"In a moment all the wagons and carts were moved out of the way so that we might march. The militia had fled to the village of Schwallungen, through which also we had to pass, and where again there was an officer in command of thirty militia, to whom they reported what had taken place in the village of Niederschmalkalden. So the officer, who was a shoemaker by profession, when he heard this report from the fugitives, took such of his men as would go with him and tore off to Wasungen before he had even caught sight of us. "When we came to the afore-mentioned village, we formed ourselves in column, fixed our bayonets, and thought what will now take place? We marched on, and when we came to the gate the officer and all the troops had fled, and there to not a single man to make resistance. We marched straight through with fixed bayonets; then we saw the portion that had remained of the runaway shoemaker-Ensign's troop in their uniform, with their cartridge boxes, peeping out of the windows. "My good shoemaker-Ensign was off, and had posted himself and the men who thus went out with him at the gate of Wasungen, where again a Lieutenant, who was a good barber--as I knew by experience, having myself been shaved by him--had posted himself, and was awaiting us. The gate of Wasungen was firmly closed with strong double doors, but a sentinel stood without; so Major von Benkendorf called to him that the gate must be opened. But the sentinel excused himself, saying he could not. The said Major asked him, 'Who is there besides?' He answered: 'The Lieutenant.' The Major said he must call his Lieutenant; whereupon he ran hastily and fetched him out. Then came up my good barber-Lieutenant; the man was already well nigh dead of fright, and his face was whiter than his shirt. The Major accosted him sharply, asking how it was that the gates were fastened, and whether a public high road did not pass through there? He answered, Yes! So Major von Benkendorf said he must that instant open the gates, or we would do it ourselves. When he heard this, being half dead with fright, he begged for pardon, saying it was not he that could open the gates, but the councillors who had closed them. The answer was, that he must forthwith produce the councillors. Good gracious! was there ever any one more glad than the good barber, who ran as if his head was burning; but meanwhile there was nothing seen or heard of the shoemaker-Ensign. "At last the councillors came.