by his side with a rope. He held up a torch to the prisoners' faces, took away their gags, and looked at them in silence.
"Am I right," said he at last, sarcastically; "this is Lieutenant Bertel, of the king's life-guards."
Bertel looked up and recognised the Jesuit Hieronymus.
"You are welcome to me, lieutenant, and thank you for our last meeting. Such an important guest must be well entertained. I fancy I have seen this comrade before, also," he said, pointing to Vitikka.