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 FOR USE OF Mh> 
 
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 - PROPERTY OF - 
 SEAMEN'S CHURCH INSTITUTE 
 
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 SAN PEDRO. - - - - CALIFORNIA
 
 A BOOK 
 
 GOLDEN DEEDS 
 
 "Sv
 
 "I have done that which was my duty to do.'' Frontispiece.
 
 A BOOK OF 
 
 GOLDEN DEEDS 
 
 OF ALL TIMES AND ALL LANDS 
 
 GATHERED AND NARRATED BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF THE "HEIR OF REDCLYFFE" 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 1) LOT II U O P CO M P A N Y 
 
 1 HANKI.IN AXl) JIAWI.KY STKKKT8
 
 GREATER LOVE HATH NO MAN THAN THIS, THAT 
 HE LAY DOWN HIS LIFE FOR HIS FRIEND.
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 AS the most striking lines of poetry are the 
 most hackneyed, because they have grown 
 to be the common inheritance of all the world, 
 so many of the most noble deeds that earth can 
 show have become the best known, and enjoyed 
 their full meed of fame. Therefore it may be 
 feared that many of the events here detailed, or 
 alluded to, may seem trite to those in search of 
 novelty ; but it is not for such that the collec- 
 tion has been made. It is rather intended as a 
 treasury for young people, where they may find 
 minuter particulars than their abridged histories 
 usually afford of the soul-stirring deeds that 
 give life and glory to the record of events ; and 
 where also other like actions, out of their ordi- 
 nary course of reading, may be placed before 
 them, in the trust that example may inspire the 
 spirit of heroism and self-devotion. For surely
 
 vi Preface. 
 
 it must be a wholesome contemplation to look 
 on actions, the very essence of which is such 
 entire absorption in others that self is not so 
 much renounced as forgotten ; the object of 
 which is not to win promotion, wealth, or suc- 
 cess, but simple duty, mercy, and loving-kind- 
 ness. These are the actions wrought, " hoping 
 for nothing again," but which most surely have 
 their reward. 
 
 The authorities have not been given, as for 
 the most part the narratives lie on the surface 
 of history. For the description of the Coli- 
 saeum, I have, however, been indebted to the 
 Abbe" Gerbet's Rome Chretienne ; for the 
 Housewives of Lowenburg, and St. Stephen's 
 Crown, to Freytag's Sketches of German Life ; 
 and for the story of George the Triller, to Mr. 
 Mayhew's Germany. The Escape of Attalus is 
 narrated (from Gregory of Tours) in Thierry's 
 " Lettres sur 1'Histoire de France " ; the Rus- 
 sian officer's adventures, and those of Prascovia 
 Lopouloff, the true Elizabeth of Siberia, are 
 from M. le Maistre ; the shipwrecks chiefly 
 from Gilly's " Shipwrecks of the British Navy " j 
 the Jersey Powder Magazine from the " Annual 
 Register," and that at Ciudad Rodrigo, from the 
 traditions of the $2d Regiment
 
 Preface. vii 
 
 There is a cloud of doubt resting on a few of 
 the tales, which it may be honest to mention, 
 though they were far too beautiful not to tell. 
 These are the details of the Gallic occupation 
 of Rome, the Legend of St. Genevieve, the 
 Letter of Gertrude von der Wart, the stories of 
 the Keys of Calais, of the Dragon of Rhodes, 
 and we fear we must add, both Nelson's plan 
 of the battle of the Nile, and likewise the exact 
 form of the heroism of young Casabianca, of 
 which no two accounts agree. But it was not 
 possible to give up such stories as these, and 
 the thread of truth there must be in them has 
 developed into such a beautiful tissue, that even 
 if unsubstantial when tested, it is surely delight- 
 ful to contemplate. 
 
 Some stories have been passed over as too 
 devoid of foundation, in especial that of young 
 Henri, Duke of Nemours, who, at ten years old, 
 was said to have been hung up with his little 
 brother of eight in one of Louis XL's cages at 
 Loches, with orders that two of the children's 
 teeth should daily be pulled out and brought 
 to the king. The elder child was said to have 
 insisted on giving the whole supply of teeth, so 
 as to save his brother ; but though they were 
 certainly imprisoned after their father's execu-
 
 viii Preface, 
 
 tion, they were released after Louis's death in a 
 condition which disproves this atrocity. 
 
 The Indian mutiny might likewise have sup- 
 plied glorious instances of Christian self-devo- 
 tion, but want of materials has compelled us to 
 stop short of recording those noble deeds by 
 which delicate women and light-hearted young 
 soldiers showed, that in the hour of need there 
 was not wanting to them the highest and deep- 
 est " spirit of self-sacrifice." 
 
 At some risk of prolixity, enough of the sur- 
 rounding events have in general been given to 
 make the situation comprehensible, even with- 
 out knowledge of the general history. This has 
 been done in the hope that these extracts may 
 serve as a mother's storehouse for reading aloud 
 to her boys, or that they may be found useful 
 for short readings to the intelligent, though 
 uneducated classes.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 WHAT is A GOLDEN DEED? i 
 
 THE STORIES OF ALCESTIS AND ANTIGONE . 11 
 
 THE Cur OF WATER 17 
 
 How ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST . . 23 
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYL/E 34 
 
 THE ROCK OF THE CAPITOL . . . . 45 
 
 THE Two FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE ... 58 
 
 THE DEVOTION OF THE DECII ... 63 
 
 REGULUS 71 
 
 THE BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH ... 78 
 
 THE CHIEF OF THE ARVERNI .... 88 
 
 WITHSTANDING THE MONARCH IN HIS WRATH 98 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLIS/EUM . . .105 
 
 THE SHEPHERD GIRL OF NANTERRE . . 115 
 
 LEO THE SLAVE 121 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BLACKWATER ... 135 
 
 GUZMAN EL BUENO 142 
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH 147
 
 x Contents. 
 
 WHAT is BETTER THAN SLAYING A DRAGON . 154 
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS 161 
 
 THE BATTLE OF SEMPACH 174 
 
 THE CONSTANT PRINCE 180 
 
 THE CARNIVAL OF PERTH 187 
 
 THE CROWN OF ST. STEPHEN .... 195 
 
 GEORGE THE TRILLER 205 
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE'S DAUGHTER . . . 217 
 
 UNDER IVAN THE TERRIBLE .... 226 
 
 FORT ST. ELMO 241 
 
 THE VOLUNTARY CONVICT 253 
 
 THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG . . . 260 
 
 FATHERS AND SONS 268 
 
 THE SOLDIERS IN THE SNOW .... 280 
 
 GUNPOWDER PERILS 285 
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE 296 
 
 THE SECOND OF SEPTEMBER .... 309 
 
 THE VENDEENS 318 
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI . . . 339 
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON . . . 347 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF BLENTARN GHYLL . . 368 
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA 375 
 
 CASAL Novo 383 
 
 THE MAD DOG 389 
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES 394 
 
 THE Loss OF THE DRAKE AND THE MAGPIE. 413 
 
 THE FEVER AT OSMOTHERLY .... 423
 
 Contents. 
 
 THE CHIEFTAINESS AND THE VOLCANO 
 
 DISCIPLINE 
 
 THE RESCUERS 
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY .... 
 
 435 
 441 
 
 447 
 
 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD OF THE FAR 
 SOUTH 45 6
 
 A BOOK OF 
 
 GOLDEN DEEDS. 
 
 WHAT IS A GOLDEN DEED? 
 
 WE all of us enjoy a story of battle and adven- 
 ture. 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 sus- 
 pense. 
 
 This taste, though it is the first step above the 
 dulness that cannot be interested in anything be- 
 yond its own immediate world, nor care for what it 
 neither sees, touches, tastes, nor puts to any pres- 
 ent use, is still the lowest form that such a liking 
 can take. It may be no better than a love of read- 
 ing 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 de- 
 lights in dwelling on horrors and cruelties for their 
 own sake ; or upon shifty, cunning, dishonest strat- 
 agems and devices. To learn to take interest in 
 what is evil is always mischievous.
 
 2 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 the eye 
 gleam and the heart throb, and bears us through 
 the details of suffering, bloodshed, and even bar- 
 barity, feeling our spirits moved and elevated by 
 contemplating the courage and endurance that they 
 have called forth. Nay, such is the charm of bril- 
 liant valor, that we often are tempted to forget the 
 injustice of the cause that 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 risked 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 no- 
 ble 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 reckless- 
 ness of personal safety, in comparison with a higher 
 object. 
 
 That object is sometimes unworthy. In the low- 
 est 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 actions of 
 which human nature is 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
 
 What is a Golden Deed? 3 
 
 to lay before our readers ; but, ere entering upon 
 them, perhaps we had better clearly understand what 
 it is that to our mind constitutes 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 greediness 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 sacri- 
 ficed 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 producing deeds 
 which deserve to be called golden, but which, from 
 their heedless grace, their 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 gayety 
 of heart. 
 
 Such was the gallantry of the Spanish knight who, 
 while Fernando and Isabel lay before the Moorish 
 city of Granada, galloped out of the 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 not 
 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 Maximil- 
 ian 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
 
 4 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 upon the tower of the Spanish cathedral. The same 
 daring afterwards carried him in the track of Co- 
 lumbus, 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 resolute 
 fulfilment 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, unflinching, till death had stiffened his 
 limbs ; and his bones, in their helmet and breast- 
 plate, with the hand still raised to keep the suffo- 
 cating dust from mouth and nose, have remained 
 even till our own times to show how a Roman sol- 
 dier 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, stand- 
 ing fast to a man, at the battle of Rocroy, in 1643, 
 not one man breaking his rank. The whole regi- 
 ment was found lying in regular order upon the field 
 of battle, with their colonel, the old Count de Fu- 
 entes, at their head, expiring in a chair, in which 
 he had been carried, because he was too infirm to 
 walk, to this his twentieth battle. The conquerer, 
 the high-spirited young Duke d'Enghien, afterwards 
 Prince of Conde, exclaimed, "Were I not a victor, 
 I should have wished thus to die ! " and preserved 
 the chair among the relics of the bravest of his own 
 fellow-countrymen. 
 
 Such obedience at all costs and all risks is, how- 
 ever, the very essence of a soldier's life. An army 
 could not exist without it, a ship could not sail with- 
 out it, and millions upon millions of those whose 
 " bones are dust and good swords are rust " have
 
 What is a Golckn Deed? 5 
 
 shown such resolution. It is the solid material, but 
 it has hardly the exceptional brightness, of a Golden 
 Deed. 
 
 And yet perhaps it is one of the 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 
 constrained 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 mat- 
 ter at all. 
 
 For the true metal of a Golden Deed is self-devo- 
 tion. Selfishness is the dross and alloy that gives 
 the unsound ring to many an act that has been 
 called glorious. And, on the 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 plunder. 
 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 even to a stranger, will 
 dare all things, risk all things, endure all things, 
 meet death in one moment, or wear life away in 
 slow, persevering tendance and suffering. 
 
 Such a spirit was shown by Leasna, the Athenian 
 woman, at whose house the overthrow 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 frame might overpower her resolu- 
 tion, actually bit off her tongue, that she might 
 be 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 with- 
 out a tongue, in allusion to her name, which signi- 
 fies a lioness.
 
 6 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 her father ; 
 and in Scotland, in 1401, when the unhappy heir of 
 the kingdom, 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 peas- 
 ant woman, who, undeterred by fear of the savage 
 men that guarded the castle, crept, at every safe op- 
 portunity, to the grated window on a level with the 
 ground, and dropped cakes through it to the prison- 
 er, 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 Franqois, sustained 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 grat- 
 ing 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 dan- 
 gerously ill, found that they could by no means pro- 
 cure the needful medicine, except at a price far be- 
 yond their means, and heard that an English trav- 
 eller had offered a large price for a couple of eaglets. 
 The only eyrie was on a crag supposed to be so in- 
 accessible, that no one ventured to attempt it, till 
 these boys, in their intense anxiety for their father, 
 dared the fearful danger, scaled the precipice, cap-
 
 What is a Golden Deed? 7 
 
 tured the birds, and safely conveyed them to the 
 traveller. 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, sacrificing his own 
 life willingly to slake their fury for a few minutes in 
 order that the horses might be untouched, and con- 
 vey his master to a place of safety. But his act of 
 self-devotion has been so beautifully expanded in the 
 story of " Eric's Grave," in " Tales of Christian 
 Heroism," that we can only hint at it, as at that of 
 the " Helmsman 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 ves- 
 sel into harbor, and save the many lives within her, 
 at the cost of his own fearful agony, while slowly 
 scorched by the flames. 
 
 Memorable, too, was the compassion that kept 
 Dr. Thompson upon the battle-field of the Alma, all 
 alone throughout the night, striving to alleviate 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 darkness, on a battle-field in an en- 
 emy'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 the rage of the Se- 
 poys at Benares, and Dr. Hay alone remained, be- 
 cause he would not desert the patients in the hos- 
 pital, whose life depended on his care many of 
 them of those very native corps who were advanc- 
 ing to massacre him. This was the Roman sentry's 
 firmness, more voluntary and more glorious. Nor 
 may we pass by her to whom our title-page points 
 as our living type of Golden Deeds to her who
 
 8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 devo- 
 ted 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 the_y 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 be dwelt on here ; and even as 
 soldiers deem it each man's simple duty to face 
 death unhesitatingly, so " the glorious army of mar- 
 tys " 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 tor- 
 ture for it. 
 
 What have been here brought together are chiefly 
 cases of self-devotion that stand out remarkably, ei- 
 ther 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,
 
 What is a Goldtn Deed? <j 
 
 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 be- 
 ing 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 s^atterers of Golden Deeds) 
 by saying, " Put me up there, I reckon I '11 bear 
 hoisting better than he will." 
 
 And, even as we write, we hear of an American 
 railway collision that befell a train on the way to El- 
 mira with prisoners. The engineer, whose name 
 was William Ingram, might have leapt off and saved 
 himself before the shock ; but he remained in order 
 to reverse the engine, though with certain death 
 staring him in the face. He was buried in the wreck 
 of the meeting 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 round to help him, to keep away, as he 
 expected the boiler would burst. They disregarded 
 the generous cry, and used every effort to extricate 
 h'-n, but could not succeed until after his sufferings 
 had ended in death. 
 
 Whilo men and women still exist who will thus 
 suffer and thus die, losing themselves in the thought 
 of others, surely the many forms of woe and misery 
 with which this earth is spread, do but give occa- 
 sions 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
 
 10 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 away in daily life ; and that if ever it be your lot to 
 do a Golden Deed, it will probably be in uncon- 
 sciousness that you are doing anything extraordi- 
 nary, and that the whole impulse will consist in the 
 having absolutely forgotten self.
 
 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 beautiful that, though 
 they cannot in all particulars be true, they must not 
 be passed over. There must have been some foun- 
 dation 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 relig- 
 ious tragedies, and the noble poetry in which they 
 were recounted by the great Greek dramatists has 
 been preserved to our time. 
 
 Alcestis was the wife of Admetus, King of Pherae, 
 who, according to the legend, was assured that his 
 life might be prolonged, provided father, mother, or 
 wife would 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 Professor 
 Anstice, from the choric song in the tragedy by 
 Euripides : 
 
 " Be patient, for thy tears are vain, 
 They may not wake the dead again :
 
 12 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 E'en heroes, of immortal sire 
 And mortal mother born, expire. 
 
 O, she was clear 
 
 While she lingered here ; 
 She is dear now she rests below, 
 
 And thou mayst boast 
 
 That the bride thou hast lost 
 Was 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. 
 
 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, descend- 
 ing 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 Alcestis 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, cattght it herself, and had been supposed 
 to be dead, when a skilful physician restored her ; 
 but this is probably only one of the many reasonable 
 versions they triea to give of the old tales that were 
 founded on the decay and revival of nature in win- 
 ter and spring, and with a presage running through 
 them of sacrifice, death, and resurrection. Our own
 
 Stories of Alcestis and Antigone. 13 
 
 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 ffoure of flouris all." 
 
 Another Greek legend told of the maiden of 
 Thebes, one of the most self-devoted beings that 
 could be conceived by a fancy untrained in the 
 knowledge of Divine Perfection. It cannot be 
 known how much of her story is true, but it was 
 one that went deep into the hearts of Grecian men 
 and women, and encouraged them in some of their 
 best feelings ; and assuredly the deeds imputed to 
 her were golden. 
 
 Antigone was the daughter of the old King CEdi- 
 pus of Thebes. After a time heavy troubles, the 
 consequence of the sins of his youth, came upon 
 him, and he was driven 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 Eteocles, 
 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 Soph- 
 ocles began his tragedy of " CEdipus Coloneus " 
 with showing the blind old king leaning upon An- 
 tigone'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 inhabitants 
 Who with a slender pittance will relieve 
 Even for a day the wandering CEdipus." 
 
 POTTER.
 
 14 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The place to which they had come was in Attica, 
 near the city of Colonus. It was a lovely grove, 
 
 " 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 Eumeni- 
 des, 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, The- 
 seus. There his other daughter, Ismene, joined 
 him, and, after a time, his elder son, Polynices, ar- 
 rived. 
 
 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 en- 
 treat his sisters to take care that, if he should fall in 
 the battle, they would prevent his corpse from being 
 left unburied ; for the Greeks believed that till the 
 funeral rites were performed, the spirit went wan- 
 dering restlessly up and down upon the banks of a 
 dark stream, unable to enter the home of the dead. 
 Antigone solemnly promised to him that he should 
 not be left without these last rites. Before long, old 
 (Edipus was killed by lightning, and the two sisters 
 returned to Thebes.
 
 Stories of A Ices t is and Antigone. 15 
 
 The united armies of the seven chiefs against 
 Thebes came on, led by Polynices. Eteocles sal- 
 lied out to rneet them, and there was a terrible bat- 
 tle, 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 the elder should be left 
 upon the battle-field to be torn by dogs and vul- 
 tures, 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 answered, 
 
 " To me no sufferings have 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 herself covered with 
 loose earth the corpse of Polynices. The barba- 
 rous uncle caused it to be taken up and again ex- 
 posed, and a watch was set at some little distance. 
 Again Antigone 
 
 " 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 avowed her deed, and, in spite of the 
 supplications of Ismene, she was put to death, a 
 sufferer for her noble and pious deeds ; and with 
 this only comfort :
 
 1 6 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 " 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 up- 
 bore the grave and beautiful Theban maiden ; and 
 we shall see her resolution equalled, though hardly 
 surpassed, by Christian Antigones of equal love and 
 surer faith.
 
