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diff --git a/old/67647-0.txt b/old/67647-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 57a1f6d..0000000 --- a/old/67647-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5154 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Deeds of Daring Done by Girls, by N. -Hudson Moore - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Deeds of Daring Done by Girls - -Author: N. Hudson Moore - -Illustrator: Archie Gunn - -Release Date: March 17, 2022 [eBook #67647] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed Proofreading - Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEEDS OF DARING DONE BY -GIRLS *** - - - - - - DEEDS OF DARING - DONE BY GIRLS - - -[Illustration: “SEE, CLEMENCE, A GOOD OMEN. LOOK AT THE NEW MOON.”—_Page -153._] - - - - - DEEDS _of_ DARING DONE BY GIRLS - - - BY N. HUDSON MOORE - - AUTHOR OF “CHILDREN OF OTHER DAYS,” “THE OLD CHINA BOOK,” “THE OLD - FURNITURE BOOK,” “THE LACE BOOK,” “OLD PEWTER, BRASS, COPPER, AND - SHEFFIELD PLATE,” “THE COLLECTOR’S MANUAL,” ETC. - - _With Illustrations in Colour_ - BY ARCHIE GUNN - -[Illustration] - - _NEW YORK_ · FREDERICK A. - STOKES COMPANY · _PUBLISHERS_ - - - - - _Copyright, 1906_ - BY FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - _All rights reserved_ - - This edition published in October, 1906 - - - THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U. S. A. - - - - - AN OPEN LETTER - - -Do not think, dear girls, that because you are girls you may not have as -much courage as your brothers. I believe that quite as stout hearts beat -beneath muslin frocks as under stuff jackets. When you have finished -reading this book about your sisters, perhaps—if you do not already—you -will agree with me, and think that it needs only occasion to call out -the necessary courage. I have been asked which one of these heroines I -think the most daring, but—oh dear—it would never do to have a -favourite, would it? So I leave them to you, and that you will enjoy -learning of their trials and triumphs is the wish of your friend, - - THE AUTHOR. - - - - - CONTENTS - - - PAGE - THE ROBE OF THE DUCHESS 1 - - THE PRINCESS WINS 53 - - DEFENCE OF CASTLE DANGEROUS 96 - - THE PEARL NECKLACE 129 - - DICEY LANGSTON 220 - - THE MAID OF ZARAGOZA 265 - - - - - ILLUSTRATIONS - - - “See, Clemence, a good omen. Look at the new moon” _Frontispiece_ - - FACING PAGE - “None looking on my stately Duchess would deem that she - had but fifteen years” 48 - - “On, for the love of the Daughter of Holland, and death - to those that deny her!” 86 - - “I have commanded this fort, Monsieur, during the - absence of my father” 124 - - “Coward, shoot now if you dare!” 260 - - “What are you doing here, my girl?” 288 - - - - - DEEDS OF DARING - DONE BY GIRLS - - - - -[Illustration] - - THE ROBE OF THE DUCHESS - _As told by Jehan, her Page in the Year of Grace 1392_ - - - I - -“’Tis not so,” quoth she, “and you know it”; and with that she fetched -me a buffet on the ear. - -Now, when the other pages saw me bested like that by a damsel, even -though she were my Lady, they roared and girded at me so loud that I -liked to have choked with rage. - -I ran forward a step; but she cried out,— - -“An you touch me I’ll have you whipped, sir”; and, truth, she would, -which well I knew, for I’d felt ere this old Raoul’s whip curling about -my shoulders, all on her charges too. But that was some years since. -’Twas this wise that the present pother came about. - -Of a joyous afternoon in May, my Lady Eleonore took it into her head to -go into the court to see her hawk. For these many months I’d been -training of it for her, and in all the mews there was not another flew -so true, aimed so swift, and brought back her quarry so little torn. - -My Lady knew right well that the hawk was for her, but she knew not that -I thought to give it her on her fête day, which fell on the morrow. The -bird was in fine feather, not a pinion ruffed, her russet colour showing -redly in the sun,—it was a Barberry bird,—and a new hood of fine leather -on her head. On her feet, fastened by bewits of deer’s hide, hung two -Milan bells of gold,—the one, as is ever the way with choicest bells, a -semi-tone below the other. These bells I had begged from Comte Gaston, -who gave willingly enough when he knew that they were to pleasure my -Lady. - -Now ’twas not my purpose that she should see the bird till next day, but -womenfolk ever contrive to mix matters up. I thought but to stay her, to -keep her jesting for a while; but her anger rose and was greater than I -knew. - -She was down in the broad hall on her way to the mews, and I following -behind, before my wits, which work ever a thought slow, had conjured up -something to say. - -“Pray, mistress,” saith I, “how old be you to-morrow? Let me think, will -it be all of eleven years?” - -To tell truth, I knew her years as well as she. It was nine years since -my Lady’s mother, Dame Eleonore of Comminges, had brought and left her -daughter with my Lord, Gaston Phoebus, Comte de Foix. - -Comte Gaston was my Lady’s cousin, and poor Dame Eleonore, her mother, -fleeing from a cruel husband, knew not where to place the child, so -sought advice from Comte Gaston, a powerful and great lord. - -“Leave her with me,” saith my Lord, who had taken a fancy to my little -Lady, then but a child of three. She was the first bright thing that had -come to the old castle of Orthez, which was but a gloomy tower since in -a rage my Lord Gaston had slain his only son, and driven forth to her -own people his wife, the Princess Agnes. - -Canst thou wonder that we all loved the child? - -None knew nor loved her better than I, being that my Lord Gaston gave me -to be her page and playfellow, since there were but scullery maids and -some rude wenches in the castle since the Princess Agnes went forth. So -who should doubt but that I should know my Lady’s age? Besides this I -was but four years older come Hallowe’en. - -Being well grown and tall, she was ever tender on the subject of her -years. By my Lord’s command, she had been taught to play on the lute, -she could walk a measure, hunt and hawk, and since the new tirewoman had -come, there had been much bravery of apparel. So ’twas but to tease her -and keep her from the mews that I put forth,— - -“All of eleven years?” - -“’Tis not so, and you know it,” quoth she, and then came the buffet. - -I choked down my rage, and turning to those that mocked me, thought to -bring the laugh on her. - -“Varlets,” cried I, “my Lady Eleonore is no longer a child, she chooses -you to know. Twelve years old will she be to-morrow, but two years -younger than our new Queen Isabeau. And who knows what brave suitor -comes to woo?” - -At this they all laughed again, as in truth I hoped they would. With a -black look at me and a stamp of her foot, my Lady turns and goes up the -stair. This pleased me well, since the hawk was forgotten. - -“Wit ye well, ye shall suffer for this,” sneered one of the pages, -between whom and me there was ever discord. “Your mistress wilt have you -soundly swinged, and well I pray my Lord will do it himself.” - -My skin was pricking somewhat at the thought, but it behoved me to show -no signs of it; so I looked him in the eye and flung back,— - -“If my Lord so much as cuffs me, thou mayst do it also”; and with that I -strolled to the mews. - -I stroked the hawk, and thought how pleased my Lady would be on the -morrow to have her and fly her too, since, to pleasure my Lady, my Lord -had passed his word that we all should fly a cast with him on the broad -marches that lay to the west a league or more. - -Long ere cockcrow the next day was I astir. ’Twas a bright day for me, -since my Lord had given me a new livery. For the first time I cast away -my leathern doublet and put on one of soft cloth, and drew on a brave -pair of chausses, a red one on the right leg and a green one on the -left, and tied the points to my doublet. - -It needed but only a sword to make me a man! - -As I stole down the stair, I crept into the great hall to take one look -into the great mirror of purest crystal which had but lately come to my -Lord from a land far over seas, called Venice. - -What I saw therein causeth me to turn hot, since never thought I to look -so fine. Clapping my cap on my head, I ran to the mews, to bathe the -feet of the hawk in fair water, to settle her bells and jesses, and to -see that the hood could be quickly cast aside. Soon I heard the bustle -in the courtyard, and hurried thither with the hawk on hand. - -My faith, but it was a joyous sight! - -There on the highest step stood my Lord and beside him my mistress -Eleonore. My Lord was smiling at her, and well he might, she stood -beside him so straight and tall. She was in a gown of green, made of -Florence cloth, and on her head was a cap bound with many chains of -gold, which, she telleth me later, came from the same far-away country -as the mirror,—Venice. In their midst was set a stone big as a -throstle’s egg and blue as the sky. On her hips hung a girdle of gold -set close with little stones of this same sky-blue. - -All this I saw as I walked from the court’s end. Coming up the steps, -said I in my bravest fashion,— - -“Mistress Eleonore, here is the hawk I trained for thee; and I set the -Barberry bird upon her wrist. - -“Now, Jehan, I forgive thee,” saith she, “and trust thou’lt bear in mind -that I be twelve years, not eleven. My Lord and cousin hath a gift for -thee also, and telleth me to give it thee now.” - -With that she hands me out a sword,—a brave, bright sword! - -And my Lord says kindly,— - -“Have it ever ready in her service, Jehan; she is a lonely maid.” - -I bent and kissed my Lady’s hand, and saith with my heart in my mouth, - -“My Lord, I’ll e’en follow her to the world’s end.” - -“Thou art a good lad, and I trust thee”; and as he spoke, my Lord -smiled. - -True, as I swore fealty to my Lady, I little recked how soon ’t would be -before I rode away behind her! - -Just then the huntsman wound his horn, and we all rode out over the -drawbridge and away into the bright sun and green fields a-hawking. We -made a merry day of it. The hounds sped before, starting up many a -creature that fled affrighted from us. - -My Lady rode, not her own palfrey, which was a gentle animal but of -little speed, but a chestnut mare, one specially cherished by Comte -Gaston, even though she was a thought too light for his bulk. - -For many a day the mare had been but exercised about the court, and -being a high-mettled creature, soon grew fretted by the flapping of my -Lady’s habit,—a thing to which she was ill-used. - -We were pricking along at a good pace, my Lady having her hands full -with holding down the mare, when suddenly from the grass at her very -feet darted out a fallow deer, a little thing scarcely more than a month -old. The mare started, threw up her head, and ere I knew what had -befallen, had wheeled about and started off like the wind. - -“Jehan,” I heard my Lady call; and turning my own horse about, I spurred -him after the flying mare. On we sped; the others, passing through a -copse, had missed seeing our plight. - -“Hold fast, mistress,” shouted I, while I strove with whip and spur to -get beside her. - -Little by little we crept forward, my horse and I, and after that day I -ever forbore to call him a poor thing. First his nose pressed the mare’s -thigh, and then he came up with the saddle-cloth, and then a bit ahead -of that, till I called,— - -“Loose your foot from the stirrup, mistress.” - -Even as I spoke I could see that she did it. - -“Lean towards me and drop the reins, mistress”; and as I spoke I -switched my poor nag and leaned from the saddle, took my mistress about -the waist, and pulled her clear of the mare. It took but a moment more -to set her gently on the ground and start after the mare, since I knew, -if aught befell her, our day of pleasuring would have but an ill ending. -Freed from the flapping of the skirt, she gradually slackened her pace, -and erelong I was leading her back to where my Lady stood with the tall -marsh grasses waving about her feet. - -“Help me to mount, Jehan,” saith she, whilst I was turning about in my -mind how to urge her to let me ride the mare while she took the steadier -horse. - -“Pray, mistress,” I began; but she cut me short with,— - -“Have a care that my cousin knows not of this mishap, since it fairly -shames me to think how the mare bested me. But I was not affrighted.” - -At this she gave a side look at me, but I knew her too well to show that -I had noted her white face. I did not answer, but pondered if it was not -seemlier to guard my mistress even against herself. When she noted me -standing and switching of the grass, she crieth out,— - -“Sure, Jehan, it would be an unkind part to tell that I was like to be -run with on my fête day, since all has come out well. Promise now that -thou wilt hold thy peace.” - -So promise I did, and none guessed how near we had come to grief, though -my Lord, when we drew up with them, wondered why the mare looked so hard -ridden! - -’Twas now well on to noon, and we rested by the side of a clear stream, -and ate of squirrels fresh roasted, and of little fishes drawn from the -brook but half an hour before, and of the honey of the wild bee spread -on cakes of white flour, and of spices and of wine. - -“Hast had a happy day, little one?” saith my Lord, as we sat ’neath the -trees; and my mistress, turning, laid her cheek on his hand and said,— - -“Dear Cousin, never can I thank thee enough for all that thou hast done -for me”; and the tears like to have fallen. - -“To see thee happy gives me all the thanks I crave”; and my Lord fetched -a deep sigh, thinking belike of that son whom his own hand had slain. - -Then, when the sun grew low, homeward we turned, the pages singing as we -rode along,— - - “White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose, - Brilliant as a ruby that with spark of fire glows, - Your beauty and your loveliness to me all peerless shows, - White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose. - My heart for your heart watches; it pleaseth me to know - That to all other lovers the law of love I show. - White as a lily, more ruddy than the rose, - Brilliant as a ruby that with spark of fire glows.” - - - II - -When we came in sight of the castle of Orthez, there rose from the great -chimneys a dark cloud of smoke. The drawbridge fell, and the steward -rode forth to meet us. - -“Lo, my Lord,” he cried, “hasten home. Whilst thou wert absent here hath -come a great lord, the Due de Berry, with messages from the King.” - -“Hath he a great following?” questioned my Lord. - -“Seventy lances and thirty sumpter mules. They are cared for, my Lord, -and all have supped.” - -We hurried forward. As my Lord rode into the court, the Due de Berry -cometh through the door to meet him. He was elder than my Lord, and was -uncle to King Charles, and a powerful and noble lord. Never had I looked -on one so great as he. All France hath heard how he taxed his people and -gathered from them great stores of money that he might have gold to buy -palaces, that he might get from strange and foreign countries noble -pictures with which to deck his walls, and tapestries wrought in -coloured threads and gold. Not only these things did he buy, but books -enriched with jewels and filled with images of saints and others, -coloured with blue, red, and gold. After him rode hundreds of followers -when he went to war or travelled abroad in strange countries. - -As one looked upon him, his face seemeth harsh at first, yet a smile -became it well, and he smiled when he looked on my mistress, as doth -everyone who seeth her. - -One, two, three days he tarried. ’Twas said that his matters were -despatched in one, and true it is that when my mistress was before him, -his eyes ne’er left her face. - -Right seemly she looketh, thought I, as I stood behind her chair when -they supped. Never before had she borne herself so bravely, and rich -were the gauds that tirewoman furnished forth. One evening my Lady came -into the great hall in a gown of cherry red, made from the thread of the -silkworm and wonderous soft and fine. Above this was a long coat with -wide pointed sleeves, and it was bound about her with a sash of cloth -that shone like silver. Her hair was woven with strings of pearls, large -and white, and over her hung a veil like unto a spider’s web, set full -with shining threads. Well do I remember all this, for it was the first -time that ever I had seen such richness of apparel. - -Till now we had been friends together, playmates. The priest whom my -Lord Gaston had brought to dwell in the castle taught us to read, and -when we irked him overmuch sent us packing. Then would we spend the time -running over the great old castle, shooting with the bow and arrow, and -teaching the shagged greyhounds to fetch and carry. - -But from to-day all was different. She was a great lady, and I her page -Jehan, to hand her cup, to do her bidding within doors, and to ride at -her litter’s side or by her saddle when she went abroad, with my sword -loosened and hand steady and prompt at her need. - -On the fourth day my Lord Gaston rode out with the Due de Berry to see -him fare forth. My mistress stood upon the steps as they set out, with -her sky-blue jewel in her hair and her cheeks like maybuds. The Due had -bent and kissed her hand, and of a truth I heard him say,— - -“Farewell, mistress. Thou wilt hear from me again, and that shortly.” - -She saith never a word, but looked into his face and smiled. - -Now once again it was “Jehan here” and “Jehan there,” and we fell back -into our old ways. I digged and tilled for her the garden patch without -the walls of the castle, for this was a year of richness, and my Lady’s -gillyflowers and lavender, lilies and coriander, showed bright beside -the dull potherbs, anise, mustard, and storax, and the beds of leeks, -dittany, lettuces, and garden-cress. We had words over the poppies. - -“Jehan,” saith she, “didst ever see the poppies brighter than they be -this spring?” - -“Fair they be, mistress, and of a size too, so that the seeds will be -choice, and none need suffer for lack of a sleeping draught if they be -ill!” - -“Mean you to save all the flowers for seeds?” - -“Of a truth, yes, mistress, since they be so fine.” - -“But, Jehan, thou knowest that I love the poppies, and sure they were -planted for me.” - -Now this was true, but the flowers were so exceeding fine, and gave -promise of such a crop of seeds, that I fairly loathed to give one up. -So I tried to coax Mistress Eleonore with other buds. - -“Jehan,” suddenly quoth she, “run you to the court and fetch me out a -garden tool. I would help thee myself to-day.” - -I hurried away, as she bade me, and when I got back there she stood in -the midst of the poppy-bed, with a wreath of them in her black hair, and -both hands full! I stopped short, and she began to laugh at me, looking -so like the fairies we hear of dancing in a ring, that though I felt the -loss of the poppy-seeds sore, all I could find to say was,— - -“Oh, mistress, the seeds!” - -“But the flowers are so beautiful, and the seeds but ill-favoured black -things, as thou knowest well, Jehan, wherefore I chose the flowers.” - -There was naught to do but to hope that the buds that were left would -bloom freely; and shortly we went back to the castle, for the day was -growing warm, the birds had ceased their morning songs, and the wind was -no longer sweet and cool. As we reached the gate, there came to us, -faint and far away, the sound of a winded horn. We turned, and out over -the marches we could see coming many knights, their armour glistening in -the sun, and their lances shining like so many points of fire. - -“Who be these, think you, Jehan?” said my mistress, as with her wreath -of poppies she stood and watched them come. But I knew no more than she, -and soon the stranger knights rode by us into the court, each man as he -passed doffing his cap to my mistress, who stood tall and smiling, and -bowing in her turn. - -“Jehan,” quoth she, “run as fast as ever thou canst and find the -tirewoman and send her to me. Perchance my cousin will wish me to come -to the great hall.” - -I was glad to be off, since I was eager to know who the great lord was -that rode so bravely at the head of his vassals. In the court all was -bustle, but I heard it said that he was a friend to the King, and that -he bore the name of Seigneur Bureau de la Rivière. - -What was his mission to my Lord none could guess. But as one day -followed another and yet he tarried, my Lady’s tirewoman could hold her -tongue no longer, and out the secret came. Never could I bide that -woman! ’Twas always touch and go between us. - -“Knave,” quoth she, and “Jade,” say I, till the ill-favoured wench would -to my Lady Eleonore in tears. - -Now the secret that she blabbed was this,—that the Seigneur de la -Rivière had come to ask for the hand of my little mistress at the suit -of the Duc de Berry! - -It seems that the King laughed when he heard that his uncle the Duc, who -had seen a round fifty years and had sons who were men grown, wished to -take to wife “une fillette,” as he calleth her, of twelve years. But the -Duc held fast to his cause, and the King was but a lad of sixteen -himself with a wife two years younger, and many of the court were of -scarce greater age. So the Duc had persevered in his wishes, and the -Seigneur de la Rivière had come to treat with my master, the Comte de -Foix, who did not wish to give up his young cousin to one so much her -elder. So he put off the Seigneur, saying,— - -“The child is too young. Let the marriage wait till she grows up.” - -These days I saw little of my mistress. The flowers and the dogs were -all forgot, and she was housed with that tirewoman all the bright days. -One morning there was an exceeding bustle and rushing hither and yon. -Then was I bidden to put on my bravest suit and attend my mistress to -the great hall. It took me far less time than it took my Lady to put on -all her fine gear, and when we came into the hall, there sat my Lord, -and beside him sat the stranger lord, while all around them were many -score of knights and lances. - -My Lord cometh forward, and taking my mistress by the hand, he leadeth -her to a seat in the great oak chair beside him, whilst I stood but a -step behind her. My Lord looked at her kindly, and then quoth he,— - -“Knowest why I sent for thee, child?” - -My mistress drew up her head quite proud, and answered bravely, though -her cheeks were like poppy buds,— - -“In truth I do, Cousin.” - -“I think that thou art over-young to make a marriage yet,” began my -Lord; but my mistress saith quickly, before he could go further,— - -“Dear Cousin, our new Queen Isabeau had but fourteen years when she -wedded King Charles, and it is said that she hath meaner height than I.” - -Her cousin smiled. - -“Thou knowest that the Duc de Berry is far more in years than thyself?” - -“Yet methinks I could like him well,” saith the Lady Eleonore, “and -indeed this marriage suits me much.” - -She looked so full of spirit, and withal so fair, that the Seigneur de -la Rivière thought it well to take now a part himself. - -“The lady knows her mind,” saith he, “and for a truth the Duc loves her -right well. King Charles, who is a youthful liege himself, will welcome -her, and at Paris she will find all things that a young maid loves.” - -“I had forgot that in my lonely castle the young maid lacked much that -other maids have. Still, child, thou knowest that I have loved thee -well.” - -At this my mistress went to her cousin and knelt by his knee, holding -his hand and kissing of it. - -“Dearest Cousin,” she cried, “there has been naught lacking in all thy -kindness for me, and if it is thy wish that I stay with thee, send the -Seigneur hence.” - -My Lord smiled sadly and shook his head, saying with a sigh,— - -“The child has chosen for herself, my Lord.” - -Then my mistress withdrew, and I followed her. How my head spun! My -mistress to wed a lord almost as great as the King himself, to go to -Paris to dwell, and I, Jehan, to go with her! - -Of a truth I scarce drew breath for the next ten days, since we were to -go forth straightway, and there was hurly-burly to get us furnished -forth. At the end of that time we set out towards Paris, my Lord Comte -sending five hundred lances to safeguard my Lady, and the Duc de Berry -sending as many more, with litters, chariots, jewels, and fine robes to -meet us on our way. I have not speech to tell how fine we fared on that -journey. At every halt great silken tents were spread, my Lord Duc had -sent minstrels for to sing at my Lady’s pleasure, and there were litters -hung with scarlet and gold to carry her when she was a-weary. There were -women to wait on her, pages to run her bidding, and Jehan, chief of them -all, always at hand, with a chain of bright gold about his neck, to show -his new rank. - - - III - -When we came nigh Paris, word came from my Lord Duc that we were to halt -at the Abbey of St. Denis, whither the King and Queen and the Ducs de -Berry and Burgundy, with my Lady’s father, were to come to welcome us. - -When my Lady heard that her father was to come also, she turneth to me, -who knew that she had not seen him since she was a small babe of three. -“By my faith, Jehan,” quoth she, “I fear my own father more than the -lord I am to marry, since he is the greater stranger of the two. Why -think you he cometh?” - -“Truth, I know not, my Lady,” say I; and it was not till later that it -was known that this strange father, hearing of his daughter’s beauty and -that she was to wed his friend the Duc de Berry, came forth from Paris -with the King and Queen to look on her. - -We lay that night at the Abbey, and before we went to rest heard mass in -the cathedral itself. Never had I dreamed that so noble a building had -been made by men’s hands. And this was but the beginning. Gold and -silver statues stood on the great altar; great coloured stones the names -of which I knew not, sparkled on the cups and dishes of gold that were -used for the holy offices, while the books that the holy fathers held in -their hands, as well as their robes and mitres, gave forth sparkles like -unto a rainbow. After the mass they took my Lady to show her the -treasures, and I, following behind, saw with these eyes, that had never -thought to see such things, the great golden sword of King Charlemagne, -and so many other wonders of gold and jewels that my mind could hold -them not. - -What made my blood to stir most amid all that world of rich and holy -things, was a banner that hung high over the great altar. Torn it was, -yet in its folds glowed the colour of flame; and one of the good fathers -turning to me, who stood with mouth agape, I doubt not, asked,— - -“Good lad, knowest thou what banner hangest there?” - -“Nay, father,” answered I, “and how should I, since I am but newly come -from the far-away castle of Orthez, which, as thou knowest, lies in the -lonely marches to the west.” - -“Look, son,” then spoke he, “at the greatest treasure of France. ’Tis -the Oriflamme, that sacred banner which hath led her hosts so oft to -victory.” - -And as I looked on it, and knew how many brave knights had found death -under its folds, my heart was fuller than ever before. For what is more -noble than to give one’s life for one’s country? Even a poor page may do -that, though he may never hope to fall under a banner which may be borne -only by princes and nobles. That night I slept on a monk’s pallet, -spread on the floor of the passage without my Lady’s door, yet were my -dreams always of war and clashings of arms, and there floated ever -through my visions that wonderous banner of flame-colour. - -Next morn we were all astir with the dawn. ’Twas my task to see that my -Lady’s litter had been made fresh and seemly, that the pages were all -point device in their looks, so that we should not bear our part ill -before the nobles coming from Paris to greet us. - -About sunset they arrived. The King rode at the head of them all, with -his two uncles on either hand, the Duc de Berry on the right and the Duc -de Burgoyne on the left. Behind came the Queen and her ladies in an open -car, and on either side rode the great lords, two by two, carrying their -swords and shining in their armour of gold. - -The Duc de Berry cometh forward and, taking my Lady by the hand, led her -to the King, who kissed her on the brow, and then took her to the Queen. -They were so handsome, these two, the Queen and my Lady, that all -marvelled