In the morning the four Prussians, the carriage, the driver, and the horses set forth and soon disappeared in the distance.

Two hours later the fugitives, fortified by a good breakfast, took their departure from the Ezenstochow inn, leaving behind them a man whom they, at least, esteemed as the greatest honor to mankind.

The travelers hastened toward Dankow.  They chose the most direct route and tramped along in the open without a thought of the infamous spies who might already be on their track.

They arrived at nightfall at their destination, however, without further hindrance.

The next day they set out for Parsemachi, in Bohemia.

They started early, and a day in the open, together with a night’s sleep, had almost obliterated the memory of their adventure at the inn.

The cold was intense.  The day was gray with heavy clouds that no longer promised rain, but which shrouded the country with a pall of gloom.  The wind swirled and howled, and though the two friends struggled to keep their few thin garments drawn closely about them, they still searched the horizon hopefully, thinking of the journey’s end and the peaceful existence which awaited them.  To their right, the aspect of the countryside had altered somewhat.  Great wooded stretches spread away into the distance, while to the left all was yet free and open.

They had gone about half a mile past the first clump of trees when they noticed, through the swaying branches by the roadside, a motionless object around which several men busied themselves.  With every step they gained a clearer impression of the nature of this obstacle until, at last, an expression of half-mockery, half-anger overspread their features.

“Now God forgive me!” exclaimed Schell finally, “but that is the infernal brown traveling carriage from the inn!”

“May the devil take me!” rejoined Trenck, “if I delay or flee a step from those miserable rascals.”

And they strode sturdily onward.

As soon as they were within speaking distance, one of the Prussians, a big man in a furred cap, believing them to be wholly unsuspicious, called to them: 

“My dear sirs, in heaven’s name come help us!  Our carriage has been overturned and it is impossible to get it out of this rut.”

The friends had reached an angle of the road where a few withered tree branches alone separated them from the others.  They perceived the brown body of the carriage, half open like a huge rat-trap, and beside it the forbidding faces of their would-be captors.  Trenck launched these words through the intervening screen of branches: 

“Go to the devil, miserable scoundrels that you are, and may you remain there!”

Then, swift as an arrow, he sped toward the open fields to the left of the highroad, feigning flight.  The carriage, which had been overturned solely for the purpose of misleading them, was soon righted and the driver lashed his horses forward in pursuit of the fugitives, the four Prussians accompanying him with drawn pistols.