 THE CUP OF WATER. 
 
 NO touch in the history of the minstrel-king 
 David gives us a more warm and personal 
 feeling towards him than his longing for the water 
 at the well of Bethlehem. Standing as the incident 
 does in the summary of the characters of his mighty 
 men, it is apt to appear to us as if it had taken place 
 in his latter days ; but such is not the case, it befell 
 while he was still under thirty, in the time of his 
 persecution by Saul. 
 
 It was when the last attempt at reconciliation with 
 the king had been made, when the affectionate part- 
 ing with the generous and faithful Jonathan had 
 taken place, when Saul was hunting him like a par- 
 tridge on the mountains on the one side, and the 
 Philistines had nearly taken his life on the other, 
 that David, outlawed, yet loyal at the heart, sent 
 his aged parents to the land of Moab for refuge, 
 and himself took up his abode in the caves of the 
 wild limestone hills that had become familiar to 
 him when he was a shepherd. Brave captain and 
 Heaven-destined king as he was, his name attracted 
 round him a motley group of those that were in dis- 
 tress, or in debt, or discontented, and among them 
 were the " mighty men " whose brave deeds won 
 them the foremost parts in that army with which 
 David was to fulfil the ancient promises to his people.
 
 1 8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 There were his three nephews, Joab, the ferocious 
 and imperious, the chivalrous Abishai, and Asahel, 
 the fleet of foot ; there was the warlike Levite Be- 
 naiah who slew lions and lionlike men, and others 
 who, like David himself, had done battle with the 
 gigantic sons of Anak. Yet even these valiant men, 
 so wild and lawless, could be kept in check by the 
 voice of their young captain ; and outlaws as they 
 were, they spoiled no peaceful villages, they lifted 
 not their hands against the persecuting monarch, 
 and the neighboring farms lost not one lamb through 
 their violence. Some at least listened to the song 
 of their warlike minstrel : 
 
 " Come, ye children, and hearken to me, 
 I will teach you the fear of the Lord. 
 What man is he that lusteth to live, 
 And would fain see good days ? 
 Let him refrain his tongue from evil 
 And his lips that they speak no guile, 
 Let him eschew evil and do good, 
 Let him seek peace and ensue it." 
 
 With such strains as these, sung to his harp, the 
 warrior gained the hearts of his men to enthusias- 
 tic love, and gathered followers on all sides, among 
 them eleven fierce men of Gad, with faces like lions 
 and feet swift as roes, who swam the Jordan in time 
 of flood, and fought their way to him, putting all 
 enemies in the valleys to flight. 
 
 But the Eastern sun burnt on the bare rocks. A 
 huge fissure, opening in the mountain ridge, encum- 
 bered at the bottom with broken rocks, with precip- 
 itous banks scarcely affording a footing for the wild 
 goats, such is the spot where, upon a cleft on the 
 steep precipice, still remain the foundations of the 
 " hold," or tower, believed to have been David's re- 
 treat, and near at hand is the low-browed entrance 
 of the galleried cave, alternating between narrow
 
 The Cup of IVatcr. 19 
 
 passages and spacious halls, but all oppressively 
 hot and close. Waste and wild, without a bush or 
 a tree, in the feverish atmosphere of Palestine, it 
 was a desolate region, and at length the wanderer's 
 heart fainted in him, as he thought of his own home, 
 with its rich and lovely terraced slopes, green with 
 wheat, trellised with vines, and clouded with gray 
 olive, and of the cool cisterns of living water by the 
 gate of which he loved to sing 
 
 " He shall feed me in a green pasture, 
 And lead me forth beside the waters of comfort. " 
 
 His parched longing lips gave utterance to the sigh, 
 " O that one would give me to drink of the water 
 of the well of Bethlehem that is by the gate ! " 
 
 Three of his brave men, apparently Abisha, Be- 
 naiah, and Eleazar, heard the wish. Between their 
 mountain fastness and the dearly-loved spring lay 
 the host of the Philistines ; but their love for their 
 leader feared no enemies. It was not only water 
 that he longed for, but the water from the fountain 
 which he had loved in his childhood. They de- 
 scended from their chasm, broke through the midst 
 of the enemy's army, and drew the water from the 
 favorite spring, bearing it back, once again through 
 the foe, to the tower upon the rock ! Deeply moved 
 was their chief at this act of self-devotion, so much 
 moved that the water seemed to him too sacred to 
 be put to his own use. " My God forbid it me that 
 I should do this tiling. Shall I drink the blood of 
 these men that have put their lives in jeopardy, for 
 with the jeopardy of their lives they brought it ? '' 
 And as a hallowed and precious gift, he poured out 
 unto the Lord the water obtained at the price of 
 such peril to his followers. 
 
 In later times we meet with another hero who, by 
 his personal qualities inspired something of the same
 
 2O A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 enthusiastic attachment as did David, and who met 
 with an adventure somewhat similar, showing the 
 like nobleness of mind on the part of both leader 
 and followers. 
 
 It was Alexander of Macedon, whose character as 
 a man, with all its dark shades of violence, rage, and 
 profanity, has a nobleness and sweetness that win 
 our hearts, while his greatness rests on a far broader 
 basis than that of his conquests, though they are 
 unrivalled. No one else so gained the love of the 
 conquered, had such wide and comprehensive views 
 for the amelioration of the world, or rose so superior 
 to the prejudice of race ; nor have any ten years left 
 so lasting a trace upon the history of the world as 
 those of his career. 
 
 It is not, however, of his victories that we are 
 here to speak, but of his return march from the 
 banks of the Indus, in B. c. 326, when he had newly 
 recovered from the severe wound which he had re- 
 ceived under the fig-tree, within the mud wall of the 
 city of the Malli. This expedition was as much the 
 exploration of a discoverer as the journey of a con- 
 queror : and, at the mouth of the Indus, he sent his 
 ships to survey the coasts of the Indian Ocean and 
 Persian Gulf, while he himself marched along the 
 shore of the province, then called Gedrosia, and 
 now Mekhran. It was a most dismal tract. Above 
 towered mountains of reddish-brown bare stone, 
 treeless and without verdure, the scanty grass pro- 
 duced in the summer being burnt up long before 
 September, the month of his march ; and all the 
 slope below was equally desolate slopes of gravel. 
 The few inhabitants were called by the Greeks fish- 
 eaters and turtle-eaters, because there was, appar- 
 ently, nothing else to eat ; and their huts were built 
 of turtle-shells. 
 
 The recollections connected with the region were 
 dismal. Semiramis and Cyrus were each said to
 
 The Cup of Water. 21 
 
 have lost an army there through hunger and thirst ; 
 and these foes, the most fatal foes of the invader, 
 began to attack the Greek host. Nothing but the 
 discipline and all-pervading influence of Alexander 
 could have borne his army through. Speed was 
 their sole chance ; and through the burning sun, 
 over the" arid rock, he stimulated their steps with his 
 own high spirit of unshrinking endurance, till he 
 had dragged them through one of the most rapid 
 and extraordinary marches of his wonderful career. 
 His own share in their privations was fully and 
 freely taken ; and once when, like the rest, he was 
 faint with heat and deadly thirst, a small quantity 
 of water, won with great fatigue and difficulty, was 
 brought to him, he esteemed it too precious to be 
 applied to his own refreshment, but poured it forth 
 as a libation, lest, he said, his warriors should thirst 
 the more when they saw him drink alone ; and, no 
 doubt, too, because he felt the exceeding value of 
 that which was purchased by loyal love. 
 
 A like story is told of Rodolf of Hapsburg, the 
 founder of the greatness of Austria, and one of the 
 most open-hearted of men. A flagon of water was 
 brought to him when his army was suffering from 
 severe drought. " I cannot," he said, " drink alone, 
 nor can all share so small a quantity. I do not 
 thirst for myself, but for my whole army." 
 
 Yet there have been thirsty lips that have made 
 a still more trying renunciation. Our own Sir 
 Philip Sidney, riding back, with the mortal hurt in 
 his broken thigh, from the fight at Zutphen, and giv- 
 ing the draught from his own lips to the dying man 
 whose necessities were greater than his own, has 
 long been our proverb for the giver of that self-de- 
 nying cup of water that shall by no means lose its 
 reward. 
 
 A tradition of an act of somewhat the same char- 
 acter survived in a Slesvig family, now axtinct. It
 
 22 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 was .during the wars that raged from 1652 to 1660, 
 \ between Frederick III. of Denmark and Charles 
 Gustavus of Sweden, that, after a battle, in which 
 the victory had remained with the Danes, a stout 
 burgher of Flensborg was about to refresh himself, 
 ere retiring to have his wounds dressed, with a 
 draught of beer from a wooden bottle, when an im- 
 ploring cry from a wounded Swede, lying on the 
 field, made him turn, and with the very words of 
 Sidney, " Thy need is greater than mine," he knelt 
 down by the fallen enemy, to pour the liquor into 
 his mouth. His requital was a pistol-shot in the 
 shoulder from the treacherous Swede. " Rascal," 
 he cried, " I would have befriended you, and you 
 would murder me in return ! Now will I punish 
 you. I would have given you the whole bottle ; 
 but now you shall have only half." And drinking 
 off half himself, he gave the rest to the Swede. 
 The king, hearing the story, sent for the burgher, 
 and asked him how he came to spare the life of 
 such a rascal. 
 
 " Sire," said the honest burgher, " I could never 
 kill a wounded enemy." 
 
 " Thou meritest to be a noble," the king said, and 
 created him one immediately, giving him as armo- 
 rial bearings a wooden bottle pierced with an arrow ! 
 The family only lately became extinct in the person 
 of an old maiden lady.
 
 HOW ONE MAN HAS SAVED A HOST. 
 
 B.C. 507. 
 
 have been times when the devotion of 
 J. 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 Superbus and his son Sex- 
 tus, and gathered all his forces together, to advance 
 upon the city of Rome. The great walls, of old 
 Etrurian architecture, 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 overwhelming Etruscan army 
 soon took the fort, and then, in the gallant words of 
 Lord Macaulay'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. 
 Forthwith up rose the Consul, 
 
 Up rose the Fathers all,
 
 24 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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, 
 Tor, 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 darklv looked he at the wall, 
 
 And darkly at the foe. 
 ' Their van will be upon us 
 
 Before the bridge goes down ; 
 And if they ence may win the bridge, 
 
 What hope to save the town ? ' 
 
 " Then out spoke 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,
 
 How One Man has saved a Host. 25 
 
 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 strait 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 Lartius, 
 
 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.'" 
 
 So forth went these three brave men, Horatlus, 
 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 
 down 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 Tuscan army, 
 
 Right glorious to behold, 
 Came flashing back the noonday light, 
 Rank behind rank, like surges bright, 
 
 Of a broad sea of gold.
 
 26 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 to 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 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 ;
 
 How One Man has saved a Host. Vj 
 
 But when they turned their faces, 
 
 And on the farther shore 
 Saw brave Horatius stand 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 ; 
 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 dend 
 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 iife, a Roman's arms, 
 Take thou in charge this day.' " 
 
 And with this brief prayer he leapt into the foam- 
 ing stream. Polybius was told that he was there 
 drowned ; but Livy gives the version which the bal- 
 lad follows : 
 
 " But fiercely ran the current, 
 
 Swollen high by months 6f rain,
 
 28 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 And fast his blood was flowing, 
 And he was sore in pain, 
 
 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 with 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. 
 
 *' It stands in the Comitium, 
 
 Plain for all folk 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."
 
 How One Man has saved a Host. 29 
 
 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 
 afterwards, and was probably only destroyed when 
 Rome was sacked by the barbarians. 
 
 Nor was the Roman bridge the only one that has 
 been defended by one' man against a host. In our 
 own country, Stamford bridge was, in like manner, 
 guarded by a single brave Northman, after the bat- 
 tle fought A. D. 1066, when Earl Tostig, the son of 
 Godwin, had persuaded the gallant sea-king, Harald 
 Hardrada, to come and invade England. The chosen 
 English king, Harold, had marched at full speed from 
 Sussex to Yorkshire, and met the invaders march- 
 ing at their ease, without expecting any enemy, and 
 wearing no defensive armor, as they went forth to re- 
 ceive the keys of the city of York. The battle was 
 fought by the Norsemen in the full certainty that 
 it must be lost. The banner, " Landwaster," was 
 planted in the midst ; and the king, chanting his last 
 song, like the minstrel warrior he had always been, 
 stood, with his bravest men, in a death-ring around 
 it. There he died, and his choicest warriors with 
 him ; but many more fled back towards the ships, 
 rushing over the few planks that were the only way 
 across the river Ouse. And here stood their defend- 
 er, alone upon the bridge, keeping back the whole 
 pursuing English army, who could only attack him 
 one at a time ; until, with shame be it spoken, he 
 died by a cowardly blow from an enemy, who had 
 crept down the bank of the river, and under the 
 bridge, through the openings between the timbers 
 of which he thrust up his spear, and thus was able
 
 3o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 to hurl the brave Northman into the river, mortally 
 wounded, but not till great numbers of his country- 
 men had reached their ships, their lives saved by 
 his gallantry. 
 
 In like manner, Robert Bruce, in the time of his 
 wanderings, during the year 1306, saved his whole 
 band by his sole exertions. He had been defeated 
 by the forces of Edward I. at Methven, and had lost 
 many of his friends. His little army went wander- 
 ing among the hills, sometimes encamping in the 
 woods, sometimes crossing the lakes in small boats. 
 Many ladies were among them, and their summer 
 life had some w ; ld charms of romance ; as the 
 knightly huntsmen brought in the salmon, the roe, 
 and the deer that formed their food, and the ladies 
 gathered the lowering heather, over which soft skins 
 were laid fo'" their bedding. Sir James Douglas was 
 the most courtly and graceful knight of all the party, 
 and ever kept them enlivened by his gay temper and 
 ready wH ; and the king himself cherished a few 
 precious romances, which he used to read aloud to 
 his followers as they rested in their mountain home. 
 
 But their bitter foe, the Lord of Lorn, was al- 
 ways ta pursuit of them, and, near the head of the 
 Tay he came upon the small army of 300 men with 
 I cor Highlanders, armed with Lochaber axes, at a 
 pl '^ which is still called Dairy, or the King's Field. 
 Many of the horses were killed by the axes ; and 
 James Douglas and Gilbert de la Haye were both 
 wounded. All would have been slain or fallen into 
 the hands of the enemy, if Robert Bruce had not 
 sent them all on before him, up a narrow, steep path, 
 and placed himself, with his armor and heavy horse, 
 full in the path, protecting the retreat with his sin- 
 gle arm. It was true, that so tall and powerful a 
 man, sheathed in armor and on horseback, had a 
 great advantage against the wild Highlanders, who 
 only wore a shirt and a plaid, with a round target
 
 How One Man has saved a Host. 31 
 
 upon the arm ; but they were lithe, active, light- 
 footed men, able to climb like goats on the crags 
 around him, and holding their lives as cheaply as 
 he did. 
 
 Lorn, watching him from a distance, was struck 
 with amazement, and exclaimed, " Methinks, Mar- 
 thokson, he resembles Gol Male Morn protecting 
 his followers from Fingal " ; thus comparing him to 
 one of the most brilliant champions a Highland im- 
 agination could conceive. At last three men, named 
 M'Androsser, rushed forward, resolved to free their 
 chief from this formidable enemy. There was a lake 
 on one side, and a precipice on the other, and the 
 king had hardly space to manage his horse, when 
 all three sprang on him at once. One snatched his 
 bridle, one caught him by the stirrup and leg, and a 
 third leaped from a rising ground and seated him- 
 self behind him on his horse. The first lost his 
 arm by one sweep of the king's sword ; the second 
 was overthrown and trampled on ; and the last, by 
 a desperate struggle, was dashed down, and his skull 
 cleft by the king's sword ; but his dying grasp was 
 so tight upon the plaid, that Bruce was forced to un- 
 clasp the brooch that secured it, and leave both in 
 the dead man's hold. It was long preserved by the 
 Macdougals of Lorn, as a trophy of the narrow es- 
 cape of their enemy. 
 
 Nor must we leave Robert the Bruce without 
 mentioning that other Golden Deed, more truly no- 
 ble because more full of mercy ; namely, his halting 
 his little army in full retreat in Ireland in the face 
 of the English host under Roger Mortimer, that 
 proper care and attendance might be given to one 
 sick and suffering washerwoman and her new-born 
 babe. Well may his old Scotch rhyming chroni- 
 cler remark : 
 
 " This was a full great courtesy 
 That swilk a king and so mighty,
 
 32 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Gert his men dwell on this manner, 
 But for a poor lavender." 
 
 We have seen how the sturdy Roman fought for 
 his city, the fierce Northman died to guard his com- 
 rades' rush to their ships after the lost battle, and 
 how the mail-clad knightly Bruce perilled himself to 
 secure the retreat of his friends. Here is one more 
 instance, from far more modern times, of a soldier, 
 whose willing sacrifice of his own life was the safety 
 of a whole army. It was in the course of the long 
 dismal conflict between Frederick the Great of Prus- 
 sia and Maria Theresa of Austria, which was called 
 the Seven Years War. Louis XV. of France had 
 taken the part of Austria, and had sent an army in- 
 to Germany in the autumn of 1760. From this the 
 Marquis de Castries had been despatched, with 
 25,000 men, towards Rheinberg, and had taken up 
 a strong position at Klostercamp. On the night of 
 the 1 5th of October, a young officer, called the 
 Chevalier d'Assas, of the Auvergne regiment, was 
 sent out to reconnoitre, and advanced alone into a 
 wood, at some little distance from his men. Sud- 
 denly he found himself surrounded by a number of 
 soldiers, whose bayonets pricked his breast, and a 
 voice whispered in his ear, " Make the slightest 
 noise, and you are a dead man ! " In one moment 
 he understood it all. The enemy were advancing, 
 to surprise the French army, and would be upon 
 them when night was farther advanced. That mo- 
 ment decided his fate. He shouted, as loud as his 
 voice would carry the words, " Here, Auvergne ! 
 Here are the enemy ! " By the time the cry reached 
 the ears of his men, their captain was a senseless 
 corpse ; but his death had saved the army ; the sur- 
 prise had failed, and the enemy retreated. 
 