thereat. Queen Isabeau was of a fairness like unto milk and -roses, while my Lady, who stood a full hand taller, was of a dark -brownness, which looked but the darker beside the golden-haired Queen. -Shortly the Queen turneth to a tall and dark noble who stood behind her, -and saith she with a smile,— - -“Well, Comte, hast thou naught to say?” - -Then he came forward, and taking the hand of my Lady in his, looketh her -long in the face. At last he looks less stern, and then he saith, - -“If thou hadst looked like thy mother, child, thou and I hadst not met -to-day. But I see well thou art my own child, and carry in thy brow and -eyes the colour of a true daughter of Auvergne.” - -One needed only to look at them as they stood side by side, to see that -they were of one race. He, like the King, kisseth my Lady on the brow, -and then he turneth to the Duc de Berry, and placing in his hand the -little one of my Lady, he saith,— - -“One may not wonder longer at your choice, my Lord Duc.” - -This night, like the last one, we lay in the Abbey, but there was -feasting and gaiety, at least as much as seemed good in a holy house. -Then next day we took our way to Paris, my Lady riding in the car with -the Queen and her ladies, and I looked on her with marvel to see how one -who had scarce seen aught but a squire’s lady and the wenches about the -castle, and those who had taught us, could bear herself so bravely, as -if all her life she had known aught but courts. - -Then after a brief space cometh the marriage at Paris, where King -Charles himself giveth the bride away. For five days there were masques -and feastings, balls and jousts, in which even the King takes a part. -Many of these balls were at the Palace of St. Pol, where lived the King -and Queen; some there were at the Hôtel de la Reine Blanche, where dwelt -the Queen of Navarre, and there were others yet at the Hôtel de Nesle -which the Duc de Berry gave to my mistress, the Duchess Eleonore, for -her wedding gift. - -Methought we had been merry at Orthez, but at Paris it was like a -minstrel’s tale! - -Who can wonder that my mistress was happy? She sang and danced, my Lord -Duc adored her, everybody loved her for her sweet and gentle ways, and -there were none about the palace but that she knew and cared for. - -“Jehan,” she saith to me one day, “art thou happy here?” - -“Yea, mistress, since this great city is to be my home.” - -“Dost thou never think of those days when we trained the dogs at -Orthez?” - -“Faith an’ I do, mistress, though it is but seldom, and I love the brave -doings here. Besides, where thou goest, there must Jehan follow.” - -The days slipped away and were none too long. I fed the pet squirrel -with its collar of fair pearls which the King had given to my mistress, -and the monkey too, and the flying birds, for my mistress loved ever to -have antic creatures about her. At the hunts I ride close at hand, and -as at Orthez, where my mistress the Duchess goeth, there goeth Jehan. -Once when we chased the deer at Val-la-Reine, the stag, a-weary and -dazed, took refuge in a barn. Our King, the Well-beloved, crieth out,— - -“Spare him, spare him,” for the huntsmen ran into the barn to cut the -poor beast’s throat. Then saith the King from his kind heart,— - -“Never shall this deer be hunted more. His life shall be his own from -this day forth.” - -Saying which, he pulled from his saddle-cloth a splendid fleur-de-lys, -and turned to some of his men for a chain with which to hang it on the -creature’s neck. None had one; so my Duchess took from her own neck a -chain of gold, and it was hanged about the deer’s neck to show that it -was the King’s, and none might do it ill. - -Each day there was some new sport, and I had scant time to do aught but -follow my mistress. As one morn she stood playing with the monkey, a -beast that had no regard for my fingers, but was ever pleased to be -petted by my Duchess, my Lady’s eyes roved to the beds of gay posies -that bloomed without on the terrace. They put to shame the ones we -tended in the old days by the castle wall, but my Duchess cried,— - -“There is not a posy here as bright as the poppies that grew at Orthez, -nor one so white as the gillyflowers. ’Twas a pretty garden, and I loved -it well. Yet I cannot say but what I love these too.” - -She stepped out on the terrace, and called back over her shoulder,— - -“See that the cup of gold that the monkey broke be mended.” I loved not -this task, since it seemed a shame to me that so grievous a beast should -have his food from so fair a cup, while many of his betters had none. - -Soon after my mistress was wedded to my Lord Duc, the great fair of St. -Denis was set out in the meadow, “Pré aux Clercs.” Thither went we with -the King, Queen, and all the court. Such marvels as were spread out -there for sale! Jewels and stuffs wrought with gold and gems; pictures -and holy books painted in colours and with gold; carvings made from -wood, and from the great white teeth of strange beasts which they saith -live in the sea; cups of gold shaped like unto lilies and roses; swords -and spears, battle-axes and shields, armour and horse-trappings, till -one knew not which way to turn. - -If it was a fine show in daytime, my certes, what a sight it was at -night! Every stall was ablaze with torches, and there were crowds of -strange peoples of divers colours and from far-away lands, with soldiers -and singers on every hand. - -My mistress had never seen before such a sight, no more than I; and she -chose many a rich and curious toy, and my Lord Duc smiled, and gave her -all her heart’s desire. - -Yet think not that my Lady had ever gauds and merry doings in her mind. -Being but young, she loved these well, as what young maid does not? But -her heart was ever loyal to her friends, as presently I shall set forth. - - - IV - -It befell, after we had dwelt three years in Paris, and my Duchess was -just turned of fifteen, that there was tumult at the court. King Charles -the Well-beloved, whose fits of madness caused so much havoc (owing to -the mischief wrought by his uncles when he was too ill of mind and body -to rule himself) was again out of his mind. - -The Seigneur de la Rivière, whom my Duchess had ever loved since he had -arranged her marriage and fetched her to Paris to my Lord the Duc de -Berry, was, by the order of the Duc de Burgundy, seized and held to die. -His friends, lest they too should suffer for’t, feared to help him. The -King, as hath been said, was ill; the Queen cared not what happened so -long as she was not irked. But my Duchess clenched her little hand and -saith,— - -“He shall not die!” - -Just how to serve him she knew not; so she cometh to her Lord, the Duc -de Berry, and cast herself on her knees before him. - -“Oh, dear my lord,” cried she, sobbing, “this man who hath done no -wrong, and whom we know and love, must die, since none but I durst speak -for him.” - -The Duc, who loved her well, raised her and saith,— - -“Take comfort, dear one.” - -“But, my Lord, what comfort is there for me, when one who gave me -happiness and thee, is in danger of his life, and for no wrongdoing, -neither?” - -“Dear heart,” answered my Lord the Due, “I too love him, since he -brought thee to me, and what man can do, that will I for thy sake and -his.” - -“If he be not saved, then will I sorrow always,” wept my Duchess. - -My Lord Duc went forth, and though the King was only at times come to -his wits again, my Lord got from him a command that the Seigneur de la -Rivière should be sent overseas, and not slain. - -This did but half content my mistress. When the King grew well again, my -Duchess plead with him so prettily, that as he loved right well to -pleasure her, he allowed the Seigneur de la Rivière to come home, and to -him restored all his castles and his wealth. Greatly my mistress -rejoiceth, and giveth thanks to both her Lord and the King. - -Now the Seigneur, when once more in honour and in wealth he came to his -home, in token for his thanks for all she had wrought in his behalf, -brought to my mistress a coffer filled with rich gifts. The coffer was -in itself a marvel, since it was painted all over with little flying -boys, who bore in their hands flowers and wreaths. All the rest of it -was like unto gold, and it stood upon four feet cut in the shape of -great paws. - -When the coffer was opened, there seemeth no end to the splendid things -my mistress brought forth,—tissues glistening like moonbeans, wrought -stuffs of many colours, and chains and jewels. Chiefest amongst the rich -treasures was a length of velvet from the great city called Genoa, the -mate to which was not in all the court. It was blue in colour, the which -my mistress ever loveth,—just the shade of the sky of a sunny day at -noon. Wrought all over it in threads of purest silver were flying doves. -My faith, it seemeth as if their long wings fairly moved! - -“Oh,” cried my Duchess Eleonore, “never was such a lovely robe seen -before, and it cometh just in time, too, since the ball that Queen -Blanche giveth to the Queen’s maid on her marriage will be shortly.” - -My Duchess had the velvet fashioned into a robe so splendid that all -marvelled. It fell from her shoulders and flowed three metres’ length -upon the floor, and the doves of silver fluttered and shone with every -step she taketh. Above her brow rose the tall hennin that Queen Isabeau -so loved to wear and to have the ladies of her court wear also, and from -this fell a veil of silver like unto the doves. - -The night of the ball was at hand, and none looking on my stately -Duchess would deem that she had but fifteen years. So heavy was the -robe, and of such length, that as I walked behind I bore it for her. - -The palace shone bravely with torches and flambeaux set in the wall, and -borne in the hands of many lackeys all about the rooms. Our King, the -Well-beloved, no longer ill, was full of pleasure at the masques which -had been planned for this ball. He was scarce older than was I, since he -was but nineteen years, and when he was not ill, ever loved to mingle in -all the sports going forward. - -[Illustration: “NONE LOOKING ON MY STATELY DUCHESS WOULD DEEM THAT SHE -HAD BUT FIFTEEN YEARS.”—_Page 48._] - -The dancing had come to an end. Quickly a space was cleared, and as I -stood behind my Lady, a loud voice crieth out,— - -“The wild men, the wild men! Give the wild men room!” - -Of a truth they were frightful to see,—five chained together, led by a -sixth who leaped along in front shouting, all of them being covered with -long shaggy hair after the manner of some strange beasts. - -As the mummers passed, for they were but dressed to look like wild men, -I tweaked betwixt finger and thumb a bit of the fur, and lo, it was but -ravelled tow. Now I knew right well why the word had been passed that -none with lights should move about the room. With what wild shouts did -the mummers leap here and there amongst the guests! Some were affrighted -and ran screaming away. The leader of them all runneth up to my -mistress. - -“Dost thou know me?” cried he. - -Right firmly she held him by the hand. - -“Not yet,” saith she, “but shall ere I let thee go.” - -Then my blood froze with the horror of a scream I heard, then another -and another. In an instant mummers, guests, room, and all were in a -blaze. One of the company, to see the mummers better, had seized a torch -and held it near them. The tow sprang into flame, and the five men who -were tied together were instantly on fire and shrieking out. One only -loosed himself and ran and plunged into a tank for washing of the -silver, and which happened to be full of water. - -All through the tumult and cries there stood my Duchess mid the flying -brands, which I fought as best I might with cap and hands. - -“Come away,” I cried, “oh, mistress, come.” - -“Nay, help me to save him, Jehan,” was what she whispered back. - -Her fair veil shrivelled with the heat, the flying slivers blistered her -arms and neck. Cries of “The King, the King, save the King,” grew loud -and louder. Queen Isabeau fainted, yet my brave Duchess stood there till -every flying spark had been stamped out, holding gathered about her the -heavy velvet robe. When at last the fire was all subdued, she threw -aside the blue robe that had been so fair, and there under its scorched -folds, in his monstrous suit of tow, knelt the King, safe and unharmed. - -“Hasten, Sire,” cried she, “the Queen waiteth you. Throw over you -Jehan’s cloak lest some wanton spark fly near you.” - -The King hurried away, and then think not but that I hastened to get my -mistress home. And oh, my Lord’s pride in my Lady! - -And oh, the King’s words when he came next morn to thank her, kneeling -on one knee to kiss her hand! - -The sky-blue robe, say you? What became of that? - -My mistress packed it away in the coffer that had brought it from Genoa, -with her own hands, and from that time my Lord taketh for his pennon one -of sky-blue ground with a silver dove set in its midst. - - - - -[Illustration] - - THE PRINCESS WINS - _1417_ - - - I - -In my own youthful days, when turning over the leaves of storybooks, I -used to pause at those tales which began “Once upon a time.” I always -had a feeling that there was something of the fairy-tale about stories -which began in this fashion, and I should like so to begin this day. - -For truly the story I am about to tell you is but one incident in the -life of a girl whose whole career was so full of ups and downs—alas, -most often downs,—that it reads, even in the solemn old Dutch documents, -like the most fanciful tale of the imagination. - -When she died at thirty-seven, it seems as if our Jacqueline had dared -everything and lost,—lost kingdom, home, and friends. Yet even in a life -so full of disaster there were some bright spots, and in this story you -will hear how once at least our Princess wins. - -She was born, our heroine, at her father’s palace at The Hague on St. -James’ Day, 1401. The little girl was baptised Jacoba, in honour of the -holy day of her birth, Jacobus being the Latin form of the name James. -Gradually Jacoba was changed into the French form of Jacqueline, though -in the strange old documents of the times her name is written as Jacob, -or Jacque, or sometimes Madam Jake, and often as Jaque de Bavière. - -Jacqueline was born a princess, and when she was three years old, had -the title given her of “Daughter of Holland,” as she was the sole heir -and successor of her father, William the Sixth, Count of Holland, who on -the death of his father had succeeded him as Count of Zealand and -Hainault. - -In the Middle Ages, when might made right, possessions were held in many -cases by him who had the strongest arm, who could muster the greatest -number of followers and had the most powerful connections. Marriage with -princes who had great possessions of land or would inherit them was one -of the ways by which sovereigns of small states strengthened their -positions, and this was one reason why mere babies were given in -marriage by their parents. You see, the parents could not go to war -against each other when it was arranged that their children were to be -married when they grew up! - -Little Jacqueline was no exception to the rule, and before she was quite -five years old was formally betrothed to John, Duke of Tourraine, second -son of Charles the Sixth of France, called the “Well-beloved.” - -The betrothal of Jacqueline to her bridegroom of nine years old took -place in the old French town of Compiègne, where both the French and -Dutch courts were present. The fine old palace with its great number of -rooms was elegantly furnished for the occasion, and the little -Jacqueline had in her company Staes, Jan, and Hans, her drummer, piper, -and trumpeter! Now these were very important personages in those -times,—they amused the company when there was nothing else to be done, -they had their duties among the soldiers; and in some of the old papers -which are still preserved, and which show the expenses of this betrothal -down to the last groot, it is duly set down that Staes, Jan, and Hans -are each to have six French crowns to cover their travelling expenses. -This would be equal to about nine dollars of our money. - -Neither of the fathers of the two children was present at the betrothal, -for King Charles had one of his attacks of insanity, and Count William -had been bitten by a dog, and was not able to be there, either. - -But the mothers had seen to it that nothing was lacking to make the -ceremony a handsome one. The Dutch expense account tells of new clothes -for everybody connected with Jacqueline, even those who had to stay at -home having wedding garments and fine new hat-bands. - -When the betrothal ceremonies were over, the young bridegroom was handed -over to Jacqueline’s mother, and the two children were taken home to -Holland to be brought up together. - -From time to time they had presents sent to them from their subjects, -which seem more like taxes than free gifts, and which were duly set down -in the archives. For instance, there were fish and wine for John, and -there were many ells of “very fine cloth of silk” for Madam Jake. They -had a special dispensation sent them, too, so that they could eat meat -on fast-days; and this dispensation was extended also to the -napkin-bearer, the cook, and ten other servants who had to taste the -dishes beforehand. - -You see, our Jacqueline lived in the days when people were sometimes -poisoned by their enemies, so that royalty had “tasters,” who ate of -every dish before it was placed on the table for their Majesties to eat, -and if the tasters did not suffer, why then it was deemed safe for their -masters to eat. - -Notwithstanding all these things, the children passed many happy years -studying French, English, and Latin, and in hunting, hawking, riding on -horseback, playing tennis and ball, and, best of all, in skating on the -long winding canals. Perhaps they skated the “Dutch Roll,” and Hans, -Staes, and Jan went along too, to make things merry with the fife, -trumpet, and drum. These were their pleasures. It was a more solemn -matter when they had to learn how to rule their kingdoms and subjects, -for the little bridegroom stood next but one to the great throne of -France, and Jacqueline was heir to her father’s kingdom. - -They were married in 1415, when Jacqueline was fourteen years old. - -Two years later, her young husband, who, by the death of his elder -brother, had become Dauphin and heir to the throne of France, died. The -poor lad breathed his last at Compiègne, in the very palace where he had -been betrothed, whether by poison or from getting overheated at tennis, -none can say, but at any rate while he was away from his wife and from -his family. - -As if this was not enough, just two months later, Count William, the -kind and loving father of Jacqueline, died also. The poor girl, without -father or husband to protect her or her possessions, turned to her -Fatherland to pronounce her sovereign of Zealand and Hainault. - -But there were others who had their eyes and minds fixed on the sturdy -little kingdom, and, truth to tell, they were the last persons one would -suspect of such ideas, since they were Jacqueline’s own kinsfolk. But so -it was; and in order to strengthen her position, and to allow her -subjects to know and love her and to pay her their vows of fealty, -Jacqueline, as was the custom in those times, started on a “progress,” -or tour through her various cities. - -These royal progresses were very splendid affairs, we can hardly imagine -them now, and on this occasion Jacqueline’s mother bore her company, and -there were many of her most powerful nobles as well. - -On June 12, 1417, when the cavalcade rode into Mons, the whole city was -gay to welcome the young girl who came thither to take her vows of -sovereignty. How prettily the city, old even then, must have looked! -From the windows fluttered banners of bright-coloured cloth, many of -them worked with patterns of gold and silver! So large were some of -these banners that they stretched from window to window across the -street. Many were the arches wreathed with flowers and branches under -which Jacqueline passed, and streamers waved everywhere. - -Leaning from the casements were ladies richly dressed and holding chains -of flowers; and children were here, there, and everywhere, come to see -their little Princess, who was scarce more than a child herself. - -Many great lords there were as well, having come forth from their -castles on the wooded hills of Hainault, followed by their retainers and -serfs, the former clad in suits of bright armour and riding on -horseback, while the latter ran on foot beside the men-at-arms, and bore -on their collars the names of their masters, and their doublets were of -leather, and many times their feet were bare. - -Jacqueline on a milk-white palfrey, with her mother at her left hand, -rode at the head of them all. There are a few quaint old pictures which -show her to have been slender and tall, brown-haired, and without the -high cheek bones which are so usual in her countrywomen. On this -occasion her appearance was royal indeed. She wore a gown of cloth of -gold, which glittered in the warm June sunshine. Her coif, or headdress, -was bound by many a chain of gold and jewels, suitable to her rank as -Dauphine of France and Daughter of Holland. - -She had not advanced far within the city before a deputation of young -girls, all dressed in white, stood forth to meet her. - -“Hail, Daughter of Holland, welcome to Mons,” the leader of them said, -and stepping forward, hung her chaplet of flowers on Jacqueline’s arm. -One by one each young girl followed in turn, and Jacqueline, turning -with smiling face to her mother, said,— - -“Our good city of Mons shows its loyalty in pleasing fashion, Madame. If -all our other cities bear themselves like this, we care not for our -uncle of Burgundy, who seeks to take our inheritance from us, nor for -the Egmonts nor Arkels, nor any who are enemies of our house.” - -“In truth all seemeth fair, my daughter. Our good burghers always -respond to our need, though our nobles sometimes think too highly of -their power.” - -“Our loyal burghers! In truth they are our best friends. Yet remember -how many nobles ride with us this day, and have sworn to urge our cause -as though it were their own.” - -They rode slowly forward, the little Princess pleased and happy at the -homage of her subjects, bowing and smiling. At last the church of St. -Waltrude was reached. Here Jacqueline dismounted, and entering the dim -old building, walked slowly up the central aisle till she reached the -high altar. Here she knelt, kissed the holy relics, and swore to -preserve “all usages and privileges of the city, to protect the church, -to uphold the right, to dispel the wrong.” - -Then, seated on a lofty throne that had been set up beside the altar, -she received the homage of her subjects, and their vows of loyalty to -her and to her cause. - -After the solemn ceremonies at the church were over, the royal party had -a banquet given in their honour by the burghers of the city, who had -arranged many festivities to give them pleasure. - -Can you not see our Princess with rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes -standing at the table’s head? Her soft brown hair is tightly bound to -her head and covered with a cap wrought of threads of gold strung with -pearls. Embroidery of threads of gold and coloured silks in which the -Dutch excelled, enrich her gown, which is of the heaviest silk that even -Flanders can produce. Long chains of pearls, which were sold by weight, -hang about her neck, and fur of minever binds and edges the cuts and -slashes in her great sleeves and on the body of her gown. - -Besides the banquet, there was planned a tournament, a favourite -occasion for showing knightly deeds, and it was to be held on a grassy -mead just without the walls of the city, on the day following the paying -of homage, and entry into the city. - -Thither early in the morning trooped the inhabitants of the town. Among -the first to go were groups of apprentices, dressed in the uniforms of -their guilds or trade societies. These trudged on foot, glad enough of a -holiday. Mingling among them were serfs or bondsmen, easily to be told -by their metal collars. Some carried burdens for their masters who -should arrive later in the day, while some merely swung a cudgel, and -hurried on as if conscious of their lowly position. - -As the day wore on, the road was dusty with the men-at-arms, knights, -nobles, and their attendants, with substantial burghers with their -apprentices, and with groups of maidens from the town, eager to see the -gay company, and looking pretty enough themselves in their close-fitting -white caps and scarlet kirtles. - -Only occasionally, walking sedately by her father’s side, shrouded in a -long cloak to keep her clothes fresh from the dust, came some -tradesman’s daughter, her neck encircled with strings of coral beads, -and her gold earrings, handed down through many generations, a trifle -longer than those of the serving maidens, and the inevitable cap edged -with lace, or of finest plaited muslin, while theirs, though snowy -white, were of coarse material. - -Now and again amid the crowd swung covered litters, bearing either the -wife of some dignitary, or some high official who preferred this manner -of travelling to going on horse or mule back. - -At an hour past noon, out from the palace yard rode a troop of men on -horseback, bright in a livery of orange and black. Their business it was -to clear the road of any such as cumbered it, so that the passage to the -field should be kept free, since the Princess Jacqueline would ride -thither on her palfrey, to show herself to her subjects, who had -prepared the tournament in her behalf. - -As the cavalcade issued from the palace yard, there came first twoscore -knights riding two abreast, each in a full suit of armour which sparkled -like silver in the sun, each carrying his shield and a pennon of bright -silk. Then came the members of the council of Mons, in rich robes of -velvet, furred and wrought, and showing on their breasts the heavy gold -chains of their office. They were men who showed on their faces -intelligence and a sense of the importance of their office, slow to -smile and grave, but true as steel to what they deemed the right, and -loyal subjects when once won to their sovereign. - -Next came Jacqueline with her mother beside her, both riding on splendid -horses, whose caparison was as rich as cloth and gold could make it. -Right royally shone our Princess, robed in a gown of damask which showed -in the pattern tulips of many shades, the flower of all others most dear -to the Dutch heart, the which were made richer yet by stitchery of -brilliant silks. Around the neck and long sleeves, which reached almost -to her feet, were bands of ermine fur, and beneath the flowing cap, made -truly in the very shape of those worn by the peasant maidens, her hair -was bound with many a string of pearl. - -Behind her came those who were to take part in the tournament; and never -had Mons, staid old city, seen a sight of such splendour. Forty knights -came ahead at a stately pace, each mounted on a noble steed in trappings -of velvet, for the steeds of the fallen knights became the prizes of the -victors, and it was a matter of pride to have both horse and harness -worthy to be a prize. After the knights rode forty ladies, chosen for -their beauty, all richly dressed in colours of the gayest hues, mounted -on palfreys, each one riding alone, and leading by a silver chain a -knight completely armed for tilting, astride a splendid horse, which -also wore armour, and a plume of feathers. - -Minstrels and trumpeters followed along, blowing on their instruments; -and then came the people, shouting and cheering, and hurrying along so -as not to miss any of the sport at the field. - -It was a lovely sight that met their eyes when the mead was reached. The -grassy sward was dotted with gay and constantly changing groups, bright -awnings and banners were stretched to keep off the sun from spectators -and combatants, and almost encircling the tilting ground were fine -trees, beneath whose shade many horses were tethered, while their -attendants lounged on the grass. So busy were all with the scene before -them, that none noted the cloud rising dark above the horizon, and he -who called attention to it would have been but deemed a churl for his -pains. - -In the little enclosure set apart for the Princess and her immediate -attendants, the hangings were of equal splendour with the rest of the -arrangements. It was hung with gay strips of cloth, and with chains of -flowers, and it was placed midway between the lists, so that the tilting -could be seen to the best advantage. - -All was ready; the heralds rode forth, each with his silver trumpet at -his lips prepared to announce the opening of the fray, when a long -rolling peal of thunder startled alike the spectators in the stands as -well as those who stood upon the greensward pressing eagerly forward to -see the first shock of the encounter. - -The first peal was followed by another and another. The wind whirled -across the wide meadow and tore into shreds the awnings which had been -stretched against the sun. Rain descended in floods, and before -Jacqueline and her party could take shelter in the rude stalls that had -been built below the galleries, and in which the horses were stabled, -they were pelted with hailstones so large, and which came with such -force, that one of them left on Jacqueline’s cheek a cruel bruise. - -Even centuries later, and in our own country, women and girls were -burned as witches, and when our Daughter of Holland lived, many things -which would seem quite natural to us were called “omens,” and were -supposed to foretell either good or ill. - -This hail-storm was judged a bad omen for poor Jacqueline. So strong a -hold did it take on the superstitious people that while many important -transactions and details of history are lost, a full account of this -storm has been left in various Dutch documents, with fabulous tales as -to the size of the hailstones, and that they killed cattle and ruined -crops. Thus sadly ended for Princess Jacqueline the day that had opened -so fair. Right bravely did she bear the hurried ride back into the city. -With her mother she withdrew into their apartments as soon as they -reached Mons, and was seen no more that night. - -Indeed so wrought upon was Jacqueline by the great storm and the -misfortune attending it, that, as soon as they were alone, she exclaimed -to her mother,— - -“Let us away as soon as our train can be made ready.” - -“Nay, dear child, that would but incense our good people of Mons, who -did their best to pleasure and to honour you.” - -“But, mother, that is all past, and see the grievous bruise upon my -cheek. It ill becomes the face of a princess.” - -“That it does, my dearest, but it is but just to remember that, cruel -though it be, unguents and laving it with soft water will heal it, and -by the morrow thy cheek will show no stain. Neither must thou forget -that for this bruise none of thy subjects should be blamed.” - -To this the little Princess made no reply, yet could not her mother -induce her to remain longer in the city; and shortly after sunrise the -next morning, the cavalcade took their way from the city of Mons, -Jacqueline travelling in a litter, since she chose not to show herself -again in that ill-omened place. - - - II - -After the mishap at Mons, the young Princess journeyed to other of her -loyal towns,—to Delft, to Leyden, to Amsterdam and Haarlem. Though all -these cities paid homage to Jacqueline as their sovereign, and supported -her claims to Zealand and Hainault, there was a strong party growing up -against her, chiefly on account of her youth, and because she was a -girl. - -The headquarters of this party was at Dordrecht, the one city which -refused to pay homage to Jacqueline. Here in Dordrecht the leaders of -the opposing party were joined by one of the uncles of Jacqueline, known -as “John the Pitiless,” who was eager to rob his niece of her -inheritance. He proposed to be appointed governor, and in this way -gradually get into his own hands the whole power. - -Now indeed Jacqueline showed that she was strong at heart, for though -but sixteen, she immediately took steps in person to suppress all such -designs on the part of her uncle, and levied troops, gathered supplies, -and started towards rebellious Dordrecht. - -Right bravely she looked, our little Princess, as she rode at the head -of her troops, and ever from time to time she turned to her mother with -a bright smile, and some such word as— - -“Courage, dear Madame, ever saw you troops with braver front than ours?” - -Or, after a pause,— - -“Think you that mine uncle of Burgundy will expect to see us in person, -come to defend our rights?” - -“Thou art my brave girl. Wouldst that thy father wert here to guard and -guide thee!” - -But her mother looked anxious, and as she rode in her litter near her -daughter, it was she who from time to time called to her side those -brave nobles who had espoused her daughter’s cause, and to whose advice -she looked to bring the assault to a successful conclusion. - -After the first day’s march Jacqueline’s bright confidence was shaken. -Wearied with being all day in the saddle and bearing the weight of her -suit of armour, even though the shirt was of the finest Milan steel and -flexible and light, Jacqueline dismissed all her attendants, and begged -her mother to bide with her for a space before going to rest. - -When all were gone and they were alone together and the curtains to the -tent secured, poor Jacqueline, but a tired girl after all, cast herself -down beside her mother, and hid her face in her lap. - -“Oh, mother,” cried she, “methinks I’d give all Dordrecht to be once -more in our own palace in The Hague, safe sheltered in mine own room, -and rid of this armour which chafes me so!” - -“Nay, daughter, speak not so loud, bend thy lips to mine ear, for truly -it would shame you much should the men-at-arms without hear thy -plaints.” - -“But, mother—” - -“Lower, dear child, speak lower. What! weeping? Countess of Hainault and -Daughter of Holland shedding tears?” - -“Thy daughter was I, mother, before I was Daughter of Holland. So -fearsome am I of those cruel men we go to meet, with their spears and -arrows. Methinks that already I feel them in my flesh”; and at the very -thought there were fresh showers of tears. - -“Can this be my brave Princess? Is this the maid of whom her father -said, ‘Brave as a lad, with more wisdom than her years, and better -fitted to rule than many an elder one’? Sure, child, the hailstones have -in truth bewitched thee!” - -“Ah, mother, I will be brave to-morrow, since needs I must. But say thou -wilt not leave me this night? Stay with me; the darkness affrights me, -mother.” - -“Truly I had no thought not to stay with thee, dear child. See, give me -thy hand, and I will sit beside thy couch till thou art fast asleep.” - -Jacqueline threw herself on the couch which had been hastily spread in -her tent, and made soft with the skins of fox and of bear, and drew over -her buckskin doublet a cloak of frieze. - -“Kiss me, mother, as though I were once more thy little daughter, and -leave me not”; and holding her mother’s hand as she had done in -babyhood, our poor little Daughter of Holland, from very weariness, fell -fast asleep. - -Before dawn the next day all the camp was astir. The sound of the -armourers at work, the stamping and neighing of horses, the shouts of -the soldiers as they hurried about their labour, made a din quite at -variance with the quiet of the night, when the only sounds which -disturbed the solitude were the cries of the sentries that all was well, -and the occasional whinny of some restive horse. - -Yet still Jacqueline slept on, and by her side her mother watched, -hoping that the sounds from without would penetrate the deep sleep of -the weary girl. At last, at the door of the tent itself, sounded the -notes of the bugle, and Jacqueline started up, her eyes clear and -flashing, as she turned to the patient watcher at her side. - -“Once more Countess of Hainault, dearest lady,” she cried, “Jacqueline -the little girl has fled back to her childhood.” - -Her mother drew a long breath and smiled in return. - -“Let us praise St. James for that,” she answered, and pushed aside the -hanging folds that covered the opening to the tent, so that the fresh -morning air would sweep within. - -“Hail, Lady, a bright awakening and a joyous day”; and forward pressed -two pages, special attendants to Jacqueline herself, and like her -dressed in suits of bright armour. But while theirs glittered as bravely -as hers, on her helmet, on her shield, and on any smallest spot which -offered a space for the tool of the goldsmith, there were wrought the -various heraldic devices which belonged to the Countess by right of her -great and royal descent. - -The younger of the two pages—so young in fact that his cheek was scarce -less rosy and fair than that of his young mistress—bore her sword and -spear, which gleamed in the cold beams of the wintry sun. The elder of -the two carried her shield and pennon, the last of fine blue silk, -showing the arms of Bavaria quartered with those of Hainault-Holland, -and watching over these was deftly embroidered the image of the Virgin -and Child. - -Jacqueline came to the door of her tent, and as her eyes watched the -busy scene, she looked both rested and well pleased. - -“A fair omen for the Daughter of Holland this day,” she said, and -pointed towards where the lad stood with her pennon. The bright clouds -in the sky had but touched the faces of the Holy Virgin and the Child, -and reflected in the silver threads with which they were wrought, caused -them to glow with almost the colours of true flesh and blood. - -“The Countess speaks well,” said Eberhard, Lord of Hoogtwoude, than whom -Jacqueline had no more faithful follower, and who had just come up from -the camp to see how the young Countess had rested. - -“A fair sleep and a long one, thanks to my lady mother,” said -Jacqueline, turning to her with a loving glance, “who was ever wont to -take upon her own shoulders the burden of my humours.” - -Full well did Jacqueline repay the kindness of her mother, by her love -for that lady which her dignity never caused her for a moment to -conceal. Going once more within the tent, she bathed in water fresh and -cold, and though the air was a thought too keen, she had the armourer -summoned to rivet on her greaves, so that the legs below the knee should -be well protected, lest some who were on foot among the enemy might get -near and do her harm. - -“Bring my helmet,” next she ordered, “and sling it to my saddle bow, for -this cap of velvet shall serve me to wear till we near the troops which -my false uncle hath gathered.” - -Kissing her mother, she whispered in her ear,— - -[Illustration: “ON, FOR THE LOVE OF THE DAUGHTER OF HOLLAND, DEATH TO -THOSE THAT DENY HER.”—_Page 87._] - -“Fear not, lady, I be a lad this day”; and then placing her spurred foot -on the knee of her page, she mounted easily into her saddle. Once on the -back of her war-horse, her courage rose higher still, and seizing her -pennon in her hand, she drove her horse onward, shouting in her sweet -young voice,— - -“On, for the love of the Daughter of Holland, and death to those that -deny her!” - -Across the low bare fields and through the scrubby woods rode the small -army, which numbered barely a couple of thousand men. When the sun stood -high in the heavens and showed the hour of noon, though the wind was -keen and little comfort was to be had, they rested, for the sake of the -horses as well as the men. - -Whilst they stopped thus, and with fires and food sought to take such -ease as they could command, a band of picked men, less than a score, -rode forward to gain what news they might of the enemy. Soon they could -be seen spurring quickly back, and they brought the welcome news that -“John the Pitiless” was encamped just without the town of Grocum, that -the men were scattered about as if preparing to halt for the remainder -of the day, and that they had learned from some faithful adherents of -the Princess Jacqueline’s, that her uncle had been able to muster scarce -five hundred men more than were in her own little army. - -At this news all sprung to their saddles, since the brief winter’s day -was all too short for that which they had to do, and Jacqueline with -helmet on head and sword in hand, rode at their head. - -Scarce an hour’s brisk riding brought them in sight of the army gathered -from among those who opposed the Princess. There was much confusion -evident among them, and it seemed as if they had but just learned of the -approach of the Daughter of Holland, and were preparing to hold their -own as best they might. - -Straight as an arrow, forward to where his pennon showed the presence of -her uncle, rode Jacqueline. - -No need to shout encouragement to the brave men at her back, yet ever -and again she would turn and call, “For love of Holland,” or “For the -Virgin and St. James,” and ever and anon would come back the answering -cry, “For love of Holland,” “For St. James.” - -When almost within the flight of an arrow from the enemy, once again did -Jacqueline turn, and this time her cry was borne back on the wind with -the clearness of a trumpet,— - -“For love of the Daughter of Holland.” - -At this the hoarse shout that rose among her followers could have been -heard a league away. Still keeping her horse’s head straight for that -pennon she had marked so well, she sent her pages to the right and left, -bidding the soldiers spread in a wide circle, and never draw rein till -they had circled the enemy. - -On they came like a whirlwind; the enemy, seeming not to know what -manner of tactics they were like to meet, formed a compact body. - -The rushing mass of men and horses, with Jacqueline at their head, swept -madly on, nor paused nor swerved till they had flung themselves against -the enemy. In a moment all was frightful confusion, men unhorsed and -being trampled underfoot by the riderless steeds, and in many cases the -horses suffering themselves from wounds that had fallen on them instead -of their masters. - -Twice, above all the tumult and din of metal when spear met shield or -helmet, could be heard the cry, “For the Daughter of Holland,” and each -time it brought the answering shout. At these moments even the enemy -seemed to waver, as if they had not dreamed that their hereditary -Princess could be there in the thick of battle in her own person. - -Surrounded by the noblest of her kin and those of the highest rank among -her party, Jacqueline never gave a thought to her own safety. - -From right to left she flew, encouraging here, supporting there, -bringing up laggards to harass a weak spot among the enemy’s forces, by -the sheer might of her presence striking awe among the foe. - -At last one more stolid or more cruel than the rest rode straight at -her, his lance thrust at her breast. The good mail shirt she wore and -her trusty shield turned aside the blow, but so sharp was the shock that -she fell from her horse. Now indeed came in that training in -horsemanship on which her father had ever insisted, and in which she had -been practised since her earliest years. Still clinging to the bridle, -she managed to keep from falling, and with the aid of her faithful pages -who kept ever at her saddle, she managed to regain her seat. - -“Now, by all I hold dear,” cried she, “no mercy shall be shown the -enemies of Holland and my house.” - -From that moment with voice and example she inspired her weary men, till -with the fall of dusk on that December day they routed those that were -still left alive, and sent them flying over the waste country back to -Dordrecht. - -Many of the enemies of Jacqueline and her house fell during this battle, -the most noted, and the most vindictive as well, being that William of -Arkell to whom her father desired to wed her in the interests of peace, -but who stubbornly refused our little Princess and always remained one -of her most bitter foes. - -Her uncle, “John the Pitiless,” escaped and returned to Dordrecht with -the remnant of his forces. Nor was this the only effort he made to -capture her lands, but for years he pursued her relentlessly, and did -not hesitate at any means to gain his end. - -Involved in endless wars and intrigues both with enemies within her own -land as well as those abroad, the battle at Grocum was the only time -when Jacqueline, Daughter of Holland, led her troops in person, and no -amount of persuasion could induce her to assume command again. - -The night of the victory at Grocum, the little army encamped within the -city which they had wrested from the Burgundian party, and the -celebration of this happy event was accompanied with feasting and much -joy. A thousand healths were drunk to Jacqueline, Countess and -Commander, and there were toasts to future victories, and the rosiest -anticipations of success, the victors imagining that because of one -triumph their enemies would be vanquished. - -When the Daughter of Holland laid herself down to sleep that night, her -mother, with a happy face, bent to kiss her good night. - -“Mother, dear lady,” whispered this victorious Countess of sixteen, “I -pray you tell no one that last night I wept from fear!” - -Her mother smiled as she kissed her, and answered in her gentle voice,— - -“Thou hast my promise.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - DEFENCE OF CASTLE DANGEROUS - _1692_ - - - I - -The sun shone bright and warm on the little frontier settlement of -Verchères one crisp October morning in the year 1692. - -Though the settlement was small, it was pleasantly placed on the south -shore of the St. Lawrence River, not more than twenty miles from -Montreal, which was considered but a short distance from a place of -safety in those days when homes were being hewn out of the wilderness. - -The Seignior or Governor of the place was an old soldier, formerly a -captain in the renowned regiment of Carignan, which was sent to New -France to give aid and protection to the settlers, and to assist them in -repelling the Iroquois. The officers of this great regiment were -rewarded for their services by large grants of land along the rivers, -which were for many years the great highways. The officers in turn -rented out the land to the soldiers under them, and none save the -Colonel himself was allowed to return to France, so anxious was that -country to increase the population of its colonies. - -When our story opens, Seignior Verchères was on military duty at Quebec, -his wife had gone on a visit to Montreal, and they had left the little -family at home in charge of Madelon, the only daughter, a girl about -fourteen years old. There were two young brothers,—Louis, a lad of -twelve, and Alexander, who was about a year younger. There were, -besides, the settlers who looked on Madelon as the representative of her -father. - -We can hardly picture to ourselves what a very rude place the settlement -was, and as it lay near the trail of the Iroquois, it had become known -throughout New France as “Castle Dangerous.” - -At this time the Iroquois, containing the strong and invincible Five -Nations, had two motives which swayed their savage breasts most -powerfully; these were love of fighting and love of gain. They were -dependent on the Dutch and English at Albany for guns, powder, lead, -brandy, and many other things which the white man had brought with him -from the Old World, and which these children of the woods had come to -regard only too quickly as necessary to their comfort. - -True, beaver skins could buy these things which they coveted, but with -the Iroquois the supply was limited. The great forests stretching to the -west and northwest, and those of the upper lakes, were occupied by -tribes who were bound to French interests, and it was the French traders -who controlled their immense annual product of furs. - -Every summer there was a great Fair at Montreal, where the trading for a -whole year took place, and the remote tribes brought in their -accumulated beaver skins. The Iroquois saw and envied these furs and the -strong waters which they enabled their possessors to buy, so they became -more than ever bent on mastering all this traffic by first conquering -the tribes. The Dutch and English urged them on, for the Hurons, -Ottawas, and other tribes were the “children” of the French, working in -their interests and protected by them, while French and Indians alike -were enemies of the Iroquois. - -Thus it was no accidental attack that the French had to fear at “Castle -Dangerous,” but a determined effort by a race that could put nearly -three thousand warriors in the field, and that constantly increased this -force by adopting captives into the tribes. - -The settlement at Castle Dangerous consisted of the blockhouse, a strong -building made of timbers; of the house of the Seignior; some rude -shacks, and the fort itself, which was connected with the blockhouse by -a covered way. All the settlers lived in these buildings for safety, -since their pitiless enemy the Iroquois had always to be guarded -against. There were as well bands of wandering Indians that were -constantly passing up and down the trail that lay along the St. Lawrence -River. - -Rude and dangerous as the place seemed, Madelon loved it, since it was -home to her. She was brave, and had been trained by her father in the -use of firearms, to be cool in the face of danger and quick to meet -emergencies. - -The morning of the twenty-second of October broke fair, the sun rose -amid banks of purple and gold clouds, and as there was still work to be -done in the fields, the men of the settlement started off directly after -the morning meal, leaving the women and children, two soldiers, one old -man of eighty, and Madelon in charge of the fort. - -For a long time Verchères had been unmolested. The settlers had come to -feel that perhaps there was not much further danger to be feared from -the foe, and with this feeling of fancied security they had grown less -vigilant. Madelon, attracted by the beauty of the day, started to go -down to the landing-place, which hung over the river and made an -admirable spot from which to fish, the river being noted for the -excellence and number of fine fish to be found there. - -“Come, Laviolette,” she called to a French half-breed who was hired to -work about the fort, “bring some lines and perhaps we can catch fish -enough to serve for a meal.” - -They were busily engaged in this peaceful sport, when suddenly the sound -of firing was heard in the neighbourhood of the place where the settlers -were at work in the fields. - -“Run, Mademoiselle, run! The Iroquois are coming,” screamed Laviolette, -and taking her by the hand, they fled towards the fort. - -“Can we reach it, dost thou think?” - -“Courage, Mademoiselle! we are almost there,” replied Laviolette; and so -the Iroquois thought also, since they gave up the chase of the flying -girl, and contented themselves with firing at her and her companion. As -the bullets whistled by, she prayed aloud,— - -“Holy Marie, save us!” and as the words inspired her with fresh courage, -she shouted as she neared the fort,— - -“Help, help, to arms!” Her wild call was not heard, and at the very gate -itself were two sobbing women who from the battlement of the fort had -seen their husbands murdered in the field, and stood wringing their -hands in misery. - -“Oh, come within, come in, think of the children”; and as she spoke, -Madelon pushed the two women in before her, and with the aid of -Laviolette shut the heavy gate. - -“Where are the soldiers?” was her next question. - -“Hidden in the blockhouse, sister”; and Louis, the elder of the two -boys, came to meet his sister with a gun in his hand. They ran together -to the blockhouse, and there, sure enough, were the two men, crazed with -fear, and one of them holding in his hand a lighted fuse. - -“What do you with that fuse?” - -“Light the powder and blow us all up,” cried the soldier, while his -companion, huddling in the corner, only moaned. - -“Miserable coward, go from this place at once!” and Madelon’s voice rang -with such determination and command that the man obeyed. - -“See, since none of you dare, I myself will defend this fort, for my -father would have shame if his daughter could not keep it, when there -are arms and powder and those that can use them.” - -“Sister,” said Alexander, “give me a gun, for I too can load and fire -one.” - -“Truly thou shalt have one, little brother. We shall fight to the death. -Remember what our father hath taught us, that men are born to shed their -lives for their country and their king. Though I be but a girl, I shall -do as he would wish, since neither of you is old enough to take command -here.” - -Even the craven soldiers, inspired with some small degree of courage, -agreed to follow their intrepid commander, whose first order was that -they should make a round of the palisades, that high fence of great logs -with pointed ends that surrounded the forts and blockhouses planted in -the wilderness, and to which many owed their safety, since they were -wellnigh impossible to climb, and the garrison within had those that -climbed at their mercy. As they hurried to the palisades, Madelon put on -her head one of the soldier caps which she saw in the blockhouse. - -“Why do you put that cap on, sister?” asked Louis, with a curiosity -which he could not repress even at that critical time. - -“So that the Iroquois shall not think that it is a girl making the -rounds. You put one on also, and give one to Alexander.” - -The feeble band hurried to go around the inside of the palisades to see -that all was secure, for on this defence of heavy logs their very lives -depended. - -“Thank the Holy Virgin that we came,” Madelon exclaimed; for they found -not one, but half a dozen of the logs gone at different places, and had -this been discovered by the Indians, there would have been little chance -for the small band to have escaped being slain. - -“Help, Louis; push, Alexander! We can get this log into place while the -soldiers set up those that have wholly fallen down.” As she spoke, the -brave girl and the two little brothers tugged with might and main, and -got the heavy log in place, and held it while the soldiers drove it into -the ground, so that no opening was left in the palisades. All the other -weak spots were mended under her direction, the two men working as she -ordered, since they seemed incapable of taking charge themselves. When -the palisades were well repaired, and Madelon thought there was no -further danger to be feared from that direction, she said, - -“Now must we make the cowardly Iroquois believe that there is a strong -garrison within, and never let them think that my father is from home. -So let each one in turn fire from the loopholes, and see to it, boys, -that there is no shot wasted.” - -Finding that the firing was scattering but continuous, the Indians, ever -averse to making an attack on a fortified place, withdrew to the woods. - -Shortly, however, they discovered some of the settlers who had escaped -the morning assault, creeping back to the fort, and with horrid yells -the savages pursued and killed them. The women and children in the fort -cried and screamed without ceasing, knowing that their loved ones were -being killed without mercy. At last Madelon, fearing that they would be -heard by the Indians, and their distress taken as a sign of weakness, -ordered them to stop, and tried to busy them about the defence. - -“Load and fire the cannon, Laviolette; it will serve as a warning to any -of the settlers that may have escaped, and I have heard my father say -that Indians ever fear a cannon.” - -So the cannon was fired, and Madelon from her loophole saw the tall, -painted forms of the enemy take refuge in the forest. But this was not -the last duty of the little commander that night. From her place on the -bastions of the fort she saw a canoe with a settler whom she knew well, -named Fontaine, coming towards the landing. He was not alone, but had -his wife and family with him. - -“I must save them if it be the will of God. Laviolette, dost thou see -any of the Indians lurking at the woods’ edge?” - -“There be none very near at hand, Mademoiselle. Perhaps the cannon -affrighted them.” - -“I pray that it may be so, since there is none but thou and I to save -our friends, I fear.” - -“Nay, there are the soldiers. Sure, it is their business to venture to -the dock and bring in Sieur Fontaine.” - -“Listen thou, Laviolette, the while I ask them to do this.” - -The soldiers summoned before their little commander, though testifying -their willingness to follow all her orders within the palisades, -absolutely refused to risk their lives by going beyond its shelter. - -“’Twas as I feared; thou and I must save them, Laviolette. Thou shalt -keep guard at the gate, and