the more remote
districts, so that their inhabitants might assemble under the banner
simultaneously with those who dwelt nearer. They notified the
councillors of their resolution, but again found opposition among them.
In vain did Lavater appeal to his commission. The dispatch of some 100
men, under George G[oe]ldli, was only effected about noon, and that
with the injunction, to venture on nothing decisive, but to secure a
good position. The artillery, which ought to have gone with them, was
not fully underweigh until evening. At last, as night set in, about
seven o'clock, permission was given to sound the alarm, which was now
done very irregularly throughout the canton, varying in proportion as
they, who were appointed to the service, were well-disposed, or had,
perchance, here and there, received secret counter-orders. About
midnight Peter Fuessli reached the summit of the Albis with the
artillery, for the draught of which he had found it difficult to
procure teams. According to his narration, the alarm was sounded in
several "_kilchh[oe]renen_" (parishes); commotion reigned in nature.
Tschudi tells us of an earthquake on that night, "which mightily shook
the canton, even mountain and valley." On the morning of the 12th,
about six o'clock, the banner was hung out of the senate-house. But the
commander-in-chief had to wait some time before any soldiers collected
around it. There was nothing like regular division into companies or
mustering beforehand. Whoever had courage to come as a volunteer,
placed himself in the ranks. They were scarce 700 men, all told,
councillors, clergy, and gray haired fathers in part, along with fiery
youths; and so they hurried off, for word was brought, that G[oe]ldli
had already engaged the enemy on the other side of the mountain.

Zwingli also, responding to the summons of the Council, of his own
accord joined the departing troops. He had taken leave of his wife and
children and of his friends in such a way, that, as Bullinger remarks,
"they perceived he expected never to return home again." Even his horse
seemed to have a foreboding of evil. He shied, as Werner Steiner
relates, and as many saw with terror, backwards. Too sagacious not to
observe that he must encounter contradictory measures, the lukewarmness
of allies, and secret treachery, which he more than once predicted; too
manly to retire now in the hour of need; too full of confidence in God,
not to believe that He would protect