 Louis XV. was too mean-spirited and selfish to 
 feel the beauty of this brave action ; but when, four-
 
 How One Man has saved a Host. 33 
 
 teen years later, Louis XVI. came to the throne, he 
 decreed that a pension should be given to the fami- 
 ly as long as a male representative remained to bear 
 the name of D'Assas. Poor Louis XVI. had not 
 long the control of the treasure of France ; but a 
 century of changes, wars, and revolutions has not 
 blotted out the memory of the self-devotion of the 
 chevalier ; for, among the new war-steamers of the 
 French fleet, there, is one that bears the ever-hon- 
 ored name of D'Assas.
 
 THE PASS OF THERMOPYLAE. 
 B.C. 430. 
 
 r "pHERE was trembling in Greece. "The Great 
 jL King," as the Greeks called the chief potentate 
 of the East, whose domains stretched from the In- 
 dian Caucasus to the /Egaeus, from the Caspian to 
 the Red Sea, was marshalling his forces against the 
 little free states that nestled amid the rocks and 
 gulfs of the Eastern Mediterranean. Already had 
 his might devoured the cherished colonies of the 
 Greeks on the eastern shore of the Archipelago, and 
 every traitor to home institutions found a ready asy- 
 lum at that despotic court, and tried to revenge his 
 own wrongs by whispering incitements to invasion. 
 "All people, nations, and languages," was the com- 
 mencement 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 tribu- 
 tary nations he counted the Chaldean, with his 
 learning and old civilization, the wise and steadfast 
 Jew, the skilful Phoenician, the learned Egyptian, 
 the wild, freebooting Arab of the desert, the dark- 
 skinned Ethiopian, and over all these .oiled 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, describe**
 
 The Pass oj Thermopylae. 35 
 
 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 serviceable 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 adorers of 
 the sun and of fire ; they abhorred the idol-worship 
 of the Greeks, and denied and plundered every tem- 
 ple that fell in their way. 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 num- 
 bers, 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 signally defeat- 
 ed upon the coast of Attica ; but the losses at Mar- 
 athon had but stimulated the Persian lust of con- 
 quest, and the new King Xerxes was gathering to- 
 gether such myriads of men as should crush down, 
 the Greeks and overrun their country by mere force 
 of numbers. 
 
 The muster place was at Sardis, and there Greek 
 spies had seen the multitudes assembling and tho 
 state and magnificence of the king's attendants. En- 
 voys had come from him to demand earth and water 
 from eacli 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, 
 consented to yield the token of subjugation. A 
 council was held at the Isthmus of Corinth, and at- 
 tended 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 
 Sea, the land army would cross the Helles-
 
 36 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 pont on a bridge of boats lashed together, and 
 march southwards 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 courage would be of more avail than 
 numbers. 
 
 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 Thermopylae. 
 Look in your map of the Archipelago, or ^Egean 
 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, be- 
 cause the ridge of mountains called OEta rose up 
 and barred their way. Indeed, the woods, rocks, 
 and precipices came down so near the sea-shore, 
 that in two places there was only room for one sin- 
 gle wheel track between the steeps and the impas- 
 sable 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 in- 
 tervening space ; but in this there were a number 
 of springs of warm mineral water, salt and sulphur- 
 ous, 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 west- 
 ernmost of these narrow places, when the Thessa- 
 lians and Phocians, who lived on either side of it, 
 had been at war with one another ; but it had been
 
 The Pass of Thermopylae. 37 
 
 allowed to go to decay, since the Phocians had 
 found out that there was a very steep narrow moun- 
 tain 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 differ- 
 ent cities, and amounted to about four 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 Sparta, 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 be- 
 cause 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 Hercules. 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, 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 fu- 
 neral 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
 
 38 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 been performed. Such preparations did not daunt 
 the spirits of Leonidas and his men, and his wife, 
 Gorgo, was not a woman to be faint-hearted or 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 Per- 
 sia ; 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 Pho- 
 cians 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 consented, 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 were comparatively se- 
 cure, had they not better fall back and reserve 
 themselves to defend the Isthmus of Corinth ? But 
 Leonidas, though Sparta was safe below the Isth- 
 mus, 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 re- 
 connoitre 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
 
 The Pass of Thermopylae. 39 
 
 Prince, named Demaratus, who had become a trai- 
 tor to his country, and was serving as counsellor to 
 the enemy. Xerxes sent for him, and asked whether 
 his countrymen were mad to be thus employed in- 
 stead of fleeing away ; but Demaratus made answer 
 that a hard fight was no doubt in preparation, and that 
 it was the custom of the Spartans to array their hair 
 with especial care when they were about to enter 
 upon any great peril. Xerxes would, however, 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 advantage 
 than the Persians with their short spears and wicker 
 shields, and beat them off with great ease. It is 
 said that Xerxes three times leapt off his throne in 
 despair at the sight of his troops being driven back- 
 wards ; 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 am- 
 bitious 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 Persian general, named 
 Hydarnes, was sent off at nightfall with a detach- 
 ment to secure this passage, 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 discharged 
 on them, and forgetting all save the present alarm,
 
 4o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 watch- 
 ers of the Grecian camp below a glittering and shim- 
 mering 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 climb- 
 ing 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 inspecting the en- 
 trails of the slain victim, declared, as well he might, 
 that their appearance boded disaster. Him Leoni- 
 das 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 al- 
 lied 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 Mycasne and the 700 
 Thespians, who declared that they would not de- 
 sert Leonidas. There were also 400 Thebans who 
 remained ; and thus the whole number that stayed 
 with Leonidas to confront two millions of enemies 
 were fourteen hundred warriors, besides the helots
 
 "Euiytus put on his armor and ruiumamlud his lielot to lead him 
 to his place in the ranks." Pay 41.
 
 The Pass of Thermopylae. 41 
 
 or attendants on the 300 Spartans, whose number 
 is not known, but there was probably at least one 
 to each. Leonidas had two kinsmen in the camp, 
 like himself, claiming the blood of Hercules, and he 
 tried to save them by giving them letters and mes- 
 sages to Sparta; but one answered that "he had 
 come to fight, not to carry letters " ; and the other, 
 that " his deeds would tell all that Sparta wished to 
 know." Another Spartan, named Dienices, when 
 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 over- 
 powered with illness that he allowed himself to be 
 carried away with the retreating allies. It was 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 mud of the morass ; but their 
 inexhaustible numbers told at length. The spears 
 of the Greeks broke under hard service, and their 
 swords alone remained ; they began to fall, and Le- 
 onidas himself was among the first of the slain. 
 Hotter than ever was the fight over his corpse, and
 
 42 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 two Persian princes, brothers of Xerxes, were there 
 killed ; but at length word was brought that Hydar- 
 nes 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 towards the Persians holding 
 out their hands in entreaty for mercy. Quarter was 
 
 fiven to them, but they were all branded with the 
 ing's mark as untrustworthy deserters. The helots 
 probably at this time escaped into the mountains : 
 while the small desperate band stood side by side 
 on the hill still fighting to the last, some with swords, 
 others with daggers, 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 some- 
 what 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 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 un- 
 happy Aristodemus, who found himself called by 
 no name but the u Coward," and was shunned by 
 all 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 bat- 
 tle of Plataea, which was the last blow that drove 
 the Persians ingloriously from Greece. 
 The Greeks then united in doing honor to the
 
 The Pass of Thermopylce. 43 
 
 brave warriors who, had they been better supported, 
 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 column : 
 
 " Go, traveller, to Sparta tell 
 That here, obeying her, we fell." 
 
 On the little hillock of the last resistance was 
 placed the figure of a stone lion, in memory of Le- 
 onidas, 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 (Eta and the gulf, so 
 that the Hot Gates no longer exist. But more en- 
 during than stone or brass nay, than the very 
 battle-field 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
 
 44 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 !
 
 THE ROCK OF THE CAPITOL. 
 B.C. 389. 
 
 r ~pHE city of Rome was gradually rising on the 
 -L banks of the Tiber, and every year was adding 
 to its temples and public buildings. 
 
 Every citizen loved his city and her greatness 
 above all else. There was as yet little wealth 
 among them ; the richest owned little more than a 
 few acres, which they cultivated themselves by the 
 help of their families, and sometimes of a few slaves, 
 and the beautiful Campagna di Roma, girt in by 
 hills looking like amethysts in the distance, had not 
 then become almost uninhabitable from pestilential 
 air, but was rich and fertile, full of highly cultivated 
 small farms, where corn was raised in furrows made 
 by a small hand-plough, and herds of sheep, goats, 
 and oxen browsed in the pasture lands. The own- 
 ers of these lands would on public days take off 
 their rude working-dress and broad-brimmed straw- 
 hat, and putting on the white toga with a purple 
 hem, would enter the city, and go to the valley 
 called the Forum or Market-place to give their votes 
 for the officers of state who were elected every year ; 
 especially the two consuls, who were like kings all 
 but the crown, wore purple togas richly embroid- 
 ered, sat on ivory chairs, and were followed by lie- 
 tors earning an axe in a bundle of rods for the exe- 
 cution of justice. In their own chamber sat the
 
 46 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Senate, the great council composed of the patri- 
 cians, or citizens of highest birth, and of those who 
 had formerly been consuls. They decided on peace 
 or war, and made the laws, and were the real gov- 
 ernors of the State, and their grave dignity made a 
 great impression on all who came near them. Above 
 the buildings of the city rose steep and high the 
 Capitoline Hill, with the Temple of Jupiter on its 
 summit, and the strong wall in which was the chief 
 stronghold and citadel of Rome, the Capitol, the 
 very centre of her strength and resolution. When 
 a war was decided on, every citizen capable of bear- 
 ing arms was called into the Forum, bringing his 
 helmet, breastplate, short sword, and heavy spear, 
 and the officers, called tribunes, chose out a suffi- 
 cient number, who were formed into bodies called 
 legions, and marched to battle under the command 
 of one of the consuls. Many little States or Italian 
 tribes, who had nearly the same customs as Rome, 
 surrounded the Campagna, and so many disputes 
 arose, that every year, as soon as the crops were 
 saved, the armies marched out, the flocks were 
 driven to folds on the hills, the women and children 
 were placed in the walled cities, and a battle was 
 fought, sometimes followed up by the siege of the 
 city of the defeated. The Romans did not always 
 obtain the victory, but there was a stanchness 
 about them that was sure to prevail in the long run ; 
 if beaten one year, they came back to the charge the 
 next, and thus they gradually mastered one of their 
 neighbors after another, and spread their dominion 
 over the central part of Italy. 
 
 They were well used to Italian and Etruscan ways 
 of making war, but after nearly four hundred years 
 of this kind of fighting, a stranger and wilder enemy 
 came upon them. These were the Gauls, a tall, 
 strong, brave people, long-limbed and red-haired, 
 of the same race as the Highlanders of Scotland.
 
 The Rock of the Capitol. 47 
 
 They had gradually spread themselves over the 
 middle of Europe, and had for some generations 
 past lived among the Alpine mountains, whence 
 they used to come down upon the rich plains of 
 northern Italy for forays, in which they slew and 
 burnt, and drove off cattle, and now and then, when 
 a country was quite depopulated, would settle them- 
 selves in it. And thus, the Gauls conquering from 
 the north and the Romans from the south, these t\vo 
 fierce nations at length came against one another. 
 
 The old Roman story is that it happened thus : 
 The Gauls had an unusually able leader, whom Lat- 
 in historians call Brennus, but whose real name was 
 most likely Bran, and who is said to have come out 
 of Britain. He had brought a great host of Gauls 
 to attack Clusium, a Tuscan city, and the inhabit- 
 ants sent to Rome to entreat succor. Three am- 
 bassadors, brothers of the noble old family of Fabi- 
 us, were sent from Rome to intercede for the Clusi- 
 ans. They asked Brennus what harm the men of 
 Clusium had done the Gauls, that they thus made 
 war on them, and, according to Plutarch's account, 
 Brennus made answer that the injury was that the 
 Clusians possessed land that the Gauls wanted, re- 
 marking, that it was exactly the way in which the 
 Romans themselves treated their neighbors, adding, 
 however, that this was neither cruel nor unjust, but 
 according 
 
 " To the good old plan, 
 
 That they should take who have the power, 
 
 And they should keep who can."* 
 
 The Fabii, on receiving this answer, were so foolish 
 as to transgress the rule, owned even by the savage 
 Gauls, that an ambassador should neither fight nor 
 be fought with ; they joined the Clusians, and one 
 
 * These lines of Wordsworth on Rob Roy's grave almost literally 
 translate the speech Plutarch gives the first Kelt of history, BrennMS.
 
 48 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 brother, named Quintus, killed a remarkably large 
 and tall Gallic chief in single combat. Brenntis was 
 justly enraged, and sent messengers to Rome to de- 
 mand that the brothers should be given up to him 
 for punishment. The priests and many of the Sen- 
 ate held that the rash young men had deserved 
 death as covenant-breakers ; but their father made 
 strong interest for them, and prevailed not only to 
 have them spared, but even chosen as tribunes to 
 lead the legions in the war that was expected.* 
 Thus he persuaded the whole nation to take on it- 
 self the guilt of his sons, a want of true self-devo- 
 tion uncommon among the old Romans, and which 
 was severely punished. 
 
 The Gauls were much enraged, and hurried south- 
 wards, not waiting for plunder by the way, but de- 
 claring that they were friends to every State save 
 Rome. The Romans on their side collected their 
 troops in haste, but with a lurking sense of having 
 transgressed ; and since they had gainsayed the 
 counsel of their priests, they durst not have recourse 
 to the sacrifices and ceremonies by which they usu- 
 ally sought to gain the favor of their gods. Even 
 among heathens, the saying has often been verified, 
 " a sinful heart makes failing hand," and the battle 
 on the banks of the river Allia, about eleven miles 
 from Rome, was not so much a fight as a rout. The 
 Roman soldiers were ill drawn up, and were at once 
 broken. Some fled to Veii and other towns, many 
 were drowned in crossing the Tiber, and it was but 
 a few who showed in Rome their shame-stricken 
 faces, and brought word that the Gauls were upon 
 them. 
 
 Had the Gauls been really in pursuit, the Roman 
 name and nation would have perished under their 
 
 * These events happened during an experiment made by the Ro- 
 mans of having six military tribunes instead of two consuls.
 
 The Rock of the Capitol. 49 
 
 swords ; but they spent three days in feasting and 
 sharing their plunder, and thus gave the Romans 
 time to take measures for the safety of such as could 
 yet escape. There seems to have been no notion 
 of defending the city, the soldiers had been too 
 much dispersed ; but all who still remained and 
 could call up something of their ordinary courage, 
 carried all the provisions they could collect into the 
 stronghold of the Capitol, and resolved to hold out 
 there till the last, in hopes that the scattered army 
 might muster again, or that the Gauls might retreat, 
 after having revenged themselves on the city. Ev- 
 ery one who could not fight, took flight, taking with 
 them all they could carry, and among them went 
 the white-clad troop of vestal virgins, carrying with 
 them their censer of fire, which was esteemed sa- 
 cred, and never allowed to be extinguished. A man 
 named Albinus, who saw these sacred women foot- 
 sore, weary, and weighed down with the treasures 
 of their temple, removed his own family and goods 
 from his cart and seated them in it, an act of rev- 
 erence for which he was much esteemed, and thus 
 they safely reached, the city of Cumae. The only 
 persons left in Rome outside the Capitol were 
 eighty of the oldest senators and some of the 
 priests. Some were too feeble to fly, and would 
 not come into the Capitol to consume the food that 
 might maintain fighting men ; but most of them 
 were filled with a deep, solemn thought, that, by of- 
 fering themselves to the weapons of the barbarians, 
 they might atone for the sin sanctioned by the Re- 
 public, and that their death might be the saving of 
 the nation. This notion that the death of a ruler 
 would expiate a country's guilt, was one of the 
 strange presages abroad in the heathen world of that 
 which alone takes away the sin of all mankind. 
 
 On came the Gauls at last. The gates stood open, 
 the streets were silent, the houses' low-browed 
 4
 
 50 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 doors showed no one in the paved courts. No liv- 
 ing man was to be seen, till at last, hurrying down 
 the steep empty streets, they reached the great open 
 space of the Forum, and there they stood still in 
 amazement, for, ranged along a gallery, were a row 
 of ivory chairs, and in each chair sat the figure of a 
 white-haired, white-bearded man, with arms and legs 
 bare, and robes either of snowy white, white bor- 
 dered with purple, or purple richly embroidered, 
 ivory staves in their hands, and majestic, unmoved 
 countenances. So motionless were they, that the 
 Gauls stood still, not knowing whether they beheld 
 men or statues. A wondrous scene it must have 
 been, as the brawny, red-haired Gauls, with freckled 
 visage, keen little eyes, long broad sword, and wide 
 plaid garment, fashioned into loose trousers, came 
 curiously down into the market-place, one after an- 
 other ; and each stood silent and transfixed at the 
 spectacle of those grand figures, still unmoving, 
 save that their large full liquid dark eyes showed 
 them to be living beings. Surely these Gauls 
 deemed themselves in the presence of that council 
 of kings who were sometimes supposed to govern 
 Rome, nay, if they were not before the gods them- 
 selves. At last, one Gaul, ruder, or more curious 
 than the rest, came up to one of the venerable fig- 
 ures, and, to make proof whether he were flesh and 
 blood, stroked his beard. Such an insult from an 
 uncouth barbarian was more than Roman blood 
 could brook, and the Gaul soon had his doubt sat- 
 isfied by a sharp blow on the head from the ivory 
 staff. All reverence was dispelled by that stroke ; 
 it was at once returned by a death thrust, and the 
 fury of the savages wakening in proportion to the 
 awe that had at first struck them, they rushed on 
 the old senators, and slew each one in his curule 
 chair. 
 
