Yielding to the voice of clemency, the worthy Oberstein sent messengers
into the city to admonish them to surrender and save the lives of the
starving people; but the answer which orator Rothman gave in the
presence of the king, was, like the preceding one, the sending back of
the messengers with a paraphrase of the passage in the prophet Daniel
of the four ferocious beasts, in the description of which, he said, the
bishop might easily learn to know himself.
The last of mercy's sands had finally run, and the next night was
determined on for the attack. It was on the 13th of June, 1533, an hour
before midnight, that Hanslein, in perfect silence, led five hundred
volunteers through the shallow place in the ditch and thence upon the
walls. The sleeping sentinels were cut down, and the detachment reached
the little gate without hindrance. This was broken down and the
soldiers rushed into the city. The alarm was, however, now given. The
armed burghers, who had hastily collected, beat back the last of the
entering troops, closed, and occupied the gate, and then attacked with
redoubled rage those who had already entered. An hour and a half they
endured the bloody onslaught in the dark, until Hanslein with the rest
of his band broke through the nearest weakly guarded gate. The
commander in chief, guided by Alf, waited for this event with the main
force; and, as the gate was burst open from within and its wings flew
asunder, the bishop's troops poured with loud cries into the city. The
victory was not, however, yet won. Each footstep in advance was at the
expense of much blood of the half starved fanatics; and when finally
Oberstein with resistless power forced them back, they retired only
towards the market-place at St. Lambert's church; there once more to
make a stand. Here was the king, who had suddenly sprung from his bed,
with the best of his people, and this availed to renew the fight.
Bloodily the red morning rose upward over the promiscuous slaughter;
and the battle, now that friends and enemies could rightly discern each
other, became regular; by which the anabaptists gained nothing. Alf
kept himself constantly at the side of the general, only defending
himself when necessary, as he did not like to draw his sword against
his fellow citizens; but now, amid the tumult, he caught a glimpse of
the infamous Johannes as he was stimulating his troops to the fight.
Then the wrath of the youth kindled into a mightier flame. 'Eliza!'
cried he, urging his horse to the place occupied by the king. Right and
left the foot-soldiers were overthrown before the hoofs of his
springing charger, and he soon approached the spot. 'Eliza!' cried he
once again, as he reached the king,--and, as if he did not hold the
monster worthy a soldier's blade, he struck him so heavily on his
mailed breast with the hilt of his sword, that he shrunk almost double.
Then, with a strong hand, he lifted the swooning king from his horse,
and taking him like a stolen maiden before himself on the pummel of his
saddle, darted back to the commander in chief. 'I bring you here the
torch of this unrighteous war,' said he. 'Dispose of him as you deem
proper.'
'The bishop has expressly reserved to himself,' answered Oberstein,
with sad earnestness, 'the duty of deciding on the fate of the leaders.
Therefore take a sufficient number of men; let the wretch be strongly
chained, and hold him in close custody. I shall require him at your
hands when the proper time arrives. You may safely count upon your
reward.'
The battle had continued until now. Orator Rothman, observing the
capture of the king, and despairing of the fortune of the day,
precipitated himself, sword in hand, upon the thickest crowds of the
enemy, that he might not fall into their hands alive; and fell, bravely
fighting, more honorably than he had lived. Knipperdolling and
Krechting having disappeared, the rest of the anabaptists, deprived of
their frantic leaders, and terrified by the universal massacre, threw
away their arms and begged for quarter, which the commander in chief
immediately granted. The worthy old general gazed sorrowfully upon the
dead and dying, who deluged the marketplace with their blood, and upon
the pale, meagre countenances, distorted by the sufferings they had
experienced, of those who were left; and observed with heartfelt
compassion, 'poor fools, you might have obtained pardon at a cheaper
rate!'