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 A BOOK OF 
 
 Golden Deeds 
 
 CF 
 
 ALL TL\1ES AND ALL LANDS. 
 
 ^£ll^M^'C^^ 
 
 GATHERED AND NARRATED BY 
 
 Charlotte M. Yonge. 
 
 PUBLISHED BY 
 
 Louis Klopsch, Proprietor. 
 BIBLE HOUSE. NEW YORK.
 
 Copyright 1895, 
 By Louis Klopsch. 
 
 Press and Bindery of 
 HISTORICAL PUBLISHING CO., 
 
 PHILADELPHIA.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 What Is a Golden Deed ? 13 
 
 Regulus 24 
 
 The Stories of Alcestis and Antigone .... 31 
 
 How One Man Has Saved a Host 38 
 
 The Pass of Thermopylae 45 
 
 The Two Friends of Syracuse 58 
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah 63 
 
 Withstanding the Monarch in His Wrath . . 75 
 
 The Last Fight in the Colosseum 83 
 
 The Shepherd Girl of Nanterre 95 
 
 Leo the Slave 102 
 
 Guzman el Bueno no 
 
 Faithful till Death 115 
 
 The Keys of Calais 123 
 
 The Battle of Sempach 138 
 
 Sir Thomas More's Daughter 145 
 
 The Voluntary Convict 155 
 
 The Housewives of Lowenburg 164 
 
 Fathers and Sons 173 
 
 Heroes of the Plague 186 
 
 The Faithful Slaves of Haiti 202 
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon 211 
 
 Agostina of Zaragoza 236 
 
 Casal Novo . 246 
 
 The Mad Dog 253 
 
 The iVIonthyon Prizes 258 
 
 The Loss of the Drake and the Magpie . . . 280 
 
 The Chieftainess and the Volcano 293 
 
 The Rescuers 297 
 
 The Rescue Party 303 
 
 2076082
 
 book: ok 
 aOLDEN DEEDS 
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED ? 
 
 We all of us enjoy a story of battle and 
 adventure. Some of us delight in the anxiety 
 and excitement with which we watch the various 
 strange predicaments, hair-breadth escapes, and 
 ingenious contrivances that are presented to us ; 
 and the mere imaginary dread of the dangers 
 thus depicted stirs our feelings and makes us 
 feel eager and full of suspense. 
 
 This taste, though it is the first step above 
 the dullness that cannot be interested in any- 
 thing beyond its own immediate world, nor care 
 for what it neither sees, touches, tastes, nor puts 
 to any present use, is still the lowest form that 
 such a liking can take. It may be no better 
 than a love of reading about murders in the 
 newspaper, just for the sake of a sort of startled 
 sensation ; and it is a taste that becomes 
 unwholesome when it absolutely delights in 
 dwelling on horrors and cruelties for their 
 own sake ; or upon shifty, cunning, dis- 
 honest stratagems and devices. To learn to 
 take interest in what is evil is always mis- 
 chievous. 
 
 But there is an element in many of such 
 scenes of woe and violence that may well account 
 for our interest in them. It is that which makes
 
 14 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the eye gleam and the heart tlirob, and bears 
 us through the details of suffering, blood- 
 shed, and even barbarity, — feeling our spirits 
 moved and elevated by contemplating the cour- 
 age and endurance that they have called forth. 
 Nay, such is the charm of brilliant valor, that 
 we often are tempted to forget the injustice of 
 the cause that they may have called forth the 
 actions that delight us. And this enthusiasm 
 is often united with the utmost tenderness of 
 heart, the very appreciation of suffering only 
 quickening the sense of the heroism that 
 lisked the utmost, till the young and ardent 
 learn absolutely to look upon danger as 
 an occasion for evincing the highest qual- 
 ities. 
 
 " O Life, without thy checkered scene 
 Of right and wrong, of weal and woe, 
 Success and failure, could a ground 
 For magnanimity be found ? " 
 
 The true cause of such enjoyment is perhaps 
 an inherent consciousness that there is nothing 
 so noble as forgetfulness of self. Therefore it 
 is that we are struck by hearing of the exposure 
 of life and limb to the utmost peril, in oblivion, 
 or recklessness of personal safety, in comparison 
 with a higher object. 
 
 That object is sometimes unworthy. In the 
 lowest form of courage it is only avoidance of 
 disgrace ; but even fear of shame is better than 
 mere love of bodily ease, and from that lowest 
 motive the scale rises to the most noble and 
 precious p,ctions of which human nature is
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 15 
 
 capable, — the truly golden and priceless deeds 
 that are the jewels of history, the salt of life. 
 
 And it is a chain of Golden Deeds that we 
 seek to lay before our readers ; but, ere enter- 
 ing upon them, perhaps we had better clearly 
 understand what it is that to our mind consti- 
 tutes a Golden Deed. 
 
 It is not mere hardihood. There was plenty 
 of hardihood in Pizarro when he led his men 
 through terrible hardships to attack the empire 
 of Peru, but he was actuated by mere greedi- 
 ness for gain, and all the perils he so resolutely 
 endured could not make his courage admirable. 
 It was nothing but insensibility to danger, when 
 set against the wealth and power that he coveted, 
 and to which he sacrificed thousands of helpless 
 Peruvians. Daring for the sake of plunder has 
 been found in every robber, every pirate, and 
 too often in all the lower grade of warriors, from 
 the savage plunderer of a besieged town up to 
 the reckless monarch making war to feed his 
 own ambition. 
 
 There is a courage that breaks out in bravado, 
 the exuberance of high spirits, delighting in 
 defying peril for its own sake, not indeed pro- 
 ducing deeds which deserve to be called golden, 
 but which, from their heedless grace, theii' 
 desperation, and absence of all base motives, — 
 except perhaps vanity, — have an undeniable 
 charm about them, even when we doubt the 
 right of exposing a life in mere gp^yety of heart. 
 
 Such was the gallantry of the Spanish knight 
 who, Yv'hile Fernando and Isabel lay before the 
 Moorish city of Granada, galloped out of the
 
 16 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 camp, in full view of besiegers and besieged, 
 and fastened to the gate of the city with his 
 dagger a copy of the Ave Maria. It was a 
 wildly brave action, and yet without service in 
 showing the dauntless spirit of the Christian 
 army. But the same can hardly be said of the 
 daring shown by the Emperor Maximilian when 
 he displayed himself to the citizens of Ulm 
 upon the topmost pinnacle of their cathedral 
 spire ; or of Alonso de Ojeda, who figured in 
 like manner upon the tower of the Spanish 
 cathedral. The same daring afterward carried 
 him in the track of Columbus, and there he 
 stained his name with the usual blots of rapacity 
 and cruelty. These deeds, if not tinsel, were 
 little better than gold leaf 
 
 A Golden Deed must be something more than 
 mere display of fearlessness. Grave and reso- 
 lute fulfillment of duty is required to give it the 
 true weight. Such duty kept the sentinel at 
 his post at the gate of Pompeii, even when the 
 stifling dust of ashes came thicker and thicker 
 from the volcano, and the liquid mud streamed 
 down, and the people fled and struggled on, 
 and still the sentry stood at his post, unflinch- 
 ing, till death had stiffened his limbs ; and his 
 bones, in their helmet and breast-plate, with 
 the hand still raised to keep the suffocating 
 dust from mouth and nose, have remained even 
 till our own times to show how a Roman soldier 
 did his duty. In like manner the last of the 
 old Spanish infantry originally formed by the 
 Great Captain, Gonzalo de Cordova, were all 
 cut off, standing fast to a man, at the battle of
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 1? 
 
 Hocroy, in 1643, not one man breaking his 
 rank. The whole regiment was found lying 
 in regular order upon the field of battle, with 
 their colonel, in old Count de Fuentes, at their 
 head, expiring in a chair, in which he had beei\ 
 carried, because he was too infirm to walk, to 
 this his twentieth battle. The conqueror, the^ 
 high-spirited young Duke d' Enghien, after- 
 ward Prince of Conde, exclaimed, "Were L 
 not a victor, I should have wished thus to- 
 die !" and preserved the chair among the relics 
 of the bravest of his own fellow-country- 
 men, i 
 
 Such obedience at all costs and all risks i?, 
 however, the very essence of a soldier's life. 
 An army could not exist without it, a ship 
 could not sail without it, and millions upon 
 millions of those who.-e " bones are dust and good 
 swords are rust" have shown such resolution. 
 It is the solid material, but it has hardly tlie 
 exceptional brightness, of a Golden Deed. 
 
 And yet, perhaps, it is one of tlie most 
 remarkable characteristics of a Golden Deed 
 that the doer of it is certain to feel it merely 
 a duty : " I have done that which it was my 
 duty to do," is the natural answer of those 
 capable of such actions. They have been con- 
 strained to them by duty, or by pity ; have 
 never even deemed it possible to act otherwise, 
 and did not once think of themselves in the 
 matter at all. 
 
 For the true metal of a Golden Deed is self- 
 devotion. Selfishness is the dross and alloy 
 that gives the unsound ring to many an act
 
 18 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 that lias been called glorious. And, on tlie 
 other hand, it is not only the valor which 
 meets a thousand enemies upon the battle- 
 field, or scales the walls in a forlorn hope, that 
 is of true gold. It may be, but often it is mere 
 greed for fame, fear of shame, or lust of plun- 
 der. No, it is the spirit that gives itself for 
 others — the temper that, for the sake of religion, 
 of country, of duty, of kindred, nay, of pity 
 «ven to a stranger, wnll dare all things, risk all 
 things, endure all things, meet death in one 
 Jnoment ; or wear life away in slow, persever- 
 ing tendance and suffering. 
 
 Such a spirit was shown by Lesena, the 
 Athenian woman, at whose house the over- 
 throw of the tyranny of the Pisistratids was 
 'Concerted, and who, when seized and put to the 
 torture that she might disclose the secrets of the 
 •conspirators, fearing that the weakness of her 
 iPrame might overpower her resolution, actually 
 \Mt off her tongue, that she might he unable to 
 betray the trust placed in her. The Athenians 
 commemorated her truly golden silence by 
 raising in her honor the statue of a lioness 
 without a tongue, in allusion to her name, 
 which signifies a lioness. 
 
 Again, Rome had a tradition of a lady whose 
 mother was in prison under sentence of death 
 by hunger, but who, at the peril of her own 
 life, visited her daily and fed her from her own 
 bosom, until even the stern senate were moved 
 with pity, and granted a pardon. The same 
 story is told of a Greek lady, called Euphrasia, 
 who thus nourished lier father: and in Scotland,
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 19 
 
 in 1401, when the unhappy heir of the king- 
 dom, David, Duke of Rothsay, had been thrown 
 into the dungeon of Falkland Castle by his 
 barbarous uncle, the Duke of Albany, there to 
 be starved to death, his only helper was one 
 poor peasant woman, who, undeterred by fear 
 of the savage men that guarded the castle, 
 crept at every safe opportunity, to the grated 
 window on a level with the ground, and dropped 
 cakes through it to the prisoner, while she 
 allayed his thirst from her own breast through 
 a pipe. Alas ! the visits were detected, and 
 the Christian prince had less mercy than the 
 heathen senate. Another woman, in 1450, 
 when Sir Gilles of Brittany was savagely 
 imprisoned and starved in much the same 
 manner by his brother, Duke Francois, sus- 
 tained him for several days by bringing wheat 
 in her veil, and dropping it through the grated 
 window, and when poison had been used to 
 hasten his death, she brought a priest to the 
 grating to enable him to make his peace with 
 Heaven. Tender pity made these women 
 venture all things ; and surely their doings 
 were full of the gold of love. 
 
 So again two Swiss lads, whose father was 
 dangerously ill, found that they could by no 
 means procure the needful medicine, except at 
 a price far beyond their means, and heard that 
 an English traveler had oiiered a large price 
 for a couple of eaglets. The only eyrie was on 
 a crag supposed to be so inaccessible, that no 
 one ventured to attempt it, till these boys, in 
 their intense anxiety for their father, dared the
 
 20 BOOK OF GOLDEX DI:ED3. 
 
 fearful clanger, scaled the precipice, captured 
 the birds, and safely conveyed them to the 
 traveler. Truly this was a deed of gold. 
 
 Such was the action of the Russian servant 
 whose master's carriage was pursued by wolves, 
 and who sprang out among the beasts, sacrific- 
 ing his own life willingly to slake their fury 
 for a few minutes in order that the horses might 
 be untouched, and convey his master to a place 
 of safety. But his act of self-devotion has been 
 so beautifully exjDanded in the story of " Eric's 
 Grave," in "'Tales of Christian Heroism," that 
 ^ve can only hint at it, as at that of the "Helms- 
 man of Lake Erie," who, with the steamer on 
 fire around him, held fast by the wheel in the 
 very jaws of the flame, so as to guide the vessel 
 into harbor, and save the many lives within 
 her, at the cost of his own fearful agony, while 
 slowly scorched by tlie flames. 
 
 Memorable, too, was the compassion that kept 
 Dr. Thompson upon the battlefield of the Alma, 
 all alone throughout the night, striving to alle- 
 viate the sufferings and attend to the wants, not 
 of our own wounded, but of the enemy, some of 
 whom, if they were not sorely belied, had been 
 known to requite a friendly act of assistance 
 with a pistol-shot. Thus to remain in the dark- 
 ness, on a battlefield in an enemy's country, 
 among the enemy themselves, all for pity and 
 mercy's sake, was one of the noblest acts that 
 history can show. Yet it was paralleled in the 
 time of the Indian Mutiny, when every English 
 man and woman was flying from tlie rage of 
 the Sepoys at Benares, and Dr. Hay alone
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 21 
 
 remained, because he would not desert the 
 patients in the hospital, whose life depended 
 on his care — many of them of those very native 
 corps who were advancing to massacre him. 
 This was the Roman sentry's firmness, more 
 voluntary and more glorious. Xor may we 
 pass by her to whom our title-page points as 
 our living type of Golden Deeds — to her who 
 first showed how woman's ministrations of 
 mercy may be carried on, not only within the 
 city, but on the borders of the camp itself — • 
 " the lady with the lamp," whose health and 
 strength were freely devoted to the holy work 
 of softening the after sufferings that render war 
 so hideous ; whose very step and shadow carried 
 gladness and healing to the sick soldier, and 
 who has opened a path of like shining light to 
 many another woman who only needed to be 
 shown the way. Fitly, indeed, may the figure 
 of Florence Nightingale be shadowed forth at 
 the opening of our roll of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Thanks be to God, there is enough of His 
 own spirit of love abroad in the earth to make 
 Golden Deeds of no such rare occurrence, but 
 that they are of " all time." Even heathen 
 days were not without them, and how much 
 more should they not abound after the words< 
 have been spoken, " Greater love hath no man 
 than this, that he lay down his life for his 
 friend," and after the one Great Deed has been 
 wrought that has consecrated all other deeds 
 of self-sacrifice. Of martyrdoms we have 
 scarcely spoken. They were truly deeds of 
 the purest gold ; but they are too numerous to
 
 22 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 be dwelt on here ; and even as soldiers deem it 
 each man's simple duty to face death unhesitat- 
 ingly, so "the glorious army of martyrs" had, 
 for the most part, joined the Church with the 
 expectation that they should have to confess 
 the faith, and confront the extremity of death 
 and torture for it. 
 
 i What have been here brought together are 
 chiefly cases of self-devotion that stand out 
 remarkably, either from their hopelessness, 
 their courage, or their patience, varying with 
 the character of their age ; but with that one 
 essential distinction in all, that the dross of 
 self was cast away. 
 
 Among these we cannot forbear mentioning 
 /the poor American soldier, who, grievously 
 wounded, had just been laid in the middle bed, 
 by far the most comfortable of the three tier of 
 berths in the ship's cabin in which the wounded 
 "were to be conveyed to New York. Still 
 thrilling with the suffering of being carried 
 from the field, and lifted to his place, he saw a 
 comrade in even worse plight brought in, and 
 thinking of the pain it must cost his fellow- 
 soldier to be raised to the bed above him, he 
 surprised his kind lady nurses (daily scatterers 
 of Golden Deeds) by saying, " Put me up there, 
 I reckon I'll bear hoisting better than he will." 
 
 And, even as we write, we hear of an Ameri- 
 can railway collision that befell a train on the 
 way to Elmira with prisoners. The engineer, 
 whose name was AVilliam Ingram, might have 
 leapt off and saved himself before the shock ; 
 but he remained in order to reverse the engine,
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 23 
 
 though with certain death staring him in the 
 face. He was buried in the wreck of the meet- 
 ing train, and when found, his back was against 
 the boiler, — he was jammed in, unable to move, 
 and actually being burnt to death ; but even in 
 that. extremity of anguish he called out to those 
 who came around to help him, to keep away, as 
 he expected the boiler would burst. They 
 disregarded the generous cry, and used every 
 effort to extricate him, but could not succeed 
 until after his sufferings had ended in death. 
 
 While men and women still exist who will 
 thus suffer and thus die, losing themselves iu 
 the thought of others, surely the many forms 
 of woe and misery with which tliis earth is 
 spread, do but give occasions of working out 
 some of the highest and best qualities of which 
 mankind are capable. And O, young readers, 
 if your hearts burn within you as you read of 
 these various forms of the truest and deepest 
 glory, and you long for time and place to act 
 in the like devoted way, bethink yourselves 
 that the alloy of such actions is to be constantly 
 worked away in daily life ; and that if ever it 
 be your lot to do a Golden Deed, it will proba- 
 bly be in unconsciousness that you are doing 
 anything extraordinary, and that the whole 
 impulse will consist in the having absolutely 
 forirotten self
 
 24 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 EEGULUS. 
 
 B. c. 249. 
 
 The first wars that the Romans engaged in 
 beyond the bounds of Italy, were with the 
 Carthaginians. This race came from Tyre and 
 Zidon ; and were descended from some of the 
 Phoenicians, or Zidonians, who were such dan- 
 gerous foes, or more dangerous friends, to the 
 Israelite. Carthage had, as some say, been 
 first founded by some of the Canaanites who 
 fled when Joshua conquered the Promised 
 Land ; and whether this were so or not, the 
 inhabitants were in all their ways the same as 
 the Tyrians and Zidonians, of whom so much is 
 said in the prophecies of Isaiah and Ezekiel. 
 Like them, they worshiped Baal and Ashtor- 
 cth, and the frightful Moloch, with foul and 
 cruel rites ; and, like them, they were excellent 
 sailors and great merchants, trading with every 
 known country, and living in great riches and 
 splendor at their grand city on the southern 
 shore of the Meditei*ranean. That they were a 
 wicked and cruel race is also certain ; the 
 Romans used to call deceit Punic faith, that is, 
 Phoenician faith, and though no doubt Roman 
 writers show them up in their worst colors, yet, 
 after the time of Hiram, Solomon's ally at 
 Tyre, it is plain from Holy Scripture that their 
 crimes were great. 
 
 The first dispute between Rome and Carthage 
 was about their possession in the island of
 
 REGULUS. 25 
 
 Sicily ; and the war thus begun had lasted 
 eight years, when it was resolved to send an 
 army to fight the Carthaginians on their own 
 shores. The army and fleet were placed under 
 the command of the two consuls, Lucius Man- 
 lius and Marco Attilius Regulus. On the way, 
 there was a great sea-fight with the Carthagin- 
 ian fleet, and this was the first naval battle that 
 the Romans ever gained. It made the way to 
 Africa free ; but the soldiers, who had never 
 been so far from home before, murmured, for 
 they expected to meet not only human enemies, 
 but monstrous serpents, lions, elephants, asses 
 with horns, and dog-headed monsters, to have a 
 scorching sun overhead, and a noisome marsh 
 under their feet. However, Regulus sternly 
 put a stop to all murmurs, by making it 
 known that disaflection would be punished by 
 death, and the army safely landed and set up a 
 fortification at Clypea, and plundered the 
 whole country round. Orders here came from 
 Rome that Manlius should return thither, but 
 that Regulus should remain to carry on the 
 war. This was a great grief to him. He was a 
 very poor man, with nothing of his own but a 
 little farm of seven acres, and the person whom 
 he had employed to cultivate it had died in his 
 absence ; a hired laborer had undertaken the 
 care of it, but had been unfaithful, and had 
 run away with his tools and his cattle, so that 
 he was afraid that, unless he could return 
 quickly, his wife and children would starve. 
 However, the Senate engaged to provide for 
 his family, and he remained, making expedi-
 
 26 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tions into the country round, in the course of 
 Avhich the Romans really did fall in with a 
 serpent, as monstrous as their imagination had 
 depicted. It was said to be 120 feet long, and 
 dwelt upon the banks of the river Bagrada, 
 where it used to devour the Roman soldiers as 
 they went to fetch water. It had such tough 
 scales that they were obliged to attack it with 
 their engines meant for battering city walls ; 
 and only succeeded with much difficulty in 
 destroying it. 
 
 The country was most beautiful, covered 
 with fertile corn-fields and full of rich fruit- 
 trees, and all the rich Carthaginians had 
 country-houses and gardens, which were made 
 delicious with fountains, trees and flowers. 
 The Roman soldiers, plain, hardy, fierce and 
 pitiless, did, it must be feared, cruel damage 
 among those peaceful scenes ; they boasted of 
 having sacked 300 villages, and mercy was 
 not yet known to them. The Carthaginian 
 army, though strong in horsemen and in ele- 
 phants, kept upon the hills and did nothing to 
 save the country, and the wild desert tribes of 
 !N'umidians came rushing in to plunder what 
 the Romans had left. The Carthaginians sent 
 to oflfer terms of peace ; but Regulus, who had 
 become uplifted by his conquests, made such 
 demands that the messengers remonstrated. 
 He answered, " Men w^ho are good for anything 
 should either conquer or submit to their 
 betters; " and he sent them rudely away, like a 
 stern old Roman as he was. His merit was 
 that he had no more mercy on himself than 
 on others.
 
 REGULUS Z t 
 
 The Carthaginians were driven to extremity, 
 and made horrible offerings to Moloch, giving 
 the little children of the noblest families to be 
 dropped into the fire between the brazen hands 
 of his statue, and grown-up people of the 
 noblest families rushed in of their own accord, 
 hoping thus to propitiate their gods, and 
 obtain safety for their country. Their time 
 was not yet fully come, and a respite was 
 granted to them. They had sent, in their 
 distress, to hire soldiers in Greece, and among 
 these came a Spartan, named Xanthippus, who 
 at once took the command and led the array 
 out to battle, with a long line of elephants 
 ranged in front of them, and with clouds of 
 horsemen hovering on the wings. The Romans 
 had not yet learnt the best mode of fighting 
 with elephants, namely, to leave lanes in their 
 columns where these huofe beasts mio-ht advance 
 harmlessly ; instead of which, the ranks were 
 thrust and trampled down by the creatures' 
 bulk, and they suflfered a terrible defeat ; Reg- 
 ulus himself was seized by the horsemen, and 
 dragged into Carthage, where the victors feasted 
 and rejoiced through half the night, and testi- 
 fied their thanks to Moloch by oflTering in his 
 fires the bravest of their captives. 
 
 Regulus himself was not, however, one of 
 these victims. He was kept a close prisoner 
 for two years, pining and sickening in his lone- 
 liness, while in the meantime the war continued, 
 and at last a victory so decisive was gained by 
 the Romans, that the people of Carthage were 
 discouraged, and resolved to ask terms of peace.
 
 28 *• BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 They thought that no one would be so readily 
 listened to at Rome as Regulus, and they 
 therefore sent him there with their envoys, 
 having first made him swear that he would 
 come back to his prison if there should neither 
 be peace nor an exchange of prisoners. They 
 little knew how much more a true-hearted 
 Roman cared for his city than for himself — for 
 his word than for his life. 
 
 Worn and dejected, the captive warrior came 
 to the outside of the gates of his own city, and 
 there paused, refusing to enter. " I am no 
 longer a Roman citizen," he said ; " I am but 
 the barbarians' slave, and the Senate may not 
 give audience to strangers within the walls." 
 
 His wife Marcia ran out to greet him, with 
 his two sons, but he did not look up, and 
 received their caresses as one beneath their 
 notice, as a mere slave, and he continued, in 
 spite of all entreaty, to remain outside the city, 
 and would not even go to the little farm he had 
 loved so well. 
 
 The Roman Senate, as he would not come in 
 to them, came out to hold their meeting in the 
 Campagna. 
 
 The ambassadors spoke first ; then Regulus, 
 standing up, said, as one repeating a task, 
 ** Conscript fathers, being a slave to the Cartha- 
 ginians, I come on the part of my masters to 
 treat with you concerning peace and an ex- 
 change of prisoners." He then turned to go 
 away with the ambassadors, as a stranger might 
 not be present at the deliberations of the 
 Senate. His old friends pressed him to stay
 
 REGULUS. 29 
 
 and give his opinion as a senator who had 
 twice been consul ; but he refused to degrade 
 that dignity by claiming it, slave as he was. 
 But, at the command of his Carthaginian mas- 
 ters, he remained, though not taking his seat. 
 
 Tiien he spoke. He told the senators to 
 persevere in the war. He said he had seen 
 the distress of Carthage, and that a peace would 
 be only to her advantage, not to that of Rome, 
 and therefore he strongly advised that the war 
 should continue. Then, as to the exchange of 
 prisoners, the Carthaginian generals, who were 
 in the hands of the Romans, were in full 
 health and strength, whilst he himself was too 
 much broken down to be fit for service again, 
 and indeed he believed that his enemies had 
 given him a slow poison, and that he could not 
 live long. Thus he insisted that no exchange 
 of prisoners should be made. 
 
 It was wonderful even to Romans, to hear 
 a man thus pleading against himself, and their 
 chief priest came forward, and declared that, as 
 his oath had been wrested from him by force, he 
 was not bound by it to return to his captivity. 
 But Regulus was too noble to listen to this 
 for a moment. " Have you resolved to dis- 
 honor me ? " he said ; " I am not ignorant that 
 death and the extremest tortures are preparing 
 for me ; but what are these to the shame of an 
 infamous action, or the wounds of a guilty 
 mind? Slave as I am to Carthage, I have 
 still the spirit of a Roman. I have sworn to 
 return. It is my duty to go ; let tlie gods take 
 care of the rest."
 
 30 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 The Senate decided to follow the advice of 
 Regulus, though they bitterly regretted his 
 sacrifice. His wife wept and entreated in vain 
 that they would detain him ; they could merely 
 repeat their permission to him to remain ; but 
 nothing could prevail with him to break his word, 
 and he turned back to the chains and death he 
 expected as calmly as if he had been returning 
 to his home. This was in the year b. c. 249. 
 
 " Let the gods take care of the rest," said 
 the Roman ; the gods whom alone he knew, 
 and through whom he ignorantly worshiped 
 the true God, whose Light was shining out 
 even in this heathen's truth and constancy. 
 How his trust was fulfilled is not known. 
 The Senate, after the next victory, gave two 
 Carthaginian generals to his wife and sons 
 to hold as pledges for his good treatment ; 
 but when tidings arrived that Regulus was 
 dead, Marcia began to treat them both with 
 savage cruelty, though one of them assured 
 her that he had been careful to have her 
 husband well used. Horrible stories were 
 told that Regulus had been put out in the sun 
 with his eyelids cut off, rolled down a hill in a 
 barrel with spikes, killed by being constantly 
 kept awake, or else crucified. Marcia seems 
 to have set about, and perhaps believed in these 
 horrors, and avenged them on her unhappy 
 captives till one had died, and the Senate 
 sent for her sons and severely reprimanded 
 them. They declared it was their mother's 
 doing, not theirs, and thenceforth were careful 
 of the comfort of the remaining prisoner.
 
 ALCi:STIS AND ANTIGONE. 31 
 
 It may thus be hoped that the frightful 
 tale of Regulus' sufferings was but formed by 
 report acting on the fancy of a vindictive 
 woman, and that Regulus was permitted to die 
 in peace of the disease brought on far more 
 probably by the climate and imprisonment 
 than by the poison to which he ascribed it. 
 It is not the tortures he may have endured 
 that make him one of the noblest characters of 
 history, but the resolution that would neither 
 let him save himself at the risk of his coun- 
 try's prosperity, nor forfeit the word that h« 
 had pledged. 
 
 THE STORIES OF ALCESTIS AND 
 ANTIGONE. 
 
 It has been said, that even the heathens saw 
 and knew the glory of self-devotion ; and the 
 Greeks had two early instances so very beauti- 
 ful that, though they cannot in all particulars 
 be true, they must not be passed over. There 
 must have been some foundation for them, 
 though we cannot now disentangle them from 
 the fable that has adhered to them ; and, at 
 any rate, the ancient Greeks believed them, 
 and gathered strength and nobleness from 
 dwelling on such examples ; since, as it has 
 been truly said, " Every word, look, or thought 
 of sympathy with heroic action, helps to make 
 heroism.^' Both tales were represented before 
 them in their solemn religious tragedies, and
 
 32 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEED8. 
 
 the noble poetry in which they were recounted 
 by the great Greek dramatists has been pre- 
 served to our time. 
 
 Alcestis was the wife of Admetus, King of 
 Pherse, who, according to the legend, w^as 
 assured that his life might be prolonged, pro- 
 vided father, mother, or wife wx)uld die in his 
 stead. It was Alcestis alone who was willing 
 freely to give her life to save that of her 
 husband ; and her devotion is thus exquisitely 
 described in the following translation, by Pro- 
 fessor Anstice, from the choric song in the 
 tragedy by Euripides : 
 
 " Be patient, for thy tears are vain, — 
 They may not wake the dead again » 
 E'en heroes, of immortal sire 
 And mortal mother born, expire. 
 
 O, she was dear 
 
 While she lingered here ; 
 She is dear noAv she rests below, 
 
 And thou mayest boast 
 
 That the bride thou has lost 
 AYas the noblest earth can show. 
 
 " We will not look on her burial sod 
 
 As the cell of sepulchral sleep. 
 It shall be as the shrine of a radiant god, 
 And the pilgrim shall visit that blest abode 
 
 To worship, and not to weep ; 
 And as he turns his steps aside, 
 
 Thus shall he breathe his vow : 
 ' Here sleeps a self-devoted bride, 
 Of old to save her lord she died. 
 She is a spirit now.
 
 ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 33 
 
 Hail, bright and blest one ! grant to me 
 The smiles of glad prosperity.' 
 Thus shall he own her name divine, 
 Thus bend him at Alcestis' shrine." 
 
 The story, however, bore that Hercules, de- 
 scending in the course of one of his labors into 
 the realms of the dead, rescued Alcestis, and 
 brought her back ; and Euripides gives a scene 
 in which the rough, jovial Hercules insists on 
 the sorrowful Admetus marrying again a lady 
 of his own choice, and gives the veiled Alcestii* 
 back to him as the new bride. Later Greeks 
 tried to explain the story by saying that 
 Alcestis nursed her husband through an infec- 
 tious fever, caught it herself, and had been 
 supposed to be dead, when a skillful physician 
 restored her ; but this is probably only one of 
 the many reasonable versions they tried to give 
 of the old tales that were founded on the decay 
 and revival of nature in winter and spring, and 
 with a presage running through them of sacri- 
 fice, death, and resurrection. Our own poet 
 Chaucer was a great admirer of Alcestis, and 
 improved upon the legend by turning her into 
 his favorite flower : 
 
 " The daisie or els the eye of the daie. 
 The emprise and the floure of flouris all." 
 
 Another Greek legend told of the maiden of 
 Thebes, one of the most self-devoted beings 
 khat could be conceived by a fancy untrained 
 in the knowledge of Divine Perfection. It
 
 34 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 cannot be known how much of her storv is 
 true, but it was one that went deep into the 
 hearts of Grecian men and women, and en- 
 couraged them in some of their best feehngs ; 
 and assuredly the deeds imputed to her were 
 golden, 
 
 Antigone was the daughter of the old King 
 (Edipus of Thebes. After a time heavj 
 troubles, the consequence of the sins of his 
 youth, came upon him, and he was drive* 
 away from his kingdom, and sent to wander 
 forth a blind old man, scorned and pointed at 
 by all. Then it was that his faithful daughter 
 showed true affection for him. She might have 
 remained at Thebes with her brother Eteocle?, 
 who had been made king in her father's room, 
 but she chose instead to wander forth with the 
 forlorn old man, fallen from his kingly state, 
 and absolutely begging his bread. The great 
 Athenian poet Sophocles began his tragedy of 
 '■ (Edipus Coloneus " with showing the blind 
 old king leaning upon Antigone's arm, and 
 asking, — 
 
 " Tell me, thou daughter of a blind old man, 
 Antigone, to what land are we come. 
 Or to what city '? Who the inliabitants 
 AVho with a slender pittance will relieve 
 Even for a day the wandering (Edipus." 
 
 Potter. 
 
 The place to which they had come was is 
 Attica, near the city of Colonus. It was a 
 lovely grove, —
 
 ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE. 35 
 
 " All the haunts of Attic ground, 
 Where the matchless coursers bound, 
 Boast not, through their realms of bliss. 
 Other spot so fair as this. 
 Frequent down this greenwood dale 
 Mourns the warbling nightingale, 
 Nestling 'mid the thickest screen 
 Of the ivy's darksome green, 
 Or where each empurpled shoot 
 Drooping with its myriad fruit, 
 Curled in many a mazy twine. 
 Droops the never-trodden vine. 
 
 Anstice. 
 
 This beautiful grove was sacred to the 
 Eumenides, or avenging goddesses, and it was 
 therefore a sanctuary where no foot might 
 tread ; but near it the exiled king was allowed 
 to take up his abode, and was protected by the 
 great Athenian king, Theseus. There his 
 other daughter, Ismene, joined him, and, after 
 a time, his elder son, Polynices, arrived. 
 
 Polynices had been expelled from Thebes by 
 his brother Eteocles, and had been wandering 
 through Greece seeking aid to recover his 
 rights. He had collected an army, and was 
 come to take leave of his father and sisters ; 
 and at the same time to entreat his sisters to 
 take care that, if he should fall in the battle, 
 they would prevent his corpse from being left 
 enburied ; for the Greeks believed that till the 
 funeral rites were performed, the spirit went 
 wandering restlessly up and down upon the 
 bauks of a dark stream, unable to enter the
 
 36 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 home of the dead. Antigone solemnly prom- 
 ised to him that he should not be left without 
 these last rites. Before long, old Oedipus wae 
 killed by lightning, and the two sisters returned 
 to Thebes. 
 
 The united armies of the seven chiefs against 
 Thebes came on, led by Polynices. Eteocles 
 sallied out to meet them, and there was a 
 terrible battle, ending in all the seven chiefs 
 being slain ; and the two brothers, Eteocles 
 and Polynices, were killed by one another in 
 single combat. Creon, the uncle, who thus 
 became king, had always been on the side of 
 Eteocles, and therefore commanded that, whilst 
 this younger brother was entombed with all 
 due solemnities, the body of tl>e elder should 
 be left upon the battlefield to be torn by dogs 
 and vultures, and that whosoever durst bury it 
 should be treated as a rebel and traitor to the 
 state. 
 
 This was the time for the sister to remember 
 her oath to her dead brother. The more timid 
 Ismene would have dissuaded her, but she 
 iinswTred, — 
 
 " To me no sufferings liave that hideous form 
 Which can affright me from a glorious 
 death." 
 
 And she crept forth by night, amid all the 
 horrors of the deserted field of battle, and her- 
 self covered with loose earth the corpse of 
 Polynices. The barbarous uncle caused it to 
 he taken up and again exposed, and a watch
 
 ALLEbTlS AND ANTIGONE. 37 
 
 was set at some little distance. Again Anti- 
 gone 
 
 " Was seen, lamenting shrill with plaintive 
 notes, 
 Like the poor bird that sees her lonely nest 
 Spoiled of her young." 
 
 Again she heaped dry dust with her own 
 hands over the body, and poured forth the 
 libations of wine that formed an essential part 
 of the ceremony. She was seized by the 
 guard, and led before Creon. She boldly 
 avo\^ed her deed, and, in spite of the supplica- 
 tions of Ismene, she was put to death, a suf- 
 ferer for her noble and pious deeds ; and with 
 this only comfort : 
 
 " Glowing at my heart 
 I feel this hope, that to my father, dear 
 And dear to thee, my mother dear to thee, 
 My brother, I shall go." 
 
 Potter. 
 
 Dim and doubtful indeed was the hope that 
 mpbore the grave and beautiful Theban maiden ; 
 and we shall see her resolution equaled, though, 
 hardly surpassed, by Christian Antigones of 
 equal love and surer faith.
 
 38 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 HOW ONE MAN HAvS SAVED A HOST. 
 
 B. c. 507. 
 
 There have been times when the devotion of 
 one man has been the saving of an army. Such, 
 according to old Roman story, was the feat of 
 Horatius Codes. It was in the year b. c. 507, 
 not long after the kings had been expelled from 
 Rome, when they were endeavoring to return 
 by the aid of the Etruscans. Lars Porsena, 
 one of the great Etruscan chieftains, had taken 
 up the cause of the banished Tarquinius Supur- 
 bus and his son Sextus, and gathered all his 
 forces together, to advance upon the city of 
 Rome. The great walls, of old Etrurian archi- 
 tecture, had probably already risen round the 
 growing town, and all the people came flocking 
 in from the country for shelter there ; but the 
 Tiber was the best defence, and it was only 
 crossed by one wooden bridge, and the further 
 side of that was guarded by a fort, called the 
 Janiculum. But the vanguards of the over- 
 whelming Etruscan army soon took the fort, 
 and then, in the gallant words of Lord Macau- 
 lay's ballad, — 
 
 " Thus in all the Senate 
 
 There was no heart so bold, 
 But sore it ached, and fast it beat, 
 When that ill news was told.
 
 HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 39 
 
 Forthwith up rose the Consul, 
 
 Up rose the Fathers all, 
 In haste they girded up their gowns, 
 
 And hied them to the wall. 
 
 " They held a council standing 
 
 Before the River Gate : 
 Short time was there, ye well may guess 
 
 For musing or debate. 
 Out spoke the Consul roundly, 
 
 * The bridge must straight go down 
 For, since Janiculum is lost. 
 
 Naught else can save the town.' 
 
 " Just then a scout came flying, 
 
 All wild with haste and fear ; 
 ' To arms ! to arms ! Sir Consul, 
 
 Lars Porsena is here.' 
 On the low hills to westward 
 
 The Consul fixed his eye, 
 And saw the swarthy storm of dust 
 
 Rise fast along the sky. 
 
 " But the Consul's brow was sad. 
 
 And the Consul's speech was low, 
 And darkly looked he at the wall, 
 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 * Their van will be upon us 
 
 Before the bridge goes down ; 
 And if they once may wi^i the bridge^ 
 
 What hope to save the town ? '
 
 40 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 *' Then out spake brave Horatius, 
 
 The Captain of the Gate, 
 " To every man upon this earth 
 
 Death cometh soon or late ; 
 And how can man die better 
 
 Than facing fearful odds, 
 For the ashes of his fathers, 
 
 And the temples of his gods ? 
 
 *' ' And for the tender mother 
 
 Who dandled him to rest, 
 And for the wife who nurses 
 
 His baby at her breast ? 
 And for the holy maidens 
 
 Who feed the eternal flame, 
 To save them from false Sextus, 
 
 That wrought the deed of shame ? 
 
 ** ' Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul 
 
 With all the speed ye may, 
 I, with two more to help me, 
 
 Will hold the foe in play. 
 In yon straight path a thousand 
 
 May well be stopped by three : 
 Now who will stand on either hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with me ? ' 
 
 *' Then out spake Spurius Lortius, 
 A Ramnian proud was he, 
 
 * Lo, I will stand at thy right hand, 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee.' 
 And out spake strong Herminius, 
 Of Titian blood was he, 
 
 * I will abide on thy left side. 
 
 And keep the bridge with thee.' "
 
 HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 41 
 
 So forth went these brave men, Horatius, the 
 Consul's nephew, Spurius Lartius, and Titus 
 Herminius, to guard the bridge at the further 
 end, while all the rest of the warriors were 
 breaking dow^n the timbers behind them. 
 
 " And Fathers, mixed with commons, 
 Seized hatchet, bar, and crow, 
 And smote upon the planks above, 
 And loosened them below. 
 
 " Meanwhile the Tnscan army. 
 
 Right glorious to behold. 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright, 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold. 
 
 Four hundred trumpets sounded 
 
 A peal of warlike glee, 
 As that great host, with measured tread, 
 And spears advanced, and ensigns spread, 
 Rolled slowly towards the bridge's head. 
 
 Where stood the dauntless three. 
 
 *' The three stood calm and silent. 
 And looked upon the foes. 
 And a great shout of laughter 
 From all the vanguard rose." 
 
 They laughed to see three men standing t« 
 meet the whole army ; but it was so narrow a 
 space, that no more than three enemies could 
 attack them at once, and it was not easy to 
 match them. Foe after foe came forth against
 
 42 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 them, and went down before their swords and 
 spears, till at last — 
 
 '* Was none that would be foremost 
 To lead such dire attack ; 
 But those behind cried ' Forward ! ' 
 And those before cried ' Back ! ' " 
 
 However, the supports of the bridge had 
 been destroyed, 
 
 " But meanwhile axe and lever, 
 
 Have manfully been plied, 
 And now the bridge hangs tottering 
 
 Above the boiling tide. 
 ' Come back, come back, Horatius ! 
 
 Loud cried the Fathers all ; 
 * Back, Lartius ! back, Herminius ! 
 
 Back, ere the ruin fall ! ' 
 
 *' Back darted Spurius Lartius, 
 
 Herminius darted back ; 
 And as they passed, beneath their feet, 
 
 They felt the timbers crack ; 
 But when they turned their faces. 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius standing alone. 
 
 They would have crossed once more. 
 
 " But with a crash like thunder 
 Fell every loosened beam, 
 And, like a dam, the mighty wreck 
 Lay right athwart the stream ;
 
 HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 43 
 
 And a long shout of triumph 
 Rose from the walls of Rome, 
 
 As to the highest turret-tops 
 Was splashed the yellow foam." 
 
 The one last champion, behind a rampart of 
 dead enemies, remained till the destruction was 
 complete. 
 
 " Alone stood brave Horatius, 
 But constant still in mind, 
 Thrice thirty thousand foes before 
 And the broad flood behind." 
 
 A dart had put out one eye, he was wounded 
 in the thigh, and his work was done. He 
 turned round, and — 
 
 " Saw on Palatinus, 
 
 The white porch of his home. 
 And he spake to the noble river 
 
 That rolls by the walls of Rome, 
 * O Tiber ! father Tiber ! 
 
 To whom the Romans pray, 
 A Roman's life, a Roman's arms. 
 
 Take thou in charge this day.' " 
 
 And with this brief prayer he leapt into the 
 foaming stream. Polybius was told that he 
 was there drowned ; but Livy gives the version 
 which the ballad follows : — 
 
 " But fiercely ran the current. 
 
 Swollen high by months of rain. 
 And fast his blood was flowing, 
 And he was sore in pain,
 
 44 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 And heavy with his armor, 
 
 And spent with changing blows, 
 
 And oft they thought him sinking, 
 But still again he rose. 
 
 " Never, I ween, did swimmer. 
 In such an evil case, 
 Struggle through such a raging flood 
 
 Safe to the landing place. 
 But his limbs were borne up bravely 
 
 By the brave heart within. 
 And our good father Tiber 
 Bare bravely up his chin. 
 
 " And now he feels the bottom. 
 
 Now on dry earth he stands. 
 Now round him throng the Fathers 
 
 To press his gory hands. 
 And now Avith shouts and clapping. 
 
 And noise of weeping loud. 
 He enters through the River Gate, 
 
 Borne by the joyous crowd. 
 
 ** They gave him of the corn-land 
 
 That was of public right. 
 As much as two strong oxen 
 
 Could plough from morn to night. 
 And they made a molten image, 
 
 And set it up on high. 
 And there it stands unto this day 
 
 To witness if I lie.
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 45. 
 
 " It stands in the Comitium, 
 
 Plain for all folks to see, 
 Horatius in his harness, 
 
 Halting upon his knee : 
 And underneath is written, 
 
 In letters all of gold, 
 How valiantly he kept the bridge 
 
 In the brave days of old." 
 
 Never was more honorable surname than was 
 his, of Codes, or the one-eyed ; and though his 
 lameness prevented him from ever being a 
 Consul, or leading an army, he was so much 
 beloved and honored by his fellow-citizens, that 
 in the time of a famine each Roman, to the 
 number of 300,000, brought him a day's food, 
 lest he should suffer want. The statue was 
 shown even in the time of Pliny, 600 years 
 afterward, and was probably only destroyed 
 when Rome was sacked bv the barbarians. 
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYL^. 
 
 B.C. 430. 
 
 There was trembling in Greece. '' The Great 
 King," as the Greeks called the chief potentate 
 of the East, whose domains stretched from the 
 Indian Caucasus to the ^gseus, from the Cas- 
 pian to the Red Sea, was marshaling his forcas 
 against the little free states that nestled amid 
 the rocks and gulfs of the Eastern Mediter- 
 ranean. Already had his might devoured the
 
 46 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 cherished colonies of the Greeks on the eastern 
 shore of the Archipelago, and every traitor to 
 home institutions found a ready asyJum at that 
 despotic court, and tried to revenge his own 
 wrongs by whispering incitements to invasion. 
 "All people, nations, and languages," was the 
 commencement of the decrees of that monarch's 
 court ; and it was scarcely a vain boast, for his 
 satraps ruled over subject kingdoms, and among 
 his tributary nations he counted the Chaldean, 
 with his learning and old civihzation, the wise 
 and steadfast Jew, the skillful Phoenician, the 
 learned Egyptian, the wild, freebooting Arab 
 of the desert, the dark-skinned Ethiopian, and 
 over all these ruled the keen-witted, active 
 native Persian race, the conquerors of all the 
 rest, and led by a chosen band proudly called 
 the immortal. His many capitals — Babylon 
 the Great, Susa, Persepolis, and the like — were 
 names of dreamy splendor to the Greeks, 
 described now and then by lonians from Asia 
 Minor who had carried their tribute to the 
 king's own feet, or by courtier slaves who had 
 escaped with difficulty from being all too ser- 
 viceable at the tyrannic court. And the lord 
 of this enormous empire was about to launch 
 his countless host against the little cluster of 
 states, the whole of which together would hardly 
 equal one province of the huge Asiatic realm ! 
 Moreover, it was a war not only on the men but 
 on their gods. The Persians were zealous 
 adorei-s of the sun and of fire ; they abhorred 
 the idol-worship of the Greeks, and defiled and 
 plundered every temple that fell in their way.
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 47 
 
 Death and desolation were almost the best that 
 could be looked for at such hands, — slavery and 
 torture from cruelly barbarous masters would 
 only too surely be the lot of numbers, should 
 their land fall a prey to the conquerors. 
 
 True it was that ten years back the former 
 Great King had sent his best troops to be sig- 
 nally defeated upon the coast of Attica; but 
 the losses at Marathon had but stimulated 
 the Persian lust of conquest, and the new King 
 Xerxes was gathering together such myriads of 
 men as should crush down the Greeks and over- 
 run their country by mere force of numbers. 
 
 The muster place was at Sardis, and there 
 Greek spies had seen the multitudes assembling 
 and the state and magnificence of the king's 
 attendants. Envoys had come from him to 
 demand earth and water from each state in 
 Greece, as emblems that land and sea were his ; 
 but each state was resolved to be free, and only 
 Thessaly, that which lay first in his path, con- 
 sented to yield the token of subjugation. A 
 council was held at the Isthmus of Corinth, and 
 attended by deputies from all the states of 
 Greece to consider of the best means of defence. 
 The ships of the enemy would coast round the 
 shores of the JEgean Sea, the land army would 
 cross the Hellespont on a bridge of boats lashed 
 together, and march southward into Greece. 
 The only hope of averting the danger lay in 
 defending such passages as, from the nature of 
 the ground, were so narrow that only a few 
 persons could fight hand to hand at once, so that 
 courao^e would be of more avail than numbers.
 
 48 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 The first of these passes was called Tempe, 
 and a body of troops was sent to guard it ; but 
 they found that this was useless and impossible, 
 and came back again. The next was at Ther- 
 mopylae. Look in your map of the Archipelago, 
 or ^gean Sea, as it was then called, for the 
 great island of Negropont, or by its old name, 
 Euboea. It looks like a piece broken off from 
 the coast, and to the north is shaped like the 
 head of a bird, with the beak running into a 
 gulf^ that would fit over it, upon the main land, 
 and between the island and the coast is an 
 exceedingly narrow strait. The Persian army 
 would have to march round the edge of the gulf. 
 They could not cut straight across the country, 
 because the ridge of mountains called CEta rose 
 up and barred their way. Indeed, the woods, 
 rocks, and precipices came down so near the 
 seashore, that in two places there was only 
 room for one single wheel track between the 
 steeps and the impassable morass that formed the 
 border of the gulf on its south side. These two 
 very narrow places were called the gates of the 
 pass, and were about a mile apart. There was 
 a little more width left in the intervening space ; 
 but in this there were a number of springs of 
 warm mineral water, salt and sulphurous, which 
 were used for the sick to bathe in, and thus the 
 place was called Thermopylae, or the Hot Gates, 
 A wall had once been built across the western- 
 most of these narrow places, when the Thessal- 
 ians and Phocians, who lived on either side of 
 it, had been at war with one another ; but it 
 had been allowed to go to decay, since the
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYL^. 49 
 
 Phocians had found out that there was a very 
 st«ep narrow mountain path along the bed of 
 a torrent, by which it was possible to cross from 
 one territory to the other without going round 
 this marshy coast road. 
 
 This was, therefore, an excellent place to 
 defend. The Greek ships were all drawn up 
 on the farther side of Euboea to prevent the 
 Persian vessels from getting into the strait and 
 landing men beyond the pass, and a division of 
 the army was sent off to guard the Hot Gates. 
 The council at the Isthmus did not know of the 
 mountain pathway, and thought that all would 
 be safe as long as the Persians were kept out of 
 the coast path. 
 
 The troops sent for this purpose were from 
 different cities, and amounted to about foui 
 thousand, who were to keep the pass against 
 two millions. The leader of them was Leonidas, 
 who had newly become one of the two kings of 
 Spart-a, the city that above all in Greece trained 
 its sons to be hardy soldiers, dreading death 
 infinitely less than shame. Leonidas had 
 already made up his mind that the expedition 
 would probably be his death, perhaps because a 
 prophecy had been given at the Temple at 
 Delphi that Sparta should be saved by the 
 death of one of her kings of the race of Her- 
 cules. He was allowed by law to take with 
 him three hundred men, and these he chose 
 most carefully, not merely for their strength and 
 courage, but selecting those who had sons, so 
 that no family might be altogether destroyed. 
 These Spartans, with their helots or slaves,
 
 50 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 made up his own share of the numbers, but all 
 the army was under his generalship. It is even 
 said that the three hundred celebrated their 
 own funeral rites before they set out lest they 
 should be deprived of them by the enemy, since, 
 as we have already seen, it was the Greek belief 
 that the spirits of the dead found no rest till 
 their obsequies had been performed. Such 
 preparations did not daunt the spirits of Leoni- 
 das and his men, and his wdfe, Gorgo, was not a 
 woman to be faint-hearted or to hold him back. 
 Long before, when she was a very little girl, a 
 word of hers had saved her father from listen- 
 ing to a traitorous message from the King of 
 Persia ; and every Spartan lady was bred up 
 to be able to say to those she best loved that 
 they must come home to battle " with the shield 
 or on it " — either carrying it victoriously or 
 borne upon it as a corpse. 
 
 When Leonidas came to Thermopylae, the 
 Phocians told him of the mountain path 
 through the chestnut woods of Mount CEta, and 
 begged to have the privilege of guarding it on 
 a spot high up on the mountain side, assuring 
 him that it was very hard to find at the other 
 end, and that there was every probability that 
 the enemy would never discover it. He con- 
 sented, and encamping around the warm springs, 
 caused the broken wall to be repaired, and made 
 ready to meet the foe. 
 
 The Persian army were seen covering the 
 whole country like locusts, and the hearts of 
 some of the southern Greeks in the pass began 
 to sink. Their homes in the Peloponnesus
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 51 
 
 were comparatively secure, — had they not 
 better fall back and reserve themselves to 
 defend the Isthmus of Corinth ? But Leonidas, 
 though Sparta was safe below the Isthmus, had 
 no intention of abandoning his northern allies, 
 and kept the other Peloponnesians to their 
 posts, only sending messengers for further help. 
 
 Presently a Persian on horseback rode up to 
 reconnoitre the pass. He could not see over the 
 wall, but in front of it and on the ramparts, he 
 saw the Spartans, some of them engaged in 
 active sports, and others in combing their long 
 hair. He rode back to the king, and told him 
 what he had seen. Now, Xerxes had in his 
 camp an exiled Spartan prince, named Demar- 
 atus, who had become a traitor to his country, 
 and was serving as counselor to the enemy. 
 Xerxes sent for him, and asked whether his 
 countrymen w'ere mad to be thus employed 
 instead of fleeing away ; but Demaratus made 
 answer that a hard fight was no doubt in prepa- 
 ration, and that it was the custom of the Spar- 
 tans to array their hair with especial care when 
 they w^ere about to enter upon any great peril. 
 Xerxes would, how^ever, not believe that so 
 petty a force could intend to resist him, and 
 waited four days, probably expecting his fleet 
 to assist him, but as it did not appear, the at- 
 tack was made. 
 
