"A party of Pappenheim's dragoons, three hundred strong, are raiding in the district on the other side of the hills.

A man came in just as I mounted my horse, saying that it was expected they would attack Mansfeld, whose count is a sturdy Protestant.
The people were determined to resist to the last, in spite of the fate of Magdeburg and Frankenhausen, but I fear that their chance of success is a small one; but they say they may as well die fighting as be slaughtered in cold blood." "Is Mansfeld fortified ?" Malcolm asked.
"It has a wall," the pastor replied, "but of no great strength.

The count's castle, which stands on a rock adjoining it, might defend itself for some time, but I question whether it can withstand Pappenheim's veterans.
"Mansfeld itself is little more than a village.

I should not say it had more than a thousand inhabitants, and can muster at best about two hundred and fifty men capable of bearing arms." "How far is it from here ?" Malcolm asked after a pause.
"Twenty-four miles by the bridle path across the hills." "When were the Imperialists expected to arrive ?" "They were ten miles away this morning," the pastor replied; "but as they were plundering and burning as they went they will not probably arrive before Mansfeld before the morning.

Some of the more timid citizens were leaving, and many were sending away their wives and families." "Then," Malcolm said, "I will march thither at once.