For a long moment Heinrich Albrecht, the magistrate of Oberdorf, and John Conrad Weiser, his friend, looked at each other. John Conrad was the first to speak, in a voice trembling with amazement and alarm.

"Have you returned, Heinrich?"

The magistrate burst into a loud laugh. He was a tall, thin man, of a type to whom inaction is misery.

"I have not been away. Here"—he waved his hand with a wide motion over Blackheath—"here we lie, idle pensioners. Here we have been since May, ever encouraged, ever deluded. Here idleness and evil customs are corrupting our youth. Here we are dying."

Now the full meaning of the crowded Rhine and the warning of the Hollanders burst upon John Conrad. He looked at his children, at the young girls, at the little boys, and finally at plump, smiling John Frederick. He thrust his hand into his almost empty pocket, thinking of the long journey back to Gross Anspach for which he had no money. He thought of his high hopes of liberty and peace and independence. He covered his face with his hands so that his children might not see his tears.

"I am here, father!" cried Conrad. "I am strong! I can work!"

"They feed us," conceded the magistrate of Oberdorf. "And they have given us some clothing and these tents. But cold weather will come and we shall die."

"Cold weather! We should be in the new country by cold weather! You yourself wrote that you were about to sail, that you would sail on the next day. There!" John Conrad drew from his bosom the tattered letter. "I have stayed my soul upon it! I have set out on this journey upon faith in it!"

"I thought we should start. I was certain we should start. They say there are no ships. They have begun to send some of us to Ireland."

John Conrad shook his head.

"This whole land is sick. Across the ocean only there is peace."

"I can get a tent for you beside mine," offered Albrecht. "I have a little influence with those in authority."

Once more the Weisers shouldered their bundles. They crossed the wide camp, greeted pleasantly here and there, but for the most part stared at silently and contemptuously. Finally the magistrate acknowledged grudgingly that the English people had been liberal and kind.

"But they are growing tired. The common people say we are taking the bread from their mouths."

The farther the Weisers proceeded through the city of tents, the more astonished they became.

"The poor Germans have washed like the waves of the sea upon these shores," said Albrecht.

John Conrad shook his head in answer, having no more words with which to express his astonishment.

The Weisers made themselves as comfortable as possible in the tent assigned them. They unpacked the bundles which they had expected to unpack only in the new country, they received a portion of the generous supply of food which was given out each morning and evening, and then, like the thousands of their fellow countrymen, they waited, now hopefully, now almost in despair, for some change in their condition.

But no sign of change appeared. Day after day John Conrad and the magistrate and the friends whom they made among the more intelligent and thoughtful of the pilgrims met and talked and looked toward the Blackheath Road for some messenger from the Queen. The young people made acquaintance; the children played games and ran races up and down the streets of the city of tents. Sometimes Conrad listened to his elders and sometimes he played his flute for the children.

Suddenly the weather changed. The outdoor life which had been pleasant became more and more difficult to bear. The nights grew cold; the Germans shivered in their poor clothes. Now, also, another and a more serious danger threatened them.

The cooking was done over open fires, and the Weisers went daily into a forest a few miles away to gather sticks for their contribution to the one nearest to them. One day a young Englishman, with an evil face, spoke roughly to Margareta, who cowered back. He went nearer to her and she screamed in terror. For an instant Conrad watched stupidly, then, suddenly, his heart seemed to expand. He was, as his father had said, strong-headed and strong-willed.

"Let her be!" he shouted.

The stranger laughed, and approached nearer still. They could not understand what he said, nor did he have opportunity to continue what he had begun to say. Before his hand touched the arm of Margareta, he found himself upon the ground. Conrad was not tall, but he had strong muscles; now from his safe position on the chest of the enemy he was able to dictate terms of peace.

"You get up and run as fast as you can down the road," he shouted. "George Frederick, give me that big stick."

