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and sudden death, famine and drouth, lightning and
tempest, floods and fire, and may we for such fatherly mercy
praise and glorify His holy name!”
Before the hymn had ended, the church was empty, and
only the voice of the organ sang within it.
On the following day, the people were again thronging
the streets, but by this time they seemed to have gained
some definite direction. The Swedish fleet had that night
anchored outside of Dragör. Yet the populace was calmer
than the day before; for it was generally known that two
of the Councillors of the Realm had gone to parley with
the enemy, and were—so it was said—entrusted with
powers sufficient to ensure peace. But when the Councillors
returned on Tuesday with the news that they had been
unable to make peace, there was a sudden and violent
reaction.
This was no longer an assemblage of staid citizens
grown restless under the stress of great and ominous
tidings. No, it was a maelstrom of uncouth creatures, the
like of which had never been seen within the ramparts of
Copenhagen. Could they have come out of these quiet,
respectable houses bearing marks of sober every-day
business? What raving in long-sleeved sack and great-skirted
coat! What bedlam noise from grave lips and frenzied
gestures of tight-dressed arms! None would be alone, none
would stay indoors, all wanted to stand in the middle of
the street with their despair, their tears, and wailing. See
that stately old man with bared head and bloodshot eyes!
He is turning his ashen face to the wall and beating the
stones with clenched fists. Listen to that fat tanner
cursing the Councillors of the Realm and the miserable war!
Feel the blood in those fresh cheeks burning with hatred
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