I will to the landing and bring them -hither.” - -“Pray, Mademoiselle, bid me to go, and thou stay and keep the gate.” - -“Nay, for I have heard my father say that the Indian is ever wary about -that which he doth not understand. They will marvel why I go alone to -the landing, and doubtless think it but a ruse to draw them hither, so -that we may train the cannon on them again. If they appear, go thou in -and bar the gate, since we must save the fort at any cost, and as many -lives as is possible.” - -So Madelon, with a bravery that might have put to shame the soldiers -skulking within the fort, alone and in full sight, walked down to the -landing, assisted Fontaine to take his family and goods from the canoe, -and placing the party in front of her, marched back to the fort entirely -unmolested. As she hoped, the Indians, seeing her put so bold a face on -the matter, suspected that they had something to fear from the occupants -of the fort; so, while they hesitated, Madelon acted. Once within the -stronghold, how the little party wept and prayed with joy! - -“Now indeed I feel as if there was hope, since thou art here to help me, -Sieur Fontaine. There are enough so that we may divide the watch, and as -long as daylight lasts, to fire on the enemy if ever one is seen to show -himself. Thou, Louis, and Alexander as well, shalt take turns at the -loopholes, and see that thy aim go not astray.” - -The rest of the day was spent in making all the defences as strong as -possible, in which Fontaine gave valuable assistance, for he was a brave -man, accustomed to the wiles of the murderous enemy, and wise in the -ways of border warfare. - -At sunset a fierce northeast wind began to blow, and the first snow of -the season mixed with hail filled the air, making it deadly cold and a -night to try the spirits of the small band who were fighting for their -lives. At first Madelon hoped that the storm would drive the Indians to -shelter for the night, but they were constantly seen appearing at the -edge of the woods, and, as it seemed, making preparations for an attack -under cover of the darkness, and to gain entrance into the fort that -night. - -“Go, Louis, and tell all the men that I would speak with them.” - -When the whole force was mustered, there were but six in all, two of -them boys and one an old man over eighty. Madelon spoke to them thus,— - -“God has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies, and let us pray -that we shall escape their snares to-night. As for me, know that I am -not afraid. See, I will keep the fort with the old man and my brothers, -whilst you, Pierre Fontaine, and the two soldiers, La Bonté and Gachet, -go into the blockhouse with the women and children, as it is the safest -place. If I am taken, do not you surrender, even if the horrible -Iroquois cut me to pieces and burn me before your eyes. I am but one, -and in the blockhouse they cannot reach you if you care for yourselves -as you should. So all to your places, and may God keep us through the -night.” - -Madelon tramped off to her chosen place of duty, with the old man and -her young brothers. - -“Louis,” she said, “choose thou the place on the bastion where thou wilt -serve, Alexander shall choose next, then the old man, and I shall take -the last.” - -Each did as he was bidden, and all night through the wind and storm the -two little boys, the aged man whose fires of life had burned so low, and -the young girl kept vigil. All night long the cries of “All’s well” rang -from bastion to blockhouse, making it appear as if the place was fully -manned by a large garrison. At about one o’clock the old man who was on -guard at the place on the bastion nearest the gate, called out,— - -“Mademoiselle, I hear something, mayhap the enemy.” - -His voice quavered with fear and fatigue, and as Madelon hurried to him -she feared the worst had come. - -“Where is it that thou hearest something?” asked Madelon, hardly above -her breath. - -“There, just below, at the gate of the fort.” - -“Surely I see them too, and well I know the poor creatures, since for -many a day this summer past have I driven them to pasture.” - -The snow had whitened the ground, so that Madelon’s bright eyes had been -able to distinguish that the dark forms huddled at the gate were the -poor remnant of the cattle that had not been killed or driven off by the -Iroquois. Summoning the others from the blockhouse, they took counsel -together as to whether they should open the gate and let the cattle in. -The men were all anxious to do this, but Madelon feared the crafty foe. - -“How canst thou tell but what we let in the savages also? Such creatures -of wile are they, that we know not if they be not concealed in the hides -of the beasts already slaughtered, and if we are simple enough to open -the gate they may enter the fort.” - -An hour passed, and still the cattle stood there, and there were no -signs that the enemy was among them. So at last Madelon called Louis and -Alexander. - -“Brothers,” she said, “we must get in the cattle if it be possible. You -shall stand on either side of the gate and have your guns cocked, while -I go forth and drive the beasts in. If the Indians make a rush, shoot, -and then shut the gate as quickly as thou canst.” - -The heavy gate was swung back, and Madelon stepped out. It did not take -long for her to drive in the few cattle that remained of the generous -herd that had gone to pasture that morning. - -The remainder of the night passed away without any further alarms, and -when darkness disappeared, many of the fears and anxieties of the small -garrison disappeared also, as it is always easier to face the fears that -may be seen than those that are born of the imagination. - - - II - -With the dawning of the second day of the defence of Castle Dangerous, -the spirits of all rose, all, that is, except one, and this was Dame -Marguerite, the wife of Sieur Fontaine. She, poor soul, had but lately -come from Paris, and was yet a stranger to the difficulties and dangers -of life in the wilderness. - -Her complaints were unceasing, and she gave her husband no rest, -constantly imploring him to carry her to another fort. Her selfish -thought was for herself alone, and she cried,— - -“Save me, Pierre, save me. Was it to expose me to such horrible danger -that you sent for me to come from Paris, where I was safe and happy?” - -“I sent for you and our children, that we might all be together and make -a home in this new free land. But methinks that perhaps it had been best -to let thee remain where thou wast, and where there was nothing to -disturb thy ease.” - -“It is in my heart to wish well that I was there again, Pierre, and had -never seen this hateful wilderness. Oh, wilt thou not take me to some -place of safety ere I die with fright?” - -“Peace, woman, and shame me no further by thy childish plaint, for the -very children are more brave than thou. As for Mademoiselle Madelon, she -has the courage of a man, though she is but a girl, nor will I ever -leave this fort while she is here to defend it.” - -After this the woman subsided into a peevish quiet, which was at least -easier to bear than her complaints. All the others, even those who had -lost fathers, husbands, or brothers, put aside their griefs, and united -in an effort to compass their common safety. The meals were served out -as usual, the work inside the fort progressed as it did each day, since -each one felt that the best way to keep grief at bay was to occupy one’s -self in helping others. During the middle of the afternoon all the -people were called together by Madelon, so that their situation could be -discussed. The soldiers, poor creatures, knew not what to counsel, and -sought only to stay in the blockhouse, the safest spot. Small account -was taken of them, though they were the very ones to whom the others -should have looked for protection. - -Sieur Fontaine, the old man, and the two boys were of course for -staying, and not endeavouring to escape by night down the river. -Encouraged by them, Madelon made a little speech to the garrison and the -women and children under their charge. - -“Dear friends,” said she, “never willingly will I give up the fort. -Rather would I die than that the enemy should gain it. Hear what my -father said to me, that it was of the greatest importance that the -Iroquois should never gain possession of any French fort, since, if they -gained one, soon they would grow more bold, and think they could get -others, and after that all safety would be at an end.” - -“What you say is true enough,” said the Sieur Fontaine, rising in his -turn to encourage the people. “Nor may any of us complain, if a girl be -brave enough to stay on the bastions for a day and a night without rest -or repose, and who ever carries before us a cheerful face. I, for one, -cry, ‘Viva, viva! Long live brave Madelon!’” - -“Viva, viva!” they cried, one and all; and the feeble garrison returned -to their posts, reanimated and hopeful that relief would come to save -them. - -For a weary week they were in constant alarm. Each day showed them the -enemy lurking about, and each night made them fearful that the attack -which had not come during the light would be attempted during the -darkness. But every night dragged itself away at last, and each morning -brought, if not the help so eagerly expected, at least courage to wait -for it. On the eighth night poor weary Madelon was dozing in the fort, -with her head pillowed on a table, and her gun beside her, when she -heard the sentinel on watch call,— - -“Qui vive?” - -She sprang to her feet, and with her gun in her hand ran up on to the -bastion. - -“Why called you?” - -“Listen, Mademoiselle! Dost thou not hear a sound on the river like the -splashing of oars?” - -“Surely yes; there are voices too. Canst thou tell if they be French or -Indian?” - -“No; they breathe so low, Mademoiselle.” - -Madelon put her hands to her mouth, and called low but clear,— - -“Who are you?” - -The answer came back in the loved French accents,— - -“We are Frenchmen. It is La Monnerie, who comes from down the river to -bring you aid.” - -The gate was flung open wide, but even yet Madelon’s caution did not -desert her, for she placed a sentinel on guard, and then alone, as she -had gone before, she marched down to the landing-place to meet the -soldiers. When she came face to face with Lieutenant La Monnerie, she -saluted, and— - -“Monsieur,” said she, “I surrender my arms to you.” - -Being a gallant Frenchman, and as yet hardly understanding the -situation, knowing that there were soldiers within the fort, he -answered,— - -[Illustration: “I HAVE COMMANDED THIS FORT, MONSIEUR, DURING THE ABSENCE -OF MY FATHER.”—_Page 125._] - -“Mademoiselle, they are in good hands”; but he smiled as he said it, -looking on the girlish form before him, with its soldier cap and heavy -gun. Madelon saw the smile, and who can blame her that she answered,— - -“In better hands than you think. Will Monsieur come and inspect the -fort?” - -The Lieutenant and his forty men followed her up to the fort, found -everything in order, and a sentinel on each bastion. He turned with a -look of surprise to Madelon, and asked,— - -“Why does not the commandant of this fort come to receive me?” - -“I have commanded this fort, Monsieur, during the absence of my father, -since there was none other either willing or able to do it. Will -Monsieur give me his orders?” - -The surprised lieutenant, after looking again about him, turned and -bowed. - -“What commands does Mademoiselle wish me to give? For my part, there -seems nothing for me to alter.” - -“If Monsieur will relieve the garrison, it would be well, since none of -us have been off the bastions for a week.” - -We can well imagine that there were deep and peaceful slumbers in Castle -Dangerous that night, and let us hope that the cowardly soldiers had to -take their turn at last at bastion duty. I cannot find in the history -that they did, however. - -Think of the pride and pleasure that Madelon’s father and mother felt in -their daughter when the news of her bravery reached them! - -What they said to her when she told them all about it, history does not -say either; but the facts of the defence were written down as Madelon -herself told them, in obedience to the commands of the Marquis de -Beauharnais, Governor of Canada. - -Even in those dangerous times, when one never knew what peril the next -moment would bring forth, and women as well as men took their share in -guarding homes and firesides, such wonderful bravery and determination -in a girl of fourteen did not pass unnoticed. Through the efforts of -those in power, Madelon was highly commended at the great French court -over seas, and was granted a pension by the King, to be paid to her each -year as long as she should live. - -In another encounter with Indians many years later, she saved the life -of a French gentleman whom she afterward married. All her life was -passed in the midst of peril, and on no occasion when bravery was -demanded was Madelon ever found wanting. - - - - -[Illustration] - - THE PEARL NECKLACE - _1767_ - - - I - -“Good-bye,” she said. - -And then again, “Good-bye.” - -The voice of the young girl was choked with sobs, and tears rolled -slowly down her cheeks. - -“Good-bye, dear garden; good-bye, dear home”; and as she spoke she -stopped and looked up at the old grey chateau which the warm afternoon -sun had made glow with tints of rose and gold. - -She made a pretty picture standing there, even though her eyes were red -with weeping, for her clustering curls were drawn high on her graceful -head with a great comb, the lack of powder letting their bright chestnut -tones shine in the warm evening light. A gaily flowered gown of simple -muslin, less ample in its cut than the style affected by those who lived -nearer the court, was fashioned so as to show a slender white throat. -The delicate ruffles at elbow and neck showed that even in the country -Mechlin, the lace of the hour, had its wearers. - -Looking about, eyes even less partial than hers would cease to be -surprised that parting with so fair a scene should cause such grief. To -Clemence Valvier the chateau was home. There she was born, had grown to -girlhood, and though but seventeen was not only a wife, but the mother -of a tiny child for whose sake she was preparing to leave parents, -country, home, and friends, and seek that little known land across the -sea where so many of her countrymen had gained a footing in the -wilderness. - -The pointed turrets of the chateau stood out sharply against the deep -blue of the afternoon sky, and the glass panes in the small windows -sparkled as the late sunbeams rested on them. On one side huge vines of -ivy clambered up the rough stones till they reached the roof, and amid -their hospitable leaves sheltered many a nest of linnet and of sparrow, -whose cheerful songs made music at morning and at sunset. - -Clemence stood in the garden looking sadly at the roses whose sweet -profusion was due in no small measure to her care. There was the garden -seat; here the sun-dial; yonder, above the wall which bounded the -garden, rose the dove-cote, around which constantly hovered some of her -feathered pets. - -“How can I leave you all!” she cried, as each familiar object rose -before her eyes. “My courage wellnigh fails me”; and she sank on her -knees before the dial,—a grey veteran which gave no hint of time this -afternoon, since it marked only sunny hours, and already the long -shadows cast by the chateau fell across its face of stone. - -Just at that moment, when she was almost willing to abandon the thought -of the long and terrible journey, she heard a footstep on the gravel of -the paths. - -“Ah, Clemence, dear heart, it grieves me almost past endurance to see -your grief. Say but one word, and I will go forth alone, and shall send -back for you and the little one when a home is made ready and when I -have some comforts for you.” - -At the first sound of her husband’s voice Clemence had jumped to her -feet, and running to him had laid her tear-stained face upon his -shoulder. As he finished speaking, she had almost brought a smile to -drive away the tears, and looking into his face she bravely made -answer,— - -“If it wrings my heart to leave dear France, Pierre, it would be a -thousand times worse to have you go and leave me here, me and little -Annette, for whose sake we undertake all these perils.” - -“If I could think that this was really so”; and Pierre, scarce more than -a youth himself, as he yet wanted several months of seeing twenty years, -bore on his face a gravity that is rarely seen on one so young. His dark -eyes were sad, and though he smiled when he comforted his youthful wife, -it seemed as though it was but to cheer her. In truth, all his life he -had comforted and protected her, for Pierre Valvier, like Clemence, had -called the old chateau, the rose garden, the long straight terrace, and -the fertile fields his home. - -Left an orphan at an early age, under the guardianship of Monsieur -Bienville, the father of Clemence, the two children had played together, -studied together, and finally were wedded, and now were preparing to go -forth to the New World together. - -At this time Louis XV sat upon the throne of France. He was a weak -monarch, devoted to his pleasures, and content to let his ministers -rule, although he always took an active part in all the religious -quarrels which disturbed and agitated France. Jealousy, which had long -been smouldering between France and England on account of the various -colonies in America to which each country laid claim, broke out into war -in 1756, and its effects were felt over the whole world. - -The brilliant victory of Admiral Galissonière at Fort St. Philip, the -chief citadel of Port Mahon on the Minorca Islands, the most important -naval victory which France had gained in fifty years, filled the whole -French nation with joy. Yet the succeeding years brought little but -ignominy and defeat, and The Seven Years War, as this struggle was -ultimately called, lost France not only the greater part of her navy, -but, what was even more galling, many of her possessions in the New -World. - -Disapproval of the King and his ministers drove to what was left of -these colonies in America many Frenchmen of high character who foresaw -nothing but disaster left for France herself. Among these was Pierre -Valvier, who sought for himself and his little family a home in that new -country where liberty of person and creed was assured. They were to -start on the morrow for Calais, and thence take ship for New Orleans. - -The old chateau—old even in 1756—stood upon a gentle slope looking down -upon the little fishing village of Étaples. Such a tiny village it was, -with its one-story huts,—you could scarcely call them more,—set upon the -banks of the Canache, a broad shallow river so influenced by the ocean -that when the tide was low the fisher-girls kilted up their scant skirts -and waded across with their baskets of shrimps upon their strong young -shoulders. - -Such a little village, and so poor! - -“Petit sou, petit sou, donnez-moi un petit sou!” That was the cry heard -on every side. There was hardly a hand in the hamlet which would not be -held out in expectation of a small copper coin, should anyone from the -chateau chance to pass through its one ill-paved street. - -Every year the poverty seemed to increase. Every year the revenues of -the chateau grew less,—which was but another reason why Pierre, young -and strong, should seek a home where those of gentle birth were made -welcome, and where the Crown gave broad acres of land to each and all -who would go and settle there. - -Still, even with Hope and Courage beckoning, the parting was sad for -all. Monsieur Bienville, the father of Clemence, was a soldier of the -old régime. Tall, elegant, with the true air of grandeur which is born, -not bred, he watched with sad eyes the preparations for departure. -Madame his wife could not suppress her grief, and declared that never, -never again should she see her loved ones. - -“Ah,” cried she, “the poor children will be devoured by frightful -beasts, I know it well,—if not by those that roam on land, by those more -awful ones which dwell in the sea!” - -The distant land was to her a wilderness, a desert; and, in truth, a few -miles away from the city of New Orleans it was little else. - - - II - -The rain was falling heavily as the old travelling carriage, drawn by -four horses, lumbered up to the door of the chateau the next morning. -Into it had been packed the necessaries for the journey to Calais, and -two heavy wains had been sent off some days previously, laden with such -goods as the young people were to take with them to the New World. - -Within doors the daughter was taking leave of her parents, and as if to -shorten the sad moment, her father took her hand, and placed within it a -packet carefully bound in silk. - -“Dear daughter,” said he, “see that this packet is carefully guarded. In -it is thy heritance, the pearl necklace which my mother had from her -mother, and which in its turn must go to thy daughter, the little -Annette.” - -“Oh, father, why give to me that most precious thing? Safeguard it till -we come again, as, if God is willing, we shall.” - -“It is yours, and then the daughter’s, and,” he whispered in her ear, “I -have added all the jewels which were my mother’s portion. Keep them till -time of need.” - -The impatient stamping of the horses on the cobblestones of the court, -warned them all that they must part, and Pierre led Clemence to the -carriage, where little Annette was sleeping on the broad lap of old -Marie, who had petted and scolded her mother through her babyhood and -was now going with her on that long journey to the land of which they -knew so little and feared so much. - -As if desirous of making up for lost time, Jacques cracked his whip, and -with the words, “Farewell, farewell,” ringing in the air, the coach -passed quickly down the long drive and through the gates leading to the -highroad, and turned in the direction of Boulogne, where they were to -pass that night. - -The familiar scenes of her childhood never seemed so fair to Clemence as -at this moment when she was parting from them. Here was the little -church nestling among the trees, where she had received her first -communion, and there stood Père Joseph, waving adieux from the old grey -porch, the unfamiliar tear stealing down his wrinkled cheek. - -Farther along on the other side of the road was the Rose d’Or, the -quaint old inn, before whose hospitable door the village yokels were -wont to gather of a summer’s evening and play at bowls upon the green. -The very signboard as it hung above the door and swung in the wind -seemed to creak “farewell,” and as the travelling chariot rolled by, -Clemence hid her face upon her husband’s shoulder. - -At last her sobs grew less violent, and as if to call attention from her -grief, little Annette awoke, and lying comfortable and rosy upon the lap -of her nurse, cooed out her satisfaction as only a healthy, happy baby -can. Pierre took the child in his arms, and the baby stretched out her -hands towards her mother, who, turning to take her, found neglected in -her own lap the parcel of jewels so carefully wrapped and handed to her -by her father as a parting gift. - -“See, Pierre, my father gave to me the pearl necklace which I wore on my -wedding day, and it is to be the portion of little Annette, when she too -marries.” - -Hardly had the words passed her lips, when rude shouts were heard, and -the coach gradually came to a standstill. - -“Halt!” cried a voice almost beside the window, and old Jacques the -coachman could be heard saying,— - -“But, messieurs, my master and mistress—” - -“Peace, knave, let thy betters speak for themselves.” - -At this a rude leering face was thrust into the window, and a man pulled -roughly at the carriage door and cried,— - -“Step out, and quickly too, and bring out your valuables with you.” - -“But we are travellers, and have with us barely enough to carry us to -Calais, where our ship lies at anchor,” said Pierre, trying not to let -his voice show his anger and disgust. - -“What will serve you will serve us also at a pinch. Is it not so, Jean?” -and he turned to a third ruffian who stood at hand, holding by the -bridle some sorry-looking horses. - -“Truth, if we take all they have, ’t will be enough, but do not wait too -long,” answered the one named Jean, who wore a soldier’s cap with a -soiled and broken feather trailing over one ear. - -At the first appearance of the highwaymen at the carriage window, -Clemence had handed little Annette to Marie, and in so doing had managed -to slip among her clothes the precious packet of jewels. She gave Marie -a warning look, and when they were commanded to step from the coach, she -begged, for the sake of the child, that it and the nurse might sit -within. - -“You can see for yourselves that neither the infant nor the aged woman -has aught of value,” said she. - -After hurriedly searching through the coach and finding nothing more, -the highwaymen contented themselves with carrying off Pierre’s sword and -a fair pearl ring which Clemence wore upon her finger, and a small bag -of golden doubloons which Pierre had in the pocket of his travelling -coat. The villainous trio had scarcely got safely away, when the reason -of their haste became apparent, for a captain and four men-at-arms came -around a turn in the road, urging their horses to a smart trot, when -they saw the travelling carriage drawn up by the side of the ditch. - -“Have three renegadoes passed this way?” called the leader, as they drew -rein. - -“Truly, but a few moments since,” said Pierre, with a rueful face, as he -thought of his bag of gold. “It would have pleased me much had you come -this way but a few moments earlier, since I then had been the richer for -a purse of doubloons.” - -“Stole they aught beside?” asked the captain, as he put spurs to his -horse and hardly waited for Pierre’s answer as they rode hastily away in -the direction the robbers had taken. - -When once more the coach was in motion, Clemence turned to Annette and -clasped her in her arms, saying,— - -“Of a truth, little one, ’twas fortunate indeed that you saved your -inheritance this time,—you and Marie.” - -“Let us hide the packet better, Madame,” said Marie. “Who can tell when -another band of cutthroats may be upon us, and truly, as thou saidst, it -was but chance that saved us this time.” - -Without any delay the packet was carefully tied among the long skirts of -little Annette, and Marie hardly ceased to tremble till the coach rolled -into the yard of the inn at Boulogne, and the red light streaming from -the open door showed them that warmth and shelter were to be had within. - -Early astir the next morning, refreshed and cheered because the rain had -ceased and the sun shone cheerfully abroad, our travellers during the -late afternoon of the next day entered the grey old town of Calais, the -little Annette unconsciously guarding the packet which held her -inheritance as well as the jewels which Monsieur Bienville had given as -a parting token to his daughter. - -It was quite dark when the carriage was at last unpacked, and not till -then did Pierre draw from behind a secret panel in the side of the coach -the store of gold which was to suffice for their needs on board ship, -and till they were established in the new home which awaited them on the -other side of the ocean. - - - III - -In the harbour of Calais rode at anchor the ship “Espérance,” which was -taking on passengers and their goods for the long voyage to New Orleans. -Owing to the shallow water, the ship could not approach the quay, and -all the watermen of the town were busy carrying back and forth those -who, like our travellers, were outward bound, or those who came merely -to say a last farewell. - -On the walls of the town were gathered a motley crew, who, not having -friends on board, sought to gain some excitement by watching the -partings of others; and as from time to time the chimes rang out from -the belfry behind the citadel, the little craft in the harbour became -even more animated, since they now carried out to the “Espérance” some -who had been belated on their way thither, and sought to get themselves -and their goods safely aboard before the turn of the tide should serve -to carry the ship out through the Straits into the English Channel. - -Watching this scene from the cramped deck of the ship, Clemence and -Pierre stood together, the former giving free vent to her