 Then they dispersed through the city, burning,
 
 The Rock of the Capitol. 5 1 
 
 plundering, and destroying. To take the Capitol 
 they soon found to be beyond their power, but they 
 hoped to starve the defenders out ; and in the 
 meantime they spent their time in pulling down the 
 outer walls, and such houses and temples as had re- 
 sisted the fire, till the defenders of the Capitol looked 
 down from their height on nothing but desolate 
 black burnt ground, with a few heaps of ruins in 
 the midst, and the barbarians roaming about in it, 
 and driving in the cattle that their foraging parties 
 collected from the country round. There was much 
 earnest faith in their own religion among the Ro- 
 mans : they took all this ruin as the jiSst reward of 
 their shelter of the Fabii, and even in their extrem- 
 ity were resolved not to transgress any sacred rule. 
 Though food daily became more scarce and starva- 
 tion was fast approaching, not one of the sacred 
 geese that were kept in Juno's Temple was touched ; 
 and one Fabius Dorso, who believed that the house- 
 hold gods of his family required yearly a sacrifice 
 on their own festival day on the Ouirinal Hill, ar- 
 rayed himself in the white robes of a sacrificer, took 
 his sacred images in his arms, and went out of the 
 Capitol, through the midst of the enemy, through 
 the ruins to the accustomed altar, and there per- 
 formed the regular rites. The Gauls, seeing that it 
 was a religious ceremony, let him pass through them 
 untouched, and he returned in safety ; but Brennus 
 was resolved on completing his conquest, and while 
 half his forces went out to plunder, he remained with 
 the other half, watching the moment to effect an en- 
 trance into the Capitol ; and how were the defend- 
 ers, worn out with hunger, to resist without relief 
 from without ? And who was there to bring relief 
 to them, who were themselves the Roman State 
 and government ? 
 
 Now there was a citizen, named Marcus Furius 
 Camillas, who was, without question, at that time,
 
 52 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the first soldier of Rome, and had taken several of 
 the chief Italian cities, especially that of Veil, which 
 had long been a most dangerous enemy. But he 
 was a proud, haughty man, and had brought on him- 
 self much dislike ; until, at last, a false accusation 
 was brought against him, that he had taken an un- 
 fair share of the plunder of Veii. He was too proud 
 to stand a trial ; and, leaving the city, was immedi- 
 ately fined a considerable sum. He had taken up his 
 abode at the city of Ardea, and was there living when 
 the plundering half of Brennus's army was reported 
 to be coming thither. Camillus immediately offered 
 the magistrates to undertake their defence ; and get- 
 ting together all the men who could bear arms, he led 
 them out, fell upon the Gauls as they all lay asleep 
 and unguarded in the dead of night, made a great 
 slaughter of them, and saved Ardea. All this was 
 heard by the many Romans who had been living dis- 
 persed since the rout of Allia ; and they began to re- 
 cover heart and spirit, and to think that if Camillus 
 would be their leader, they might yet do something 
 to redeem the honor of Rome, and save their friends 
 in the Capitol. An entreaty was sent to him to take 
 the command of them ; but, like a proud, stern man 
 as he was, he made answer, that he was a mere ex- 
 ile, and could not take upon himself to lead Romans 
 without a decree from the Senate giving him au- 
 thority. The Senate was all that remained of it 
 shut up in the Capitol ; the Gauls were spread 
 all round ; how was that decree to be obtained ? 
 
 A young man, named Pontius Cominius, under- 
 took the desperate mission. He put on a peasant 
 dress, and hid some corks under it, supposing that 
 he should find no passage by the bridge over the 
 Tiber. Travelling all day on foot, he came at night 
 to the bank, and saw the guard at the bridge ; then, 
 having waited for darkness, he rolled his one thin, 
 light garment, with the corks wrapped up in it,
 
 The Rock of the Capitol. 53 
 
 round His head, and trusted himself to the stream 
 of Father Tiber, like "good Horatius " before him ; 
 and he was safely borne along to the foot of the Cap- 
 itoline Hill. He crept along, avoiding every place 
 where he saw lights or heard noise, till he came to 
 a rugged precipice, which he suspected would not 
 be watched by the enemy, who would suppose it too 
 steep to be climbed from above or below. But the 
 resolute man did not fear the giddy, dangerous as- 
 cent, even in the darkness ; he swung himself up by 
 the steins and boughs of vines and climbing plants, 
 his naked feet clung to the rocks and tufts of grass, 
 and at length he stood on the top of the rampart, 
 calling out his name to the soldiers who came in 
 haste around him, not knowing whether he were 
 friend or foe. A joyful sound must his Latin 
 speech have been to the long-tried, half-starved gar- 
 rison, who had not seen a fresh face for six long 
 months ! The few who represented the Senate and 
 people of Rome were hastily awakened from their 
 sleep, and gathered together to hear the tidings 
 brought them at so much risk. Pontius told them 
 of the victory at Ardea, and that Camillus and the 
 Romans collected at Veii were only waiting to 
 march to their succor rill they should give him law- 
 ful power to take the command. There was little 
 debate. The vote was passed at once to make Ca- 
 millus Dictator, an office to which Romans were 
 elected upon great emergencies, and which gave 
 them for the time, absolute kingly control ; and then 
 I'ontius, bearing the appointment, set off once again 
 upon his mission, still under shelter of night, clam- 
 bered down the rock, and crossed the Gallic camp 
 before the barbarians were yet awake. 
 
 There was hope in the little garrison ; but dan- 
 ger was not over. The sharp-eyed Gauls observed 
 that the shrubs and creepers were broken, the moss 
 frayed, and fresh stones and earth rolled down at
 
 54 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the crag of the Capitol : they were sure that the 
 rock had been climbed, and, therefore, that it might 
 be climbed again. Should they, who were used to 
 the snowy peaks, dark abysses, and huge glaciers 
 of the Alps, be afraid to climb where a soft dweller 
 in a tame Italian town could venture a passage? 
 Brennus chose out the hardiest of his mountain- 
 eers, and directed them to climb up in the dead of 
 night, one by one, in perfect silence, and thus to 
 surprise the Romans, and complete the slaughter 
 and victory, before the forces assembling at Veii 
 could come to their rescue. 
 
 Silently the Gauls climbed, so stilly that not even 
 a dog heard them ; and the sentinel nearest to the 
 post, who had fallen into a dead sleep of exhaus- 
 tion from hunger, never awoke. But the fatal still- 
 ness was suddenly broken by loud gabbling, cack- 
 ling, and flapping of heavy wings. The sacred 
 geese of Juno, which had been so religiously spared 
 in the famine, were frightened by the rustling be- 
 neath, and proclaimed their terror in their own 
 noisy fashion. The first to take the alarm was Mar- 
 cus Manlius, who started forward just in time to 
 meet the foremost climbers as they set foot on the 
 rampart. One, who raised an axe to strike, lost his 
 arm by one stroke of Manlius's short Roman sword ; 
 the next was by main strength hurled backwards 
 over the precipice, and Manlius stood alone on the 
 top, for a few moments, ready to strike the next 
 who should struggle up. The whole of the garri- 
 son were in a few moments on the alert, and the 
 attack was entirely repulsed ; the sleeping sentry 
 was cast headlong down the rock ; and Manlius 
 was brought, by each grateful soldier, that which 
 was then most valuable to all, a little meal and a 
 small measure of wine. Still, the condition of the 
 Capitol was lamentable : there was no certainty that 
 Pontius had ever reached Camillus in safety ; and,
 
 The Rock of the Capitol. 55 
 
 indeed, the discovery of his path by the enemy 
 would rather have led to the supposition that he 
 had been seized and detected. The best hope lay 
 in wearying out the besiegers ; and there seemed 
 to be more chance of this, since the Gauls often 
 could be seen from the heights, burying the corpses 
 of their dead ; their tall, bony forms looked gaunt and 
 drooping, and here and there, unburied carcasses lay 
 amongst the ruins. Nor were the flocks and herds 
 any longer driven in from the country. Either all 
 must have been exhausted, or else Camillus and 
 his friends must be near, and preventing their raids. 
 At any rate, it appeared as if the enemy was quite 
 as ill off as to provisions as the garrison, and in 
 worse condition as to health. In effect, this was the 
 first example of the famous saying, that Rome de- 
 stroys her conquerors. In this state of things one 
 of the Romans had a dream that Jupiter, the spe- 
 cial god of the Capitol, appeared to him, and gave 
 the strange advice that all the remaining flour 
 should be baked, and the loaves thrown down into 
 the enemy's camp. Telling the dream, which may, 
 perhaps, have been the shaping of his own thoughts, 
 that this apparent waste would persuade the barba- 
 rians that the garrison could not soon be starved 
 out, this person obtained the consent of the rest of 
 the besieged. Some approved the stratagem, and 
 no one chose to act contrary to Jupiter's supposed 
 advice ; so the bread was baked, and tossed down 
 by the hungry men. 
 
 After a time, there was a report from the outer 
 guards that the Gallic watch had been telling them 
 that their leader would be willing to speak with 
 some of the Roman chiefs. Accordingly, Sulpitius, 
 one of the tribunes, went out, and had a conference 
 with Brennus, who declared that he would depart, 
 provided the Romans would lay down a ransom, for 
 their Capitol and their own lives, of a thousand
 
 56 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 pounds' weight of gold. To this Sulpitius agreed, 
 and, returning to the Capitol, the gold was collected 
 from the treasury, and carried down to meet the 
 Gauls, who brought their own weights. The 
 weights did not meet the amount of gold orna- 
 ments that had been contributed for the purpose, 
 and no doubt the Gauls were resolved to have all 
 that they beheld ; for when Sulpitius was about to 
 try to arrange the balance, Brennus insultingly 
 threw his sword into his own scale, exclaiming, V& 
 victis ! " Woe to the conquered ! " The Roman 
 was not yet fallen so low as not to remonstrate, and 
 the dispute was waxing sharp, when there was a 
 confused outcry in the Gallic camp, a shout from 
 the heights of the Capitol, and into the midst of 
 the open space rode a band of Roman patricians 
 and knights in armor, with the Dictator Camillus at 
 their head. 
 
 He no sooner saw what was passing, than he com- 
 manded the treasure to be taken back, and, turning 
 to Brennus, said, "It is with iron, not gold, that 
 Romans guard their country." 
 
 Brennus declared that the treaty had been sworn 
 to, and that it would be a breach of faith to deprive 
 him of the ransom ; to which Camillus replied, that 
 he himself was Dictator, and no one had the power 
 to make a treaty in his absence. The dispute was 
 so hot, that they drew their swords against one an- 
 other, and there was a skirmish among the ruins ; 
 but the Gauls soon fell back, and retreated to their 
 camp, when they saw the main body of Camillus's 
 army marching upon them. It was no less than 
 40,000 in number ; and Brennus knew he could not 
 withstand them with his broken, sickly army. He 
 drew off early the next morning ; but was followed 
 by Camillus, and routed, with great slaughter, about 
 eight miles from Rome ; and very few of the Gauls 
 lived to return home, for those who were not slain
 
 * The Rock of th Capitol. 57 
 
 in battle were cut off in their flight by the country 
 people, whom they had plundered. 
 
 In reward for their conduct on this occasion, Ca- 
 millus was termed Romulus. Father of his Country, 
 and Second Founder of Rome ; Marcus Manlius 
 received the honorable surname of Capitolinus ; and 
 even the geese were honored by having a golden 
 image raised to their honor in Juno's temple, and a 
 live goose was yearly carried in triumph, upon a 
 soft litter, in a golden cage, as long as any heathen 
 festivals lasted. The reward of Pontius Cominius 
 does not appear ; but surely he, and the old sena- 
 tors who died for their country's sake, deserve to 
 be forever remembered for their brave contempt of 
 life when a service could be done to the State. 
 
 The truth of tjie whole narrative is greatly doubt- 
 ed, and it is suspected that the Gallic conquest was 
 more complete than the Romans ever chose to avow. 
 Their history is far from clear up to this very epoch, 
 when it is said that all their records were destroyed ; 
 but even when place and period are misty, great 
 names and the main outline of their actions loom 
 through the cloud, perhaps exaggerated, but still 
 with some reality ; and if the magnificent romance 
 of the sack of Rome be not fact, yet it is certainly 
 history, and well worthy of note and remembrance, 
 as one of the finest extant traditions of a whole 
 chain of Golden Deeds.
 
 THE TWO FRIENDS OF SYRACUSE. 
 
 jj. c. 380 (CIRCA). 
 
 MOST of the best and noblest of the Greeks 
 held what was called the Pythagorean phi- 
 losophy. 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, " seek- 
 ing 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 trav- 
 elled 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 worshipped but savage or impure pow- 
 er, and the very form of adoration was cruel and 
 unclean, as among the Canaanites and Carthagini- 
 ans, 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 of
 
 The Two Friends of Syracuse. 59 
 
 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 yearnings 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 ob- 
 servances and pursuits of science, especially mathe- 
 matics and music. And they were taught to restrain 
 their passions, especially that of anger, and to en- 
 dure with patience all kinds of suffering ; believing 
 that such self-restraint brought them nearer to the 
 gods, and th'at 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 Christian era. Syracuse was a great 
 Greek city, built in Sicily, and full of all kinds of 
 Greek art and learning ; but it was a place of dan- 
 ger 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 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
 
 60 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 Car- 
 thaginians, and rendered Syracuse 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 him. and 
 that every one hated him for assuming 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 gal- 
 leries to conduct sounds like an ear, so that he 
 might overhear 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 situa- 
 tion for a single day, he took him at his word, and 
 Damocles found himself at a banquet with every- 
 thing that could delight his senses, delicious food, 
 costly wine, flowers, perfumes, 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 
 Antiphon to death for answering him, when he 
 asked what was the best kind of brass, " That of
 
 The Tivo Friends of Syracuse. 61 
 
 which the statues of Harmodius and Aristogeiton 
 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 afterwards 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 compliment ; 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 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 Pythagorean 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 Dionysius, the miserable man 
 who trusted nobody, was ready to scoff at his sim- 
 plicity, 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. 
 
 Dyonysius, much astonished, consented to let 
 Pythias go, marvelling what would be the issue of 
 the affair. Time went on, and Pythias did not ap-
 
 62 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 pear. 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 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 him- 
 self. It was not Pythias's own will, but the winds and 
 waves, 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 pre- 
 sented himself, embraced his friend, and stood for- 
 ward 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. Dyonysius looked on more struck than 
 ever. He felt that neither of such men must die. 
 He reversed the sentence of Pythias, and calling 
 the two to his judgment-seat he entreated them to 
 admit him as a third in their friendship. Yet all the 
 time he must have known it was a mockery that he 
 should ever be such as they were to each other 
 he who had lost the very power of trusting, and 
 constantly sacrificed others to secure his own life, 
 whilst they counted not their lives dear to them in 
 comparison with their truth to their word, and love 
 to one another. No wonder that Damon and Pyth- 
 ias have become such a by-word that they seem too 
 well known to have their story told here, except that 
 a name in every one's mouth sometimes seems to 
 be mentioned by those who have forgotten or never 
 heard the tale attached to it.
 
 THE DEVOTION OF THE DECII. 
 B.C. 339. 
 
 T^HE spirit of self-devotion is so beautiful and 
 _L noble, that even when the act is performed in 
 obedience to the dictates of a false religion, it is im- 
 possible not to be struck with admiration and al- 
 most reverence for the unconscious type of the one 
 great act that has hallowed every other sacrifice. 
 Thus it was that Codrus, the Athenian kins;, has 
 ever since been honored for the tradition that he 
 gave his own life to secure the safety of his people ; 
 and there is a touching story, with neither name 
 nor place, of a heathen monarch who was bidden 
 by his priests to appease the supposed wrath of his 
 gods by the sacrifice of the being dearest to him. 
 His young son had been seized on as his most 
 beloved, when his wife rushed between and de- 
 clared that her son must live, and not by his death 
 rob her of her right to fall, as her husband's dear- 
 est. The priest looked at the father ; the face that 
 had been sternly composed before was full of un- 
 controlled anguish as he sprang forward to save the 
 wife rather than the child. That impulse was an 
 answer, like the entreaty of the mother before Sol- 
 omon ; the priest struck the fatal blow ere the king's 
 hand could withhold him, and the mother died with a 
 last look of exceeding joy at her husband's love and 
 her son's safety. Human sacrifices are of course ac-
 
 64 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 cursed, and even the better sort of heathens viewed 
 them with horror ; but the voluntary confronting of 
 death, even at the call of a distorted presage of fu- 
 ture atonement, required qualities that were perhaps 
 the highest that could be exercised among those who 
 were devoid of the light of truth. 
 
 In the year 339 there was a remarkable instance 
 of such devotion. The Romans were at war with 
 the Latins, a nation dwelling to the south of them, 
 and almost exactly resembling themselves in lan- 
 guage, habits, government, and fashions of fighting. 
 Indeed the city of Rome itself was but an offshoot 
 from the old Latin kingdom ; and there was not 
 much difference between the two nations even in 
 courage and perseverance. The two consuls of the 
 year were Titus Manlius Torquatus and Publius 
 Decius Mus. They were both very distinguished 
 men. Manlius was a patrician, or one of the high 
 ancient nobles of Rome, and had in early youth 
 fought a single combat with a gigantic Gaul, who 
 offered himself, like Goliath, as a champion of his 
 tribe ; had slain him, and taken from him a gold 
 torque, or collar, whence his surname Torquatus. 
 Decius was a plebeian ; one of the free though not 
 noble citizens who had votes, but only within a few 
 years had been capable of being chosen to the higher 
 offices of state, and who looked upon every election 
 to the consulship as a victory. Three years previ- 
 ously, when a tribune in command of a legion, De- 
 cius had saved the consul, Cornelius Cossus, from 
 a dangerous situation, and enabled him to gain a 
 great victory ; and this exploit was remembered, and 
 led to the choice of T:his well-experienced soldier as 
 the colleague of Manlius. 
 
