THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
they not strike Kinkel's head and benumb him? Now the dark object had almost reached the ground. I jumped forward and touched him; it was indeed my friend, and there he stood alive and on his feet. “This is a bold deed,” were the first words he said to me. “Thank God,” I answered. “Now off with the rope and away.” I labored in vain to untie the rope that was wound around his body.
“I cannot help you,” Kinkel whispered, “for the rope has fearfully lacerated both my hands.” I pulled out my dirk and with great effort I succeeded in cutting the rope, the long end of which, as soon as it was free, was quickly pulled up. While I threw a cloak around Kinkel's shoulders and helped him get into the rubber shoes he looked anxiously around. Hensel's carriage had turned and was coming slowly back.
“What carriage is that?” Kinkel asked.
“Our carriage.”
Dark figures showed themselves at the street corners and approached us.
“For Heaven's sake, what people are those?”
“Our friends.”
At a little distance we heard male voices sing, “Here we sit gayly together.”
“What is that?” asked Kinkel, while we hurried through a side street toward Krüger's hotel.
“Your jailers around a bowl of punch.”
“Capital!” said Kinkel. We entered the hotel through a back door and soon found ourselves in a room in which Kinkel was to put on the clothes that we had bought for him—a black cloth suit, a big bear-skin overcoat, and a cap like those worn by Prussian forest officers. From a room near by sounded the voices of the revelers. Krüger, who had stood a few minutes looking on while Kinkel was exchanging his convict's garb
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