 The Greeks, stronger men and more heavily 
 armed, were far better able to fight to advan- 
 tage than the Persians with their short spears 
 and wicker shields and beat them ofi" w^ith great 
 ease. It is said that Xerxes three times leapt off
 
 52 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 his throne in despair at the sight of his troops 
 being driven backv»ard ; and thus for two days 
 it seemed as easy to force a way through the 
 Spartans as through the rocks themselves. Nay, 
 how^ could slavish troops, dragged from home 
 to spread the victories of an ambitious king, 
 fight like freemen who felt that their strokes 
 "were to defend their homes and children ? 
 
 But on that evening a wretched man, named 
 Ephialtes, crept into the Persian camp, and 
 offered, for a great sum of money, to show the 
 mountain path that would enable the enemy to 
 take the brave defenders in the rear ! A Per- 
 sian general, named Hydarnes, was sent off at 
 nightfall with a detachment to secure this pas- 
 sage, and was guided through the thick forests 
 that clothed the hillside. In the stillness of the 
 air, at daybreak, the Phocian guards of the path 
 were startled by the crackling of the chestnut 
 leaves under the tread of many feet. They 
 started up, but a shower of arrows was dis- 
 charged on them, and forgetting all save the 
 present alarm, they fled to a higher part of the 
 mountain, and the enemy, without waiting to 
 pursue them, began to descend. 
 
 As day dawned, morning light showed the 
 watchers of the Grecian camp below a glitter- 
 ing and shimmering in the torrent bed where 
 the shaggy forests opened : but it was not the 
 sparkle of water, but the shine of gilded helmets 
 and the gleaming of silvered spears ! Moreover, 
 a! Cimmerian crept over to the wall from the 
 Persian camp with tidings that the path had 
 been betrayed, that the enemy were climbing
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 53 
 
 it, and would come down beyond the Eastern 
 Gate. Still, the way was rugged and circuitous, 
 the Persians would hardly descend before mid- 
 day, and there was ample time for the Greeks 
 to escape before they could thus be shut in by 
 the enemy. 
 
 There was a short council held over the 
 morning sacrifice. Megistias, the seer, on inspect- 
 ing the entrails of the slain victim, declared, as 
 well he might, that their appearance boded 
 disaster. Him, Leonidas ordered to retire, but 
 he refused, though he sent home his only son. 
 There was no disgrace to an ordinary tone of 
 mind in leaving a post that could not be held, and 
 Leonidas recommended all the allied troops 
 under his command to march away while yet 
 the way was open. As to himself and his Spar- 
 tans, they had made up their minds to* die at 
 their post, and there could be no doubt that 
 the example of such a resolution would do more 
 to save Greece than their best efforts could ever 
 do if they were careful to reserve themselves 
 for another occasion. 
 
 All the allies consented to retreat, except the 
 eighty men who came from Mycsene and the 
 700 Thespians, who declared that they would 
 not desert Leonidas. There were also 400 
 Thebans who remained ; and thus the whole 
 number that stayed w^ith Leonidas to confront 
 two millions of enemies were fourteen hundred 
 warriors, besides the helots or attendants on the 
 300 Spartans, whose number is not known, but 
 there was probably at least one to each. Leoni- 
 das had two kinsmen in the camp, like himself,
 
 54 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 claiming the blood of Hercules, and he tried to 
 save them by giving them letters and messages 
 to Sparta ; but one answered that " he had come 
 t<; fight, not to carry letters ; " and the other, 
 that " his deeds would tell all that Sparta wished 
 tu know." Another Spartan, named Dienices, 
 Avlien told that the enemy's archers were so 
 numerous that their arrows darkened the sun, 
 replied, " So much the better, we shall fight in 
 the shade." Two of the 300 had been sent to 
 a neighboring village, suffering severely from a 
 complaint in the eyes. One of them, called 
 Eurytus, put on his armor, and commanded his 
 helot to lead him to his place in the ranks ; the 
 other, called Aristodemus, was so overpowered 
 with illness that he allowed himself to be carried 
 away with the retreating allies. It w-as still 
 early in the day when all were gone, and 
 Leonidas gave the word to his men to take their 
 last meal. " To-night," he said, " we shall sup 
 with Pluto." 
 
 Hitherto, he had stood on the defensive, and 
 had husbanded the lives of his men ; but he 
 now desired to make as great a slaughter as 
 possible, so as to inspire the enemy with dread 
 of the Grecian name. He therefore marched 
 out beyond the wall, without waiting to be 
 attacked, and the battle began. The Persian 
 captains went behind their wretched troops and 
 scourged them on to the fight with whips ! Poor 
 wretches, they were driven on to be slaughtered, 
 pierced with the Greek spears, hurled into the 
 sea, or trampled into the nmd of the morass ; 
 but their inexhaustible numbers told at length.
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYL^. 5") 
 
 The spears of the Greeks broke under hard ser- 
 vice, and their swords alone remained ; they 
 began to fall, and Leonidas himself was among 
 the first of the slain. Hotter than ever was 
 the fight over his corpse, and two Persian 
 princes, brothers of Xerxes, were there killed ; 
 but at length word was brought that Hydarnes 
 was over the pass, and that the few remaining 
 men were thus enclosed on all sides. The 
 Spartans and Thespians made their way to a 
 little hillock within the wall, resolved to let this 
 be the place of their last stand ; but the hearts 
 of the Thebans failed them, and they came 
 toward the Persians holding out their hands in 
 entreaty for mercy. Quarter was given t(; 
 them, but they were all branded with the king's 
 mark as untrustworthy deserters. The helots 
 probably at this time escaped into the moun- 
 tains : while the small desperate band stood 
 side by side on the hill still fighting to 
 the last, some with swords, others with dag- 
 gers, others even with their hands and teeth, 
 till not one living man remained amongst 
 them when the sun went down. There was 
 only a mound of slain, bristled over with 
 arrows. 
 
 Twenty thousand Persians had died before 
 that handful of men ! Xerxes asked Demaratus 
 if there were many more at Sparta like these, 
 and was told there were 8000. It must have 
 been with a somewhat failing heart that he 
 invited his courtiers from the fleet to see what 
 he had done to the men who dared to oppose 
 him ! and showed them the head and arm of
 
 56 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Leonidas set up upon a cross ; but he took care 
 that all his own slain, except 1000, should first 
 be put out of sight. The body of the brave 
 king was buried where he fell, as were those of 
 the other dead. Much envied were they by 
 the unhappy Aristodemus, who found himself 
 called by no name but the " Coward," and was 
 shunned by his fellow-citizens. No one would 
 give him fire or water, and after a year of misery, 
 he redeemed his honor by perishing in the fore- 
 front of the battle of Platsea, which was the last 
 blow that drove the Persians ingloriously from 
 Greece. 
 
 The Greeks then united in doing honor to 
 the brave warriors who, had they been better 
 cupported, might have saved the whole country 
 from invasion. The poet Simonides wrote the 
 inscriptions that were engraved upon the pillars 
 that were set up in the pass to commemorate 
 this great action. One was outside the wall, 
 where most of the fighting had been. It seems 
 to have been in honor of the whole number, 
 who had for two days resisted : 
 
 " Here did four thousand men from Pelops' 
 land 
 Against three hundred myriads bravely 
 stand." 
 
 In honor of the Spartans was another col- 
 umn : — 
 
 " Go, traveler, to Sparta tell 
 That here, obeying her, we fell."
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 57 
 
 On the little hillock of the last resistance was 
 place<:l the figure of a stone lion, in memory of 
 Leonidas, so fitly named the lion-like, and 
 Simonides, at his own expense, erected a pillar 
 to his friend, the seer Megistias : — 
 
 " The great Megistias' tomb you here may view, 
 Who slew the Medes, fresh from Spercheius 
 
 fords ; 
 Well the wise seer the coming death foreknew, 
 Yet scorned he to forsake his Spartan lords." 
 
 The names of the 300 were likewise engraven 
 on a pillar at Sparta. 
 
 Lion, pillars, and inscriptions have all long 
 since passed away, even the very spot itself has 
 changed ; new soil has been formed, and there 
 are miles of solid ground between Mount CEta 
 and the o^ulf so that the Hot Gates no lono^er 
 exist. Bat more enduring than stone or brass 
 — nay, than the very battlefield itself — has 
 been the name of Leonidas. Two thousand 
 three hundred years have sped since he braced 
 himself to perish for his country's sake in that 
 narrow, marshy coast road, under the brow of 
 the wooded crags, with the sea by his side. 
 Since that time how many hearts have glowed, 
 how many arms have been nerved at the 
 remembrance of the Pass of Thermopylae, and 
 the defeat that was worth so much more than a 
 victory I
 
 68 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 B. c. 380 (circa). 
 
 Most of the best and noblest of the Greeks 
 lield what was called the Pythagorean philo- 
 sophy. This was one of the many systems 
 framed by the great men of heathenism, when 
 by the feeble light of nature they were, as St. 
 Paul says, " seeking after God, if haply they 
 might feel after Him," like men groping in the 
 darkness. Pythagoras lived before the time of 
 history, and almost nothing is known about 
 him, though his teaching and his name were 
 never lost. There is a belief that he had 
 traveled in the East, and in Egypt, and as he 
 lived about the time of the dispersion of the 
 Israelites, it is possible that some of his purest 
 and best teaching might have been crumbs 
 gathered from their fuller instruction through 
 the Law and the Prophets. One thing is plain, 
 that even in dealing with heathenism the 
 Divine rule holds good, " By their fruits ye 
 shall know them." Golden Deeds are only to 
 be found among men whose belief is earnest 
 and sincere, and in something really high and 
 noble. Where there was nothing worshiped 
 but savage or impure power, and the very form 
 of adoration was cruel and unclean, as among 
 the Canaanites and Carthaginians, there we 
 find no true self-devotion. The great deeds of 
 the heathen world were all done by early 
 Greeks and Romans before yet the last gleams
 
 TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 59 
 
 of purer light had faded out of their belief, 
 and while their moral sense still nerved them 
 to energy ; or else by such later Greeks as had 
 embraced the deeper and more earnest yearn- 
 ings of the minds that had become a " law 
 unto themselves." 
 
 The Pythagoreans were bound together in a 
 brotherhood, the members of which had rules 
 that are now not understood, but which linked 
 them so as to form a sort of club, with common 
 religious observances and pursuits of science, 
 especially matiiematics and music. And they 
 were taught to restrain their passions, especially 
 that of anger, and to endure with patience all 
 kinds of suffering ; believing that such self- 
 restraint brought them nearer to the gods, and 
 that death would set them free from the prison 
 of the body. The souls of evil-doers would, 
 they thought, pass into the lower and more 
 degraded animals, while those of good men 
 would be gradually purified, and rise to a higher 
 existence. This, though lamentably deficient, 
 and false in some points, was a real religion, 
 inasmuch as it gave a rule of life, with a motive 
 for striving for wisdom and virtue. Two friends 
 of this Pythagorean sect lived at Syracuse, in 
 the end of the fourth century before the Chris- 
 tian era. Syracuse was a great Greek city, 
 built in Sicily, and full of all kinds of Greek 
 art and learning ; but it Avas a place of danger 
 in their time, for it had fallen under the 
 tyranny of a man of strange and capricious 
 temper, though of great abilities, namely, 
 Dionysius. He is said to have been originally
 
 bU BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 only a clerk in a public office, but his talents 
 raised him to continually higher situations, and 
 at length, in a great war with the Carthaginians, 
 who had many settlements in Sicily, he became 
 general of the army, and then found it easy to 
 establish his power over the city. 
 
 This power was not according to the laws, for 
 Syracuse, like most other cities, ought to have 
 been governed by a council of magistrates ; but 
 Dionysius was an exceedingly able man, and 
 made the city much more rich and powerful ; he 
 defeated the Carthaginians, and rendered Syra- 
 cuse by far the chief city in the island, and he 
 contrived to make every one so much afraid of 
 him that no one durst attempt to overthrow his 
 power. He was a good scholar, and very fond 
 of philosophy and poetry, and he delighted to 
 have learned men around him, and he had 
 naturally a generous spirit ; but the sense that 
 he was in a position that did not belong to 
 kim, and that every one hated him for assum- 
 ing it, made him very harsh and suspicious. It 
 Is of him that the story is told, that he had a 
 chamber hollowed in the rock near his state 
 prison, and constructed with galleries to con- 
 duct sounds like an ear, so that he might over- 
 hear the conversation of his captives ; and of 
 him, too, is told that famous anecdote which 
 has become a proverb, that on hearing a friend, 
 named Damocles, express a wish to be in his 
 situation for a single day, he took him at his 
 word, and Damocles found himself at a banquet 
 with everything that could delight his senses, 
 delicious food, costly wine, flowers, perfumes,
 
 TWO FRIENDS OF SYPvACUSE. 61 
 
 music ; but with a sword with the point almost 
 touching his head, and hanging by a single 
 horse-hair ! This was to show the condition in 
 which a usurper lived ! 
 
 Thus Dionysius was in constant dread. He 
 had a wide trench round his bedroom, with a 
 drawbridge that he drew up and put down with 
 his own hands ; and he put one barber to death 
 for boasting that he held a razor to the tyrant's 
 throat every morning. After this he made his 
 young daughters shave him ; but by-and-by he 
 would not trust them with a razor, and caused 
 them to singe off his beard with hot nut-shells ! 
 He was said to have put a man named Anti- 
 phon to death for answ^ering him, when he asked 
 what was the best kind of brass, " That of 
 which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogei- 
 ton were made." These were the two Athenians 
 who had killed the sons of Pisistratus the 
 tyrant, so that the jest was most offensive, but 
 its boldness might have gained forgiveness for 
 it. One philosopher, named Philoxenus, he 
 sent to a dungeon for finding fault with his 
 poetry, but he afterward composed another 
 piece, which he thought so superior that he 
 could not be content without sending for this 
 adverse critic to hear it. When he had finished 
 reading it, he looked to Philoxenus for a com- 
 pliment ; but the philosopher only turned round 
 to the guards, and said dryly, " Carry me back 
 to prison." This time Dionysius had the sense 
 to laugh, and forgive his honesty. 
 
 All these stories may not be true ; but that 
 they should have been current in the ancient
 
 62 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS, 
 
 world shows what was the character of the man 
 of whom they were told, how stern and terrible 
 was his anger, and how easily it was incurred. 
 Among those who came under it was a Pytha- 
 gorean, called Pythias, who was sentenced to 
 death, according to the usual fate of those who 
 fell under his suspicion. 
 
 Pythias had lands and relations in Greece, 
 and he entreated as a favor to be allowed to 
 return thither and arrange his affairs, engaging 
 to return within a specified time to suffer death. 
 The tyrant laughed his request to scorn. Once 
 safe out of Sicily, who would answer for his 
 return? Pythias made reply that he had a 
 friend who would become security for his 
 return ; and while Dionysiiis, the miserable 
 man who trusted nobody, was ready to scoff at 
 his simplicity, another Pythagorean, by name 
 Damon, came forward, and offered to become 
 surety for his friend, engaging that, if Pythias 
 did not return according to promise, to suffer 
 death in his stead. 
 
 Dionysius, much astonished, consented to let 
 Pythias go, marveling Avhat would be the issue 
 of the affair. Time went on, and Pythias did 
 not appear. The Syracusans watched Damon, 
 but he showed no uneasiness. He said he was 
 secure of his friend's truth and honor, and that 
 if any accident had caused the delay of his 
 return, he should rejoice in dying to save the 
 life of one so dear to him. 
 
 Even to the last day, Damon continued 
 serene and content, however it might fall out ; 
 nay, even when the very hour drew nigh and
 
 BRAVE BRETHPwEN OF JUDAH. Do 
 
 still no Pythias. His trust was so perfect, that 
 he did not even grieve at having to die for a 
 faithless friend who had left him to the fate to 
 which he had unwarily pledged himself It 
 was not Pythias' own will, but the winds and 
 ^vaves, so he still declared, when the decree was 
 brought and the instruments of death made 
 ready. The hour had come, and a few moments 
 more would have ended Damon's life, when 
 Pythias duly presented himself, embraced his 
 friend, and stood forward himself to receive his 
 sentence, calm, resolute, and rejoiced that he 
 had come in time. 
 
 Even the dim hope they owned of a future 
 state was enough to make these two brave men 
 keep their word, and confront death for one 
 another without quailing. Dionysius looked 
 on more struck than ever. He felt that neither 
 of such men must die. He reversed the sen- 
 tence of Pythias, and calling the two to his 
 judgment-seat he entreated them to admit him 
 as a third in their friendship. 
 
 THE BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 
 
 B. c. 180. 
 
 It was about 180 years before the Christian 
 era. The Jews had long since come home from 
 Babylon, and built up their city and Temple at 
 Jerusalem. But they were not free as they had 
 been before. Their country belonged to some
 
 64 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 greater power, they had a foreign governor over 
 them, and had to pay tribute to the king who was 
 their master. 
 
 At the time we are going to speak of, this king 
 was Antiochus Epiphanes, King of Syria. He 
 was descended from one of those generals, who, 
 upon the death of Alexander the Great, had 
 shared the East between them, and he reigned 
 over all the country from the Mediterranean 
 Sea even into Persia and the borders of India. 
 He spoke Greek, and believed in both the Greek 
 and Roman gods, for he had spent some time 
 at Rome in his youth ; but in his Eastern king- 
 dom he had learnt all the self-indulgent and 
 violent habits to which people in those hot 
 countries are especially tempted. 
 
 He w^as so fierce and passionate, that he wa? 
 often called the " Madman," and he was very 
 cruel to all who ofiended him. One of his great- 
 est desires was, that the Jews should leave theii 
 true faith in one God, and do like the Greeks 
 and Syrians, his other subjects, worship the 
 same idols, and hold drunken feasts in theii 
 honor. Sad to say, a great many of the Jews 
 had grown ashamed of their own true religion 
 and the strict ways of their law, and thought 
 them old-fashioned. They joined in the Greek 
 sports, played games naked in the theatre, 
 joined in riotous processions, carrying ivy in 
 honor of Bacchus, the god of wine, and offered 
 incense to the idols ; and the worst of all these 
 was the false high-priest, Menelaus, who led the 
 King Antiochus into the Temple itself, even into 
 the Holy of Holies, and told him all that would
 
 BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 65 
 
 most desecrate it and grieve the Jews. So a 
 little altar to the Roman god Jupiter was set 
 up on the top of the great brazen altar of burnt 
 offerings, a hog was offered up, and broth of its 
 flesh sprinkled everywhere in the Temple ; then 
 all the precious vessels w^ere seized, the shew- 
 bread table of gold, the candlesticks, and the 
 whole treasury, and carried away by the king ; 
 the walls were thrown down, and the place made 
 desolate. 
 
 Some Jews were still faithful to their God, but 
 they were horribly punished and tortured to 
 death before the eyes of the king ; and when at 
 last he went away to his own country, taking 
 with him the wicked high-priest Menelaus, he 
 left behind him a governor and an army of 
 soldiers stationed in the tower of Acra, which 
 overlooked the Templehill, and sent for an old 
 man from Athens to teach the people the 
 heathen rites and ceremonies. Any person who 
 observed the Sabbath day, or any other ordi- 
 nance of the law of Moses, w^as put to death in 
 a most cruel manner ; all the books of the Old 
 Testament Scripture that could be found were 
 either burnt or defiled, by having pictures of 
 Greek gods painted upon them ; and the heathen 
 priests went from place to place, with a little 
 brazen altar and image and a guard of soldiers, 
 who were to kill every person who refused to 
 burn incense before the idol. It was the very 
 saddest time that the Jews had ever known, 
 and there seemed to be no help near or far off'; 
 they could have no hope, except in the promises 
 that God would never fail His people, or forsake
 
 66 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 His inheritance, and in the prophecies that bad 
 times should come, but good ones after them. 
 
 The Greeks, in going through the towns to 
 enforce the idol worship, came to a little city 
 called Modin, somewhere on the hills on the 
 coast of the Mediterranean Sea, not far from 
 Joppa. There they sent out, as usual, orders to 
 all the men of the town to meet them in the 
 market-place ; but they were told beforehand, 
 that the chief person in the place was an old 
 man named Mattathias, of a priestly family, and 
 so much respected, that all the other inhabitants 
 of the place were sure to do whatever he might 
 lead them in. So the Greeks sent for him first 
 of all, and he came at their summons, a grand 
 and noble old man, followed by his five sons, 
 Johanan, Simon, Judas, Jonathan, and Eleazar. 
 The Greek priest tried to talk him over. He 
 told him that the high-priest had forsaken the 
 Jewish superstition, that the Temple was in 
 ruins, and that resistance was in vain ; and 
 exhorted him to obtain gratitude and honor for 
 himself, by leading his countrymen in thus ador- 
 ing the deities of the king's choice, promising 
 him rewards and treasures if he w^ould comply. 
 
 But the old man spoke out v.ith a loud and 
 fearless voice : " Though all the nations that 
 are under the king's dominion obey him, and 
 fall away every one from the religion of their 
 fathers, and give consent to his commandments ; 
 yet will I and my sons and my brethren walk 
 in the covenant of our fathers. God forbid that 
 we should forsake the law^ and the ordinances ! 
 We will not hearken to the king's words, to go
 
 BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 67 
 
 from our religion, either on the right hand or 
 the left ! " 
 
 As he spoke, up came an apostate Jew to do 
 sacrifice at the heathen altar. Mattathias trem- 
 bled at the sight, and his zeal broke forth. He 
 slew the offender, and his brave sons gathering 
 round him, they attacked the Syrian soldiers^ 
 killed the commissioner, and threw down the 
 altar. Then, as they knew that they could not 
 there hold out against the king's power, Matta- 
 thias proclaimed through the city : " Whoso- 
 ever is zealous of the law, and maintaineth 
 the covenant, let him follow me ! " With 
 that, he and his five sons, with their fami- 
 lies, left their houses and lands, and drove 
 their cattle with them up into the wild hills and 
 caves, where David had once made his home ; 
 and all the Jews who wished to be still faithful, 
 gathered round them, to worship God and keep 
 His commandments. 
 
 There they were, a handful of brave men in 
 the mountains, and all the heathen world and 
 apostate Jews against them. They used to 
 come down into the villages, remind the people 
 of the law, promise their help, and throw down 
 any idol altars that they found, and the enemy 
 never were able to follow them into their rocky 
 strongholds. But the old ^lattathias could not 
 long bear the rude wild life in the cold moun- 
 tains, and he soon died. First he called all his 
 five sons, and bade them to " be zealous for the 
 law, and give their lives for the covenant of 
 their fathers ; " and he reminded them of all the 
 many brave men who had before served God^
 
 68 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and been aided in their extremity. He ap- 
 pointed his son Judas, as the strongest and 
 mightiest, to lead his brethren to battle, and 
 Simon, as the wisest, to be their counselor ; 
 then he blessed them and died, and his sons 
 were able to bury him in the tomb of his 
 fathers at Modin. 
 
 Judas was one of the bravest men who ever 
 lived ; never dreading the numbers that came 
 against him. He was surnamed Maccabeus, 
 which some people say meant the hammerer ; 
 but others think it was made up of the first 
 letters of the words he carried on his banner, 
 which meant, " Who is like unto Thee, among 
 the gods, O Lord ! " Altogether he had about 
 six thousand men round him when the Greek 
 governor, Apollonius, came out to fight with him. 
 The Jews gained here their first great victory, 
 and Judas killed Apollonius, took his sword and 
 fought all his other battles with it. Next came a 
 captain called Seron, who went out to the hills 
 to lay hold of the bold rebels that dared to rise 
 against the King of Syria. The place where 
 Judas met him was one to make the Jews' hearts 
 leap with hope and trust. It was on the steep, 
 stony, broken hillside of Beth-horon, the very 
 place where Joshua had conquered the five kings 
 of the Amorites, in the first battle on the coming 
 in of the children of Israel to Palestine. There 
 was the rugged path where Joshua had stood and 
 called out to the sun to stand still in Gideon, and 
 the moon in the valley of Ajalon. Miracles were 
 over, and Judas looked for no wonder to help 
 him ; but when he came up the mountain road
 
 BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 69 
 
 from Joppa, his heart was full of the same trust 
 as Joshua's, and he won another great victory. 
 
 By this time King Antiochus began to think 
 the rising of the Jews a serious matter, but he 
 could not come himself against them, because 
 his provinces in Armenia and Persia had 
 refused their tribute, and he had to go in per- 
 son to reduce them. He appointed, however, a 
 governor, named Lysias, to chastise the Jews, 
 giving him an army of 40,000 foot and 7000 
 horse. Half of these Lysias sent on before him, 
 with two captains, named Nicanor and Gorgias, 
 thinking that these would be more than enough 
 to hunt down and crush the little handful that 
 were lurking in the hills. And with them came 
 a great number of slave merchants, who had 
 bargained with Nicanor that they should have 
 ninety Jews for one talent, to sell to the Greeks 
 and Romans, by whom Jewish slaves were much 
 esteemed. 
 
 There was great terror in Palestine at these- 
 ti dings, and many of the weaker-minded fell 
 away from Judas ; but he called all the faithful 
 together at Mizpeh, the same place where, 1000 
 years before, Samuel had collected the Israelites, 
 and, after prayer and fasting, had sent them 
 forth to free their country from the Philistines. 
 Shiloh, the sanctuary, was then lying desolate, 
 just as Jerusalem now lay in ruins; and yet 
 better times had come. But very mournful 
 was that fast day at Mizpeh, as the Jews looked 
 along the hillside to their own holy mountain, 
 crowned by no white marble and gold Temple 
 flashing back the sunbeams, but only with the
 
 70 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tall castle of their enemies towering over the 
 precipice. They could not sacrifice, because a 
 sacrifice could only be made at Jerusalem, and 
 the only book of the Scriptures that they had to 
 read from was painted over with the hateful idol 
 figures of the Greeks. And the huge army of 
 enemies was ever coming nearer ! The whole 
 assembly wept, and put on sackcloth and prayed 
 aloud for help, and then there was a loud sound- 
 ing of trumpets, and Judas stood forth before 
 them. And he made the old proclamation that 
 Moses had long ago decreed, that no one should 
 ^0 out to battle who was building a house, or 
 planting a vineyard, or had just betrothed a 
 wife, or who was fearful and faint-hearted. All 
 these were to go home again. Judas had 6000 
 followers when he made this proclamation. He 
 had only 3000 at the end of the day, and they 
 were but poorly armed. He then told them of 
 the former aid that had come to their fathers in 
 extremity, and made them bold with his noble 
 words. Then he gave them for their watch- 
 word " the help of God," and divided the leader- 
 ship of the band between himself and his 
 brothers, appointing Eleazar, the youngest, to 
 read the Holy Book. 
 
 With these valiant men Judas set up his 
 camp ; but tidings -were soon brought him that 
 Gorgias, with 5000 foot and 1000 horse, had 
 left the main body to fall on his little camp by 
 night. He therefore secretly left the place in 
 the twilight ; so that when the enemy attacked 
 his camp, they found it deserted, and supposing 
 them to be hid in the mountains, proceeded 
 thither in pursuit of them.
 
 BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 71 
 
 But in the early morning Judas and his 3000 
 men were all in battle array in the plains, and 
 marching full upon the enemy's camp with 
 trumpet sound, took them by surprise in the 
 absence of Gorgias and his choice troops, and 
 utterly defeated and put them to flight, but 
 without pursuing them, since the fight with 
 Gorgias and his 5000 might be yet to come. 
 Even as Judas was reminding his men of thi^ 
 Gorgias' troops w^ere seen looking down from 
 the mountains where they had been wandering 
 all night ; but seeing their own camp all smoke 
 and flame, they turned and fled away. Nine 
 thousand of the invaders had been slain, and 
 the whole camp, full of arms and treasures, was 
 in the hands of Judas, who there rested for a 
 Sabbath of glad thanksgiving, and the next day 
 parted the spoils, first putting out the share for 
 the widows and orphans and the wounded, and 
 then dividing the rest among his warriors. As 
 to the slave merchants, they were all made pris- 
 oners, and instead of giving a talent for ninety 
 Jews, were sold themselves. 
 
 The next year Lysias came himself, but wa» 
 driven back and defeated at Bethshur, four or 
 five miles south of Bethlehem. And now came 
 the saddest, yet the greatest, day of Judas' life, 
 when he ventured to go back into the holy city 
 and take possession of the Temple again. The 
 strong tower of Acra, which stood on a ridge 
 of Mount Moriah looking down on the Temple 
 rock, was still held by the Syrians, and he had 
 no means of taking it ; but he and his men loved 
 the sanctuary too well to keep away from it, and
 
 72 rJOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 again they marched up the steps and slopes that 
 led up the holy hill. They went up to find the 
 walls broken, the gates burnt, the cloisters and 
 priests' chambers pulled down, and the courts 
 thickly grown with grass and shrubs, the altar of 
 their one true God with the false idol Jupiter's 
 altar in the middle of it. These warriors, who 
 had turned three armies to flight, could not bear 
 the sight. They fell down on their faces, threw 
 dust on their heads, and wept aloud for the deso- 
 lation of their holy place. But in the midst Judas 
 caused the trumpets to sound an alarm. They 
 were to do something besides grieving. The 
 bravest of them were set to keep watch and ward 
 against the Syrians in the tower, while he chose 
 out the most faithful priests to cleanse out the 
 sanctuary, and renew all that could be renewed, 
 making new holy vessels from the spoil taken in 
 Nicanor's camp, and setting the stones of the 
 profaned altar apart while a new one was raised. 
 On the third anniversary of the great profana- 
 tion, the Temple was newly dedicated, with songs 
 and hymns of rejoicing, and a festival day was 
 appointed, which has been observed by the Jews 
 €ver since. The Temple rock and city were 
 again fortified so as to be able to hold out 
 against their enemies, and this year and the 
 next were the most prosperous of the life of the 
 loyal-hearted Maccabee. 
 
 The great enemy of the Jews, Antiochus 
 Epiphanes, w^as in the meantime dying in great 
 agony in Persia, and his son Antiochus Eupator 
 was set on the throne by Lysias, who brought 
 him with an enormous army to reduce the rising
 
 BRAVE BPwETHREN OF JUDAH. 73 
 
 in Judea. The fight was again at Bethshur, 
 where Judas had built a strong fort on a point 
 of rock that guarded the road to Hebron. 
 Lysias tried to take this fort, and Judas came 
 to the rescue with his little army, to meet the 
 far mightier Syrian force, which was made more 
 terrific by possessing thirty war elephants im- 
 ported from the Indian frontier. Each of these 
 creatures carried a tower containing thirty-two 
 men armed with darts and javelins, and an 
 Indian driver on his neck ; and they had 1000 
 foot and 500 horse attached to the special fol- 
 lowing of the beast, who, gentle as he was by 
 nature, often produced a fearful effect on the 
 enemy ; not so much by his huge bulk as by the 
 terror he inspired among men, and far more 
 among horses. The whole host was spread over the 
 mountains, and in the valleys, so that it is said 
 that their bright armor and gold and silver shields 
 made the mountain glisten like lampsof fire. 
 
 Still Judas pressed on to the attack, and his 
 brother Eleazar, perceiving that one of the ele- 
 phants was more adorned than the rest, thought 
 it might be carrying the king, and devoted 
 himself for his country. He fought his way to 
 the monster, crept under it, and stabbed it from 
 beneath, so that the mighty weight sank down 
 on him and crushed hira to death in his fall. 
 He gained a " perpetual name " for valor and 
 self-devotion ; but the king was not upon the 
 elephant, and after a hard-fought b^vU'^, Judas 
 was obliged to draw off and leave Ijetlwhur to 
 be taken by the enemy, and to shut himself up 
 in Jerusalem
 
 74 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 There, want of provisions had brought him 
 to great distress, when tidings came that another 
 son of Antiochus Epiphanes had claimed the 
 throne, and Lysias made peace in haste with 
 Judas, promising him full liberty of worship, 
 and left Palestine in peace. 
 
 This did not, however, last long. Lysias and 
 his young master were slain by the new king, 
 Demetrius, who again sent an army for the sub- 
 jection of Judas, and further appointed a high- 
 priest, named Alcimus, of the family of Aaron, 
 but inclined to favor the new heathen fashions. 
 
 This was the most fatal thing that had hap- 
 pened to Judas. Though of the priestly line, 
 he was so much of a warrior, that he seems to 
 have thought it would be profane to offer sacri- 
 fice himself; and many of the Jews were so 
 glad of another high-priest, that they let Alci- 
 mus into the Temple, and Jerusalem was again 
 lost to Judas. One more battle was won bj 
 him at Beth-horon, and then finding how hard 
 it was to make head against the Syrians, he 
 sent to ask the aid of the great Roman power. 
 But long before the answer could come, a huge 
 Syrian army had marched in on the Holy 
 Land, 20,000 men, and Judas again no more 
 than 3000. Some had gone over to Alcimus, 
 some were offended at his seeking Roman alli- 
 ance, and when at Eleasah he came in sight of 
 the host, his men's hearts failed more than ever 
 they had done before, and out of the 3000 at 
 first collected, only 800 stood with him, and 
 they would fain have persuaded him to retreat. 
 
 " God forbid that I should do this thing," he
 
 WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 75 
 
 said, " and flee away from them. If our time 
 be come, let us die manfully for our brethren, 
 and let us not stain our honor." 
 
 Sore was the battle, as sore as that waged by 
 the 800 at Thermopylae, and the end was the 
 same. Judas and his 800 were not driven from 
 the field, but lay dead upon it. But their work 
 was done. What is called the moral effect of 
 such a defeat goes further than many a victory. 
 Those lives, sold so dearly, were the price of 
 freedom for Judea. 
 
 Judas' brothers Jonathan and Simon laid 
 him in his father's tomb, and then ended the 
 work that he had begun ; and when Simon died, 
 the Jews, once so trodden on, were the most 
 prosperous race in the East. The Temple was 
 raised from its ruins, and the exploits of the 
 Maccabees had nerved the whole people to do or 
 die in defence of the holy faith of their fathers. 
 
 WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH IN 
 HIS WRATH. 
 
 A. D. 389. 
 
 When a monarch's power is unchecked by 
 his people, there is only One to whom he be- 
 lieves himself accountable ; and if he has for- 
 gotten the dagger of Damocles, or if he be too 
 high-spirited to regard it, then that Higher One 
 alone can restrain his actions. And there have 
 been times when princes have so broken the
 
 76 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 bonds of right, that no hope remains of recal- 
 ling them to their duty save by the voice of the 
 ministers of God upon Earth. But as these 
 ministers bear no charmed life and are subjects 
 themselves of the prince, such rebukes have 
 been given at the utmost risk of liberty and 
 life. 
 
 Thus it was that though Nathan, unharmed, 
 showed David his sin, and Elijah, the wondrous 
 prophet of Gilead, was protected from Jezebel's 
 fury, when he denounced her and her husband 
 Ahab for the idolatry of Baal and the murder 
 of Naboth ; yet no divine hand interposed to 
 shield Zachariah, the son of Jehoiada, the high 
 priest, when he rebuked the apostasy of his 
 cousin, Jehoash, King of Judah, and was stoned 
 to death by the ungrateful king's command in 
 that very temple court where Jehoiada and his 
 armed Levites had encountered the savage, 
 usurping Athaliah, and won back the kingdom 
 for the child Jehoash. And when, "in the 
 spirit and power of Elijah," St. John the Baj> 
 tist denounced the sin of Herod Antipas in 
 marrying his brother Philip's wife, he bore the 
 consequences to the utmost, when thrown into 
 prison and then beheaded to gratify the rage 
 of the vindictive woman. 
 
 Since Scripture Saints in the age of miracles 
 were not always shielded from the wrath of 
 kings, Christian bishops could expect no special 
 interposition in their favor, when they stood 
 forth to stop the way of the sovereign's passions, 
 and to proclaim that the cause of mercy, purity, 
 and truth is the cause of God.
 
 ^WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 77 
 
 The first of these Christian bishops was 
 Ambrose, the sainted prelate of Milan. It was 
 indeed a Christian emperor whom he opposed, 
 no other than the great Theodosius, but it 
 was a new and unheard of thing for any 
 voice to rebuke an Emperor of Rome, and 
 Theodosius had proved himself a man of violent 
 passions. 
 
 The fourth century was a time when races 
 and all sorts of shows were the fashion, nay, 
 literally the rage ; for furious quarrels used to 
 arise among the spectators who took the part 
 of one or other of the competitors, and would 
 call themselves after their colors, the blues or 
 the greens. A favorite chariot-driver, who had 
 excelled in these races at Thessalonica, was 
 thrown into prison for some misdemeanor by 
 Botheric, the Governor of Illyria, and his ab- 
 sence so enraged the Thessalonican mob, that 
 they rose in tumult and demanded his restora- 
 tion. On being refused, they threw such a hail 
 of stones that the governor himself and some 
 of his officers were slain. 
 
 Theodosius might well be displeased, but his 
 rage passed all bounds. He was at Milan at 
 the time, and at first Ambrose so worked on his 
 feelings as to make him promise to temper 
 justice with mercy; but afterward, fresh ac- 
 counts of the murder, together with the repre- 
 sentations of his courtier Rufinus, made him 
 resolve not to relent, and he sent oft' messengers 
 commanding that there should be a general 
 slaughter of all the race-going Thessalonicans, 
 since all were equally guilty of Botheric's
 
 78 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 death. He took care that his horrible com- 
 mand should be kept a secret from Ambrose, 
 and the first that the bishop heard of it was 
 the tidings that 7000 persons had been killed 
 in the theatre, in a massacre lasting three 
 hours ! 
 
 There was no saving these lives, but Ambrose 
 felt it his duty to make the emperor feel his 
 sin, in hopes of saving others. Besides, it was 
 not consistent with the honor of God to receive 
 at his altar a man reeking with innocent blood. 
 The bishop, however, took time to consider; 
 he went into the country for a few days, and 
 thence wrote a letter to the emperor, telling 
 him that thus stained with crime, he could not 
 be admitted to the Holy Communion, nor re- 
 ceived into church. Still the emperor does 
 not seem to have believed he could be really 
 withstood by any subject, and on Ambrose's 
 return, he found the imperial procession, lictors, 
 guards and all, escorting the emperor as usual 
 to the Basilica or Justice Hall, that had been 
 turned into a church. 
 
 Then to the door came the bishop and stood 
 in the way, forbidding the entrance, and an- 
 nouncing that there at least, sacrilege should 
 not be added to murder. 
 
 " Nay," said the emperor, " did not holy 
 King David commit both murder and adultery, 
 yet was not he received again ? " 
 
 " If you have sinned like him, repent like 
 him," answered Ambrose. 
 
 Theodosius turned away troubled. He was 
 great enough not to turn his anger against the
 
 WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 79 
 
 bishop ; he felt that he had sinned, and that 
 the chastisement was merited, and he went back 
 to his palace weeping, and there spent eight 
 months, attending to his duties of state, but too 
 proud to go through the tokens of penitence 
 that the discipline of the church had prescribed 
 before a great sinner could be received back 
 into the congregation of the faithful. Easter 
 was the usual time for reconciling penitents, 
 and Ambrose was not inclined to show any re- 
 spect of persons, or to excuse the emperor 
 from a penance he would have imposed on 
 any offender. However, Rufinus could not 
 believe' in such disregard, and thought all would 
 give way to the emperor's will. Christmas had 
 come, but for one man at Milan there were no 
 hymns, no shouts of " glad tidings ! " no mid- 
 night festival, no rejoicing that " to us a Child 
 is born ; to us a Son is given." The Basilica 
 was thronged with worshipers and rang with 
 their Aniens, resounding like thunder, and their 
 echoing song — the Te JJeum — then their newest 
 hymn of praise. But the lord of all those 
 multitudes was alone in his palace. He had 
 not shown good-will to man ; he had not learnt 
 mercy and peace from the Prince of Peace ; 
 and the door was shut upon him. He was a 
 resolute Spanish Roman, a well-tried soldier, a 
 man advancing in years, but he wept, and wept 
 bitterly. Ruhnus found him thus weeping. It 
 must have been strange to the courtier that his 
 master did not send his lictors to carry the 
 offending bishop to a dungeon, and give all his 
 court-favor to the heretics, like the last empress
 
 80 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 who had reigned at Milan. Nay, he might 
 even, like Julian, the Apostate, have altogether 
 renounced that Christian faith which could 
 humble an emperor below the poorest of his 
 subjects. 
 
 But Rufinus contented himself with urging 
 the emperor not to remain at home lamenting, 
 but to endeavor again to obtain admission into 
 the church, assuring him that the bishop would 
 give way. Tlieodosius replied that he did not 
 expect it, but yielded to the persuasions, and 
 Rufinus hastened on before to warn the bishop 
 of his coming, and represented how inexpedient 
 it was to offend him. 
 
 " I warn you," replied Ambrose, " that I 
 shall oppose his entrance, but if he chooses to 
 turn his power into tyranny, I shall willingly 
 let him slay me." 
 
 The emperor did not try to enter the church, 
 but sought Ambrose in an adjoining building, 
 where he entreated to be absolved from his sin. 
 
 " Beware," returned the bishop, " of tramp- 
 ling on the laws of God." 
 
 " I respect them," said the emperor, " there- 
 fore I have not set foot in the church, but I 
 pray thee to deliver me from these bonds, and 
 not to close against me the door that the Lord 
 hath opened to all who truly repent." 
 
 " What repentance have you shown for such 
 a sin? " asked Ambrose. 
 
 "Appoint my penance," said the emperor, 
 entirely subdued. 
 
 And Ambrose caused him at once to sign a 
 decree that thirty days should always elapse
 
 WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH. 81 
 
 between a sentence of death and its execution. 
 After this, Theodosius was allowed to come 
 into the church, but only to the corner he had 
 shunned all these eight months, till the " dull 
 hard stone within him" had "melted," to the 
 spot appointed for the penitents. There, with- 
 out his crown, his purple robe, and buskins, 
 worked with golden eagles, all laid aside, he 
 lay prostrate on the stones, repeating the verse, 
 " My soul cleaveth unto the dust ; quicken me, 
 O Lord, according to thy word," This was the 
 place that i)eni tents Jilways occupied, and their 
 lasts and other discipline were also appointed. 
 When the due course had been gone through, 
 probably at the next E;i.ster, Ambrose, in his 
 Master's name, pronounced the forgiveness of 
 Theodosius, and received him back to the full 
 privileges of a Christian. When we look at 
 the course of many another emperor, and see 
 how easily, where the power was irresponsible, 
 justice became severity, and severity blood- 
 thirstiness, we see what Ambrose dared to meet, 
 and from what he spared Theodosius and all 
 the civilized world under his sway. Who can 
 tell how many innocent lives have been saved 
 by that thirty days' respite ? 
 
 Pass over nearly seven hundred years, and 
 agajn we find a church door barred against a 
 monarch. This time it is not under the bright 
 Italian sky, l)ut under the gray fogs of the 
 Baltic Sea. It is not the stately marble gate- 
 way of the Milanese Basilica, but the low-arched, 
 rough stone portal of the newly-built cathedral 
 of Roskilde, in Zealand, where, if a zigzag sur-
 
 82 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 rounds the arch, it is a great effort of genius. 
 The Danish King Swend, the nephew of the 
 well-known Knut, stands before it ; a stern and 
 powerful man, fierce and passionate, and with 
 many a Danish axe at his command. Nay, 
 ©nly lately, for a few rude jests, he caused some 
 of his chief jarls to be slain without a trial. 
 Half the country is still pagan, and though the 
 king himself is baptized, there is no certainty 
 that, if the Christian faith does not suit his taste, 
 he may not join the heathen party and return 
 to the worship of Thor and Tyr, where deeds 
 of blood would be not blameworthy, but a pass- 
 port to the rude joys of Valhall. Nevertheless 
 there is a pastoral staff across the doorway, 
 barring the way of the king, and that staff is 
 held against him by an Englishman, William, 
 Bishop of Eoskilde, the missionary who had 
 converted a great part of Zealand, but who will 
 not accept Christians who have not laid aside 
 their s'ns. 
 
 He confronts the king who has never been 
 opposed before. "Go back," he says, "nor 
 dare approach the altar of God — thou who art 
 not a king but a murderer." 
 
 Some of the jarls seized their swords and axes, 
 and were about to strike the bishop away from 
 the threshold, but he, without removing- his 
 staff, bent his head, and bade them strike, say- 
 ing he was ready to die in the cause of God. 
 But the king came to a better frame of mind, 
 he called the jarls away, and, returning humbly 
 to his palace, took off his royal robes, and came 
 again barefoot and in sackcloth to the church
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IX THE COLOSSEUM. 83 
 
 door, where Bishop William met him, took him 
 by the hand, gave him the kiss of peace and 
 led him to the penitents' place. After three 
 days he was absolved, and for the rest of his 
 life the bishop and the king lived in the closest 
 friendship, so much so that William always 
 prayed that even in death he might not be 
 divided from his friend. The prayer was granted. 
 The two died almost at the same time, and 
 were buried together in the cathedral at Ros- 
 kilde, where the one had taught and the other 
 learnt the great lesson of mercy. 
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 
 
 A. D. 404. 
 
 As the Romans grew prouder and more fond 
 of pleasure, no one could hope to please them 
 who did not give them sports and entertain- 
 ments. When any person wished to be elected 
 to any public office, it was a matter of course 
 that he should compliment his fellow-citizens 
 by exhibitions of the kind they loved, and when 
 the common people were discontented their cry 
 was that they wanted panem ac Circense.'^y 
 " bread and sports," the only things they cared 
 for. In most places where there has been a 
 large Roman colony, remains can be seen of the 
 amphitheatres, where the citizens were wont to 
 assemble for these diversions. Sometimes these 
 are stages of circular galleries of seats hewn out
 
 84 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 of the hillside, where rows of spectators might 
 sit one above the other, all looking down on a 
 broad, flat space in the centre, under their feet, 
 where the representations took place. Some- 
 times, when the country was flat, or it was easier 
 to build than to excavate, the amphitheatre was 
 raised above ground, rising up to a considerable 
 height. 
 
 The grandest and most renowned of all these 
 amphitheatres is the Colosseum at Rome. It 
 was built by Vespasian and his son Titus, the 
 conquerors of Jerusalem, in a valley in the 
 midst of the seven hills of Rome. The captive 
 Jews were forced to labor at it ; and the mate- 
 rials, granite outside, and softer travertine stone 
 within, are so solid and so admirably built, that 
 still, at the end of eighteen centuries, it has 
 scarcely even become a ruin, but remains one 
 of the greatest wonders of Rome. 
 
 Five acres of ground were enclosed within 
 the oval of its outer wall, which outside rises 
 perpendicularly in tiers of arches one above the 
 other. Within, the galleries of seats projected 
 forward, each tier coming out far beyond the 
 one above it, so that between the lowest and 
 the outer wall there was room for a great space 
 of chambers, passages, and vaults around the 
 central space, called the arena, from the arena, 
 or sand, with which it was strewn. 
 
 When the Roman emperors grew very vain 
 and luxurious, they used to have this sand 
 made ornamental with metallic filings, ver- 
 milion, and even powdered precious stones; 
 but it was thought better taste to use the
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 85 
 
 scrapings of a soft, white stone, which, when 
 thickly strewn, made the whole arena look as 
 if covered with untrodden snow. Around the 
 border of this space flowed a stream of fresh 
 water. Then came a straight wall, rising to a 
 considerable height, and surmounted by a broad 
 platform, on which stood a throne for the em- 
 peror, curule chairs of ivory and gold for the 
 chief magistrates and senators, and seats for 
 the vestal virgins. Next above were galleries 
 for the equestrian order, the great mass of those 
 who considered themselves as of gentle station, 
 though not of the highest rank ; farther up, and 
 therefore farther back, were the galleries belong- 
 ing to the freemen of Rome ; and these were 
 again surmounted by another plain wall with 
 a platform at the top, where were places for 
 the ladies, who were not (except the vestal 
 virgins) allowed to look on nearer, because of 
 the unclothed state of some of the performers 
 in the arena. Between the ladies' boxes, 
 benches were squeezed in where the lowest 
 people could seat themselves ; and some of 
 these likewise found room in the two upper- 
 most tiers of porticoes, where sailors, mechanics, 
 and persons in the service of the Colosseum had 
 their post. Altogether, when full, this huge 
 building held no less than 87,000 spectators. 
 It had no roof; but when there was rain, or if 
 the sun was too hot, the sailors in the porticoes 
 unfurled awnings that ran along upon ropes, 
 and formed a covering of silk and gold tissue 
 over the whole. Purple was the favorite color 
 for this velamen, or veil ; because when the
 
 SQ BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 sun shone through it, it cast such beautiful 
 rosy tints on the snowy arena and the white 
 purple-edged togas of the Roman citizens. 
 
 Long days were spent from morning till 
 evening upon those galleries. The multitude 
 who poured in early would watch the great 
 dignitaries arrive and take their seats, greeting 
 them either with shouts of applause or hootings 
 of dislike, according as they were favorites or 
 otherwise ; and when the emperor came in to 
 take his place under his canopy, there was one 
 loud acclamation, " Joy to thee, master of all, 
 first of all, happiest of all. Victory to thee 
 forever ! " 
 
 When the emperor had seated himself and 
 given the signal, the sports began. Sometimes 
 a rope dancing elephant would begin the enter- 
 tainment, by mounting even to the summit of 
 the building and descending by a cord. Then 
 a bear, dressed up as a Roman matron, would 
 be carried along in a chair between porters, as 
 ladies were wont to go abroad, and another 
 bear, in a lawyer's robe, would stand on his 
 hind legs and go through the motions of plead- 
 ing a cause. Or a lion came forth with a 
 jeweled crown on his head, a diamond neck- 
 lace around his neck, his mane plated with 
 gold, and his claws gilded, and played a hun- 
 dred pretty gentle antics with a little hare that 
 danced fearlessly within his grasp. Then in 
 would come twelve elephants, six males in the 
 toga, six females with the veil and pallium ; 
 they took their places on couches around an 
 ivory table, dined with great decorum, play-
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 87 
 
 fully sprinkling a little rose-water over the 
 nearest spectators, and then received more 
 guests of their own unwieldy kind, who arrived 
 in ball dresses, scattered flowers and performed 
 a dance. 
 
 Sometimes water was let into the arena, a 
 ship sailed in and falling to pieces in the midst, 
 sent a crowd of strange animals swimming in 
 all directions. Sometimes the ground opened, 
 and trees came growing up through it, bearing 
 golden fruit. Or the beautiful old tale of 
 Orpheus was acted : these trees would follow the 
 harp and song of the musician ; but — to make the 
 whole part complete — it was no mere play, but 
 real earnest, that the Orpheus of the piece fell a 
 prey to live bears. 
 
 For the Colosseum had not been built for 
 such harmless spectacles as those first described. 
 The fierce Romans wanted to be excited and 
 feel themselves strongly stirred ; and, presently, 
 the doors of the pits and dens around the arena 
 were thrown open, and absolutely savage beasts 
 were let loose upon one another, — rhinoceroses 
 and tigers, bulls and lions, leopards and wild 
 boars, — while the people watched with savage 
 curiosity to see the various kinds of attack and 
 defence ; or, if tha animals* were cowed or sullen 
 their rage would be worked up — red would be 
 shown to bulls, white to boars, red-hot goads 
 would be driven into some, whips would be 
 lashed at others, till the work of slaughter was 
 fairly commenced, and gazed on with greedy 
 eyes, and ears delighted, instead of horror-struck, 
 by the roars and howls of the noble creatures
 
 88 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 whose courage was thus misused. Sometimes, 
 indeed, when some especially strong or ferocious 
 animal had slain a whole heap of victims, the 
 cries of the people would decree that it should 
 be turned loose in its native forest, and, amid 
 shouts of "A triumph! — a triumph !" the 
 beast would prowl round the arena, upon the 
 carcasses of the slain victims. Almost incredi- 
 ble numbers of animals were imported for these 
 cruel sports, and the governors of distant prov- 
 inces made it a duty to collect troops of lions, 
 elephants, ostriches, leopards, — the fiercer or 
 the newer the creature the better, — to be thus 
 tortured to frenzy, to make sport in the amphi- 
 theatre. However, there was daintiness joined 
 with cruelty : the Romans did not like the 
 smell of blood, though they enjoyed the sight 
 of it, and all the solid stone-work was pierced 
 with tubes, through which was conducted the 
 steam of spices and saffron, boiled wine, that 
 the perfume might overpower the scent of the 
 slaughter below\ 
 
 Wild beasts tearing each other to pieces 
 might, one would think, satisfy any taste for 
 horror ; but the spectators needed even nobler 
 game to be set before their favorite monsters, — 
 men were brought forward to confront them. 
 Some of these were, at first, in full armor, and 
 fought hard, generally with success ; and there 
 was a revolving machine, something like a 
 squirrel's cage, in which the bear was always 
 climbing after his enemy, and then rolling over 
 by his own weight. Or hunters came, almost 
 unarmed, and gained the victory by swiftness
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 89 
 
 and dexterity, throwing a piece of cloth over a 
 lion's head, or disconcerting him by putting 
 their fist down his throat. But it was not only 
 skill, but death the Romans loved to see ; and 
 condemned criminals and deserters were reserved 
 to feast the lions, and to entertain the populace 
 with their various kinds of death. Among 
 these condemned was many a Christian martyr, 
 wlio witnessed a good confession before the 
 savage-eyed multitude around the arena, and 
 *' met the lion's gory mane " with a calm reso- 
 lution and hopeful joy that the lookers-on could 
 not understand. To see a Christian die, with 
 upward gaze and hymns of joy on his tongue, 
 was the most strange and unaccountable sight 
 the Colosseum could offer, and it was therefore 
 the choicest, and reserved for the last of the 
 spectacles in which the brute creation had a part. 
 