tears, which -rolled unheeded down her cheeks at the thought that she was leaving -behind her so much which had hitherto made her life joyful. - -Her sadness was reflected in her husband’s face, and at last he spoke. - -“Dear wife, ’tis not yet too late to return. Say one word, and I can -call one of those dingeys which shall carry us back to shore.” - -“Nay, Pierre, I would go with you. But indeed I must weep, since never -again do these eyes expect to look on my beautiful France.” - -“I pray your sacrifice may not cost too dear,” said Pierre, pressing her -hand; and as she wept she whispered,— - -“The grief I feel at parting from France is naught compared to what I -should feel at parting from you.” - -Even as she spoke, there began such a scene of bustle and confusion that -Clemence perforce dried her eyes to gaze upon it. The sailors were -running to and fro stowing the goods of passengers away, and piled on -the deck were feather-beds and pallets of straw, each passenger -providing such beds and covering as his station in life permitted, since -the ship provided only the room in which these might be laid. Boatloads -of people were leaving the ship, some merry, some grave, and above all -the noise rose the sharp commands of the Captain. At last sounded the -shrill notes of the boatswain’s whistle, and the crew began to man the -capstan bars. One of the sailors commenced to sing to ease the labour -off a bit, and at the sound of the well-known chorus, - - “Ho, ho, batelier, batelier, - Tirez, tirez, - Ancre de flot, - Tirez Roget, tirez Notet,” - -the crew joined in, so that the bars worked like magic, and the anchor -rose into sight, then came short up, and finally, with another drive of -the bars, swung all wet and dripping at the bows. - -Ere this the huge sails had been bent into place, and now with the fresh -evening breeze began to draw, while from every side came the curious -creak and tugging noise which is present in every sailing craft. ’Twas -not many moments ere the “Espérance” had her nose pointed seaward, and -was bowling along with the white foam flying in her wake. All too -quickly the shores and buildings of the town receded from the sight of -those who gazed on them with tears, and even the belfry chimes had a -melancholy sound as they floated out over the water. - -Pierre and Clemence stood by the rail, rather apart from the other -passengers, and when the purple twilight had swallowed up France, Pierre -said,— - -“See, Clemence, a good omen. Look at the new moon.” - -“It is a happy sign, and glad am I to see it. How silvery it looks, and -see the horn dips not at all, which argues well for a smooth voyage.” - -Though the “Espérance” was not a swift craft, she was a steady one. -There were three weary months spent on board of her, and the moon proved -a false prophet, since they encountered storms and head winds, and in -addition had the alarm of pirates and the heat of the tropics. Worse -even than the perils of the Atlantic were those encountered when they -entered the Gulf of Mexico, where also pirates lay in wait, where there -were contrary currents, and worse than all, sandbars, upon which the -ship grounded. Many manœuvres were tried to ease her off, and there was -despair felt on all sides when it was ordered that the baggage should be -thrown overboard. Fortunately this sacrifice became unnecessary, as the -second high-tide floated her off, and slowly the “Espérance” glided into -deeper water. Pierre and Clemence heard with joy the rattle of the chain -as the anchor was thrown overboard in the harbour of the Belize, -thinking, poor souls, that the sufferings of the journey were over. -Clemence turned with a bright smile to poor Marie, who sat upon a pile -of bedding which lay on the deck, where it had been thrown in order to -be ready for departure from the ship. The old nurse had suffered greatly -during the long, tedious journey, and even now she looked sad and worn -as she sat there in the sunshine, holding little Annette on her knees. - -“Come, Marie, look less sad; soon will we reach the spot where our home -is to be. Let me hold the little one.” - -“Oh, Madame, little did I know of the horrors before us! Praise God that -we still live, we and the little cat.” - -“Truly the little cat and Annette seem to have fared better than the -rest of us,” said Clemence, laughing. “Let us hope there will be fewer -mice than you expect.” - -“But, Madame, a cat is so comfortable, and in this wild land there be -few enough comforts, I well know.” - -Just at this moment Pierre hurried up to them, and said,— - -“Come, Clemence, bring Annette, while Marie helps me, for the Captain -says we are to go ashore and wait at the house of the Commandant till -boats come for us from New Orleans.” - -It was with scant ceremony that our little party and some of the other -passengers were packed into the ship’s boats and taken to Dauphin -Island. Here they were made comfortable, and during the week of their -stay recovered somewhat from the sufferings on shipboard. - -It was in two pirogues and two barges that they at last started on the -trip up the river to New Orleans, and for discomfort the seven days -passed in this journey far outdid all the fatigues sustained in the -“Espérance.” - -“Oh, Madame,” said Marie, “who ever saw ‘Messieurs les Maringouins’ of -such size and with such stings before?” and as she spoke she waved again -the huge fan with which she tried to protect Annette from the ravages of -the mosquitoes. - -An hour before sunset the rowers stopped each day, and the whole party -encamped on shore, so as to get safely tucked in beneath the mosquito -bars before “les Messieurs” should begin operations. - -If the nights were dreadful, the days were scarcely better, since the -boats were piled high with goods, so that the passengers were cramped in -narrow spaces and hardly dared to move. In fact, the little cat in its -wicker basket, and Annette carried on the broad breast of Marie, were -the most comfortable members of the party. They had no fears of going to -feed the fishes, as had some of their elders. - -At length the weary trip was over, and when at length the boats drew up -at the landing much of the discomfort was forgotten. - -The Crescent City lay before them, the white-walled houses gleaming in -the sunshine, while the bells of the Ursuline Convent pealed a welcome, -and there burned before the chapel of “Our Lady of Prompt Succour” -votive candles, to commemorate the safe arrival of another band of -travellers from the distant land which every one in his heart called -“home.” - -“Pierre,” cried Clemence, surprise showing in every tone of her clear -voice, “but what a beautiful city! And oh, Pierre, behold the lovely -ladies! Scarce ever in my life have I seen such brave apparel.” - -Her eyes were fixed, as she spoke, on a group which came idly down -towards the landing, the ladies elegant in robes of damask silk loaded -with lace and ribbons, while beside them lounged officers in rich court -suits, both men and women wearing powdered hair and having their faces -decorated with black patches. - -Louisiana was passing through an interesting period of its growth, a -changing from the pioneer days when the young officers from Canadian -forts came down and made things lively with their merry pranks and -boyish larks, their ceremonies and festivals. The Marquis de Vaudreuil -was governor now, and brought with him the elegances and dignity which -he had learned in years of life at the French court. The French and -Swiss officers, but newly arrived, bore also the stamp of continental -training; and the house of the Marquis, reflecting as well as might be -the elegance of Versailles, was the centre of all that was most refined -in the city. - -Tradition chatters yet of the gracious manners of the Marquis, and there -are still drawn from chests and carved presses robes which once figured -at his balls, when court dress was the only wear. Though these gowns are -now faded and tarnished, in the time when they were first worn they -flaunted brilliant flowers on a ground of gold. The yellow bits of lace -at elbow and corsage are frail now as a spider’s web, but then they were -the latest patterns from Alençon and Flanders, and fit companions for -the jewels which sparkled amongst them. - -It was at this time, when New Orleans boasted the greatest beauty and -elegance of any city in the New World, that our little family landed on -its quay. - -It is hard to conceive that while within the limits of the city there -flowed such gay life as that seen in the Governor’s mansion, without, -and but a few miles away, were untrod wildernesses. - -But so it was. - -Pierre and Clemence rested but a few days before they sought out the -plantation where they so fondly hoped to raise a home and enjoy the -fruits of the rich country which they had chosen as their own. - -The roads were poor, horses high in price and not at all plenty, so that -Pierre bought some pirogues, a species of small boat, to take them and -their goods the twenty miles up the Bayou Gentilly, to where their -plantation lay. - -Poor Clemence, how gloomy looked the cypress swamps which stretched away -on either hand as the heavily laden boats moved slowly along! Strange -and unfamiliar were the long curtains of grey moss which swung back and -forth from the branches of the trees, seeming to wave in a ghostly -fashion even when there was no wind, and creeping up to the tops of the -tallest trees in its silent fashion, but ever turning aside from the -bunches of mistletoe which stood out, great rosettes of bright green -where all else seemed marked for decay. - -Even the brilliant-hued birds which flitted cheerfully from one twig to -another, and sang from time to time, did not cheer her, for they seemed -so unfamiliar, her mind clinging more to those modest-coated friends, -the linnets and finches, which she had fed in the rose garden at the -chateau at Étaples. - -Ever anxious to cheer her, Pierre said at last,— - -“Sing, dearest Clemence. It seems so long since I heard your voice.” - -“How can I sing when my heart is sad?” But even as she spoke she was -sorry, since she knew that the good spirits of the little party depended -largely on herself. - -“What shall I sing, Pierre?” she asked, after a moment’s pause, and -then, as if it had been on the tip of her tongue all the while, began,— - - “Chante, rossignol, chante, - Toi qu’as le cœur tant gai. - - “Pour moi, je ne l’ai guère, - Mon amant m’a quittée, - - “Pour un bouton de rose - Que trop tôt j’ai donné. - - “Je voudrais que la rose - Fût encore au rosier; - - “Et que la rosier même - Fût encore a planter; - - “Et que mon ami Pierre - Fût encore a m’aimer. - - “Tra la la, la la lere, - Tra la lere, de la ri ra.” - -No doubt it was the mocking-bird’s song which rang from the trees which -brought to the mind of Clemence this song, which had been a favourite of -theirs at home, and which told so musically of the nightingale’s song, -of the red of the rose, and of the love of “Pierre.” - -In five minutes the scene seemed to change from gloom to gaiety. Annette -was cooing, Marie kept time to the gay little tune with the great fan -which seldom left her hand, while the little cat in her efforts to gain -her freedom tipped over her basket and set them all laughing. - -The Bayou Gentilly, up which they were travelling in the pirogues, which -were hardly more than dug-out canoes, was bordered at intervals on -either side by the plantations of settlers who had owned the land for -fifty years and over in some cases. - -“Why, Pierre, how is this?” said Clemence, breaking off her song; “first -the wilderness, then, see, the fields are planted!” - -“These plantations are worked by the order of the King,” answered -Pierre, “and the little shrubs with berries which have such fresh green -leaves are the myrtle-wax bushes, from which wax for candles is made. We -ourselves will have our plantation bordering on the Bayou set with such -bushes as these; it is so directed.” - -“But I thought indigo and sugar-cane were what we were to plant. I know -that I could not bring half the things I wished, lest there should not -be room for the indigo seeds and the little canes.” - -Pierre smiled and said,— - -“Truly a house, dear girl, is the first thing to be considered, and that -may best be obtained by a good crop of indigo seed, since the planters -hereabouts must needs get their seed from France, unless some are -willing to raise seed only.” - -On the forenoon of the second day the boats drew up to the shore, and -Pierre, anxious, but looking cheerful, said,— - -“Welcome to your new home, Clemence. Give me the little Annette, Marie, -since she, with her mother, must be the first to step on shore.” - -“Home, say you, Pierre?” and Clemence laughed, and looked ruefully, too, -at the little log-cabin which had been hastily built by the negroes sent -on in advance by Pierre. - -“Patience but for a little while, and in place of that rude home you -shall see a house as fair as any in these plantations.” - -Laughing like two children, the young parents hastened to touch to the -ground one of Annette’s tiny feet cased in its sandal, and as Monsieur -Valvier handed the child back to its mother, he said,— - -“What is that which makes the child’s garments so stiff?” - -A warning glance from Clemence and a smothered exclamation from Marie -made him remember that it was the precious packet with the pearl -necklace and jewels, of which the little girl was still the unconscious -custodian. - -In New Orleans, indeed, they had been forced to draw on the packet, -since it was necessary to have slaves to help them build and plant, and -though there were frequent importations of them from Africa, the value -of one working slave was equal to a thousand dollars of our money, and -while it was generally paid in rice, Pierre, a new-comer, was obliged to -pay in money. In order to do this, and also buy the precious seed which -was so necessary, his own store was more than exhausted, and but for the -packet so thoughtfully provided by Monsieur Bienville they would have -been obliged to start out ill provided. - - - IV - -Although the log-cabin was far different from the old chateau, and the -garden planted with indigo and young sugar-canes a great contrast to the -rose garden with its sun-dial at Étaples, the young couple were not -unhappy, and little Annette grew apace. - -The only person who took the change sadly to heart was old Marie, and -her love for her mistress and the little one was all that kept her -alive. - -The fertile soil, so rich on the shores of the Bayou that it was fairly -black, was soon heavily planted. There were rice fields in addition to -those of indigo and sugar-cane, and for the home were planted -watermelons, potatoes, peas, and beans; figs and bananas as well as -pumpkins were abundant, and there were wild grapes and pecans to be had -for the gathering. - -With a gun the larder could be kept supplied with ducks, geese, wild -swan, venison, pheasants, and partridges, and, most curious of all, wild -beef, for unbranded cattle were considered common property, and many of -them escaped from the ranges and roamed the forests in increasing -companies. - -The second year the plantation showed the results of Monsieur Valvier’s -unceasing care, and he carried to New Orleans a crop of indigo seed -which exceeded by many bushels his greatest hopes. - -As the slaves pushed off from the landing, Pierre, standing in the stern -of the boat, called out,— - -“What shall I bring thee back, Clemence?” - -“Whatever you think I shall like best,” she answered, waving her hand in -farewell. - -“What for the little daughter?” and as if she had only been waiting for -the chance, Annette called out gaily,— - -“Dolly.” - -“How shall I get a dolly? Would you not rather have something else, a -toy or a new frock?” - -“No, papa, a dolly”; and Annette pressed in her arms the bit of stick -enveloped in a piece of gay calico which served her as a substitute for -the dearest of all toys. - -Two days later, when the little girl was helping her mother to gather -the wax berries from the twigs, so that the yearly supply of candles -might be made, they heard from the Bayou the cheerful song of the -negroes as they rowed homeward. - -“Come, mamma, oh, come and see my dolly”; and Annette ran away, while -her mother followed more slowly, talking to old Marie, who was carrying -in her arms a young Pierre, Annette’s little brother, who had been born -since they had lived in the new home. - -With a pleased face Monsieur Valvier leaped ashore, hardly waiting for -the boat to reach the landing. In his arms he held two parcels carefully -wrapped in silver paper. - -“Now, mamma shall guess first what is in her parcel,” he said; but -Annette could not wait for that, and stood close at his side, saying -over softly to herself,— - -“My dolly, my pretty, pretty dolly.” - -“Give Annette hers first,” said Madame Valvier; “it will take me much -time to guess what my parcel contains.” - -Annette sat soberly down and brought forth from many wrappings a -beautiful doll, with red cheeks and blue eyes, dressed like a court -lady, and newly come from France, as her father explained. - -“She is most too beautiful to love,” exclaimed the little girl, as she -gently held the gay lady; and the father and mother could only smile at -the serious face of the child as she regarded the doll she had so fondly -desired. - -“Now look at your gift, dear wife. I hope it will please you as much as -Annette’s pleases her”; and Monsieur Valvier put into his wife’s hands -the second packet. With almost as much excitement as Annette, her mother -unrolled her gift, and exclaimed with pleasure at the length of shining -silk which greeted her delighted eyes. - -“Oh, but, Pierre,” she began; but he stopped her with,— - -“Yes, I know what you would say, silks and a log-cabin. But I have good -news. The indigo seed brought such a high price that I have bought all -that was needful for a house, and already it is loaded on barges and on -its way hither.” - -“Good news, indeed, that is. Marie, did you hear that we are to have a -house at last? Who knows, perhaps it may be ready for the little -Pierre’s christening.” - -The parish in which lay the Valviers’ plantation also contained the -homes of several other planters. These were either earlier settlers or -blessed with greater riches than the Valviers, and their plantations -were dignified with dwellings which seemed commodious enough in those -days, simple as they would appear in our eyes now. - -The planters’ homes were often built in what was called the “Italian -style,” with pillars supporting the galleries, which were in reality -roomy piazzas. The houses were surrounded by gardens of gorgeous -flowering plants, and approached by avenues of wild orange trees. - -It was such a house which soon rose on the bank of the Bayou Gentilly, -among the trees which flourished in that teeming soil, and the rude -cabin was moved into the background to serve as the quarters for the -slaves. Nor were there gaieties wanting, for the planters visited among -their neighbours, the ladies coming in huge lumbering coaches drawn by -many horses, or by pirogue, while the men almost always rode, the -saddle-horse for the master being almost a necessity. - -The succeeding years passed quickly, if not too prosperously, and -tobacco was added to the productions of the Valvier plantation. Pierre -had made himself honoured and respected among the men in his own and the -neighbouring parishes, and his ardent love for France kept him ever a -Frenchman, even though his home lay across the sea. - -Annette was by this time eight years old, quite a little mother, as -Clemence fondly called her, since, grave beyond her years, she looked -out for the little brothers and sister who had been born at the Bayou -Gentilly. Poor Marie had died, a victim to an attack of the fever which -hangs like a dark pall over that enchanting region, and more care had -fallen on the shoulders of little Annette than really belonged there. -She saw not only to the welfare of the children, but ruled the blacks -and looked after the house in a fashion which astonished her mother, -whose health had sadly failed, and upon whose natural energy the -relaxing climate had laid its enervating spell. The French thrift which -is so marked a quality in the women of that nation seemed to have passed -by the mother and bloomed in the nature of the daughter, and Annette’s -efforts were all which kept the home from being better than a cabin, -left to the mercies of the negligent slaves. - - - V - -There was one thing for which Annette’s mother never lacked strength or -energy, and that was the celebration of the birthdays—“fête days,” she -called them—of the little family. There was always some little gift -forthcoming, were it only a basket of fine figs or a garland of flowers; -and for Annette particularly her mother always made an extra effort. - -The birthday of the little girl fell in June, that month when all the -world is dressed in flowers, and when the sky above seems to bend its -bluest arch. On this occasion Annette was to have a party, her very -first, and all the children from the neighbouring plantations had been -bidden; and papa had made a special trip to New Orleans and come home -with some wonderful and mysterious packages, which had been quickly -hidden away. At last the day arrived, and Annette felt it to be the -happiest one she had ever known. - -“To be nine years old and to have a party! Just think of that, Auguste!” -she cried, as she helped the little boy to dress. - -Auguste was thinking of it with so much glee that it made the dressing -of him more than usually difficult, and Annette turned to little Pierre; -but his whole attention was given to “keeping a secret,” for mamma had -said that Annette was not to know what her present was to be till they -were all gathered at the table for breakfast. - -But he knew, did little Pierre, and it was a hard burden not to tell -sister Annette. At last the little ones were ready, and Annette had seen -that the simple fare which formed the breakfast—fruit and hominy, with -coffee for the father and mother—was on the table. - -Such a clamour as arose. - -“Oh, mother, let me tell.” - -“No, let me.” - -“Oh, sister Annette—” But they got no further, for Annette herself -pulled the cover off a big box which was laid on her chair, and there -within lay a white dress—oh, such a pretty one!—and a little pair of -slippers, with long, narrow ribbons to lace them criss-cross about the -ankles, and, most lovely of all, a long blue sash, which had on its two -ends a fringe of gold. - -“Oh, dearest mother,” cried Annette, “was there ever anything so lovely; -and the little brodequins,” pointing to the little slippers, “and a fan! -Oh, mother, and you, too, father, how can I thank you both enough?” - -Her father kissed her fondly and said,— - -“My little daughter repays me every day.” - -The mother was well contented with Annette’s pleasure for all the pains -she had taken. - -“And, sister Annette, see, I gave you the fan.” - -“And oh, sister, look at the pretty mouchoir; that is from me.” - -And the happy Annette kissed and thanked, and they were all so pleased -that breakfast was quite forgotten and would have grown cold if black -Mimi had not put her head in at the door to remind them of it. - -When Annette had put on the new birthday dress, laced the slippers -around her slender ankles, and held the fan and kerchief, she ran into -her mother’s room to show her the effect. - -“See, mamma, it just fits me”; and she gave the small skirts a toss and -a pat, while her mother turned from the table where she had been -standing with a small casket in her hand. - -“Dearest Annette,” said she, in quite a solemn voice, “I shall let you -wear to-day what my father gave to me, saying that one day it was to be -thine. When you are grown to be a big girl, it shall be yours to have -always, but to-day you shall wear it because you are my good child, and -I love you fondly.” - -As Madame Valvier spoke, she clasped about Annette’s neck the pearl -necklace, the only remnant of the packet of jewels which had come from -France, and which had been drawn on when crops failed, or for the -purchase of slaves, or for some of the many needs in a new country where -money is scarce. - -“Oh, mamma!” and Annette’s voice was low with pleasure as she gently -touched the rows of shining pearls which seemed far too costly a jewel -for the neck of a little girl, and quite out of place over the modest -frock. - -“Are these really for me some day? Did grandpère say it should be so?” -and Annette listened while her mother told her of her grandfather’s -injunction, and how old Marie had hidden them in Annette’s own clothes -and saved them from the highwaymen. - -The time passed quickly before the little guests began to arrive, for it -was to be an afternoon party, and some were brought by boat on the -Bayou, while others rode on pillions behind black Philippe or Jean, as -the case might be, sitting very still so that the best frocks would not -be rumpled. - -Many games they played in the long, cool galleries, or on the grass -before the house. Ball was one of them, and when they were tired of this -they played at hide-and-seek, finding many good and secret nooks among -the trees and wax-myrtle shrubs, which were so bushy and so green. - -“What shall we play next?” asked Annette, anxious that her guests should -have a good time, and some one suggested “Hugh, Sweet Hugh,” that game -of many verses which has been played by high and low through so many -centuries and in all countries. - -The children made a pretty sight as, circling in a ring, they sang -merrily,— - - “Come up, sweet Hugh, come up, dear Hugh, - Come up and get the ball.” - “I will not come, I may not come, - Without my bonny boys all.” - -Even after the tragic death of Sweet Hugh their voices rang out clearly -till the last verse,— - - “And all the bells of merry France - Without men’s hands were rung; - And all the books of merry France - Were read without men’s tongue. - Never was such a burial - Since Adam’s days begun.” - -Then, half frightened at their own game, they scampered into the house, -where Madame Valvier was awaiting them, and where, spread on -trestle-boards, were all the dainties so loved of children,—fresh figs -with cream, sweet chocolate, little cakes made of nuts and honey, and -right in the centre a great round birthday cake with a dove on the very -top. - -At this last touch Annette was as much surprised as the other children, -and in answer to her wondering look her mother said,— - -“Your father brought it from New Orleans; it is his gift to you.” - -After it had been admired, Annette cut the first piece, and the merry -meal seemed over all too quickly for the children who had to take their -way homewards, reluctant to have an end put to such unusual festivities, -and not half aware of the necessity of being safe in their own homes -before nightfall. - -When the last one had gone, Annette took off her unaccustomed finery, -and, holding in her hands the splendid necklace, looked with wonder on -the round globes of pearls, which showed on their satiny faces the -shifting tones of rose, blue, pale green, and yellow. - -“Ah, mother,” she sighed, “to think that so beautiful a thing should be -mine!” - -“Remember always, little daughter, that it was first my mother’s -portion, then mine, and shall be yours, never to part with.” - -“Of a truth, dear mother, I should wish to keep it always. But,” and -here she hesitated, “you know the other jewels which grandpère gave have -all gone.” - -“Those were my own, but this is different, and should be kept always, -except in case of gravest need.” - -“Gravest need—what is that, mamma?” and Annette’s blue eyes looked up -solemnly into her mother’s face. - -“Does it mean to save a life, mamma?” - -Madame Valvier, hardly appreciating the earnest little soul which was -listening to her words, answered,— - -“Yes, to save life or honour. Now, put it in its box, and come with me -till I show you where it is hidden.” - -In a small room where the children kept their few playthings, some rude -toys and some bright shells and beans, Madame Valvier paused, and, -stooping, took from beneath the window a small board, which disclosed a -box-like cupboard lined with lead. - -“Here it is kept with the rest of our treasures, Annette, the papers -which belong to your father and the grants of our land. I show this -place to you because you have a wisdom beyond your years, and are indeed -my little