 The two consuls both went out together in com- 
 mand of the forces, each having a separate army, 
 and intending to act in concert. They marched to 
 the beautiful country at the foot of Mount Vesuvius,
 
 Tlie Devotion of the Decii. 65 
 
 which was then a harmless mountain clothed with 
 chestnut woods, with spaces opening between, where 
 farms and vineyards rejoiced in the sunshine and 
 the fresh breezes of the lovely blue bay that lay 
 stretched beneath. Those who climbed to the sum- 
 mit might indeed find beds of ashes and the jagged 
 edge of a huge basin or gulf; the houses and walls 
 were built of dark-red and black material that once 
 had flowed from the boiling crater in torrents : but 
 these had long since cooled, and so long was it since 
 a column of smoke had been seen to rise from the 
 mountain top, that it only remained as a matter of 
 tradition that this region was one of mysterious fire, 
 and that the dark cool lake Avernus, near the moun- 
 tain skirts, was the very entrance to the shadowy 
 realms beneath, that were supposed to be inhabited 
 by the spirits of the dead. 
 
 It might be that the neighborhood of this lake, 
 with the dread imaginations connected with it by 
 pagan fancy, influenced even the stout hearts of the 
 consuls ; for, the night after they came in sight of 
 the enemy, each dreamt the same dream, namely, 
 that he beheld a mighty form of gigantic height and 
 stature, who told him ''that the victory was decreed 
 to that army of the two whose leader should devote 
 himself to the Dii Manes," that is, to the deities 
 who watched over the shades of the dead. Proba- 
 bly these older Romans held the old Etruscan belief, 
 which took these "gods beneath " to he winged be- 
 ings, who bore away the departing soul, weighed its 
 im-rits and demerits, and placed it in a region of peace 
 or of woe, according to its deserts. This was part 
 of the grave and earnest faith that gave the earlier 
 Romans such truth and resolution ; but latterly 
 they so corrupted it with the Greek myths, that, in 
 after times, they did not even know who the gods 
 of Dec! us were. 
 
 At daybreak, the two consuls sought one another 
 5
 
 66 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 out, and told their dreams ; and they agreed that 
 they would join their armies in one, Decius leading 
 the right and Manlius the left wing ; and that which- 
 ever found his troops giving way, should at once 
 rush into the enemy's columns and die, to secure 
 the victory to his colleague. At the same time, 
 strict commands were given that no Roman should 
 come out of his rank to fight in single combat with 
 the enemy ; a necessary regulation, as the Latins 
 were so like, in every respect, to the Romans, that 
 there would have been fatal confusion had there 
 been any mingling together before the battle. Just 
 as this command had been given out, young Titus 
 Manlius, the son of the consul, met a Latin leader, 
 who called him by name and challenged him to fight 
 hand to hand. The youth was emulous of the 
 honor his father had gained by his combat at the 
 same age with the Gaul, but forgot both the present 
 edict, and that his father had scrupulously asked 
 permission before accepting the challenge. He at 
 once came forward, and after a brave conflict, slew 
 his adversary, and taking his armor, presented 
 himself at his father's tent and laid the spoils at his 
 feet. 
 
 But old Manlius turned aside sadly, and collected 
 his troops to hear his address to his son : " You 
 have transgressed," he said, " the discipline which 
 has been the support of the Roman people, and 
 reduced me to the hard necessity of either forgetting 
 myself and mine, or else the regard I owe to the 
 general safety. Rome must not suffer by one fault. 
 \Ve must expiate it ourselves. A sad example shall 
 we be, but a wholesome one to the Roman youth. 
 For me, both the natural love of a father, and that 
 specimen thou hast given of thy valor move me 
 exceedingly ; but since either the consular authority 
 must be established by thy death, or destroyed by 
 thy impunity, I cannot think, if thou be a true Man-
 
 The Devotion of the Decti. 67 
 
 lius, that thou wilt be backward to repair the breach 
 thou hast made in military discipline by undergoing 
 the just meed of thine offence." He then placed 
 the wreath of leaves, the reward of a victor, upon 
 his son's head, and gave the command to the lictor 
 to bind the young man to a stake, and strike off his 
 head. The troops stood round as men stunned, no 
 one durst utter a word ; the son submitted without 
 one complaint, since his death was for the good of 
 Rome, and the father, trusting that the doom of the 
 Dii Manes was about to overtake him, beheld the 
 brave but rash young head fall, then watched the 
 corpse covered with the trophies won from the 
 Latins, and made no hinderance to the glorious 
 obsequies with which the whole army honored this 
 untimely death. Strict discipline was indeed estab- 
 lished, and no one again durst break his rank ; but 
 the younger men greatly hated Manlius for his 
 severity, and gave him no credit for the agony he 
 had concealed while giving up his gallant son to the 
 well-being of Rome. 
 
 A few days after, the expected battle took place, 
 and after some little time the front rank of Decius's 
 men began to fall back upon the line in their rear. 
 This was the token he had waited for. He called 
 to Valerius, the chief priest of Rome, to consecrate 
 him, and was directed to put on his chief robe of 
 office, the beautiful purple toga prcete.\-ta. to cover 
 his head, and standing on his javelin, call aloud to 
 the " nine gods " to accept his devotion, to save the 
 Roman legions, and strike terror into his enemies. 
 This done, he commanded his lictors to carry word 
 to his colleague that the sacrifice was accomplished, 
 and then girding his robe round him in the manner 
 adopted in sacrificing to the gods, he mounted his 
 white horse, and rushed like lightning into the 
 thickest of the Latins. At first they fell away on all 
 sides as if some heavenly apparition had come down
 
 68 A Book of Golden Tweeds. 
 
 on them ; then, as some recognized him, they closed 
 in on him, and pierced his breast with their weap- 
 ons ; but even as he fell the superstition that a 
 devoted leader was sure to win the field, came full 
 on their minds, they broke and fled. Meanwhile, 
 the message came to Manlius, and drew from him a 
 burst of tears, tears that he had not shed for his 
 son, his hope of himself meeting the doom and 
 ending his sorrow was gone ; but none the less he 
 nerved himself to complete the advantage gained by 
 Decius's death. Only one wing of the Latins had 
 fled, the other fought long and bravely ; and when 
 at last it was defeated, and cut down on the field of 
 battle, both conqueror and conquered declared that, 
 if Manlius had been the leader of the Latins,- they 
 would have had the victory. Manlius afterwards 
 completely subdued the Latins, who became incor- 
 porated with the Romans ; but bravely as he had 
 borne up, his health gave way under his sorrow, 
 and before the end of the year he was unable to 
 take the field. 
 
 Forty-five years later, in the year 294, another 
 Decius was consul. He was the son of the first 
 devoted Decius, and had shown himself worthy of 
 his name, both as a citizen and soldier. His first 
 consulate had been in conjunction with one of the 
 most high-spirited and famous Roman nobles, Quin- 
 tus Fabius, surnamed Maximus, or the Greatest, 
 and at three years' end they were again chosen 
 together, when the Romans had been brought into 
 considerable peril by an alliance between the Gauls 
 and the Samnites, their chief enemies in Italy. 
 
 One being a patrician and the other a plebeian, 
 there was every attempt made at Rome to stir up 
 jealousies and dissensions between them ; but both 
 were much too noble and generous to be thus set 
 one against the other ; and when Fabius found how 
 serious was the state of affairs in Etruria, he sent to
 
 The Devotion of the Decii. 69 
 
 Rome to entreat that Decius would come and act 
 with him. " With him I shall never want forces, 
 nor have too many enemies to deal with." 
 
 The Gauls, since the time of Brennus, had so en- 
 tirely settled in Northern Italy, that it had acquired 
 the name of Cisalpine Gaul, and they were as war- 
 like as ever, while better armed and trained. The 
 united armies of Gauls, Samnites, and their allies, 
 together are said to have amounted to 143,330 foot 
 and 46,000 horse, and the Roman army consisted of 
 four legions, 24,000 in all, with an unspecified num- 
 ber of horse. The place of battle was at Sentinum, 
 and here for the first time the Gauls brought armed 
 chariots into use, probably the wicker chariots, 
 with scythes in the midst of the clumsy wooden 
 wheels, which were used by the Kelts in Britain two 
 centuries later. It was the first time the Romans 
 had encountered these barbarous vehicles ; they 
 were taken by surprise, the horses started, and 
 could not be brought back to the charge, and the 
 legions were mowed down like corn where the furi- 
 ous Gaul impelled his scythe. Decius shouted in 
 vain, and tried to gather his men and lead them 
 back ; but the terror at this new mode of warfare 
 had so mastered them, that they paid no attention 
 to his call. Then, half in policy, half in supersti- 
 tion, he resolved to follovr his father in his death. 
 He called the chief priest, Marcus Livius, and stand- 
 ing on his javelin, went through the same formula 
 of self-dedication, and in like manner threw himself, 
 alone and unarmed, in the midst of the enemy, 
 among whom he soon fell under many a savage 
 stroke. The priest, himself a gallant soldier, called 
 to the troops that their victory was now secured, 
 an.l thoroughly believing him, they let him lead 
 them back to the charge, and routed the Gauls ; 
 whilst Fabius so well did his part against the other 
 nations, that the victory was complete, and twenty-
 
 70 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 five thousand enemies were slain. So covered was 
 the body of Decius by the corpses of his enemies, 
 that all that day it could not be found ; but on the 
 next it was discovered, and Fabius, with a full heart, 
 pronounced the funeral oration of the second De- 
 cius, who had willingly offered himself to turn the 
 tide of battle in favor of his country. It was the 
 last of such acts of dedication, the Romans be- 
 came more learned and philosophical, and perhaps 
 more reasonable ; and yet, mistaken as was the ob- 
 ject, it seems a falling off that, two hundred years 
 later, Cicero should not know who were the " nine 
 
 fods " of the Decii, and should regard their sacri- 
 ce as " heroic indeed, but unworthy of men of un- 
 derstanding."
 
 REGU LUS. 
 
 B. C. 249. 
 
 *" I "HE first wars that the Romans engaged in be- 
 JL yond the bounds of Italy, were with the Car- 
 thaginians. This race came from Tyre and Zidon ; 
 and were descended from some of the Phoenicians, 
 or Zidonians, who were such dangerous foes, or more 
 dangerous friends, to the Israelites. Carthage had, 
 as some say, been first founded by some of the Ca- 
 naanites, who fled when Joshua conquered the Prom- 
 ised Land ; and whether this were so Or not, the in- 
 habitants 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 worshipped Baa! and Ashtoreth, and the fright- 
 ful Moloch, with foul and cruel rites ; and, like them, 
 they were excellent sailors and great merchants, trad- 
 ing with every known country, and living in great 
 riches and splendor at their grand city on the south- 
 ern shore of the Mediterranean. 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 Sicily ;
 
 72 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 and the war thus begun had lasted eight years, when 
 it was resolved to send an army to fight the Car- 
 thaginians on their own shores. The army and fleet 
 were placed under the command of the two consuls, 
 Lucius Manlius and Marcus Attilius Regulus. On 
 the way, there was a great sea-fight with the Car- 
 thaginian 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 ser- 
 pents, 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 mak- 
 ing it known that disaffection would be punished 
 by death, and the army safely landed, and set up a 
 fortification at Clypea, and plundered the whole coun- 
 try round. Orders here came from Rome that Man- 
 lius 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 expeditions into the country round, in the 
 course of which the Romans really did fall in with 
 a serpent, as monstrous as their imagination had de- 
 picted. 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
 
 Rcgulus. * 73 
 
 battering city walls, and only succeeded with much 
 difficulty in destroying it. 
 
 The country was most beautiful, covered with fer- 
 tile cornfields 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 these 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 elephants, kept 
 upon the hills and did nothing to save the country, 
 and the wild desert tribes of Numidians came rush- 
 ing in to plunder what the Romans had left. The 
 Carthaginians sent to offer terms of peace ; but 
 Regulus, who had become uplifted by his con- 
 quests, made such demands that the messengers 
 remonstrated. He answered, " Men who 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. 
 
 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 army 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
 
 74 A Bcfok of Golden Deeds. 
 
 fighting with elephants, namely, to leave lanes in 
 their columns where these huge beasts might ad- 
 vance harmlessly ; instead of which, the ranks were 
 thrust and trampled down by the creatures' bulk, 
 and they suffered a terrible defeat ; Regulus him- 
 self was seized by the horsemen, and dragged into 
 Carthage, where the victors feasted and rejoiced 
 through half the night, and testified their thanks to 
 Moloch by offering 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 loneliness, 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 re- 
 solved to ask terms of peace. 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 nei- 
 ther 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 Ro- 
 man 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
 
 Reguhts. 75 
 
 them, came out to hold their meeting in the Cam- 
 pagna. 
 
 The ambassadors spoke first, then Regulus, 
 standing up, said, as one repeating a task, " Con- 
 script fathers, being a slave to the Carthaginians, I 
 come on the part of my masters to treat with you 
 concerning peace, and an exchange of prisoners." 
 He then turned to go away with the ambassadors, 
 as a stranger might not be present at the delibera- 
 tions of the Senate. His old friends pressed him 
 to stay 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 masters, he remained, 
 though not taking his seat. 
 
 Then he spoke. He told the senators to per- 
 severe 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 Cartha- 
 ginian generals, who were in the hands of the Ro- 
 mans, were in full health and strength, whilst he 
 himself was too much broken down to be fit for ser- 
 vice 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 dishonor 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
 
 76 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 the gods take care of the 
 rest." 
 
 The Senate decided to follow the advice of Regu- 
 lus, though they bitterly regretted his sacrifice. His 
 wife wept and entreated in vain that they would 
 detain him ; they could merely repeat their permis- 
 sion 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 worshipped 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 repri- 
 manded them. They declared it was their mother's 
 doing, not theirs, and thenceforth were careful of the 
 comfort of the remaining prisoner. 
 
 It may thus be hoped that the frightful tale of 
 Regulus's sufferings was but formed by report acting 
 on the fancy of a vindictive woman, and that Regu-
 
 Regulus. 
 
 77 
 
 lus 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 charac- 
 ters of history, but the resolution that would neither 
 let him save himself at the risk of his country's 
 prosperity, nor forfeit the word that he had pledged.
 
 THE BRAVE BRETHREN OF JUDAH. 
 
 B.C. 1 80. 
 
 IT was about 180 years before the Christian era. 
 The Jews had long since come home from Baby- 
 lon, and built up their city and Temple at Jerusa- 
 lem. But they were not free as they had been be- 
 fore. Their country belonged to some 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 
 kingdom he had learnt all the self-indulgent and vio- 
 lent habits to which people in those hot countries are 
 especially tempted. 
 
 He was so fierce and passionate, that he was often 
 called the Madman," and he was very cruel to all 
 who offended him. One of his greatest desires was, 
 that the Jews should leave their true faith in one 
 God. and do like the Greeks and Syrians, his other 
 subjects, worship the same idols, and hold drunken 
 feasts in their honor. Sad to say, a great many of
 
 SOME JEWS WERE STILL 'FAITHFUL TO THEIR GOD.
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah. 79 
 
 the Jews had grown ashamed of their own true re- 
 ligion 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, Men- 
 elaus, who led the King Antiochus into the Temple 
 itself, even into the Holy of Holies, and told him all 
 that would most desecrate it and grieve the Jews. 
 So a little altar to the Roman go:l Jupiter was set 
 up on the top of the great brazen altar of burnt-offer- 
 ings, a hog was offered up, and broth of its flesh 
 sprinkled everywhere in the Temple ; then all the 
 precious vessels were seized, the shewbread 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 Temple-hill, 
 and sent for an old man from Athens to teach the 
 people the heathen rites and ceremonies. Any per- 
 son who observed the Sabbath-day, or any other or- 
 dinance of the law of Moses, was put to death in a 
 most cruel manner ; all the books of the Old Tes- 
 tament 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
 
 8o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 off; they could have no hope, except in the promises 
 that God would never fail His people, or forsake 
 His inheritance, and in the prophecies that bad 
 times should come, but good ones after them. 
 
 The Greeks, in going through the towns to en- 
 force 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 fam- 
 ily, and so much respected, that all the other inhab- 
 itants 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 no- 
 ble old man, followed by his five sons, Johanan, Si- 
 mon, Judas, Jonathan, and Eleazar. The Greek 
 priest tried to talk him over. He told him that the 
 nigh-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 adoring the deities of the king's choice, 
 promising him rewards and treasures if he would 
 comply. 
 
 But the old man spoke out with a loud and fear- 
 less 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 con- 
 sent 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 from our religion, either on the right 
 hand or the left ! " 
 
 As he spoke up came an apostate Jew to do sac- 
 rifice at the heathen altar. Mattathias trembled at
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah. 8 1 
 
 the sight, and his zeal broke forth. He slew the of- 
 fender, and his brave sons gathering round him, 
 they attacked the Syrian soldiers, killed the commis- 
 sioner, and threw down the altar. Then, as they 
 knew that they could not there hold out against the 
 king's power, Mattathias proclaimed through the 
 city : " Whosoever is zealous of the law, and main- 
 taineth the covenant, let him follow me ! " With 
 that, he and his five sons, with their families, 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 Matta- 
 thias could not long bear the rude wild life in the 
 cold mountains, 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, and been 
 aided in their extremity. He appointed his son Ju- 
 das, as the strongest and mightiest, to lead his 
 brethren to buttle, and Simon, as the wisest, to be 
 their counsellor ; 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 
 6
 
 82 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 hill- 
 side 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 
 Gibeon, and the moon in the valley of Ajalon. Mir- 
 acles were over, and Judas looked for no wonder to 
 help him ; but when he came up the mountain road 
 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 person to reduce them. He ap- 
 pointed, however, a governor, named Lysias, to chas- 
 tise the Jews, giving him an army of 40,000 foot and 
 7,000 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.
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah. 83 
 
 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 Miz- 
 peh, the same place where, 1,000 years before, Sam- 
 uel 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 moun- 
 tain crowned by no white marble and gold Temple 
 flashing back the sunbeams, but only with the 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 sounding of trumpets, and Judas stood 
 forth before them. And he made the old proclama- 
 tion that Moses had long ago decreed, that no one 
 should go 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 6.000 followers 
 when he made this proclamation. He had only 
 3,000 at the end of the day, and they were but poorly 
 armed. He 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 watchword " the help of God," and divided the 
 leadership 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 ;
 
 84 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 but tidings were soon brought him that Gorgias, 
 with 5,000 foot and 1,000 horse, had left the main 
 body to fall on his little camp by night. He there- 
 fore 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 moun- 
 tains, proceeded thither in pursuit of them. 
 