 The carcasses were dragged off with hooks, 
 the blood-stained sand was covered with a fresh 
 clean layer, the perfume was wafted in stronger 
 clouds, and a procession came forward, — tall, 
 well-made men, in the prime of their strength. 
 Some carried a sword and a lasso, others a 
 trident and a net ; some were in light armor, 
 others in the full, heavy equipment of a soldier ; 
 some on horseback, some in chariots, some on 
 foot. They marched in, and made their obeis- 
 ance to the emperor ; and with one voice their 
 greeting sounded through the building, Ave, 
 Ccev.ir, morituri te salutant ! " Hail, Csesar, 
 tho-«3 about to die salute thee ! " 
 
 They were the gladiators, — the swordsmen 
 trained to fight to the death to amuse the popu-
 
 90 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 lace. They were usually slaves placed in 
 schools of arms under the care of a master ; 
 but sometimes persons would voluntarily hire 
 themselves out to fight by way of a profession ; 
 and both these, and such slave-gladiators as 
 did not die in the arena, would sometimes 
 retire, and spend an old age of quiet ; but 
 there was little hope of this, for the Romans 
 were not apt to have mercy on the fallen. 
 
 Fights of all sorts took place, — the light- 
 armed soldier and the netsman, — the lasso and 
 the javelin, — the two heavy-armed warriors, — 
 all combinations of single combat, and some- 
 times a general melee. When a gladiator 
 wounded his adversary, he shouted to the 
 spectators, Hoc habetf "He has it!" and 
 looked up to know whether he should kill or 
 spare. If the people held up their thumbs, 
 the conquered was left to recover, if he could ; 
 if they turned them down, he was to die : and 
 if he showed any reluctance to present his 
 throat for the death-blow, there was a scornful 
 shout. Recipe ferrum ! *' Receive the steel ! " 
 Many of us must have seen casts of that most 
 touching statue of the wounded man, that 
 called forth the noble lines of indignant pity 
 which, though so often repeated, cannot be 
 passed over here : 
 
 "I see before me the gladiator lie ; 
 He leans upon his hand, — his manly brow 
 Consents to death, but conquers agony. 
 And his drooped head sinks gradually low, 
 And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 91 
 
 From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one, 
 Like the first of a thunder-shower ; and now 
 The arena swims around him, — he is gone 
 Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed 
 the wretch who won. 
 
 *'He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes 
 Were with his heart, and that was far away 
 He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize, 
 But where his rude hut by the Danube lay, 
 There were his young barbarians all at play. 
 There was their Dacian mother, — he their 
 
 sire. 
 Butchered to make a Roman holiday. 
 All this rushed with his blood, — Shall he 
 
 expire, 
 And unavenged ? Arise, ye Goths, and glut 
 
 your ire." 
 
 Sacred vestals, tender mothers, fat, good- 
 humored senators, all thought it fair play, and 
 were equally pitiless in the strange frenzy for 
 exciting scenes to which they gave themselves 
 up, when they mounted the stone stairs of the 
 Colosseum. Privileged persons would even 
 descend into the arena, examine the death- 
 agonies, and taste the blood of some specially 
 brave victim ere the corpse was drawn forth at 
 the death-gate, that the frightful game might 
 continue undisturbed and unencumbered. 
 Gladiator shows were the great passion of 
 Rome, and popular favor could hardly be 
 gained except by ministering to it. Even when 
 the barbarians were beginning to close in on
 
 92 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the Empire, hosts of brave men were still kept 
 for this slavish mimic warfare, — sport to the 
 beholders, but sad earnest to the actors. 
 
 Christianity worked its way upward, and at 
 last was professed by the emperor on his 
 throne. Persecution came to an end, and no 
 more martyrs fed the beasts in the Colosseum. 
 The Christian emperors endeavored to prevent 
 any more shows where cruelty and death 
 formed the chief interest, and no truly reli- 
 gious person could endure the spectacle ; but 
 custom and love of excitement prevailed even 
 against the emperor. Mere tricks of beasts, 
 horse and chariot races, or bloodless contests, 
 were tame and dull, according to the diseased 
 taste of Rome ; it was thought weak and senti- 
 mental to object to looking on at a death- 
 scene ; the emperors were generally absent at 
 Constantinople, and no one could get elected to 
 any office unless he treated the citizens to such 
 a show as they best liked, with a little blood- 
 shed and death to stir their feelings ; and thus it 
 went on for full a hundred years after Rome 
 had, in name, become a Christian city, and the 
 same customs prevailed wherever there was an 
 amphitheatre and pleasure-loving people. 
 
 Meantime the enemies of Rome were coming 
 nearer and nearer, and Alaric, the great chief of 
 the Goths, led his forces into Italy, and threat- 
 ened the city itself Honorius, the Emperor, 
 was a cowardly, almost idiotical, boy ; but his 
 brave general, Stilicho, assembled his forces, met 
 the Goths at Pollentia (about twenty-five miles 
 from where Turin now stands), and gave them
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLOSSEUM. 93 
 
 a complete defeat on the Easter-day of the year 
 403. He pursued them into the mountains, 
 and for that time saved Rome. In the joy of 
 the victory the Roman Senate invited the 
 conqueror and his ward Honorius to enter the 
 city in triumph, at the opening of the new 
 year, with the white steeds, purple robes and 
 vermilion cheeks with which, of old, victorious 
 generals were welcomed at Rome. The 
 churches were visited instead of the Temple of 
 Jupiter, and there was no murder of the cap- 
 tives; but Roman blood-thirstiness was not yet 
 allayed, and, after all the procession had been 
 completed, the Colosseum shows commenced, 
 innocently at first, with races on foot, on 
 horseback, and in chariots ; then followed a 
 grand hunting of beasts turned loose in the 
 arena ; and next a sword-dance. But after the 
 sword-dance came the arraying of swordsmen, 
 with no blunted weapons, but with sharp spears 
 and swords, — a gladiator combat in full earn- 
 est. The people, enchanted, applauded with 
 shouts of ecstasy this gratification of their 
 savage tastes. Suddenly, however, there was 
 an interruption. A rude, roughly-robed man, 
 bareheaded and barefooted, had sprung into 
 the arena, and, signing back the gladiators, 
 began to call aloud upon the people to cease 
 from the shedding of innocent blood, and not 
 to requite God's mercy in turning away the 
 sword of the enemy by encouraging murder. 
 Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his words ; 
 this was no place for ]:>reachings, — the old cus- 
 toms of Rome should be observed, — " Back,
 
 94 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 old man!"— "On, gladiators!" The gladia- 
 tors thrust aside the meddler, and rushed to the 
 attack. He still stood between, holding them 
 apart, striving in vain to be heard. "Sedi- 
 tion ! sedition ! " — " Down with him ! " was the 
 cry ; and the man in authority, Alypius, the 
 prefect, himself added his voice. The gladia- 
 tors, enraged at interference with their voca- 
 tion, cut him down. Stones, or whatever came 
 to hand, rained down upon him from the 
 furious people, and he perished in the midst of 
 the arena ! He lay dead, and then came the 
 feeling of what had been done. 
 
 His dress showed that he was one of the 
 hermits who vowed themselves to a holy life 
 of prayer and self-denial, and who were greatly 
 reverenced, even by the most thoughtless. The 
 few who had previously seen him, told that he 
 had come from the wilds of Asia on pilgrimage, 
 to visit the shrines and keep his Christmas at 
 Rome, — they knew he w'as a holy man, — no 
 more, and it is not even certain whether his 
 name was Alymachus or Telemachus. His 
 spirit had been stirred by the sight of thou- 
 sands flocking to see men slaughter one another, 
 and in his simple-hearted zeal he had resolved 
 to stop the cruelty or die. He had died, but 
 not in vain. His work was done. The shock 
 of such a death before their eyes turned the 
 hearts of the people ; they saw the wickedness 
 and cruelty to which they had blindly sur- 
 rendered themselves ; and from the day w-hen 
 the hermit died in the Colosseum there was 
 never another fight of gladiators. Not merely
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NAXTERRE. 95 
 
 at Rome, but in every province of the Empire, 
 the custom was utterly abolished ; and one 
 habitual crime at least was wiped from the 
 earth by the self-devotion of one humble, 
 obscure, almost nameless man. 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 
 
 A. D. 438. 
 
 Four hundred years of the Roman dominion 
 had entirely tamed the once wild and inde- 
 pendent Gauls. Everywhere, except in the 
 moorlands of Brittany, they had become as 
 much like Romans themselves as they could 
 accomplish ; they had Latin names, spoke the 
 Latin tongue, all their personages of higher 
 rank were enrolled as Roman citizens, their 
 chief cities were colonies where the laws were 
 administered by magistrates in the Roman 
 fashion, and the houses, dress, and amusements 
 were the same as those of Italy. The greater 
 part of the towns had been converted to Chris- 
 tianity, though some Paganism still lurked in 
 the more remote villages and mountainous dis- 
 tricts. 
 
 It w^as upon these civilized Gauls that the 
 terrible attacks came from the wild nations who 
 poured out of the centre and east of Europe. 
 The Franks came over the Rhine and its 
 dependent rivers, and made furious attacks
 
 96 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 upon the peaceful plains, ^vhere the Gauls had. 
 long lived in security, and reports were every- 
 where heard of villages harried by wild horse- 
 men, with short double-headed battle-axes, and 
 a horrible short pike, covered with iron and 
 with several large hooks, like a gigantic arti- 
 ficial minnow, and like it fastened to a long 
 rope, so that the prey which it had grappled 
 might be pulled up to the owner. Walled cities 
 usually stopped them, but every farm or villa 
 outside was stripped of its valuables, set on fire, 
 the cattle driven off, and the more healthy 
 inhabitants seized for slaves. 
 
 It was during this state of things that a girl 
 was born to a wealthy peasant at the village 
 now called Nanterre, about two miles from 
 Lutetia, which was already a prosperous city, 
 though not as yet so entirely the capital as it 
 was destined to become under the name of Paris. 
 She was christened by an old Gallic name, 
 probably Gwenfrewi, or White Stream, in Latin 
 Genovefa, but she is best known by the late 
 French form of Genevieve. When she was 
 about seven years old, two celebrated bishops 
 passed through the village, Germanus, of 
 Auxerre, and Lupus, of Troyes, who had been 
 invited to Britain to dispute the false doctrine 
 of Pelagius. All the inhabitants flocked into 
 the church to see them, pray with them, and 
 receive their blessing ; and here the sweet 
 childish devotion of Genevieve so struck Ger- 
 manus, that he called her to him, talked to her, 
 made her sit beside him at the feast, gave her 
 his especial blessing, and presented her with a
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 97 
 
 copper medal with a cross engraven upon it. 
 From that time the little maiden always deemed 
 herself especially consecrated to the service of 
 heaven, but she still remained at home, daily 
 keeping her father's sheep, and spinning tlieir 
 wool as she sat under the trees watching them, 
 but always with a heart full of prayer. 
 
 After this St. German us proceeded to Britain, 
 and there encouraged his converts to meet the 
 heathen Picts at Maes Garmon, in Flintshire, 
 where the exulting shout of the white-robed 
 catechumens turned to flight the wild supersti- 
 tious savages of the north, — and the Halle- 
 lujah victory was gained without a drop of 
 bloodshed.' He never lost sight of Genevieve, 
 the little maid whom he had so early dis- 
 tinguished for her piety. 
 
 After she lost her parents she went to live 
 with her god-mother, and continued the same 
 simple habits, leading a life of sincere devotion 
 and strict self-denial, constant prayer, and much 
 charity to her poorer neighbors. 
 
 In the year 451 the whole of Gaul was in the 
 most dreadful state of terror at the advance of 
 Attila, the savage chief of the Huns, who came 
 from the banks of the Danube with a host of 
 savages of hideous features, scarred and disfig- 
 ured to render them more frightful. The old 
 enemies, the Goths and the Franks, seemed like 
 friends compared with these formidable beings, 
 whose cruelties were said to be intolerable, and 
 of whom every exaggerated story was told that 
 could add to the horrors of the miserable peo- 
 ple who lay in their path. Tidings came that
 
 98 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 this " Scourge of God," as Attila called himself, 
 had passed the Ehine, destroyed Tongres and 
 Metz, and was in full march for Paris. The 
 whole country was in the utmost terror. Every 
 one seized their most valuable possessions, and 
 would have fled ; but Genevieve placed herself 
 on the only bridge across the Seine, and argued 
 with them, assuring them, in a strain that was 
 afterward thought of as prophetic, that, if they 
 would pray, repent, and defend, instead of 
 abandoning their homes, God would protect 
 them. They were at first almost ready to stone 
 her for thus withstanding their panic, but just 
 then a priest arrived from Auxerre, with a 
 present for Genevieve from St. Germanus, and 
 they were thus reminded of the high estimation 
 in which he held her ; they became ashamed 
 of their violence, as she led them back to pray 
 and to arm themselves. In a few days they 
 heard that Attila had paused to besiege Orleans, 
 and that Aetius, the Roman general, hurrying 
 from Italy, had united his troops with those of 
 the Goths and Franks, and given Attila so 
 terrible a defeat at Chalons that the Huns were 
 fairly driven out of Gaul. And here it must 
 be mentioned that when the next year, 452, 
 Attila with his murderous host came down into 
 Italy, and after horrible devastation of all the 
 northern provinces, came to the gates of Rome, 
 no one dared to meet him but one venerable 
 Bishop, Leo, the Pope, who, when his flock 
 were in transports of despair, went forth only 
 accompanied by one magistrate, to meet the 
 invader, and endeavor to turn his wrath aside.
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 99 
 
 The savage Huns were struck witli awe by the 
 fearless majesty of the unarmed old man. They 
 conducted him safely to Attila, who listened to 
 him with respect, and promised not to lead his 
 people into Rome, provided a tribute should be 
 paid to him. He then retreated, and, to the 
 joy of all Europe, died on his way back to his 
 native dominions. 
 
 But with the Huns the danofer and suffering 
 of Europe did not end. The happy state 
 described in the Prophets as '' dwelling safely, 
 with none to make them afraid," was utterly 
 unknown in Europe throughout the long break- 
 up of the Roman Empire ; and in a few more 
 years the Franks were overrunning the banks 
 of the Seine, and actually venturing to lay 
 siege to the Roman walls of Paris itself. The 
 fortifications were strong enough, but hunger 
 began to do the work of the besiegers, and the 
 garrison, unwarlike and untrained, began to 
 despair. But Genevieve's courage and trust 
 never failed ; and finding no warriors willing 
 to run the risk of going beyond the walls to 
 obtain food for the women and children who 
 were perishing around them, this brave shep- 
 herdess embarked alone in a little boat, and 
 guiding it down the stream, landed beyond the 
 Prankish camp, and repairing to the different 
 Gallic cities, she implored them to send succor 
 to their famished brethren. She obtained com- 
 plete success. Probably the Franks had no 
 means of obstructing the passage of the river, 
 so that a convoy of boats could easily penetrate 
 into the town, and at any rate they looked upon
 
 100 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Genevieve as something sacred and inspired 
 whom they durst not touch ; probably as one 
 of the battle-maids in whom their own myths 
 taught them to believe. One account indeed 
 says that, instead of going alone to obtain help, 
 Genevieve placed herself at the head of a 
 forage party, and that the mere sight of her 
 inspired bearing caused them to be allowed to 
 enter and return in safety ; but the boat 
 version seems the more probable, since a single 
 boat on the broad river would more easily elude 
 the enemy than a troop of Gauls pass through 
 their army. 
 
 But a city where all the valor resided in one 
 woman could not long hold out, and in another 
 inroad, when Genevieve was absent, Paris was 
 actually seized by the Franks. Their leader, 
 Hilperik, was absolutely afraid of what the 
 mysteriously brave maiden might do to him, 
 and commanded the gates of the city to be 
 carefblly guarded lest she should enter ; but 
 Genevieve learnt that some of the chief citizens 
 were imprisoned, and that Hilperik intended 
 their death, and nothing could withhold her 
 from making an effort in their behalf. The 
 Franks had made up their minds to settle, and 
 not to destroy. They were not burning and 
 slaying indiscriminately, but while despising 
 the Romans, as they called the Gauls, for their 
 cowardice, they were in awe of their superior 
 civilization and knowledge of arts. The country 
 people had free access to the city, and Gen- 
 evieve, in her homely gown and veil, passed by 
 Hilperik 's guards without being suspected of
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE. 101 
 
 being more than any ordinary Gaulish village 
 maid ; and thus she fearlessly made her way, 
 even to the old Koman halls, where the long- 
 haired Hilperik was holding his wild carousal. 
 AVould that we knew more of that interview, — 
 one of the most striking that ever took place ! 
 We can only picture to ourselves the Roman 
 tesselated pavement bestrevvn with wine, bones, 
 and fragments of the barbarous revelry. There 
 were untamed Franks, their sun-burnt hair tied 
 up in a knot at the top of their heads, and fall- 
 ing down like a horse's tail, their faces close 
 shaven, except two huge moustaches, and dressed 
 in tight leather garments, with swords at their 
 wide belts. Some slept, some feasted, some 
 greased their long locks, some shouted out their 
 favorite war-songs around the table, which was 
 covered with the spoils of churches, and at their 
 head sat the wild, long-haired chieftain, who 
 was a few years later driven away by his own 
 followers for his excesses, — the whole scene was 
 all that was abhorrent to a pure, devout, and 
 faithful nature, most full of terror to a woman. 
 Yet there, in her strength, stood the peasant 
 maiden, her heart full of trust and pity, her 
 looks full of the power that is given by fearless- 
 ness of them that can kill the body. What she 
 said we do not know, — we only know that the 
 barbarous Hilperik was overawed ; he trembled 
 before the expostulations of the brave woman, 
 and granted all she asked, — the safety of his 
 prisoners, and mercy to the terrified inhabitants. 
 No wonder that the people of Paris have ever 
 since look(Ml back to Genevieve as their prot^c-
 
 102 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tress, and that in after ages she has grown to be 
 the patron saint of the city. 
 
 She lived to see the son of Hilperik, Chlod- 
 weh, or, as he was more commonly called, 
 Clovis, marry a Christian wife, Clotilda, and 
 after a time become a Christian. She saw the 
 foundation of the Cathedral of Notre Dame, 
 and of the two famous ch arches of St. Denys 
 and of St. Martin of Tours, and gave her full 
 share to the first efforts for bringing the rude 
 and bloodthirsty conquerors to some knowledge 
 of Christian faith, mercy, and purity. After a 
 life of constant prayer and charity she died, 
 three months after King Clovis, in the year 512, 
 the 89th of her age.^ 
 
 LEO THE SLAVE. 
 
 A. D. 533. 
 
 The Franks had fully gained possession of all 
 the north of Gaul, except Brittany. Chlodweh 
 had made them Christians in name, but they 
 still remained horribly savage, — and the life of 
 the Gauls under them was wretched. The 
 
 ^Perhaps the exploits of the ^Maid of Orleans were 
 the most like those of Genevieve ; but they are not 
 here added to our collection of "Golden Deeds," 
 because the Maid's belief that she ^vas directly- 
 inspired removes them from the ordinary class. Alas! 
 the English did not treat her as Hilperik treated Gen-
 
 LEO THE SLAVE. 103 
 
 Burgundians and Visigoths who had peopled 
 the southern and eastern provinces were far 
 from being equally violent. They had entered 
 on their settlements on friendly terms, and even 
 showed considerable respect for the Roman- 
 Gallic senators, magistrates, and higher clergy^ 
 who all remained unmolested in their dignities 
 and riches. Thus it was that Gregory, Bishop 
 of Langres, was a man of high rank and con- 
 sideration in the Burgundian kingdom, whence 
 the Christian Queen Clotilda had come ; and 
 even after the Burgundians had been subdued 
 by the four sons of Chlodweh, he continued a 
 rich and prosperous man. 
 
 After one of the many quarrels and reconciH- 
 ations between these fierce brethren, there was 
 an exchange of hostages for the observance of 
 the terms of the treaty. These were not taken 
 from among the Franks, w^io were too proud to 
 submit to captivity, but from among the Gaul- 
 ish nobles, a much more convenient arrange- 
 ment to the Frankish kings, who cared for the 
 life of a " Roman " infinitely less than even for 
 the life of a Frank. Thus many young men 
 of senatorial families were exchanged between 
 the domains of Theodrik to the south, and of 
 Hildebert to the northward, and quartered 
 among Frankish chiefs, with whom at first they 
 had nothing more to endure than the discomfort 
 of living as guests with such rude and coarse 
 barbarians. But ere long fresh quarrels broke 
 out between Theodrik and Hildebert, and the 
 unfortunate hostages were at once turned into 
 slaves. Some of them ran away if they were
 
 104 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 near the frontier, but Bishop Gregory was in 
 the utmost anxiety about his young nephew, 
 Attains, who had been last heard of as being 
 placed under the charge of a Frank who lived 
 between Trebes and Metz. The Bishop sent 
 emissaries to make inquiries, and they brought 
 word that the unfortunate youth had indeed 
 been reduced to slavery, and was made to keep 
 his master's herds of horses. Upon this the 
 uncle again sent off his messengers with presents 
 for the ransom of Attains, but the Frank 
 rejected them, saying, " One of such high race 
 can only be redeemed for ten pounds' worth of 
 gold." 
 
 This was beyond the bishop's means, and 
 while he was considering how to raise the sum, 
 the slaves were all lamenting for their young 
 lord, to whom they were much attached, till one 
 of them, named Leo, the cook to the household, 
 came to the bishop, saying to him, " If thou 
 wilt give me leave to go, I will deliver him from 
 captivity." The bishop replied that he gave 
 free permission, and the slave set off for Treves, 
 and there watched anxiously for an opportunity 
 of gaining access to Attains ; but though the 
 poor young man — no longer daintily dressed, 
 bathed, and perfumed, but ragged and squalid 
 — might be seen following his herds of horses, 
 he was too well watched for any communication 
 to be held with him. Then Leo went to a per- 
 son, probably of Gallic birth, and said, " Come 
 with me to this barbarian's house, and there sell 
 me for a slave. Thou shalt have the money, I 
 only ask thee to help me thus far,"
 
 LEO THE SLAVE. 105 
 
 Both repaired to the Frank's abode, the chief 
 among a confused collection of clay and timber 
 huts intended for shelter during eating and 
 sleeping. The Frank looked at the slave, and 
 asked him what he could do. 
 
 " I can dress whatever is eaten at lordly- 
 tables," replied Leo. *' I am afraid of no rival ; 
 I only tell thee the truth when I say that if thou 
 wouldst give a feast to the king I could send it 
 up in the neatest manner." 
 
 " Ha !" said the barbarian, " the Sun's day is 
 coming — I shall invite my kinsmen and friends. 
 Cook me such a dinner as may amaze them, and 
 make them say, ' We saw nothing better in the 
 king's house.' " 
 
 " Let me have plenty of poultry, and I will 
 do according to my master's bidding," returned 
 Leo. 
 
 Accordingly, he was purchased for twelve gold 
 pieces, and on the Sunday fas Bishop Gregory 
 of Tours, who tells the story, explains that the 
 barbarians called the Lord's day) he produced 
 a banquet after the most approved Roman 
 fashion, much to the surprise and delight of the 
 Franks, who had never tasted such delicacies be- 
 fore, and complimented their host upon them all 
 the evening. Leo gradually became a great fav- 
 orite, and was placed in authority over the other 
 slaves, to whom he gave out their daily portions 
 of broth and meat ; but from the first he had 
 not shown any recognition of Attains, and had 
 signed to him that they must be strangers to 
 one another. A whole year had passed away 
 in this manner, when one day Leo wandered, as
 
 106 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 if for pastime, into the plain where Attains 
 was watching the horses, and sitting down on 
 the ground at some paces off, and with his back 
 toward his young master, so that they might 
 not be seen talking together, he said, " This is 
 the time for thoughts of home ! When thou hast 
 led the horses to the stable to-night, sleep not. 
 Be ready at the first call !" 
 
 That day the Frank lord was entertaining a 
 large number of guests, among them his daugh- 
 ter's husband, a jovial young man, given to 
 jesting. On going to rest he fkncied he should 
 De thirsty at night, and called Leo to set a 
 pitcher of hydromel by his bedside. As the 
 slave was setting it down, the Frank looked 
 slyly from under his eyelids, and said in joke, 
 " Tell me, my father-in-law's trusty man, wilt 
 not thou some night take one of those horses, 
 and run away to thine own home ? " 
 
 *' Please God, it is what I mean to do this 
 very night," answered the Gaul, so undauntedly 
 that the Frank took it as a jest, and answered, 
 " I shall look out then that thou dost not carry 
 off anything of mine," and then Leo left him, 
 both laughing. 
 
 All were soon asleep, and the cook crept out 
 to the stable, where Attains usually slept among 
 the horses. He was broad awake now, and 
 ready to saddle the two swiftest, but he had no 
 weapon except a small lance, so Leo boldly 
 went back to his master's sleeping hut and took 
 down his sword and shield, but not without 
 awakening him enough to ask who was moving. 
 " It is I, — Leo," was the answer. " I have
 
 LEO THE SLAVE. 107 
 
 been to call Attains to take out the horses 
 early. He sleeps as hard as a drunkard." 
 The Frank went to sleep again, quite satisfied, 
 and Leo, carrying out the weapons, soon made 
 Attains feel like a free man and a noble once 
 more. They passed unseen out of the enclosure, 
 mounted their horses, and rode along the great 
 Roman road from Treves as far as the Meuse ; 
 but they found the bridge guarded, and were 
 obliged to wait till night, when they cast their 
 horses loose and swam the river, supporting 
 themselves on boards that they found on the 
 bank. They had as yet had no food since the 
 supper at their master's and were thankful to find 
 a plum tree in the Avood, with fruit, to refresh 
 them in some degree, before they lay down for 
 the night. The next morning they went on in 
 the direction of Rheims, carefully listening 
 whether there were any sounds behind, until, on 
 the broad, hard-paved causeway, they actually 
 heard the tramping of horses. Happily a bush 
 was near, behind which they crept, with their 
 naked swords before them, and here the riders 
 actually halted for a few moments to arrange 
 their harness. .Men and horses were both those 
 they feared, and they trembled at hearing one 
 say : " AVoe is me that those rogues have made 
 off, and have not been caught ! On my sal- 
 vation, if I catch them, I will have one hung 
 and the other chopped into little bits ! " It 
 was no small comfort to hear the trot of the 
 horses resumed, and soon dying away in the 
 distance. That same night the two faint, hun- 
 gry, weary travelers, footsore and exhausted.
 
 108 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 came stumbling into Rheims, looking about for 
 some person still awake to tell them the way to 
 the house of the Priest Paul, a friend of Attains' 
 uncle. They found it just as the church bell 
 was ringing for matins, a sound that must have 
 seemed very like home to these members of an 
 Episcopal household. They knocked, and in 
 the morning twilight met the priest going to his 
 earliest Sunday morning service. 
 
 Leo told his young master's name, and how 
 they had escaped, and the priest's first exclama- 
 tion w as a strange one : " My dream is true. 
 This very night I saw two doves, one white and 
 one black, who came and perched on my 
 hand." 
 
 The good man was overjoyed, but he scrupled 
 to give them any food, as it was contrary to the 
 Church's rules for the fast to be broken before 
 mass; but the travelers were half dead with 
 hunger, and could only say, " The good Lord 
 pardon us, for, saving the respect due to His 
 day, we must eat something, since this is the 
 fourth day since we have touched bread or 
 meat." The priest upon this gave them some 
 bread and wine, and after hiding them care- 
 fully, went to church, hoping to avert suspicion ; 
 but their master was already at Rheims, making 
 strict search for them, and learning that Paul 
 the priest was a friend of the Bishop of Langres, 
 he went to church, and there questioned him 
 closely. But the priest succeeded in guarding 
 his secret, and though he incurred much danger, 
 as the Salic law was very severe against con- 
 cealers of runaway slaves, he kept Attalus and
 
 LEO THE SLAVE. 109 
 
 Leo for two days, till the search was blown 
 over, and their strength was restored, so that 
 they could proceed to Langres. There they 
 were welcomed like men risen from the dead ; 
 the bishop wept on the neck of Attains, and 
 was ready to receive Leo as a slave no more, 
 but a friend and deliverer. 
 
 A few days after Leo was solemnly led to the 
 church. Every door was set open as a sign 
 that he might henceforth go whithersoever he 
 would. Bishop Gregorius took him by the 
 hand, and, standing before the archdeacon, 
 declared that for the sake of the good services 
 rendered by his slave, Leo, he set him free, and 
 created him a Roman citizen. 
 
 Then the archdeacon read a writing of manu- 
 mission : " Whatever is done according to the 
 R'jman law is irrevocable. According to the 
 constitution of the Emperor Constantine, of 
 happy memory, and the edict that declares that 
 whosoever is manumitted in church, in the 
 presence of the bishops, priests, and deacons, 
 shall become a Roman citizen under protection 
 of the church ; from this day Leo becomes a 
 member of the city, free to go and come where 
 he will as if he had been born of free parents. 
 From this day forward, he is exempt from all 
 subjection of servitude, of all duty of a freed- 
 man, all bond of clientship. He is and shall be 
 free, with full and entire freedom, and shall 
 never cease to belong to the body of Roman 
 citizens." 
 
 At the same time Leo was endowed with 
 lands, which raised him to the rank of what the
 
 110 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Franks called a Roman proprietor, the highest 
 reward in the bishop's power for the faithftil 
 devotion that had incurred such dangers in 
 order to rescue the young Attains from his 
 miserable bondage. 
 
 GUZMAN 'EL BUENO. 
 
 1293. 
 
 In the early times of Spanish history, before 
 the Moors had been expelled from the penin- 
 sula, or the blight of Western gold had ener- 
 vated the nation, the old honor and loyalty of 
 the Gothic race were high and pure, fostered 
 by constant combats with a generous enemy. 
 The Spanish Arabs were indeed the flower of 
 the Mahometan races, endowed with the vigor 
 and honor of the desert tribes, yet capable of 
 culture and civilization, excelling all other 
 nations of their time in science and art, and 
 almost the equals of their Christian foes in the 
 attributes of chivalry. Wars with them were 
 a constant crusade, consecrated in the minds of 
 the Spaniards as being in the cause of religion, 
 and yet in some degree freed from savagery 
 and cruelty by the respect exacted by the 
 honorable character of the enemy, and by the 
 fact that the civilization and learning of tlie 
 Christian kingdoms were far more derived from 
 the Moors than from the kindred nations of 
 Europe. 
 
 By the close of the thirteenth century, the 
 Christian kingdoms of Castile and Aragon were 
 
 I
 
 GUZMAN 'el BUEXO. Ill 
 
 descending from their mountain fastnesses, 
 and spreading over the lovely plains of the 
 south, even to the Mediterranean coast, as one 
 beautiful Moorish city after another yielded to 
 the persevering advances of the children of the 
 Ooths ; and in 1291 the nephew of our own 
 beloved Eleanor of Castile, Sancho V., called 
 JSl Bravo, ventured to invest the city of Tarifa. 
 
 This was the western buttress of the gate of 
 the Mediterranean, the base of the northern 
 Pillar of Hercules, and esteemed one of the 
 gates of Spain. By it five hundred years 
 previously had the Moorish enemy first entered 
 Spain at the summons of Count Julian, under 
 their leader Tarifabu-Zearah, whose name was 
 bestowed upon it in remembrance of his landing 
 there. The form of the ground is said to be 
 like a broken punch-bowl, with the broken part 
 toward the sea. The Moors had fortified the 
 €ity with a surrounding wall and twenty-six 
 towers, and had built a castle with a lighthouse 
 on a small adjacent island, called Isla Verde, 
 which they had connected with the city by a 
 causeway. Their fortifications, always admir- 
 able, have existed ever since, and in 1811, 
 another five hundred years after, were success- 
 fully defended against the French by a small 
 force of British troops under the command of 
 Colonel Hugh Gough, better knovvm in his old 
 age as the victor of Aliwal. The walls were 
 then unable to support the weight of artillery, 
 for which of course they had never been built, 
 but were perfectly efiTective against escalade. 
 
 For six months King Sancho besieged Tarifa
 
 112 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 by land and sea, his fleet, hired from the 
 Genoese, lying in the waters where the battle 
 of Trafalgar was to be fought. The city at 
 length yielded under stress of famine, but the 
 king feared that he had no resources to enable 
 him to keep it, and intended to dismantle and 
 forsake it, when the Grand Master of the mili- 
 tary order of Calatrava offered to undertake 
 the defence with his knights for one year, 
 hoping that some other noble would come for- 
 ward at the end of that time and take the 
 charge upon himself. 
 
 He was not mistaken. The noble who made 
 himself responsible for this post of danger was 
 a Leonese knight of high distinction, by name 
 Alonso Perez de Guzman, already called El 
 Bueno, or "The Good," from the high qualities 
 he had manifested in the service of the late 
 king, Don Alonso VI., by whom he had always 
 stood when the present king, Don Sancho, was 
 in rebellion. The ofier was readily accepted, 
 and the whole Guzman family removed to 
 Tarifa, with the exception of the eldest son, 
 who was in the train of the Infant Don Juan, 
 the second son of the late king, who had always 
 taken part with his father against his brother, 
 and on Sancho's accession, continued his 
 enmity, and fled to Portugal. 
 
 The king of Portugal, however, being re- 
 quested by Sancho not to permit him to remain 
 there, he proceeded to offer his services to the 
 king of Morocco, Yusuf-ben-Yacoub, for whom 
 he undertook to recover Tarifa, if 5000 horse 
 were granted to him for the purpose. The
 
 GUZMAN 'el BUENO. 113 
 
 force would have been most disproportionate 
 for the attack of such a city as Tarifa, but 
 Don Juan reckoned on means that he had 
 already found efficacious; when he had ob- 
 tained the surrender of Zamora to his father 
 by threatening to put to death a child of the 
 lady in command of the fortress. 
 
 Therefore, after summoning Tarifa at the 
 head of his 5000 Moors, he led forth before the 
 gates the boy who had been confided to his 
 care, and declared that, unless the city were 
 yielded instantly, Guzman should behold the 
 death of his own son at his hand ! Before, he 
 had had to deal with a weak woman on a ques- 
 tion of divided allegiance. It was otherwise 
 here. The point was whether the city should 
 be made over to the enemies of the faith and 
 country, whether the plighted word of a loyal 
 knight should be broken. The boy was held 
 in the grasp of the cruel prince, stretching out 
 his hands and weeping as he saw his father 
 upon the walls. Don Alonso's eyes, we are 
 told, filled with tears as he cast one long, last 
 look at his firstborn, whom he might not save 
 except at the expense of his truth and honor. 
 
 The struggle was bitter, but he broke forth 
 at last in these words : " I did not beget a son 
 to be made use of against my country, but that 
 he should serve her against her foes. Should 
 Don Juan put him to death, he will but confer 
 honor on me, true life on my son, and on him- 
 self eternal shame in this world and everlasting 
 wrath after death. So far am I from yielding 
 this place or betraying my trust, that in case
 
 114 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 lie should want a weapon for his cruel purpose, 
 there goes my knife ! " 
 
 He cast the knife in his belt over the walls, 
 and returned to the castle, where, commanding 
 his countenance, he sat down to table with his 
 wife. Loud shouts of horror and dismay 
 almost instantly called him forth again. He 
 was told that Don Juan had been seen to cut 
 the boy's throat in a transport of blind rage. 
 ** I thought the enemy had broken in," he 
 •calmly said, and went back again. 
 
 The Moors themselves were horror-struck at 
 the atrocity of their ally, and as the siege was 
 hopeless they gave it up ; and Don Juan, afraid 
 and ashamed to return to Morocco, wandered 
 to the court of Granada. 
 
 King Sancho was lying sick at Alcala de 
 Henares when the tidings of the price of Guz- 
 man's fidelity reached him. Touched to the 
 depths of his heart, he wrote a letter to his 
 faithful subject, comparing his sacrifice to that 
 of Abraham, confirming to him the surname of 
 Good, lamenting his own inability to come and 
 ofier his thanks and regrets, but entreating 
 'Guzman's presence at Alcala. 
 
 All the way thither, the people thronged to 
 see the man true to his word at such a fearful 
 <jost. The court was sent out to meet him, and 
 the king, after embracing him, exclaimed, 
 " Here learn, ye knights, what are exploits of 
 virtue. Behold your model." 
 
 Lands and honors were heaped upon Alonso 
 ■de Guzman, and they were not a mockery of 
 his loss, for he had other sons to inherit them.
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 115 
 
 He was the staunch friend of Sancho's widow 
 and son in a long and perilous minority, and 
 died full of years and honors. The lands 
 granted to him were those of Medina Sidonia, 
 which lie between the rivers Guadiana and 
 Guadalquivir, and they have ever since been 
 held by his descendants, who still bear the 
 honored name of Guzman, witnessing that the 
 man who gave the life of his firstborn ratlier 
 than break his faith to the king has left a po.>- 
 terity as noble and enduring as any family ia 
 Europe. 
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 
 
 1308. 
 
 One of the ladies most admired by the 
 ancient Romans was Arria, the wife of Caecina 
 Psetus, a Roman who was condemned by the 
 Emperor Claudius to become his own execu- 
 tioner. Seeing him waver, his w^ife, who was 
 resolved to be with him, in death as in life, 
 took the dagger from his hand and plunged 
 it into her own breast, and with her last 
 strength held it out to him, gasping out, " It is 
 not painful, my Psetus." 
 
 Such was heathen faithfulness even to death ; 
 and where the teaching of Christianity had 
 not forbidden the taking away of life by one's 
 own hand, perhaps wifely love could not go 
 liigher. Yet Christian v/omen have endured a 
 yet more fearful ordeal to their tender affection.
 
 116 BOOK OF GOLD EX DEEDS. 
 
 watching, supporting, and finding unfailing 
 fortitude to uphold the sufferer in agonies that 
 must have rent their hearts. 
 
 Natalia was the fair young wife of Adrian, 
 an officer at Nicomedia, in the guards of the 
 Emperor Galerius Maximianus, and only about 
 twenty-eight years old. Natalia was a Chris- 
 tian, but her husband remained a Pagan, until, 
 when he was charged with the execution of 
 some martyrs, their constancy, coupled with the 
 testimony of his own wife's virtues, triumphed 
 over his unbelief, and he confessed himself 
 likewise a Christian. He was thrown into 
 prison, and sentenced to death, but he pre- 
 vailed on his gaoler to permit him to leave the 
 dungeon for a time, that he might see his wife. 
 The report came to Natalia that he was no 
 longer in prison, and she threw herself on the 
 ground, lamenting aloud: "Now will men point 
 at me, and say, ' Behold the wife of the coward 
 and apostate, who, for fear of death, hath 
 denied his God.' " 
 
 " O, thou noble and strong-hearted woman," 
 said Adrian's voice at the door, " I bless God 
 that I am not unworthy of thee. Open the 
 door, that I may bid thee farewell." 
 
 But this was not the last farewell, though he 
 duly went back to the prison ; for when, the 
 next day, he had been cruelly scourged and 
 tortured before the tribunal, Natalia, with her 
 hair cut short, and wearing the disguise of a 
 youth, was there to tend and comfort him. 
 She took him in her arms, saying, " O, light of 
 mine eyes, and husband of mine heart, blessed
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 117 
 
 art thou, who art chosen to suffer for Christ's 
 sake." 
 
 On the following day the tyrant ordered that 
 Adrian's limbs should be one by one struck off 
 on a blacksmith's anvil, and lastly his head. 
 And still it was his wdfe who held him and 
 sustained him through all, and, ere the last 
 stroke of the executioner, had received his last 
 breath. She took up one of the severed hands 
 and kissed it, and placed it in her bosom, and 
 escaping to Byzantium, there spent her life in 
 widowhood. 
 
 Nor among these devoted wives should we 
 pass by Gertrude, the wife of Rudolf, Baron 
 von der Wart, a Swabian nobleman, who was 
 so ill-advised as to join in a conspiracy of 
 Johann of Hapsburg, in 1308, against the 
 Emperor Albrecht I, the son of the great and 
 good Rudolf of Hapsburg. 
 
 This Johann was the son of the emperor's 
 brother Rudolf, a brave knight who had died 
 young, and Johann had been brought up by a 
 baron called Walther von Eschenbach, until, 
 at nineteen years old, lie went to his uncle to 
 demand his father's inheritance. Albrecht was 
 a rude and uncouth man, and refused disdain- 
 fully the demand, whereupon the nobleman of 
 the disputed territory stirred up the young 
 prince to form a plot against him, all having 
 evidently different views of the lengths to 
 which they would proceed. This was just at 
 the time that the Swiss, angry at the overween- 
 ing and oppressive behavior of Albrecht's 
 governors, were first taking up arms to main-
 
 118 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tain that they owed no duty to him as Duke of 
 Austria, but merely as Emperor of Germany, 
 lie set out on his way to chastise them as 
 rebels, taking with him a considerable train, of 
 whom his nephew Johann was one. At Baden, 
 Johann, as a last experiment, again applied for 
 his inheritance, but by way of answer, Albrecht 
 held out a wreath of flowers, telling him they 
 better became his years than did the cares of 
 government. He burst into tears, threw the 
 wreath upon the ground, and fed his mind 
 upon the savage purpose of letting his uncle 
 find out what he was fit for. 
 
 By and by the party came to the banks of 
 the Reuss, where there was no bridge, and only 
 one single boat to carry the whole across. The 
 first to cross were the emperor, with one 
 attendant, besides his nephew and four of the 
 secret partisans of Johann. Albrecht's son 
 Leopold was left to follow with the rest of the 
 suite, and the emperor rode on toward the 
 hills of his home, toward the Castle of Haps- 
 burg, where his father's noble qualities had 
 -earned the reputation which was tlie cause of 
 all the greatness of the line. Suddenly his 
 nephew rode up to him, and while one of the 
 conspirators seized the bridle of his horse, 
 exclaimed, " Will you now restore my inheri- 
 tance ! " and wounded him in the neck. The 
 attendant fled ; Der Wart, who had never 
 thought murder was to be a part of the scheme, 
 stood aghast, but the other two fell on the 
 unhappy Albrecht, and each gave him a mortal 
 wound, and then all five fled in difierent
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. l\\)' 
 
 directions. The whole horrible afiiiir took 
 place full in view of Leopold and the army on 
 the other side of the river, and when it became 
 possible for any of them to cross, they found 
 that the emperor had just expired, with hi& 
 head in the lap of a poor woman. 
 
 The murderers escaped into the Swiss moun- 
 tains, expecting shelter there ; but- the stout, 
 honest men of the cantons were resolved not to 
 have any connection with assassins, and refused 
 to protect them. Johann himself, after long 
 and miserable wanderings in disguise, bitterly 
 repented, owned his crime to the Pope, and was 
 received into a convent ; Eschenbach escaped, 
 and lived fifteen years as a cowherd. The 
 others all fell into the hands of the sons and 
 daughters of Albrecht, and woeful was the 
 revenge that was taken upon them, and upon 
 their innocent families and retainers. 
 
 That Leopold, who had seen his father slain 
 before his eyes, should have been deeply in- 
 censed, was not wonderful, and his elder brother 
 Frederick, as Duke of Austria, was charged 
 with the execution of justice ; but both brotherr^ 
 were horribly savage and violent in their pro- 
 ceedings, and their sister Agnes surpassed them 
 in her atrocious thirst for vengeance. She was^ 
 the wife of the king of Hungary, — very clever 
 and discerning, and also supposed to be very 
 religious, but all better thoughts were swept 
 away by her furious passion. She had nearly 
 strangled Eschenbach's infant son with her own 
 hands, when he was rescued from her by her 
 own soldiers, and when she was watching the
 
 120 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 beheading of sixty -three vassals of another of 
 the murderers, she repeatedly exclaimed, "Now 
 I l)athe in May dew." Once, indeed, she met 
 with a stern rebuke. A hermit, for whom she 
 had offered to build a convent, answered her, 
 *' Woman, God is not served by shedding inno- 
 cent blood and by building convents out of the 
 plunder of families, but by compassion and for- 
 giveness of injuries." 
 
 Rudolf von der Wart received the horrible 
 sentence of being broken on the wheel. On his 
 trial the emperor's attendant declared that 
 Der Wart had attacked Albrecht with his 
 dagger, and the cry, " How long will ye suffer 
 this carrion to sit on horseback ? " but he per- 
 sisted to the last that he had been taken by 
 surprise by the murder. However, there was 
 no mercy for him ; and, by the express com- 
 mand of Queen Agnes, after he had been 
 bound upon one wheel, and his limbs broken 
 by heavy blows from the executioner, he was 
 fastened to another wheel, which was set upon 
 a pole, where he was to linger out the remain- 
 ing hours of his life. His young wife, Ger- 
 trude, who had clung to him through all his 
 trial, was torn away and carried off to the 
 Castle of Kyburg ; but she made her escape at 
 dusk, and found her w^ay, as night came on, to 
 the spot where her husband hung still living 
 upon the wheel. That night of agony was 
 described in a letter ascribed to Gertrude her- 
 self. The guard left to watch fled at her 
 approach, and she prayed beneath the scaffold ; 
 and then, heaping some heavy logs of wood
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 121 
 
 together, was able to climb up near enough to 
 embrace him and stroke back the hair from his 
 face, whilst he entreated her to leave him, lest 
 she should be found there, and fall under the 
 cruel revenge of the queen, telling her that 
 thus it would be possible to increase his suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 " I will die with you," she said ; " 'tis for 
 that I came, and no power shall force me from 
 you;" and she prayed for the one mercy she 
 hoped for, speedy death for her husband. 
 
 In Mrs. Hemans' beautiful words : — 
 
 " And bid me not depart," she cried, 
 
 " My Rudolf, say not so ; 
 This is no time to quit thy side, 
 
 Peace, peace, I cannot go ! 
 Hath the world aught for rne to fear 
 
 When death is on thy brow? 
 The world ! what means it? Mine is here? 
 
 I will not leave thee now. 
 
 " I have been with thee in thine hour 
 
 Of glory and of bliss ; 
 Doubt not its memory's living power 
 
 To strengthen me through this. 
 And thou, mine honored love and true, 
 
 Bear on, bear nobly on ; 
 We have the blessed heaven in view 
 
 Whose rest shall soon be won." 
 
 When day began to break, the guard re- 
 turned, and Gertrude took down her stage of 
 wood and continued kneeling at the foot of the
 
 122 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 pole. Crowds of people came to look — among 
 them the "wife of one of the officials, whom 
 Gertrude implored to intercede that her hus- 
 band's sufferings might be ended ; but though 
 this might not be, some pitied her, and tried to 
 give her wine and confections, which she could 
 not touch. The priest came and exhorted 
 Rudolf to confess the crime, but with a great 
 effort he repeated his former statement of 
 innocence. 
 
 A band of horsemen rode by. Among them 
 was the young Prince Leopold and his sister 
 Agnes herself, clad as a knight. They were 
 very angry at the compassion shown by the 
 crowd, and after frightfully harsh language, 
 commanded that Gertrude should be dragged 
 away ; but one of the nobles interceded for her, 
 and when she had been carried away to a little 
 distance her entreaties were heard, and she was 
 allowed to break away and come back to her 
 husband. The priest blessed Gertrude, gave 
 her his hand, and said, " Be faithful unto 
 death, and God Avill give you the crown of 
 life," and she was no further molested. 
 
 Night came on, and with it a stormy wind, 
 whose howling mingled with the voice of her 
 prayers, and whistled in the hair of the sufferer. 
 One of the guard brought her a cloak. She 
 climbed on the wheel, and spread the covering 
 over her husband's limbs; then fetched some 
 water in her shoe and moistened his lips with 
 it, sustaining him above all with her prayers, 
 and exhortations to look at the joys beyond. 
 He had ceased to try to send her away, and
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 123 
 
 thanked her for the comfort she gave him. 
 And still she watched when morning came 
 again and noon passed over her, and it was 
 verging to evening, when, for the last time he 
 moved his head ; and she raised herself so as to 
 be close to him. With a smile, he murmured, 
 ** Gertrude, this is faithfulness till death," and 
 died. She knelt down to thank God for having 
 enabled her to remain for that last breath : — 
 
 "While even as o'er a martyr's grave 
 She knelt on that sad spot, 
 And, weeping, blessed the God who gave 
 Strength to forsake it not ! " 
 
 She found shelter in a convent at Basle, 
 where she spent the rest of her life in a quiet 
 round of prayer and good works ; till the time 
 came when her widowed heart should find its 
 true rest forever. 
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 
 
 1347. 
 
 Nowhere does the continent of Europe ap- 
 proach Great Britain so closely as at the Straits 
 of Dover, and when our sovereigns were full of 
 the vain hope of obtaining the crown of France, 
 or at least of regaining the great possessions 
 that their forefathers had owned as French 
 nobles, there was no spot so coveted by them as
 
 124 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the fortress of Calais, the possession of wliich 
 gave an entrance into France. 
 
 Thus it was that when in 1346, Edward III. 
 had beaten Philippe VI. at the battle of 
 Crecy, the first use he made of his victory was 
 to march upon Calais, and lay siege to it. 1 he 
 walls were exceedingly strong and solid, 
 mighty defences of masonry, of huge thickness, 
 and like rocks for solidity, guarded it, and the 
 king knew that it would be useless to attempt a 
 direct assault. Indeed, during all the middle 
 ages, the modes of protecting fortifications were 
 far more efficient than the modes of attacking 
 them. The walls could be made enormously 
 massive, the towers raised to a great height, 
 and the defenders were so completely sheltered 
 by battlements that they could not easily be 
 injured, and could take aim from the top of 
 their turrets, or from their loophole windows. 
 The gates had absolute little castles of their 
 own, a moat flowed around the walls full of 
 water, and only capable of being crossed by a 
 draw-bridge, behind which the portcullis, a 
 grating armed beneath with spikes, was always 
 ready to drop from the archway of the gate 
 and close up the entrance. The only chance 
 of taking a fortress by direct attack was to fill 
 up the moat with earth and faggots, and then 
 raise ladders against the walls ; or else to drive 
 engines against the defences, battering-rams 
 which struck them with heavy beams, mango- 
 nels which launched stones, sows whose arched 
 wooden backs protected troops of workmen 
 who tried to undermine the wall, and moving
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 125 
 
 towers consisting of a succession of stages or 
 shelves, filled with soldiers, and Avith a bridge 
 with iron hooks, capable of being launched 
 from the highest story to the top of the battle- 
 ments. The besieged could generally discon- 
 cert the battering-ram by hanging beds or 
 mattresses over the walls to receive the brunt 
 of tlie blow, the sows could be crushed with 
 heavy stones, the towers burnt by well-directed 
 flaming missiles, the ladders overthrown, and in 
 general the besiegers suffered a great deal more 
 damage than they could inflict. Cannon had 
 indeed been brought into use at the battle of 
 Crecy, but they only consisted of iron bars fas- 
 tened together with hoops, and were as yet of 
 little use, and thus there seemed to be little 
 danger to a w^ell-guarded city from any enemy 
 outside the walls. 
 
 King Edward arrived before the place with 
 all his victorious army early in August, his 
 good knights and squires arrayed in glittering 
 steel armor, covered with surcoats richly em- 
 broidered with their heraldic bearings ; his 
 stout men-at-arms, each of whom was attended 
 by three bold followers ; and his archers, with 
 their cross-bows to shoot bolts, and long-bows 
 to shoot arrows of a yard long, so that it used 
 to be said that each went into battle with three 
 men's lives under his girdle, namely the three 
 arrows he kept there ready to his hand. With 
 the king w^as his son, Edward, Prince of Wales, 
 who had just won the golden spurs of knight- 
 hood so gallantly at Crecy, when only in his 
 seventeenth year, and likewise the famous
 
 126 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Hainault knight, Sir Walter Mauny, and all 
 that was noblest and bravest in England. 
 
 This whole glittering army, at their head the 
 king's great royal standard bearing the golden 
 lilies of France quartered with the lions 
 of England, and each troop guided by the 
 square banner, swallow-tail pennon or pointed 
 pennoncel of their leader, came marching to 
 the gates of Calais, above which floated the 
 blue standard of France with its golden flow- 
 ers, and with it the banner of the governor, Sir 
 Jean de Vienne. A herald, in a rich, long 
 robe, embroidered with the arms of England, 
 rode up to the gate, a trumpet sounding before 
 him, and called upon Sir Jean de Vienne to 
 give up the place to Edward, King of England, 
 and of France, as he claimed to be. Sir Jean 
 made answer that he held the town for Philippe, 
 King of France, and that he would defend it 
 to the last ; the herald rode back again and the 
 English began the siege of the city. 
 