comfort.” - -Annette’s face grew rosy with pleasure at these words, and holding her -mother’s hand, she whispered,— - -“I love you truly, dearest mamma, and I am the happiest girl in the -world.” - -When the little ones were in bed, Annette crept up on her father’s lap -and had the crowning joy of the day, a long story of his childhood’s -days in France; and she listened entranced, as she had hundreds of times -before, to his descriptions of the old grey chateau at Étaples, the rose -garden with its sun-dial, and, best of all, to the tales of how he and -her mother used to scull down the broad shallow Canache, and then at the -river’s mouth search among the rocks and seaweed for shrimps, while out -at sea the big ships went sailing past, with their white or brown sails -swelling with the fresh wind. - -Even with the interest she felt in the story, poor Annette, tired with -so much pleasure, nestled lower and lower in her father’s arms, and -finally her head fell on his shoulder. - -“She sleeps,” he said, “poor little girl, fairly tired out with too much -happiness”; and taking her in his strong arms, he carried her off to her -room, where she was soon settled in her bed, the process of undressing -hardly waking her. - - - VI - -With each succeeding year there were more and more settlers coming to -the flowery land of Louisiana. If they had flocked thither in the time -of the Regent, that clever and witty intriguer, they came more eagerly -during the reign of Louis XV, so shallow a king that it is hard to -conceive how he won the name of “The Well-beloved.” - -It was a strange company which made up the population of the Crescent -City, not only those from Paris with their elegances and velvet coats, -beneath which beat such loyal hearts, but rubbing shoulders with them in -street and café were many of far rougher exterior, who had come down -from the settlements in Canada, and learned to adore the little city -which was so different from the homes which they had left in the cold -North. - -Yet each and every one of these, marquis from France or pioneer from -Canada, or even the sad-faced Acadian refugee who had been welcomed to -these hospitable shores, had a heart which beat for France alone. - -With but the least assistance they would have swept the Gulf and made -themselves masters of that inland sea, and not only held the possessions -of the mother country on land, but added to them. - -Frenchmen in language and in their hearts, they put up with the -expulsion of their beloved Ursuline sisters, since the mother country so -willed it, only allowing themselves the liberty of giving vent to their -feelings by indulging in an unlimited number of satirical songs, -burlesques, and pasquinades, as they were called. Little did they know, -as they trod the white streets of the city, the deadly blow to those -same stout hearts which France was plotting,—France, whom they loved so -fondly and in whom they trusted so implicitly. - -Completely dominated by his prime minister, Choiseul, Louis XV followed -where this ugly, brilliant, inconstant man led, and trafficked first -with Austria and then with Spain, till in 1761 Choiseul put in shape his -famous “Pacte de Famille,” which united all the royalties of Bourbon -blood and which formed into one great band the thrones of France, Spain, -Turin, Naples, and Sicily. - -Although Choiseul had the audacity to frame this agreement, and Louis XV -had the folly to sign it, they did not have the courage to proclaim it, -and so it remained a secret for several years. - -It was not till October, 1764, that the news arrived at New Orleans that -Louisiana had, by secret treaty, been ceded to Spain, and instructions -were sent to Monsieur D’Abadie, the Governor, to hand over to the envoy -of Spain, who would shortly arrive, the whole colony and its -possessions. - -The blow was stunning! - -At first it could not be credited. To be tossed like a plaything from -France to Spain, that cowardly Spain who had never assisted them in any -way, who had not even fought to get them, whom they had outwitted and -overmatched in every contest,—this was too much! - -Not many hours elapsed before the city was in a ferment. Groups gathered -on the street corners and loudly denounced the proceedings. The -wine-shops held excited bands who declaimed in passionate language -against both king and country that could treat a colony in such fashion, -and the chorus which rose and swelled protested that it could not be -borne. - -Swift pirogues carried the news among the plantations which lay along -the Bayous, while men on horseback went to those in the interior. - -Meetings were called in the parishes first, and then a convention was -planned in New Orleans itself, to which every parish in the State was to -send delegates. The subject was to be discussed, and then the King was -to be informed of this cruel, this awful thing that he was doing, and he -was to be petitioned to listen to the voice which echoed his own tongue, -and which under every trial had spoken but loyal words of him. - -Every parish sent its most notable men, and of these Monsieur Valvier, -Annette’s father, was one. The meeting at New Orleans was a gathering of -all that was wise and distinguished throughout the whole State, and it -was unanimously decided to send to France a delegation of three men, to -bear to the King himself their petition. - -These three men left for France on the first vessel which sailed, and -one can imagine the passionate nature of the appeal which they carried -with them, in which the whole colony besought the King to let them die -as they had lived,—Frenchmen to their hearts’ core. - -Think of the feeling of relief which swelled every heart as the crowds -gathered to see the envoys depart bearing the message to France and to -their King! - -Not one doubted but that the eloquence of Jean Milhet, who headed it, -would win back their loved State from the hated Spaniard, and that he -would speedily return with the joyful news, and that once more it would -be French land for French men. - -To the doors of France are laid many acts of cruelty and oppression, but -there is no sadder story than the grief and humiliation to which this -little delegation was subjected. For one whole year they waited, were -put off from day to day with first one excuse and then another, and at -last, sick and heart-broken, sailed back to New Orleans without ever -having seen the King nor presented their petition! - -Even though their chief envoy did not return, and there was no news of -the success of their petition, the people of Louisiana seemed to have no -doubt as to its success. Judge then of the fever of excitement into -which they were thrown when a letter arrived in July, 1766, saying that -Don Antonio de Ulloa, the Spanish envoy, was on his way to take -possession. - -What should be done? - -Whither should they turn? New meetings were called, the militia was -strengthened as much as possible; but month after month passed away and -Don Antonio did not arrive, so that the people quieted down and hope -bubbled up afresh. - -One morning in February, 1767, when the Commandant awoke, he found -anchored below the Belize, that old fortress at the mouth of the river, -a large frigate flying the Spanish colours. On board was Don Antonio -with his personal suite, two companies of Spanish infantry, and some -Capuchin monks. - -In March, in a frightful storm of wind and rain, they landed on the -levee in New Orleans, and were met by a sullen crowd of citizens and by -a mass of unwilling French troops. - -The Spanish envoy, haughty, severe in aspect, and a martinet in -demanding that deferential ceremonial etiquette which was so firmly -engrafted into Spanish nature, either could not or would not understand -the feelings which prompted the ardent Louisianians to cling to their -nationality. He expected the people to change at his coming their flag -and their allegiance, the soldiers their service, and all to hasten to -assume the Spanish yoke. He could not understand their refusal to do so, -and when the Superior Council of the city requested him to show his -credentials, he abruptly refused, although he agreed to defer taking -possession till more Spanish soldiers were sent to him. - -This was at least the form to which he agreed; but he proceeded to get -control as far as possible, visiting in turn all the military posts, and -replacing the French flag and the French commanders with Spanish ones. - -Over New Orleans alone did the French flag still wave. - -It may be easily understood that such high-handed deeds were not -accomplished without protest on the part of the people of Louisiana. -Curtailed of their possessions on every side, for by the “Treaty of -Paris” much had been ceded to the English, they proposed to make as -stubborn a resistance as possible. - -In the remote parishes the feeling flamed almost higher than at New -Orleans itself, since the sight of the detested Spanish flag was an -ever-present insult. - -During the year which had passed since the deputation had been sent to -Paris bearing the memorial to the King, Monsieur Valvier had wasted -neither time nor effort to arouse those with whom he came in contact, -and keep them rigorously opposed to Spanish rule. - -There were stormy meetings in the parish to which he belonged, in which -he was always an impassioned leader. There were secret meetings at his -and the neighbouring plantations. He became gloomy, a man with but one -thought in his head,—the disgrace of belonging to Spain. - -It was small wonder that with its head so distraught the plantation fell -into neglect. The crops of indigo and tobacco failed, since the master’s -eye no longer kept watch on careless servants. - -Madame Valvier’s ill-health increased as the winter season approached, -and on little Annette fell more and more the care of the family and -home. Scant crops made scant money, and it was only by unceasing care -that Annette kept the active little brothers clothed and fed, and saw -that the languid mother had her fresh fruit and café au lait, and that -her favourite gowns of delicate white were kept mended and ever fresh. - -Nor were these all her duties. - -At evening, when her father returned depressed and miserable from a -never-ending discussion with neighbouring planters as to the ignominy of -their lot, it was Annette who met and tried to cheer him. She had ever -something ready for him, were it only a bowl of fresh figs; and the -earnest child at last became the confidant of the despairing man. - -One memorable evening he returned later than usual, and to Annette’s -surprise and pleasure his eyes were bright and shining, and he carried -his head proudly and with confidence. Tenderly embracing Annette, he -cried,— - -“At last, at last have I prevailed on these neighbours who hate and yet -fear the Spanish. All is ready, and to-morrow we at least will show Don -Ulloa that there are loyal Frenchmen enough in Louisiana to refuse to -live under the Spanish flag and his detestable rule.” - -“But, father, what is it you would do?” - -“Lean closer, my child, for none here must learn of this till everything -is ready and we leave for the city.” - -“Does mother know, dear father?” - -“No, Annette, I dare not tell her; her constant illness makes her -timorous.” - -The young girl pressed closer to his knee, her large, serious eyes fixed -on his face. So wrapped was the man in his own thoughts that he knew not -the heavy burden he was laying on the already overcrowded young -shoulders. - -To her the father unfolded his plans. - -“Well you know the cruel blow that has been dealt to us from France, and -how the Spaniard Don Antonio has sought to make Spaniards of us -all,—true-born Frenchmen that we are; how he has hoisted the Spanish -flag, and manned all our forts with Spanish soldiers. To-morrow evening -there will start from this plantation Monsieur Biron, myself, and all -the owners of the plantations in this parish, with such of their men as -they can arm, and by boat we will go down the Bayou, stopping at each -plantation as we go, and gathering men together till we reach New -Orleans.” - -“Oh, father!” interrupted Annette, breathlessly, “will you take an army -into the city?” - -“So I hope; and these, with the loyal French Guard and the citizens, -will enable us to sweep onwards, and Don Antonio will find what manner -of men he has to deal with, and we will not rest till he is safely -confined within the walls of the Belize.” - -In the excitement of his story Monsieur Valvier’s voice rose till there -came from the room beyond, where Madame Valvier lay, the sleepy question -as to why they talked so late. - -Putting his finger to his lip to warn Annette, he replied,— - -“I but tell a tale to Annette, who will go now to bed.” Kissing her -fondly good night, he whispered in her ear,— - -“Remember to tell not a word, Annette, and lest I do not see you alone -again, I say farewell, till we put the hated Spaniard where he will do -no further harm.” - -Although Annette crept to bed, her eyes for a long time stared into the -darkness. She feared, not for the success of her father’s mission, but -lest in some way he be hurt. She saw, as he described it, Don Ulloa -safely confined in the dreaded Belize, and she rejoiced in her childish -heart over the grand part her father was to take in keeping Louisiana -for the French. - -When the next night came, she peeped cautiously out from between the -casements, and saw dark figures take their places in the pirogues drawn -up at the landing and silently paddle down the Bayou. - -She saw her father in the leading boat, and with him were several of -their own men, and in the flaring light of the single torch she saw the -gleaming of the guns. - -In a silent adieu she waved her hand, even though she knew that her -father could not see her, and confiding on his belief and assurance of -success, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep, and over the whole -plantation rested an absolute quiet. - -But her father—Ah, the sadness of that night trip! - -The few men who had started with him from the plantation in the hope -that they would be joined by many more of wealth and power were cruelly -disabused of their beliefs. There was but a handful more; but in the -small group was the spirit of an army, and it was hoped that Don Ulloa -could be surprised just before dawn, and with the first successful blow -many would hasten to join the victorious party. - -It was the old story of a forlorn hope. - -In some way Don Ulloa had been apprised of the uprising, and the party -had barely set foot on the levee at New Orleans before they were -surrounded and taken prisoners by a strong party of Spanish soldiers. - -Monsieur Valvier, as the leader, was not detained in the city, but sent -up the Bayou to Fort St. John, a desolate spot on the shores of Lake -Pontchartrain, at the head of Bayou St. John. - -During the first two days of his imprisonment Monsieur Valvier was -stunned. He seemed incapable of realising the misfortune which had -befallen not himself alone, but the little family at home. Too late he -saw that the lukewarm policy of the others whom he had tried to induce -to join him was not all selfish, and as happens so often to the -enthusiast, he saw too late the folly of his actions. - -It was the stinging thought of these helpless sufferers at home which at -last aroused him, and spurred him on to see if their welfare could not -be in some way assured. The intendant in charge of the fort was hard and -cold, but, as Monsieur Valvier soon learned, was not averse to accepting -a ransom. - -Indeed, he informed Monsieur Valvier of this fact himself, and allowed -him to send a letter home telling of his personal safety, and that his -liberty could be bought. Till this letter arrived the plantation on the -Bayou Gentilly had been a sad place. - -When, as one day after another passed and Monsieur Valvier did not -return, Annette, not knowing what to do, told her mother of the -uprising, and Madame Valvier, with health already undermined, became so -seriously ill that poor Annette knew not which way to turn. - -One or two of the slaves had strayed home, and from them Annette had -learned that at least her father was alive, and at last came the letter -which told that he could be ransomed if a sufficient sum of money could -be raised. The letter ended,— - -“Alas, dear child, I know too well that there is naught left which may -be turned into money to procure my freedom. I see too late that I have -been led away from my duties to my little ones and their mother. God -grant that they may be kept in safety; as for me my heart is breaking!” - -Madame Valvier was too ill to give Annette any counsel. All day long the -child kept saying to herself,— - -“My father must be ransomed, but how? Where shall I get the gold? Oh, -mamma, if you could but help me!” - -At last, passing through the children’s room while waiting on her -mother, Annette’s eyes fell upon the boards which concealed the -leaden-lined box containing the papers and necklace. - -“The pearl necklace,” she cried softly to herself, “why have I not -thought of it before?” Removing the cover, she felt hurriedly within the -enclosure to assure herself that it was safe. - -The rest of that day, as she went about her duties, her one thought was -of the way to get it to her father, and at last she decided that she -must go with it herself. There was no one whom she could trust with this -price of her father’s freedom, and her heart was full of the thought of -saving him, so that there was no room for fear. - -She determined to start that night, and, used from infancy to the -management of a boat, she did not hesitate as to the means of -travelling. - -But her mother—how to leave her? - -She called the woman from the kitchen, an old slave but a faithful one, -and bade her sleep within the next room, so that if Madame called she -should hear her. - -“For,” said Annette, “see, Tignon, I must go on a message for my father. -When my mother wakens, tell her that I shall soon return,—remember, -Tignon, soon return.” - -As soon as it was dark, Annette took from its hiding-place the necklace, -and as the cool, milky globes slipped through her fingers, she kissed -them, saying,— - -“Dear father, to think that these may save thy life. I remember my -mother said that they were never to be parted with save ‘for life or -honour.’ Perhaps this time it may be both, but I cannot tell.” - -For a moment she was at a loss how to carry them, and then putting them -about her neck she snapped the clasp securely and drew over them the -waist of her gown, which was fashioned to come high in the neck. - -“’Tis the easiest and the simplest way, and certainly none would think -that such a thing lay beneath my calico frock.” - -She kissed the little brothers and sister, and bade Pierre take good -care of them till she should return, whispering in his ear,— - -“I go for father, but tell of this to no one till I return.” - -And Pierre, with his wide-staring eyes fixed on her face, could only -say,— - -“I will promise.” - -At the landing Annette chose the smallest and lightest pirogue, and, -with the caution one would have expected from an older and wiser head, -put in the bottom an extra paddle and a small basket of food. She pushed -off the little dug-out, and turning its head down stream looked back -with confidence, saying in her brave young heart,— - -“Shortly I shall return, and with my father.” - -All night the child floated and paddled down the silent and lonely -Bayou, often terrified by the strange night sounds which came from the -swamps, and occasionally cheered by the light glimmering in the window -of some of the planters’ homes on the shore. When she was most alarmed, -she would reassure her little trembling heart by putting her hand on the -breast of her frock, beneath which lay the necklace, and by whispering -to herself the beloved name of “father.” - -The rising sun saw her heading her boat into the small channel which led -into Bayou St. John, and it was late afternoon when the weary Annette -saw frowning before her the rough palisades which enclosed Fort St. -John. - -The soldier on duty could scarcely believe his eyes when the little -pirogue came alongside the quay, and was still more astonished when with -trembling voice Annette said,— - -“Sir, may I please see the Governor?” - -“The Governor! why, what should the Governor do here? Who are you, and -what would you with the Governor?” - -“I have business with the Governor, sir.” - -At this reply the man laughed long and loud, and poor Annette was ready -to weep with disappointment and fatigue. Then remembering that at any -rate her father was within those walls, she plucked up courage and began -again. - -“If Monsieur the Governor is not here, is there any great general here?” -The soldier laughed again, and said below his breath,— - -“Great general—no; but the great Sir Intendant is here, if you can do -your business with him”; and there was another burst of laughter as the -burly man looked at the slender form standing before him. - -“Take me to him, please,” said she, and she gave one touch to the frock -below which lay the precious heirloom as the soldier turned to lead the -way within the enclosure. - -“Ho, Roget!” he called, “this lady comes on business with Monsieur the -Intendant”; and poor frightened Annette was passed along mid the rude -jests of the soldiers, till she reached an ante-room to which was -attached the small office of the Intendant. At last a voice said,— - -“You may enter”; and Annette, who between fright and fatigue was ready -to weep, found herself standing before a man with flashing eyes and a -brilliant scarlet and gold uniform, who was looking at her with -unconcealed interest. - -“Well, child, what would you with me?” and Annette, raising her head, -bravely answered,— - -“I come to ransom my father, Monsieur Valvier.” - -The Intendant frowned; and surely the pale child before him, in a simple -calico gown, with empty hands and eyes full of unshed tears, hardly -seemed able to ransom a bird, much less a political prisoner. - -The Intendant’s voice was harsh and cold as he said,— - -“Ransom means gold, child,—gold, or lands.” - -“Alas, Monsieur, I have neither,” said the trembling little girl, “but I -thought perhaps—” And she drew from its place of concealment the -splendid necklace. - -The Intendant could scarcely conceal a start. - -“How came you by this?” he asked, letting the rich strings glide through -his fingers. - -“’Twas the marriage portion of my grandmother in France, then of my -mother also, and was to be mine. I will give it to you for my father, -Monsieur Valvier.” - -The sight of the jewels recalled to the Intendant scenes in his native -Spain, where the Spanish grandees loved to ruffle it in laces and jewels -of the choicest description, and where the dusky Spanish beauties often -chose pearls, since these milky gems but served to throw out the fire of -their eyes and the rich tones of their olive skins. As he mused, passing -the pearls between his fingers, poor Annette was torn with anxiety lest -the necklace should fall short of the ransom desired. - -“Oh, Monsieur, is it not enough?” she cried, one trembling hand holding -the other; “we have naught else, my mother is ill,—I came alone”; and -the tears so bravely held back now fell in showers. - -The Intendant had no idea of giving up the necklace, yet was not wholly -cruel; so, striking on a bell, he called to the orderly who answered -it,— - -“Bring Valvier hither.” - -The sound of the words caused Annette to wipe her eyes, and in a moment, -with a little scream of joy, she rushed into the arms of her father, -whose wonder at her presence froze the words on his lips. - -“Monsieur Valvier,” said the Intendant, “you are free. The ransom -provided by your daughter is sufficient. But you must give me your -parole that you will never again bear arms against the Spanish flag, and -that you will accept such regulations as Spain deems best for her -colonies.” - -“I give my parole,” answered Monsieur Valvier; “but, Annette, -ransom—what had you, poor child?” - -Annette’s face was wreathed in smiles as she whispered in his ear, “The -pearl necklace, dearest father.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - DICEY LANGSTON - _1787_ - -There was a pleasant mellow glow in the great low-ceiled kitchen, and -the absolute quiet was unbroken save for an occasional crackling of the -sticks which made a bright fire on the hearth. Yet, if the room was -still, it was but because Dicey chose it so, and as she stood beside the -huge wheel which a few moments before had been whirling merrily, she -looked with thoughtful eyes at the fire. - -Now, to tell the truth, Dicey did not like to be alone, nor was it usual -for her to be silent. The every-day Dicey was singing if she was not -talking, or spinning if she was not busy about the house, or flying here -and there on errands for her father, or hunting up the brothers to do -this or that,—to play or ride, or come to meals or something,—for Dicey -was quite a little queen, as a girl with five big brothers has a right -to be. - -A father and five big brothers, but no mother, poor little girl! and she -had grown to be sixteen years old, the pet of her brothers and the -darling of her father’s heart, and, as you may guess, somewhat spoiled -and self-willed. Yet I would not have you think for a moment that she -was selfish, for she was not so; but she had grown to depend very much -on herself, and to decide for herself many questions which other girls -who had mothers to turn to would have left to them. - -Dicey’s father was no longer a young man. Indeed, he was almost past -middle life when, ten years before, he had left his home near -Charleston, shattered in spirit by the death of his wife, and gone to -the “Up Country,” as the northern part of the State of South Carolina -was called, and started life anew. Dicey hardly remembered the old home -at all. Her thoughts and her affections were all centred about the -comfortable home in whose kitchen she now stood, and over whose comfort -she reigned. - -She stood for many minutes as we saw her first, quite motionless, and -then, as the evening air brought to her ear a sound so slight that you -or I might not have noticed it, she ran to the window and looked out. - -The house stood in the centre of a clearing on the top of a gentle -ridge, and flowing out on either hand were dales and hills still covered -with the forests through which the hunters and cow-drivers had wandered -years before. Through this country the Catawbas and the Cherokees -roamed, and but a short distance from the little settlement of which -Solomon Langston’s house was a part, lay that well-known Indian trail -called the “Cherokee Path,” which led from the Cherokee country on the -west to the lands of the Catawbas on the east. - -On the flat lands below the hills stretched wide plains destitute of -trees and rich in fine grass and gay with flowers. Here roamed the -buffalo, elk, and deer. Here also were wild horses in many a herd, and -it was from one of these wandering bands of horses that Dicey’s own -little pony had been captured by brother Tom, before he married and went -to live at “Elder Settlement” across the Tyger River, a deep and -boisterous stream, between which and the Enoree lay the plantation where -Dicey’s father had made his home. - -All this time she has been standing at the window, looking out over a -landscape which lay clear and white before her in the moonlight. The -slight sound which had caught her ear was getting louder every moment, -and at last two figures came into view, her father and one of her -brothers, who had ridden early that morning to the settlement -“Ninety-six” to hear the latest tidings about the War, and to gain some -news regarding the revolutionary movement which hitherto had been -largely confined to the southern portion of the State. - -For Dicey it had been a long and weary day. Her father’s last words -were: “Let no one know where we have ridden, Dicey, for in such days as -these it is best to keep one’s own counsel, and you know, little -daughter, that most of our neighbours belong to the King’s party.” - -And Dicey had remembered, even though Eliza Gordon had come over that -afternoon with her sewing, and the two girls had worked on their new -kerchiefs, fagoting and stitching and edging them with some Mignonette -lace which Eliza’s mother had brought from Charleston when last she went -to town. Such silence was hard enough for Dicey, who was used to tell -whatever thoughts came into her