 But in the early morning Judas and his 3,000 
 men were all in battle array in the plains, and 
 marching full upon the enemy's camp with trum- 
 pet sound, took them by surprise in the absence 
 of Gorgias and his choice troops, and utterly de- 
 feated and put them to flight, but without pursu- 
 ing them, since the fight with Gorgias and his five 
 thousand might be yet to come. Even as Judas 
 was reminding his men of this, Gorgias's troops 
 were 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 treas- 
 ures, was in the hands of Judas, who there rested 
 for a Sabbath of glad thanksgiving, and the next 
 day parted the spoil, 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 prisoners, and 
 instead of giving a talent for ninety Jews, were sold 
 themselves. 
 
 The next year Lysias came himself, but was 
 driven back and defeated at Bethshur, four or five 
 miles south of Bethlehem. And now came the 
 saddest, yet the greatest, day of Judas's 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
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah. 85 
 
 he and his men loved the sanctuary too well to keep 
 away from it, and 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 clois- 
 ters 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 Jupi- 
 ter'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 desolation 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 profanation, the Temple was newly dedicated, 
 with songs and hymns of rejoicing, and a festival 
 day was appointed, which has been observed by the 
 Jews ever since. The Temple rock and city were 
 again fortified 3*> 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 i^reat enemy of the Jews, Antiochus Epipha- 
 nes, was in the mean time dying in great agony 
 in Persia, and his son, Antiochus Eupator, was set 
 on the throne by I.ysi is, who brought him with an 
 enormous army to reduce the rising in Judea. The 
 fight was again at liethshur, where Judas had built 
 a strong tort 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 Ibrce, which was made
 
 86 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 1,000 foot and 500 horse 
 attached to the special following of the beast, who, 
 gentle as he was by nature, often produced a fear- 
 ful 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 lamps of 
 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 
 him 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 
 battle, Judas was obliged to draw off and leave 
 Bethshur to be taken by the enemy, and to shut 
 himself up in Jerusalem. 
 
 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, prom- 
 ising 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, Deme- 
 trius, who again sent an army for the subjection of 
 Judas, and further appointed a high-priest, named 
 Alcimus, of the family of Aaron, but inclined to 
 Savor the new heathen fashions.
 
 The Brave Brethren of Judah. 87 
 
 This was the most fatal thing that had happened 
 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 sacrifice himself; and 
 many of the Jews were so glad of another high- 
 priest, that they let Alcimus into the Temple, and 
 Jerusalem was again lost to Judas. One more bat- 
 tle was won by 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 Sy- 
 rian army had marched in on the Holy Land, 20,000 
 men, and Judas had again no more than 3,000. 
 Some had gone over to Alcimus, some were of- 
 fended at his seeking Roman alliance, 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 3,000 at first collected, only 800 
 stood with him, and they would fain have per- 
 suaded him to retreat. 
 
 '' God forbid that I should do this thing," he 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 Judaea. 
 
 Judas's 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.
 
 THE CHIEF OF THE ARVERNI. 
 
 B.C. 52. 
 
 "1 1 /"E have seen the Gauls in the heart of Rome, 
 V V we have now to see them showing the last 
 courage of despair, defending their native lands 
 against the greatest of all the conquerors that Rome 
 ever sent fgrth. 
 
 These lands, where they had dwelt for so many 
 years as justly to regard them as their inheritance, 
 were Gaul. There the Celtic race had had their 
 abode ever since history has spoken clearly, and had 
 become, in Gaul especially, slightly more civilized, 
 from intercourse with the Greek colony at Massilia, 
 or Marseilles. But they had become borderers upon 
 the Roman dominions, and there was little chance 
 that they would not be absorbed ; the tribes of Pro- 
 vence, the first Roman province, were already con- 
 quered, others were in alliance with Rome, and some 
 had called in the Romans to help them fight their 
 battles. There is no occasion to describe the seven 
 years' war by which Julius Caesar added Gaul to the 
 provinces claimed by Rome, and when he visited 
 Britain ; such conquests are far from being Golden 
 Deeds, but are far worthier of the iron age. It is 
 the stand made by the losing party, and the true 
 patriotism of one young chieftain, 'that we would 
 wish here to dwell upon. 
 
 In the sixth year of the war the conquest seemed
 
 The Chief of the Arverni. 89 
 
 to have been made, and the Roman legions were 
 guarding the north and west, while Caesar himself 
 had crossed the Alps. Subjection pressed heavily 
 on the Gauls, some of their chiefs had been put to 
 death, and the high spirit of the nation was stirred. 
 Meetings took place between the warriors of the 
 various tribes, and an oath was taken by those who 
 inhabited the centre of the country, that if they once 
 revolted, they would stand by one another to the 
 last. These Gauls were probably not tall, bony 
 giants, like the pillagers of Rome ; their appearance 
 and character would be more like that of the modern 
 Welsh, or of their own French descendants, small, 
 alert, and dark-eyed, full of fire, but, though fierce 
 at the first onset, soon rebuffed, yet with much per- 
 severance, in the long run. Their worship was con- 
 ducted by Druids, like that of the Britons, and their 
 dress was of checked material, formed into a loose 
 coat and wide trousers. The superior "chiefs, who 
 had had any dealings with Rome, would speak a lit- 
 tle Latin, and have a few Roman weapons as great 
 improvements upon their own. Their fortifications 
 were wonderfully strong. Trunks of trees were laid 
 on the ground at two feet apart, so that the depth of 
 the wall was their full length. Over these another 
 tier of beams was laid crosswise, and the space be- 
 tween was filled up with earth, and the outside faced 
 with large stones ; the building of earth and stone 
 was carried up to some height, then came another 
 tier of timbers, crossed as before, and this was re- 
 peated again to a considerable height, the inner ends 
 of the beams being fastened to a planking within 
 the wall, so that the whole was of immense com- 
 pactness. Fire could not damage the mineral part 
 of the construction, nor the battering ram hurt the 
 wood, and the Romans had been often placed in 
 great difficulties by these rude but admirable con- 
 structions, within which the Gauls placed their fam-
 
 90 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ilies and cattle, building huts for present shelter. 
 Of late, some attempts had been made at copying 
 the regular streets and houses built round courts 
 that were in use among the Romans, and Roman 
 colonies had been established in various places, 
 where veteran soldiers had received grants of land 
 on condition of keeping the natives in check. A 
 growing taste for arts and civilization was leading to 
 Romans of inferior classes settling themselves in 
 other Gallic cities. 
 
 The first rising of the Gauls began by a quarrel at 
 the city we now call Orleans, ending in a massacre 
 of all the Romans there. The tidings were spread 
 through all the country by loud shouts, repeated 
 from one to the other by men stationed on every 
 hill, and thus what had been done at Orleans at 
 sunrise was known by nine at night 160 miles off 
 among the mountains, which were then the homes 
 of a tribe called by the Romans the Arverni. who 
 have left their name to the province of Auvergne. 
 
 Here dwelt a young chieftain, probably really 
 called Fearcuincedorigh, or Man who is chief of a 
 hundred heads, known to us by Caesar's version of 
 his name, as yercingetorix, a high-spirited youth, 
 who keenly felt the servitude of his country, and 
 who, on receiving these tidings, instantly called on 
 his friends to endeavor to shake off the yoke. His 
 uncle, who feared to provoke Roman vengeance, 
 expelled him from the chief city, Gergovia, the re- 
 mains of which may be traced on the mountain still 
 called Gergoie, about six miles from Clermont ; but 
 he collected all the younger and more high-spirited 
 men, forced a way into the city, and was proclaimed 
 chief of his tribe. All the neighboring tribes joined 
 in the league against the common enemy, and ti- 
 dings were brought to Cassar that the whole country 
 round the Loire was in a state of revolt. 
 
 In the heart of winter he hurried back, and took
 
 The Chief of the Arverni. 91 
 
 the Gauls by surprise by crossing the snows that 
 lay thick on the wild waste of the Cebenna, which 
 the Arverni had always considered as their impen- 
 etrable barrier throughout the winter. The towns 
 quickly fell into his hands, and he was rapidly re- 
 covering all he had lost, when Vercingetorix, col- 
 lecting his chief supporters, represented to them 
 that their best hope would be in burning all the in- 
 habited places themselves and driving off all the 
 cattle, then lying in wait to cut off all the convoys 
 of provisions that should be sent to the enemy, and 
 thus starving them into a retreat. He said that 
 burning houses were indeed a grievous sight, but 
 it would be still more grievous to see their wives 
 and children dragged into captivity. To this all the 
 allies agreed, and twenty towns in one district were 
 burnt in a single day ; but when they came to the 
 city of Avaricum, now called Bourges, the tribe of 
 Bituriges, to whom it belonged, entreated on their 
 knees not to be obliged to destroy the most beau- 
 tiful city in the country, representing that, as it had 
 a river on one side, and a morass everywhere else, 
 except at a very narrow entrance, it might be easily 
 held out against the enemy, and to their entreaties 
 Vercingetorix yielded, though much against his own 
 judgment 
 
 Caesar laid siege to the place, but his army suf- 
 fered severely from cold and hunger ; they had no 
 bread at all, and lived only on the cattle driven in 
 from distant villages, while Vercingetorix hovered 
 round, cutting off their supplies. They however 
 labored diligently to raise a mount against the wall 
 of the town ; but as fast as they worked, the higher 
 did the Gauls within raise the stages of their ram- 
 part, and for twenty-five days there was a most brave 
 defence ; but at last the Romans made their entrance, 
 and slaughtered all they found there, except 800, 
 vho escaped to the camp of Vercingetorix. He was
 
 92 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 not disconcerted by this loss, which he had always 
 expected, but sheltered and clothed the fugitives, 
 and raised a great body of archers and of horsemen, 
 with whom he returned to his own territory in Au- 
 vergne. There was much fighting around the city 
 of Gergovia : but at length, owing to the revolt of 
 the ^dui, another Gallic tribe, Caesar was forced to 
 retreat over the Loire ; and the wild peaks of vol- 
 canic Auvergne were free again. 
 
 But no gallant resolution could long prevail against 
 the ever-advancing power of Rome, and at length 
 the Gauls were driven into their fortified camp at 
 Alesia, now called Alise,* a city standing on a high 
 hill, with two rivers flowing round its base, and a 
 plain in front about three miles wide. Everywhere 
 else it was circled in by high hills, and here Caesar 
 resolved to shut these brave men in and bring them 
 to bay. He caused his men to begin that mighty 
 system of earthworks by which the Romans carried 
 on their attacks, compassing their victim round on 
 every side with a deadly slowness and sureness, 
 by those broad ditches and terraced ramparts that 
 everywhere mark where their foot of iron has trod. 
 Eleven miles round did this huge rampart extend, 
 strengthened by three-and-twenty redoubts, or places 
 of defence, where a watch was continually kept. Be- 
 fore the lines were complete, Vercingetorix brought 
 out his cavalry, and gave battle, at one time with a 
 hope of success ; but the enemy were too strong for 
 him, and his horsemen were driven into the camp. 
 He then resolved to send home all of these, since 
 they could be of no use in the camp, and had better 
 escape before the ditch should have shut them in on 
 every side. He charged them to go to their several 
 tribes and endeavor to assemble all the fighting men 
 to come to his rescue ; for, if he were not speedily 
 
 * In Burgundy, between Semur and Dijon.
 
 The Chief of the Arverni. 93 
 
 succored, he and eighty thousand of the bravest of 
 the Gauls must fall into the hands of the Romans, 
 since he had only corn for thirty days, even with the 
 utmost saving. 
 
 Having thus exhorted them, he took leave of 
 them, and sent them away at nine at night, so that 
 they might escape in the dark where the Roman 
 trench had not yet extended. Then he distributed 
 the cattle among his men, but retained the corn him- 
 self, serving it out with the utmost caution. The 
 Romans outside fortified their camp with a double 
 ditch, one of them full of water, behind which was a 
 bank twelve feet high, with stakes forked like the 
 horns of a stag. The space between the ditches 
 was filled with pits, and scattered with iron caltrops 
 or hooked spikes. All this was against the garrison, 
 to prevent them from breaking out ; and outside the 
 camp he made another line of ditches and ramparts 
 against the Gauls who might be coming to the 
 rescue. 
 
 The other tribes were not deaf to the summons 
 of their friends, but assembled in large numbers, 
 and just as the besieged had exhausted their pro- 
 visions, an army was seen on the hills beyond the 
 camp. Their commander was Vergosillaunus (most 
 probably Fearsaighan, the Man of the Standard), a 
 near kinsman of Vercingetorix ; and all that bravery 
 could do they did to break through the defences of 
 the camp from outside, while within, Vercingetorix 
 and his eighty thousand tried to fill up the ditches 
 and force their way out to meet their friends. But 
 Caesar himself commanded the Romans, who were 
 confident in his fortunes, and raised a shout of ec- 
 stacy wherever they beheld his thin, marked, eagle 
 face and purple robe, rushing on the enemy with a 
 confidence of victory that did in fact render them 
 invincible. The Gauls gave way, lost seventy-four 
 of their standards, and Vergosillaunus himself was
 
 94 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 taken prisoner ; and as for the brave garrison within 
 Alesia, they were but like so many flies struggling 
 in vain within the enormous web that had been 
 woven around them. Hope was gone, but the chief 
 of the Arverni could yet do one thing for his coun- 
 trymen he could offer up himself in order to ob- 
 tain better terms for them. 
 
 The next day he convened his companions in 
 arms, and told them that he had only fought for the 
 freedom of their country, not to secure his private 
 interest ; and that now, since yield they must, he 
 freely offered himself to become a victim for their 
 safety, whether they should judge it best for them- 
 selves to appease the anger of the conqueror by 
 putting him to death themselves, or whether they 
 preferred giving him up alive. 
 
 It was a piteous necessity to have to sacrifice 
 their noblest and bravest, who had led them so gal- 
 lantly during the long war ; but they had little choice, 
 and could only send messengers to the camp to 
 offer to yield Vercingetorix as the price of their 
 safety. Caesar made it known that he was willing to 
 accept their submission, and drawing up his troops 
 in battle array, with the Eagle standards around 
 him, he watched the whole Gallic army march past 
 him. First, Vercingetorix was placed as a prisoner 
 in his hands, and then each man laid down sword, 
 javelin, or bow and arrows, helmet, buckler, and 
 breastplate, in one mournful heap, and proceeded 
 on his way, scarcely thankful that the generosity of 
 their chieftain had purchased for them subjection 
 rather than death. 
 
 Vercingetorix himself had become the property 
 of the great man from whom alone we know of his 
 deeds ; who could perceive his generous spirit and 
 high qualities as a general, nay, who honored the 
 self-devotion by which he endeavored to save his 
 countrymen. He remained in captivity, six long
 
 The Chief of the Arverni. 95 
 
 years sped by, while Cassar passed the Rubicon, 
 fought out his struggle for power at Rome, and sub- 
 dued Egypt, Pontus and Northern Africa, and all 
 the time the brave G.iul remained closely watched 
 and guarded, and with no hope of seeing the jagged 
 peaks and wild valleys of his own beautiful Au- 
 vergne. For well did he, like every other marked 
 foe of Rome, know for what he was reserved, and 
 no doubt he yielded himself in the full expectation 
 or' that fate which many a man, as brave as he, had 
 escaped by self-destruction. 
 
 The day came at last. In July, B.C. 45, the vic- 
 torious Caesar had leisure to celebrate his victories 
 in four grand triumphs, all in one month, and that 
 in honor of the conquest of Gaul came the first 
 The triumphal gate of Rome was thrown wide open, 
 every house was decked with hangings of silk and 
 tapestry, the household images of every family, 
 dressed with fresh flowers, were placed in their 
 porches, those of the gods stood on the steps of the 
 temples, and in marched the procession, the magis- 
 trates first in their robes of office, and then the 
 trumpeters. Next came the tokens of the victory, 
 figures of the supposed gods of the two great 
 rivers, Rhine and Rhone, and even of the captive 
 Ocean, made in gold, were carried along, with pic- 
 tures framed in citron wood, showing the scenes of 
 the victory, the wild waste of the Cevennes, the 
 steep peaks of Auvergne. the mighty camp of Ale- 
 sia ; nay. there too would be the white cliffs of 
 Dover, and the struggle with the Britons on the 
 beach. Models in wood and ivory showed the for- 
 tifications of Avaricum, and of many another city ; 
 and here too were carried specimens of the olives 
 and vines, and other curious plants of the newly 
 won land ; here was the breastplate of British pearls 
 that Caesar dedicated to Venus. A band of flute- 
 players followed, and then came the white oxen
 
 96 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 that were to be sacrificed, their horns gilded and 
 flowers living round them, the sacrificing priests 
 with wreathed heads marching with them. Speci- 
 mens of bears and wolves from the woods and 
 mountains came next in order, and after them 
 waved for the last time the national ensigns of the 
 many tribes of Gaul. Once more Vercingetorix 
 and Vergosillaunus saw their own Arvernian stand- 
 ard, and marched behind it with the noblest of their 
 clan ; once more they wore their native dress and 
 well-tried armor. But chains were on their hands 
 and feet, and the men who had fought so long and 
 well for freedom, were the captive gazing-stock of 
 Rome. Long, long was the line of chained Gauls 
 of every tribe, before the four white horses appeared, 
 all abreast, drawing the gilded car, in which stood a 
 slight form in a purple robe, with the bald head and 
 narrow temples encircled with a wreath of bay, the 
 thin cheeks tinted with vermilion, the eager acqui- 
 line face and narrow lips gravely composed to Ro- 
 man dignity, and the quick eye searching out what 
 impression the display was making on the people. 
 Over his head a slave held a golden crown, but 
 whispered, " Remember that thou too art a man." 
 And in following that old custom, how little did the 
 victor know that, bay-crowned like himself, there 
 followed close behind, in one of the chariots of the 
 officers, the man whose dagger-thrust would, two 
 years later, be answered by his dying word of re- 
 proach ! The horsemen of the army followed, and 
 then the legions, every spear wreathed, every head 
 crowned with bay, so that an evergreen grove might 
 have seemed marching through the Roman streets, 
 but for the war-songs, and the wild jests, and ribald 
 ballads that custom allowed the soldiers to shout 
 out, often in pretended mockery of their own vic- 
 torious general, the Imperator. 
 