 At first they only encamped, and the people 
 of Calais must have seen the whole plain cov- 
 ered with the white canvas tents, marshaled 
 round the ensigns of the leaders, and here and 
 there a more gorgeous one displaying the colors 
 of the owner. Still there was no attack upon 
 the walls. The warriors Avere to be seen walk- 
 ing about in the leathern suits they wore under 
 their armor ; or if a party was to be seen with 
 their coats of mail on, helmet on head, and 
 lance in hand, it was not against Calais that 
 they came ; they rode out into the country and 
 by and by might be seen driving back before
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 127 
 
 them herds of cattle and flocks of sheep or 
 pigs that they had seized and taken away from 
 the poor peasants ; and at night the sky would 
 show red lights where farms and homesteads 
 had been set on fire. After a time, in front of 
 the tents, the English were to be seen hard at 
 work with beams and boards setting up huts for 
 themselves, and thatching them over with straw 
 or broom. These wooden houses were all ranged 
 in regular streets, and there was a market-place 
 in the midst, whither every Saturday came 
 farmers and butchers to sell corn and meat, and 
 hay for the horses ; and the English merchants 
 and Flemish weavers would come by sea and 
 by land to bring cloth, bread, weapons and 
 everything that could be needed to be sold in 
 this warlike market. 
 
 The Governor, Sir Jean de Vienne, began to 
 perceive that the king did not mean to waste 
 his men by making vain attacks on the strong 
 walls of Calais, but to shut up the entrance by 
 land, and watch the coast by sea so as to pre- 
 vent any provisions from being taken in, and 
 so to starve him into surrendering. Sir Jean 
 de Vienne, however, hoped that before he should 
 be entirely reduced by famine, the King of 
 France would be able to get together another 
 army and come to his relief, and at any rate he 
 was determined to do his duty, and hold out 
 for his master to the last. But as food was al- 
 ready beginning to grow scarce, he was obliged 
 to turn out such persons as could not fight and 
 had no stores of their own, and so one Wednes- 
 day morning he caused all the poor to be
 
 128 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 brought together, men, womeD and children, 
 and sent them all out of the town, to the num- 
 ber of 1700. It was probably the truest mercy, 
 for he had no food to give them ; and they 
 could only have starved miserably within the 
 town, or have hindered him from saving it for 
 his sovereign ; but to them it was dreadful to 
 be driven out of house and home, straight down 
 upon the eneiay, and they went along weeping 
 and wailing, till the English soldiers met them 
 and asked them why they had come out. They 
 answered that they had been put out because 
 they had nothing to eat, and their sorrowiiil, 
 famished looks gained pity for them. King 
 Edward sent orders that not only should they 
 go safely through his camp, but that they 
 should all rest, and have the first hearty dinner 
 that they had eaten for many a day, and he 
 sent each one a small sum of money before 
 they left the camp, so that many of them went 
 on their way praying aloud for the enemy who 
 had been so kind to them. 
 
 A great deal happened whilst King Edward 
 kept watch in his wooden town and the citizens 
 of Calais guarded their walls. England was 
 invaded by King David II. of Scotland, with a 
 great army, and the good Queen Philippa, who 
 was left to govern at home in the name of her 
 little son Lionel, assembled all the forces that 
 were left at home, and sent them to meet him. 
 And one autumn day, a ship crossed the Straits 
 of Dover, and a messenger brought King Ed- 
 ward letters from his queen to say that the 
 Scots armv had been entirelv defeated at Nevil's
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 129 
 
 Cross, near Durham, and that their king was a 
 prisoner, but that he had been taken by a 
 squire named John Copeland, who would not 
 give him up to her. 
 
 King Edward sent letters to John Copeland 
 to come to him at Calais, and when the squire 
 had made his journey, the king took him by 
 the hand, saying : " Ha ! welcome, my squire, 
 who by his valor has captured our adversary 
 the king of Scotland." 
 
 Copeland, falling on one knee, replied : " If 
 God, out of His great kindness, has given me 
 the King of Scotland, no one ought to be jealous 
 of it, for God can, when He pleases, send His 
 grace to a poor squire as well as to a great lord. 
 Sir, do not take it amiss if I did not surrender 
 him to the orders of my lady the queen, for I 
 hold my lands of you, and my oath is to you^ 
 not to her." 
 
 The king was not displeased with his squire's 
 sturdiness, but made him a knight, gave him a 
 pension of £500 a year, and desired him to 
 surrender his prisoner to the queen, as his own 
 representative. This was accordingly done, and 
 Kinpj David was lod;<ed in the Tower of Lon- 
 don. Soon after, three days before All Saints' 
 Day, there was a large and gay fleet to be seen 
 crossing from the white cliffs of Dover, and the 
 king, his son, and his knights, rode down to the 
 landing-place to welcome plump, fair-haired 
 Queen Philippa, and all her train of ladies, 
 who had come in great numbers to visit their 
 husbands, fathers or brothers in the wooden 
 tow::. Tlicn there was a orreat court, and
 
 130 BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 numerous feasts and dances, and the knignts and 
 squires were constantly striving who could do 
 the bravest deed of prowess to please the ladies. 
 The King of France had placed numerous 
 knights and men-at-arms in the neighboring 
 towns and castles, and there were constant 
 fights whenever the English went out foraging, 
 and many bold deeds that were much admired 
 were done. The great point was to keep pro- 
 visions out of the tov/n, and there was much 
 fighting between the French who tried to bring 
 in supplies and the English who intercepted 
 them. Very little was brought in by land, and 
 Sir Jean de Vienne and his garrison would have 
 been quite starved but for two sailors of Abbe- 
 ville, named Marant and Mestriel, who knew 
 the coast thoroughly, and often, in the dark 
 autumn evenings, would guide in a whole fleet 
 of little boats, loaded with bread and meat for 
 the starving men within the city. They were 
 often chased by King Edward's vessels, and were 
 sometimes very nearly taken, but they always 
 managed to escape, and thus they still enabled 
 the garrison to hold out. 
 
 So all the winter passed. Christmas was 
 kept with brilliant feastings and high merri- 
 ment by the king and his queen in their wooden 
 palace outside, and with lean cheeks and scanty 
 fare by the besieged within. Lent was strictly 
 observed perforce by the besieged, and Easter 
 brought a betrothal in the English camp ; a 
 very unwilling one on the part of the bride- 
 groom, the young Count of Flanders, who loved 
 the French much better than the English, and
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIh. 131 
 
 had only been tormented into giving his con- 
 sent by his unruly vassals because they de- 
 pended on the wool of English sheep for their 
 cloth works. So, though King Edward's 
 daughter Isabel was a beautiful fair-haired girl 
 of fifteen, the young Count would scarcely look 
 at her ; and in the last week before the marriage- 
 day, while her robes and her jewels were being 
 prepared, and her father and mother were ar- 
 ranging the presents they should make to all 
 their court on her wedding-day, the bridegroom, 
 when out hawking, gave his attendants the 
 slip, and galloped off to Paris, where he was 
 welcomed by King Philippe. 
 
 This made Edward very wrathful, and more 
 than ever determined to take Calais. About 
 Whitsuntide he completed a great wooden castle 
 upon the sea-shore, and placed in it numerous 
 warlike engines, with forty men-at-arms and 
 200 archers, who kept such a watch upon the 
 harbor that not even the two Abbeville sailors 
 could enter it, without having their boats 
 crushed and sunk by the great stones that the 
 mangonels launched upon them. The towns- 
 people began to feel what hunger really was, 
 but their spirits W'ere kept up by the hope that 
 their king was at last collecting an army for 
 their rescue. 
 
 And Philippe did collect all his forces, a 
 great and noble army, and came one night to 
 the hill of Sandgate, just behind the English 
 army, the knights' armor glancing and their 
 pennons flying in the moonlight, so as to be a 
 beautiful sight to the hungry garrison who
 
 132 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 could see the white tents pitclied upon the 
 hillside. Still there were but two roads by 
 which the French could reach their friends in 
 the town, — one along the sea-coast, the other 
 by a marshy road hirrher up the country, and 
 there was but one bridge by which the river 
 could be crossed. The English king's fleet 
 could prevent any troops from passing along 
 the coast road, the Earl of Derby guarded 
 the bridge, and there was a great tower, strongly 
 fortified, close upon Calais. There were a few 
 skirmishes, but the French king, finding it 
 diflicult to force his way to relieve the town, 
 sent a party of knights with a challenge to 
 King Edward to come out of his camp and 
 do battle upon a fair field. 
 
 To this Edward made answer that he had 
 been nearly a year before Calais, and had 
 spent large sums of money on the siege, and 
 that he had nearly become master of the place, 
 so that he had no intention of coming out 
 only to gratify his adversary, who must try 
 some other road if he could not make his 
 way in by that before him. 
 
 Three days were spent in parleys, and then, 
 without the slightest eflTort to rescue the 
 brave, patient men within the town, away 
 went King Philippe of France, with all his 
 men, and the garrison saw the host that had 
 crowded the hill of Sandgate melt away like 
 a summer cloud. 
 
 August had come again, and they had suf- 
 fered privation for a whole year for the sake of 
 ihe kins who deserted them at their utmost
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 138 
 
 need. They were in so grievous a state of hun- 
 ger and distress that the hardiest could endure 
 no more, for ever since Whitsuntide no fresh 
 provisions had reached tliem. The governor, 
 therefore, went to the battlements and made 
 signs that he wished to hold a parley, and the 
 king appointed Lord Basset and Sir Walter 
 Mauny to meet him, and appoint the terms of 
 surrender. 
 
 The governor owned that the garrison was 
 reduced to the greatest extremity of distress, 
 and requested that the king would be contented 
 with obtaining the city and fortress, leaving the 
 soldiers and inhabitants to depart in peace. 
 
 But Sir Walter Mauny was forced to make 
 answer that the king, his lord, was so much 
 enraged at the delay and expense that Calais 
 had cost him, that he would only consent to 
 receive the whole on conditional terms, leaving 
 him free to slay, or to ransom, or make pris- 
 oners whomsoever he pleased, and he was 
 known to consider that there was a heavy 
 reckoning to pay, both for the trouble the siege 
 had cost him and the damage the Calesians had 
 previously done to his shij^s. 
 
 The brave answer was : " These conditions 
 are too hard for us. We are but a small num- 
 ber of knights and squires, who have loyally 
 served our lord and master as you would have 
 done, and have suffered much ill and disquiet, 
 but we will endure far more than any man has 
 done in such a post, before we consent that the 
 smallest boy in the town shall fare v/orse than 
 ourselves. I therefore entreat you, for pity's
 
 134 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 sake, to return to the king and beg him to have 
 compassion, for I have such an opinion of his 
 gallantry that I think he will alter his mind." 
 
 The king's mind seemed, however, sternly 
 made up ; and all that Sir Walter Mauny and 
 the barons of the council could obtain from him 
 was that he would pardon the garrison and 
 townsmen on condition that six of the chief 
 citizens should present themselves to him, com- 
 ing forth with bare feet and heads, with halters 
 round their necks, carrying the keys of the 
 town, and becoming absolutely his own to 
 punish for their obstinacy as he should think fit. 
 
 On hearing this reply. Sir Jean de Vienne 
 begged Sir Walter Mauny to wait till he could 
 consult the citizens, and, repairing to the 
 market-place, he caused a great bell to be rung, 
 at sound of which all the inhabitants came 
 together in the town-hall. When he told them of 
 these hard terms he could not refrain from 
 weeping bitterly, and wailing and lamentation 
 arose all round him. Should all starve 
 together, or sacrifice their best and most hon- 
 ored after all suffering in common so long ? 
 
 Then a voice was heard : it was that of the 
 richest burgher in the town, Eustache de St. 
 Pierre. "Messieurs, high and low," he said, 
 *' it would be a sad pity to suflfer so many peo- 
 ple to die throush hunger, if it could be pre- 
 vented ; and to hinder it would be meritorious 
 in the eyes of our Saviour. I have such faith 
 and trust in finding grace before God, if I die 
 to save my townsmen, that I name myself as 
 first of the six."
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 185- 
 
 As the burgher ceased, his fellow-townsmen 
 wept aloud, and many, amid tears and groans^ 
 threw themselves at his feet in a transport of 
 grief and gratitude. Another citizen, very rich 
 and respected, rose up and said, " I will be 
 second to my comrade, Eustache." His name 
 was Jean Daire. After him Jacques Wissant^ 
 another very rich man, offered himself as com- 
 panion to these, who were both his cousins ; 
 and his brother Pierre would not be left behind : 
 and two more, unnamed, made up this gallant 
 band of men willing to offer their lives for the 
 rescue of their fellow-townsmen. 
 
 Sir Jean de Vienne mounted a little horse — 
 for he had been wounded, and was still lame — 
 and came to the gate with them, followed by all 
 the people of the town, weeping and wailing, 
 yet, for their own sakes and their children's, 
 not daring to prevent the sacrifice. The gates 
 were opened, the governor and the six passed 
 out, and the gates were again shut behind 
 them. Sir Jean then rode up to Sir AValter 
 Mauny, and told him how these burghers had 
 voluntarily offered themselves, begging him to 
 do all in his power to save them ; and Sir 
 Walter promised with his whole heart to plead 
 their cause. De Vienne then went back into 
 the town, full of heaviness and anxiety ; and 
 the six citizens were led by Sir Walter to the 
 presence of the king, in his full court. They 
 all knelt down, and the foremost said : " Most 
 gallant king, you see before you six burghers- 
 of Calais, who have all been capital merchants, 
 and who bring you the keys of the castle and
 
 136 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 town. We yield ourselves to your absolute will 
 and pleasure, in order to save the remainder of 
 the inhabitants of Calais, who have suflered 
 much distress and misery. Condescend, there- 
 fore, out of your nobleness of mind to have pity 
 on us." 
 
 Strong emotion was excited among all the 
 barons and knights who stood round, as they 
 saw the resigned countenances, pale and thin 
 with patiently-endured hunger, of these vener- 
 able men, oflering themselves in the cause of 
 their fellow-townsmen. Many tears of pity 
 were shed ; but the king still showed himself 
 implacable, and commanded that they should 
 be led away, and their heads stricken ofl'. Sir 
 Walter Mauny interceded for them with all his 
 might, even telling the king that such an 
 execution would tarnish his honor, and that 
 reprisals would be made on his own garrisons ; 
 and all the nobles joined in entreating pardon 
 for the citizens, but still without effect; and the 
 headsman had been actually sent for, when 
 Queen Philippa, her eyes streaming with teai^, 
 threw herself on her knees amongst the cap- 
 tives, and said, " Ah, gentle sir, since I have 
 <!rossed the sea, with nmch danger, to sec you, 
 I have never asked you one favor ; now I beg 
 iis a boon to myself, for the sake of the Son of 
 the Blessed Mary, and for your love to me, that 
 you will be merciful to these men ! " 
 
 For some time the king looked at her in 
 silence ; then he exclaimed : " Dame, dame, 
 would that you had been anywhere than here ! 
 You have entreated in such a manner that I
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 137 
 
 cannot refuse you ; I therefore give these men 
 to you, to do as you please with." 
 
 Joyfully did Queen Philippa conduct the six 
 citizens to her own apartments, where she made 
 them welcome, sent them new garments, enter- 
 tained them with a plentiful dinner, and dis- 
 missed them each with a gift of six nobles. After 
 this. Sir Walter Mauny entered the city, and 
 took possession of it; retaining Sir Jean de 
 Yienne and the other knights and squires till 
 they should ransom themselves, and sending out 
 the old French inhabitants ; for the king was 
 resolved to people the city entirely with 
 English, in order to gain a thoroughly strong 
 hold of this first step in France. 
 
 The king and queen took up their abode in 
 the city ; and the houses of Jean Daire were, 
 it appears, granted to the queen, — perhaps, 
 because she considered the man himself as her 
 charge, and wished to secure them for him, — 
 anvd her little daughter Margaret was, shortly 
 after, born in one of his houses. Eustacte de 
 St. Pierre was taken into high favor, and was 
 placed in charge of the new citizens whom the 
 king placed in the city. 
 
 Indeed, as this story is told by no chronicler 
 but Froissart, some have doubted of it, and 
 thought the violent resentment thus imputed to 
 Edward III. inconsistent with his general char- 
 acter ; but it is evident that the men of Calais had 
 given him strong provocation by attacks on his 
 shipping, — piracies whichare not easily forgiven, 
 — and that he considered that he had a right to 
 make an example of them. It is not unlikely that
 
 138 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 he might, after all, have intended to forgive them, 
 and have given the queen the grace of ob- 
 taining their pardon, so as to excuse himself from 
 the fulfillment of some overhasty threat. But, 
 however this may have been, nothing can lessen 
 the glory of the six grave and patient men who 
 went forth, by their own free will, to meet what 
 might be a cruel and disgraceful death, in order 
 to obtain the safety of their fellow-townsmen. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 
 1397. 
 
 Nothing in history has been more remarkable 
 than the union of the cantons and cities of the 
 little republic of Switzerland. Of difiering races, 
 languages, and, latterly, even religions, — unlike 
 in habits, tastes, opinions, and costumes, — they 
 have, however, been held together, as it were, 
 by pressure from without, and one spirit of 
 patriotism has kept the little mountain republic 
 complete for five hundred years. 
 
 Originally the lands were fiefs of the Holy 
 Roman Empire, the city municipalities owning 
 the emperor for their lord ; and the great 
 family of Hapsburg, in whom the empire 
 became at length hereditary, was in reality 
 Swiss, the county that gave them title lying in 
 the canton of Aargau. Rodolf of Hapsburg 
 was elected leader of the burghers of Zurich, 
 long before he was chosen to the empire ; and
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 139 
 
 he continued a Swiss in heart, retaining his 
 mountaineer's open simplicity and honesty to 
 the end of his Hfe. Privileges were granted by 
 him to the cities and the nobles, and the country 
 was loyal and prosperous in his reign. 
 
 His son Albert, the same who was slain by 
 his nephew Johann, as before mentioned, per- 
 mitted those tyrannies of his bailiffs which 
 goaded the Swiss to their celebrated revolt, and 
 commenced the long series of wars with the 
 House of Hapsburg, — or, as it was now termed, 
 of Austria, — which finally established their 
 independence. 
 
 On the one side, the Dukes of Austria and 
 their ponderous German chivalry, wanted to 
 reduce the cantons and cities to vassalage, not 
 to the Imperial Crown, a distant and scarcely 
 felt obligation, but to the Duchy of Austria ; 
 on the other, the hardy mountain peasants and 
 stout burghers well knew their true position, 
 and were aware that to admit the Austrian 
 usurpation would expose their young men to be 
 drawn upon for the Duke's wars, cause their 
 property to be subject to perpetual rapacious 
 exactions, and fill their hills with castles for 
 ducal bailiffs, who would be little better than 
 licensed robbers. No v/onder, then, that the 
 generation of William Tell and Arnold 
 Melcthal bequeathed a resolute purpose of 
 resistance to their descendants. 
 
 It was in 1397, ninety years since the first 
 assertion of Swiss independence, when Leopold 
 the Handsome, Duke of Austria, a bold but 
 misproud and violent prince, involved himself
 
 140 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 in one of the constant quarrels with the Swiss 
 that were always arising on account of the 
 insulting exactions of toll and tribute in the 
 Austrian border cities. A sharp war broke out, 
 and the Swiss city of Lucerne took the oppor- 
 tunity of destroying the Austrian castle of 
 Rothemburg, where the tolls had been particu- 
 larly vexatious, and of admitting to their league 
 the cities of Sempach and Richensee. 
 
 Leopold and all the neighboring nobles 
 united their forces. Hatred and contempt of 
 the Swiss, as low-born and presumptuous, 
 spurred them on ; and twenty messengers 
 reached the Duke in one day, with promises 
 of support, in his march against Sempach and 
 Lucerne. He had sent a large force in the 
 direction of Zurich with Johann Bonstetten, 
 and advanced himself with 4000 horse and 
 1400 foot upon Sempach. Zurich undertook 
 its own defence, and the Forest Cantons sent 
 their brave peasants to the support of Lucerne 
 and Sempach, but only to the number of 1300, 
 who, on the ninth of July, took post in the 
 woods around the little lake of Sempach. 
 Meanwhile, Ijeopold's troops rode round the 
 walls of the little city, insulting the inhabi- 
 tants ; one holding up a halter, which he said 
 was for the chief magistrate ; and another, 
 pointing to the reckless waste that his comrades 
 were perpetrating on the fields, shouted, " Send 
 a breakfast to the reapers." The burgomaster 
 pointed to the woods where his allies lay hid, 
 and answered, " My masters of Lucerne and 
 their friends will bring it.'*
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 141 
 
 The story of that day was told by one of the 
 ]>urghers who fought in the ranks of Lucerne, 
 ii shoemaker, named x\lbert Tchudi, who was 
 both a brave warrior and a master-singer ; and 
 as his ballad was translated by another master- 
 singer, Sir AValter Scott, and is the spirited 
 record of an eye-witness, we will quote from 
 him some of his descriptions of the battle and 
 its Golden Deed. 
 
 The Duke's wiser friends proposed to wait 
 till he could be joined by Bonstetten and the 
 troops who had gone toward Zurich, and the 
 Baron von Hasenberg (i. e., hare-rock) strongly 
 urged this prudent counsel ; but — 
 
 " * O Hare-Castle, thou heart of hare 1 ' 
 Fierce Oxenstiern he cried, 
 * Shalt see then how the game will fare,' 
 The taunted knight replied." 
 
 " This very noon," said the younger knight 
 to the Duke, " we will deliver up to you this 
 handful of villains." 
 
 " And thus they to each other said, 
 
 * Yon handful down to hew 
 
 "Will be no boastful tale to tell, 
 
 The peasants are so few.' " 
 
 Characteristically enough, the doughty cob- 
 bler describes how the first execution that took 
 place was the lopping off the lon^-peaked toes 
 of the boots that the gentlemen wore chained 
 to their knees, and which would have impeded 
 them on foot : since it had been decided that
 
 142 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the horses we.e too much tired to be serviceable 
 in the action. 
 
 " There was lacing then of helmets bright, 
 And closing ranks amain, 
 The peaks they hewed from their boot points 
 Might wellnigh load a wain." 
 
 They were drawn up in a solid compact body, 
 presenting an unbroken line of spears, project- 
 ing beyond the wall of gay shields and polished 
 impenetrable armor. 
 
 The Swiss were not only few in number, but 
 armor was scarce among them ; some had only 
 boards fastened on their arms by way of shields; 
 some had halberds, which had been used by 
 their fathers at the battle of Morgarten ; others 
 two-handed swords and battle-axes. They drew 
 themselves up in form of a wedge, and 
 
 " The gallant Swiss confederates then 
 They prayed to God aloud, 
 And He displayed His rainbow fair 
 Against a swarthy cloud." 
 
 Then they rushed upon the serried spears, but 
 in vain. " The game was nothing sweet." 
 
 The banner of Lucerne was in the utmost 
 danger, the Landamman was slain, and sixty 
 of his men, and not an Austrian had been 
 wounded. The flanks of the Austrian host 
 began to advance so as to enclose the small 
 peasant force, and involve it in irremediable 
 destruction. A moment of dismay and stillness 
 ensued. Then Arnold von Winkelried of
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH. 143 
 
 Unterwaldeii, with an eagle glance saw the 
 only means of saving his country, and, with 
 the decision of a man who dares by dying to 
 do all things, shouted aloud : " I will open a 
 passage." 
 
 " ' I have a virtuous wife at home, 
 A wife and infant son : 
 I leave them to my country's care, 
 The field shall yet be won ! ' 
 He rushed against the Austrian band 
 In desperate career. 
 And with his body, breast, and hand, 
 Bore down each hostile spear ; 
 Four lances splintered on his crest. 
 Six shivered in his side, 
 Still on the serried files he pressed. 
 He broke their ranks and died ! " 
 
 The very weight of the desperate charge of 
 this self-devoted man opened a breach in the 
 line of spears. In rushed the Swiss wedge, and 
 the weight of the nobles' armor and length of 
 their spears was only encumbering. They 
 began to fall before the Swiss blows, and Duke 
 Leopold was urged to fly. " I had rather die 
 honorably than live with dishonor," he said. 
 He saw his standard-bearer struck to the ground, 
 and seizing his banner from his hand, waved it 
 over his head, and threw himself among the 
 thickest of the foe. His corpse was found amid 
 a heap of slain, and no less than 2000 of his 
 companions perished with him, of w^hom a third 
 are said to have been counts, barons, and knight*.
 
 144 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 " Then lost was banner, spear, and shield 
 At Sempach in the flight ; 
 The cloister vaults at Konigsfeldt 
 Hold many an Austrian knight." 
 
 The Swiss only lost 200 ; but, as they were 
 gpent with the excessive heat of the July sun, 
 they did not pursue their enemies. They gave 
 thanks on the battlefield to the God of vic- 
 tories, and the next day buried the dead, carry- 
 ing Duke Leopold and twenty-seven of his most 
 illustrious companions to the Abbey of Konigs- 
 feldt, where they buried him in the old tomb 
 of his forefathers, the lords of Aargau, who had 
 been laid there in the good old times, before 
 the house of Hapsburg had grown arrogant 
 with success. 
 
 As to the master-singer, he tells us of himself 
 that 
 
 " A meny man was he, I wot. 
 The night he made the lay. 
 Returning from the bloody spot 
 Where God had judged the day." 
 
 On every ninth of July subsequently, the 
 people of the country have been wont to assem- 
 ble on the battlefield, around four stone crosses 
 which mark the spot. A priest from a pulpit 
 in the open air gives a thanksgiving sermon on 
 the victory that insured the freedom of Switzer- 
 land, and another reads the narrative of the 
 battle, and the roll of the brave 200, who, after 
 Winkelried's example, gave their lives in the 
 cause. All this is in the face of the mountains
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE's DAUGHTER. 145 
 
 and the lake now lying in summer stillness, and 
 the harvest fields whose crops are secure from 
 marauders, and the congregation then proceed 
 to the small chapel, the walls of ^vhi^h are 
 painted with the deed of Arnold von Winkel- 
 ried, and the other distinguished achievements 
 of the confederates, and masses are sung for the 
 souls of those who were slain. ZSTo wonder that 
 men thus nurtured in the memory of such 
 actions were, even to the fall of the French 
 monarchy, among the most trustworthy soldiery 
 of Europe. 
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE'S DAUGHTER. 
 1535. 
 
 We have seen how dim and doubtful was the 
 belief that upbore the grave and beautiful Anti- 
 gone in her self-sacrifice ; but there have been 
 women who have been as brave and devoted in 
 their care for the mortal remains of their 
 friends, — not from the heathen fancy that the 
 weal of the dead depended on such rites, but 
 from their earnest love and with a fuller trust 
 beyond. 
 
 Such was the spirit of Beatrix, a noble maiden 
 of Rome, who shared the Christian faith of her 
 two brothers, Simplicius and Faustinus, at the 
 end of the third century. For many years 
 there had been no persecution, and the Chris- 
 tians were living at peace, worshiping freely, 
 and venturing even to raise churches. Young
 
 14y BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 people had grown up to whom the being thrown 
 to the lions, beheaded, or burnt for the faith's 
 sake, was but a story of the times gone by. 
 But under the Emperor Diocletian all was 
 changed. The old heathen gods must be 
 worshiped, incense must be burnt to the statue 
 of the emperor, or torture and death were the 
 punishment. The two brothers Simplicius and 
 Faustinus were thus asked to deny their faith, 
 and resolutely refused. They w^ere cruelly tor- 
 tured, and at length beheaded, and their bodies 
 thrown into the tawny waters of the Tiber. 
 Their sister Beatrix had taken refuge with a 
 j)oor, devout Christian woman, named Lucina. 
 But she did not desert her brothers in death ; 
 she made her way in secret to the bank of the river, 
 watching to see whether the stream might bear 
 down the corpses so dear to her. Driven along, 
 so as to rest upon the bank, she found them at 
 last, and, by the help of Lucina, she laid them 
 in the grave in the cemetery called Ad Ursum 
 Pileatum. For seven months she remained in 
 her shelter, but she was at last denounced, and 
 was brought before the tribunal, where she 
 made answer that nothing should induce her to 
 adore gods made of wood and stone. She was 
 strangled in her prison, and her corpse being 
 cast out, wms taken home by Lucina, and buried 
 beside her brothers. It was, indeed, a favorite 
 charitable work of the Christian widows at Rome 
 to provide for the burial of the martyrs ; and as 
 for the most part they were poor, old, obscure 
 women, they could perform this good work with 
 far less notice than could persons of more mark.
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE's DAUGHTER. 147 
 
 But nearer home, our own country shows a 
 truly Christian Antigone, resembling the Greek 
 lady, both in her dutifulness to the living, and 
 in her tender care for the dead. This was 
 Margaret, the favorite daughter of Sir Thomas 
 More, the true-hearted, faithful statesman of 
 King Henry VIII. 
 
 Margaret's home had been an exceedingly 
 happy one. Her father, Sir Thomas More, was 
 a man of the utmost worth, and was both earn- 
 estly religious and conscientious, and of a 
 sweetness of manner and playfulness of fancy 
 that endeared him to every one. He was one 
 of the most affectionate and dutiful of sons to 
 his aged father, Sir John More ; and when the 
 son was Lord Chancellor, while the father was 
 only a judge. Sir Thomas, on his way to his 
 court, never failed to kneel down before his 
 father in public, and ask his blessing. Never 
 was the old saying, that a dutiful child has 
 dutiful children, better exemplified than in the 
 More family. In the times when it was usual 
 for parents to be very stern with children, and 
 keep them at a great distance, sometimes mak- 
 ing them stand in their presence, and striking 
 them for any slight offence. Sir Thomas More 
 thought it his duty to be friendly and affec- 
 tionate with them, to talk to them, and to enter 
 into their confidence ; and he was rewarded 
 with their full love and duty. 
 
 He had four children, — Margaret, Elizabeth, 
 Cicely, and John. His much-loved wife died 
 when they were all very young, and he thouaht 
 it for their good to marry a widow, Mrs. Alice
 
 148 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Middleton, with one daughter, named Margaret, 
 and he likewise adopted an orphan called Mar- 
 garet Giggs. With this household he lived in a 
 beautiful large house at Chelsea, with well- 
 trimmed gardens sloping down to the Thames ; 
 and this was the resort of the most learned and 
 able men, both English and visitors from 
 abroad, who delighted in pacing the shady- 
 walks, listening to the wit and wisdom of Sir 
 Thomas, or conversing with the daughters, who 
 had been highly educated, and had much of 
 their father's humor and sprightliness. Even 
 Henry VIII. himself, then one of the most 
 brilliant and graceful gentlemen of his time, 
 would sometimes arrive in his royal barge, and 
 talk theology or astronomy with Sir Thomas ; 
 or, it might be, crack jests with him and his 
 daughters, or listen to the music in which all 
 were skilled, even Lady More having been per- 
 suaded in her old age to learn to play on various 
 instruments, including the flute. The daughters 
 were early given in marriage, and, with their 
 husbands, continued to live under their father's 
 roof. Margaret's husband was William Roper, 
 a young lawyer, of whom Sir Thomas was very 
 fond, and his household at Chelsea was thus a 
 large and joyous family home of children and 
 grandchildren, delighting in the kind, bright 
 smiles of the open face under the square cap, 
 that the great painter Holbein has sent down to 
 us as a familiar sight. 
 
 But these glad days were not to last forever. 
 The trying times of the reign of Henry VIII. 
 were beginning, and the question had been
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE's DAUGHTER. 149 
 
 stirred whether the king's marriage with Katha- 
 rine of Aragon had been a lawful one. When 
 Sir Thomas More found that the king was 
 determined to take his own course, and to 
 divorce himself without permission from the 
 Pope, it was against his conscience to remain in 
 office when acts were being done which he could 
 not think right or lawful. He therefore re- 
 signed his office as Lord Chancellor, and, feeling 
 himself free from the load and temptation, his 
 gay spirits rose higher than ever. His manner 
 of communicatino; the chano-e to his wife, who had 
 been very proud of his state and dignity, was 
 thus. At church, when the service was over, it 
 had always been the custom for one of his 
 attendants to summon Lady More by coming 
 to her closet door, and saying, " Madam, my 
 lord is gone." On the day after his resigna- 
 tion, "he himself stepped up, and with a low bow 
 said, " Madam, my lord is gone," for in good 
 sooth he was no longer Chancellor, but only 
 plain Sir Thomas. 
 
 He thoroughly enjoyed his leisure, but he 
 was not long left in tranquillity. When Anne 
 Boleyn was crow^ned, he was invited to be pres- 
 ent, and twenty pounds were offered him to buy 
 a suitably splendid dress for the occasion ; but 
 his conscience would not allow him to accept 
 the invitation, though he well knew the terrible 
 peril he ran by offending the king and queen. 
 Thenceforth there was a determination to ruin 
 him. First, he was accused of taking bribes 
 when administering justice. It was said that a 
 gilt cup had been given to him as a new-year's
 
 150 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 gift, by one lady, and a pair of gloves filled 
 with gold coins by another ; but it turned out, 
 on examination, that he had drunk the wine 
 out of the cup, and accepted the gloves, because 
 it was ill manners to refuse a lady's gift, 
 yet he had in both cases given back the 
 gold. 
 
 Next, a charge was brought that he had been 
 leaguing with a half-crazy woman called the 
 Nun of Kent, who had said violent things about 
 the king. He was sent for to be examined by 
 Henry and his Council, and this he well knew 
 was the interview on which his safety Avould 
 turn, since the accusation was a mere pretext, 
 and the real purpose of the king was to see 
 whether he would go along with him in break- 
 ing away from Rome, a proceeding that Sir 
 Thomas, both as churchman and as lawyer, 
 could not think legal. AYhether we agree or 
 not in his views, it must always be remembered 
 that he ran into danger by speaking the truth, 
 and doing what he thought right. He really 
 loved his master, and he knew the humor of 
 Henry VIII., and the temptation was sore ; but 
 when he came down from his conference with 
 the king in the tower, and was rowed down the 
 river to Chelsea, he was so merry that William 
 Roper, who had been waiting for him in the 
 boat, thought he must be safe, and said, as tliey 
 landed and walked up the garden, — 
 
 " I trust, sir, all is well, since you are so 
 merry ?" 
 
 " It is so, indeed, son, thank God ! " 
 
 " Are you then, sir, put out of the bill ? "
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE's DAUGHTER. 151 
 
 " Wouldst thou know, son, why I am so joy- 
 ful ? In good faith I rejoice that I have given 
 the devil a foul fall ; because I have with those 
 lords gone so far that without great shame I 
 can never go back ? " he answered, meaning 
 that he had been enabled to hold so firmly to 
 his opinions, and speak them out so boldly, that 
 henceforth the temptation to dissemble them 
 and please the king would be much lessened. 
 That he had held his purpose in spite of the 
 weakness of mortal nature, was true joy to him, 
 though he was so well aware of the conse- 
 quences that when his daughter Margaret came 
 to him the next day with the glad tidings that 
 the charge against him had been given up, he 
 calmly answered her : " In faith, Meg, what is 
 put oil is not given up." 
 
 One day, when he had asked Margaret how 
 the Vv'orld went with the new queen, and she 
 replied, ** In faith, father, never better ; there 
 is nothing else in the court but dancing and 
 sporting," he replied with sad foresight, " Never 
 better. Alas, Meg ! it pitieth me to remember 
 unto what misery, poor soul, she will shortly 
 come. These dances of hers will prove such 
 dances that she will spurn off our heads like 
 foot-balls, but it will not be long ere her head 
 will take the same dance." 
 
 So entirely did he expect to be summoned 
 by a pursuivant that he thought it would lessen 
 the fright of his family if a sham summons 
 were brought. So he caused a great knocking 
 to be made while all were at dinner, and the 
 sham pursuivant went through all the forms of
 
 152 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 citing him, and the whole household were in 
 much alarm, till he explained the jest ; but the 
 earnest came only a few days afterward. On 
 the thirteenth of April, 1534, arrived the real 
 pursuivant to summon him to Lambeth, there 
 to take the oath of supremacy, declaring that 
 the king was the head of the Church of Eng- 
 land, and that the Pope had no authority there. 
 He knew what the refusal would bring on him. 
 He went first to church, and then, not trusting 
 himself to be unmanned by his love for his 
 children and grandchildren, instead of letting 
 them, as usual come down to the water side, 
 with tender kisses and merry farewells, he shut 
 the wicket'gate of the garden upon them all, 
 and only allowed his son-in-law Roper to accom- 
 pany him, whispering into his ear, " I thank 
 our Lord, the field is won." 
 
 Conscience had triumphed over affection, and 
 he was thankful, though for the last time he 
 looked on the trees he had planted and the 
 happy home he had loved. Before the Council, 
 he undertook to swear to some clauses in the 
 oath which were connected with the safety of 
 the realm ; but he refused to take that part of 
 the oath which related to the king's power over 
 the Church. It is said that the king would 
 thus have been satisfied, but that the queen 
 urged him further. At any rate, after being 
 four days under the charge of the Abbot of 
 Westminster, Sir Thomas was sent to the Tower 
 of London. There his wife — a plain, dull 
 woman, utterly unable to understand the point 
 of conscience — came and scolded him for being
 
 SIR THOMAS MOEE's DAUGHTER. 153 
 
 SO foolish as to lie there in a close, filthy prison, 
 and be shut up with rats and mice, instead of 
 enjoying the favor of the king. He heard all 
 she had to say, and answered, " I pray thee, 
 good Mrs. Alice, tell me one thing, — is not this 
 house as near heaven as my own ? " To which 
 she had no better answer than " Tilly vally, 
 tilly vally." But in spite of her folly, she 
 loved him faithfully ; and when all his property 
 was seized, she sold even her clothes to obtain 
 necessaries for him in prison. 
 
 His chief comfort was, however, in visits and 
 letters from his daughter Margaret, wlio was 
 fully able to enter into the spirit that preferred 
 death to transgression. He was tried in West- 
 minster Hall, on the first of July, and, as he 
 had fully expected, sentenced to death. He 
 was taken back along the river to the Tower. 
 On the wharf his loving Margaret was waiting 
 for her last look. She broke through the guard 
 of soldiers with bills and halberds, threw her 
 arms round his neck, and kissed him, unable 
 to say any word but " O, my father ! — O, my 
 father ! " He blessed her, and told her that 
 whatsoever she might suffer, it was not without 
 the will of God, and she must therefore be 
 patient. After having once parted with him, 
 she suddenly turned back again, ran to him, 
 and, clinging round his neck, kissed him over 
 and over again, — a sight at which the guards 
 themselves wept. Slie never saw him again ; 
 but the night before his execution he wrote to 
 her a letter with a piece of charcoal, with tender 
 remembrances to all the family, and saying to
 
 154 BOOK OF GOLDEN- DEEDS. 
 
 her, " I never liked your manner better than 
 when you kissed me last ; for I am most pleased 
 when daughterly love and dear charity have 
 no leisure to look to worldly courtesy." He 
 likewise made it his especial request that she 
 might be permitted to be present at his burial. 
 
 His hope was sure and steadfast, and his 
 heart so firm that he did not even cease from 
 humorous sayings. When he mounted the 
 crazy ladder of the scaffold he said, " Master 
 Lieutenant, I pray you see me safe up ; and 
 for my coming down let me shift for myself** 
 And he desired the executioner to give him 
 time to put his beard out of the way of the 
 stroke, " since that had never offended his 
 Highness." 
 
 His body was given to his family, and laid 
 in the tomb he had already prepared in Chel.sea 
 church ; but the head was set up on a pole on 
 London Bridge. The calm, sweet features 
 were little changed, and the loving daughter 
 gathered courage as she looked up at them. 
 How she contrived the deed, is not known ; 
 but, before many days had past, the head was 
 no longer there, and Mrs. Roper was said to 
 have taken it away. She was sent for to the 
 Council, and accused of the stealing of her 
 father's head. She shrank not from avowing 
 that thus it had been, and that the head vras in 
 her own possession. One story says that as she 
 was passing under the bridge in a boat, she 
 looked up, and said, " That head has often lain 
 in my lap ; I would that it would now fall into 
 it." And at that moment it actually fell, and
 
 THE VOLUNTAPwY CONVICT. 155 
 
 she received it. It is far more likely that she 
 went by design, and at the same time as some 
 faitliful friend on the bridge, who detached the 
 precious head, and dropped it down to her in 
 the boat beneath. Be this as it may, she owned 
 before the cruel-hearted Council, that she had 
 taken away and cherished the head of the man 
 whom they had slain as a traitor. However, 
 Henry VIII. was not a Creon, and our Christian 
 Antigone was dismissed unhurt by the Council, 
 and allowed to retain possession of her treasure. 
 She caused it to be embalmed, kept it with her 
 wlierever she went, and when, nine years after- 
 ward, she died (in the year 1544), it was laid 
 in her coffin in the " Roper aisle " of St. Dun- 
 stan's Church at Canterbury. 
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 
 
 1622. 
 
 In the early summer of the year 1605, a 
 coasting vessel was sailing along the beautiful 
 Gulf of Lyons, the wind blowing gently in the 
 sails, the blue Mediterranean lying glittering 
 to the south, and the curved line of the French 
 shore rising in purple and green tints dotted 
 with white towns and villages. Suddenly three 
 light, white-sailed ships appeared in the offing, 
 and the captain's practiced eye detected that 
 tlie wings that bore them were those of a bird of 
 prey. He knew them for African brigantines.
 
 156 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and though he made all sail, it was impossible 
 to run into a French port, as on, on they came, 
 not entirely depending on the wind, but, like 
 steamers, impelled by unseen powers within 
 them. Alas ! that power was not the force of 
 innocent steam, but the arms of Christian 
 rowel's chained to the oar. Sure as the pounce 
 of a hawk upon a partridge was the swoop of 
 the corsairs upon the French vessel. A signal 
 to surrender followed, but the captain boldly 
 refused, and armed his crew, bidding them 
 stand to their guns. But the fight was too 
 unequal, the brave little ship was disabled, the 
 pirates boarded her, and, after a sharp fight on 
 deck, three of the crew lay dead, all the rest 
 were wounded, and the vessel was the prize of 
 the pirates. The captain was at once killed, in 
 revenge for his resistance, and all the rest of 
 the crew and passengers were put in chains. 
 Among these passengers was a young priest 
 named Vincent de Paul, the son of a farmer in 
 Languedoc, who had used his utmost endeavors 
 to educate his son for the ministry, even selling 
 the oxen from the plough to provide for the 
 college expenses. A small legacy had just 
 fallen to the young man, from a relation who 
 had died at INTarseilles ; he had been thither to 
 receive it, and had been persuaded by a friend 
 to return home by sea. And this was the 
 result of the pleasant voyage. The legacy was 
 the prey of the pirates, and Vincent, severely 
 wounded by an arrow, and heavily chained, 
 lay half stifled in a corner of the hold of the 
 ship, a captive probably for life to the enemies
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 157 
 
 of the faith. It was true that France had 
 scandalized Europe by making peace with the 
 Dey of Tunis, but this was a trifle to the cor- 
 sairs; and when, after seven days' farther 
 cruising, they put into the harbor of Tunis, 
 they drew up an account of their capture, 
 calling it a Spanish vessel, to prevent the 
 French Consul from claiming the prisoners. 
 
 The captives had the coarse blue and white 
 garments of slaves given them, and were walked 
 five or six times through the narrow streets 
 and bazaars of Tunis, by way of exhibition. 
 They were then brought back to their ship, 
 and purchasers came thither to bargain for 
 them. They were examined at their meals, to 
 see if they had good appetites ; their sides were 
 felt like oxen ; their teeth looked at like those 
 of horses ; their wounds were searched, and they 
 were made to run and walk to show the play 
 of their limbs. All this Vincent endured with 
 patient submission, constantly supported by the 
 thought of Him who took upon Him the form 
 of a servant for our sakes ; and he did his best, 
 ill as he was, to give his companions the same 
 confidence. 
 
 Weak and unwell, Vincent was sold cheap 
 to a fisherman ; but in his new service it soon 
 became apparent that the sea made him so ill 
 as to be of no use, so he was sold again to one 
 of the Moorish physicians, the like of whom 
 may still be seen, smoking their pipes sleepily, 
 under their white turbans, cross-legged, among 
 the drugs in their shop-windows, — these being 
 small open spaces beneath the beautiful stone
 
 158 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 lace-work of the Moorish lattices. The physi- 
 cian was a great chemist and distiller, and for 
 four years had been seeking the philosopher's 
 stone, which was supposed to be the secret of 
 making gold. He found his slave's learning 
 and intelligence so useful that he grew very 
 fond of him, and tried hard to persuade him to 
 turn Mahometan, offering him not only liberty, 
 but the inheritance of his wealth, and the secrets 
 that he had discovered. 
 
 The Christian priest felt the temptation suffi- 
 ciently to be always grateful for the grace that 
 had carried him through it. At the end of a 
 year, the old doctor died, and his nephew sold 
 Vincent again. His next master was a native 
 of Nice, who had not held out against the 
 temptation to renounce his faith in order to 
 avoid a life of slavery, but had become a rene- 
 gade, and had the charge of one of the farms 
 of the Dey of Tunis. The farm was on a hill- 
 side in an extremely hot and exposed region, 
 and Vincent suffered much from being there 
 set to field labor, but he endured all without a 
 murmur. His master had three wives, and one 
 of them, who was of Turkish birth, used often to 
 come out and talk to him, asking him many 
 questions about his religion. Sometimes she 
 asked him to sing, and he would then chant 
 the psalm of the captive Jews : "By the waters 
 of Babylon we sat down and wept ;" and others 
 of the "songs" of his Zion. The woman at 
 last told her husband that he must have been 
 wrong in forsaking a religion of which her slave 
 had told her such wonderful things. Her
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 159 
 
 words had such an effect on the renegade that 
 he sought the slave, and in conversation with 
 him soon came to a full sense of his own miser- 
 able position as an apostate. A change of 
 religion on the part of a Mahometan is, how- 
 ever, always visited with death, both to the 
 convert and his instructor. An Algerine, who 
 was discovered to have become a Christian, was 
 about this time said to have been walled up at 
 once in the fortifications he had been building; 
 and the story has been confirmed by the recent 
 discovery, by the French engineers, of the 
 remains of a man within a huge block of clay, 
 that had taken a perfect cast of his Moorish 
 features, and of the surface of his garments, 
 and even had his black hair adhering to it. 
 Vincent's master, terrified at such perils, 
 resolved to make his escape in secret with his 
 slave. It is disappointing to hear nothing of 
 the wife ; and not to know whether she would 
 not or could not accompany them. All v/e 
 know is, that master and slave trusted them- 
 selves alone to a small bark, and safely cross- 
 ing the Mediterranean, landed at Aigues 
 Mortes, on the twenty -eighth of June, 1607 ; 
 and that the renegade at once abjured his false 
 faith, and soon after entered a brotherhood at 
 Rome, whose office it was to await on the sick 
 in hospitals. 
 
 This part of Vincent de Paul's life has been 
 told at length, because it shows from what the 
 Knights of St. John strove to protect the 
 inhabitants of the coasts. We next find Vin- 
 cent visiting at a hospital at Paris, where he
 
 160 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 gave such exceeding comfort to the patients 
 that all with one voice declared him a messen- 
 ger from heaven. 
 
 He afterward became a tutor in the family 
 of the Count de Joigni, a very excellent man, 
 who was easily led by him to many good works. 
 M. de Joigni was inspector-general of the 
 " Galeres," or Hulk's ships in the chief harbors 
 of France, such as Brest and Marseilles, where 
 the convicts, closely chained, were kept to hard 
 labor, and often made to toil at the oar, like 
 the slave of the Africans. Going the round 
 of these prison-shops, the horrible state of the 
 convicts, their half-naked misery, and still 
 more their fiendish ferocity, went to the heart 
 of the Count and of the Abbe de Paul; and, 
 with full authority from the inspector, the tutor 
 worked among these wretclied beings with such 
 good effect that, on his doings being represented 
 to the king, Louis XIII., he was made almoner 
 general to the galleys. 
 
 While visiting those at Marseilles, he was 
 much struck by the broken-down looks and 
 exceeding sorrowfulness of one of the convicts. 
 He entered into conversation with him, and, 
 after many kind words, persuaded him to tell 
 his troubles. His sorrow was far less for his 
 own condition than for the misery to which his 
 absence must needs reduce his wife and children. 
 And what was Vincent's reply to this? His 
 action was so striking that, though in itself it 
 could hardly be safe to propose it as an example, 
 it must be mentioned as the very height of self- 
 sacrifice.
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 161 
 
 He absolutely changed places with the con- 
 vict. Probably some arrangement was made 
 with the immediate jailer of the gang, who, by 
 the exchange of the priest for the convict, could 
 make up his full tale of men to show when his 
 numbers were counted. At any rate the pri- 
 soner went free, and returned to his home, 
 whilst Vincent wore a convict's chain, did a 
 convict's work, lived on convict fare, and, what 
 was worse, had only convict society. He was 
 soon sought out and released, but the hurts he 
 had received from the pressure of the chain 
 lasted all his life. He never spoke of this 
 event ; it was kept a strict secret ; and once 
 when he had referred to it in a letter to a friend, 
 he became so much afraid that the story would 
 become known that he sent to ask for the letter 
 back again. It was, however, not returned, and 
 it makes the fact certain. It would be a dan- 
 gerous precedent if prison chaplains were to 
 change places with their charges ; and beauti- 
 ful as was Vincent's spirit, the act can hardly 
 be justified; but it should also be remembered 
 that among the galleys of France there were 
 there many who had been condemned for resist- 
 ance to the arbitrary will of Cardinal de Riche- 
 lieu, men not necessarily corrupt and degraded 
 like the thieves and murderers with whom they 
 were associated. At any rate, M. de Joigni did 
 not displace the almoner, and Vincent worked 
 on the consciences of the convicts with infinitely 
 more force for having been for a time one of 
 themselves. Many and many were won back 
 to penitence, a hospital was founded for them,
 
 162 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 better regulations established, and, for a time, 
 both prisons and galleys were wonderfully im- 
 proved, although only for the lifetime of the 
 good inspector and the saintly almoner. But 
 who shall say how many souls were saved in 
 those years by these men who did what they 
 could? 
 
 The rest of the life of Vincent de Paul would 
 be too lengthy to tell here, though acts of 
 beneficence and self-devotion shine out in glory 
 at each step. The work by which he is chiefly 
 remembered is his establishment of the Order 
 of Sisters of Charity, the excellent women who 
 have for two hundred years been the prime 
 workers in every charitable task in France, 
 nursing the sick, teaching the young, tending 
 deserted children, ever to be found where there 
 is distress or pain. 
 
 But of these, and of his charities, we will not 
 here speak, nor even of his influence for good 
 on the king and queen themselves. The whole 
 tenor of his life was " golden " in one sense, and 
 if we told all his Golden Deeds they would fill 
 an entire book. So we will only wait to tell 
 how he show^ed his remembrance of what he had 
 gone through in his African captivity. The 
 redemption of the prisoners there might have 
 seemed his first thought, but that he did so 
 much in other quarters. At diflferent times, 
 with the alms that he collected, and out of the 
 revenues of his benefices, he ransomed no less 
 than twelve hundred slaves from their captivity. 
 At one time the French Consul at Tunis wrote 
 to him that, for a certain sum, a large number
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT. 16S 
 
 might be set free, and he raised enough ta 
 release not only these, but seventy more, and 
 he further wrought upon the king to obtain the 
 consent of the Dey of Tunis that a party of 
 Christian clergy should be permitted to reside 
 in the consul's house, and to minister to the 
 souls and bodies of the Christian slaves, of whom 
 there were 6000 in Tunis alone, besides those 
 in Algiers, Tangier, and Tripoli ! 
 
 Permission was gained, and a mission of 
 Lazarist brothers arrived. This, too, was an 
 Order founded by Vincent, consisting of priestly 
 nurses like the Hospitaliers, though not like 
 them warriors. They came in the midst of a 
 dreadful visitation of the plague, and nursed 
 and tended the sick, both Christians and Ma- 
 hometans, with fearless devotion, day and 
 night, till they won the honor and love of the 
 Moors themselves. 
 
 The good Vincent de Paul died in the year 
 1660, but his brothers of St. Lazarus and Sisters 
 of Charity still tread in the paths he marked 
 out for them, and his name scarcely needs the 
 saintly epithet that his Church has affixed to it 
 to stand among the most honorable of charitable 
 men. 
 
 The cruel deeds of the African pirates were 
 never wholly checked till 1816, when the united 
 fleets of England and France destroyed the old 
 den of corsairs at Algiers, which has since 
 become a French colony.
 
 164 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG. 
 1631. 
 
 Brave deeds have been done by the burgher 
 dames of some of the German cities collectively. 
 Without being of the first class of Golden Deeds, 
 there is something in the exploit of the dames 
 of Weinsberg so quaint and so touching, that it 
 cannot be omitted here. 
 
 It was in the first commencement of the long 
 contest known as the strife between the Guelfs 
 and Ghibellines — before even these had become 
 the party words for the Pope's and the em- 
 peror's friends, and when they only applied to 
 the troops of Bavaria and Swabia — that, in 
 1141, Wolf, Duke of Bavaria, was besieged in 
 his castle of Weinsberg, by Friedrich, Duke 
 of Swabia, brother to the reigning emperor, 
 Konrad III. 
 