mind, particularly to Eliza, who was her -very “dearest friend.” - -When Mr. Langston had dismounted, and Dicey had taken one look into his -face, she cried out,— - -“Oh, father, is the news bad? I can see by your face it is none of the -best. Is that cruel King over seas never going to stop his taxing? Shall -I throw out the tea?” - -“S’hush, Dicey, my girl. Remember what I told you this morning. There -are none others about us who think as we do, and it behoves us to be -careful both in what we say and do.” - -As he spoke, he drew Dicey into the house, and Henry followed, the -horses having been taken to the stables by one of the slaves, who, like -Dicey, had heard the sound of the riders and come forward to meet them. -Once within doors Dicey forgot for a moment her eagerness for news, and -ran forward to stir up the fire which had fallen low while she mused, -and to light the candle which hung from its iron bracket on the back of -her father’s chair. She set the kettle on the arm of the crane to boil, -and put close at her father’s elbow his long clay pipe and box of -tobacco, then brought out a tray with glasses and a generous bowl, into -which she put spices and lemon, together with sugar and a measure of -wine which she poured from a jug which was fashioned in the form of a -fat old man with a very red face and a blue coat. - -Kneeling on the hearth, she watched to see the steam come from the -kettle’s nose, and as it seemed o’er long to her impatient spirit, she -cast another billet of wood upon the dancing flames. - -“Come, come, little daughter,” her father said, “Henry and I have ridden -far, and your impatience does but delay matters. In truth, I am so weary -and chilled that I am thirsting for the spiced wine, which your -treatment of the fire does but delay.” - -Now Dicey seized the poker and hastily endeavoured to make up for her -error in putting on the new log, the only effect of her efforts being to -make Henry laugh and take the poker from her hand, while he said,— - -“Keep the little patriot quiet, father, since, if a watched pot never -boils, this one is like to stay ever simmering.” - -Mr. Langston held Dicey’s hand, and all fixed their eyes on the kettle, -and as the first slender trickle of steam came from its nose, Dicey -caught it from the iron arm, and soon had two fragrant glasses of hot -wine ready for the travellers. - -“Now, father,” she said, as she seated herself at his knee,—“now, -father, the news!” - -“’Tis true, Dicey, that at Gowan’s Fort many of our people have been -horribly murdered.” - -“Oh, father, not by Indians,” cried the girl, who well knew what this -would mean. - -“By worse than Indians,” answered Mr. Langston,—“by white men painted as -Indians, who were even more cruel than the savages, if that can be.” - -Dicey sprang to her feet and turned to her brother. - -“Do you know if ‘Bloody Bates’ had anything to do with this, Henry?” - -“Yes, he was the leader, and it is said that he boasted that his next -raid should be in the country of the Enoree, where he said ‘dwelt so -many fat Whigs.’” - -“Just let him come this way,” cried Dicey, “and he will find that the -fat Whigs are ready for him.” - -Even though the case was grave enough, Henry and his father could not -forbear a smile at the thought of Dicey, little Dicey, setting up as a -match for the cruel bully who had made himself such a terror to the -country-side by his midnight maraudings and treacherous killings that he -had come to bear the name of “Bloody Bates.” - -But Dicey, even though she was a girl, had a secret, and, what was -stranger yet, she kept it, but in her brave little heart she resolved -that if it were possible she would make it serve her friends. - -So the next day she went forth in the afternoon carrying her work with -her. Henry, who saw her start, little dreaming of the plans in that -curly head, called out in a loud, cheerful voice,— - -“I wager I know what is in that bag, Dicey. A new frock for dolly, made -in the latest mode. But, Dicey, see that it be not of red, since our -enemies are far too partial to that colour to suit me.” - -“No such foolishness as you think, brother! I am to finish my kerchief -which Eliza and I have been sewing on these three or four days. Maybe it -will be all done when I come home.” - -Dicey hurried on, almost afraid that she would let out the secret if -Henry talked much longer about dolls. Dolls, indeed! why, she hadn’t -looked at one for years! - -Eliza saw her coming and ran to meet her. - -“Come within doors,” said Eliza, when their greetings were over, drawing -Dicey with her. But this did not suit our little patriot’s plans at all, -and holding back, she said,— - -“Let’s go and sit in the tree-seat, Eliza. ’Tis so pleasant out of doors -to-day, and then you know we can talk over things there.” - -“Go you there and I will come when I get my reticule,” answered Eliza, -who, like Dicey, was glad to escape from the keen eyes of mother and -elder sister, neither of whom had much sympathy for over-long stitches -or puckered work. - -Dicey did as she was bid, and climbed into the tree-seat where for years -the children had been used to play, and, now that they had grown older, -to which retreat they took their sewing or a book, though these latter -came to hand rarely enough, the Bible and some books of devotion being -thought quite enough reading for young people in those days. - -When both girls were comfortably seated and thimbles and needles were -ready, Dicey fetched a great sigh. - -“What is the matter with you, Dicey? Have you aught ailing you?” - -“No,” said Dicey, “nothing very much. I was wondering if, when this -horrible war was ended, you and I should ever go to some great city like -Charleston or Fredericksburg, as did your sister Miriam. Think of it, -Eliza, to go to some great town where there are many houses and -carriages, and a play-house, and, best of all, balls!” - -At this magic word Dicey tossed into the air the little kerchief, and, -ere it fell, was on the ground holding the skirts of her calico frock, -bowing and smiling to an imaginary partner, now toeing this way and -that, as if she were going through the dance, though, to tell the truth, -the little minx had never seen anything of the kind, but had got her -information from Eliza’s sister Miriam. All of Miriam’s knowledge had -been acquired in safer and happier days, when she had made a visit to -Fredericksburg, and astonished the young girls on her return with -marvellous tales of what she had seen and heard, and the gaieties she -had taken part in. Dicey and Eliza had often practised in secret, and -though their steps would not have passed muster in a drawing-room, they -had furnished them with pleasure for many an hour. - -“Oh, Dicey, come up again! If mother sees you, she would make us come -right away into the house; you know that she thinks that such things as -dancing but waste the time of young maids like you and me.” - -Thus urged, Dicey with a sigh took up the sewing again, and sat once -more beside Eliza in the tree. But her thoughts were flying all about, -and Eliza spoke twice ere Dicey noticed what she said. - -“When father comes home to-night, he brings with him Colonel Williams.” - -The remark seemed simple enough, but a sudden light flooded Dicey’s -mind. - -“Coming home,” echoed she; “why, you told me a day or two since that he -would not be home till after harvest.” - -“Yes, but things have come about differently,” answered Eliza, with an -important air. “My father has been in a great battle, and he is coming -with Colonel Williams to stay for a day or two till Captain Bates gets -here too.” - -“Captain Bates! Do you mean ‘Bloody Bates’?” asked Dicey, pale with -horror. - -“My father says that is but a Whig name for him, and that he has done -good service to the King in subduing pestilent Whigs,” answered Eliza, -bridling, and secretly pleased at the easy way the long words tripped -from her tongue. - -“That awful, cruel man coming here!” and Dicey half looked round to see -if the mere speaking of his name had not brought upon the scene one of -the most cruel bandits who under the name of scout had wrought endless -cruelties. In a moment the importance of the information had shot into -her mind! If she could find out something more! Sure, whatever Eliza -knew were easy enough to learn also. - -“Comes he here to rest too, and at your house, Eliza?” - -If Eliza had given a thought to the low voice and shaking hands of her -friend, she might have paused ere she told news which was of the -greatest importance to such Whig families as lived in the neighbourhood, -and more particularly to those who dwelt in the “Elder Settlement” on -the other side of the river, and were entirely unprotected. Among them -was Dicey’s eldest brother with his young wife and little family. - -“Comes he here to rest too?” and Eliza, proud of her information, and -entirely forgetting that she had been told to impart it to no one, -answered briskly,— - -“No, but he stops here to meet some of the soldiers who go with him, and -only think, ’tis at our house that they will paint themselves just like -the Cherokees!” At the mere thought Eliza clapped her hands. “Think how -comical they will look,” she went on, while every moment Dicey felt -herself getting colder and colder with fear. “And sister Miriam has done -naught but scurry about and turn things topsy-turvy. It’s Captain Bates -this and Captain Bates that, till one feels ruffed all the wrong way. -You know I told you that he was coming here one day, and you laughed and -said he dare not!” - -Yes, Dicey remembered. This was the secret she had withheld, thinking -that, like enough, it was but some of Miriam’s boasting that this savage -man should seek her at her home. It was true, however, and like to be -soon. How was she, Dicey, to warn those who were so unprotected? - -Thinking more deeply than ever she had thought before, Eliza babbled on, -her silent companion taking no note of what she said. - -“Well, Dicey, if you cannot listen to what I say, and not even answer -me, I shall go into the house. Besides, my kerchief is all done, and -mother told me to bring it to her when the stitches were all set. How -does it become me?” - -As she spoke, Eliza threw it about her round white throat, and tossed -her head, the exact copy of sister Miriam. - -But Dicey was too absorbed to notice her companion’s small frivolities. -Her thoughts were solely on how to get word to her brother of the -impending arrival of “Bloody Bates” in the neighbourhood. Fears for the -safety of her own home were not wanting, since Henry, the only brother -left at the old homestead, was but waiting the summons to go and join -the command of Colonel Hugh Middleton. - -As Dicey walked slowly home along the bridle path which served for a -road in that sparsely settled region, her mind had not thought of any -plan by which her message was to be sent to her brother and his friends. -Yet over and over the words formed themselves in her brain, “They must -be told, they must be told.” - -Her father was feeble, and these years of anxiety and of hard work since -his sons had been called away from home to bear their share of hardships -in the War to which there seemed no end, had enfeebled him still more. -From him the news must be kept at any risk. Perhaps brother Henry would -go; but while this thought passed through her mind, she saw him coming -through the wood on his horse. - -“I have ridden this way to tell you good-bye, little sister. Even now -word was brought that I must join my company. Come hither”; and as Dicey -ran to his side he bent down, saying, “Set thy foot on my stirrup, I -have that to say which must not be spoken aloud.” - -As Dicey did as he bade her, and stood poised on his stirrup leather, -holding tightly to his hand, he whispered in her ear,— - -“Be brave, little sister, and take the best care you can of father. He -is ill and weak, and it vexes me sorely to leave such a child as you -with no one stronger to protect you. Yet go I must, and I trust that -before long Thomas may come for you and my father, or that Batty will -return.” - -As Dicey looked into her brother’s troubled face, the thought that he -must not be told rushed upon her. Go he must, and they must take such -care of themselves as they could. So she leaned forward, and said as -cheerfully as possible,— - -“Never fear for us, brother. There is no danger for father and me, for -sure none would attack an old man and a young maid. See, I am not in the -least afraid.” - -“I could leave you with a better heart if I thought that were the truth, -yet even as we have spoken thy cheeks have grown as white as milk, and -see, your hand trembles like a leaf in the wind!” - -Dicey pulled away that telltale member and jumped down from the horse. - -“When the time comes, I’ll prove as good a soldier as any of the -Langston boys, rest you assured of that,” she cried. - -“Farewell, then, brother Dicey”; and Henry tried to cheer her by making -her smile. Then, with his own face set in a look far too grave for one -so young, he rode down the path in the flickering light, little dreaming -of the desperate resolution which was forming in the mind of his sister. -As she got the supper ready, and talked brightly as was her wont with -her father, she had decided that she must be the one to take the news -across to brother Tom at the Elder Settlement; and oh dear, oh dear, she -must go that very night, for who could tell, perhaps “Bloody Bates” -would stop there on his way, for she knew not which direction he was -coming from. Yet for her father’s sake she was as much like her own -cheerful self as she could be, and she forced herself to eat, as the way -would be long and difficult. Twice she almost gave way to tears in the -safe shelter of the pantry; yet do not blame my little Dicey, for though -she felt fear, she never once thought of giving up her mission. - -When her duties for the night were all done, and the hot coals in the -fireplace carefully covered so that a few chips of light wood would set -them blazing in the morning, Dicey sat down and tried to think out how -she should manage. Her father was sleeping in his great chair by the -fireplace, and he looked so worn and old that she resolved to take on -her own slender shoulders the whole responsibility. - -Perhaps it was her steadfast gaze, or perhaps it was his thoughts, which -wakened Mr. Langston with a start, caused him to look quickly round and -ask,— - -“Where is Henry?” - -“Why, father dear, Henry rode forth this afternoon to join Colonel -Middleton. You have been napping, I think.” - -“True, Dicey, I did but dream. ’Tis late enough for an old man like me, -so light the candle, and I’ll to bed.” - -As she handed the rude candlestick to him, Dicey threw her arms about -his neck and swallowed hard to keep the tears that were so close to the -surface from welling over. - -“Why, child, what ails thee? One would think that I was to start on a -journey too, whereas all I can do is to bide at home”; and Mr. Langston -heaved a deep sigh as he said it. - -“Brother Henry bid me take care of you, and I mean to, dearest father. -Since you have sent five sons to this cruel war, it seems as if it might -be that you and I were left at peace.” - -“Yes, yes, daughter. I do but pray that I may live to see all my brave -boys come home to me once more.” With bowed head Mr. Langston took his -way to the small chamber opening off the living-room. - -“Now,” thought Dicey, “must I plan and act. First must I write a few -lines to father, lest he think that I too have followed brother Henry.” - -She hunted about for a fragment of paper,—a thing not too common in a -frontier farmhouse,—then she dashed some water into the dried-up -ink-horn, and mended a pen as well as she could. - -Will you think any the less of her if I tell you that poor Dicey was a -wretched penman? Her days at school had been very few, since the nearest -one was at Ninety-six, and her father could ill spare his little -housekeeper. Yet he had taught her a bit, and as she sat and wrote by -the flaring rushlight, I am afraid that her tongue was put through as -much action as her pen. Poor Dicey! the little billet which caused her -so much labour was intended to allay her father’s anxiety as well as to -let him know where she had gone. Of the object of her mission there was -never a word. That she would tell him on her return. The little scrawl -was set on the table with one end beneath the candlestick, where he -would be sure to see it in the morning. - -“Dear Father,” it began. “I go to carry a message to brother Tom. I -leave early in the morning, and will return as soon as might be. There -is naught to fear for me. Your loving Dicey.” - -“’Tis better,” she mused, half aloud, “to say ‘morning’ than to have him -think that I was forced to go at night, lest I fall into the hands of -some of these bandits on their way here. But I must not think of that, -for I must be off as soon as I can get ready, and the faster I work the -less afraid I am.” - -She hurriedly put some food in a packet, and then crept up the stairs to -her own tiny room under the eaves. You would hardly have known her when -she came softly down a few moments later. Her hair was bound and knotted -close to her head, for well she knew how the bushes and trees would -catch the flowing curls. Her stuff gown was kilted high and held -securely in place, while on her feet she had drawn a pair of boots which -were her brother Batty’s, and, though large, they were stout and strong -and came nigh to her knees. A heavy shawl covered her shoulders and was -tied behind, and into the front of it she thrust the packet of food. - -As she went softly out of the door, she gave a last look toward her -father’s room and then hastened on, anxious to give her warning and then -hurry home. Dicey knew the way well, having been to visit her brother a -number of times. But in her haste and excitement she had not thought -that a path by day with company is a very different thing from the same -path by night and alone. - -Yet this did not daunt her, even though there were strange noises in the -forest and elfin fingers seemed to reach out from the bushes and pluck -at her as she tried to hurry on. Each twig which snapped as she trod on -it brought her heart uncomfortably to her mouth, in a way she did not -like at all. The woods were bad enough, but infinitely worse were the -marshes where there was not even a foot-log, much less a bridge to take -her over the worst places, and but for Batty’s boots she would have -suffered cruelly from roots and stones. - -Still she pressed bravely on. She gripped her hands and kept repeating, -“Every step takes me nearer, every step takes me nearer,” till it made -itself into a kind of tune. She dared not think that the worst was yet -to come, and that the Tyger River with its brawling current had still to -be crossed. When at last she heard a faint murmuring, it seemed to give -her new strength, and she turned in that direction. - -Just as the first gleams of dawn lighted the sky, she stood on the muddy -banks of the river. She looked about her in the dim light and thought -that she recognised the place as the ford where they usually crossed. -So, quite exhausted, she threw herself upon the ground, saying to -herself, “I will rest a few moments and take a bite of pone, for well I -know that the water of the Tyger is deadly cold and muddy too.” - -As she thought, she acted, and in a brief time rose to her feet, not -with that springy lightness which was customary with her, but slowly and -with effort. The long hard walk, the chafing of the boots which were too -large for her, all made her feel stiff and lame, and as she waded into -the water, it took all her courage to keep from screaming out. - -In she went, a step at a time, thrusting one foot before the other to -feel her way in the rushing water, and bewildered by the grey light and -the heavy fog which lay above the water and hid the other shore. It -seemed to her that the water was getting very deep, surely much deeper -than when she went through it before, though on that occasion she was -mounted safely on the back of her little pony. - -“Oh, dear Molly, if only you were here with me now instead of safe at -home in your stall”; and one or two tears rolled over Dicey’s cheeks to -be immediately swallowed up in the swirling waters which every moment -grew deeper around her. - -She went forward, step by step, never once thinking of turning back; and -now the wavelets reached her waist, and now they were breast high and so -heavy that they threatened to draw her from her feet. Completely -bewildered, not quite sure of her course since the opposite bank could -not be seen through the low-lying fog, Dicey lost her track and wandered -up stream instead of across. She noticed that the water, now just below -her armpits, kept at the same height, and fearing that every moment it -would grow deep enough to engulf her, she stopped a moment in her -difficult course and looked about her. - -What was that which she could dimly discern apparently advancing towards -her? To her mind, already overwrought, it seemed “Bloody Bates” himself, -as indeed it might have been, and with a shriek which she vainly tried -to smother, she turned abruptly to the left and plunged with all the -speed she could muster through the water. - -Oh, joyful thought! The black stream was getting lower, it was but -breast high now, and as she leaped and plunged along, with every -movement it receded, till at last she stumbled on the bank, and lay -there sobbing with fright and exhaustion. She heard a soft swish in the -river, and hastily raised her head to find that what had so terrified -her was a huge buck, which was now half swimming and half wading to -shore himself. - -Cold and wet, half dead with fright and fatigue, Dicey, at sight of her -supposed enemy, laid her head on her arms and had a good cry. - -“Only a deer,” she sobbed, and then began to laugh, and with the laugh, -feeling better, she scrambled to her feet, saying to herself, “’Tis but -two miles to brother Tom’s and then I am safe.” - -The way was easier now, for it was a travelled path, made by Indians, it -is true, and their cruel allies the British, but still it was daylight, -and away from the river the air was clear and fresh,—too fresh for -comfort to the shivering girl, who ran and stumbled in her haste to get -her message delivered. The two miles dragged themselves away at last, -and through the trees Dicey saw the group of rude houses which made the -Elder Settlement, and ah! there was brother Tom already out of doors -about his work. - -As soon as Dicey saw him, she shouted, and when he looked up, he seized -his gun, for a weapon lay ever within reach in those days. Little wonder -was it that he did not recognise the small figure which ran towards him -waving its arms and shouting words which he did but half catch. At the -sound of the commotion Elie, his wife, came to the door, and at the -first glance cried out,— - -“Why, Tom, ’tis Dicey!” and ran out to meet her, fearful of bad tidings, -since it was easy to see that the girl was almost at the limit of her -strength. As soon as Tom realised who it was, he ran forward and caught -her in his arms, and hurried into the house, his lips forming themselves -into the one word, “Father?” - -Dicey shook her head, and when Tom set her down on the stone hearth, she -slipped down into a little wet heap with a pale face and eager eyes. - -“Oh, brother Tom,” she began, as soon as she caught her breath. - -“Stay,” said her brother, “is aught wrong with my father or brothers?” - -“No,” said Dicey, “I came—” - -“Then thy news will wait till thou art dry and warm, else we are like to -have a dead Dicey instead of a living one. Elie, take and give her dry -clothes, and I will make for her a mug of hot cider which will warm her -through and through. From her clothes, the Tyger seems at flood these -days.” - -When Dicey, warm and dry once more, poured out her tale of warning, Tom -hurried away to call the men of the settlement together. As the small -handful of grave settlers came and heard the news, Dicey felt in their -few words of thanks ample payment for what she had undertaken in their -behalf. Nor did they hesitate in their course. Packing together what -possessions were most valued, and driving before them the few cattle -which remained, they and their families that very afternoon crossed the -Tyger at the ford which poor Dicey had missed, and sought the protection -of the fort at Ninety-six. The next day Dicey was left at her own home -and in the arms of her anxious father. - -She told her tale to him, sitting by his side and holding his hand, for -he could hardly realise that his little girl, his Dicey, had been -through an experience at which even a man might have hesitated. - -“My child,” said he, “it seems but yesterday that I held you in my arms, -and here you are a woman grown ere I thought it.” - -Fondly stroking her soft hair, he looked into the fire and spoke half to -himself,— - -“’Tis like her mother; but a child to look on, yet with a heart of -steel.” - -“Why, father, you think too much of it; ’twas not so much after all. At -least it seems so now that once more I am safe at home with you, though -truly in the doing I was much afeared.” Looking round as she spoke, she -caught sight of the noon-mark on the window, and, jumping up, -exclaimed,— - -“Why, father, here have we sat gossiping till it is nearly midday and -not a thing made ready for dinner! Shame on me for a bad housekeeper!” -and with that she bustled away to prepare the simple meal which was the -daily fare of many a family living far from the towns. A pudding made of -the white corn meal did not take long to stir together, and in a pot was -soon stewing some bits of venison from the last deer which Henry had -shot, part of which had been salted down for their winter supply. A -portion of the pudding with a pinch of salt added, and baked on a hot -iron shovel with a long handle, served instead of bread, and what was -left would answer for their supper, with some of the cheese in the -making of which Dicey was well skilled. There was always plenty of milk -from their small herd of cattle. - -After all had been settled for the afternoon, the trenchers washed and -the pewter cups polished and set on their shelves, Dicey drew out her -wheel and set herself at her spinning. The low whir and the comfortable -ditty which Dicey hummed hardly above her breath set her father to -dozing in his chair, and neither of the occupants of the kitchen was -prepared for the crashing knock which came on the heavy door. - -Before Dicey could reach it to set it open, a harsh voice cried out,— - -“If you open not that door and quickly, we’ll smoke out all of you!” - -Dicey drew back, looking at her father for counsel. - -“Draw the bolt, child,” he said; “we have no strength to withstand them. -Our very weakness must be our protection.” - -Dicey pulled back the great oaken bar which served as a lock, and in -pushed half a dozen men heavily armed, none of whom she had ever seen -before. - -[Illustration: “COWARD, SHOOT NOW IF YOU DARE!”