Fortunately the Englishman had no friends at hand. He looked about wildly, first at the Weisers, then toward the camp, and promptly did as he was bid. As he went, he shouted a threat.

"Your whole camp is to be wiped out," he yelled from a safe distance. "Wait and you will see!"

The hearts of the Germans, growing daily more alarmed, were no more disturbed, meanwhile, than were the hearts of Queen Anne and her ministers. While the unexpected thousands lay upon Blackheath, minister consulted with minister, boards of trade met to discuss plans and to give them up, and to discuss other plans and to adjourn and to meet again. It was true that Queen Anne desired to settle her colony of New York, true that the news of her desire had been spread abroad. But she had not anticipated this great migration, like the locusts of Egypt for numbers! Ships were lacking to transport them; suitable asylums were lacking and the Germans themselves, fleeing like helpless children, were not able to take care of themselves.

Scores of wise and foolish suggestions were offered. The Germans were to be sent to distant parishes, together with a bounty for each one. But the parishes did not welcome them; those who were sent returned, poorer, weaker, more helpless than before. There were hundreds of good workmen among them, but even the English workman could scarcely earn his bread. Let them go to Ireland, let them go to Wales, let them return to Germany.

And still, while the English talked, the Germans came. Finally, Her Majesty's Council, meeting almost daily, reached a conclusion and orders were given for the assembling of ships. Action was hastened by an extraordinary incident in which Conrad and his father had a part.

The heavy frosts had begun and there was not an hour when the Germans did not ache with the cold. The quantity of food had become smaller, the quality poorer than at first. But worse than cold or hunger was the danger from the rising resentment of the Londoners, who demanded that this great mass of foreigners be removed.

Conrad, left to himself, with little to do, roamed about the city, staring at its marvels, at strange London Bridge, crowded with shops and houses which hung over the water, at mighty Saint Paul's Cathedral, lifting its round dome, still beautifully white and clean, far above the gabled city roofs, at the other new churches built since the great fire, and at the soaring monument which commemorated the fire. He even looked with awe and horror at the sad and terrible spot where had been buried, in a deep pit, the victims of the great plague.

Conrad's journeys were not always comfortable. English lads taunted him, gayly dressed young men ordered him out of their path, the bearers of sedan chairs thrust him rudely against the house walls. But still he walked about, watching and listening.

Presently he heard terrifying threats. The Londoners determined to wait no longer to wreak their vengeance upon Blackheath. Conrad hurried down the long road to make report to his father.

"They mean to attack us with knives, father. They declare they will have no mercy upon us!"

"They would not dare," answered John Conrad. "We are under the protection of the Queen."

Nevertheless, John Conrad called together his friends, and together they drew up a humble petition, praying that the English people continue to look kindly upon them and to bestow bounty upon them.

But the petition availed nothing. That very night, Conrad, lying in his corner of the tent near the edge of the camp, heard the sound of rough voices and heavy steps. Springing up, he looked out the door. On the heath a large company had gathered, carrying knives and sickles which gleamed in the moonlight. With a shout Conrad roused his family, whose cries in turn roused the sleepers in the neighboring tents. The attacking party was defeated, not so much by the resistance of the Germans, few of whom had arms, as by a warning that the soldiers were coming from London. The Germans were not seriously hurt, but the event was ominous.

Still the days grew shorter, and the dark nights longer, and the air colder. Hundreds gathered round the fires, and among them John Conrad counseled further patience and continued courage. Frequently he read to them from Conrad's little book, at whose directions for life on the ocean and in the new land there were now bitter smiles and long sighs. They had ceased to think of the new country with its rich soil, its mild climate, and its strange, interesting aborigines, except to envy the Indian his indifference to the comforts of civilization.

Upon the day of the first snow, Conrad went early into the city. He had earned a penny a few days before by carrying some bales from a ship to a warehouse, and he hoped to earn more.