 The victor climbed the Capitol steps, and laid his
 
 The Chief of the Arvcrni. 97 
 
 wreath of bay on Jupiter's knees, the white oxen were 
 sacrificed, and the feast began by torchlight. Where 
 was the vanquished ? He was led to the dark pris- 
 on vault in the side of the Capitoline hill, and there 
 one sharp sword-thrust ended the gallant life and 
 long captivity. 
 
 It was no special cruelty in Julius Caesar. Every 
 Roman triumph was stained by the slaughter of the 
 most distinguished captives, after the degradation 
 of walking in chains had been undergone. He had 
 spirit to appreciate Vercingetorix, but had not no- 
 bleness to spare him from the ordinary fate. Yet 
 we may doubt which, in true moral greatness, was 
 the superior in that hour of triumph, the conqueror 
 who trod down all that he might minister to his own 
 glory, or the conquered, who, when no resistance 
 had availed, had voluntarily confronted shame and 
 death in hopes to win pardon and safety for his 
 comrades.
 
 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 have forgotten 
 the dagger of Damocles, or if he be too high-spirited 
 to regard it, then that Higher One alone can re- 
 strain his actions. And there have been times 
 when princes have so broken the bounds of right, 
 that no hope remains of recalling 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 liber- 
 ty 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, Jeho- 
 ash, 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
 
 "THE CAUSE OF MERCY, PURITY, AND TRUTH, IS THE CAUSE OF GOD."
 
 Withstanding the Monarch in his Wrath. 99 
 
 back the kingdom for the child Jehoash. And when, 
 " in the spirit and power of Elijah," St. John the 
 Baptist denounced the sin of Herod Antipas in 
 marrying his brother Philip's wife, he bore the con- 
 sequences to the utmost, when thrown into prison 
 and then beheaded to gratify the rage of the vindic- 
 tive woman. 
 
 Since Scripture Saints in the age of miracles were 
 not always shielded from the wrath of kings, Chris- 
 tian 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. 
 
 The first of these Christian bishops was Ambrose, 
 the sainted prelate of Milan. It was indeed a Chris- 
 tian 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 Thessa- 
 lonica, was thrown into prison for some misde- 
 meanor by Botheric, the Governor of Illyria, and 
 his absence so enraged the Thessalonican mob, that 
 they rose in tumult, and demanded his restoration. 
 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
 
 ioo A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 to make him promise to temper justice with mercy ; 
 but afterwards, fresh accounts of the murder, to- 
 gether with the representations 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 Thes- 
 salonicans, since all were equally guilty of Botheric's 
 death. He took care that his horrible command 
 should be kept a secret from Ambrose, and the first 
 that the Bishop heard of it was the tidings that 7,000 
 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 con- 
 sistent 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 Com- 
 munion, nor received into church. Still the Em- 
 peror 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 announcing 
 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
 
 Withstanding the Monarch in his Wrath. 101 
 
 enough not to turn his anger against the Bishop ; he 
 felt that he had sinned, and that the chastisement 
 was merited, and he went back to his palace weep- 
 ing, and there spent eight months, attending to his 
 duties of state, but too proud to go through the 
 tokens of penitence that ihe discipline of the church 
 had prescribed before a great sinner could be re- 
 ceived back into the congregation of the faithful. 
 Easter was the usual time for reconciling penitents, 
 and Ambrose was not inclined to show any respect 
 of persons, or to excuse the Emperor from a pen- 
 ance he would have imposed on any offender. How- 
 ever, 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 midnight festival, no rejoicing that " to us a Child 
 is born ; to us a Son is given." The Basilica was 
 thronged with worshippers and rang with their 
 Amens, resounding like thunder, and their echoing 
 song the Te Deum 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. Rufinus found him thus weep- 
 ing. It must have been strange to the courtier that 
 his master did not send his lictors to carry the of- 
 fcn'lin^ bishop to a dungeon, and give all his court- 
 favor to the heretics, like the last empress who had 
 reigned at Milan. Nay, he might even, like Julian 
 the Apostate, have altogether renounced that Chris- 
 tian 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
 
 IO2 A Book of Col dan Detds. 
 
 endeavor again to obtain admission into the church, 
 assuring him that the Bishop would give way. The- 
 odosius 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 trampling on 
 the laws of God." 
 
 " I respect them," said the Emperor, " therefore 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, en- 
 tirely subdued. 
 
 And Ambrose caused him at once to sign a decree 
 that thirty days should always elapse between a sen- 
 tence of death and its execution. After this, Theo- 
 dosius 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, without his crown, his purple robe, and bus- 
 kins, 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 penitents always occupied, and their fasts and 
 other discipline were also appointed. When the
 
 Withstanding the Monarch in his Wrath. 103 
 
 due course had been gone through, probably at the 
 next Easter, Ambrose, in his Mister's name, pro- 
 nounced the forgiveness of Theodosius, and re- 
 ceived him back to the full privileges of a Christian. 
 When we look at the course of many another em- 
 peror, and see how easily, where the power was ir- 
 responsible, justice became severity, and severity 
 bloodthirstiness, 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 again 
 we find a church door barred against a monarch. 
 This time it is not under the bright Italian sky, but 
 under the gray fogs of the Baltic sea. It is not the 
 stately marble gateway of the Milanese Basilica, but 
 the Low-arched, rou/h stone portal of the newly- 
 built cathedral of Roskilde, in Zealand, where, if a 
 zigzag surrounds 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 pow- 
 erful mm, fierce and passionate, and with many a 
 D inish axe at his command. Nay, only 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 do 
 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 
 passport 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 Ros- 
 kilde. the missionary who had converted a great part 
 of Zealand, but who will not accept Christians who 
 have not laid aside their sins.
 
 IO4 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 He confronts the king who has never been op- 
 posed 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, saying 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 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 friend- 
 ship, 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 Roskilde, where the one had 
 taught and the other learnt the great lesson of 
 mercy.
 
 THE LAST FIGHT IN THE COLIS/EUM. 
 
 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 entertainments. 
 When any person wished to be elected to any pub- 
 lic 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 Ctrcenses, "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 
 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. Sometimes, 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 am- 
 phitheatres is the Colisasum 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
 
 106 A Book of Golden Deeds, 
 
 labor at it ; and the materials, 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 perpendic- 
 ularly in tiers of arches one above the other. With- 
 in, the galleries of seats projected forwards, each tier 
 coming out far beyond the one above it, so that be- 
 tween 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 or- 
 namental with metallic filings, vermilion, and even 
 powdered precious stones ; but it was thought bet- 
 ter taste to use the 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 emperor, 
 curule chairs of ivory and gold for the chief magis- 
 trates and senators, and seats for the vestal virgins. 
 Next above were galleries for the equestrian order, 
 the great mass of those w r ho considered themselves 
 as of gentle station, though not of the highest rank ; 
 farther up, and therefore farther back, were the gal- 
 leries belonging 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
 
 The Last Fight in the Colisceum. 107 
 
 lowest people could seat themselves ; and some of 
 these likewise found room in the two uppermost 
 tiers of porticos, where sailors, mechanics, and per- 
 sons in the service of the Colisasum 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 porticos 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 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 for 
 
 ever 
 
 When the Emperor had seated himself and given 
 the signal, the sports began. Sometimes a rope- 
 dancing elephant would begin the entertainment, 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 
 pleading a cause. Or a lion came forth with a jew- 
 elled crown on his head, a diamond necklace round 
 his neck, his mane plated with gold, and his claws 
 gilded, and played a hundred pretty gentle antics 
 with a little hare that danced fearlessly within his
 
 io8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 grasp. Then in would come twelve elephants, six 
 males in the toga, six females with the veil and pal- 
 lium ; they took their places on couches around an 
 ivory table, dined with great decorum, playfully 
 sprinkling a little rose-water over the nearest specta- 
 tors, and then received more guests of their own un- 
 wieldy 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 grow- 
 ing up through it, bearing golden fruit. Or the beau- 
 tiful 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 Colisaeum had not been built for such 
 harmless spectacles as those first described. The 
 fierce Romans wanted to be excited and feel them- 
 selves strongly stirred ; and, presently, the doors of 
 the pits and dens round 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 the 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 whose courage was 
 thus misused. Sometimes, indeed, when some es- 
 pecially strong or ferocious animal had slain a whole 
 heap of victims, the cries of the people would decree
 
 The Last Fight in the Colis&um. icg 
 
 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 incredible 
 numbers of animals were imported for these cruel 
 sports, and the governors of distant provinces made 
 it a duty to collect troops of lions, elephants, os- 
 triches, leopards, the fiercer or the newer the 
 creature the better, to be thus tortured to frenzy, 
 to make sport in the amphitheatre. 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 in wine, that the per- 
 fume might overpower the scent of 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, some- 
 thing 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 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, that 
 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, who 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
 
 no A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 understand. To see a Christian die, with upward 
 gaze and hymns of joy on his tongue, was the most 
 strange and unaccountable sight the Colisaeum could 
 offer, and it was therefore the choicest, and reserved 
 for the last of the spectacles in which the brute cre- 
 ation 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 caine 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 obeisance to the Emperor ; and with 
 one voice their greeting sounded through the build- 
 ing, Ave, Ctzsar, morituri te salutant ! " Hail, Cae- 
 sar, those about to die salute thee ! " 
 
 They were the gladiators, the swordsmen 
 trained to fight to the death to amuse the popu- 
 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 Ro- 
 mans 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 jave- 
 lin, the two heavy-armed warriors, all combina- 
 tions of single combat, and sometimes a general 
 mclcc. When a gladiator wounded his adversary, 
 he shouted to the spectators, Hoc habet ! "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
 
 The Last Fight in the Colisaum. \ \ I 
 
 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 ferruin .' 
 " 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 
 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 Colisaeum. Privileged per- 
 sons 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.
 
 112 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 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 upwards, and at last 
 was professed by the Emperor on his throne. Per- 
 secution came to an end, and no more martyrs fed 
 the beasts in the Colisaeum. The Christian Em- 
 perors endeavored to prevent any more shows where 
 cruelty arid death formed the chief interest, and no 
 truly religious 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 sentimental to object to 
 looking on at a death-scene ; the Emperors were 
 generally absent at Constantinople, and no ont. 
 could get elected to any office unless he treated tin 
 citizens to such a show as they best liked, with 3 
 little bloodshed 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 amphi- 
 theatre 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 threatened 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 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 Arena. Paire 113. 

 
 
 
 

 
 The Last Fight in the Colisceum. \ \ 3 
 
 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 wel- 
 comed at Rome. The churches were visited instead 
 of the Temple of Jupiter, and there was no murder 
 of the captives ; but Roman bloodthirstiness was 
 not yet allayed, and, after all the procession had 
 been completed, the Colisaeum 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 array- 
 ing of swordsmen, with no blunted weapons, but 
 with sharp spears and swords, a gladiator combat 
 in full earnest. The people, enchanted, applauded 
 with shouts of ecstasy this gratification of their sav- 
 age tastes. Suddenly, however, there was an inter- 
 ruption. 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 inno- 
 cent blood, and not to requite God's mercy in turn- 
 ing .away the sword of the enemy by encouraging 
 murder. Shouts, howls, cries, broke in upon his 
 words ; this was no place for preachings, the old 
 customs of Rome should be observed, "Back, old 
 man ! " " On, gladiators ! " The gladiators thrust 
 aside the meddler, and rushed to the attack. He 
 still stood between, holding them apart, striving in 
 vain to be heard. " Sedition ! sedition ! " " Down 
 with him ! " was the cry ; and the man in authori- 
 ty, Alypius, the praefect, himself added his voice. 
 The gladiators, enraged at interference with their 
 vocation, 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 !
 
 H4 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 pre- 
 viously 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 was 
 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 thousands 
 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 surrendered themselves ; and from the day 
 when the hermit died in the Colisaeum there was 
 never another fight of gladiators. Not merely 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 indepen- 
 dent 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 per- 
 sonages of higher rank were enrolled as Roman citi- 
 zens, 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 converfed to Christianity, though 
 some Paganism still lurked in the more remote vil- 
 lages and mountainous districts. 
 
 It was 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 upon the peaceful plains, where 
 the Gauls had long lived in security, and reports 
 were everywhere heard of villages harried by wild 
 horsemen, with short double-headed battle-axes, and 
 a. horrible short pike, covered with iron and with 
 several large hooks, like a gigantic artificial 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
 
 Ii6 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 every farm or villa outside was stripped of its valu- 
 bles, 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 en- 
 tirely 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 
 Germanus, 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 copper 
 medal with a cross engraven upon it. From that 
 time the little maiden always deemed herself es- 
 pecially consecrated to the service of Heaven, but 
 she still remained at home, daily keeping her father's 
 sheep, and spinning their wool as she sat under the 
 trees watching them, but always with a heart full of 
 prayer. 
 
 After this St. Germanus proceeded to Britain, and 
 there encouraged his converts to meet the heathen 
 Picts at Maes Garmon, in Flintshire, where the ex- 
 ulting shout of the white-robed catechumens turned 
 to flight the wild superstitious savages of the north, 
 and the Hallelujah victory was gained without a 
 drop of bloodshed. He never lost sight of Gene- 
 vieve, the little maid whom he had so early distin- 
 guished for her piety. 
 
 After she lost her parents she went to live with
 
 The Shepherd Girl of Nanterre. \ 1 7 
 
 her godmother, 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 At- 
 tila, the savage chief of the Huns, who came from 
 the banks of the Danube with a host of savages of 
 hideous features, scarred and disfigured 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 people who lay in their path. Tidings 
 came that this " Scourge of God," as Attila called 
 himself, had passed the Rhine, 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, as- 
 suring them, in a strain that was afterwards 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, 
 and she led them back to pray and to arm them- 
 selves. In a few days they heard that Attila had 
 paused to beseige Orleans, and that Ae'tius, the Ro- 
 man 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,
 
 n8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Attila with his murderous host came down into 
 Italy, and after horrible devastation of all the north- 
 ern 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 magis- 
 trate, to meet the invader, and endeavor to turn his 
 wrath aside. The savage Huns were struck with 
 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 peo- 
 ple into Rome, provided a tribute should be paid to 
 him. He then retreated, and, to the joy of all Eu- 
 rope, died on his way back to his native dominions. 
 But with the Huns the danger and suffering of 
 Europe did not en1. Tlie 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 Em- 
 pire ; 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 de- 
 spair. 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 shepherdess embarked alone in a 
 little boat, and guiding it down the stream, landed 
 beyond the Prankish camp, and repairing to the dif- 
 ferent Gallic cities, she implored them to send suc- 
 cor 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 Genevieve 
 as something sacred and inspired whom they durst
 
 The Shepherd Girl of A'anterre. 119 
 
 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 in- 
 spired 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 in- 
 road, 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 carefully 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, tot their cowardice, they were in awe of their 
 superior civilization and knowledge of arts. The 
 country people had tree access to the city, and Gen- 
 eviove, in her homely gown and veil, passed by Hil- 
 perik's guards without being suspected of being 
 more than any ordinary Gaulish village maid ; and 
 thus she fearlessly made her way, even to the old 
 Roman halls, where the long-haired Hilperik was 
 holding his wild carousal. Would that we knew 
 more of that interview, one of the most striking 
 that ever took place ! We can only picture to our- 
 selves the Roman tasselated pavement bestrewn 
 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,
 
 I2o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 and falling 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 fearlessness of them that can 
 kill the body. What she said we do not know, 
 we only know that the barbarous Hilperik was over- 
 awed ; he trembled before the expostulations of the 
 brave woman, and granted all she asked, the safety 
 of his prisoners, and mercy to the terrified inhab- 
 itants. No wonder that the people of Paris have 
 ever since looked back to Genevieve as their pro- 
 tectress, and that in after ages she has grown to be 
 the patron saint of the city. 
 
 She lived to see the son of Hilperik, Chlodweh, 
 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 Cathe- 
 dral of Notre Dame, and of the two famous churches 
 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 knowl- 
 edge 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 Syth 
 of her age.* 
 
 * 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 was directly in- 
 spired removes them from the ordinary class. Alas ! the English did 
 not treat her as Hilperik treated Genevieve.
 
 -LEO THE SLAVE. 
 A. D. 533. 
 
 *" I ^HE Franks had fully gained possession of all 
 J_ 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 Burgundians and 
 Visigoths who had peopled the southern and east- 
 ern 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 digni- 
 ties and riches. Thus it was that Gregory, Bishop 
 of Langres, was a man of high rank and considera- 
 tion in the Burgundian kingdom, whence the Chris- 
 tian 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 reconcilia- 
 tions 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, who were too proud to submit to cap- 
 tivity, but from among the Gaulish nobles, a much 
 more convenient arrangement 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
 
 122 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 men of senatorial families were exchanged between 
 the domains of Theodrik to the south, and of Hilde- 
 bert to the northward, and quartered among Frank- 
 ish 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 Hilciebeit. and the unfortunate hostages were 
 at once turned into slnves. Some of them ran away 
 if they were 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 
 Treves and Metz. The Bishop sent emissaries to 
 make secret inquiries, and they brought word that 
 the unfortunate you'h had indeed been reduced to 
 slavery, and was made to keep his master's herds of 
 horses. Upon this the uncle again sent oft" his mes- 
 sengers 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' weight 
 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 nje leave to go, I 
 will deliver him from captivity." The Bishop re- 
 plied that he gave free permission, and the slave set 
 off for Treves, and there watched anxiously for an 
 opportunity of gaining access to Attalus ; 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 person, probably of 
 Gallic birth, and said, " Come with me to this barba-
 
 Leo the Slave. 123 
 
 nan's house, and there sell me for a slave. Thou 
 shalt have the money, I only ask thee to help me thus 
 far." 
 
 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 ac- 
 cording to my master's bidding," returned Leo. 
 
