Guards were posted round the pole, and ordered to arrest all who refused thus to pay homage. It happened that William Tell was passing, and failed to pay the required homage. He was instantly seized and taken before the bailiff. The bailiff first tried to extract from Tell whether his conduct had been premeditated, and if so, who were his friends and abettors; but he remained stubbornly silent. Gessler, incensed at his contumacy, determined to punish him, and, the offence being one unknown to the land and of his own invention, he was likewise compelled to invent a punishment. Tell had only one child, a boy, who was with him at the time, and, as all peasants were accustomed to the cross-bow, Gessler condemned him to shoot from off his son’s head an apple, saying, “Know, audacious bowman, that thy own art shall serve to punish thee.” The lad was blindfolded, the apple placed on his head, and Tell led away to his position: “And let him take his distance, Just eighty paces, as the custom is, Not an inch more or less.” To one side stood the cruel Gessler to watch the dreadful archery. Tell looked well to his aim, and let the arrow fly: “See Roman fire in Hampden’s bosom swell, And fate and freedom in the shaft of Tell.” The twang of the bow was heard, and the eager crowd for the moment held their breath; then a joyful shout proclaimed that the child was safe, and the apple was pinned by the unerring arrow. Gessler observing that Tell had a second arrow, inquired why it was. “It was the custom of the archers,” he answered. Being further pressed, with the promise that he might speak freely without fear of losing his life, and excited by those generous emotions of resentment which a brave and simple race have seldom the discretion to repress, he replied, “That was reserved for you, had the first arrow hit my son.” “If that my hand had struck my darling child, This second arrow I had aimed at you, And be assured, I should not then have missed.”