Until noon he walked about the streets. Again and again he was cursed and threatened. The Londoners had not finished with the Germans in spite of their temporary defeat. At noon he ate the piece of black bread which he had put into his pocket, and then went into a cold church to rest. Presently he fell asleep, and when he woke late in the afternoon the church was almost dark. He was miles away from Blackheath and he must set out promptly or the dangers of the way would be doubled. The week before he had been caught in a fog and had spent the night inside a garden gate on the ground.

Leaving the church, he hurried on as fast as he could. It seemed to him that another fog was rapidly gathering over the city. His long walks and the insufficient food had made him weak, but it was better to start on the homeward journey than to linger. He might fall into evil hands and never see his father or brothers or sisters again. The words of old Redebach in far-away Gross Anspach came back to him as he stepped out from the church door into an open square,—"As a bird that wandereth from her nest, so is a man that wandereth from his place." Perhaps old Redebach was right!

In the square, sedan chairs moved about, link boys waved their torches and shouted, rough men jostled him. Presently his tears gathered and began to fall. He lowered his head and plodded on down the street, little dreaming that before him waited one of the strangest encounters, not only in his life, but in the strange history of the world.

Too tired and despairing to remember that traveling with bent head is unsafe, struggling to keep back his tears, he ceased suddenly to feel anything. He came full force against one of the new lamp-posts recently set up, and was thrown backwards.

When he came to himself, he heard but one sound, that of cruel laughter. The amusement of the onlookers was the last drop in poor Conrad's cup of grief. As he staggered to his feet, he said to himself that he wished that the lamp-post had brought him to that death which was approaching for him and his fellow countrymen.

When the dizziness following his fall had passed and he was ready to start on once more, he observed that the steps of the passers-by were unusually hurried and that all led in the same direction. He looked back to see the object toward which they were hastening. At the sight which met his eyes he gave a startled cry. He was dreaming or he had gone mad.

This was England and London, this was the heart of the largest city in the world. America, the longed-for, with its great forests and its mighty hunters, lay far across the sea three thousand miles away. But through the London fog, surrounded by a great crowd above whom they towered, there came toward Conrad four giant creatures, with bronze-colored skins, with deer-hide shoes, with headdresses of waving feathers, and with scarlet blankets. Conrad rubbed his eyes; he looked again. They came nearer and nearer, they seemed more and more majestic and terrible.

Then, suddenly, they vanished, as though the earth had swallowed them. They could not have entered a house since there were no dwelling-houses here, and the shops were closed. Risking a rebuff as cruel as that from the lamp-post, Conrad grasped the arm of the man nearest him and poured out a dozen excited questions.

"These are Indians from the wilds of America," answered the stranger.

"Why are they here? What does it mean? Could I speak to them? Where did they go?"

The stranger's patience was soon exhausted. After he had explained that the savages had gone into the theater, he left Conrad to address his questions to the empty air.

For a moment Conrad stared at the spot from which the Indians had vanished. If he only had money to pay his way into the theater also! But he was penniless. The next best thing was to tell his father, as soon as possible, of this incredible experience. Running heavily, he crossed London Bridge and started out upon the Blackheath Road, saying over and over to himself, "The Indians are here! The Indians are here!"

So tired was he and so much confused by the strange sight which he had seen that it was many hours before he reached his father's tent. He imagined that the long journey had been made and that he was already in the forests of the new country. At last an acquaintance, meeting him at the edge of the camp, led him to John Conrad.

"Here is your boy. He was about to walk straight into a fire."

Fed and warmed, Conrad could only repeat over and over the magic words, "The Indians are here!" His father thought he was delirious; the children cried. For a long time after he had fallen into the heavy sleep of exhaustion, his sisters watched him.

At dawn, when he woke, he found himself stiff and sore and inexpressibly tired. But his head was clear, and slowly the events of the day before came back to him. The Indians were real; to-day he would find them. If they had come from America there would be a way to return. He would beg them on his knees to take him and his family with them. Perhaps they had come in their own ships.