 The siege lasted long, but Wolf was obliged 
 at last to offer to surrender ; and the emperor 
 granted him permission to depart in safety. 
 But his wife did not trust to this fair ofl^er. 
 She had reason to believe that Konrad had a 
 peculiar enmity to her husband ; and on his 
 coming to take possession of the castle, she sent 
 to him to entreat him to give her a safe conduct 
 for herself and all the other women in the gar- 
 rison, that they might come out with as much 
 of their valuables as they could carry. 
 
 This was freely granted, and presently the 
 castle gates opened. From beneath them came
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG. 165 
 
 the ladies, — but in strange guise. No gold nor 
 jewels were carried by them, but each one was 
 bending under the weight of her husband, whom 
 she thus hoped to secure from the vengeance of 
 the Ghibellines. Konrad, who was really a 
 generous and merciful man, is said to have been 
 affected to tears by this extraordinary perform- 
 ance ; he hastened to assure the ladies of the 
 perfect safety of their lords, and that the gentle- 
 men might dismount at once, secure both of life 
 and freedom. He invited them all to a banquet, 
 and made peace with the Duke of Bavaria on 
 terms much more favorable to the Guelf than 
 the rest of his party had been willing to allow. 
 The castle mount was thenceforth called no 
 longer the vine hill, but the Hill of Weiber- 
 treue, or woman's fidelity. We will not invidi- 
 ously translate it woman's truth, for there was 
 in the transaction something of a subterfugo ; 
 and it must be owned that the ladies tried to 
 the utmost the knightly respect for womankind. 
 
 The good women of Lowenburg, who were 
 but citizens' wives, seem to us more worthy of 
 admiration for constancy to their faith, shown 
 at a tim.e when they had little to aid them. It 
 was such constancy as makes martyrs ; and 
 though the trial stopped short of this, there ia 
 something in the homeliness of the whole scene, 
 and the feminine form of passive resistance, 
 that makes us so much honor and admire the 
 good women that we cannot refrain from telling 
 the story. 
 
 It was in the year 1631, in the midst of the 
 long Thirty Years' War between Roman Catho-
 
 166 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 lies and Protestants, which finally decided that 
 -each state should have its own religion, Lowen- 
 burg, a city in Silesia, originally Protestant, 
 had passed into the hands of the emperor's 
 Roman Catholic party. It was a fine old Ger- 
 man city, standing amid woods and meadows, 
 fortified with strong walls surrounded by a 
 moat,and with gate towers to protect the entrance. 
 
 In the centre was a large market-place, called 
 the Ring, into which looked the council-house 
 and fourteen inns, or places of traflic, for the 
 <jloth that was woven in no less than three hun- 
 dred factories. The houses were of stone, with 
 gradually projecting stories to the number of 
 four or five, surmounted with pointed gables. 
 The ground floors had once had trellised 
 porches, but these had been found inconvenient 
 and were removed, and the lower story con- 
 sisted of a large hall, and & strong vault with a 
 spacious room behind it containing a baking- 
 oven, and a stair case leading to a wooden gal- 
 lery, where the family used to dine. It seems 
 they slept in the room below, though they had 
 upstairs a handsome .wainscoated apartment. 
 
 Very rich and flourishing had the Lowen- 
 burgers always been, and their walls were quite 
 sufficient to turn back any robber barons, or 
 •even any invading Poles ; but things were dif- 
 ferent when firearms were in use, and the bands 
 of mercenary soldiers had succeeded the feudal 
 army. They were infinitely more formidable 
 during the battle or siege from their discipline, 
 and yet more dreadful after it from their want 
 of discipline. The poor Lowenburgers had
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG. 167 
 
 been greatly misused : their Lutheran pastors 
 had been expelled ; all the superior citizens had 
 either fled or been imprisoned ; two hundred 
 and fifty families spent the summer in the 
 woods, and of those who remained in the city, 
 the men had for the most part outwardly con- 
 formed to the Roman Catholic Church. Most 
 of these were of course indifferent at heart, and 
 they had found places in the town council 
 which had formerly been filled by more 
 respectable men. However, the wives had 
 almost all remained staunch to their Lutheran 
 confession ; they had followed their pastors 
 weeping to the gates of the city, loading them 
 with gifts, and they hastened at every oppor- 
 tunity to hear their preachings, or obtain bap- 
 tism for their children at the Lutheran churches 
 in the neighborhood. 
 
 The person who had the upper hand in the 
 council was one Julius, who had been a Fran- 
 ciscan friar, but was a desperate, unscrupulous 
 fellow, not at all like a monk. Finding that it 
 was considered as a reproach that the churches 
 of Lowenburg were empty, he called the whole 
 council together on the 9th of April, 1631, 
 and informed them that the women must be 
 brought to conformity, or else there were towers 
 and prisons for them. The burgomaster was ill 
 in bed, but the Judge, one Elias Seller, spoke 
 up at once. " If we have been able to bring 
 the men into the right path, why should not we 
 be able to deal with these little creatures?" 
 
 Herr Mesnel, a cloth-factor, who had been a 
 widower six weeks, thought it would be hard to
 
 168 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 manage, though he quite agreed to the expe- 
 dient, saying, " It would be truly good if man 
 and wife had one Creed and one Paternoster ; 
 as concerns the Ten Commandments it is not so 
 pressing." (A sentiment that he could hardly 
 have wished to see put in practice.) 
 
 Another councillor, called Schwob Franze, 
 who had lost his wife a few days before, seems 
 to have had an eye to the future, for he said it 
 would be a pity to frighten away the many 
 beautiful maidens and widows there were 
 among the Lutheran women ; but on the whole 
 the men without wives were much bolder and 
 more sanguine of success than the married ones. 
 And no one would undertake to deal with his 
 own wife privately, so it ended by a message 
 being sent to the more distinguished ladies to 
 attend the council. 
 
 But presently up came tidings that not merely 
 these few dames, whom they might have hoped 
 to overawe, were on their way, but that the 
 Judge's wife and the Burgomaster's were the 
 first pair in a procession of full 500 housewives, 
 who were walking sedately up the stairs to the 
 council hall below the chamber where the 
 dignitaries were assembled. This was not by 
 any means what had been expected, and the 
 message was sent down that only the chief 
 ladies should come up. " No," replied the 
 Judge's wife, " we will not allow ourselves to be 
 separated." And to this they were firm ; they 
 said as one fared, all should fare ; and the 
 town clerk, going up and down with smooth 
 words, received no better answer than this from
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OP LOWENBURG. 169 
 
 the Judge's wife, who it must be confessed, was 
 less ladylike in language than resolute in faith. 
 
 " Nay, nay, dear friend, do you think we are 
 so simple as not to perceive the trick by which 
 you would force us poor women against our 
 conscience to change our faith ? My husband 
 and the priest have not been consorting together 
 all these days for nothing ; they hi^ve been 
 joined together almost day and night ; assuredly 
 they have either boiled or baked a devil, which 
 they may eat up themselves. I shall not enter 
 there ! Where I remain, my train and follow- 
 ing will remain also ! Women, is this your 
 will ? " 
 
 " Yea, yea, let it be so," they said ; " we will 
 all hold together as one man." 
 
 His honor the town clerk was much 
 affrighted, and went hastily back, reporting 
 that the council was in no small danger, 
 since each housewife had her bunch of keys 
 at her side ! These keys were the badge of a 
 wife's dignity and authority, and moreover :hey 
 were such ponderous articles that they seme- 
 times served as weapons. A Scottish virago has 
 been known to dash out the brains of a 
 wounded enemy with her keys ; and the intelli- 
 gence that the good dames had com.e so v/ell 
 furnished, filled the council with panic. Dr. 
 Melchior Hubner, who had been a miller's 
 man, wished for a hundred musketeers to mow 
 them down ; but the town clerk proposed that 
 all the Council should creep quietly down the 
 back stairs, lock the doors on the refractory 
 womankind, and make their escape.
 
 170 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 This was effected as silently and quickly as 
 possible, for t!ie whole council " could confess 
 to a state of frightful terror." Presently the 
 women peeped out, and saw the stairs bestrewn 
 with hats, gloves, and handkerchiefs ; and per- 
 ceiving how they had put all the wisdom and 
 authority of the town to the rout, there was 
 great merriment among them, though, finding 
 themselves locked up, the more tender-hearted 
 began to pity their husbands and children. 
 As for themselves, their maids and children 
 came round the town hall, to hand in pro- 
 visions to them, and all the men who were not 
 of the council were seeking the magistrates to 
 know what their wives had done to be thus 
 locked up. 
 
 The Judge sent to assemble the rest of the 
 council at his house ; and though only four 
 came, the doorkeeper ran to the town hall, and 
 called out to his wife that the council had 
 reassembled, and they would soon be let out. 
 To which, however, that very shrewd dame, the 
 Judge's wife, answered with great composure, 
 " Yea, we willingly have patience, as we are 
 quite comfortable here ; but tell them they 
 ought to inform us why we are summoned and 
 confined without trial." 
 
 She well knew how much better off she was 
 than her husband without her. He paced 
 about in great perturbation, and at last called 
 for something to eat. The maid served up a 
 dish of crab, some white bread, and butter ; but, 
 in his fury, he threw all the food about the 
 room and out of the window, away from the
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWEXBURG. 171 
 
 poor children, who had had nothing to eat all 
 day, and at last he threw all the dishes and 
 saucepans out of the window. At last the town 
 olerk and two others were sent to do their best 
 to persuade the women that they had misun- 
 derstood, — they were in no danger, and were 
 only invited to the preachings of Holy Week 
 and, as Master Daniel, the joiner, added, " It 
 was only a friendly conference. It is not cus- 
 toing,ry with my masters and the very wise 
 council to hang a man before they have caught 
 him." 
 
 This opprobrious illustration raised a con- 
 siderable clamor of abuse from the ruder 
 women ; but the Judge's and burgomaster's 
 ladies silenced them, and repeated their 
 resolution never to give up their faith against 
 their conscience. Seeing that no impres- 
 sion was made on them, and that nobody 
 knew what to do without them at home, the 
 magistracy decided that they should be released, 
 and they went quietly home ; but the Judge 
 Seiler, either because he had been foremost in 
 the business, or else perhaps because of the 
 devastation he had made at home among the 
 pots and pans, durst not meet his wife, but 
 sneaked out of the town, and left her with the 
 house to herself. 
 
 The priest now tried getting the three chief 
 ladies alone together, and most politely begged 
 them to conform ; but, instead of arguing, they 
 simply answered, " No ; we were otherwise in- 
 structf'd by our parents and former preachers." 
 
 Then he begged them at least to tell the other
 
 172 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 women that they had asked for fourteen days 
 for consideration. 
 
 " No, dear sir," they replied ; " we were not 
 taught by our parents to tell falsehoods, and 
 we will not learn it from you." 
 
 Meanwhile Schwob Franze rushed to the 
 burgomaster's bedside, and begged him, ibr 
 Heaven's sake, to prevent the priest from 
 meddling with the women ; for the whole bevy, 
 hearing that their three leadei*s were called 
 before the priest, were collecting in the market- 
 place, keys, bundles, and all ; and the panic of 
 the worthy magistrates was renewed. The 
 burgomaster sent for the priest, and told him 
 plainly, that if any harm befell him from the 
 women, the fault would be his own ; and there- 
 upon he gave way, the ladies went quietly 
 home, and their stout champions laid aside their 
 bundles and keys, not out of reach, however, in 
 case of another summons. 
 
 However, the priest was obliged, next year, 
 to leave Lowenburg in disgrace, for he was a 
 man of notoriously bad character ; and Dr. 
 Melchior became a soldier, and was hanged at 
 Prague. 
 
 After all, such a confession as this is a mere 
 trifle, not only compared with martyrdoms of 
 old, but with' the' constancy with which, after 
 the revocation of the Edict of Nantes, the 
 Huguenots endured persecution, — as, for in- 
 stance, the large number of women who were 
 imprisoned for thirty-eight years at Aigues 
 Mortes ; or, again, with the steady resolution of 
 the "persecuted nuns of Port Royal against
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 173 
 
 signing the condemnation of the works of Jan- 
 sen. Yet, in -its own way, the feminine resist- 
 ance of these good citizens' wives, without 
 being equally high-toned, is worthy of record, 
 and far too full of character to be passed over.'* 
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 B. c. 219— A. D. 1642—1798. 
 
 One of the noblest characters in old Roman 
 history is the first Scipio Africanus, and his first 
 appearance is in a most pleasing light, at the 
 battle of the river Ticinus, B. c. 219, when the 
 Carthaginians, under Hannibal, had just com- 
 pleted their wonderful march across the Alps, 
 and surprised the Romans in Italy itself. 
 
 Young Scipio was then only seventeen years 
 of age, and had gone to his first battle under 
 the eagles of his father, the Consul, Publius 
 Cornelius Scipio. It was an unfortunate battle ; 
 the Romans, when exhausted by long resistance 
 to the Spanish horse in Hannibal's army, were 
 taken in flank by the Numidian cavalry, and 
 entirely broken. The Consul rode in front of 
 the few equites he could keep together, striving 
 by voice and example to rally his forces, until he 
 was pierced by one of the long Numidian jave- 
 lins, and fell senseless from his horse. The 
 Romans, thinking him dead, entirely gave way, 
 but his young son would not leave him, and, 
 lifting him on his horse, succeeded in bringing
 
 174 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 him safe into the camp, where he recovered, and 
 his after days retrieved the honor of the Koman 
 arms. 
 
 The story of a brave and devoted son comes 
 to us to light up the sadness of our civil wars 
 between Cavaliers and Roundheads in the mid- 
 xile of the seventeenth century. It was soon 
 after King Charles had raised his standard at 
 Nottingham, and set forth on his march for 
 London, that it became evident that the Parlia- 
 mentary army, under the Earl of Essex, in- 
 tended to intercept his march. The king him- 
 self was with the army, with his two boys, 
 Charles and James ; but the general-in-chief 
 was Robert Bertie, Earl of Lindsay, a brave and 
 experienced old soldier, sixty years of age, god- 
 son to Queen Elizabeth, and to her two favorite 
 Earls, whose Christian name he bore. He had 
 been in her Essex's expedition to Cambridge, 
 and had afterward served in the Low Countries, 
 under Prince Maurice of Nassau ; for the long 
 Continental wars had throughout King James' 
 peaceful reign been treated as schools of arms, 
 and a few campaigns were considered as a grace- 
 ful finish to a gentleman's education. As soon 
 as Lord Lindsay had begun to fear that the 
 disputes between the king and Parliament must 
 end in war, he had begun to exercise and train 
 his tenantry in Lincolnshire and Northampton- 
 shire, of whom he had formed a regiment of 
 infantry. With him was his son, Montagu 
 Bertie, Lord Willoughby, a noble-looking man 
 of thirty-two, of whom it was said, that he was 
 " as excellent in reality as others in pretence,"
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 175 
 
 and that, thinking " that the cross was an orna- 
 ment to the crown, and much more to the coro- 
 net, he satisfied not himself with the mere 
 exercise of virtue, but sublimated it, and made 
 it grace." He had likewise seen some service 
 against the Spaniards in the Netherlands, and 
 after his return had been made a captain in the 
 Lifeguards, and a Gentleman of the Bed- 
 chamber. Vandyke has left portraits of the 
 father and the son ; the one a bald-headed, 
 alert, precise-looking old warrior, with the 
 cuirass and gauntlets of elder warfare ; the 
 other, the very model of a cavalier, tall, easy 
 and graceful, with a gentle, reflecting face, and 
 wearing the long lovelocks and deep point lace 
 collar and cuffs characteristic of Queen Henri- 
 etta's Court. Lindsay was called general-in- 
 chief, but the king had imprudently exempted 
 the cavalry from his command, its general. 
 Prince Rupert of the Rhine, taking orders only 
 from himself. Rupert was only three-and- 
 twenty, and his education in the wild school of 
 the Thirty Years' War had not taught him to 
 lay aside his arrogance and opinionativeness ; 
 indeed, he had shown great petulance at 
 receiving orders from the king through Lord 
 Falkland. 
 
 At eight o'clock, on the morning of the 23d 
 of October, King Charles was riding along the 
 ridge of Edgehill, and looking down into the 
 Vale of Red Horse, a fair meadow land, here 
 and there broken by hedges and copses. His 
 troops were mustering around him, and in the 
 valley he could see with his telescope the
 
 176 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 various Parliamentary regiments, as they 
 poured out of the town of Keinton, and took 
 up their positions in three lines. " I never saw 
 the rebels in a body before," he said, as he 
 gazed sadly at the subjects arrayed against 
 nim. " I shall give them battle. God, and 
 the prayers of good men to Him, assist the jus- 
 tice of my cause." The >Yhole of his forces, 
 about 11,000 in number, were not assembled 
 till two o'clock in the afternoon, for the gentle- 
 men w-ho had become officers found it no easy 
 matter to call their farmers and retainers 
 together, and marshal them into any sort of 
 order. But while one troop after another came 
 trampling, clanking and shouting in, trying to 
 find and take their proper place, there were hot 
 words round the royal standard. 
 
 Lord Lindsay, who was an old comrade of 
 the Earl of Essex, the commander of the rebel 
 forces, knew that he would follow the tactics 
 they had both together studied in Holland, lit- 
 tle thinking that one day they should be 
 arrayed one against the other in their own 
 native England. He had a high opinion of 
 Essex's generalship, and insisted that the situa- 
 tion of the Royal army required the utmost 
 caution. Rupert, on the other hand, had seen 
 the swift fiery charges of the fierce troopers of 
 the Thirty Years' War, and was backed up by 
 Patrick, Lord Ruthven, one of the many Scots 
 who had won honor under the great Swedish 
 king, Gustavus Adolphus. A sudden charge 
 of the Royal horse would, Rupert argued, 
 swee]) the Roundheads from the field, and the
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 177" 
 
 foot would have nothing to do but to follow up 
 the victory. The great portrait at Windsor 
 shows us exactly how the king must have 
 stood, with his charger by his side, and hi.-^ 
 grave, melancholy face, sad enough at having 
 to fight at all with his subjects, and never hav- 
 ing seen a battle, entirely bewildered between 
 the ardent words of his spirited nephew and 
 the grave replies of the well-seasoned old Earl. 
 At last, as time went on, and some decision was 
 necessary, the perplexed king, willing at least 
 not to irritate Rupert, desired that Ruthven 
 should array the troops in the Swedish fashion. 
 
 It was a greater affront to the general-in- 
 chief than the king was likely to understand^ 
 but it could not shake the old soldier's loyalty. 
 He gravely resigned the empty title of general, 
 which only made confusion worse confounded, 
 and rode away to act as colonel of his own 
 Lincoln regiment, pitying his master's perplex- 
 ity, and resolved that no private pique should 
 hinder him from doing his duty. His regiment 
 was of foot soldiers, and was just opposite to 
 the standard of the Earl of Essex. 
 
 The church bell was ringing for afternoon 
 service when the royal forces marched down the 
 hill. The last hurried prayer before the charge 
 was stout old Sir Jacob Astley's : " O Lord, 
 Thou knowest how busy I must be this day ; if 
 I forget Thee, do not Thou forget me ; " then 
 rising, he said, " March on, boys." And, amid 
 prayer and exhortation, the other side awaited 
 the shock, as men whom a strong and deeply 
 embittered sense of wrong had roused to take
 
 178 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 up arms. Prince Rupert's charge was, how- 
 ever, fully successful. No one even waited to 
 cross swords with his troopers, but all the 
 Roundhead horse galloped headlong off the 
 field, hotly pursued by the Royalists. But the 
 main body of the army stood firm, and for 
 some time the battle was nearly equal, until a 
 large troop of the enemy's cavalry who had 
 been kept in reserve, wheeled round and fell 
 upon the Royal forces just when their scanty 
 supply of ammunition was exhausted. 
 
 Step by step, however, they retreated brave- 
 ly, and Rupert, who had returned from his 
 charge, sought in vain to collect his scattered 
 troopers, so as to fall again on the rebels ; but 
 some were plundering, some chasing the enemy, 
 and none could be got together. Lord Lindsay 
 was shot through the thigh bone, and fell. He 
 was instantly surrounded by the rebels on 
 horseback ; but his son, Lord Willoughby, see- 
 ing his danger, flung himself alone among the 
 enemy, and forcing his way forward, raised his 
 father in his arms, thinking of nothing else, 
 and unheeding his own peril. The throng of 
 enemy around called to him to surrender, and, 
 hastily giving up his sword, he carried the 
 Earl into the nearest shed and laid him on a 
 heap of straw, vainly striving to stanch the 
 blood. It was a bitterly cold night, and the 
 frosty wind came howling through the dark- 
 ness. Far above, on the ridge of the hill, the 
 fires of the king's army shone with red light, 
 and some way off" on the other side twinkled 
 those of the Parliamentarv forces. Glimmering
 
 . FATHERS AND SONS. 179- 
 
 lanterns or torches moved about the battle- 
 field, those of the savage plunderers who crept 
 about to despoil the dead. Whether the battle 
 was won or lost, the father and son knew not, 
 aud the guard who watched them knew as 
 little. Lord Lindsay himself murmured, " If it 
 please God I should survive, I never will fight 
 in the same field with boys again ! " — no doubt, 
 deeming that young Rupert had wrought all 
 the mischief. His thoughts were all on the 
 cause, his son's all on him ; and piteous was 
 that night, as the blood continued to flow, and 
 nothing availed to check it, nor was any aid 
 near to restore the old man's ebbing strength. 
 
 Toward midnight the Earl's old comrade, 
 Essex, had time to understand his condition, 
 and sent some ofiicers to inquire for him, and 
 promise speedy surgical attendance. Lindsay 
 was still full of spirit, and spoke to them so 
 strongly of their broken faith, and of the sin 
 of disloyalty and rebellion, that they slunk 
 away one by one out of the hut, and dissuaded 
 Essex from coming himself to see his old friend, 
 as he had intended. The surgeon, however, 
 arrived, but too late, Lindsay was already so 
 much exhausted by cold and loss of blood, 
 that he died early in the morning of the 24th, 
 all his son's gallant devotion having failed to 
 save him. 
 
 The sorrowing son received an affectionate 
 note the next day from the king, full of regret 
 for his father and esteem for himself Charles 
 made every efibrt to obtain his exchange, but 
 could not succeed for a whole year. He was
 
 180 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS\ 
 
 -afterwards one of the four noblemen who, seven 
 years later followed the king's white, silent, 
 snowy funeral in the dismantled St. George's 
 Chapel ; and from first to last he was one of the 
 bravest, purest, and most devoted of those who 
 did honor to the Cavalier cause. 
 
 We have still another brave son to describe, 
 and for him we must turn away from these sad 
 pages of our history, when we were a house 
 divided against itself, to one of the hours of our 
 brightest glory, when the cause we fought in 
 was the cause of all the oppressed, and nearly 
 alone we upheld the rights of oppressed coun- 
 tries against the invader. And thus it is that 
 the battle of the Nile is one of the exploits to 
 which we look back with the greatest exultation, 
 when we think of the triumph of the British 
 flag. 
 
 Let us think of all that was at stake. Napo- 
 leon Bonaparte was climbing to power in 
 France, by directing her successful arms against 
 the world. He had beaten Germany and con- 
 quered Italy ; he had threatened England, and 
 his dream was of the conquest of the East. 
 Like another Alexander he hoped to subdue 
 Asia, and overthrow the hated British power 
 by depriving it of Lidia. Hitherto, his dreams 
 had become earnest by the force of his marvel- 
 ous genius, and by the ardor which he breathed 
 into the whole French nation ; and when he set 
 sail from Toulon, with 40,000 tried and victori- 
 ous soldiers and a magnificent fleet, all were 
 filled with vague and unbounded expectations 
 <of almost fabulous glories. He sTv^ept away as
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 181 
 
 it were the degenerate knights of St. John 
 from their rock of Malta, and sailed for Alexan- 
 dria in Egypt, in the latter end of June, 1798. 
 
 His intentions had not become known, and 
 the English Mediterranean fleet was watching 
 the course of this great armament. Sir Horatio 
 Nelson was in pursuit, with the English vessels, 
 and wrote to the First Lord of the Admiralty : 
 " Be they bound to the Antipodes, your lordship 
 may rely that I will not lose a moment in 
 bringing them to action." 
 
 Nelson had, however, not ships enough to be 
 attached to reconnoitre, and he actually over- 
 passed the French, whom he guessed to be on 
 the way to Egypt. He arrived at the port of 
 Alexandria on the 28th of June, and saw its 
 blue waters and flat coast lying still in their 
 sunny torpor, as if no enemy were on the seas. 
 Back he went to Syracuse, but could learn no 
 more there ; he obtained provisions with some 
 difficulty, and then, in great anxiety, sailed for 
 Greece ; where at last, on the 28th of July, he 
 learnt that the French fleet had been seen from 
 Candia, steering to the southeast, and about 
 four weeks since. In fact, it had actually 
 passed by him in a thick haze, which concealed 
 each fleet from the other, and had arrived at 
 Alexandria on the 1st. of July, three days after 
 he had left it. 
 
 Every sail was set for the south, and at four 
 o'clock in the afternoon of the first of August a 
 very different sight was seen in Aboukir Bay, 
 so solitary a month ago. It was crowded with 
 shipping. Great castle-like men-of-war rose-
 
 182 >;OOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 with all their proud calm dignity out of the 
 water, their dark port-holes openiug in the white 
 bands on their sides, and the tricolored flag 
 floating as their ensign. There were thirteen 
 ships of the line and four frigates, and, of these, 
 three were 80-gun ships, and one, towering high 
 ahove the rest, with her three decks, was 
 L^ Orient, of 120 guns. Look well at her, for 
 there stands the hero for whose sake we have 
 chosen this and no other of Nelson's glorious 
 fights to place among the setting of our Golden 
 Deeds. There he is, a little cadet de vameau, 
 as the French call a midshipman, only ten years 
 old, with a heart swelling between awe and 
 exultation at the prospect of his first battle ; 
 but, fearless and glad, for is he not the son of 
 the brave Casablanca, the flag-captain? And 
 is not this Admiral Brueys' own ship, looking 
 down in scorn on the fourteen little English 
 ships, not one carrying more than 74 guns, and 
 one only 50 ? 
 
 Why Napoleon had kept the fleet there was 
 never known. In his usual mean way of dis- 
 avowing whatever turned out ill, he laid the 
 blame upon Admiral Brueys ; but, though dead 
 men could not tell tales, his papers made it 
 plain that the ships had remained in obedience 
 to commands, though they had not been able to 
 enter the harbor of Alexandria. Large rewards 
 had been offered to any pilot who would take 
 them in, but none could be found who would 
 venture to steer into that port a vessel drawing 
 more than twenty feet of water. They had, 
 therefore, remained at anchor outside, in Abou-
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 18.^ 
 
 kir Bay, drawn up in a curve along the deepest 
 of the water, with no room to pass them at 
 either end, so that the commissary of the fleet 
 reported that they could bid defiance to a force 
 more than double their number. The admiral 
 believed that Xelson had not ventured to attack 
 liim when they had passed by one another a 
 month before, and when the English fleet wa& 
 signaled, he still supposed that it was too late 
 in the day for an attack to be made. 
 
 Nelson had, however, no sooner learnt that 
 the French were in sight tlian he signaled from 
 his ship, the Vanguard, that preparations for 
 battle should be made, and in the meantime' 
 summoned up his captains to receive his orders 
 during a hurried meal. He explained that, 
 where there was room for a large French ship 
 to swing, there w^as room for a small English 
 one to anchor, and, therefore, he designed to 
 bring his ships up to the outer part of the 
 French line, and station them close below their 
 adversary ; a plan that he said Lord Hood had 
 once designed, though he had not carried it out. 
 
 Captain Berry was delighted, and exclaimed^ 
 " If we succeed, what will the world say ? " 
 
 " There is no if in the case," returned Nel- 
 son, " that we shall succeed is certain. Who 
 may live to tell the tale is a very difierent 
 question." 
 
 And w^hen they rose and parted, he said,, 
 " Before this time to-morrow I shall have 
 gained a peerage or Westminster Abbey." 
 
 In the fleet went, through a fierce storm of 
 shot and shell from a French battery on an
 
 184 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 island in advance. Nelson 'sown ship, the Van- 
 guard, was the first to anchor within half-pistol- 
 shot of the third French ship, the Spartiate. 
 The Vanguard had six colors flying, in case 
 any should be shot away ; and such was the 
 fire that was directed on her, that in a few 
 minutes every man at the six guns in her fore- 
 part was killed or wounded, and this happened 
 three times. Nelson himself received a wound 
 in the head, which was thought at first to be 
 mortal, but which proved but sUght. He would 
 not allow the surgeon to leave the sailors to 
 attend to him till it came to his turn. 
 
 Meantime his ships were doing their work 
 gloriously. The Bellerophon was, indeed, over- 
 powered by U Orient, 200 of her crew killed, 
 and all her masts and cables shot away, so that 
 she drifted away as night came on ; but the 
 -Swiftsure came up in her place, and the Alexan- 
 der and Lea7ider both poured in their shot. 
 Admiral Brueys received three wounds, but 
 would not quit his post, and at length a fourth 
 shot almost cut him in two. He desired not to 
 be carried below, but that he might die on deck. 
 
 About nine o'clock the ship took fire and 
 blazed up with fearful brightness, lighting up 
 the whole bay, and showing five French ships 
 with their colors hauled down, the others still 
 :fighting on. Nelson himself rose and came on 
 deck when this fearful glow came shining from 
 sea and sky into his cabin, and gave orders 
 that the English boats should immediately be 
 put off for L' Orient, to save as many lives a^ 
 possible.
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 185 
 
 The English sailors rowed up to the burning 
 ship which they had lately been attacking. The 
 French officers listened to the offer of safety, 
 and called to the little favorite of the ship, the 
 captain's son, to come with them. "Xo,"said 
 the boy, " he was where his father had stationed 
 him and bidden him not to move save at his 
 call." They told him his fjither's voice would 
 never call him again, for he lay senseless and 
 mortally wounded on the deck, and that the 
 ship must presently blow up. " Xo," said the 
 brave child, " he must obey his father." The 
 moment allowed no delay, — the boat put off. 
 The flames showed all that passed in a quiver- 
 ing glare more intense than daylight, and the 
 little fellow was then seen on the deck, leaning 
 over the prostrate figure, and presently tying it 
 to one of the spars of the shivered masts. 
 
 Just then a thundering explosion shook down 
 to the very hold every ship in the harbor, and 
 burning fragments of L' Orient came falling far 
 and wide, plashing heavily into the water, in 
 the dead awful stillness that followed the fearful 
 sound. English boats were plying busily about, 
 picking up those who had leapt overboard in 
 time. Some were dragged in through the lower 
 port-holes of the English ships, and about 
 seventy were saved altogether. For one 
 moment a boat's crew had a sight of a helpless 
 figure bound to a spar, and guided by a little, 
 childish swimmer, who must have gone over- 
 board with his precious freight just before the 
 explosion. They rowed after the brave little 
 fellow, earnestly desiring to save him, but in
 
 186 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 darkness, in smoke, in lurid, uncertain light, 
 amid hosts of drowning wretches, they lost 
 sight of him again. 
 
 " The boy, O where was he ! 
 Ask of the wind that far around 
 
 With fragments strewed the sea ; 
 With mast and helm, and pennant fair 
 
 That well had borne their part : 
 But the noblest thing that perished there 
 
 Was that young faithful heart ! " 
 
 By sunrise the victory was complete, l^ay, 
 as Nelson said, " It was not a victory, but a 
 conquest." Only four French ships escaped, 
 and Napoleon and his army were cut off from 
 home. These are the glories of our navy, 
 gained by men with hearts as true and obedient 
 as that of the brave child they had tried in 
 vain to save. Yet still, Avhile giving the full 
 meed of thankful, sympathetic honor to our 
 noble sailors, we cannot but feel that the 
 Golden Deed of Aboukir Bay fell to — 
 
 " That young faithful heart." 
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 
 
 1576—1665—1721. 
 
 When our Litany entreats that we may be 
 delivered from "plague, pestilence and famine,"
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 187 
 
 the first of these words bears a special meaning, 
 which came home with strong and painful force 
 to European minds at the time the Prayer- 
 Book was translated, and for the whole follow- 
 ing century. 
 
 It refers to the deadly sickness emphatically 
 called "the plasrue," a typhoid fever exceed- 
 ingly violent and rapid, and accompanied with 
 a frightful swelling either under the arm or on 
 the corresponding part of the thigh. The East 
 is the usual haunt of this fatal complaint, which 
 some supposed to be bred by the marshy, un- 
 w^holesome state of Egypt after the subsidence 
 of the waters of the Nile, and which generally 
 prevails in Egypt and Syria until its course is 
 checked either by the cold of winter or the heat 
 in summer. At times this disease has become 
 unusually malignant and infectious, and then 
 has come beyond its usual boundaries, and 
 made its way over all the West. These dread- 
 ful visitations Avere rendered more frequent by 
 total disregard of all precautions, and ignorance 
 of laws for preserving health. People crowded 
 together in towns without means of obtaining 
 sufficient air or cleanliness, and thus were sure 
 to be unhealthy ; and whenever war or famine 
 had occasioned more than usual poverty, some 
 frightful epidemic was sure to follow in its train, 
 and sweep away the poor creatures whose 
 frames were already weakened by previous 
 privation. And often this " sore judgment " 
 was that emphatically called the plague ; espe- 
 cially during the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries, a time when war had become far
 
 188 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 more cruel and mischievous in the hands of 
 hired regiments than ever it had been with a 
 feudal army, and when at the same time increas- 
 ing trade was filling the cities with more closely 
 packed inhabitants, within fortifications that 
 would not allow the city to expand in propor- 
 tion to its needs. It has been only the estab- 
 lishment of the system of quarantine which has 
 succeeded in cutting off the course of infection 
 by which the plague was wont to set out on its 
 frightful travels from land to land, from city to 
 city. 
 
 The desolation of a plague-stricken city was 
 a sort of horrible dream. Every infected house 
 was marked with a red cross, and carefully 
 closed against all persons, except those who 
 were charged to drive carts through the streets 
 to collect the corpses, ringing a bell as they 
 went. These men were generally wretched 
 beings, the lowest and most reckless of the 
 people, who undertook their frightful task for 
 the sake of the plunder of the desolate houses, 
 and wound themselves up by intoxicating drinks 
 to endure the horrors. The bodies were thrown 
 into large trenches, without prayer or funeral 
 rites, and these were hastily closed up. Whole 
 families died together, untended save by one 
 another, with no aid from without, and the last 
 chances of life would be lost for want of a 
 friendly hand to give drink and food ; and, in 
 the Roman Catholic cities, the perishing with- 
 out a priest to adminster the last rites of the 
 Church was viewed as more dreadful than death 
 itself
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 189 
 
 Such visitations as these did, indeed, prove 
 whether the pastors of the afflicted flock were 
 shepherds or hirelings. So felt, in 1576, 
 Cardinal Carlo Borromeo, Archbishop of 
 Milan, the worthiest of all the successors of St. 
 Ambrose, when he learnt at Lodi that the 
 plague had made its appearance in his city, 
 where, remarkably enough, there had lately 
 been such licentious revelry that he had 
 solemnly warned the people that, unless they 
 repented, they would certainly bring on them- 
 selves the wrath of Heaven. His council of 
 clergy advised him to remain in some healthy 
 part of his diocese till the sickness should have 
 spent itself, but he replied that a bishop, whose 
 duty it is to give his life for his sheep, could 
 not rightly abandon them in time of peril. 
 They owned that to stand by them was the 
 higher course. " Well," he said, " is it not a 
 bishop's duty to choose the higher course?" 
 
 So back into the town of deadly sickness 
 he went, leading the people to repent, and 
 watching over them in their sufferings, visiting 
 the hospitals, and, by his own example, 
 encouraging his clergy in carrying spiritual 
 consolation to the dying. All the time the 
 plague lasted, which was four months, his 
 exertions were fearless and unwearied, and 
 what was remarkable was, that of his whole 
 household only two died, and they were persons 
 who had not been called to go about among 
 the sick. Indeed, some of the rich wlio had 
 repaired to a villa, where they spent their time 
 in feastino: and amusement in the luxurious
 
 190 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Italian fashion, were there followed by the 
 pestilence, and all perished ; their dainty fare 
 and the excess in which they indulged having 
 no doubt been as bad a preparation as the 
 poverty of the starving people in the city. 
 
 The strict and regular life of the cardinal 
 and his clergy, and their home in the spacious 
 palace, were, no doubt, under Providence, a 
 preservative ; but, in the opinions of the time, 
 there was little short of a miracle in the safety 
 of one Avho daily preached in the cathedral,-^ 
 bent over the beds of the sick, giving them 
 food and medicine, hearing their confessions, 
 and administrating the last rites of the Church, — 
 and then braving the contagion after death, 
 rather than let the corpses go forth unblest to 
 their common grave. Nay, so far was he from 
 seeking to save his own life, that, kneeling 
 before the altar in the cathedral, he solemnly 
 offered himself, like Moses, as a sacrifice for his 
 people. But, like Moses, the sacrifice was 
 passed by, — " it cost more to redeem their 
 souls" — and Borromeo remained untouched, 
 as did the twenty-eight priests who voluntarily 
 offered themselves to join in his labors. 
 
 No wonder that the chief memories that 
 haunt the glorious white marble cathedral of 
 Milan are those of St. Ambrose, who taught 
 mercy to an emperor, and of St. Carlo Bor- 
 romeo, who practiced mercy on a people. 
 
 It was a hundred years later that the greatest 
 and last visitation of the plague took place in 
 London. Doubtless, the scourge called forth,^ 
 as in Christian lands such judgments always
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 191 
 
 do, — many an act of true and blessed self- 
 devotion ; but these are not recorded, save 
 where they have their reward : and the tale 
 now to be told is of one of the small villages to 
 which the infection spread, — namely, Eyam, in 
 Derbyshire. 
 
 This is a lovely place between Buxton and 
 Chatsworth, perched high on a hillside, and 
 shut in by another higher mountain, — extremely 
 beautiful, but exactly one of those that, for 
 want of free air, always become the especial 
 prey of infection. At that time lead works 
 w^ere in operation in the mountains, and the 
 village was thickly inhabited. Great was the 
 dismay of the villagers when the family of a 
 tailor, who had received some patterns of cloth 
 from London, showed symptoms of the plague 
 in its most virulent form, sickening and dying 
 in one day. 
 
 The rector of the parish, the Kev. William 
 Mompesson, was still a young man, and had 
 been married only a few years. His wife, a 
 beautiful young woman, only twenty-seven 
 years old, was exceedingly terrified at the 
 tidings from the village, and wept bitterly as 
 she implored her husband to take her, and her 
 little George and Elizabeth, who were three 
 and four years old, away to some place of 
 safety. But ]Mr. Mompesson gravely showed 
 her that it was his duty not to forsake his flock 
 in their hour of need, and began at once to 
 make arrangements for sending her and the 
 children away. She saw he was right in 
 remaining, and ceased to urge him to forsake
 
 192 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 his charge ; but she insisted that, if he ought 
 not to desert his flock, liis wife ought not to 
 leave him ; and she wept and entreated so 
 earnestly, that he at length consented that she 
 should be with him, and that only the two little 
 ones should be removed while yet there was 
 time. 
 
 Their father and mother parted with the little 
 ones as treasures that they might never see 
 again. At the same time Mr. Mompesson 
 wrote to London for the most approved medi- 
 cines and prescriptions ; and he likewise sent a 
 letter to the Earl of Devonshire, at Chatsworth, 
 to engage that his parishioners should exclude 
 themselves from the whole neighborhood, and 
 thus confine the contagion within their own 
 boundaries, provided the Earl would undertake 
 that food, medicines, and other necessaries, 
 should be placed at certain appointed spots, at 
 regular times, upon the hills around, where the 
 Eyamites might come, leave payment for them, 
 and take them up, without holding any commu- 
 nication with the bringers, except by letters, 
 which could be placed on a stone, then fumi- 
 gated, or passed through vinegar, before they 
 were touched with the hand. To this the Earl 
 consented, and for seven whole months the 
 engagement was kept. 
 
 Mr. Mompesson represented to his people 
 that, with the plague once among them, it 
 would be so unlikely that they should not 
 carry infection about with them, that it would 
 be selfish cruelty to other places to try to escape 
 amongst them, and thus spread the danger.
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 193 
 
 80 rocky and wild was the ground around 
 them, that, had they striven to escape, a regi- 
 ment of soldiers could not have prevented them. 
 But of their own free will they attended to 
 their rector's remonstrance, and it was not 
 known that one parishioner of Eyam passed 
 ihe boundary all that time, nor was there a 
 single case of plague in any of the villages 
 around. 
 
 The assembling of large congregations in 
 churches had been thought to increase the 
 infection in London, and ]Mr. Mompesson, 
 therefore, thought it best to hold his services out- 
 of-doors. In the middle of the village is a dell, 
 suddenly making a cleft in the mountain-side, 
 only five yards wide at the bottom, which is 
 the pebbly bed of a wintry torrent, but is dry 
 in the summer. On the side toward the village, 
 the slope upward was of soft green turf scat- 
 tered with hazel, rowan, and alder bushes, and 
 full of singing birds. On the other side, the 
 ascent was nearly perpendicular, and composed 
 of sharp rocks, partly adorned with bushes and 
 ivy, and here and there rising up in fantastic 
 peaks and archways, through which the sky 
 could be seen from below. One of these rocks 
 was hollow, and could be entered from above, — 
 a natural gallery leading to an archway open- 
 ing over the precipice ; and this Mr. Mompesson 
 chose for his reading-desk and pulpit. The dell 
 was so narrow, that his voice could clearly be 
 heard across it, and his congregation arranged 
 themselves upon the green slope opposite, seated 
 •r kneeling upon the grass.
 
 194 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS, 
 
 On "Wednesdays, Fridays and Sundays arose 
 the earnest voice of prayer from that rocky 
 glen, the people's response meeting the pastor's, 
 voice ; and twice on Sundays he preached to 
 them the words of life and hope. It v/as a dry 
 hot summer ; fain would they have seen thunder 
 and rain to drive away their enemy ; and sel- 
 dom did weather break in on the regularity of 
 these services. But there was another service 
 that the rector had daily to perform ; not in his 
 churchyard — that would have perpetuated the 
 infection — but on a heathy hill above the vil- 
 lage. There he daily read of " the Resurrec- 
 tion and the Life," and week by week the 
 company on the grassy slope grew fewer and 
 scantier. His congregation were passing from 
 the dell to the heathy mound. 
 
 Day and night the rector and his wife were 
 among the sick, nursing, feeding, and tending 
 them with all that care and skill could do; 
 but in spite of all their endeavors, only a fifth 
 part of the inhabitants lived to spend the last 
 Sunday in Cucklet Church, as the dell is still 
 called. Mrs. Mompesson had persuaded her 
 husband to have a wound made in his leg, 
 fancying that this would lessen the danger of 
 infection, and he yielded in order to satisfy her. 
 His health endured perfectly, but she began to 
 waste under her constant exertions, and her 
 husband feared that he saw symptoms of con- 
 sumption ; but she was full of delight at some 
 appearances in his wound that made her 
 imagine that it had carried off the disease, and 
 that his dauojer was over.
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 195 
 
 A few days after, she sickened with symp- 
 toms of the plague, and her frame was so 
 weakened that she sank very quickly. She 
 was often delirious ; but when she was too 
 much exhausted to endure the exertion of tak- 
 ing cordials, her husband entreated her to try 
 for their children's sake, she lifted herself up 
 and made the endeavor. She lay peacefully, 
 saying, " she was but looking for the good hour 
 to come," and calmly died, making the re- 
 sponses to her husband's prayers even to the 
 last. Her he buried in the churchyard, and 
 fenced the grave in afterward with iron rails. 
 There are two beautiful letters from him written 
 on her death — one to his little children, to be 
 kept and read when they would be old enough 
 to understand it ; the other to his patron, Sir 
 George Saville, afterward Lord Halifax. " ]\Iy 
 drooping spirits," he says, " are much refreshed 
 with her joys, which I assure myself are un- 
 utterable." He wrote both these letters in the 
 belief that he should soon follow her, speaking 
 of himself to Sir George as " his dying chap- 
 lain," commending to him his " distressed 
 orphans," and begging that a "humble pious 
 man " might be chosen to succeed him in his 
 parsonage. " Sir, I thank God that I am will- 
 ing to shake hands in peace with all the world ; 
 and I have comfortable assurances that He will 
 accept me for the sake of His Son ; and I find 
 God more good than ever I imagined, and vrish 
 that His goodness were not so much abused and 
 contemned," writes the widowed pastor, lefl 
 alone among his dying flock. And he con-
 
 196 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 eludes, " and with tears I entreat that when 
 you are praying for fatherless and motherless 
 infants, you would then remember my two 
 pretty babes." 
 
 These two letters were written on the last day 
 of August and first of September, 1666 ; but on 
 the twentieth of November, Mr. Mompesson 
 was writing to his uncle, in the lull after the 
 storm. *' The condition of this place hath been 
 so dreadful, that I persuade myself it exceedeth 
 all history and example. I may truly say our 
 town has become a Golgotha, a place of skulls ; 
 and had there not been a small remnant of us 
 left, we had been as Sodom, and like unto Go- 
 morrah. ]My ears never heard such doleful 
 lamentations, my nose never smelt such noisome 
 smells, and my eyes never beheld such ghastly 
 spectacles. Here have been seventy-six fami- 
 lies visited within my parish, out of which died 
 two hundred and fifty-nine persons." 
 
 However, since the eleventh of October there 
 had been no fresh cases, and he was now burn- 
 ing all woolen clothes, lest the infection should 
 linger in them. He himself had never been 
 touched by the complaint, nor had his maid- 
 servant ; his man had had it but slightly. Mr. 
 Mompesson lived many more years, was offered 
 the Deanery of Lincoln, but did not accept it, 
 and died in 1708. So virulent was the con- 
 tagion, that, ninety-one yeai-s after, in 1757, 
 when five laboring men, who were digging up 
 land near the plague-graves for a potato-garden, 
 came upon what appeared to be some linen, 
 though they buried it again directly, they all
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 197 
 
 sickened with typhus fever, three of them died, 
 and it was so infectious that no less than seventy 
 persons in the parish were carried off. 
 
 The last of these remarkable visitations of 
 the plague, properly so called, was at Marseilles, 
 in 1721. It was supposed to have been brought 
 by a vessel which sailed from Seyde, in the Bay 
 of Tunis, on tlie thirty-first of January, 1720, 
 which had a clean bill of health when it an- 
 chored off the Chateau d'lf, at Marseilles, on 
 the twenty-fifth of May ; but six of the crew 
 were found to have died on the voyage, and the 
 ))orsons who handled the freight also died, 
 though, it was said, without any symptoms of 
 the plague, and the first cases were supposed to 
 be of the fevers caused by excessive poverty 
 and crowding. The unmistakable Oriental 
 plague, however, soon began to spread in the 
 city among the poorer population, and in truth 
 the wars and heavy expenses of Louis XIV. 
 had made poverty in France more wretched 
 than ever before, and the whole country was 
 like one deadly sore, festering, and by-and-by 
 to come to a fearful crisis. Precautions were 
 taken, the infected families were removed to the 
 infirmaries, and their houses walled up, but all 
 this was done at night in order not to excite 
 alarm. The mystery, however, made things 
 more terrible to the imagination, and this was 
 a period of the utmost selfishness. All the 
 richer inhabitants who had the means of quit- 
 ting the city, and who were the very people 
 who could have been useful there, fled with one 
 accord. Suddenly the lazaretto was left with-
 
 198 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 out superintendents, the hospitals without 
 stewards ; the judges, public officers, notaries, 
 and most of the superior workmen in the most 
 necessary trades were all gone. Only the pro- 
 vost and four municipal officers remained, with 
 1100 livres in their treasury, in the midst of an 
 entirely disorganized city, and an enormous 
 population without work, without restraint, 
 without food, and a prey to the deadliest of 
 diseases. 
 
 The parliament which still survived in the 
 ancient kingdom of Provence signalized itself 
 by retreating to a distance, and on the thirty- 
 first of May putting out a decree that nobody 
 should pass a boundary line round Marseilles 
 on pain of death ; but considering what people 
 ■were trying to escape from, and the utter over- 
 throw of all rule and order, this penalty was 
 not likely to have much effect, and the plague 
 was carried by the fugitives to Aries, Aix, 
 Toulon, and sixty-three lesser towns and vil- 
 lages. What a contrast to Mr. Mompesson's 
 moral influence ! 
 
 Horrible crimes were committed. Malefac- 
 tors were released from the prisons and convicts 
 from the galleys, and employed for large pay- 
 ment to collect the corpses and carry the sick 
 to the infirmaries. Of course, they could only 
 be wrought up to such work by intoxication 
 and unlimited opportunities of plunder, and 
 their rude treatment both of the dead and of 
 the living suflTerers added unspeakably to the 
 general wretchedness. To be carried to the 
 infirmarv was certain death — no one lived in
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 199 
 
 that heap of contagion ; and even this shelter 
 was not always to be had, some of the streets 
 were full of dying creatures who had been 
 turned out of their houses and could crawl no 
 farther. 
 
 What was done to alleviate all these horrors? 
 It was in the minority of Louis XV., and the 
 Regent Duke of Orleans, easy, good-natured 
 man that he was, sent 22,000 marks to the relief 
 of the city, all in silver, for paper money was 
 found to spread the infection more than anything 
 else. He also sent a great quantity of corn, 
 and likewise doctors for the sick, and troops to 
 shut in the infected district. The Pope, 
 Clement XI., sent spiritual blessings to the 
 sufferers, and, moreover, three ship-loads of 
 wheat. The Regent's Prime Minister, the Abbe 
 Dubois, the shame of his Church and country, 
 fancied that to send these supplies cast a slight 
 upon his administration, and desired his repre- 
 sentative at Rome to prevent the sailing of the 
 ships ; but his orders were not for very shame 
 carried out, and the vessels set out. On their 
 way they were seized by a Moorish corsair, who 
 was more merciful than Dubois, for he no sooner 
 learnt their destination than he let them go 
 unplundered. 
 
 And in the midst of the misery there were 
 bright lights " running to and fro among the 
 stubble." The provost and his five remaining 
 officers, and a gentleman called Le Chevalier 
 Rose, did their utmost in the bravest and most 
 unselfish way to help the sufferers, distribute 
 food, provide shelter, restrain the horrors per-
 
 200 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 petrated by the sick in their ravings, and pro- 
 vide for the burial of the dead. And the 
 clergy were all devoted to the task of mercy. 
 There was only one convent, that of St. Victor, 
 where the gates were closed against all comers, 
 in the hope of shutting out infection. Every 
 other monastic establishment freely devoted 
 itself. It was a time when pai'ty spirit ran 
 high. The Bishop, Henri Franyois Xavier de 
 Belzunce, a nephew of the Duke de Lauzun, 
 was a strong and rigid Jesuit, and had joined 
 so hotly in the persecution of the Jansenists 
 that he had forbidden the brotherhood called 
 Oratorian Fathers to hear confessions, because 
 he suspected them of a leaning to Jansenist 
 opinions ; but he and they both alike worked 
 earnestly in the one cause of mercy. They 
 were content to obey his prejudiced edict, since 
 he was in lawful authority, and threw them- 
 selves heartily into the lower and more dis- 
 dained services to the sick, as nurses and tendei-s 
 of the body alone, not of the soul, and in this 
 work their whole community, superior and all, 
 perished, almost without exception. Perhaps 
 these men, thus laying aside hurt feeling and 
 sense of injustice, were the greatest conquerors 
 of all whose Golden Deeds we have described. 
 
 Bishop Belzunce himself, however, stands as 
 the prominent figure in the memory of tho.-e 
 dreadful five months. He was a man of com- 
 manding stature, towering above all around 
 him ; and his fervent sermons, aided by his 
 example of severe and strict piety, and his 
 great charities, had greatly impressed the
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 201 
 
 people. He now went about among the plague- 
 stricken, attending to their wants both spiritual 
 and temporal, and sold or mortgaged all his 
 property to obtain relief for them, and he 
 actually went himself in the tumbrils of corpses 
 to give them the rites of Christian burial. His 
 doings closely resembled those of Cardinal Bor- 
 romeo, and like him he had recourse to constant 
 preachings of repentance, processions, and as- 
 semblies for litanies in the church. It is curi- 
 ously characteristic that it was the English 
 clergyman, who, equally pious, and sensible that 
 only the Almighty could remove the scourge, 
 yet deemed it right to take precautions against 
 the effects of bringing a large number of per- 
 sons into one building. How Belzunce's clergy 
 seconded him may be gathered from the num- 
 bers who died of the disease. Besides the 
 Oratorians, there died eighteen Jesuits, twenty- 
 six of the order called Recollets, and forty-three 
 Capuchins, all of whom had freely given their 
 lives in the endeavor to alleviate the general 
 suffering. In the four chief towns of Provence 
 80,000 died, and about 8000 in the lesser places. 
 The winter finally checked the destroyer, and 
 then, sad to say, it appeared how little effect 
 the warning had had on the survivors. Inherit- 
 ances had fallen together into the hands of 
 persons who found themselves rich beyond 
 their expectations, and in the glee of having 
 escaped the danger, forgot to be thankful, and 
 spent their wealth in revelry. Never had the 
 cities of Provence been so full of wild, ques- 
 tionable mirth as during the ensuing winter,
 
 202 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and it was remarked that the places which had 
 suffered most severely were the most given up 
 to thoughtless gayety, and even licentiousness. 
 