—_Page 261._] - -“So the Whig cub has gone, has he?” asked the one who seemed the leader, -a tall man dressed in buckskin trousers of Indian make, over which the -red coat of the British officer seemed odd enough. - -“It is true that my son has gone forth to serve his country,” said Mr. -Langston, in a quiet voice. - -At the reply, which seemed to enrage the ruffian, he strode a step -forward, cocking his pistol as he advanced. - -“I’ll show him how to serve his country when I find him, and as for you, -old man, long enough have you hampered the King’s service.” - -He pointed the weapon at Mr. Langston, when with a cry Dicey threw her -arms about her father’s neck, and, shielding him with her body, called -out over her shoulder,— - -“Coward, shoot now if you dare!” - -Bloody Bates, for indeed it was he, raised his pistol once more, and -with a wicked scowl was preparing to fire, when one of the men who had -stood silently by till now knocked up the weapon, saying,— - -“As long as the cub we came for has fled, let us on, Bates. We have no -war with dotards and children.” The others murmured surly assent, and -bidding Dicey and her father beware how they harboured traitors, the -whole party withdrew. - -It took Dicey scarce a moment to fly to the door and bar it, and then -hurry back to her father, who was lying back in his chair, pale with the -excitement and the peril which they had undergone, and only too thankful -that one among the company had respected his grey hairs and Dicey’s -youth. - -For many a day they lived in hourly fear of their lives, even after -Bloody Bates had taken himself off on his raids and the neighbourhood -was comparatively peaceful. - -Did Dicey undergo any more special perils, you ask? - -Yes; once again she faced grave danger, being met by a scouting party as -she was coming from a trip to the nearest town. They questioned her as -to the whereabouts of her brothers and other Whigs in the vicinity, but -she refused to tell what she knew. The leader threatened to shoot her, -but she faced him bravely, crying,— - -“Well, here am I; shoot!” opening her neckerchief at the same time. He -was ashamed apparently, for the band rode on, leaving her to make her -way home. - -She lived to see all her brothers but one return from their duties in -the army, and by her loving care and devotion made her father’s life a -happy one. She was only a little Southern girl living in a lonely spot, -and long since dead; but her courageous acts live on and shine, as do -all “good deeds in a naughty world.” - - - - -[Illustration] - - THE MAID OF ZARAGOZA - _1808_ - -The notes of a hymn swept up the street,—a hymn so sung that it seemed a -call to battle rather than a sacred song. It rose, it fell, it stirred -the blood, the plaintive tones of the women’s voices rising high above -the fuller notes of the men, while soaring above all the others were the -shrill, sweet voices of the altar boys. - -On they came, with banners waving and with clouds of smoke rising from -the swinging censers. But the music, strong as it rose on the morning -air, did not blot out the clang of the alarm bells which were constantly -rung in every quarter of the city. Nor could it drown the boom, boom, -boom of the bombardment which had been slowly wrecking the city for so -long. - -Augustina kneeled on the balcony with her bent head on her hands, her -heart swelling as she listened. - -“Ah,” said she to herself, “if I were but a man! If I could but help to -save the city. Yet here must I sit and do nothing better than weave -lace, while our brave men are dropping before those cruel guns.” - -As the music grew fainter, she rose and stood watching the procession. -At the head of the long narrow street in which she lived, towered the -spires of the lovely old cathedral of the Virgin of the Pillar, and the -procession which had just passed was of men and women who sought to -petition the Holy Mother for her aid in the desperate war which was -being waged against their city. - -Although the sun had been up some hours, the tall convents which were -set among the houses made the street still dim, and as Augustina looked -up towards the cathedral, the people in the procession seemed hardly -larger than children moving slowly and singing as they went. - -Every day in some part of the city was to be seen such a procession as -had just passed, for although Napoleon and his soldiers had been -besieging the town for forty days, never once did the people lose -courage in their power to come out victorious from the struggle. - -Yes, to triumph at last, though hunger, sickness, and ill-trained -soldiers were evils with which they had to struggle, as well as the -enemy without their walls. - -As the last singer entered the cathedral, Augustina seemed to wake from -a dream, and a look of anxiety came over her face as she looked up the -street. Leaning as far forward over the balcony as she dared, she could -see nothing but some figures of men wrapped in dull brown cloaks, the -only spots of colour being the gay kerchiefs bound about their heads. - -“Augustina!” From within the house came the call, prolonged and whining, -as if the patience of the caller were nearly exhausted. - -“Yes, dear mother, just one moment longer.” - -Again she leaned out and peered up the street, but whoever or whatever -she looked for did not come in sight. With a sigh she drew back and -entered the house. - -The street in which Augustina lived was no whit worse than most of the -thoroughfares in the old city of Zaragoza. The houses covered with -balconies looked at each other across streets so narrow that in some of -them a horse and cart filled the space from side to side, and the -cobblestones were so rough and irregular that walking was difficult. Yet -Augustina had found the city fair enough to look upon before so many -doors and windows were walled up on account of the bombardment, and -before such numbers of the houses had been crumbled by the cannon balls. - -Though her face was not as cheerful as was its wont when she turned to -go in, she shook her shoulders as if to get rid of some disagreeable -thought, pushed back from her forehead the heavy black hair, and was -able to show quite a presentable face to her mother when she reached her -side. - -“Why did you stay so long when you knew that I waited for you?” asked -the invalid in a peevish tone. - -“Did it seem long? Why, mother, ’twas only five minutes after all; just -look at the clock. After the procession passed I only looked to see if -Felipe came this way and if he had any news to tell.” - -“Felipe, Felipe, everything is Felipe, while I sit here day after day, -and only get what is thrown to me, as one throws a bone to a dog.” - -“Ah, I see that the fever is bad again this morning, else you would -never say a thing like that, mother dear. Now just look at me and say -that again!” - -Her mother turned to speak, but as she looked at the bright face, saw -the love which filled the large dark eyes, passed her hand over the rosy -cheeks, and felt the pressure of the strong young arms, she could not -help but soften into a look of pleasure, and her words dwindled into— - -“Well, well, it did seem long, but you are a good child, Augustina, and -I love you well, as you know. But what with the fever and this dreadful -war and the sound of the cannon, I spoke sharper than I meant.” - -“Dearest, let me give you the cup of chocolate and the bit of bread, for -I ate my breakfast long ago, before you woke.” She did not tell her -mother how scant that meal had been. - -“I hardly know if I wish for it,” her mother was beginning; but -Augustina was already in the next room, which served them as a kitchen, -and soon hurried back bearing a small tray on which was the cup of -chocolate and the bit of crusty bread which is the breakfast of every -true Spaniard. Food was scant enough in more households than this. -Augustina’s mother, a widow with barely enough to scrape along on, was -aided in peaceful days by the sale of the lace which Augustina’s skilful -fingers made. Everybody in Spain loves lace, and every woman wore it, -having her whole mantilla of it if she could afford it, and trimmed with -it if she could do no better. Her holiday skirt was flounced with it, -her pretty little aprons edged with it, her snowy chemisette trimmed -with it, so that there was always a demand for what Augustina’s skilful -fingers could make. - -But now—what was the use of working at the pillow? - -The siege which had lasted so long showed no signs of being broken, and -no one had any coins to spare on such slight things as lace, when famine -was staring the city in the face, and all day long, if one but looked -from the window, the wounded could be seen being carried into the -convents, or any other place where they could be tended and safe from -the cannon balls. - -“Is the chocolate sweet enough, mother?” asked Augustina anxiously. She -had stirred into it the last spoonful of sugar which they had, and as -the purse was running so low she hardly dared to buy any more. - -“Sweet enough; and, Augustina, when you go out to-day, go first of all -to the cathedral and say an Ave for me. I had hoped before this to be -able to go myself. Say, too, a prayer for our brave men who are holding -the city against those wicked French.” - -“I am going now to Our Lady of the Pillar, mother, and I will stop on -the Prado and ask if, by any chance, there has been a call for lace. I -have a fine piece ready; the lilies in it seem fairly to grow, do they -not, mother?” - -Augustina held up with pride a long strip of snowy lace into which were -wrought lilies and roses so lifelike that it was almost as if they -blossomed. - -“I wish that we could afford to keep that piece, Augustina. I have -watched it grow under your fingers for so long that I shall miss it when -it is no longer here.” - -“I shall hate to sell it, mother; yet the money for it would not come -amiss, eh, dearest?” - -The widow sighed and glanced at the pillow as it lay on the table -covered from dust, only the gay beads which tipped the bobbins being -visible. - -Augustina bustled about, making the house ready for the day, drawing the -shade across the window so that her mother’s siesta should not be -disturbed in case she did not return immediately, and then she went into -the kitchen. Here she packed into a small basket some little cakes and -such simple food as their home afforded, and covered it with a napkin. -Then, with her mantilla drawn over her head, she went into her mother’s -room and said,— - -“Adios, mother, till I return. I may be late, so do not worry. Be sure -that I will not forget your Ave at the cathedral.” - -Kissing her fondly, she went down the stone stairs which led to their -rooms, treading softly so as not to rouse any of the neighbours who -might come out and ask whither she was going. - -She walked quickly up the quiet street, and, with a corner of her -mantilla drawn over her face, looked neither to the right nor left. Few -people were about, and every moment came the boom of the cannon, now a -little louder and now less so,—as they were fired from the walls, or -from the distant cannon of the enemy. - -She kept bravely on, for she had a purpose before her. She wished to -make a prayer for herself as well as for her mother, and turned to the -cathedral, whither were also others hurrying, bound on the same errand -as herself. - -As the leather curtain of the door fell behind her, the dusky light of -the great cathedral was pointed here and there by hundreds of twinkling -lights, and side by side on the pavement kneeled noble lady or ragged -beggar, all intent on their devotions, whispering prayers for the -deliverance of their beloved city and for the safety of her defenders. -The solemn tones of the organ and the voices of the chanting priests -were the only sounds to be heard, save from time to time a sob from some -mourner who prayed for the dead. - -As Augustina stood once more in the sunshine on the great steps of the -church, she looked up and down the street, hardly able to realise that -while the sky was so bright, such misery was in many homes, and such -cruel fighting on the walls. - -“On the walls!” Yes; that was the place whither she was bound! Felipe -had not been to their home since the day before yesterday. Something -must have happened to detain him, for as he left he had called back,— - -“Look for me to-morrow, Augustina”; and when Felipe said a thing he -always kept his word; no one knew that better than she. It had been so -from the days when they were little children together. When Felipe said, -“I will do this,” or “I will not do that,” it always fell out just as he -said. So now she was going to see for herself what had happened to keep -him away. A horrid idea rose before her mind of Felipe wounded, but she -drove it away, and thought only of how young he was and strong, so proud -of being chosen by his townsmen to serve on the walls, so delighted with -his uniform. - -The mere thought of how she had seen him thus made her hurry all the -faster; and she hoped he would like the things which she had brought him -to eat, for, poor boy, he had complained of being hungry the last time -he came to them; and food was getting more scarce each day. - -She reached the walls at last, and at the gate near the great convent of -Santa Engracia, where Felipe had a gun, she was stopped by a sentinel -who asked her business there. - -“I come to see Felipe,” she answered briefly. - -“A brother of thine, little one?” asked the soldier, as he noticed her -basket, and tried to get a glimpse of her face through the mantilla. - -“No, a friend,” was all she answered; for how could she tell this man -that some day, when this war was over, she and Felipe were to be -betrothed? - -“Just a friend,” the man mimicked, and then, seeing her bent head, he -said more gently: “Well, ’tis not allowed for friends to mount to the -walls, but as it seems that you have something to eat, go you up. You -will find Felipe at the gun at the second turn to the right.” - -Up the rude steps to the top of the walls, Augustina hurried, past one, -two, three guns. At the fourth stood Felipe! - -“Oh, Felipe!” she cried, “where have you been these last two days? In -truth I could wait no longer to know what had befallen you. See, here is -a bit of meat, and all the bread that I could spare, for mother must not -suffer, you know, else had I brought more.” - -Felipe had just cleaned the gun for another charge, and as he stood -beside it, he turned his weary and blackened face towards Augustina. - -“I could not come,” he whispered hoarsely. “I have served this gun day -and night since I saw you last, save for a few hours at night when those -dastardly French had to rest too.” - -“Poor Felipe!” murmured Augustina. “Here is some wine; take it, for you -look worn and tired”; and as she spoke, she gave him a glass of the sour -wine which is so esteemed by the Spaniard, and in which Felipe moistened -some bits of bread, standing beside his gun all the while so as to be -ready to load and fire as soon as he had finished. - -The tumult was appalling. Orders were being shouted out from either -side, clouds of smoke obscured the walls as well as the broad and grassy -vega where the French camp was established. The noise was deafening, and -every few moments a ball, screaming as it went, flew over their heads, -and burst somewhere in the city behind them, killing and destroying, and -often leaving in its wake fiery embers which burst into flame. - -Augustina steadied herself by putting her hand on the gun, and as Felipe -turned to it once more he shouted to her,— - -“Hear the Signorina speak, Augustina; she is the bravest lady on the -walls!” and he thrust into the gaping mouth of the gun a huge iron case -which he took from a pile near at hand, and which held within it many -small iron balls. - -“Now hear my lady’s voice!” turning towards Augustina with a look of -triumph on his face. - -There was a deafening roar, a cloud of smoke, and even as it floated -about them out of its midst seemed to come a great thing that flew -towards them,—a whirling, screaming thing that never wavered in its -track! Before she could realise what it was, there was a deafening roar, -Augustina was thrown on her face, and heard all about her a sound as of -falling stones. She knew in a moment, as soon as the noise had died -away, that she was not hurt. She slowly scrambled to her feet, and -looked about for Felipe. - -Ah, he had been thrown down like herself! - -“Felipe!” she called. - -Amid the tumult her voice seemed but a whisper. - -“Felipe!” Still there was no answer, and as she looked again she saw -that on his breast lay a large bit of something that looked like a -stone. She hurried to him and pushed it off, trying to raise him as she -did so; but he fell back, and she threw herself on her knees, lifting -his head in her arms, and saying softly,— - -“Felipe, dear one, where are you hurt? Answer me, I pray; ’tis I, -Augustina, who calls you.” - -But there was no answer. The iron fragment from the cannon ball had hit -Felipe above the heart, and struck out in a moment the life of a brave -soldier. Again and again Augustina called to him, stroking the curling -black hair, and smoothing the hands all stained from his work. How long -she sat there with Felipe’s head in her lap, she never knew. Slowly in -her mind the idea grew that some one must take his place. No one must -think that Felipe’s gun was silent because he had deserted; the faith of -his townsfolk in his courage must not be destroyed. - -Besides, what was that she had heard? It was Felipe himself who had told -her of the dreadful thing which happened every night on the walls. She -could hardly bear to think of it,—but at dusk gibbets were set up, and -on them were hung all deserters and cowards. - -Oh, if they should think that Felipe was a coward! - -Somebody must take his place, but who—who was to do it? - -There were far too few men now, able to fill the places of danger on the -walls. - -“Then must even I,” said Augustina to herself; and she laid poor Felipe -down tenderly, and threw her mantilla over the quiet face. There was no -time for tears. She had watched him as he loaded the gun, and now tried -to do it herself. - -“Now may Our Lady of the Pillar help me!” and as she breathed the -prayer, Augustina dragged the heavy case which held so many -death-dealing balls to the mouth of the gun, lifted and pushed it into -place. After firing the charge, she dropped on her knees, and with her -hands covering her face waited through an awful moment! - -Suddenly there was a tearing, crashing sound, an explosion so loud that -it took away her breath, and then Augustina knew that the gun of Felipe -spoke as if he still stood at its side. A sob broke from her lips, but -she crushed it down, and with one look at the still form beneath the -mantilla, she rose to her feet and turned to the gun. Her slender hands -had difficulty in managing the heavy cases, but she kept at it bravely, -murmuring to herself,— - -“For Felipe and for Spain!” - -It was for her country, too, that Augustina worked and toiled; for to -the tips of her toes she was of Aragon. Her father and his father before -him had watched the Ebro as it flows through the city; they had loved -the olive groves by which it was surrounded, and they had stood in the -arcades and market-places, their sad eyes watching the slow decay of a -city which had once been the home of kings. - -Cold and proud to the stranger, the Aragonese when aroused are fairly -heroic in the way they fight for their country; and in 1808, when -Augustina manned the gun for the sake of her playmate and lover who was -slain, the same spirit burned in her heart as had in those of her -ancestors centuries before, when the Berbers came and conquered. - -The time crept along, but Augustina never faltered. Her clothes were -torn with the unusual labour, and her hands, more used to the threads of -flax and the smooth wooden bobbins, were cut and bleeding from the rough -metal of the cannon. Her long black hair became loosened and hung like a -veil down her back. She worked like one possessed of man-like strength. -Hardly did she allow the great cannon to cool before she thrust the -charge into it, and dragged another iron case to its mouth, so as to -have it ready at the first moment. - -It seemed to her as if she had been the whole day at her post, when -there hurried along an officer making his rounds to observe the -condition of things on the walls. - -At sight of Augustina he stopped and looked at her with amazement. - -[Illustration: “WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, MY GIRL?”—_Page 289._] - -“What are you doing here, my girl?” he asked in no gentle tones, hardly -able to credit what his eyes told him, and thinking that Augustina might -perhaps be keeping watch over a sleeping soldier, and anxious to know -the truth. - -“I have but taken Felipe’s place, Signor Captain,” pointing with her -hand to the figure lying on the stones beside the gun. - -“Does—” The Captain paused in his question. Something in the still -figure seemed to tell him that it was not the sleep of fatigue that held -Felipe while this slender girl worked his gun. - -He stooped and lifted the end of the mantilla which covered the face. -There was no need for further question. He rose and touched Augustina’s -small stained hand. - -“Poor girl!” he said; “was he your brother?” - -“No, signor; he was Felipe. Since we were children we had played -together. His father and mine were old comrades, and when Felipe was -left alone on his father’s death, my mother told him to think that our -home was his when he wanted it. But Felipe was brave, signor. He knew -that we had little, and he worked hard for himself and me, too, since -when we came of age we were to be married. Then came this war; he was -chosen to serve, and, as the signor sees, he served as long as life -lasted. Now I serve for him.” - -“Brave girl that you are! I would that we had more men like you, and -like poor Felipe here! Stay but a little longer and I will send some one -to relieve you.” - -“No, signor; I will stay in place of Felipe, if but you will send word -to my mother that I am safe and will see her to-night.” - -“I can promise that, surely; and if your example does not shame those -who lurk in safety behind the walls, I shall lose all faith in Aragon.” -Saying which, the Captain passed on his way, saluting as he went, with -bowed head and lifted hat, both the girl and the still figure under the -mantilla. - -All through the long afternoon Augustina worked. No cannon on the walls -spoke more often than hers. Faint and weary, she ate what remained of -the food she had brought to Felipe, and would not allow herself to think -of anything but the duty before her. Not a tear fell from her eyes, and -she kept whispering to herself,— - -“I must make the Signorina speak!” and every time the cannon roared she -looked down at Felipe and cried out, “Ah, Felipe, that was for you; she -spoke for you!” - -It was night before the promised relief arrived,—a soldier who looked -hardly able to do the work, so pale was he. - -“Have you been ill?” asked Augustina, as she made ready to go. - -“But two days from the hospital,” said he; “yet every one who can stand -has need to fight if we wish to save Zaragoza and Our Lady of the -Pillar.” - -“If you can bear through the night, I will come again in the morning. If -it were not for my mother, I would not leave here now.” - -“Surely you have done your best. No one could ask more; and as for the -poor lad whose place you took, there are few who have been more faithful -than he.” - -“It is for that very reason that I come again,” said Augustina. “Never -shall it be said that Felipe’s gun was silent while I am able to stand -beside it—and while Felipe guards it himself,” she added in a lower -tone. She kneeled and looked long into the face of her dead comrade, and -leaving the mantilla still covering his face, walked steadily off, -wiping away with her tired hand the few tears that fell over her cheeks. - -Bareheaded and alone, she walked to her home, climbed to the door of -their rooms, and then, overcome with sorrow and fatigue, rushed in and -threw herself on her knees beside her mother. - -“Oh, my child, my dearest child!” and fondling and kissing her, her -mother tried to give comfort and cheer to the weeping girl. - -“To think that my little girl should be so brave! and, child, how came -you to know how to load and fire one of those fearful guns?” - -“I saw Felipe do it, mother, and he said that his gun spoke oftenest of -any on the walls. So I saw to it that it did not become silent, that was -all!” - -“Sit here, loved one”; and Augustina’s mother put the tired girl into -her own chair, and hurried away to get something for her to eat, and to -light the brazier to warm her chilled frame, all her own weakness -forgotten in the sight of her child’s sorrow. Nearly all the night they -talked, the mother trying in vain to keep Augustina from her resolve to -return and serve the cannon the next day. But Augustina simply said,— - -“I promised Felipe before I left him, mother dear, and I must go. -Besides, I must do my share, and there are few enough to help on the -walls.” - -Seeing that the girl could not be won away from her idea of her duty, -both to the dead and to her country, her mother at last gave up trying -to dissuade her, and made her go to bed and try to sleep, so as to have -strength for the coming day. - -But although Augustina lay quite still with closed eyes, she did not -sleep. All through the hours she went over her childhood, and always, in -everything, was Felipe. Each little pleasure which they had enjoyed -together came vividly to her mind,—how they had studied and worked and -played; and now—Even the very bobbins on her lace pillow were the work -of his skilful fingers, and many of the comforts of their little home -had been made or bought by him for her mother or herself. - -She could not bear to think of him lying on the rough stones of the -wall, but the Captain had promised that the boy soldier should be laid -to rest within the convent yard. - -“Would that we could do as much for each brave man who gives his life -for his country!” the message ran. - -The grey dawn had hardly broken before Augustina had crept from her bed -and down the stairs, and was hurrying towards her cannon and place on -the walls. She was trying to forget her unhappy thoughts in the work -which lay before her. The soldier who had taken her place was in worse -condition than he had been the evening before, since the chill of the -night and the strain of the work were far more than he, with wounds -hardly healed, could stand. - -“I am shamed to give the place to you,” he said; “yet if I stay longer, -I fear that I shall be of no use at all. I will report to the Captain -and see that some one is sent here.” - -“It will be no use. I shall serve this gun to-day and every day, as long -as God wills, or till we conquer. I promised Felipe, and the Captain -said it should be so.” - -Augustina turned away as if further argument was useless, and so it -proved. Each day she took her place beside the gun where Felipe had met -his death, and not only worked it with the skill and courage of a man, -but inspired others, less stout of heart than she, to hold their places -too. Indeed on more than one occasion she held the men in position by -her words and her bravery, though, alas! poor Zaragoza had to yield at -last to a power stronger than her own. - -After sixty days of incredible bravery, after countless repulses and -endless suffering, they were overcome. Right beside the great convent of -Santa Engracia, near which was the cannon which was Augustina’s charge, -the enemy made a breach in the walls. The French soldiers who worked at -it were partially protected by the convent, and had wrought the mischief -before the Spaniards were fully aware of what had happened. Augustina -heard the noise of crumbling masonry at a distance, and ran along the -wall in the direction of the sound. - -“Ah!” She caught her breath, for there, even as she looked, a score of -the hated French were through. On they came, silent at first, leaping -through the hole which the workers every moment made larger. They rushed -in like a stream swollen by the spring rains, till ten thousand men at -least had flowed into the city. - -But do not think that these sons and daughters of Aragon gave in even -then! Driven from the walls, they used the housetops and the balconies -as vantage grounds. Inch by inch only did they yield, and held off the -enemy for twenty-one days longer, only giving in at last because they -had actually no more soldiers left to fight. Such bravery and -determination impressed even the victorious French, and the terms of -capitulation granted were most honourable and generous. - -Augustina lived through all these perils and many more, and was among -the last to yield. Nor were her courage and her services to her country -forgotten; all through Spain her name was known and loved. Nor was her -fame confined to her own country, for her daring has been celebrated in -many tongues. - -She lived full fifty years after her brave exploits on the walls of -Zaragoza (she died in 1867), and by command of the government walked -each fine day upon the Prado, her breast covered with medals and -decorations, showing the esteem and honour in which she was held. - - Ye who shall marvel when you hear her tale, - Oh! had you known her in her softer hour, - Mark’d her black eye that mocks her coal-black veil, - Heard her light, lively tones in Lady’s bower, - Seen her long locks that foil the painter’s power, - Her fairy form, with more than female grace, - Scarce would you deem that Zaragoza’s tower - Beheld her smile in danger’s Gorgon face, - Thin the closed ranks, and lead in Glory’s fearful chase. - CHILDE HAROLD. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. 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