On the evening of the 9th, the council was called together by the assurance that war was begun. Only a small number assembled; and instead of sounding the tocsin, or calling the people to arms, they despatched two councilors to Cappel and Bremgarten to ascertain what was going on. "The five cantons," said they, "are making a little noise to frighten us, and to make us raise the blockade." But at daybreak, on the morning of the 10th, they were aroused from their slumbers by the positive intelligence, that the enemy had crossed the frontier and seized upon Hytzkilch. Still, the council was but partially aroused. The day was spent in making speeches and lengthened tedious debates. A vanguard of six hundred men with artillery was sent on to Cappel to oppose the invaders; the main body was to follow. At seven in the evening the tocsin was sounded in all the country districts.
It was a fearful night, as if nature herself shuddered at the blood that was about to be shed. "The sun went down behind the Albis," says Wylie; "the city, the lake, and the canton were wrapped in darkness; with the darkness came trembling and terror. The bells were rung to summon to arms. They had hardly begun to toll when a tempest burst forth, and swept in terrific fury over Zurich and the surrounding country. The howling of the wind, the lashing of the waves of the lake, the pealing of the steeple-bells, the mustering of the landsturm, and the earthquake, which about nine o'clock shook the city and canton, formed a scene of horror such as had seldom been witnessed. Few eyes were that night closed in sleep. In the dwellings of Zurich there were tears, and loud wailings, and hasty and bitter partings of those who felt that they embraced probably for the last time."*