 Good Bishop Belzunce did his best to protest 
 against the wickedness around him, and refused 
 to leave his flock at Marseilles, when, four years 
 after, a far more distinguished see was offered 
 to him. He died in 1755, in time to escape the 
 sight of the retribution that w^as soon worked 
 ©ut on the folly and vice of the unhappy 
 country. 
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 
 
 1793. 
 
 Mournful as are in general the annals of 
 slavery, yet even this cloud is not without its 
 silver lining ; and noble deeds of fidelity and 
 self-devotion are on record even from those 
 whom their masters have been accustomed to 
 look on as so degraded as to be incapable of 
 more than an animal species of loyalty. 
 
 The French are not in general bad slave- 
 masters. Excitement does indeed stir their 
 Keltic blood into a state in which they will 
 perpetrate horrible ferocities ; but in ordinary 
 life their instinct of courtesy and amiability 
 makes them perhaps the least obnoxious of all 
 nations to those whom they believe their in- 
 feriors, whether in the bondage of conquest or 
 of slavery.
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 203 
 
 No doubt, however, there was a fearful arrear 
 of wrongs in the beautiful West Indian island 
 of Hispaniola, or St. Domingo, as it was called 
 when it was shared between France and Spain, 
 with the boundary between them of a river, now 
 known by the portentous name of Massacre. 
 
 One of the most fertile of all the lovely isles 
 whose aspect had enchanted their discoverer. 
 St. Domingo, was a region of rapid wealth to the 
 French Creoles, who lived at ease, and full of 
 luxury and enjoyment, on their rich plantations 
 of sugar, cotton, and coffee, and often men of 
 high birth, further formed, in right of their 
 white skins, a jealous aristocracy, holding their 
 heads high above the dark population below 
 them, alike of free mulattoes of mixed descent 
 and of negro slaves. Little were they prepared 
 for the decree of the French National Conven- 
 tion, which at one sweep leveled all distinc- 
 tions, — placing the black and brown of every 
 tint on an equality with the whites. The con- 
 sequence was that the tri-colored cockade was 
 trampled on by the indignant Creoles, who re- 
 fused obedience to the decree of the mother 
 country, and proceeded to elect a General 
 Assembly of their own ; while the aggrieved 
 mulattoes collected on their side in armed bodies 
 for the defence of their newly-granted privileges. 
 
 In the midst a more terrible enemy arose. 
 The slaves, with the notes of freedom ringing 
 in their ears, rose in a body, and began to burn 
 the plantations and to massacre the whites. 
 Fugitives came rushing into Capetown, the 
 capital, from all quarters ; and at each planta-
 
 204 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tion reached by the insurgents, the slaves, even 
 if previously contented, were gathered into the 
 flood of savagery, and joined in the war of 
 extermination. In less than two months, 2000 
 white persons, of all ranks, sexes, and ages, had 
 perished, 480 sugar plantations, and 900 coffee, 
 indigo, and cotton settlements had been de- 
 stroyed= With the horrors and bloodshed of those 
 days, however, we are not concerned, nor need 
 we trace the frightful and protracted war that 
 Anally established negro supremacy over the 
 island that now bears the name of Haiti. It is 
 with the bright spots in the dark picture that 
 we are to deal. 
 
 Count de Lopinot, an old officer in the army, 
 who had settled with his wife upon the island, 
 had been so uniformly kind to his slaves, that 
 their hearts were with him ; they rose for the 
 ])rotection of him and his family, and when the 
 way of escape was open, entreated him to take 
 them all with him, to live and die in his service. 
 The place chosen for his retreat was the English 
 island of Trinidad, where he obtained from 
 Government a grant of waste land among the 
 mountains, to be selected by himself. The centre 
 of Trinidad is so mountainous as to be still un- 
 cultivated and unsettled, and the count was 
 forced to take with him his bodyguard of faith- 
 ful negroes, to cut a passage for him through 
 the tropical forest. 
 
 The spot he selected was beautifully situated, 
 fertile, and well watered ; but the best road he 
 could make to it was so rugged as to be unfit 
 for the transport of sugar, and he therefore laid
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAm. 205 
 
 it out for cocoa, upon a design peculiar to him- 
 self. The outline of his grounds represented a 
 gigantic French general officer, epaulettes and 
 all, upon whose prostrate form were ranged 
 cocoa-plants, at about fifteen or twenty feet apart, 
 each about the size of a gooseberry bush ; and at 
 intervals, the forest tree known by the negroes as 
 Cocoa-Mammy, because it is supposed to shade, 
 nourish, and even gather dew for the cocoa-plants 
 under its charge. It is from sixty to eighty feet 
 high, and bears brilliant, flame-colored blossoms, 
 so that the hills of Trinidad seem all in a blaze 
 in its flowering season. To this curiously- 
 planned estate the grateful count gave the sur- 
 name of La Reconnaissance, and on the first day 
 when he brought his countess, and installed the 
 negro families in their new abodes, he celebrated 
 a solemn thanksgiving. So much was he 
 beloved, that twenty years after his death the 
 negroes of La Reconnaissance still kept a holi- 
 day in his memory. 
 
 These negroes w^ere loyal in a body ; but on 
 another estate in St. Domingo there was a 
 single loyal exception, a genuine African, not 
 born on the estate, but brought thither by the 
 slave trade. The whole of his master's family 
 were massacred, excepting two little boys of five 
 and three years old, whom he contrived to hide, 
 and afterward to escape with to the coast, where 
 he put them on board ship, and succeeded in 
 conveying them to Carolina. Happily, in those 
 days, slavery was apparently on the decline, 
 even in the Southern States, and free negroes 
 were allowed to be at large in the streets of
 
 206 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Charleston, so that the faithful man was able to 
 maintain the children by his labor ; and not 
 only this, but to fulfill his earnest purpose of edu- 
 cating them consistently with their parents' 
 station in life. He placed them at a good 
 boarding-school, and, while living a hard and 
 frugal life himself, gave them each a dollar a 
 week for pocket-money. 
 
 The elder of tlie two Avent to sea, rose to be 
 captain of a merchant ship, and married a Span- 
 ish heiress in Cuba, when, on settling upon her 
 estate, he at once sent for his good old guardian, 
 built him a house, and made him an overseer, 
 giving him, in memory of old times, a dollar every 
 week for pocket-money, and treating him with 
 great affection. The old man lived to a great 
 age, and, on his death, his master was surprised 
 to find that, though a devout Christian and an 
 intelligent man, he still wore round his neck a 
 little African amulet, which no doubt his affec- 
 tionate spirit retained as the only memory of 
 his native land. 
 
 Another negro, named Eustache, who was born 
 in 1773, on the sugar plantation of Monsieur 
 Belin de Villeneuve, in the northern part of the 
 island, had been always a remarkably intelligent 
 man, though entirely ignorant, and not even able 
 to read. When the bloody attacks on the houses 
 of the W'hites took place, he is said, by his 
 timely w^arnings and ingenious contrivances, to 
 have at different times saved the lives of no less 
 than 400 w^hite persons without betraying the 
 negroes ; and lastly, he was enabled to place his 
 master safely on board an American vessel with
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 207 
 
 a sufficient cargo of sugar to secure him from 
 destitution. Eustache himself embarked at the 
 same time, considering himself as still M. Belin's 
 slave as completely as though they were still on 
 the plantation. On the voyage the vessel was 
 captured by an English privateer ; but, while all 
 the Americans and French were put under 
 hatches, the negro was left at large to profit by 
 the liberty the English sailors fancied they had 
 conferred upon him. They were a drunken, 
 undisciplined set, and while they were carous- 
 ing, Eustache played all sorts of antics for their 
 amusement, until they were so completely off 
 their guard that he succeeded in releasing and 
 arming the prisoners and carrying off the 
 prize, with the English as prisoners in their 
 turn, safe into the I'oads of Baltimore. He 
 there hired himself out to work, and applied all 
 his earnings to the assistance of the many ruined 
 French from St. Domingo who had taken refuge 
 there. After a time it was supposed that the 
 French power was re-established in the island, 
 and M. Belin ventured back, with a number of 
 his friends, in hopes of recovering his property, 
 but he found himself in greater danger than 
 ever. The town of Fort Dauphin was occupied 
 by the Spaniards, and 20,000 negroes, com- 
 manded by a black called Jean Frangais, were 
 encamped on the heights near the town, and 
 massacred every Frenchman they encountered. 
 The Spaniards gave the un]m])py French no 
 arms nor assistance, and M. Belin fled for his 
 life to the sea-shore, pursued by a party of 
 blacks. He saw a Spanish guard before him,
 
 208 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and, throwing off his coat, ran in among them, 
 giving his name to the officer. A Spanish uni- 
 form was thro^vn over him, and he was saved. 
 
 Eustache had been separated from his master 
 in the crowd, and, uncertain whether he were 
 still alive, resolved at least to save his property. 
 He actually persuaded Jean Francais' wife to 
 let him hide some boxes of valuables under her 
 bed, by telling her that, if his master had been 
 massacred, they would belong to himself; and 
 then, going to the place of slaughter, examined 
 all the corpses, but happily in vain. After much 
 inquiry, he discovered M. Belin, and succeeded in 
 getting both him and his property on board ship, 
 and bringing all safely a second time to Baltimore. 
 
 M. Belin afterward resided at Port au 
 Prince, where he became president of the 
 council. Eustache continued in his service as 
 attached and devoted as ever, and, after a time, 
 observing that he was distressed by the increas- 
 ing dimness of his eyesight, this devoted slave 
 went secretly at four o'clock every morning to 
 get himself taught to read, overcame all difficul- 
 ties, and, when he thought himself perfect in the 
 art, came to his master with a book, and thence- 
 forth kept the old man occupied and amused. 
 
 M. Belin took care to emancipate his faithful 
 servant before his death, and left him a consid- 
 erable legacy, which he regarded as a trust for 
 his master's distressed countrymen, and spent 
 from day to day in acts of beneficence, gaining 
 his own livelihood by hiring himself out as a cook 
 at great dinners, for he was admirable in that 
 line, and obtained constant employment. In
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 209 
 
 1831 he was still alive, and was sought out to 
 receive the prize for which ten years before M. 
 Monthyon had left an endowment, to serve as 
 an acknowledgment of the noblest action that 
 could each year be discovered. Eustache's 
 exertions were then made known, and, in the 
 w^ords of the discourse made on that occasion, 
 his daily deeds were thus described : " Every 
 moment some new instance of his incorrigible 
 generosity comes to light. Sometimes it is poor 
 children whom he has put out to nurse, or 
 others whose apprentice fee he has paid. Some- 
 times he buys tools or agricultural implement? 
 for workmen without means. Here, relations 
 of his master obtain from him large sums which 
 they will not restore and that he will never 
 demand ; there, he is left unpaid by persons 
 who have employed him, and whom he does not 
 press because they have fallen into misfortune, 
 and he respects distress." When he found, to 
 his great surprise, how much his doings were 
 admired, he answered one (^f the committee who 
 had sought him out, " Indeed, sir, I am not 
 doing this for men, but for the Master above." 
 Eustache was not the only negro who received 
 a " prize of virtue." In 1848 the French liber- 
 ated all the slaves in their various colonies, 
 without having given sufficient time for prepar- 
 ation. The blacks made instant use of their 
 freedom by deserting their masters and setting 
 up little huts for themselves, with gardens, 
 where the tropical climate enabled them to 
 grow all their wants required without any need 
 for exertion. This was, of course, ruin to the
 
 210 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 owners of the large plantations hitherto entirely 
 dependent on slave labor. Among those thus 
 deserted was one in French Guiana, named 
 La Parterre, and belonging to a lady, a 
 widow with a large family. Out of seventy 
 negro slaves, not one remained on the estate 
 except Paul Dunez, who had become a sort of 
 foreman, and who promised his mistress that he 
 would do his utmost for her. He tried at first 
 to obtain some hired labor, but not succeeding 
 he tried to keep as much as possible under 
 cultivation, though he had no one to help him 
 but his wife and young sons. The great diffi- 
 culty was in keeping up the dykes which fence 
 out the coast from the sea on that low, marshy 
 coast of northern South America, a sort of 
 tropical Holland. Day after day was Paul 
 Jaboring at the dykes, and at every spring tide 
 he would watch for two or three nights together, 
 so as to be ready to repair any breach in the 
 embankment. This went on for thirty-two 
 months, and was labor freely given without hire, 
 for faithful loyalty's sake ; but at last the 
 equinoctial tides of 1851 were too much for 
 Paul's single arm, — he could not be at every 
 breach at once, and the plantation was all laid 
 under water. 
 
 To work he set again to repair the damage as 
 best he might, and the government at Cayenne, 
 hearing of his exertions, resolved to assign to 
 him a prize which had been founded for the 
 most meritorious laborer in the colony ; namely, 
 the sum of 600 francs and admission for his son 
 into the college at the capital. But Paul's
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR RARDON. 2ll 
 
 whole devotion was still to his mistress. Her 
 son, not his own, was sent to the college, and 
 the 600 francs were expended in fitting the boy 
 out as became the former circumstances of his 
 family, on whose service Paul continued to 
 spend himself. 
 
 The next year his name was sent up to Paris, 
 and the first prize of virtue was decreed to him 
 for his long course of self-denying exertions. 
 
 0- 
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOE PARDOK 
 
 1720 AND ABOUT 1805. 
 
 No one in our country has deserved warmer 
 or more loving esteem than Helen Walker, the 
 Scottish maiden, who though she would not 
 utter a word of untruth to save her sister from 
 being sentenced to death, yet came on foot from 
 Edinburgh to London, made her way to the 
 Duke of Argyle, and being introduced by him, 
 by her entreaties obtained that sister's pardon 
 from Queen Caroline, who was acting as 
 Regent in the absence of George II. It is hard 
 to say which was the most glorious, the God- 
 fearing truth that strengthened this peasant 
 girl to risk a life so dear to her, or the trustful 
 courage and perseverance that carried her 
 through a journey, which in the early part of 
 the eighteenth century was both tedious and 
 full of danger ; and it is satisfactory to know 
 that her after-life, though simple and homely.
 
 212 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 hv no means was unworthy of the high excel- 
 lence of her youth. Her sister, Tibbie, for 
 Mhom she had done so much, married and left 
 lier, and she lived on to be remembered by her 
 neighbors as a religious, quiet old woman, gain- 
 ing her living by knitting new feet to old stock- 
 ings, teaching little children, and keeping 
 <:hickens. Her neighbors respected her, and 
 <'alled her a " lofty body." They used to tell 
 that in a thunder-storm she used to move her- 
 self with her work and her Bible to the front 
 of the house, saying that the Almighty could 
 smite as well in the city as in the field. Sir 
 Walter Scott made her the model of the most 
 heautiful character he ever drew, and after- 
 ward placed a monument to her honor in her 
 <3wn village church. 
 
 In the beginning of this century, a girl 
 younger than Helen Walker was impelled to a 
 journey beside which that from Edinburgh to 
 London seems only like a summer stroll, and 
 her motive was in like manner deep affection, 
 love truly stronger than death. As Helen 
 W?lker served to suggest the Jeanie Deans of 
 the " Heart of Mid-Lothian," so Prascovia 
 Lopouloff was the origin of Elizabeth, the her- 
 oine of Madame Cottin's " Exiles of Siberia," 
 but in both cases the real facts have been a 
 good deal altered in the tales, and we may 
 doubt whether the Russian lady appeai^s to so 
 much advantage, when dressed up by the 
 French authoress, as does the Scottish lassie in 
 the hands of her countrymen. 
 
 Prascovia was the daughter of a captain in
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 215 
 
 the Russian army, who for some unknown rea- 
 son had undergone the sentence of exile to 
 Siberia, from the capricious and insane Czar,. 
 Paul I. The Russian government, being despotic,. 
 is naturally inclined to be suspicious, and it 
 has long been the custom to send oif persons 
 supposed to be dangerous to the state, to live in 
 the intensely cold and remote district of Siberia. 
 Actual criminals are marched off in chains, and 
 kept working in the mines ; but political 
 offenders are permitted to live with their fami- 
 lies, have a weekly sum allowed for their sup- 
 port, and when it is insufficient can eke it out by 
 any form of labor they prefer, whether by hunt- 
 ing, or by such farming as the climate will 
 allow. 
 
 • The miseries of the exiles have been much 
 mitigated in these latter times, many mor-- 
 comforts are permitted them, and though 
 closely watched, and suffering from many an- 
 noying regulations, those of higher rank receive 
 a sufficient sum out of their own revenues to 
 enable them to live in tolerable ease, and with- 
 out actual drudgery ; and at Tobolsk, the capi- 
 tal of Siberia, there is a highly educated and 
 accomplished society of banished Poles and 
 Russians who have incurred suspicion. 
 
 Under the Czars who reigned before the 
 kind-hearted Alexander I., the banishment was 
 far more terrible. It was not only the being 
 absent from home and friends, but it was a fall 
 from all the luxuries of civilized life to the 
 utmost poverty, and that in a climate of fearful 
 severity, with a winter lasting nine mouths, and
 
 ^l4 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 the sun unseen for many weeks of that time* 
 Captain Lopouloff was condemned for life, was 
 placed in the village of Ischim, far to the north 
 of Tobolsk, and only obtained an allowance of 
 ten kopecks a day. His wife, and their little 
 girl of about three years old, accompanied him, 
 and the former adapted herself patiently to her 
 situation, working hard at the comyaon domestic 
 cares for which she had been used to trust to 
 servants ; and as the little Prascovia grew 
 older, she not only helped her mother, but 
 gained employment in the village, going out to 
 assist in the late and scanty rye harvest, and 
 obtaining a small bundle of the rye as her wages. 
 She was very happy, even in this wild, dreary 
 home, amid all the deep snows, iron frosts, and 
 long darkness, until she was nearly fifteen, when 
 she began to understand how wretched her 
 father was in his banishment. He had sent a 
 petition to the Governor of Siberia, in the 
 charge of an officer, who had promised to repre- 
 sent his case strongly, and the watching for the 
 answer, and continued disappointment, when- 
 ever a courier arrived from Tobolsk, rendered 
 him so restless, that he no longer tried to put 
 on a cheerful countenance before his daughter, 
 but openly lamented his hard fate, in seeing her 
 growing up untaught and working with her 
 hands like the meanest serf. 
 
 His despair awoke Prascovia from her 
 childish enjoyments. She daily prayed that he 
 might be brought home and comforted, and, as 
 she said herself, it one day darted into her mind 
 like a flash of lightning, just as she finished say-
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 215 
 
 ing her prayers, that she might go to Peters- 
 burg and obtain his pardon. Long did she 
 dwell upon the thought, going along among the 
 pine-trees to dream over it, and to pray that 
 grace and strength might be given her for this 
 great work, — this exceeding bliss of restoring 
 her father to his home. Still she durst not 
 mention the project ; it seemed so impossible, 
 that it died away upon her lips whenever she 
 tried to ask her father's permission, till at last 
 she set herself a time, at which nothing should 
 prevent her from speaking. The day came ; 
 she went out among the whispering pines, and 
 again prayed for strength to make her proposal, 
 and that her father might be led to listen to it 
 favorably. But prayers are not always soon 
 answered. Her father listened to her plan in 
 silence, then called out to his wife : " Here is a 
 fine patroness ! Our daughter is going off to 
 Petersburg to speak for us to the emperor,'* 
 and he related all the scheme that had been 
 laid before him, with such a throbbing heart, 
 in a tone of amusement. 
 
 "She ought to be attending to her work 
 instead of talking nonsense," said the wife ; and 
 when poor Prascovia, more mortified at derisions 
 than by anger, began to cry bitterly, her 
 mother held out a cloth to her, saying in a kind, 
 half-coaxing tone, " Here, my dear, dust the 
 table for dinner, and then you may set oif to 
 Petersburg at your ease." 
 
 Still day after day Prascovia returned to the 
 charge, entreating that her scheme might at 
 last be considered, till her father grew dis-
 
 216 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 pleased, and severely forbade her to mention it 
 again. She abstained ; but for three whole 
 years she never failed to add to her daily 
 prayers a petition that his consent might be 
 gained. During this time her mother had a 
 long and serious illness, and Prascovia's care, 
 as both nurse and housewife, gave her father 
 and mother such confidence in her, that they 
 no longer regarded her as a child ; and when 
 f^he again ventured to bring her plan before 
 them, they did not laugh at her, but besought 
 her not to leave them in their declining yeai-s 
 to expose herself to danger on so wild a project. 
 She answered by tears, but she could not lay it 
 aside. 
 
 Another difficulty was, that without a pass- 
 port she would have been immediately sent back 
 to Ischim, and so many petitions from her father 
 had been disregarded, that there was little 
 -chance that any paper sent by him to Tobolsk 
 would be attended to. However, she found one 
 of their fellow-exiles who drew up a request in 
 ■due form for a passport for her, and after six 
 months more of waiting the answer arrived. She 
 was not herself a prisoner, she could leave 
 Siberia whenever she pleased, and the passport 
 was enclosed for her. Her father, however, 
 seized upon it, and locked it up, declaring that 
 he had only allowed the application to go in 
 the certainty that it would be refused, and that 
 nothing should induce him to let a girl of 
 eighteen depart alone for such a journey. 
 
 Prascovia still persevered, and her disap- 
 pointment worked upon her mother to promise
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 217 
 
 not to prevent her from going, providing her 
 father consented, and at last he yielded. 
 " What shall we do with this child ? " he said ; 
 " we shall have to let her go." Still he said, 
 " Do you think, poor child, that you can speak 
 to the emperor as you speak to your father in 
 Siberia ? Sentinels guard every entrance to his 
 palace, and you will never pass the threshold. 
 Poor even to beggary, without clothes or intro- 
 ductions, how could you appear, and who will 
 deign to present you ? " However, Prascovia 
 trusted that the same Providence that had 
 brought her the passport would smooth other 
 difficulties ; she had boundless confidence in 
 the Power to whom she had committed herself, 
 and her own earnest will made obstacles seem 
 as nothing. That her undertaking should not 
 be disobedient was all she desired. And at 
 length the consent was won, and the 8th of 
 September fixed for her day of departure. 
 
 At dawn she was dressed, with a little bag 
 over her shoulder, and her father was trying to 
 make her take the whole family store of wealth, 
 one silver rouble, though, as she truly said, this 
 was not enough to take her to Petersburg, and 
 might do some good at home, and she only took 
 it at last when he laid his strict commands on 
 her. Two of the poorest of the exiles tried to 
 force on her all the money they had, — thirty 
 copper kopecks and a silver twenty-kopeck 
 piece ; and though she refused these, she aflTec- 
 tionately promised that the kind givers should 
 share in any favor she should obtain. 
 
 When the first sunbeam shone into the room.
 
 218 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 there was, according to the beautiful old RuS' 
 sian custom, a short, solemn silence, for private 
 prayer for the traveler. Then, after a few 
 words, also customary, of indifferent conversa- 
 tion, there was a last embrace, and Prascovia, 
 kneeling down, received her parents' blessing, 
 rose up, and set her face upon her way, — a girl 
 of nineteen, with a single rouble in her pocket, 
 to walk through vast expanses of forest, and 
 make her way to the presence of her sovereign. 
 The two poor exiles did their utmost for her 
 by escorting her as far as they were allowed to 
 go from Ischim, and they did not leave her till 
 she had joined a party of girls on their way to 
 one of the villages she had to pass. Once they 
 had a fright from some half-tipsy lads ; but they 
 shook them off, and reached the village, where 
 Prascovia was known and hospitably lodged 
 for the night. She was much tired in the 
 morning, and when she first set forth on her 
 way, the sense of terror at her loneliness was 
 almost too much for her, till she thought of the 
 angel who succored Hagar, and took courage ; 
 but she had mistaken the road, and by and by 
 found herself at the last village she had passed 
 the night before. Indeed, she often lost her 
 way ; and when she asked the road to Peters- 
 burg, she was only laughed at. She knew the 
 names of no nearer places in the way, but 
 fancied that the sacred town of Kief, where the 
 Russian power had first begun, was on the 
 route ; so if people did not know which was the 
 road to Petersburg, she would ask for Kief. 
 One day, when she came to a place where three
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDOX. 219 
 
 roads branched off, she asked some travelers in 
 a carriage that passed her, \Yhich of them led to 
 Kief " Whichever you please," they answered, 
 laughing; "one leads as much as the other 
 either to Kief, Paris, or Rome." She chose the 
 middle one, which was fortunately the right, 
 but she was never able to give any exact account 
 of the course she had taken, for she confused 
 the names of the villages she passed, and only 
 remembered certain incidents that had impressed 
 themselves on her memory. In the lesser ham- 
 lets she was usually kindly received in the first 
 cottage where she asked for shelter, but in 
 larger places, with houses of a superior order, 
 she was of^en treated as a suspicious-looking 
 vagabond. For instance, when not far from a 
 place called Kamouicheff, she was caught in a 
 furious storm at the end of a long day's march. 
 She hurried on in hopes of reaching the nearest 
 houses ; but a tree was blown down just before 
 her, and she thought it safer to hasten into a 
 thicket, the close bushes of which sheltered her 
 a little against the w^ind. Darkness came on 
 before the storm abated enough for her to ven- 
 ture out, and there she stayed, without daring 
 to move, though the rain at length made its 
 way through the branches, and soaked her to 
 the skin. At dawn, she dragged herself to the 
 road, and was there offered a place in a cart 
 driven by a peasant, who set her down in the 
 middle of the village at about eight o'clock in 
 the morning. She fell down while getting out, 
 and her clothes were not only wet through with 
 the night's drenching, but covered with mire ;
 
 220 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 she was spent with cold and hunger, and felt 
 herself such a deplorable object, that the neat- 
 ness of the houses filled her with alarm. She, 
 however, ventured to approach an open window, 
 where she saw a woman shelling peas, and begged 
 to be allowed to rest and dry herself, but the 
 woman surveyed her scornfully, and ordered 
 her off; and she met with no better welcome at 
 any other house. At one, where she sat down 
 at the door, the mistress drove her off, saying 
 that she harbored neither thieves nor vagabonds. 
 " At least," thought the poor wanderer, " they 
 cannot hunt me from the church ; " but she 
 found the door locked, and when she sat down 
 on the stone steps, the village boys came round 
 her, hooting at her, and calling her a thief and 
 runaway ; and thus she remained for two whole 
 hours, ready to die with cold and hunger, but 
 inwardly praying for strength to bear this terri- 
 ble trial. 
 
 At last, however, a kinder woman came up 
 through the rude little mob, and spoke to her 
 in a gentle manner. Prascovia told what a 
 terrible night she had spent in the wood, and 
 the starost, or village magistrate, examined her 
 passport, and found that it answered for her 
 character. The good woman offered to take her 
 home, but on trying to rise, she found her limbs 
 so stiff that she could not move ; she had lost 
 one of her shoes, and her feet were terribly 
 swollen ; indeed, she never entirely recovered 
 the effects of that dreadful night of exposure. 
 The villagers were shocked at their own inho&- 
 pitality ; they fetched a cart and lodged her
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 221 
 
 safely with the good woman, with whom she 
 remained several days, and when she was again 
 able to proceed, one of the villagers gave her a 
 pair of boots. She was often obliged to rest for 
 a day or two, according to the state of her 
 strength, the weather, or the reception she met 
 with, and she always endeavored to requite the 
 hospitality she received by little services, such 
 as sweeping, washing, or sewing for her hosts. 
 She found it wiser not to begin by telling her 
 story, or people took her for an impostor ; she 
 generally began by begging for a morsel of 
 food ; then, if met with a kind answer, she 
 would talk of her weariness and obtain leave to 
 rest ; and when she was a little more at home 
 with the people of the house, would tell them 
 her story ; and when, if nothing else would do, 
 she was in urgent need, the sight of her pass- 
 port secured attention to her from the petty 
 authorities, since she was there described as the 
 daughter of a captain in the army. But she 
 always said that she did not, comparatively, 
 often meet with rebuffs, whilst the act . of kind- 
 ness she had received were beyond counting. 
 " People fancy," she used afterward to say, 
 " that . . . most disastrous, because I tell 
 the troubles and adventures that befell me, and 
 pass over the kind welcomes I received, because 
 nobody cares to hear them." 
 
 Once she had a terrible fright. She had 
 been refused an entrance at all the houses in a 
 village street, when an old man, who had been 
 very short and sharp in his rejection, came and 
 called her back. She did not like his looks,
 
 222 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 but there was no help for it, and she turaed 
 back with him. His wife looked even more 
 repulsive than himself, and no sooner had they 
 entered the miserable one-roomed cottage, than 
 she shut the door and fastened it with strong 
 bolts, so that the only light in the place came 
 from oak slips which were set on fire and stuck 
 into a hole in the wall. By their flicker Pras- 
 covia thought she saw the old people staring at 
 her most unpleasantly, and presently they asked 
 her where she came from. 
 
 " From Ischim. I am going to Petersburg.'^ 
 
 " And you have plenty of money for the jour- 
 ney?" 
 
 " Only 80 copper-kopecks now," said Pras- 
 covia, very glad just then to have no more. 
 
 " That's a lie," shouted the old woman ; 
 " people don't go that distance without money." 
 
 She vainly declared it was all she had ; they 
 did not believe her, and she could hardly keep 
 back her tears of indignation and terror. At 
 last they gave her a few potatoes to eat, and 
 told her to lie down on the great brick stove, 
 the wide ledges of w^iich are the favorite 
 sleeping-places of the poorer Russians. She 
 laid aside her upper garments, and with them 
 her pockets and her pack, hoping within herself 
 that the smallness of the sum might at least 
 make her not worth murdering ; then praying 
 with all her might, she lay down. As soon as 
 they thought her asieep, they began whispering. 
 
 " She must have more money," they said ; 
 " she certainly has notes." 
 
 " I saw a string round her neck," said the
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 223 
 
 old woman, "and a little bag hanging to it. 
 The money must be there." 
 
 Then after some lower murmurs, they said, 
 " Xo one saw her come in here. She is not 
 known to be still in the village." 
 
 And next the horrified girl saw the old 
 woman climbing up the stove. She again de- 
 clared that she had no money, and entreated 
 for her life, but the woman made no answer, 
 only pulled the bag from off her neck, and felt 
 her clothes all over, even taking off her boots, 
 and opening her hands, while the man held the 
 light ; but, at last, finding nothing in the bag 
 but the passport, they left her alone and lay 
 down themselves. She lay trembling a good 
 while, but at last she knew by their breathing 
 that they were both asleep, and she, too, fell 
 into a slumber from which she did not waken 
 till the old woman roused her at broad daylight. 
 There was a plentiful breakfast of peasant fare 
 prepared for her, and both spoke to her much 
 more kindly, asking her questions, in reply to 
 which she told them part of her story. They 
 seemed interested, and assured her that they 
 only had searched her because they thought she 
 might be a dishonest wanderer, but that she 
 would find that they were far from being rob- 
 bers themselves. Prascovia was heartily glad 
 to leave their house ; but when she ventured to 
 look into her little store, she found that her 80 
 kopecks had become 120. She always fully 
 believed that these people had had the worst 
 intentions, and she thanked God for having 
 turned their hearts. Her other greatest alarm
 
 224 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 was one morning, when she had set out from 
 her night's lodging before anyone was up, and 
 all the village dogs flew at her. Running and 
 striking with her stick only made them more 
 furious, and one of them was tearing at the 
 bottom of her gown, when she flung herself on 
 her face recommending her soul to God, as she 
 felt a cold nose upon her neck ; but the beast 
 was only smelling her, she was not even once 
 bitten, and a peasant passing by drove them off*. 
 Winter began to come on, and an eight days' 
 snow-storm forced her to stop till it was over ; 
 but when she wanted to set off* again, the peas- 
 ants declared that to travel on foot alone in the 
 snow would be certain death even to the strong- 
 est men, for the wind raises the drifts and 
 makes the way indistinguishable, and they de- 
 tained her till the arrival of a convoy of sledges, 
 which were taking provisions to Ekatherinen- 
 burg for the Christmas feasts. The drivers, on 
 learning her story, offered her a seat in a sledge, 
 but her garments were not adapted for winter 
 traveling, and though they covered her with 
 one of the wrappers of their goods, on the 
 fourth day, when they arrived at the kharstina, 
 or solitary posting-station, the intense cold had 
 so affected her that she was obliged to be lifted 
 from the sledge, with one cheek frost-bitten. 
 The good carriers rubbed it with snow, and 
 took every possible care of her ; but they said 
 it was impossible to take her on without a 
 sheepskin pelisse, since otherwise her death from 
 the increasing cold was certain. She cried 
 bitterly at the thought of missing this excellent
 
 THE PETITIONEES FOR PARDON. 225 
 
 escort, and, on the other hand, the people of the 
 kharstina would not keep her. The carriers 
 then agreed to club together to buy her a 
 sheepskin, but none could be had ; no one at 
 the station would spare theirs, as they were in a 
 lonely place and could not easily get another. 
 Though the carriers even offered a sum beyond 
 the cost to the maid of the inn, if she would 
 part with hers, she still refused ; but at last an 
 expedient was found. " Let us lend her our 
 pelisses by turns," said one of the carriers. 
 " Or rather, let her always wear mine, and we 
 will change about every verst." To this all 
 agreed ; Prascovia was well wrapped up in one 
 of the sheepskin pelisses, whose owner rolled 
 himself in the wrapper, curled his feet under 
 him, and sung at the top of his lungs. Every 
 verst-stone there was a shifting of sheepskins, 
 and there was much merriment over the 
 changes, while all the way Prascovia's silent 
 prayers arose, that these kind men's health 
 might suffer no injury from the cold to which 
 they thus exposed themselves. 
 
 At the inn at which they put up at Ekather- 
 inenburg, the hostess told Prascovia the names 
 of the most charitable persons in the town, and 
 so especially praised a certain IMadame Milin, 
 that Prascovia resolved to apply to her the 
 next day for advice how to proceed further. 
 First, as it was Sunday, however, she went to 
 church. Her worn traveling dress, as well as 
 her fervent devotion, attracted attention, and 
 as she came out, a lady asked her who she was. 
 Prascovia gave her name, and further requested
 
 226 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 to be directed where to find Madam Milin, 
 whose benevolence was everywhere talked of. 
 " I am afraid," said the lady, " that this Madame 
 Milin's beneficence is a good deal exaggerated ; 
 but come with me and I will take care of you." 
 
 Prascovia did not much like this way of speak- 
 ing, but the stranger pointed to Madame Milin's 
 door, saying that if she were rejected there, she 
 must return to her. Without answering, Pras- 
 covia asked the servants whether Madame 
 Milin was at home, and only when they looked 
 at their mistress in amazement, did she discover 
 that she had been talking to Madame Milin 
 herself all the time. 
 
 This good lady kept her as a guest all the 
 rest of the winter, and strove to remedy the 
 effects of the severe cold she had caught on the 
 night of the tempest. At the same time, she 
 taught Prascovia many of the common matters 
 of education becoming her station. Captain 
 Lopouloff and his wife had been either afraid 
 to teach their daughter anything that would 
 recall their former condition in life, or else had 
 become too dispirited and indifferent for the 
 exertion, and Prascovia had so entirely forgotten 
 all she had known before her father's banish- 
 ment, that she had to learn to read and write over 
 again. She could never speak of Madame 
 Milin's kindness without tears, but the comfort 
 and ease in which she now lived made her all 
 the more distressed at the thought of her parents 
 toiling alone among the privations of their 
 snowy wilderness. Madame Milin, however, 
 would not allow her to leave Ekatherinenburg
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 227 
 
 till the spring, and then took a place for her in 
 a barge upon the river Khama, a confluent of 
 the Volga, and put her under the care of a 
 man who was going to Nishni Novgorod, with 
 a cargo of iron and salt. 
 
 Unfortunately this person fell sick and was 
 obliged to be left behind at a little village on 
 the banks of the Khama, and Prascovia was 
 again left unprotected. In ascending the Volga, 
 the barge was towed along by horses on the 
 bank, and in a short, sharp storm, the boatman, 
 in endeavoring to keep the barge from running 
 against the bank, pushed Prascovia and two 
 other passengers overboard with a heavy oar. 
 They were instantly rescued, but there was no 
 privacy on the barge, and as Prascovia could 
 not bear to undress herself in public, her wet 
 clothes increased the former injury to her 
 health. Madame Milin, trusting to the person 
 to whom she had confided her young friend, to 
 forward her on from Novgorod, had given her 
 no introductions to any one there, nor any di- 
 rections how to proceed, and the poor girl was 
 thus again cast upon the world alone, though, 
 thanks to her kind friend, with rather more 
 both in her purse and in her bundle than when 
 she had left Ischim ; but, on the other hand, 
 with a far clearer knowledge of the difficulties 
 that lay before her, and a much greater dread 
 of cities. 
 
 The bargemen set her ashore at the foot of a 
 bridge at the usual landing-place. She saw a 
 church on a rising ground before her, and ac- 
 cording to her usual custom, £he went up to
 
 228 BOOK OF GOLDEN L)P:EDS. 
 
 pray there before going to seek a lodging. The 
 building was empty, but behind a grating she 
 heard the voices of women at their evening 
 devotions. It was a nunnery, and these female 
 tones refreshed and encouraged her. " If God 
 grants my prayers," she thought, '* I shall hide 
 myself under such a veil as theirs, for I shall 
 have nothing to do but to thank and praise 
 Him." After the service, she lingered near 
 the convent, dreading to expose herself to the 
 rude remarks she might meet at an inn, and at 
 last, reproaching herself for this failure in her 
 trust, she returned into the church to renew 
 her prayer for faith and courage. One of the 
 nuns who had remained there told her it was 
 time to close the doors, and Prascovia ventured 
 to tell her of her repugnance to enter an inn 
 alone, and to beg for a night's shelter in the 
 convent. The sister replied that they did not 
 receive travelers, but that the abbess might 
 give her some assistance. Prascovia showed 
 her purse and explained that the kind friends 
 at Ekatherinenburg had placed her above want, 
 and that all she needed was a night's lodging ; 
 and the nun, pleased with her manner, took her 
 to the abbess. Her artless story, supported by 
 her passport, and by Madame Milin's letters, 
 filled the good sisterhood with excitement and 
 delight ; the abbess made her sleep in her own 
 room, and finding how severely she was suffering 
 from the effects of her fall into the Volga, in- 
 sisted on her remaining a few days to rest. 
 Before those few days were over, Prascovia was 
 sejzed with so dangerous an illness that the
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 229 
 
 physicians themselves despaired of her life ; but 
 even at the worst she never gave herself up. 
 " I do not believe my hour is come," she said. 
 " I hope God will allow me to finish my work.'' 
 And she did recover, though so slowly that all 
 the summer passed by before she could continue 
 her journey, and then she was too weak for 
 rough posting-vehicles, and could only wait 
 among the nuns for the roads to be fit for 
 sledges. 
 
 At last she set off again for Moscow in a 
 covered sledge, with a letter from the abbess to 
 a lady, who sent her on again to Petersburg, 
 under the care of a merchant, with a letter to 
 
 the Princess de T , and thus at length she 
 
 arrived at the end of her journey, eighteen 
 months after she had set off from Ischim with 
 her rouble and her staff. The merchant took 
 her to his own house, but before he had found 
 out the Princess, he was obliged to go to Riga, 
 and his wife, though courteous and hospitable, 
 did not exert herself to forward the cause of 
 her guest. She tried to find one of the ladies 
 to whom she had been recommended, but the 
 house was on the other side of the Neva and as 
 it was now February, the ice was in so unsafe a 
 state that no one was allowed to pass. A visi- 
 tor at the merchant's advised her to get a peti- 
 tion to the Senate drawn up, begging for a 
 revision of her father's trial, and offered to get 
 it drawn up for her. Accordingly, day after 
 day, for a whole fortnight, did the p^or girl 
 stand on the steps of the Senate-house, holding 
 out her petition to every one whom she fancied
 
 230 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 to be a senator, and being sometimes roughly- 
 spoken to, sometimes waved aside, sometimes 
 offered a small coin as a beggar, but never 
 attended to. Holy Week came on, and Pras- 
 covia's devotions and supplications were ad- 
 dressed entirely to her God. On Easter-day, 
 that day of universal joy, she was unusually 
 hopeful ; she went out with her hostess in the 
 carriage, and told her that she felt a certainty 
 that another time she should meet with success. 
 
 " I would trouble myself no more with sen- 
 ates and senators," said the lady. " It is just 
 as well worth while as it would be to offer your 
 petition to yonder iron man," pointing to the 
 famous statue of Peter the Great. 
 
 " Well," said Prascovia, " God is Almighty, 
 and if He would, He could make that iron man 
 stoop and take my petition." 
 
 The lady laughed carelessly; but as they 
 were looking at the statue, she observed that 
 the bridge of boats over the Neva was restored 
 and offered to take Prascovia at once to leave 
 
 her letter with Mde. de L . They found 
 
 this lady at home, and already prepared to 
 expect her ; she received her most kindly, and 
 looked at the petition, which she found so 
 ignorantly framed and addressed, that it was 
 no wonder that it had not been attended to. 
 She said that she had a relation high in office 
 in the Senate who could have helped Prascovia, 
 but that unfortunately they were not on good 
 terms. 
 
 Easter-day, however, is the happy occasion 
 when, in the Greek Church, all reconciliations
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 231 
 
 are made. Families make a point of meeting 
 with the glorious greeting : " Christ is risen," 
 and the response, " He is risen indeed ; " and 
 the kiss exchanged at these glad tidings seals 
 general pardon for all the bickerings of the 
 year. And while Prascovia was at dinner with 
 her friends, this very gentleman came in, with 
 the accustomed words, and, without further 
 delay, she was introduced to him, and her cir- 
 cumstances explained. He took great interest 
 in her, but assured her that application to the 
 Senate was useless ; for even if she should 
 prevail to have the trial revised, it would be a 
 tedious and protracted affair, and very uncer- 
 tain ; so that it would be far better to trust to 
 the kind disposition of the Czar Alexander 
 himself. 
 
 Prascovia went back to the merchant's 
 greatly encouraged, and declaring that, after 
 all, she owed something to the statue of Peter 
 the Great, for but for him they might not have 
 observed that the Neva was open ! The mer- 
 chant himself now returned from Riga, and was 
 concerned at finding her affairs no forwarder. 
 
 He took her at once to the Princess de T , 
 
 a very old lady, who received her kindly and 
 let her remain in her house ; but it was full of 
 grand company and card-playing, and the 
 Princess herself was so aged and infirm, that 
 she, as well as all her guests, forgot all about 
 the young stranger, who, with a heart pining 
 with hope deferred, meekly moved about the 
 house, — finding that every opening of promise 
 led only to disappointment. Still she recollected
 
 232 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 that she had been advised to present a request 
 
 to M. V , one of the secretaries of the 
 
 Empress Mary, widow of the last, and mother 
 of the present Czar. With this she went to his 
 house. He had heard of her, but fancying hers 
 a common case of poverty, had put out fifty 
 roubles to be given to her. He was not at 
 home when she called ; but his wife saw her, 
 was delighted with her, drew from her the 
 whole story of her perseverance in her father's 
 
 cause, and kept her to see M. V . He, 
 
 too, was warmly interested, and going at once 
 to the empress-mother, who was one of the 
 most gentle and charitable women in the world, 
 he brought back her orders that she should be 
 presented to the empress that very evening. 
 
 Poor child, she turned pale and her eyes 
 filled with tears at this sudden brightening of 
 
 hope. Instead of thanking M. V , her 
 
 first exclamation was, " My God, not in vain 
 have I put my trust in Thee." Then kissing 
 
 Mme. V 's hands, she cried, "You, you 
 
 alone can make my thanks acceptable to the 
 good man who is saving my father ! " 
 
 She never disturbed herself as to her dress, 
 or any matter of court etiquette : her simple 
 heart was wrapped up in its one strong purpose. 
 
 Mme. V merely arranged the dress she 
 
 had on, and sent her off with the secretary. 
 When she really saw the palace before her, she 
 said, " O, if my father could see me, how glad 
 he would be. My God, finish Thy work I " 
 
 The Empress Mary was a tender-hearted 
 woman of the simplest manners. She received
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 233 
 
 Prascovia in her private room, and listened 
 most kindly to her story ; then praised her self- 
 devotion and filial love, and promised to speak 
 in her behalf to the emperor, — giving her 300 
 roubles for her present needs. Prascovia was 
 so much overcome by her kindness, that when 
 
 afterward Mme. V asked how she had 
 
 sped in her interview, she could only weep for 
 gladness. 
 
 Two days after the empress-mother hei'self 
 took her to a private audience of the emperor 
 himself and his wife, the Empress Elizabeth. 
 No particulars are given of this meeting, ex- 
 cept that Prascovia was most graciously 
 received, and that she came away with a gift 
 of 5000 roubles and the promise that her 
 father's trial should be at once revised. 
 
 And now all the persons who had scarcely 
 attended Prascovia vied with each other in 
 making much of her ; they admired her face, 
 found out that she had the stamp of high birth, 
 and invited her to their drawing-rooms. She 
 was as quiet and unmoved as ever ; she never 
 thought of herself, nor of the effect she pro- 
 duced, but went on in her simplicity, enjoying 
 all that was kindly meant. Two ladies took 
 her to see the state apartments of the Imperial 
 palace. When they pointed to the throne, she 
 stopped short, exclaiming, " Is that the throne ? 
 Then that is what I dreaded so much in Siber- 
 ia ! " And as all her past hopes and fears, her 
 dangers and terrors, rushed on her, she clasped 
 her hands, and exclaiming, "The emperor's 
 throne ! " she almost fainted. Then she begged
 
 234 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 leave to draw near, and, kneeling* down, she 
 kissed the steps, of which she had so often 
 dreamt as the term of her labors, and she 
 exclaimed aloud, " Father, father ! see whither 
 the Divine Power has led me ! My God, bless 
 this throne, — bless him who sits on it, — make 
 him as happy as he is making me ! " The 
 ladies could hardly get her away from it, and 
 she was so much exhausted by the strength of 
 her feelings that she could not continue her 
 course of sight-seeing all that day. 
 
 She did not forget the two fellow-exiles who 
 had been so kind to her ; she mentioned them 
 to every one, but was always advised not to 
 encumber her suit for her father by mentioning 
 them. However, when, after some delay, she 
 received notice that a ukase had been issued 
 for her father's pardon, and was further told 
 that His Majesty wished to know if she had 
 anything to ask for herself, she replied that he 
 would overwhelm her with his favors if he 
 would extend the same mercy that he had 
 granted to her father to these two poor old 
 banished gentlemen ; and the emperor, struck 
 by this absence of all selfishness, readily par- 
 doned them for their offence, which had been 
 of a political nature, and many years old. 
 
 Prascovia had always intended to dedicate 
 herself as a nun, believing that this would be 
 her fullest thank-offering for her father's par- 
 don, and her heart was drawn toward the 
 convent at Nishni, where she had been so 
 tenderly nursed during her illness. First, how- 
 ever, she went to Kief, the place where the
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 235 
 
 first Christian teaching in Russia had begun, 
 and where the tombs of St. Olga, the pious 
 queen, and Vladimir, the destroyer of idols, 
 were objects of pilgrimage. There she took 
 the monastic vows, a step which seems surpris- 
 ing in so dutiful a daughter, without her par- 
 ent's consent ; but she seems to have thought 
 that only thus could her thankfulness be 
 evinced, and to have supposed herself fulfilling 
 the vows she had made in her distress. From 
 Kief she returned to Nishni, where she hoped 
 to meet her parents. She had reckoned that 
 about the time of her arrival they might be on 
 their way back from Siberia, and as soon as 
 she met the abbess, she eagerly asked if there 
 were no tidings of them. " Excellent tidings," 
 said the abbess. " I will tell you in my rooms." 
 Prascovia followed her in silence, until they 
 reached the reception-room, and there stood 
 her father and mother ! Their first impulse on 
 seeing the daughter who had done so much for 
 them was to fall on their knees ; but she cried 
 out with dismay, and herself kneeling, ex- 
 claimed, "What are you doing? It is God, 
 God only, who worked for us. Thanks be to 
 His providence for the wonders He has 
 wrought in our favor." 
 
 For one week the parents and child were 
 happy together ; but then Captain Lopouloff 
 and his wife were forced to proceed on their 
 journey. The rest of Prascovia's life was one 
 long decline, her health had been fatally injured 
 by the sufferings that she had undergone ; and 
 though she lived some years, and saw her
 
 236 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 parents again, she ^vas gently fading away all 
 the time. She made one visit to Petersburg, and 
 one of those who saw her there described her 
 as having a fine oval face, extremely black 
 eyes, an open brow, and a remarkable calmness 
 of expression, though with a melancholy smile. 
 It is curious that Scott has made this open- 
 browed serenity of expression a characteristic 
 of his Jeanie Deans. 
 
 Prascovia's illness ended suddenly on the 9th 
 of December, 1809. She had been in church 
 on that same morning, and was lying on her 
 bed, with the sisters talking round her, when 
 they observed that they were tiring her. They 
 went away for one of their hours of prayer, 
 leaving one, who began to chant the devotions 
 aloud, but Prascovia begged her to read instead 
 of singing, as the voice disturbed her prayers. 
 Still she did not complain, and they left her at 
 night without alarm, but in the morning they 
 found her in her last long sleep, her hands 
 forming the sign of the cross. 
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZAKAGOZA. 
 
 1808. 
 
 One of the most unjustifiable acts of Napo- 
 leon's grasping policy was the manner in which 
 he entrapped the poor, foolish, weak Spanish 
 royal family into his power, and then kept them
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 237 
 
 in captivity, and gave their kingdom to his 
 brother Joseph. The whole Spanish people 
 were roused to resistance by this atrocious 
 transfer, and the whole of the peasantry rose 
 as one man to repel this shameful aggression. 
 A long course of bad government had done 
 much to destroy the vigor of the nation, and 
 as soldiers in the open field they were utterly 
 worthless ; but still there were high qualities 
 of patience and perseverance among them, and 
 these w^ere never more fully shown than in their 
 defence of Zaragoza, the ancient capital in the 
 kingdom of Aragon. 
 
 This city stands in an open plain, covered 
 with olive-grounds, and closed in by high moun- 
 tains. About a mile to the southwest of the 
 city was some high ground called the Torrero, 
 upon which stood a convent, and close beside 
 the city flowed the Ebro, crossed by two 
 bridges, one of which was made of wood, and 
 said to be the most beautiful specimen of the 
 kind of fabric in Europe. The water is of a 
 dirty red, but grows clear w^ien it has stood 
 long enough, and is then excellent to drink. 
 There were no regular fortifications, only a 
 brick wall, ten or twelve feet high, and three 
 feet thick, and often encroached upon by houses. 
 Part of it was, however, of old Roman work- 
 manship, having been built under Augustus, by 
 whom the town was called Csesarea Augusta, a 
 name since corrupted into Zaragoza (both z'a 
 pronounced as softly as possible). Four of the 
 twelve gates were in this old wall, which was 
 so well built as to put to shame all the mofleru
 
 238 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 buildings and their bad bricks. These were 
 the material of even the churches and convents, 
 all alike with the houses, and so bad was the 
 construction that there were cracks in most of 
 the buildings from top to bottom. The houses 
 were generally three stories high, the streets 
 very narrow and crooked, except one wide and 
 long one, called sometimes the Calle Santa, 
 sometimes the Cozo. Zaragoza was highly 
 esteemed as the first seat of Christianity in 
 Spain ; indeed, legend declared that St. James 
 the Great had preached there, and had beheld 
 a vision of the blessed Virgin, standing upon a 
 marble pillar, and bidding him there build a 
 church in honor of her. The pillar was the 
 great object of veneration in Aragon, and there 
 was a double cathedral, with service performed 
 alternately in the two parts. So much venerated 
 was our Lady of the Pillar, that Pilar became 
 a girl's name in the surrounding country, and 
 this was the centre of pilgrimages to the Ara- 
 gonese, as St. James' shrine at Compostella 
 was to the Castilians. As is well said by 
 Southey, in the fiery trial of the Zaragozans, 
 " the dross and tinsel of their faith disappeared, 
 and its pure gold remained." The inhabitants 
 appeared, like most Spaniards since the blight 
 of Philip IPs policy had fallen on them, dull, 
 apathetic beings, too proud and indolent for 
 exertion, the men smoking cigaritos at their 
 doors, the women only coming out with black 
 silk mantillas over their heads to go to church. 
 The French, on first seizing it, with the rest of 
 Spain, thought it the dullest place they had 
 
 i
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 239 
 
 ever yet entered, and greatly despised the in- 
 habitants. 
 
