ARNOLD WINKELRIED.
A great army was marching into Swit-zer-land. If it should go much
farther, there would be no driving it out again. The soldiers would
burn the towns, they would rob the farmers of their grain and sheep,
they would make slaves of the people.
The men of Switzerland knew all this. They knew that they must fight
for their homes and their lives. And so they came from the mountains
and valleys to try what they could do to save their land. Some came
with bows and arrows, some with scythes and pitch-forks, and some with
only sticks and clubs.
But their foes kept in line as they marched along the road. Every
soldier was fully armed. As they moved and kept close together,
nothing could be seen of them but their spears and shields and shining
armor. What could the poor country people do against such foes as
these?
"We must break their lines," cried their leader; "for we cannot harm
them while they keep together."
The bowmen shot their arrows, but they glanced off from the soldiers'
shields. Others tried clubs and stones, but with no better luck. The
lines were still un-bro-ken. The soldiers moved stead-i-ly onward;
their shields lapped over one another; their thousand spears looked
like so many long bris-tles in the sun-light.
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