Slipping from between his sleeping brothers, he lifted the flap of the tent and stepped out into the cold morning air. He could not wait for the family to rise; he would take his share of black bread and be gone.

Then, again, Conrad cried out. Last night he had beheld the strangers through the medium of a thickening mist and with eyes confused by his fall. Now he saw them clearly in the bright morning light, here upon Blackheath before his father's tent! The eagle feathers waved above their heads; their scarlet mantles wrapped them round; they stole quietly about on moccasined feet.

For a long moment the Indians looked at Conrad and Conrad looked back at them. It was as though they measured one another through an eternity, the tall savages from across three thousand miles of sea and the little lad from Gross Anspach. The lad's heart throbbed with awe and wonder. What the savages thought it was difficult to say. They made to one another strange guttural sounds which evidently served for speech. It seemed to Conrad that they were about to turn away. It was as though a heavenly visitor had descended only to depart. Conrad ran forward and grasped the hand of one of the mighty creatures.

"Oh, take us with you, father and Margareta and Magdalena and the others and me! Take us with you! We will work and we will learn to hunt. There is no home for us here. We suffer and die. We—"

There was a commotion at the tent door and Conrad looked round. In the doorway stood John Conrad, blinking, incredulous.

"I saw them last night, father. I have asked them to take us with them." Conrad began to make gestures. "Us, with you, far away to the west!" It was a request easy to make clear.

Again the savages uttered their strange guttural speech. They, in turn, made motions to John Conrad and his son, that they should come with them. Not for an instant did John Conrad hesitate. Upon this miraculous encounter important things might depend.

"Conrad," he began, "while I am gone—"

"Oh, father, take me with you! I beg, take me with you!"

"Run and find Albrecht then, my son, and ask him to look after the children."

Conrad was gone like the wind. Now the Weiser children and the neighbors were staring with terrified eyes at the red men. They gave a little scream when John Frederick toddled forward and fell over the foot of one of the Indians and then held their breaths while he was lifted high in the strong arms. John Conrad offered some of his small supply of black bread and his strange guests grunted their pleased acceptance. Then John Conrad and his son set out with the Indians to make the rounds of the camp.

What the savages thought of the assemblage of misery it was hard to say. They walked briskly so that the two Weisers could scarcely keep up with them; they pointed now to a sick child, now to some adult who showed more clearly than the others the effects of cold and anxiety and hunger. Often they motioned toward the west, a gesture which it seemed to Conrad had a heavenly significance.

When the circuit of the camp was complete, they made it plain to the Weisers that they expected them to follow to the city, and father and son, looking their vague hopes into one another's eyes, obeyed eagerly.

Along the Blackheath Road they went, through Southwark and across London Bridge—how many times had Conrad traveled the road in despair! Presently, when, after they had crossed the Thames and were in the city, a man would have jostled Conrad from his place beside the leader, the Indian cried out fiercely, and the stranger dropped quickly back into the long queue of men and boys who had gathered. Now the Indians motioned to Conrad that he should walk behind the leader and his father behind him. Thus strangely escorted, the two Germans went through the streets. Conrad saw in the eyes of the boys whom they passed a look of envy. The course of fate had changed!

A few times John Conrad spoke to his son.

"Are you afraid?"

"Not I."

"Pray God that this strange way may lead to the new land."

"I will, father."

With heads erect the chiefs went on as though they trod the leafy paths of their own forests. Presently they came out upon the river-bank once more, traveled upon it for a short distance, then turned aside. The crowd about them had changed its character. Here were fine gentlemen and ladies on foot and in richly decked sedan chairs. A gentleman came forward with a sharp exclamation and pointed questioningly at the Weisers. One of the Indians answered by gestures and a few incomprehensible words, and the gentleman looked as though he were considering some strange thing. When the Indians walked on without waiting for his answer, Conrad began to be frightened.

"Where will they take us, father?"

John Conrad's voice trembled.

"They are taking us into the Queen's palace," said he.