 General Lefebvre Desnouettes was sent to 
 quiet the insurrection against the French in 
 Aragon ; and on the 13th and 14th of June, 
 1808, he easily routed the bodies of Spaniards 
 who tried to oppose him. The flying Spanish 
 troops were pursued into Zaragoza by the 
 French cavalry, but here the inhabitants were 
 able from their houses to drive back the enemy. 
 Don Jose Palafox, a Spanish nobleman, who 
 had been equerry to the king, took the com- 
 mand of the garrison, who w^ere only 220 sol- 
 diers, and endeavored to arm the inhabitants, 
 about 60,000 in number, and all full of the 
 most determined spirit of resistance to the inva- 
 ders. He had only sixteen cannon and a few 
 muskets, but fowling-pieces w^ere collected, and 
 pikes were forged by all the smiths in the town. 
 
 The siege began on the 27th of June. The 
 French army was in considerable force, and 
 had a great supply of mortars and battering 
 cannon ; such as could by their shells and shot 
 rend the poor brick city from end to end. The 
 Torrero quickly fell into their hands, and from 
 that height there was a constant discharge of 
 those terrible shells and grenades that burst in 
 pieces w^here they fall, and carry destruction 
 everywhere. Not one building within the city 
 could withstand them, and they were fired, not 
 at the walls, but into the town. All that could 
 be done was to place beams slanting against the 
 houses, so that there might be a shelter under 
 ihem from the shells. The awnings that sLel-
 
 240 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 tered the windows from the summer sun were 
 taken down, sewn up into sacks, and filled with 
 earth, then piled up before the gates, with a 
 deep trench dug before them ; the houses on 
 the walls were pulled down, and every effort 
 made to strengthen the defences, the whole of 
 the lately quiet, lazy population toiling earnestly 
 together, in the midst of the deadly shower 
 that was always falling from the Torrero, and 
 striking down numbers as they worked. 
 
 The same spirit animated every one. The 
 Countess Burita, a beautiful young lady, formed 
 the women into an organized company for carry- 
 ing wine, water, and food to the soldiers on 
 guard, and relieving the wounded, and through- 
 out the whole siege her courage and perseverance 
 never failed. She was continually seen in the 
 places most exposed to the enemy's fire, bring- 
 ing help and refreshment wherever she appeared 
 among the hard-pressed warriors. The nuns 
 became nurses to the sick and wounded, and 
 made cartridges, which were carried to the 
 defenders by the children of the place. The 
 monks attended the sick and dying, or else bore 
 arms, feeling that this, — the cause of their 
 country, their king, and their faith, — had be- 
 come to them a holy war. Thus men, women, 
 and children alike seemed full of the same loyal 
 spirit ; but some traitor must have been among 
 them, for on the night of the 28th, the powder 
 magazine in the centre of the town was blown 
 up, destroying fourteen houses and killing 200 
 people. At the same time, evidently prepared 
 to profit by the confusion thus caused, the
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZAEAGOZA. 241 
 
 French appeared before three of the gates, and 
 a dreadful fire began from the Torrero, shells 
 bursting everywhere among the citizens, who 
 were striving in the dark to dig their friends 
 out of the ruined houses. 
 
 The worst of the attack was at the gate called 
 Portillo, and lasted the whole day. The sand- 
 bag defence was frequently destroyed by the 
 fire, and as often renewed under this dreadful 
 shot by the undaunted Spaniards. So dreadful 
 was the carnage, that at one moment every man 
 of the defenders lay dead. At that moment 
 one of the women who was carrying refresh- 
 ments came up. Her name was Agostina 
 Zaragoza ; she was a fine-looking woman of 
 two-and-twenty, and was full of a determined 
 spirit. She saw the citizens hesitate to step 
 forward to man the defences where certain 
 death awaited them. Springing forward, she- 
 caught the match from the hand of a dead 
 gunner, fired his twenty-six pounder, and 
 seating herself on it, declared it her charge for 
 the rest of the siege. And she kept her word. 
 She was the heroine of the siege where all were- 
 heroines. She is generally called the Maid of 
 Zaragoza, but she seems to have been the widow 
 of one of the artillerymen, who was here killed, 
 and that she continued to serve his gun, — not 
 solely as a patriot, but because she thus obtained 
 a right to provisions for her little children, Avho 
 otherwise might have starved in the famine that 
 began to prevail. If this lessens the romance, 
 it seems to us to add to the beauty and woman- 
 liness of Agostina's character, that for the sake
 
 242 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 of her children, she should have run into the hot- 
 test of the peril, and taken up the task in which 
 her husband had died. 
 
 Her readiness in that critical moment saved 
 the Portillo for that time, but the attacks were 
 renewed again and again with equal fury and fear- 
 ful bloodshed. The French general had fancied 
 that he could easily take such an unfortified 
 place, and finding it so difficult, had lost his 
 temper, and was thus throwing away his men's 
 lives ; but after several such failures he began 
 to invest the city regularly. Gunpowder was 
 failing the besieged until they supplied its place 
 by wonderful ingenuity. AH the sulphur in 
 the place was collected, nitre was obtained by 
 washing it out of the soil of the streets, and 
 charcoal by charring the stalks of the very 
 large variety of hemp that grows in that part 
 of Spain. At the end of forty-six days the city 
 was entirely surrounded, provisions were falling 
 short, and there was not a single place safe 
 from the shot and shell. On the second of 
 August, a hospital caught fire, and the courage 
 of the women was again shown by their exer- 
 tions in carrying out the sick and wounded 
 from the flames in spite of the continued shot 
 from the enemy's batteries ; indeed, throughout 
 the siege the number of women and boys who 
 were killed was quite as great in proportion 
 as that of men ; the only difficulty was to 
 keep them from running needlessly into 
 danger. 
 
 On the fourth of August, the French opened 
 a battery within pistol-shot of the gate called
 
 AG08TINA OF ZARAGOZA. 24?5 
 
 after the great Convent of St. Engracia. The 
 mud walls were leveled at the first discharge, 
 and after a deadly struggle the besiegers forced 
 their way into the convent, and before the end 
 of the day had gained all that side of the city^ 
 up to the main central street, the Cozo. General 
 Lefebvre thought all was now over with his 
 enemies, and summoned Palafox to surrender, 
 in a note containing only these words : "Head- 
 quarters, St. Engracia. Capitulation." The 
 answer he received was equally brief: " Head- 
 quarters, Zaragoza. War to the knife." 
 
 There they were. A street about as wdde a? 
 Pall-Mall was all that lay between besiegers 
 and besieged, to whom every frail brick house 
 had become a fortress, while the openings of the 
 narrow cross streets were piled up with sand- 
 bags to form batteries. Soon the space was 
 heaped wdth dead bodies, either killed on the 
 spot or thrown from the windows, and this was 
 enough to breed a pestilence among the sur- 
 vivors. The French let them lie, knowing that 
 such a disease would be the surest destruction 
 to the garrison, and they fired on the Spaniards 
 whenever they ventured out to bury them. 
 Upon this Palafox devised tying ropes to his 
 French prisoners, and driving them out to- 
 bring in the corpses for burial. The enemy 
 would not fire on their own countrymen, and 
 thus this danger was lessened, although not 
 entirely removed, and sickness as well as 
 famine was added to the misery of the brave 
 Aragonese. The manufacture of powder, too,, 
 could no longer be carried on, but happily Dob
 
 244 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Francisco, the brother of Palafox, was able to 
 make his way into the city with 3000 men, and 
 a convoy of arms and ammunition. Padre San- 
 tiago Sass, the curate of one of the parishes of 
 Zaragoza, showed himself one of the bravest of 
 all the brave, fighting at every hazardous point, 
 and at other times moving about among the 
 sick and dying to give them the last rites of 
 the Church. No one's heart failed in that 
 •eleven days of one continual battle from house 
 to house, from room to room, when the nights 
 were times of more dreadful conflict than the 
 clays. Often, under cover of the darkness, a 
 party would rush across to seize a battery ; and 
 once a Spaniard made his way under cover of 
 the corpses, which filled the whole space between 
 the combatants, and fastened a rope to one of 
 the French guns. It had almost been dragged 
 across the street, and was only lost by the 
 breaking of the rope. 
 
 On the eighth of August, the Spaniards 
 agreed that if they could not hold their ground 
 in the city, they must retire across the Ebro, 
 break down the bridge, and defend the suburbs 
 as they had defended the streets. Only an 
 -eighth part of their city now remained to them ; 
 and on the night of the 13th the enemy's fire 
 was more destructive and constant than ever. 
 The great Convent of St. Engracia was blown 
 up, the whole of the French part of the city 
 glared with flaming houses, the climax of the 
 horrors of the siege seemed to come ! But the 
 reports of the batteries gradually ceased, and, 
 with the early morning light, the garrison
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 245 
 
 beheld the road to Pamplona filled with French 
 troops in full retreat. 
 
 In effect, intelligence had been received of 
 reverses to the invaders, and of extended move- 
 ments among the Spaniards, which had led the- 
 French to decide on quitting Zaragoza ere 
 these desperate defenders should be reinforced 
 by the army which was collecting to relieve 
 them. 
 
 Their fortitude had won the day. The 
 carnage had ended, and it remained for them 
 to clear their streets from the remains of the 
 deadly strife, and to give thanks for their 
 deliverance. Agostina, in testimony of her 
 courage, was to receive for life the pay of an 
 artilleryman, and to wear a little shield of 
 honor embroidered on her sleeve. 
 
 So ended the wonderful siege of Zaragoza. 
 It is sad to know that when the French forces 
 came in full numbers into Spain, the brave 
 town shared the fate of the rest of the country. 
 But the resistance had not been in vain ; it had 
 raised a feeling for the gallant Spaniards 
 throughout Europe, and inspired a trust in 
 their constancy which contributed to bring 
 them that aid from England by which their 
 country was, after six years, finally freed front 
 the French usurpation.
 
 246 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 CASAL NOVO. 
 
 1811. 
 
 There is something exceedingly interesting 
 in knowing what a brave and generous man, 
 •who had never flinched from any danger, 
 looked back upon in his last days as the one 
 Golden Deed of his life ; and therefore among 
 the many noble and spirited actions during the 
 war by which the British arms chased the 
 usurping French out of the peninsula, that one 
 is selected of which the doer spoke thus, forty- 
 fieven years later, when he thought himself 
 upon his death-bed : 
 
 " As I lie here and think of my past life," 
 said Sir William Napier, " I feel small — very 
 small indeed. I try to remember if I have 
 done any good, but the evil far overbalances it. 
 "VVe shall all be weighed in the balance, and 
 found wanting. In the eye of the great good 
 God, earthly goodness can have no positive 
 existence, yet He sees and makes allowances for 
 us all, giving more credit for good and less 
 blame for evil than our fellow-creatures' harsh 
 judging would have done. Men should strive 
 after those priceless virtues of patience, wisdom, 
 charity, self-sacrifice. In looking back on my 
 life, it would be a comfort to me now if I could 
 remember to have done a perfectly self-sacrific- 
 ing act ; if I could think I had been ready and 
 willing at any moment to lay down my life for 
 another person's good. I try to remember, but
 
 CASAL NOVO. 247 
 
 I can't remember that I ever did. I have often 
 run into danger, and exposed myself to pain 
 sometimes, to save others. Yes, I have done 
 that ! but there was always a springing hope, a 
 sort of conviction that I should escape ; and 
 that being so, away flies the merit. The nearest 
 thing I ever did to absolute self-sacrifice was at 
 Casal Novo, when I received in my back the 
 ball that lies there still." 
 
 The old soldier's deliberate judgment of all 
 the noblest deeds of a long life was the realiz- 
 ing of the truth that " all our righteousnesses 
 are as filthy rags," and no eye but his own 
 would have looked at them so critically. But 
 let us see the manner of the one thing that 
 *' came nearest to self-sacrifice." 
 
 It was in the year 1811, when Wellington 
 had entrenched his army on the slopes of Torres 
 Vedras, in Portugal, and there, by his patience 
 and sagacity, had repulsed the French army 
 under Marshal Massena, and was following up 
 his retreat out of the kingdom of Portugal. 
 The English and Portuguese troops used to 
 rise at three in the morning, and march at four ; 
 and on the fourteenth of March, when the army 
 was setting out in the morning twilight, there 
 was a heavy fog covering all the valley in front. 
 Sir William Erskine, the general in command 
 of the Light Division, consisting of the 52d 
 and 43d Regiments and the Rifles, all the very 
 flower of the army, was an incompetent man, 
 and fancying the French wxre in full retreat, 
 ordered his troops to move forward on their 
 march. Some of the officers objected to the
 
 248 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 rashness of plunging into the mist without pre- 
 caution ; but they were not heeded, and the 
 order to advance was given. 
 
 The 52d moved forward first, in a column of 
 sections, and were to be followed by the Rifles. 
 Down the hillside they went, then across a 
 narrow ravine at the bottom, and were mount- 
 ing the steep road on the other side, when there 
 ^•as a sudden hail of round shot and bullets 
 ■close upon them. The fog cut off their view, 
 but the bugles continued to sound the advance, 
 and they pushed on through walled fields, the 
 enemy giving way before them, till they gained 
 the ridge of the hill, though with loss of men, 
 and with three captains wounded — one of them 
 George Xapier, and another, " Jack Jones," 
 afterward the hero of the powder-magazine at 
 Ciudad Eodrigo. 
 
 The mist suddenly drew up, and displayed to 
 the English troops the hillside covered with 
 dark masses of the blue-clad French soldiers, 
 and in the midst what looked like a red pimple 
 on the ridge, being, in fact, the 52d in the very 
 middle of Marshal Ney's division — so near the 
 marshal himself, the bravest of the brave, that 
 if they had only been able to see him, they 
 might have made him prisoner by his own 
 bivouac fire. 
 
 The rest of the Light Division were put in 
 motion to support them, and Captain William 
 Napier was sent forward, with six companies of 
 his regiment, the 43d, to aid them on the left. 
 When he came to a round hill, he halted, and 
 left four companies to watch, while, with the
 
 CASAL XOYO. 249 
 
 other two, lie descended into one of the narrow 
 ravines to join the left of the 52d, whom he 
 heard, though he could not see over the ridge 
 of the hill. Part of the regiment had charged, 
 but not the whole, and thus IS'apier, coming up 
 into a walled field where he expected to join the 
 left side of the 52d, found only Captain Dobbs 
 and two men of the 52d cut off from the rest 
 of their regiment. 
 
 The French came gathering fast about them, 
 and cutting off their retreat. The two officers 
 agreed that the boldest course would be the 
 safest, so they called to the two companies 
 behind them to follow, and sprang over the wall 
 in front, meaning to force their way on to the 
 52d in front. But only the two 52d men fol- 
 lowed, both the companies of the 43d held back ; 
 and when the two captains had reached a second 
 wall, they found merely this pair of men with 
 them, and a great body of the enemy in front, 
 closing upon them and firing. 
 
 The wall gave a moment's protection, and 
 Napier declared he would either save Dobbs or 
 lose his own life by bringing up his two com- 
 panies. Dobbs entreated him not to attempt it, 
 saying that it was impossible to make two steps 
 from the wall and live. Still, however, Napier, 
 who was stung by the backwardness of his men, 
 dashed back unhurt. His men were crouching 
 under the wall ; they had perhaps failed before 
 from being out of breath, from their charge up 
 the hill w^th their heavy knapsacks on their 
 backs, and still more from the mismanagement 
 of the two lieutenants in command of them.
 
 250 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 both dull, rude men, tyrannical in their be- 
 havior. One, who was noted for fighting duels, 
 was lying down with his face to the ground, 
 and when the captain called, shouted to him, 
 and bade him remember his uniform, and come 
 on with the men, he did not stir, till, in ex- 
 tremity of provocation, Napier threw a stone 
 at his head. This made him get up and 
 scramble over the wall with the men ; but on 
 the other side he was wild with terror — eyes 
 staring and hands spread out — and when Napier 
 ordered the men on to where Dobbs was, and 
 ran forward himself, they, under their lieu- 
 tenant's cowardly leading, all edged away to 
 the right, out of the fire, and again Napier 
 reached his friend alone. 
 
 Maddened at the failure, he again sprang 
 back to lead them, but, ere he could reach them, 
 ■was struck by a bullet in the spine, and fell. 
 The French most ungenerously continued to 
 fire at him as he lay, and his legs had been 
 paralyzed by the efiect of his wound, so that 
 he could only drag himself by his hands toward 
 a heap of stones, behind which he sheltered his 
 head and shoulders. No less than twenty shots 
 struck the heap in the moment before Captain 
 Lloyd with his own company of the 43d, and 
 some of the 52d, came up and drove ofi" the 
 enemy. Napier was carried away from this 
 spot, and laid for a time under an olive-tree, 
 while the fight lasted, and the French were 
 driven on from ridge to ridge. 
 
 While he was lying there, helpless and ex- 
 hausted, the grenadier company of Royal Scots
 
 CASAL NOVO. 251 
 
 were hastening forward, and their captain, see- 
 ing the wounded man, ran up, and said, " I 
 hope you are not dangerously wounded." He 
 could not speak, but only shook his head ; and 
 being asked again, " Can I be of any service to 
 you ? " made the same sign ; but when Captain 
 Wilson offered him some cold tea and brandy 
 from his flask, he raised his head with a sudden 
 flash of pleasure, and gladly drank two tum- 
 blerfuls ; then thanked with his eyes and hands. 
 " Heaven protect you," the captain said, and 
 hurried on to overtake his men. Napier was a 
 singularly handsome, noble-looking man, with 
 perfect features, jet-black hair and dark gray 
 eyes, and though now deadly pale, the remark- 
 ably beautiful outline of his features, and the 
 sweet and noble expression of his countenance 
 made a great impression on Captain AVilson ; 
 but among the numbers of the army, they were 
 never again thrown together, and did not know 
 each other's names. 
 
 Xapier was thought to be mortally wounded, 
 and his brother Charles, who, half-recovered 
 from a wound, had ridden ninety miles to join 
 the army, met a litter of branches, covered by 
 a blanket, and borne by soldiers. He asked 
 who it was. " Captain Napier, of the 52d, — 
 broken arm." Then came another litter — 
 "Captain Napier, of the 43d, — mortally 
 wounded." Charles Napier looked at his 
 brothers, and passed on to the battle. 
 
 The brothers were placed in a house at Com- 
 beixa, but, besides their wounds, they, like all 
 the army, suffered terribly from famine, for
 
 252 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 the French had destroyed everything before 
 them, and the villagers themselves were abso- 
 lutely starving. A tallow candle that the 
 brothers found in the house was eaten up with 
 the utmost relish ! By some chance a loaf of 
 bread came into the hands of Captain Light, a 
 cavalry officer, at the end of a long day's 
 march. Hungry as he was, he would not look 
 at it, but mounted again, and rode twenty 
 miles to Combeixa, over the mountains, and 
 there, fearing a refusal, he flung the loaf into 
 the room where the brothers lay, and rode back 
 to his regiment. 
 
 William Xapier soon partially recovered, 
 but the bullet could never be extracted, and 
 caused him as^onies at intervals throuorhout the 
 rest of his life. The story of the combat, which 
 he felt as that of his greatest deed, was told by 
 him in his great history of the Peninsular war, 
 but without a hint of his own concern in the 
 matter. Sixteen years after the battle, he met 
 at a dinner party a gentleman, who apropos to 
 some mention of handsome men, said that the 
 very handsomest he had ever seen, was one 
 whom he had found lying speechless under an 
 olive-tree at Casal Kovo, and had succored as 
 above described. Sir William Napier sprang 
 from his chair, exclaiming, " My dear Wilson ! 
 that was you, — that glass of tea and brandy 
 saved my life." He had already become 
 acquainted with Sir John Morillyon Wilson, 
 but till that moment neither had known that 
 the other was his partner in the adventure of 
 the olive-tree.
 
 THE MAD DOG. 253 
 
 Assuredly that stony field was a scene to look 
 back on from old age with thankful satisfac- 
 tion. And no less worthy of honor was, it 
 seems to us, that twenty miles ride by the 
 hungry, weary officer, to bring his wounded 
 comrades the loaf of bread. 
 
 THE MAD DOG. 
 
 1816. 
 
 Sir Thomas Fowell Buxton was well known 
 in the early part of the present century as one 
 of the most earnest assistants of William Wil- 
 berforce in freeing England from the crimes 
 inseparable with slave-holding. It was not, 
 however, of his public career, nor of his deep 
 piety, that we are about to speak, but of one 
 incident in his life, which shows how a really 
 religious and intrepid man will face a sudden 
 and frightful peril for the sake of others. The 
 event took place in the summer of 1816, when 
 he was thirty years old, a capital sportsman 
 and a man of remarkable personal strength and 
 great height (six foot four). He was not as yet 
 a baronet, and was at the time living at Hamp- 
 stead, and daily riding into Spitalfields to attend 
 to the affairs of a brewery in which he was a 
 partner. During a visit that his wife and 
 children were making at a distance, he had 
 been staying with his brother-in-law, Mr. 
 Hoare, not far from his home. When his
 
 254 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 servant brought his horse to him there, it was 
 with the intelligence that his dog, Prince, was 
 in a strange state, had killed the cat, almost 
 killed another dog, and had tried to bite some 
 of the servants. Mr. Buxton desired that the 
 creature should be tied up and taken care of, 
 and then rode off to his business in town ; but 
 as he returned he saw Prince, evidently mad, 
 covered with mud, running furiously and biting 
 at everything. 
 
 Mr. Buxton tried to ride him down or drive 
 him into some outhouse, but in vain ; and he 
 bit at least a dozen dogs, two boys and a man, 
 springing at a boy and seizing him by the 
 breast, but this time his master was near 
 enough to knock him down with his whip. 
 He then changed his course, setting off for 
 London, and Mr. Buxton rode by his side, 
 waiting for some opportunity of stopping him, 
 and constantly calling to him ; but the poor 
 animal was past attending to the well-known 
 voice, whether coaxing or scolding. He was 
 getting near more closely inhabited places, and 
 considering the fearful damage he might effect, 
 Mr. Buxton thought "if ever there was an 
 occasion that justified a risk of life, this was 
 it," and determined to catch him himself. 
 Prince ran to a garden-door, and Mr. Buxton, 
 leaping from his horse, grasped him by the 
 neck. His struggles were so desperate, that it 
 seemed at first almost impossible, even for so 
 powerful a man, to hold him (he was evidently 
 a large dog) ; but lifting him from the ground, 
 he was more easily managed, and Mr. Buxton
 
 THE MAD DOG. 255 
 
 contrived to ring the bell ; but for a long time 
 no one came to his help, and being afraid lest 
 the foam which was pouring from the poor 
 beast's jaws might get into some scratch on his 
 fingers, and be as dangerous as an actual bite, 
 he, with great difficulty, held Prince with one 
 hand, while he worked the other into the glove 
 in his pocket, and then changed hands, and 
 thus put on the other glove. At last the gar- 
 dener opened the door, and asked what he 
 wanted. " I've brought you a mad dog," was 
 the answer ; and desiring him to get a strong 
 chain, Mr. Buxton walked into the yard carry- 
 ing Prince by the neck. He was determined 
 not to kill the dog at once, thinking that if it 
 should prove not to be a case of hydrophobia, 
 it would be a great relief to the persons who 
 had been bitten, and this could only be deter- 
 mined by letting the disease take its course. 
 The gardener was in great terror, but had sense 
 enough to obey directions, and was able to 
 secure the collar round the dog's neck, and 
 fasten the other end of the chain to a tree. 
 Mr. Buxton then walked to the utmost bound 
 of the chain, and with all his force, " which," 
 he says, " was nearly exhausted by the dog's 
 frantic struggles," threw the creature as far 
 from him as he could, and sprang back in time 
 to avoid poor Prince's desperate bound after 
 him, which was followed by V the most fearful 
 yell he ever heard." 
 
 All day the unhappy creature, in the misery 
 of that horrible disease to which our faithful 
 companions are sometimes subject, rushed round
 
 256 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and round the tree, champing the foam that 
 gushed from his jaws, and when food was 
 thrown to him, snatched at it with fury, but 
 could not eat it. The next day, Mr. Buxton 
 thought the chain in danger of giving way, so 
 renewing his act of bravery, he obtained a 
 stronger chain and a pitchfork. Between the 
 prongs of this he contrived to get the dog's 
 body, without piercing it, and thus held him 
 pinned down to the ground, while fastening a 
 much larger chain round his neck. On the 
 pitchfork being removed, the dog sprang up 
 and dashed after his master with such violence 
 that the old chain snapped in two. However, 
 the frenzy soon spent his strength, and he died 
 only forty-eight hours after the first symptoms 
 of madness had appeared. All the dogs and 
 cats he had bitten were killed by Mr. Buxton 
 himself, knowing that for such a painful busi- 
 ness it was wiser to trust to no one's resolution 
 and humanity but his own. The man and boys 
 had the bitten parts cut out and the wounds 
 burnt, and it was hoped that the horrid con- 
 sequences might be averted from them. He 
 himself expressed great thankfulness both for 
 his own escape and his children's absence from 
 home, and thus wrote to his wife a day or two 
 after : " What a terrible business it w^as. You 
 must not scold me for the risk I ran. What I 
 did, I did from a conviction that it was my 
 duty, and I never can think that an over-cau- 
 tious care of self in circumstances where your 
 risk may preserve others, is so great a virtue as 
 you seem to think it. I do believe if I had
 
 THE MAD DOG. 257 
 
 shrunk from the danger, and others had suffered 
 in consequence, I should have felt more pain 
 than I should have done had I received a 
 bite." 
 
 The perfect coolness and presence of mind 
 shown in the whole adventure are, perhaps, 
 some of its most remarkable features, — all 
 being done from no sudden impulse, no daring 
 temper, but from the grave, considerate con- 
 viction of the duty of encountering the peril on 
 the part of the person most likely to be able to- 
 secure others ; and no one who has shuddered! 
 at the accounts of the agonies of hydrophobia 
 can fail to own how deadly that peril was. 
 
 As a pendant to our countryman's battle 
 with a mad dog, let us see a combat between 
 one of these frenzied creatures and a French 
 weaver, named Simon Albony, a poor man of 
 the town of Rhodez, who was the bread-winner 
 for his aged father. Coming home from his 
 work, in the summer of the year 1830, at about 
 seven o'clock in the evening, he encountered a 
 mad dog, who had already greatly injured 
 several of the townspeople. The creature was 
 advancing slowly, but suddenly turned upon 
 him. Setting his back against a wall, he cour- 
 ageously waited for it, and laid hold of it, 
 though not without being severely bitten. He 
 kept it with a firm hand, shouting that he 
 would not let it go to do further mischief, but 
 that some one must bring him an axe, and 
 break its back. 
 
 Monsieur Portat, a mounted gendarme, heard 
 him, and hastened to his help, found him ^trug-
 
 258 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 gling with this large hound, holding him by the 
 neck and ears, and constantly asking for an axe 
 to kill him with. The gendarme struck the 
 dog with his stick, but it was not strong enough 
 to kill it ; and another person came up with a 
 heavier club and gave it a finishing stroke. 
 Albony had received fourteen wounds on the 
 body, thighs and hands ; but they were imme- 
 diately operated upon, and at the time his 
 name was brought forward, seven months after- 
 wards, to receive a prize from the Month- 
 yon fund for his heroism, it was hoped 
 that the danger of any bad efiects had passed 
 away. 
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 
 
 1820. 
 
 The Baron de Monthyon was a French law- 
 yer, greatly devoted to all that could do good 
 to his fellow-creatures. Little of his personal 
 history is known ; but what made his name 
 celebrated was the endowments that he left by 
 his will at his death, in 1820. The following 
 is a translation of certain clauses in his 
 will:— 
 
 " 12. I bequeath the sum of 10,000 francs to 
 provide an annual prize for whosoever shall 
 discover any mode of rendering any mechanical 
 art less unhealthy. 
 
 " 13. A like sum of 10,000 francs as an annual
 
 THE MONTH YON PRIZES. 259 
 
 prize for whosoever shall invent any means 
 of pei-fecting medical science or surgical art. 
 
 " 14. A like sum of 10,000 francs for an 
 annual prize to the poor French person who, in 
 the course of the year, shall have performed 
 the most virtuous action. 
 
 " 15. A like sum of 10,000 francs for the 
 French person who shall have composed and 
 published in France the book most beneficial 
 to morals." 
 
 The two former prizes to be distributed by 
 the Academy of Sciences ; the two latter by 
 the French Academy. 
 
 Besides these, there were large legacies to 
 hospitals. All the prizes, we believe, continue 
 to be given ; but it is with the " Prize of Vir- 
 tue," as it is called, that we are concerned. 
 The French Academy, which is a society of all 
 the most distinguished literary personages in 
 France, has the office of bestowing this prize, 
 which may either be given entire, or divided 
 into lesser portions among a number of claim- 
 ants, at the option of the Academy. The 
 recommendation for such a prize must be sent 
 up by the authorities of the town or village 
 where it has taken place, and must contain a 
 full account of the action itself, attested by 
 witnesses, and likewise of the life of the person 
 recommended, going back at least two years, 
 and countersigned hj all the chief persons in 
 the place. Those to whom the prize is adjudged 
 must appear in person, or by an authorized 
 proxy, at the meeting of the Academy, where a 
 discourse upon virtue in general is delivered by
 
 260 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 one of the members, and the meritorious deeds 
 to which the prize is awarded are described in 
 detail. 
 
 We are not sure that it suits our English 
 tastes to have " Golden Deeds " thus paid for in 
 gold ; and we are quite sure that most English 
 folks capable of such actions Avould much rather 
 hide themselves than hear their praises trum- 
 peted forth by an Academician. Nevertheless, 
 there is something noble in M. de Monthyon's 
 intentions ; and as almost all the " virtuous 
 actions " were done perfectly irrespective of the 
 prize, we cannot but be grateful for having 
 had them brought to their knowledge. 
 
 Faithful servants, peasant women devoted to 
 charity, and heroic preservers of life, are the 
 chief objects selected by the Academy, with 
 here and there an instance of extraordinary 
 exertions of filial piety ; as for instance, Jeanne 
 Parelle, to whom a prize was given in 1835. 
 
 She was one of the eight children of a laborer 
 at Coulange, near jNIontresor, and was born in 
 1786. She was in service when, in 1812, her 
 mother became paralytic, and she come home 
 and thenceforth devoted herself to the care of 
 her parents. A few years after, her father had 
 a sort of fit, in wliich his teeth weje closely 
 locked together, but his mouth filled with 
 blood, and he would have been choked but for 
 Jeanne's readiness in forcing them apart with 
 her hands, at the cost of being severely bitten. 
 The attack came on every night, and as regu- 
 larly did Jeanne expose her hands to the 
 dreadful bites of her unconscious father, until
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 261 
 
 sometimes the flesh was torn almost to the hone, 
 and yet she cheerfully went about her work all 
 day, endeavoring to prevent her father from 
 perceiving her injuries. This lasted ten years, 
 during which time the poor people only once 
 consulted a doctor, who could do nothing for 
 them. The poor old man grew blind, sold his 
 little house, and at last died, leaving his wife 
 deaf, blind, unable to move from her chair, or 
 to do anything but tell her beads. Jeanne 
 spun, made hay, and tended her with the utmost 
 care and cheerfulness ; but, at length, the 
 mother and daughter accepted an invitation 
 from an elder married sister to come to Blois. 
 They moved accordingly ; but the sister was 
 unable to do much for them, and they were 
 obliged to hire a room, where they were sup- 
 ported by Jeanne's exertions, together with an 
 allowance from tlie Bureau cle Charite of three 
 loaves and three pounds of meat in a month. 
 
 Of Jeanne's patience and sweetness with the 
 poor old childish woman, the following testimony 
 was given: — One festival-day, Mere Parelle 
 wished to go to church, and Jeanne, now a 
 hard-working woman of forty-five, made no 
 difficulties, but petted and caressed her, prom- 
 ising her that she should go ; and on a hot 
 August day she was seen with a great arm- 
 chair on one arm, and her mother on the other. 
 She dragged the old woman three steps, then 
 set her down in the chair to rest ; then lifted 
 her up, led her a little further, and put the 
 chair down again. They were three-quarters of 
 an hour in going the distance Jeanne would
 
 262 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 have walked in five minutes ; and after the 
 return was effected, Jeanne was full of delight. 
 " Well, dearest, did you say your prayers well ? 
 Are you glad ? You are not tired ! " And 
 this laborious journey was cheerfully renewed on 
 the old woman's least wish. Sometimes Jeanne 
 was advised to send her to the hospital, the last 
 refuge of poverty in France, analogous to a 
 workhouse. 
 
 " It breaks my heart when they say so," she 
 said. 
 
 " But, Jeanne, your mother would be well 
 cared for." 
 
 " I know that ; I do not say so from contempt 
 for the hospital. She would be taken care of. 
 But tenderness, who would give her that ? " 
 And another time she added, " God leaves us 
 our parents, that we may take care of them. If 
 I forsook my poor patient, I should deserve that 
 <jrod should forsake me." 
 
 Jeanne and her mother lived on a ground 
 iloor, and many pei'sons thus had the oppor- 
 tunity of observing that her tenderness never 
 relaxed. She herself lived on the inferior bread 
 provided by the charity, w^th a few turnips and 
 potatoes, whilst she kept her motlier on white 
 bread, and, if possible, procured butter, cheese, 
 and milk for her. Once when the curate had 
 sent her a pie, which had been scarcely touched, 
 her friends were surprised to see how long it 
 lasted. " Yes, I make the most of it for my 
 mother ; I cut off nice little bits for her at her 
 meals, it gives them a relish." 
 
 " Do not you eat it, then ? --
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 263 
 
 " It would be a great pity for me to eat it, 
 and nibble away her share, poor thing, — it is 
 her treat, and she has so few pleasures, poor 
 sufferer ! — neither hearing, nor seeing, and 
 always in pain." 
 
 In a great frost, when it was bitterly cold, 
 she was found trying to cover her mother with 
 an old wornout pelisse, and looking quite mel- 
 ancholy, so a good thick woolen wrapper was 
 sent to her. On the next visit the old woman 
 was found tied up in it, with strings over her 
 shoulders, and the daughter beaming with 
 delight. " Bless those who have warmed my 
 mother," she said : " God will warm them in 
 paradise." 
 
 A pair of old warm flannel sleeves were given 
 her for herself, but she was seen again with bare 
 arms in the extreme cold. " Did not the sleeves 
 fit you ? " " O, I picked them to pieces. My 
 mother had pains in her knees, so I sewed the 
 flannel on to her under petticoat ; it is warm, 
 you see ; she likes it, poor thing." And there 
 the pieces were laid out neatly so as to thicken 
 the petticoat. Amid all her infirmities the 
 delicate neatness and fresh cleanliness of the 
 Mere Parelle were a continual wonder. One 
 of the visiting ladies said, " Really your 
 mother looks quite fresh and bright ; " and the 
 good daughter smiled, looking like a young 
 mother complimented upon her child's beauty. 
 "You think her so?" she said. "Ah, poor 
 thing ! she is fresher than I am, for she does 
 not drudge so much ; " and then, with a sigh, 
 " Ah ! if she could but hear me ! " For the
 
 264 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 poor sufferer had at last grown so entirely deaf, 
 that she did not hear her daughter at all, and 
 was constantly calling Jeanne without knowing 
 that she was answered. For two months in the 
 winter the daughter had never gone to bed, and 
 though her own health began to suffer, she 
 never complained. For five-and-twenty years, 
 when the prize was given in 1830, had Jeanne 
 Parelle been the unwearied nurse and bread- 
 winner of first two, then one parent. It seems 
 a small thing that man should attempt to 
 reward such exertions, yet, on the other hand, 
 there is something touching in this hard-handed, 
 untaught, toiling, moiling, elderly charwoman 
 being chosen out to receive honor due by the 
 first men in intellect and position in her coun- 
 try, and all for the simple, homely virtues of 
 humble life. 
 
 Madame Vigier, a bourgeoise of Aurillac, 
 originally in easy circumstances, and at one 
 time rich, was left a widow with four sons, and 
 gradually fell into a state of extreme distress. 
 Two kind gentlemen, M. Sers, the Prefet of 
 Cantal, and M. Azemard, curate of Notre 
 Dame, were interested in the family, and three 
 of the sons were placed in good situations ; but 
 the youngest, Jean, being a particularly clever, 
 promising boy, they wished him to receive a 
 superior education ; and, finding themselves 
 unable, both to keep him at school, and support 
 his mother, they decided on sending Madame 
 Vigier to the hospital. Jean was at this time 
 nine and a-half years old, and at his boarding- 
 school, scarcely knew of his mother's condition.
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 265 
 
 Intending to break the matter to him, the curate 
 invited him to his house for a holiday, and he 
 came in his best clothes ; but just as he had 
 arrived M. Azemard was called away for a few 
 minutes, and telling the boy not to meddle wath 
 his breviary, he went down stairs. 
 
 Little Jean was naughty boy enough to be 
 incited to meddle by the prohibition itself ! As 
 he took up the breviary, out fell a paper. It 
 was an order for the hospital, and his mother's 
 name was on it ! The first thing the boy did 
 was to run down stairs, and back to the school, 
 there to change his clothes for his everyday 
 ones. When he re-appeared, the curate said, 
 *' Ah ! poor child, curiosity led you astray, but 
 the fault has brought its own punishment, and 
 you have been hiding yourself to cry over it." 
 
 " No, Monsieur le Cure, I have not been cry- 
 ing. I know it all. My mother shall not go 
 to the hospital, she would die of vexation. I 
 will not return to school. I will stay with her. 
 I will support her." 
 
 The curate, though struck with his manner, 
 tried to reason him out of his resolution, and 
 took him to several friends, who represented to 
 him that by finishing his education, he would 
 enable himself, by and by, to provide far better 
 for his mother than if he broke it off* at once ; 
 but his one idea was to save her from the hos- 
 pital, and he was not to be persuaded. He 
 consulted his brothers, who were making their 
 way in the world, and begged them to assist 
 him in maintaining her ; then when they re- 
 fused, he asked them at least to lend him a
 
 266 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 small sum, promising to repay them. Still they 
 refused, and all that was left for him to do, was 
 to sell his clothes and a watch, that the prefect 
 had given him as a reward for some success at 
 school. With this capital, the little fellow set 
 up as a hawker of cakes and children's toys, 
 and succeeded in earning enough to support 
 his mother. At the time his name was brought 
 forward for a *' prix de veHu" he had been 
 nineteen years solely devoted to her, refusing 
 every offer that would separate him from her, 
 and making her happy by his attentions. He 
 was at that time porter at an inn at Aurillac, a 
 situation which must have been a great contrast 
 with those which he might have obtained but 
 for his love of his mother. 
 
 It may be said, however, that to show " piety 
 at home " is the very first and most natural of 
 duties. Let us pass on, then, to see what 
 devoted affection has done where the tie was 
 only that of servant to master. 
 
 The faithful statesman of the great Henri 
 IV., the Due de Sully, was amply rewarded by 
 his grateful master, and left a princely estate to 
 his family, but after a few generations the male 
 line became extinct, and the heiress named 
 Maximilienne de Bethune, after her great 
 ancestor, carried the property into the house 
 of Aubespine. 
 
 Bad management, together with the reverses 
 of the Revolution, gradually destroyed the 
 riches of this familv, and at last, the Marquis 
 d'Aubespine was obliged to sell the castle of 
 Villebon, with all the memorials of the great
 
 THE MONTHYON TRIZES. 267 
 
 Sully, and the only estate that remained to 
 him. Out of the price, he could only save 
 enough from his creditors to purchase for him- 
 self an annuity of 6000 francs, another of 2400 
 francs for his son, and a third of 400 for Alex- 
 andre Martin, a servant who had lived with 
 him thirty-five years, and had been educated 
 at his expense. Soon after the poor old Marquis 
 died, and the creditors immediately came down 
 upon Martin, and seized his annuity. There 
 was no redress, and Martin returned to his 
 native village of Champrond-en-Gatinais and 
 took up the trade of a carpenter, Avhich he had 
 learned at the Marquis' expense before becom- 
 ing his servant. On the sixteenth of June, 
 1830, his cottage door opened, and there stood 
 his old master's son, the Gomte d'Aubespine, 
 with his three little motherless children, Angel- 
 ique, five years old, Josephine, four, and Louis, 
 little more than a year. The Count said that 
 his affairs obliged him to leave France for a 
 short time, and he had no one to whom to 
 intrust his little ones but to good Alexandre. 
 The charge was willingly accepted as an honor, 
 though the carpenter knew the family secrets 
 too well to wonder that nothing was said about 
 paying their expenses, and perhaps he also 
 guessed that this short absence was only to last 
 for the Count's life. 
 
 At any rate he accepted the children. He 
 had three of his own, of whom the eldest was 
 able to work. She and her mother earned 
 twenty-four sous a day, and he earned thirty, 
 and upon this the little count and his sisters
 
 268 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 were maintained, as far as possible, according 
 to their rank. At their meals they were seated 
 at the cottage-table, and waited on as respect- 
 fully by Martin, as if they had been at the 
 grand saloon in the chateau, and he their foot- 
 man. He never sat down with them, but kept 
 them distinct in all ways from his own children, 
 who ate scanty brown bread with him, that the 
 little guests might eat white ; wore their coarse 
 clothes to rags, that the young d'Aubespines 
 might be dressed neatly ; and slept on the floor, 
 while the little nobles had comfortable beds. 
 There were no murmurs ; all came naturally 
 out of the grateful loyalty of the family toward 
 their master's grandchildren. No more was 
 heard of the father till his death, six years after. 
 The news of this event excited the attention of 
 the neighborhood, and it became known that 
 the last descendants of Sully were growing up 
 in the cottage of a poor carpenter, and owing 
 their education to the curate of the parish. 
 Some ladies at Chartres offered to take charge 
 of the two little girls, and though the parting 
 was most painful, Martin was glad to enable 
 them to be brought up as ladies. As to the 
 boy, the first help that came for his education 
 was from a charitable foundation, endowed by 
 his great ancestor, at Nogent de Rotrou, and 
 thus the only portion of the wealth of Sully that 
 ever reached his young descendant, was that 
 which had been laid up in the true treasure- 
 house of charity. Afterward a scholarship 
 was presented to him by Louis Philippe at the 
 college of Henri IV., and in 1838, he and
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 269 
 
 Alexandre Martin were both present at a 
 meeting of the Academy, when a discourse was 
 made by M. Salvandi, part of which deserves 
 to be recorded. 
 
 " Martin, your task is over. You have deserved 
 well from all good men. You have shown our 
 age a sight only too rare, — gratitude, fidelity, 
 respect. The Academy awards to your virtue a 
 prize of 3000 francs. And you, Louis d'Aubes- 
 pine, since you are present at this solemnity, may 
 it make a deep and lasting impression on your 
 young heart. You are entering life, as persons 
 are now and then forced to appear at a later age, 
 with all eyes on you. Learn that the first of 
 earthly blessing is to be honored by one's coun- 
 try, and pray the God who has watched over 
 your infancy to enable you to win that blessing 
 that depends on ourselves, and that no event can 
 rob us of. One day you will be told that illus- 
 trious blood flows in your veins, but never forget 
 that you must trace your line as far back as to 
 Sully, before you can find a name worthy to 
 stand beside that of Martin. Grow up then to 
 show yourselves worthy of the memory of your 
 ancestor, the devotion of your benefactor, and 
 the patronage of the king ! " 
 
 A maid-servant, called Rose Pasquer, at 
 Nantes, during the worst years of the revolu- 
 tion, entirely maintained her master and mis- 
 tress after they had been ruined by the loss of 
 their estates in St. Domingo. She was eighty 
 years in the service of the same family, and 
 received a prize in her hundredth year, in 
 1856.
 
 270 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Another woman, named Madeleine Blanchet, 
 who lost her husband at the end of the first 
 year of her marriage, was taken into the service 
 of an old lady at Buzan9ais, called Madame 
 Chambert, who put out the widow's baby to 
 nurse, and was very kind to her. In this house, 
 Madeleine had been for nine years, when, in the 
 winter of 1852, there was a tremendous riot in 
 the town, on account of the high price of bread. 
 For some time beforehand reports had been 
 flying about that the Ked Republicans intended 
 to rise against all persons of property whom 
 they called bourgeois, and there was a story 
 that an old man had said, " I have seen two 
 revolutions already, at the third I shall fix my 
 scythe crosswise, and then woe to the bourgeois.^* 
 These rumors filled the town with alarm, and 
 certain rich persons were known to be marked 
 out for the fury of the mob, and among them 
 were ^ladame Chambert and her son. On the 
 night before the afiray, their servants received 
 a warning that if they tried to defend their 
 master and mistress, they would be killed ; but 
 there were at least two who disregarded the 
 threat, a man-servant named Bourgeau and 
 Madeleine Blanchet. 
 
 On the morning of the fourteenth of January 
 was heard that souiid of dread, — the tocsin. 
 The Republicans were already collected, and 
 began by sacking a great manufactory, and 
 then falling upon the various obnoxious estab- 
 lishments in the town, becoming more savage 
 with every success. There was no resistance ; 
 the citizens shut themselves up in their houses.
 
 THE MO>^THYON PRIZES. 271 
 
 without attempting to unite to defend them- 
 selves, and in a short time the whole town was 
 at the mercy of the insurgents. After many 
 acts of plunder and cruelty had taken place, 
 the raging populace came to M. Chambert's 
 house, and speedily breaking in, a man named 
 Venin led the way into the drawing-room, 
 where M. Chambert was trying to encourage 
 his aged mother, and the two servants were 
 with them. Madeleine was so much terrified 
 that she fainted away upon hearing Venin 
 speak insolently to her master ; Bourgeau 
 w^nt up to him and knocked him down ; but as 
 others of the furious mob came rushing in, 
 Bourgeau's courage forsook him, and he fled. 
 His master had fetched his gun, and shot 
 Venin, who had risen for another attack ; but 
 this was the signal for the whole rage of the 
 multitude to be directed against him, and he 
 too fled, only to be followed by the savage 
 populace, who hunted him from room to room, 
 €ven to the next house, where he fell under a 
 multitude of blows, crying out, "Mercy, 
 friends!" "You have no friends," answered 
 a voice from the crowd, the last sound that met 
 the ears of the dying man. 
 
 Madeleine had, in the meantime, recovered 
 from her swoon, recalled by the shrieks and 
 sobs of her poor old mistress, mingled wdth the 
 oaths, imprecations, and abusive threats of the 
 murderous crowd. She saw the room thronged 
 with these wild figures, their blouses stained 
 with wine and blood, weapons of all sorts in 
 their hands, triumphant fury in their faces.
 
 272 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Her first endeavor, on regaining her senses, 
 was to push through them to the side of the 
 old lady, whom they had not yet personally 
 attacked, and whose terror seemed for the 
 moment lessened by the sight of her maid's 
 kindly face. Then, as there was no certainty 
 that even age and womanhood would long be a 
 protection, Madeleine tried to remove her and 
 supporting her with one arm, she made her way 
 with the other, struggling on through blows, 
 pushes, and trampling feet, till she had rather 
 carried than led Madame Chambert into the 
 court ; but here was the greatest danger of all. 
 Seeing the lady escaping, the mob outside fell 
 upon her, blows were aimed at the two defence- 
 less women, and the mistress fell down, while 
 the ruffians rushed at them with cries of 
 " Death ! death I " — the same shouts with 
 which they had hunted the son. - 
 
 " Go, — go, my poor girl ! " faintly murmured 
 Madame Chambert. " I must die here ! Go 
 away ! " 
 
 No, indeed ! Madeleine knelt over her, 
 calling out, " You shall not kill my mistress 
 till you have killed me ! " 
 
 A man brandished a cutlass over her, and 
 several frantic women struck her, even whilst, 
 with outstretched arms, she parried all the 
 strokes at her mistress, all the time appealing 
 to their better feelings, and showing them the 
 cowardly barbarity of thus wreaking their 
 vengeance on a helpless old woman. Her 
 words, and still more her self-devotion, touched 
 two of the men, whose human hearts returned
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 278 
 
 to them sufficiently to make them assist her in 
 withstanding the ferocity of the rest. They 
 helped her to lift up Madame Chambert, and 
 guarded her on her way to a friend's house, 
 where a hiding-place was found for the mistress. 
 But the maid would not stay there ; she recol- 
 lected her mistress' property, and hurried back 
 into the midst of the mob to save all she could, 
 seizing on the plate and other valuables when- 
 ever she saw them, — sometimes snatching them 
 out of the hands of the plunderers, or pouncing 
 on their heaps of spoil, — and then, whenever 
 she had rescued anything, depositing it in the 
 friendly house, and then going back for another 
 prize. She continued to go and come for several 
 hours, until all that she had not been able to 
 save had been entirely destroyed. All this she 
 considered as the simplest duty, and mere fulfill- 
 ment of her trust as a servant. 
 
 When order was restored, and the rioters 
 were tried for their atrocities, she was called in 
 as a witness, and asked what she had seen. 
 She replied shortly and clearlv, but said not a 
 word of herself. 
 
 " But," said the President, " witnesses tell us 
 that you covered your mistress with your own 
 body, and saved her from the blows of the 
 murderers. Is it true ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir," she answered, quietly. 
 _ " You were heard to declare, that they should 
 kill you before they should kill vour mistress. 
 Is it true ? " 
 
 "Yes, sir," again she said ; and that was all, — 
 not a sentence of self-exaltation, or of the false 
 modesty of self-depreciation, passed her lips.
 
 274 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 " If/' said the President, after hearing all the 
 evidence, "there had been twenty men at 
 Buzangais with the heart of that woman, none 
 of the disasters we deplore would have taken 
 place." 
 
 And yet Madeleine had begun by fainting ; 
 thus showing how little sensibility of nerves 
 has to do with that true moral courage whose 
 source is in the soul alone — as the Academician 
 said who had the pleasant task of relating her 
 exploits, when, at the next meeting of the 
 Academy, she received a gold medal, and an 
 extra prize of 5000 francs. 
 
 Almost at the same time there came to light 
 an act of generosity, of the most unusual de- 
 scription, on the part of a servant, and not 
 even toward her own master. Fanny Muller, 
 a young girl in one of the semi-German depart- 
 ments of France, was betrothed to Jean Pierre 
 Wat, a youth in her native village, before they 
 parted, in order to go into service, and save 
 enough to marry upon. Fanny became a maid 
 at a hotel in Paris, and was there much esteemed 
 for the modesty and propriety of her conduct. 
 In 1830, an Italian officer came to the inn — an 
 elderly man, exiled from his country for politi- 
 cal causes, and suffering acutely from a fright- 
 ful Avound received sixteen years previously, 
 when he was serving under Napoleon I. Every 
 day Fanny was called in to assist the surgeon 
 in dressing the wound, and her tender heart 
 made her a kindly nurse, until the poor soldier 
 had exhausted all his means, and the landlord 
 was about to turn him out in a state of utter
 
 THE MONTHYOX PRIZES. 275 
 
 destitution. Shocked at his condition, Fanny 
 offered him her savings out of her wages of 
 thirty-five francs a month, with which he took 
 a lodging, and there tried to maintain himself 
 by giving music-lessons. He was joined by his 
 son, a young boy, but soon after fell so ill again 
 that he could no longer give lessons. Fanny 
 came again to the rescue ; and when her little 
 hoard was exhausted, she borrowed. Just then 
 her betrothed, Wat, came to Paris, with his 
 savings of 2000 francs, and claimed her j^romise. 
 She told him all, and, wonderful to relate, he 
 Avas a like-minded man ; he freely gave his little 
 fortune into her hands to pay the debt, and, 
 putting off the marriage, he further assisted 
 her in supporting the invalid and the boy. At 
 last, after fifteen years of this patient generosity, 
 the poor old officer died of the effects of the 
 amputation of the injured limb ; and the clergy- 
 man of the district, knowing the circumstances, 
 recommended the betrothed pair for the ]\Ion- 
 thyon prize, as a dowry that might at length 
 enable them to enjoy the happiness that they 
 had so generously deferred. 
 
 Hosts of other deeds of pure charity and 
 beneficence among the poorest of the poor have 
 come to light among the records of these prizes. 
 Here is a memorial sent in 1823 by the curate 
 of the parish of St. Jean and St. Francois, at 
 Paris : 
 
 The wife of Jacquemin, a water-carrier, liv- 
 ing at No. 17 Rue de Quatre Fils, au Marais, 
 father of three children, one aged five years, 
 dumb and infirm, only earning from thirty-five
 
 276 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 to forty sous a day, came, some days ago, to ask 
 help for a helpless, indigent woman, maimed of 
 two fingers, and incapable of gaining a liveli- 
 hood. 
 
 ** Where does the woman live ? " I asked. 
 
 " With us." 
 
 *' How long has she been with you ? " 
 
 " Ten months ; this is the eleventh." 
 
 "What does she pay you by the day or 
 month?" 
 
 *' Nothing." 
 
 "What! nothing?" 
 
 " Not as much as you could put in your eye." 
 
 " Has she relief? " 
 
 " Yes ; and so have I. I get bread for my 
 children. Since she has been with us, I weaken 
 the porridge, and she eats it with us." 
 
 " You have no means of helping others, unless 
 she has promised to make it up to you ? " 
 
 "She never promised me anything but her 
 prayers." 
 
 " Does not your husband complain ? " 
 
 " My husband is a man of few words. He 
 says nothing ; he is so kind." 
 
