“When I came to my senses again it was dark; above me shone the stars, and all was silent save for an occasional groan from one of the wounded, or the crackling of flames, which still fed upon the heavy timbers of the building. The night was cold, but by good fortune I lay in such a position among the ruins of the garden wall that I was somewhat sheltered from the wind and almost hidden from sight. Gradually the events of the past day came back to me, and my bosom swelled with pride. We had shown how men should fight who are guardians of their fatherland, their homes, and their families. Not a man lay there that was not covered with wounds: each had fought as long as strength remained in him to smite the foe. Had I not been so weak and faint I could have shouted aloud because of the victory won by the Swiss burgher-folk over the political craft and power of princes. The overwhelming odds had been too much for us, but even in death and defeat we had shown that something higher than the Armagnacs’ lust for spoil, or the pride and ambition of the knights, had urged us to battle. “I had plenty of time to indulge these thoughts, for I was not disturbed for many long hours. At last, toward morning, it seemed to me I heard stealthy footsteps among the debris. Nearer and nearer they came, till in the dim light I saw quite near to me the figure of a man stooping down to give water to one of my wounded comrades. Parched with fever from my wound, I also feebly besought him for a drink. He took a few steps to the angle of the wall where I lay, and stopped short, unable to suppress a low cry of astonishment. ‘You here, young sir,’ he exclaimed, ‘and in such a plight?’ “‘Quick! give me some water,’ I begged; ‘my father will reward you for it. Greet him for me and tell him I died as all true citizens of a free State should die—on the tottering bulwark of freedom and justice.’ “‘Nay, you are a long way yet from death,’ replied the man; ‘with good fortune I shall fetch you safely back to Basle this very night.’ “‘Who may you be,’ I asked, ‘that talk of such impossibilities?’ “He laughed. ‘That, methought, you would have known long since, for we have met many times in your father’s house. I am Gerard, the smuggler of Neuchâtel, and have carried many bales of merchandise to him. Indeed I have a pack with me now, which I have just brought through the French camp; but perchance he will not take it amiss if I leave that here and carry you to Basle in its place. Once under your mother’s wing you will soon forget these thoughts of death.’