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 who at his request would fight for us and in case of need hold possession of our asylum long enough to give us time for escape. However, it would not come to this, he said, as the arrival of such guests as “the Herren Kaiser and Hensel” in his house would attract no attention, and even if our secret were suspected by any of his people, there were no traitors among them. In short, he could vouch for everything. Thus we drove to his house, which was situated in a suburb of Rostock. There we had some days of rest and plenty. Brockelmann, his wife, his eldest daughter, her fiancé, the merchant Schwartz, and a little circle of friends, overwhelmed us with the most lavish attentions. How can I describe the care with which the mistress of the house herself washed Kinkel's wounded hands and bandaged and nursed them! And the meals which, according to Mecklenburg notions of hospitality, were necessary! The indispensable first breakfast and second breakfast and sometimes third breakfast, and the noon repast, and the afternoon coffee with cake, and the suppers, and the “little something” before going to bed, and the nightcaps, which succeeded one another at incredibly short intervals; and the evenings, during which Wiggers played to us Beethoven's sonatas with a masterly hand, reminding Kinkel of the musical language of his Johanna! And the occasional surprises when Brockelmann had the revolutionary hymn, the “Marseillaise,” played by a brass band in the house!

With all this, however, the more serious side of our situation was not forgotten. Brockelmann had ordered one of his own vessels, a little schooner of forty tons, which had proved a good sailer, to be prepared for us. The “Little Anna”—this was the name of the schooner—received a cargo of wheat for England, which was put on board as rapidly as possible, and Sunday, the 17th of November, was the day fixed for our