 " Does he not go to the public house ? " 
 
 " Never ; he works himself to death for his 
 children." 
 
 " Ten months is a long time." 
 
 " She was out in the street, and begged me 
 to shelter her for two or three days ; and Jac- 
 quemin and I could never have the heart to 
 turn her out. He says, besides, that one must 
 do as one would be done by." 
 
 " But, my good woman, what is your lodg- 
 ing?"
 
 THE MOXTHYON PRIZES. 277 
 
 " Two rooms." 
 
 "What is your rent?" 
 
 " It was a hundred and twenty francs ; but 
 it has been raised twenty, which makes eight 
 sous a day." 
 
 " I think you should be asking charity for 
 yourself" 
 
 " I have already told you, M. le Cure, that I 
 have bread for my children. I ask for nothing 
 for myself. Thank God, as long as my husband 
 and I can work, I should be ashamed to beg 
 for ourselves." 
 
 " Well, good woman, here are ten francs 
 for—" 
 
 " O how happy poor Madame Petrel will 
 be!" 
 
 Tears of joy came into this charitable woman's 
 eyes. I had meant the ten francs for herself; 
 but I did not undeceive her — the mistake was 
 such an honor to her. 
 
 " Go and tell the widow Petrel, who owes you 
 so much, to get two j^etitions drawn up : one 
 for the Grand Almoner, the other for the 
 Prefect, for a place in the hospital. I will 
 present them." 
 
 And the widow was placed in the hospital, 
 while the good Jacquemins received a prize. 
 
 There was a more heroic touch in the story 
 of Madeleine Saunier, who was born in 1802, 
 at St. Etienne de Varenne, in the department 
 of the Rhone. This girl had, even when a 
 child, sent out to watch cattle in the fields, been 
 in the habit of sharing the meals she carried 
 out with her with the poor, only begging them
 
 278 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 to keep the secret. The privations she imposed 
 on herself had a serious effect on her health and 
 growth ; but still, when she grew up, her whole 
 soul was fixed on charity ; and though she had 
 to work for her own support, she still contrived 
 to effect marvels for others. 
 
 A poor blind widow, with an idiot daughter, 
 lived a mile and a half from her cottage ; but 
 for fifteen years Madeleine never failed to walk 
 to them, to feed them, set their house in order, 
 and cheer them up to wait for her coming the 
 next day. About as far ofi" in another direction 
 was a poor girl in such a horrible state of 
 leprosy, that — shocking to relate — her own 
 family had abandoned her, and for eighteen 
 months she lay in an outhouse, where no one 
 came near her but Madeleine Saunier, who 
 came twice a day to give her the little nourish- 
 ment she could take, and to dress her frightful 
 wounds ; and at last she died in the arms of 
 this her only friend. 
 
 In 1840, Madeleine was nearly drowned in 
 trying to cross a swelling torrent that lay be- 
 tween her and one of her daily pensioners, and 
 when she was blamed for the rashness, she only 
 said, " I could not help it ; I could not go yes- 
 terday ; I was obliged to go to-day." 
 
 In the course of a cold winter, Madeleine 
 was nursing a dying woman named Mancel, 
 who lived on the hillside, in a hovel more like 
 a wild beast's den than the home of a human 
 creature. Toward the end of a long night, 
 Madeleine had lighted a few green sticks to 
 endeavor to lessen the intense cold, when the
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 279 
 
 miserable door, which was only closed by a 
 stone on the floor, was pushed aside, and 
 through the smoke, against the snow, the dark 
 outline of a wolf was seen, ready to leap into 
 the room. All Madeleine could do was to 
 spring to the door, and hold it fast, pulling up 
 everything she could to keep it shut, as the 
 beast bounded against it, while she shouted and 
 called in all the tones she could assume, in 
 hopes that the wolf would fancy the garrison 
 more numerous. Whether he were thus de- 
 ceived or not, he w^as hungry enough to besiege 
 her till her strength was nearly exhausted, and 
 then took himself off at daylight. 
 
 A few hours after the sick woman died, but 
 Madeleine could not bear to leave the poor 
 corpse to the mercy of the wolf, and going to 
 the nearest cottage implored permission to place 
 it there till the burial could take place. Then 
 again, over the snow into the wolf-haunted soli- 
 tude, back she went ; she took the body on her 
 shoulders, and, bending under her burthen, she 
 safely brought it to the cottage, where she fell 
 on her knees, and thanked God for her safety. 
 The next day, the wolf's footsteps on the snow 
 showed that he had spent the night in prowling 
 round the hut, and that its frail defence had 
 not excluded him from entering it. 
 
 France, with all its faults, has always been 
 distinguished for the pure, disinterested honor 
 it shows to high merit for its own sake, and 
 Madeleine had already received a testimony of 
 respect from good Queen Amelie, before the 
 Monthyon prize was decreed to her.
 
 280 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 One of the prizes was given to Etienne Lucas, 
 a little boy of six and a half, who saw a child 
 of two fall into the river Eure. He knew the 
 danger, for one of his sisters had lately been 
 drowned ; but running to the spot, he waded 
 about fifteen paces in the stream, caught the 
 little one, and drew him to the bank, keeping 
 his head carefully above water. But the bank 
 was too steep for the little fellow to climb, and 
 he could only stand screaming till a man came 
 and lifted out both. A gold medal was given 
 to him, and a scholarship at an educational 
 establishment. Indeed, the rescuers from water, 
 from fire, and all the accidents to which human 
 life is liable, would be too many to attempt to 
 record, and having described a few, we must 
 leave our readers to seek the rest for themselves 
 in that roll of Golden Deeds, the records of the 
 Prix de Vertu. 
 
 THE LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND THE 
 MAGPIE. 
 
 1826. 
 
 Among those men who have performed the 
 most gallant and self-devoted deeds in the most 
 simple and natural way, we should especially 
 reckon captains in the navy. With them it is 
 an understood rule, that, happen what may, the 
 eomraanding officer is to be the last to secure 
 his own life — the last to leave the ship in
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 281 
 
 extremity. Many and many a brave life has 
 thus been given, but the spirit nurtured by such 
 examples is worth infinitely more than even the 
 continued service of the persons concerned could 
 have been. And for themselves, — this world is 
 not all, and have we not read, that " He w^ho 
 will save his life shall lose it, and he who will 
 lose his life shall save it?" 
 
 The Newfoundland coast is a peculiarly dan- 
 gerous one, from the dense fogs that hang over 
 the water, caused by the warm waters of the 
 Gulf-stream, which, rushing up from the Equa- 
 tor, here come in contact with the cold currents 
 from the pole, and send up such heavy vapor 
 that day can sometimes scarcely be discerned 
 from night, and even at little more than arm's 
 length objects cannot be distinguished, while 
 from without the mist looks like a thick, sheer 
 precipice of snow. 
 
 In such a fearful fog, on the morning of the 
 twentieth of June, 1822, the small schooner, 
 Drake, struck suddenly upon a rock, and almost 
 immediately fell over on her side, the waves break- 
 ing over her. Her commander, Captain Baker, 
 ordered her masts to be cut away, in hopes of 
 lightening her so that she might right herself, 
 but in vain. One boat was washed away, an- 
 other upset as soon as she was launched, and 
 there only remained the small boat called the 
 captain's gig. The ship was fast breaking up, 
 and the only hope was that the crew might 
 reach a small rock, the point of which could be 
 seen above the waves, at a distance that the fog 
 made it difficult to calculate, but it was hoped
 
 282 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 might not be too great. A man named Len- 
 nard seized a rope and sprang into the sea, but 
 the current was too strong for him, he was car- 
 ried away in an opposite direction and was 
 obliged to be dragged on board again. Then 
 the boatswain, whose name was Turner, volun- 
 teered to make the attempt in the gig, taking a 
 rope fastened round his body. The crew 
 cheered him after the gallant fashion of British 
 seamen, though they were all hanging on by 
 the ropes to the ship, with the sea breaking 
 over them and threatening every moment to 
 dash the vessel to pieces. Anxiously they 
 watched Turner in his boat, as he made his way 
 to within a few feet of the rock. There it was 
 lifted high and higher by a huge wave, then 
 hurled down on the rock and shattered to 
 pieces ; but the brave boatswain was safe, and 
 contrived to keep his hold of the rope and to 
 scramble upon the stone. 
 
 Another great wave, almost immediately 
 after, heaved up the remains of the ship and 
 dashed her down close to this rock of safety, 
 and Captain Baker, giving up the hope of sav- 
 ing her, commanded the crew to leave her and 
 make their way to it. For the first time he 
 met with disobedience. With one voice they 
 refused to leave the wreck unless they saw him 
 before them in safety. Calmly he renewed his 
 orders, saying that his life was the last and 
 least consideration ; and they were obliged to 
 obey, leaving the ship in as orderly a man- 
 ner as if they were going ashore in harbor. 
 But they were so benumbed with cold that
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 283 
 
 many were unable to climb the rock, and were 
 swept off by the waves, among them the lieu- 
 tenant. Captain Baker last of all joined his 
 crew, and it was then discovered that they were 
 at no great distance from the land, but that the 
 tide was rising and that the rock on which they 
 stood would assuredly be covered at high water, 
 and the heavy mist and lonely coast gave 
 scarcely a hope that help would come ere the 
 slowly rising v/aters must devour them. 
 
 Still there was no murmur, and again the 
 gallant boatswain, who still held the rope, volun- 
 teered to make an effort to save his comrades. 
 With a few words of earnest prayer, he secured 
 the rope round his waist, struggled hard with 
 the waves, and reached the shore, whence he 
 sent back the news of his safety by a loud cheer 
 to his comrades. 
 
 There v/as now a line of rope between the 
 shore and the rock, just long enough, to reach 
 from one to the other when held by a man at 
 each end. The only hope of safety lay in 
 working a desperate passage along this rope to 
 the land. The spray was already beating over 
 those who were crouched on the rock, but not a 
 man moved till called by name by Captain 
 Baker, and then it is recorded that not one, so 
 summoned, stirred till he had used his best en- 
 treaties to the captain to take his place ; but 
 the captain had but one reply, — " I will never 
 leave the rock until every soul is safe." 
 
 Forty-four stout sailors had made their peril- 
 ous way to shore. The forty-fifth looked round 
 and saw a poor woman lying helpless, almost
 
 284 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 lifeless, on the rock, unable to move. He took 
 her in one arm, and with the other clung to 
 the rope. Alas ! the double weight was more 
 than the much -tried rope could bear ; it broke 
 half-way and the poor woman and the sailor were 
 both swallowed in the eddy. Captain Baker 
 and three seamen remained, utterly cut off from 
 hope or help. The men in best condition hur- 
 ried off in search of help, found a farm-house, 
 obtained a rope and hastened back ; but long 
 ere their arrival the waters had flowed above 
 the head of the brave and faithful captain. All 
 the crew could do was, with full hearts, to write 
 a most touching letter to an officer, who had 
 once sailed with them in the Drake, to entreat 
 him to represent their cajDtain's conduct to the 
 Lords of the Admiralty. " In fact," said the 
 letter, " during the whole business he proved 
 himself a man, whose name and last conduct 
 ought ever to be held in the highest estimation, 
 by a crew who feel it their duty to ask, from 
 the Lords Commissioners of the Admiralty, that 
 which they otherwise have not the means of 
 obtaining ; that is, a public and lasting record 
 of the lion-hearted, generous and very unexam- 
 pled way in which our late noble commander 
 sacrificed his life, in the evening of the twenty- 
 third of June." This letter was signed by the 
 whole surviving crew of the Drake, and in con- 
 sequence, a tablet in* the dock-yard chapel at 
 Portsmouth commemorates the heroism of Cap- 
 tain Charles Baker. 
 
 No Avonder that the newly-escaped crew, who 
 had watched the grave, resolute face, and heard
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 285 
 
 the calm, firm answers, felt as if such bravery 
 were unexampled, and yet — thanks to Him, 
 who braced the hearts of our seamen — it is such 
 fortitude as has been repeated again and again 
 upon broken ships, and desolate rocks, and 
 freezing icebergs, among wild winds and wilder 
 waves. 
 
 From the cold fogs of Newfoundland, let us 
 turn to one of the most beautiful of all the 
 tracts of old ocean, that of the Caribbean Sea, 
 where the intense blue of the tropical sky is re- 
 flected in a sea of still deeper blue, sparkling 
 and dimpling under the full power of the sun- 
 beams, and broken by the wooded islands, 
 forming the most exquisite summer scenery in 
 the world. 
 
 But these most beautiful of seas are also the 
 most treacherous. This is the especial home of 
 the hurricane, and of brief, furious squalls, that 
 rise almost without warning, except from slight 
 indications in the sky, wiiich only an experi- 
 enced eye can detect ; and from the sudden 
 sinking of the mercury in the barometer ; but 
 this often does not take place till so immediately 
 before the storm, that there is barely a minute 
 in which to prepare a vessel for an encounter 
 with this most terrific of her enemies. 
 
 In these seas, in the August of 1826, the little 
 schooner Magpie, was cruising, under the com- 
 mand of a young lieutenant named Edward 
 Smith, in search of a piratical vessel, which had 
 for some time been the terror of the western 
 shores of the island of Cuba. The 26th had 
 been a remarkably sultry day, and toward
 
 286 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 evening the Magpie lay becalmed off the Colo- 
 rados rocks, when, at about eight o'clock, a 
 slight breeze sprung up from the west, and the 
 sails were spread, but in less than an hour the 
 wind shifted to the southward, and a small, dark, 
 lurid vapor was seen under the moon. This 
 was the well-known signal of coming peril, and 
 instantly Mr. Smith was summoned on deck, 
 the sails furled, and the vessel made as ready 
 as human skill could make her for her deadly 
 encounter. The cloud was rapidly increasing, 
 and for a few^ seconds there was a perfect still- 
 ness, till upon this came a rushing, roaring 
 sound, distant at first, but, in the space of a 
 breath, nearer and nearer ; while the sea, still 
 as a lake elsewhere, was before the black wall 
 that moved headlong on, lashed into one white 
 sheet of foam, flying up like flakes of snow. 
 It was upon them ! The lieutenant's voice was 
 heard calling to cut away the masts ; but even 
 then the ship was on her side, and in a few 
 seconds more she was gone from beneath the 
 crew ! A gunner's mate, named Meldrum, saw 
 for one moment, by the light of a vivid flash of 
 lightning, the faces of his comrades struggling 
 in the water, then he swam clear of the eddy 
 made by , the sinking ship, found something 
 floating, and grasping at it, obtained first one 
 oar and then another. The gust, having done 
 its work, had rushed upon its way, and the sea 
 was as still and calm as if its late fury had 
 been only a dream. 
 
 Meldrum listened breathlessly for some sign 
 of his shipmates, and presently, to his great
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 287 
 
 relief, heard a voice asking if any one was 
 near. It was that of Mr. Smith, who, with six 
 more, was cKnging to a boat which had floated 
 up clear of the ship. So many rushed to her 
 in their first joy, that she at once capsized, and 
 though all the ship's company, twenty -four in 
 number, were clinging to her, some were stretched 
 across the keel, and she was thus of course 
 utterly useless except as a float. 
 
 Mr. Smith ordered them all to quit their 
 position, and allow her to be righted. They 
 obeyed, and he then placed two in her to bale 
 out the water with their hats, directing the 
 others to support themselves by hanging round 
 the gunwales till the boat could be lightened 
 enough to admit them. Just as the bailing had 
 commenced, one of the men cried out that he 
 saw the fin of a shark, and the horror of becom- 
 ing a prey to the monster made the men forget 
 everything ; they struggled to get into the boat, 
 and upset it again ! Again, however, the lieu- 
 tenant's firmness prevailed, the boat was righted, 
 and he bade the men splash the water with 
 their legs by way of frightening away the 
 enemy. All went on well, and at length the 
 boat was able to hold four men — morning had 
 come, and hope with it, when at about ten 
 o'clock, the cry, "A shark ! a shark ! " was re- 
 newed, and at last fifteen of these creatures 
 were among them. Once more, in the panic, 
 the boat was overturned, but after the first mo- 
 ment, the calm, unflinching voice of Edward 
 Smith recalled the men to their resolution ; the 
 boat was righted, the two men replaced, and the
 
 288 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Others still hung outside, where the sharks, at 
 first in a playful mood, came rubbing against 
 the men, and even passing over the boat. At 
 last a cry of agony came from one of the men, 
 whose leg had been seized by a shark, and blood 
 once tasted, there was little more hope ; yet 
 still Smith kept his men steady, as holding by 
 the stern, he cheered the balers, and exhorted 
 the rest to patience till the boat could safely 
 hold them. But the monsters closed on their 
 prey ; shriek after shriek and reddening water 
 showed when one after another was torn from 
 the boat, and at last but six remained, when, as 
 the lieutenant looked into the boat for a second, 
 he ceased splashing, and at that moment one 
 leg was bitten off. Still, in order not to startle 
 his men, he endured the anguish without a cry 
 or moan, and they were not aware of what had 
 happened till the other limb was seized by the 
 ravenous teeth, when, with a groan he could 
 not repress, his hands quitted their hold. Two 
 of the men were in time to grasp him and lift 
 him into the boat, and there, mangled and con- 
 vulsed with agony as he lay, he still turned his 
 whole mind to the safety of his crew. Calling 
 to him a lad named Wilson, whom, as the 
 youngest and therefore the most sheltered from 
 danger, he thought the most likely to survive, 
 he desired him to tell the Admiral that he was 
 going to Cape Ontario in search of the pirate 
 when the disaster occurred. " Tell him," he 
 added, *' that my men have done their duty, and 
 that no blame is attached to them. I have but 
 one favor to ask, and that is, that he will pro- 
 mote Meldrum to be a gunner."
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE, 28^ 
 
 He then shook each man by the hand and 
 bade him farewell, with a cheering word for all 
 as long as he could speak ; but, as the long day 
 of burning sun, without food or water, passed 
 by, his strength failed, and he had lost the 
 power of speech, when at sunset, on another 
 alarm of the sharks, a startled movement of 
 the men caused the boat to be again upset, and 
 his sufferings were ended in the waves. 
 
 The brief, grave records of courts-martial 
 speak only of the facts that concern the service, 
 and they do not tell us of the one anchor of 
 hope that could alone have braced that dying 
 sailor's soul to that unmurmuring patience 
 through the anguish, thirst, and heat of that 
 tropical day ; but no one can doubt that a man, 
 who thought so much of others, so little of him- 
 self, whose soul was on his duty, and who bore 
 the extremity of agony so long and uncom- 
 plainingly, must have been upheld by that which 
 alone can give true strength. Indeed, we know 
 that Edward Smith w^as one of the best loved 
 and most promising of the sons of a Hamjoshire 
 family, brought up by a widowed mother, and 
 that he was especially valued by the Admiral 
 on the station, Sir Lawrence Halstead. 
 
 The only officer now left us was a young 
 mate named Maclean, who, with the spirit of 
 his lieutenant, again persuaded the men to 
 right the boat, which was now able to hold 
 them all, for only four were left, himself, the 
 gunner's mate, Meldrum, the boy Wilson, and 
 one more. Twenty hours of struggling in the 
 water, with, latterly, ihe sun broiling their
 
 290 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 heads, and not a morsel of food nor a drop of 
 drink, had however, nearly worn them out ; the 
 oars were lost, and though the approach of 
 night rendered the air cooler, yet the darkness 
 was unwelcome, as it took away all chance of 
 being seen and picked up by some passing vessel. 
 At about three o'clock at night, poor young 
 Wilson and the other man lost their senses from 
 the sufferings they had undergone, and both 
 jumped overboard and perished. 
 
 Maclean and Meldrum collected themselves 
 after the shock, and steadily continued to bale 
 out the water, till the boat was so nearly dry, 
 that they could lie down in her ; and so spent 
 were they, that deep sleep came to them both ; 
 nor did they w ake till the sun w^as glaring upon 
 them far above the horizon. What a waken- 
 ing! — alone in a frail boat, their companions 
 gone, water all round, and swarming with the 
 cruel sharks, — the sun burning overhead, and 
 themselves now thirty-six hours without food, 
 and parched with the deadly thirst, which they 
 had the resolution not to attempt to slake with 
 salt water, well knowing that the momentary 
 relief w^ould be followed by worse suffering, 
 perhaps by frenzy. They durst not even speak 
 to one another, but sat, one in the bow, one in 
 the stern, in silent patience, waiting for death. 
 
 Hours passed away in this manner ; but 
 toward eight in the morning a white speck was 
 seen in the distance, and both opened their 
 parched lips to shout " A sail ! — a sail ! " They 
 shook hands with tears of joy and hope, and 
 strained their eyes as the vessel came nearer,
 
 LOSS OF THE DRAKE AND MAGPIE. 291 
 
 and the dark hull could be seen above the hori- 
 zon. Nearer, nearer, — scarcely half a mile from 
 them was the vessel, when alas ! she altered her 
 course ; she was sailing away. They shouted 
 their loudest, and waved their jackets ; but in 
 vain, — they were unseen, and were being left 
 to perish ! 
 
 The gunner's mate now rose up. He was the 
 elder and the stronger man, and he quietly 
 announced his intention of swimming to the 
 vessel. It was a long, fearfully long distance 
 for a man fasting for so many hours ; and more 
 terrible still than drowning was the other danger 
 that was hidden under the golden ripples of 
 those blue waters. But to remain was certain 
 death to both, and this attempt gave the one 
 last hope. The brave man gave his last wishes 
 in charge to his officer, made the one entreaty, 
 that if Mr. Maclean saw a shark in pursuit, he 
 would not let him know, shook hands, and, with 
 a brief prayer for the protection of the Almighty^ 
 sprang overboard, 
 
 Maclean was strongly tempted to swim with 
 this last companion, but conquered the impulse 
 as only leading to a needless peril, cheered, and 
 waved his jacket. Once he thought he saw the 
 fin of a shark, and made a splashing, in hopes 
 of scaring it from the pursuit, then watched the 
 swimmer with earnest hope. Mel drum swam, 
 straining every nerve, splashing as he went to 
 keep away the sharks, and shouting, but no one 
 appeared on deck ; and when he had accom- 
 plished about two-thirds of the way, his strength 
 failed him, and he was about to resign himself
 
 292 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 to float motionless, an easy prey to the sharks, 
 when a head was seen in the vessel. He raised 
 his arms, jumped himself up in the water, and 
 was seen ! The brig was hove-to, a boat was 
 put out, and he was taken into it, still able to 
 speak and point the way to his companion. 
 
 The brig was American ; and, at first, the 
 history of the last day and night was thought 
 so incredible, and the destitute pair were taken 
 for escaped pirates ; but they were, at last, set 
 on shore at Havanna, and thence conveyed to 
 Port Royal by the first man-of-war that touched 
 there. 
 
 At the court-martial held by Sir Lawrence 
 Halstead these facts came out. Meldrum could 
 not be prevailed on to tell his own story ; but 
 when his young oflicer had related it, both 
 burst into tears, and embraced before the court. 
 ^ot an officer present but was deeply affected ; 
 and Meldrum was, of course, at once promoted, 
 according to the dying request of Lieutenant 
 Smith. He died in the year 1848, but the 
 name of the Magpie schooner will ever remain 
 connected with the memory of undaunted reso- 
 lution and unwearied patience.
 
 THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE VOLCANO. 293 
 
 THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE 
 VOLCANO. 
 
 1825. 
 
 Few regions in the world are more beautiful 
 than those islands far away in the Pacific 
 which we have been used to call the Sandwich 
 Isles. They are in great part formed by the 
 busy little coral worms, but in the midst of 
 them are lofty mountains, thrown up by the 
 wonderful power that we call volcanic. In sail- 
 ing up to the islands the first thing that becomes 
 visible are two lofty peaks, each two miles and 
 a half high. One is white with perpetual 
 snow, the other is dark, — dark with lava and 
 cinders, on which the inward heat will not per- 
 mit the snow to cast a white mantle. The first 
 of these has been tranquil for many years, the 
 other is the largest and most terrible active vol- 
 cano in the world, and is named Kilauea. The 
 enormous crater is a lake of liquid fire, from 
 six to nine miles in circumference. Over it 
 plays a continual vapor, which hangs by day 
 like a silvery cloud, but at dusk is red and 
 glowing like the Aurora Borealis, and in the 
 night is as a forest in flames. Rising into this 
 lurid atmosphere are two black cones, in the 
 midst of a sea of fused lava, in which black 
 and pink rocks are tossed wildly about as in a 
 seething cauldron. The edge of this huge basin 
 of burning matter is a ledge of hard lava^
 
 294 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 above which rises a mighty wall of scoria or 
 cinder ; in one place forming an abrupt preci- 
 pice, 4000 feet high, but in others capable of 
 being descended, by perilous paths, by those 
 who desire to have a closer view of the lake 
 of flame within. Upon the bushes that grow 
 on the mountain-top is found a curious fibrous 
 substance formed by the action of the air 
 upon the vapor rising from the molten minerals 
 beneath ; is like cobwebs of spun glass. Tre- 
 mendous is the scene at all times, but at the 
 periods of eruption, the terrific majesty is 
 beyond all imagination, when rivers of boiling 
 lava, blood-red with heat, rush down the moun- 
 tain-side, forming cascades of living fire, or 
 spreading destruction over the plains, and when 
 reaching the sea, struggling, roars, thundering, 
 in bubbling flames and dense smoke for the 
 mastery with the other element. 
 
 Heathen nations living among such wonder- 
 ful appearances of nature cannot fail to connect 
 them with divine beings. The very name of 
 volcano testifies to the old classical fancy that 
 the burning hills of the Mediterranean were 
 the workshops of the armorer god Vulcan and 
 his Cyclops ; and in the Sandwich Islands, the 
 terrible Kilauea was supposed to be the home 
 of the goddess Pele, whose bath was in the 
 mighty crater, and whose hair was supposed to 
 be the glossy threads that covered the hills. 
 Pierce goddess as she was, she permitted no 
 woman to touch the verge of her mountain, 
 and her wrath might involve the whole island 
 in fiery destruction.
 
 THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE VOLCANO. 295 
 
 At length however, the islanders were de- 
 livered from their bondage of terror into a 
 clearer light. Missionaries came among them, 
 and intercourse with Europeans made them 
 ashamed of their own superstitious fancies. 
 Very gradually the faith of the people de- 
 tached itself from the savage deities they had 
 worshiped, and they began to revere the One 
 true Maker of heaven and earth. But still 
 their superstitions hung around Ealauea. There 
 the fiery goddess still reveled in her fearful 
 gambols, there the terrible sights and sounds, 
 and the desolating streams that might at any 
 moment burst from her reservoir of flame were 
 as tokens of anger that the nation feared to 
 provoke. And after the young King Liho- 
 liho, with all his court, had made up their 
 minds to abandon their idols, give up their 
 abominable practices, and seek instruction from 
 Christian teachers, still the priests of Pele, 
 on her flaming mountain, kept their strong- 
 hold of heathenism, and threatened her wrath 
 upon those who should forsake the ancient 
 worship. 
 
 Then it was that a brave Christian M'oman, 
 strong in faith and courage, resolved to defy 
 the goddess in her fastness, and break the spell 
 that bound the trembling people to her wor- 
 ship. Her name was Kapiolani, wife of Kaihe, 
 the public orator of Hawaii. There was na 
 common trust and resolution needed to enable 
 her to carry out her undertaking. ISTot only 
 was she outraging the old notions that fearful 
 consequences must follow the transgression of
 
 296 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the tahii, or setting apart. Not only was the 
 ascent toilsome, and leading into cold regions, 
 which were dreadful to a delicate Hawaiian, 
 but the actual danger of the ascent was great. 
 AVild crags, and slippery sheets of lava, or 
 slopes of crumbling cinders, were strangers to 
 the feet of the tender coast-l^red woman. And 
 the heated soil, the groanings, the lurid atmos- 
 phere, the vapor that oozed up from the crevi- 
 ces of the half-cooled lava, must have filled 
 any mind with awe and terror, above all, one 
 that had been bred up in the faith that these 
 were the tokens of the fury of a vindictive 
 and powerful deity, whose precincts she was 
 transgressing. Very recently a large body of 
 men had been suffocated on the mountain-side 
 by the mephitic gases of the volcano — struck 
 ^ead, as it must have seemed, by the breath of 
 the goddess. 
 
 But Kapiolani, strong in the faith that He, 
 as whose champion she came, was all-sufficient 
 to guard her from the perils she confronted, 
 climbed resolutely on, bearing in her hand the 
 sacred berries which it was sacrilege for one of 
 her sex to touch. The enraged priests of Pele 
 came forth from their sanctuary among the 
 crags, and endeavored to bar her way with 
 threats of the rage of their mistress ; but she 
 heeded them not. She made her way to the 
 summit, and gazed into the fiery gulf below, 
 then descended the side of the terrible crater, 
 even to the margin of the boiling sea of fire, 
 and hurling into it the sacred berries, ex- 
 claimed : " If I perish by the anger of Pele
 
 THE RESCUERS. 297 
 
 then dread her power ; but, behold, I defy her 
 wrath. I have broken her tabus ; I live and 
 am safe, for Jehovah the Almighty is my God. 
 His Avas the breath that kindled these flames ; 
 His is the hand which restrains their fury ! O, 
 all ye people, behold how vain are the gods of 
 Hawaii, and turn and serve the Lord ! " 
 
 Safely the brave woman descended the 
 mountain, having won her cause, the cause of 
 Faith. 
 
 In classic times, the philospher Empedocles 
 had leapt into the burning crater of Mount 
 Etna, thereby to obtain an imperishable name. 
 How much more noble is the name that Kapio- 
 lani gained for herself, by the deed that 
 showed forth at whose command alone it is that 
 the mountains quake and flow down, and the 
 hills melt like wax ! 
 
 THE RESCUERS. 
 
 We have had a glimpse of the horrors on 
 board a wrecked ship, and the resolution with 
 which they can be endured and conquered. 
 Let us now look at the shore, and at the spirit 
 that has prompted even women to become their 
 rescuers. 
 
 Here, then, is a portion of a " Night Scene by 
 the Sea," namely, the dangerous coast near Cro- 
 mer, in the county of Norfolk. It was taken 
 from a poem by Joanna Baillie, and is literally 
 and exactlv true. There amid
 
 298 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 " The roar of winds and waves 
 As strong contention loudly raves, 
 A fearful sound of fearful commotion, 
 The many angry voices of the ocean," 
 
 the foremost in affording aid to the shipwrecked 
 seamen was a crippled lady, 
 
 *' One with limbs nerve-bound, 
 Whose feet had never touched the ground. 
 Who loves in tomes of Runic lore 
 To scan the curious tales of yore, 
 Of gods and heroes dimly wild. 
 And hath intently oft beguiled 
 Her passing hours with mystic rhymes. 
 Legends by bards rehearsed of other times ; 
 L^earned, and loving learning well, 
 For college hall or cloistered cell 
 A student meet, yet all the while 
 As meet, with repartee or smile, 
 'Mid easy converse, polished, blithe and boon. 
 To join the circles of a gay saloon ; 
 From childhood reared in wealth and ease, 
 The daily care herself to please, — 
 For selfish nature here below 
 A dangerous state, I trow." 
 
 That crippled lady was Anna Gurney, one of 
 a gifted family, surpassing them perhaps in 
 mental powers and attainments, certainly not 
 inferior to any in Christian benevolence, and 
 (which is the strangest thing of all) absolutely 
 more than a match for the soundest and healthi- 
 est among them in personal activity, though 
 unable through her whole life to stand or move
 
 THE RRSCUERS. 299 
 
 without mechanical aid. Her intellect was of 
 the highest order. After learning all the more 
 accessible languages, she betook herself to the 
 ancient Teutonic branches, and in 1819 trans- 
 lated the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle. As invalid 
 and as scholar, she would, as the verses above 
 quoted observe, have seemed in especial danger 
 of dwelling on nothing beyond her own con- 
 stant and severe sufferings, and the studies that 
 beguiled her attention from them. 
 
 Yet she was full of the warmest, brightest 
 sympathy. Her conversation was not only de- 
 lightful from her brilliant powders, but from her 
 ready perception of the wants and Welshes of 
 others. Not only was her wheeled chair pro- 
 pelled in a moment to her book-shelves when 
 she wanted a volume to illustrate her thought, 
 but the moment she caught a friend's eye in 
 search of any article at a little distance, her 
 chair was turned in that direction, and the ob- 
 ject was presented with infinite grace. vShe 
 made young people exceedingly fond of her, 
 and delighted to assist them in their studies. 
 She would help boys to prepare their Greek and 
 Latin tasks with infinite zest, and would enliven 
 a lesson with comical and original allusions. 
 Other children of a lower rank were also taught 
 by her, and from her home at North-Repps 
 Cottage, she won, by her kindness and helpful- 
 ness, the strongest influence over the fisherfolk 
 upon the coast, Avho looked upon her as a 
 superior being. 
 
 At her own expense she procured a life-boat 
 and apparatus for rescuing the shipwrecked,
 
 300 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 and to secure the right use of these, she would 
 be wheeled down to the shore in her chair, to 
 give orders and superintend their execution. 
 Surely there can be no more noble picture than 
 this infirm woman, constantly in pain, whose 
 right it would have seemed to be shielded from 
 a rough blast or the very knowledge of sufier- 
 ing, coming forth in the dead of night, amid 
 the howling storm, beating spray, and drench- 
 ing rain, to direct and inspirit its rugged, sea- 
 faring men, and send them on errands of life 
 or death. Which was most marvelous, it is 
 hard to say, the force of will that actuated her, 
 or the force of understanding that gave value 
 to such presence and commands. 
 Truly may Miss Baillie say : — 
 
 " But no, my words her words may not express, 
 Their generous import your own hearts must 
 guess." 
 
 And when half-drowned sailors were brought 
 ashore, she remained to give care and directions 
 for their treatment, or took them to her own 
 home, where they were so welcomed, that it was 
 a saying on the coast that it was worth while 
 to be wrecked to be received by Miss Gurney. 
 
 "The lady returns to her home again, 
 With the sounds of blessings in her ear, 
 From young and old, her heart to cheer ; 
 Sweet thoughts within her secret soul to 
 
 cherish, 
 The blessings of those who were ready to 
 
 perish ;
 
 THE RESCUERS. 301 
 
 And there lays her down on her peaceful 
 
 pillow, 
 Blessed by the Lord of the wind and the billow." 
 
 AYhen, at the age of sixty -one, she laid her 
 down on her last pillow, s}\e was carried to her 
 rest, in the seaside church of Overstrand, by 
 old fishermen, — rugged, loving men, who knew 
 and valued her, — and when they had lowered 
 the coffin down the st6ne steps of the open 
 vault, they formed a knot at the foot and wept 
 bitterly. More than a thousand persons from 
 the coast had gathered to show their respect and 
 gratitude ; most were in mourning, many in 
 tears. " I never," said one who was present, 
 "saw so many men weeping at one time, it 
 seemed a general wail." The service was read 
 by the clergyman of the parish (who could not 
 but feel that he had lost his most precious 
 earthly helper) simply and calmly ; with cheer- 
 ful brightness, which showed that his faith had 
 realized her gain, he gave thanks for her. 
 
 The cripple gave what she had, — her vigor- 
 ous mind, her means, and her spirit. Let us 
 turn to one who had neither silver nor gold, 
 nothing but her resolute heart and brave, skil- 
 ful hands. Grace Darling, the daughter of the 
 keeper of one of the light-houses upon the 
 Fern Islands, a perilous cluster of rocks off St. 
 Abb's Head, was wakened toward the morning 
 of the sixth of September, 1838, by shrieks of 
 distress ; and when dawn came, perceived the 
 remains of a wreck upon Longstone Island, the 
 outermost of the group.
 
 802 BOOK OP GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Grace awoke her father and urged him to 
 launch his boat and go to the rescue of anyone who 
 might still be alive in the stranded vessel, but the 
 tide was rising, wind and sea were wild, and the 
 old man hung back. Grace, how^ever, was sure 
 that she discerned a movement on the wreck, as 
 though living beings were still there, and seizing 
 an oar, placed herself in the boat, which she was 
 well able to manage. Her father could not let 
 her go alone, and they rowed off together in a 
 tremendous sea, encouraged by perceiving that 
 nine persons were still clinging to the forepart 
 of the ship. The father, after many vain at- 
 tempts, succeeded in landing on the rock, and 
 making his way to the wreck, while Grace 
 rowed off and on among the breakers, dexter- 
 ously guiding her little boat, which but for her 
 excellent management would have been dashed 
 to pieces against the rocks. 
 
 One by one w^ith the utmost care and skill, 
 the nine survivoi's were placed in the boat and 
 carried to the light-house, where Grace lodged, 
 fed and nursed them for two whole days before 
 the storm abated enough for communication 
 with the mainland. One of them was a Mrs. 
 Dawson, whose two children, of eleven and eight 
 years old, had actually been buffeted to death 
 by the waves while she held them in her arms, 
 and who w^as so much injured herself that it was 
 long before she could leave her bed. 
 
 The vessel was the Forfarshire, a large steamer 
 plying between Hull and Dundee. Her boilers 
 had been out of order, their leakage had ren- 
 dered the engines useless, and when the storm
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 303 
 
 arose, the ship was unmanageable without her 
 steam, and was driven helplessly upon the Fern 
 Islands. The only boat had been lowered by 
 eight of the sailors, who were pushing off in 
 her, when one gentleman rushed on deck, 
 seized a rope and swung himself in after 
 them. These nine were picked up by a sloop 
 and saved. Of the others, the whole num- 
 ber had either been drowned in their berths or 
 washed off the wreck, except four of the crew 
 and five passengers, whom Grace Darling's 
 valor had rescued. The entire amount of the 
 lost was not known, but more than forty had 
 certainly gone on board at Hull. Some sailors 
 at Sunderland went out to the wreck during the 
 storm, at the peril of their lives, but found only 
 corpses to bring away. Grace's noble conduct 
 rang throughout England, and every testimo- 
 nial that could be offered was sent to her. We 
 believe that this brave girl soon after died of 
 decline. 
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 
 
 1858. 
 
 The Arctic seas have been the scene of some 
 of the most noted instances of daring and 
 patience shown by mariners. Ever since the 
 reign of Edward VI., when the brave Sir 
 Hugh Willoughby and his crew all perished, 
 frozen at their posts among the rocks of Spitz- 
 bergen, the relentless ice, and soft, though fatal
 
 304 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 snows of those dreary realms, have formed the 
 grave of many a gallant sailor. Many a life 
 has been lost in the attempt to discover the 
 Northwest passage, between Davis and Beh- 
 ring Straits, and to trace the outline of the 
 northern coast of America. Whether those 
 lives were wasted, or whether their brave 
 example was not worth more to the world than 
 a few years more of continuance, is not the 
 question here to be asked. The latter Arctic 
 voyagers had a nobler purpose than that of 
 completing the survey of the barren coast, 
 namely, the search for Sir John Franklin, who, 
 in 1845, had gone forth with two tried vessels, 
 the Erebus and Terror, on his second polar 
 expedition, and had been seen and heard of 
 no more. 
 
 Voyage after voyage was undertaken, in the 
 hope at first of relieving and rescuing the lost 
 ships' companies, and then of ascertaining the 
 fate, until the Admiralty decided that to send 
 forth more exploring parties Avas a vain risking 
 of valuable lives, and it was only the earnest 
 perseverance of Sir John Franklin's wife and 
 the chivalrous adventure of individuals that 
 carried on the search, until, at the end of 
 fourteen years. Captain, now Sir Leopold 
 M'Clintock, in the Fox yacht, discovered the 
 last records, which placed it beyond all doubt 
 that the gentle and courageous Franklin had 
 died peacefully, before evil days had come on 
 his party, and that the rest had more gradually 
 perished under cold and hunger in the fearful 
 prison of icebergs.
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 305 
 
 Gallant and resolute as were all these north- 
 ern travelers, there are two names that perhaps 
 deserve, above all others, to be recorded, 
 because their free offer of themselves was not 
 prompted by the common tie of country. One 
 was the French Lieutenant Bellot, who sailed 
 in the Albert in 1851, and after most manful 
 exertions, which gained the respect and love of 
 all who sailed with him, was drowned by the 
 breaking of the ice in Wellington Sound. The 
 other was Dr. Elisha K. Kane, an American 
 naval surgeon, who in 1853 volunteered to 
 command an American expedition in search of 
 the lost vessels, which some supposed to be 
 shut up by the ice in a basin of clearer, warmer 
 water, such as it was thought might exist round 
 the North Pole, and the way to which might 
 be opened or closed, according to the shifting 
 of the icebergs. 
 
 His vessel was the hr'ig Advance, and his course 
 was directed through Davis' Straits, and on the 
 way past the Danish settlements in Greenland, 
 they provided themselves with a partially edu- 
 cated young Esquimaux as a hunter, and with a 
 team of dogs, which were to be used in drawing 
 sledges over the ice in explorations. 
 
 The whole expedition was one Golden Deed, 
 but there is not space to describe it in all its 
 details : we must confine ourselves to the most 
 striking episode in their adventures, hoping 
 that it may send our readers to the book itself. 
 The ship was brought to a standstill in Ren- 
 fealner Bay, on the west side of Smith's Strait, 
 between the 79th and 80th degrees of latitude.
 
 306 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 It was only the 10th of September when the ice 
 closed in so as to render further progress of the 
 ship impossible. On the 7th of November the 
 sun was seen for the last time, and darkness set 
 in for 141 days, — such darkness at times as was 
 misery even to the dogs, who used to contend with 
 one another for the power of lying within sight 
 of the crack of light under the cabin door. 
 
 Before the light failed, however. Dr. Kane 
 had sent out parties to make caches, or stores 
 of provisions, at various intervals. These were 
 to be used by the exploring companies whom 
 he proposed to send out in sledges, while the 
 ice was still unbroken, in hopes of thus discov- 
 ering the way to the Polynia, or polar basin, in 
 which he thought Franklin might be shut up. 
 The same work was resumed with the first 
 gleams of returning light in early spring, and 
 on the 18th of March a sledge was dispatched 
 with eight men to arrange one of these depots 
 for further use. Toward midnight on the 
 29th, Dr. Kane and those who had remained 
 in the ship, were sewing moccasins in their 
 warm cabin by lamplight, when steps were 
 heard above, and down came three of the absent 
 ones, staggering, swollen, haggard and scarcely 
 able to speak. Four of their companions were 
 lying under their tent frozen and disabled, 
 *' somewhere among the hummocks, — to the 
 north and east it was drifting heavily." A 
 brave Irishman, Thomas Hickey, had remained 
 at the peril of his life to feed them, and these 
 three had set out to try to obtain aid, but they 
 were so utterly exhausted and bewildered that
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 307 
 
 they could hardly be restored sufficiently to 
 explain themselves. 
 
 Instantly to set out to the rescue was, of 
 course, Dr. Kane's first thought, and as soon as 
 the facts had been ascertained, a sledge, a small 
 tent, and some pemmican, or pounded and 
 spiced meat, were packed up ; Mr. Ohlsen, who 
 was the least disabled of the sufferers, was put 
 into a fur bag, with his legs rolled up in dog 
 skins and eider-down and strapped upon the 
 sledge, in the hope that he would serve as a 
 guide, and nine men, with Dr. Kane, set forth 
 across the ice in cold seventy-eight degrees 
 below the freezing point. 
 
 Mr. Ohlsen, who had not slept for fifty 
 hours, dropped asleep as soon as the sledge 
 began to move, and thus he continued for six- 
 teen hours, during which the ten proceeded 
 with some knowledge of their course, since 
 huge icebergs of noted forms, stretching in 
 " long beaded lines " across the t3ay, served as a 
 sort of guide-posts. But just when they had 
 come beyond their knowledge, except that their 
 missing comrades must be somewhere within 
 forty miles round, he awoke, evidently delirious 
 and perfectly useless. Presently they came to 
 a long, level floe, or field of ice, and Dr. Kane, 
 thinking it might have been attractive to weary- 
 men unable to stagger over the wild hummocks 
 and rugged surface of the other parts, decided 
 to search it thoroughly. He left the sledge, 
 raised the tent, buried the pemmican, and took 
 poor Ohlsen out of his bag, as he was just able 
 to keep his bag and the thermometer had sunk
 
 308 BOOK OF GOLDEX DEEDS. 
 
 three degrees lower, po that to halt would have 
 been certain death. The thirst was dreadful, 
 for there was no waiting to melt the snow, and 
 in such a temperature, if it be not thawed 
 before touching the mouth, it burns like caus- 
 tic, and leaves the lips and tongue bleeding. 
 The men were ordered to spread themselves, so 
 as to search completely ; but though they 
 readily obeyed, they could not help continually 
 closing up together, either. Dr. Kane thought, 
 from getting bewildered by the forms of the 
 ice, or from the invincible awe and dread of 
 solitude, acting on their shattered nerves ir 
 that vast field of intense lonely whiteness and 
 in the atmosphere of deadly cold. The two 
 strongest were seized with shortness of breath 
 and trembling fits, and Dr. Kane himself 
 fainted twice on the snow. Thus they had 
 spent two hours, having been nearly eighteen 
 without water or food, when Hans, their- Esqui- 
 maux hunter, thought he saw a sledge track in 
 the snow, and though there was still a doubt 
 whether it were not a mere rift made by the 
 wind, they followed it for another hour, till at 
 length they beheld the stars and stripes of the 
 American flag fluttering on a hummock of 
 snow, and close behind it was the tent of the 
 lost. 
 
 Dr. Kane was among the last to come up ; 
 his men were all standing in file beside the 
 tent, waiting in a sort of awe for him to be the 
 first to enter it and see whether their messmates 
 still lived. He crawled into the darkness, and 
 heard a burst of welcome from four poor, helpless
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 309 
 
 figures lying stretched on their backs. " We 
 expected you ! We were sure you would come ! '* 
 and then burst out a hearty cheer outside, and 
 for the first time Dr. Kane was well nigh over- 
 come by strong feeling. 
 
 Here were fifteen souls in all to be brought 
 back to the ship. The newcomers had traveled 
 without rest for twenty -one hours, and the tent 
 would barely hold eight men, while outside, 
 motion was the only means of sustaining life. 
 By turns, then, the rescue party took two hours 
 of sleep each, while those who remained awake 
 paced the snow outside, and food having been 
 taken, the homeward journey began, but not 
 till all the sick had been undressed, rubbed and 
 newly packed in double bufililo skins, in which 
 — having had each limb swathed in reindeer 
 skins — they were laid on their own sledges, and 
 sewn up in one huge bale, with an opening over 
 each mouth for breathing. This took four 
 hours, and gave almost all the rescuers frost- 
 bitten fingers, and then, all hands standing 
 round, a prayer was said, and the ten set out 
 to drag the four in their sledges over ice and 
 snow, now in ridges, now in hummocks, up and 
 down, hard and wild beyond conception. Ohl- 
 sen was sufficiently restored to walk, and all 
 went cheerfully for about six hours, when every 
 one became sensible of a sudden failure of their 
 powers. 
 
 " Bonsall and Morton, two of our stoutest 
 men, came to me, begging permission to sleep ; 
 they were not cold, the wind did not enter them 
 now, a little sleep was all that they wanted.
 
 810 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 Presently Hans was found nearly stiff under a 
 drift, and Thomas, bolt upright, had his eyes 
 closed and could hardly articulate. At last 
 John Blake threw himself on the snow, and 
 refused to rise. They did not complain of 
 feeling cold ; but it was in vain that I wrestled, 
 boxed, ran, argued, jeered or reprimanded, an 
 immediate halt could not be avoided." So the 
 tent was pitched again with much difficulty, 
 for their hands were too powerless to strike a 
 light, and even the whisky, which had been put 
 under all the coverings of the sledge at the 
 men's feet, was frozen. Into the tent all the 
 sick and failing were put, and James M'Gary 
 was left in charge of them, with orders to come 
 on after a halt of four hours, while Dr. Kane 
 and William Godfrey pushed on ahead, mean- 
 ing to reach the tent that had been left half- 
 way, and thaw some food by the time the rest 
 came up. 
 
 Happily, they were on a level tract of ice, 
 for they could hardly have contended with 
 difficulties in the nine miles they had still to 
 go to this tent. They were neither of them in 
 their right senses, but had resolution enough to 
 keep moving, and imposing on one another a 
 continued utterance of words ; but they lost all 
 count of time, and could only remember having 
 seen a bear walking leisurely along, and tearing 
 up a fur garment that had been dropped the 
 day before. The beast rolled it into a ball, but 
 took no notice of them, and they proceeded 
 steadily, so " drunken with cold," that they 
 hardly had power to care for the sight of their
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 311 
 
 half-way tent undergoing the same fate. How- 
 ever, their approach frightened away the bear, 
 after it had done no worse than overthrowing 
 the tent. The exhausted pair raised it with 
 much difficulty, crawled in, and slept for three 
 hours. When they awoke, Dr. Kane's beard 
 was frozen so fast to the buffalo skin over him, 
 that Godfrey had to cut him out with his jack- 
 knife ; but they had recovered their faculties, 
 and had time to make a fire, thaw some ice, 
 and make some soup with the pemmican, before 
 the rest of the party arrived. 
 
 After having given them this refreshment, 
 the last stage of the journey began, and the 
 most severe ; for the ice was wild and rough, 
 and exhaustion was leading to the most griev- 
 ous of losses, — that of self-control. In their 
 thirst, some could no longer abstain from eating 
 snow, — their mouths swelled, and they became 
 speechless ; and all were overpowered by the 
 deadly sleep of cold, dropping torpid upon the 
 snow. But Dr. Kane found that, when roused 
 by force at the end of three minutes, these 
 snatches of sleep did them good, and each in 
 turn was allowed to sit on the runners of the 
 sledge, watched, and awakened. The day was 
 without wind and sunshiny, otherwise they 
 must have perished ; for the whole became so 
 nearly delirious, that they retained no recollec- 
 tion of their proceedings; they only traced 
 their course afterward by their footmarks. But 
 when perception and memory were lost, obedi- 
 ence and self-devotion lived on, — still these 
 hungry, frost-bitten, senseless men tugged at
 
 812 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 the sledge that bore their comrades, — still held 
 together, and obeyed their leader, who after- 
 ward continued the soundest of the party. One 
 was sent staggering forward, and was proved 
 by the marks in the snow to have repeatedly 
 fallen ; but he reached the brig safely, and was 
 capable of repeating with perfect accuracy the 
 messages Dr. Kane had charged him with for 
 the surgeon. 
 
 A dog-team, with a sledge and some restora- 
 tives, was at once sent out to meet the others, 
 with the surgeon. Dr. Hayes, who was shocked 
 at the condition in which he encountered them, — 
 four lying, sewn up in furs, on the sledge, which 
 the other ten were drawing. These ten, three 
 days since, hardy, vigorous men, were covered 
 with frost, feeble and bent. They gave not a 
 glance of recognition, but only a mere vacant, 
 wild stare, and still staggered on, every one of 
 them delirious. It was one o'clock in the 
 afternoon of the third day that they arrived, 
 after sixty-six hours' exposure, during which 
 they had been almost constantly on foot. Most 
 of those who still kept their footing stumbled 
 straight on, as if they saw and heard nothing, 
 till they came to the ship's side, where, on Dr. 
 Kane giving the word to halt, they dropped 
 the lines, mounted the ship's side, and each 
 made straight for his own bed, where he rolled 
 in, just as he was, in all his icy furs, and fell 
 into a heavy sleep. 
 
 There were only the seven who had been left 
 with the ship (five of them being invalids) to 
 carry up the four helpless ones, and attend to
 
 THE RESCUE PAPwTY. 6l6 
 
 all the rest. Dr. Kane, indeed, retained his 
 faculties, assisted in carrying them in, and saw 
 them attended to ; after which he lay down in 
 his cot, but, after an hour or two, he shouted, 
 " Halloo, on deck there ! " and when Dr. Hayes 
 came to him, he gave orders " to call all hands 
 to lay aft, and take two reefs in the stove-pipe !" 
 In like manner, each of the party, as he awoke, 
 began to rave ; and for two days the ship was 
 an absolute madhouse, the greater part of its 
 inmates frantic in their several cots. Dr. Kane 
 was the first to recover, — Ohlsen the last, his 
 mind constantly running upon the search for 
 his comrades in the tent, which he thought 
 himself the only person able to discover. Of 
 those whom the party had gone to assist, good 
 " Irish Tom " soon recovered ; but two died in 
 the course of a few days, and the rest suffered 
 very severely. 
 
 The rest of Dr. Kane's adventures cannot 
 here be told; suffice it to say, that his ship 
 remained immovable, and, after a second winter 
 of terrible suffering from the diseases induced 
 by the want of fresh meat and vegetables, — the 
 place of which, was ill-supplied by rats, puppies 
 and scurvy-grass, — it was decided to take to 
 the boats ; and, between these and sledges, the 
 ship's company of the Advance, at last, found 
 their way to Greenland, after so long a seclusion 
 from all European news, that, when first they 
 heard of the Crimean war, they thought an 
 alliance between England and France a mere 
 hallucination of their ignorant informant. Dr. 
 Kane, — always an unhealthy man, — did not
 
 314 BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 live long after his return; but he survived 
 long enough to put on record one of the most 
 striking and beautiful histories of patience and 
 unselfishness that form part of the best treasury 
 this world has to show.
 
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