“Get your crew ashore on the instant,” cried Roland, “and fling me these despicable burdens aboard.  A man at the head, another at the heels, and toss each into the barge.  Is there time, captain, to take this heap of cutlery with us as trophies of the fray?”

“Yes,” replied the captain, “if we are quick about it.”

The howling human packages were hurled from ledge to barge; the strong, unerring sailors, accustomed to the task, heaved no man into the water.  Others as speedily fell upon the heap of weapons, and threw them, clattering, on the deck.  All then leaped aboard, and Roland, motioning his lieutenants to precede him, was the last to climb over the prow.

The chain came down over the stones with a clattering run, and fell with a great splash into the river.  The barge, now clear, swung with the current stern foremost; the sailors got to their oars, and gradually drew their craft away from the shore.  A little farther from the landing, those on deck, looking upstream, enjoyed an uninterrupted view of the magnificent conflagration.  The huge stone Castle seemed to glow white hot.  The roof had fallen in, and a seething furnace reddened the midnight sky.  Like a flaming torch the great tower roared to the heavens.  The whole hilltop resembled the crater of an active volcano.  Timber floors and wooden partitions, long seasoned, proved excellent material for the incendiaries, and even the stones were crumbling away, falling into the gulf of fire, sending up a dazzling eruption of sparks, as section after section tumbled into this earthly Hades.

The long barge floated placidly down a river resembling molten gold.  The boat was in disarray, covered with bales of cloth not yet lowered into the hold, cluttered here and there with swords, battle-axes, and spears.  In the various positions where they had been flung lay the helpless men, some on their faces, some on their backs.  The deck was as light as if the red setting sun were casting his rays upon it.  Roland seated himself on a bale, and said to the captain: 

“Turn all these men face upward,” and the captain did so.

“Ebearhard, you said execution should take place after a fair trial.  There is no necessity to call witnesses, or to go through any court of law formalities.  You two are perfectly cognizant of everything that has taken place, and no testimony will either strengthen or weaken that knowledge.  As a preliminary, take Kurzbold, the new president, and Gensbein, his lieutenant, from among that group, and set them apart.  Two members of the crew will carry out this order,” which was carried out accordingly.

Roland rose, walked along the prostrate row, and selected, apparently at haphazard, four others, then said to the members of his crew: 

“Place these four men beside their leader.  Left to myself,” he continued to his lieutenants, “I should hang the six.  However, I shall take no hand in the matter.  I appoint you, Joseph Greusel, and you, Gottlieb Ebearhard, as judges, with power of life and death.  If your verdict on any or all of the accused is death, I shall use neither the ax nor the cord, but propose flinging them into the river, and if God wills them to reach the shore alive, their binding will be no hindrance to escape.”