"He is lost!" A trembling old voice
began to sing: "Now thank we all our God!" When the aged man came to
the line: "Who has protected us," a great consciousness seemed to
sweep over the people of what might have been lost and what had been
rescued for them. Absolute strangers fell into one another's arms,
each embraced in his neighbor the loved ones whom he might have lost
and who had been saved. All united in the singing of the hymn; the
sounds of thanksgiving swelled through the whole town, soared over the
streets and squares where the people stood who had feared to go
closer, entered the houses, penetrated into the innermost chambers,
rose to the remotest garrets. The sick man in his lonely bed, the old
man in the chair where weakness had bound him, little children who did
not know the meaning of the hymn or of the danger that had been
averted, all joined in the song of praise. The town was one great
church, and storm and thunder the giant organ. Again the cry was
heard: "Nettenmair! Where is Nettenmair? Where is our helper? Where is
our rescuer? Where is the brave fellow? Where is the noble man?" Wind
and storm were forgotten. Everybody pushed forward, looking for the
man who was being called on all sides. The tower of St. George's was
besieged. The carpenter appeared, saying that Nettenmair had lain down
in the watchman's room to rest for a few moments. The carpenter was
beset with questions. Had he been injured at all? Would his health
suffer? The carpenter could tell nothing except that Nettenmair had
done more than a man is capable of doing in the ordinary course of
events. In such supreme moments man is a different being; later he
marvels himself at the power he displayed. But everything must be paid
for. It would not surprise the carpenter if, after the tremendous
exertion, Nettenmair should sleep for three days and nights at a
stretch. The people seemed prepared to wait on the steps for that
length of time, in order to see the brave man as soon as he waked. In
the meantime a prominent man had begun to take up a collection in the
market-place. Money, of course, could not reward such a deed as had
been performed that day; but at least they could show their gratitude
to the courageous doer. Carried away by the impulse of the moment,
acknowledged misers hastened home to fetch their contribution,
regardless of the fact that in an hour they would regret having done
so. Not many of the well-to-do refused to contribut