 Accordingly, he was purchased for twelve gold 
 pieces, and on the Sunday (as Bishop Gregory of 
 Tours, who tells the story, explains that the barba- 
 rians 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 before, and complimented 
 their host upon them all the evening. Leo gradu- 
 ally became a great favorite, and was placed in au- 
 thority 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 if for 
 pastime, into the plain where Attalus was watching 
 the horses, and sitting down on the ground at some 
 paces off, and with his back towards his young mas-
 
 124 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ter, so that they might not be seen talking together, 
 he said, "This is the time for thoughts of home! 
 When thou hist 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 daughter's hus- 
 band, a jovial yo-ing mxn, given to jesting. On go- 
 ing to rest he fancied he should be 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 nig.it take one of thosa 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 Attalus usually slept among the 
 horses. He was broad awake now, and ready to 
 saddle the two swiftest ; but he had no weapon ex- 
 cept a small lance, so Leo boldly went back to his 
 master's sleeping hut, and took down his sword and 
 shield, but not without awaking him enough to ask 
 who was moving. "It is I, Leo," was the an- 
 swer. " I have been to call Attalus 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 Attalus 
 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
 
 Leo the Slave. 125 
 
 found on the bank. They had as yet had no food 
 since the supper at their master's, and were thank- 
 ful to find a plum-tree in the wood, v.ith fruit, to 
 refresh them in some degree, before they lay down 
 for the night. The next morning they went on in 
 the direction of Rlieims, carefully listening whether 
 there were any sounds behind, until, on the broad 
 hard-paved causeway, they actually heard the tramp- 
 ling 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, "Woe is me that those rogues 
 have made off, and have not been caught ! On my 
 salvation, 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 ot the horses re- 
 sumed, and soon dying away in the distance. That 
 same night the two- faint, hungry, weary travellers, 
 footsore and exhausted, came stumbling into Rlieims, 
 looking about for some person still awake to tell 
 them the way to the house of the Priest Paul, a 
 friend of Attalus's 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 exclamation was 
 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 travellers were half dead with hun-
 
 126 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ger, 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 hid- 
 ing them carefully, 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 Lan- 
 gres, 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 concealers of run- 
 away slaves, he kept Attalus and Leo for two days 
 till the search was blown over, and their strength 
 was restored, so that they could proceed to Lan- 
 gres. There they were welcomed like men risen 
 from the dead ; the Bishop wept on the neck of At- 
 talus, 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 manumis- 
 sion. " Whatever is done according to the Roman 
 law is irrevocable. According to the constitution 
 of the Emperor Constantine, of happy memory, and 
 the edict that declares that whosoever is manu- 
 mitted 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.
 
 Leo the Slave. 127 
 
 From this day fonvard, he is exempt from all sub- 
 jection 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 be- 
 long to the body of Roman citizens." 
 
 At the same time Leo was endowed with lands, 
 which raised him to the rank of what the Franks 
 called a Roman proprietor, the highest reward in 
 the Bishop's power for the faithful devotion that had 
 incurred such dangers in order to rescue the young 
 Attains from his miserable bondage. 
 
 Somewhat of the same kind of faithfulness was 
 shown early in the present century by Ivan Simonoff, 
 a soldier servant belonging to Major Kascambo, an 
 officer in the Russian army, who was made prisoner 
 by one of the wild tribes of the Caucasus. But 
 though the soldier's attachment to his master was 
 quite as brave and disinterested as that of the Gallic 
 slave, yet lie was far from being equally blameless 
 in the means he employed, and if his were a golden 
 deed at all. it was mixed with much of iron. 
 
 Major Kascambo, with a guard of fifty Cossacks, 
 was going to take the command of the Russian out- 
 post of Lars, one of the forts by which the Russian 
 Czars have slowly been carrying on the aggressive 
 warfare that has nearly absorbed into their vast 
 dominions all the mountains between the Caspian 
 and Black Seas. On his way he was set upon by 
 seven hundred horsemen of the savage and inde- 
 pendent tribe of Tchetchenges. There was a sharp 
 fight, more than half his men were killed, and he 
 with the rest made a rampart of the carcasses of 
 their horses, over which they were about to fire 
 their last shots, when the Tchetchenges made a 
 Russian deserter call out to the Cossacks that they 
 would let them all escape provided they would give 
 up their officer. Kascambo on this came forward 
 and delivered himself into their hands ; while the
 
 128 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 remainder of the troops galloped off. His servant, 
 Ivan, with a mule carrying his baggage, had been 
 hidden in a ravine, and now, instead of retreating 
 with the Cossacks, came to join his master. All 
 the baggage was, however, instantly seized and 
 divided among the Tchetchenges ; nothing was left 
 but a guitar, which they threw scornfully to the 
 Major. He would have let it lie, but Ivan picked it 
 up, and insisted on keeping it. " Why be dis- 
 spirited ? " he said ; " the God of the Russians is 
 great, it is the interest of the robbers to save you, 
 they will do you no harm." 
 
 Scouts brought word that the Russian outposts 
 were alarmed, and that troops were assembling to 
 rescue the officer. Upon this the seven hundred 
 broke up into small parties, leaving only ten men 
 on foot to conduct the prisoners, whom they forced 
 to take off their iron-shod boots and walk barefoot 
 over stones and thorns, till the Major was so ex- 
 hausted that they were obliged to drag him by cords 
 fastened to his belt. 
 
 After a terrible journey, the prisoners were placed 
 in a remote village, where the Major had heavy 
 chains fastened to his hands and feet, and another 
 to his neck, with a huge block of oak as a clog at 
 the other end ; they half starved him, and made 
 him sleep on the bare ground of the hut in which he 
 was lodged. The hut belonged to a huge, fierce old 
 man of sixty, named Ibrahim, whose son had been 
 killed in a skirmish with the Russians. This man, 
 together with his son's widow, were continually 
 trying to revenge themselves on their captive. The 
 only person who showed him any kindness was his 
 little grandson, a child of seven years old, called 
 Mamet, who often caressed him, and brought him 
 food by stealth. Ivan was also in the same hut, 
 but less heavily ironed than his master, and able to 
 attempt a few alleviations for his wretched condition.
 
 Leo the Slave. 
 
 129 
 
 An interpreter brought the Major a sheet of paper 
 and a reed pen, and commanded him to write to his 
 friends that he might be ransomed for 10,000 rou- 
 bles, but that if the whole sum were not paid, he 
 would be put to death. He obeyed, but he knew 
 that his friends could not possibly raise such a sum, 
 and his only hope was in the government, which 
 had once ransomed a colonel who had fallen into 
 the hands of the same tribe. 
 
 These Tchetchenges professed to be Mahometans, 
 but their religion sat very loose upon them, and 
 they were utter barbarians. One piece of respect 
 they paid the Major's superior education was curi- 
 ous, they made him judge in all the disputes that 
 arose. The houses in the village were hollowed 
 out under ground, and the walls only raised three 
 or four feet, and then covered by a flat roof, formed of 
 beaten clay, where the inhabitants spent much of 
 their time. Kascambo was every now and then 
 brought, in all his chains, to the roof of the hut, 
 which served as a tribunal whence he was expected 
 to dispense justice. For instance, a man had com- 
 missioned his neighbor to pay five roubles to a per- 
 son in another valley, but the messenger's horse 
 having died by the way, a cl.iim was set up to the 
 roubles to make up for it. Both parties collected all 
 their friends, and a bloody quarrel was about to 
 take place, when they agreed to refer the question 
 to the prisoner, who was accordingly set upon his 
 judgment-seat. 
 
 " Pray," said he, " if, instead of giving you five 
 roubles, your comrade had desired you to carry his 
 
 greetings to his creditor, would not your horse have 
 ied all the same ? " 
 " Most likely." 
 
 " Then what should you have done with the 
 greetings ? Should you have kept them in compen- 
 sation ? My sentence is that you give back the 
 9
 
 130 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 roubles, and that your comrade gives you a greet- 
 ing." 
 
 The whole assembly approved the decision, and 
 the man only grumbled out, as he gave back the 
 money, " I knew I should lose it, if that dog of a 
 Christian meddled with it." 
 
 All this respect, however, did not avail to procure 
 any better usage for the unfortunate judge, whose 
 health was suffering severely under his privations. 
 Ivan, however, had recommended himself in the 
 same way as Leo, by his perfections as a cook, and 
 moreover he was a capital buffoon. His fetters 
 were sometimes taken off that he might divert the 
 villagers by his dances and strange antics while his 
 master played the guitar. Sometimes they sang 
 Russian songs together to the instrument, and on 
 these occasions the Major's hands were released 
 that he might play on it ; but one day he was un- 
 fortunately heard playing in his chains for his own 
 amusement, and from that time he was never re- 
 leased from his fetters. 
 
 In the course of a year, three urgent letters had 
 been sent ; but no notice was taken of them, and 
 Ivan began to despair of aid from home, and set 
 himself to work. His first step was to profess him- 
 self a Mahometan. He durst not tell his master till 
 the deed was done, and then Kascambo was infi- 
 nitely shocked ; but the act did not procure Ivan so 
 much freedom as he had hoped. He was, indeed, no 
 longer in chains, but he was evidently distrusted, and 
 was so closely watched, that the only way in which he 
 could communicate with his master was when they 
 were set to sing together, when they chanted out 
 question and answer in Russ, unsuspected, to the 
 tune of their national airs. He was taken on an ex- 
 pedition against the Russians, and very nearly killed 
 by the suspicious Tchetchenges on one side, and by 
 the Cossacks on the other, as a deserter. He saved a
 
 Leo the Slave. 131 
 
 young man of the tribe from drowning ; but though 
 he thus earned the friendship of the family, the rest 
 of the villagers hated and dreaded him all the more, 
 since he had not been able to help proving himself 
 a man of courage, instead of the feeble buffoon he 
 had tried to appear. 
 
 Three months after this expedition, another took 
 place ; but Ivan was not allowed even to know of it 
 He saw preparations making, but nothing was said 
 to him ; only one morning he found the village en- 
 tirely deserted by all the younger men, and as he 
 wandered round it, the aged ones would not speak 
 to him. A child told him that his father meant to 
 kill him, and on the roof of her house stood the sis- 
 ter of the man he had saved, making signals of great 
 terror, and pointing towards Russia. Home he 
 went, and found that, besides old Ibrahim, his mas- 
 ter was watched by a warrior, who had been pre- 
 vented by an intermitting fever from joining the ex- 
 pedition. He was convinced that if the tribe re- 
 turned unsuccessful, the murder of both himself and 
 his master was certain ; but he resolved not to fly 
 alone, and as he busied himself in preparing the 
 meal, he sung the burden of a Russian ballad, inter- 
 mingled with words of encouragement for his mas- 
 ter: 
 
 The time is come ; 
 
 Hai Lull ! 
 The time is come, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 Our woe is at end, 
 
 Hai Lull ! 
 Or we die at once ! 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 To-morrow, to-morrow, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 We are off for a town, 
 
 Hai Luli !
 
 132 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 For a fine, fine town, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 But I name no names, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 Courage, courage, master dear, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 Never, never, despair, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 For the God of the Russians is great, 
 
 Hai Luli ! 
 
 Poor Kascambo, brolcen down, sick, and despair- 
 ing, only muttered, " Do as you please, only hold 
 your peace." 
 
 Ivan's cookery incited the additional guard to eat 
 so much supper that he brought on a severe attack 
 of his fever, and was obliged to go home ; but old 
 Ibrahim, instead of going to bed, sat down on a log 
 of wood opposite the prisoner, and seemed resolved 
 to watch him all night. The woman and child went 
 to bed in the inner room, and Ivan signed to his 
 master to take the guitar, and began to dance. The 
 old man's axe was in an open cupboard at the other 
 end of the room, and after many gambols and con- 
 tortions, during which the Major could hardly con- 
 trol his fingers to touch the strings, Ivan succeeded 
 in laying his hand upon it, just when the old man 
 was bending over the fire to mend it. Then, as 
 Ibrahim desired that the music should cease, he cut 
 him down with a single blow, on his own hearth. 
 And the daughter-in-law coming out to see what had 
 happened, he slew her with the same weapon. And 
 then, alas ! in spite of the commands, entreaties, 
 and cries of his master, he dashed into the inner 
 room, and killed the sleeping child, lest it should 
 give the alarm. Kascambo, utterly helpless to save, 
 fell almost fainting upon the bloody floor, and did 
 not cease to reproach Ivan, who was searching the 
 old man's pockets for the key of the fetters, but it
 
 Leo the Slave. 133 
 
 was not there, nor anywhere else in the hut, and the 
 irons were so heavy that escape was impossible in 
 them. Ivan at last knocked off the clog and the 
 chains on the wrist with the axe, but he could not 
 break the chains round the legs, and could only 
 fasten them as close as he could to hinder them 
 clanking. Then securing all the provision he could 
 carry, and putting his master into his military cloak, 
 obtaining also a pistol and dagger, they crept out, 
 but not on the direct road. It was February, and 
 the ground was covered with snow. All night they 
 walked easily, but at noon the sun so softened it 
 that they sank in at every step, and the Major's 
 chains rendered each motion terrible labor. It was 
 only on the second night that Ivan, with his axe, 
 succeeded in breaking through the fastenings, and 
 by that time the Major's legs were so swollen and 
 stiffened that he could not move without extreme 
 pain. However, he was dragged on through the 
 wild mountain paths, and then over the plains for 
 several days more, till they were on the confines of 
 another tribe of Tchetchenges, who were overawed 
 by Russia, and in a sort of unwilling alliance. Here, 
 however, a sharp storm and a fall into the water 
 completely finished Kascambo's strength, and he 
 sank down on the snow, telling Ivan to go home and 
 explain his fate, and give his last message to his 
 mother. 
 
 "If you perish here," said Ivan, "trust me, nei- 
 ther your mother nor mine will ever see me." 
 
 He covered his master with his cloak, gave him 
 the pistol, and walked on to a hut, where "he found 
 a Tchetchenge man, and told him that here was a 
 means of obtaining two hundred roubles. He had 
 only to shelter the Major as a guest for three days, 
 whilst Ivan himself went on to Mosdok, to procure 
 the money, and bring back help for his master. The 
 man was full of suspicion, but Ivan prevailed, and
 
 134 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Kascambo was carried into the village, nearly dying, 
 and was very ill all the time of his servant's ab- 
 sence. Ivan set off for the nearest Russian station, 
 where he found some of the Cossacks who had been 
 present when the Major was taken. All eagerly 
 subscribed to raise the two hundred roubles, but the 
 Colonel would not let Ivan go back alone, as he had 
 engaged to do, and sent a guard of Cossacks. This 
 had nearly been fatal to the Major, for as soon as 
 his host saw the lances, he suspected treachery, and 
 dragging his poor sick guest to the roof of the house, 
 he tied him up to a stake, and stood over him with 
 a pistol, shouting to Ivan, " If you come nearer, I 
 shall blow his brains out, and I have fifty cartridges 
 more for my enemies, and the traitor who leads 
 them." 
 
 " No traitor ! " cried Ivan. " Here are the rou- 
 bles. I have kept my word ! " 
 
 " Let the Cossacks go back, or I shall fire." 
 
 Kascambo himself begged the officer to retire, 
 and Ivan went back with the detachment, and re- 
 turned alone. Even then the suspicious host made 
 him count out the roubles at a hundred paces from 
 the house, and at once ordered him out of sight ; 
 but then went up to the roof, and asked the Major's 
 pardon for all this rough usage. 
 
 " I shall only recollect that you were my host, and 
 kept your word," said Kascambo. 
 
 In a few hours more, Kascambo was in safety 
 among his brother-officers. Ivan was made a non- 
 commissioned officer, and some months after was 
 seen by the traveller who told the story, whistling 
 the air of Hai Luli at his former master's wedding- 
 feast. He was even then scarcely twenty years old, 
 and peculiarly quiet and soft in manners.
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE BLACKWATER. 
 991. 
 
 IN the evil days of King Ethelred the Unready, 
 when the teaching of good King Alfred was fast 
 fading away from the minds of his descendants, and 
 self-indulgence was ruining the bold and hardy hab- 
 its of the English, the fleet was allowed to fall into 
 decay, and Danish ships again ventured to appear 
 on the English coasts. 
 
 The first Northmen \vho had ravaged England 
 came eager for blood and plunder, and hating the 
 sight of a Christian church as an insult to their gods, 
 Thor and Odin ; but the lapse of a hundred years 
 had in some degree changed the temper of the 
 North ; and though almost every young man thought 
 it due to his fame to have sailed forth as a sea-rover, 
 yet the attacks of these marauders might be bought 
 off, and, provided they had treasure to show for 
 their voyage, they were willing to spare the lives 
 and lands of the people of the coasts they visited. 
 
 King Ethelred and his cowardly, selfish Court 
 were well satisfied with this expedient, and the tax 
 called Danegeld was laid upon the people, in order 
 to raise a fund for buying off the enemy. But there 
 were still in England 'men of bolder and' truer hearts, 
 who held that bribery was false policy, merely in- 
 viting the enemy to come again and again, and that 
 the only wise course would be in driving them back
 
 136 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 by English valor, and keeping the fleet in a con- 
 dition to repel the " Long Serpent " ships before the 
 foe could set foot upon the coast. 
 
 Among those who held this opinion was Bryth- 
 noth, Earl of Essex. He was of partly Danish 
 descent himself, but had become a thorough Eng- 
 lishman, and had long and faithfully ser\ed the 
 king and his father. He was a friend to the clergy, 
 a founder of churches and convents, and his manor- 
 house of Hadleigh was a home of hospitality and 
 charity. It would probably be a sort of huge farm- 
 yard, full of great barn-like buildings and sheds, all 
 one story high ; some of them serving for store- 
 houses, and others for living-rooms and places of 
 entertainment for his numerous servants and retain- 
 ers, and for the guests of all degrees who gathered 
 round him as the chief dispenser of justice in his 
 East-Saxon earldom. When he heard the advice 
 given and accepted that the Danes should be bribed, 
 instead of being fought with, he made up his mind 
 that he, at least, would try to raise up a nobler 
 spirit, and, at the sacrifice of his own life, would 
 show the effect of making a manful stand against 
 them. 
 
 He made his will, and placed it in the hands of 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury ; and then, retiring 
 to Hadleigh, he provided horses and arms, and 
 caused all the young men in his earldom to be 
 trained in warlike exercises, according to the good 
 old English law, that every man should be provided 
 with weapons, and know the use of them. 
 
 The Danes sailed forth, in the year 991, with 
 ninety-three vessels, the terrible " Long Serpents," 
 carved with snakes' heads at the prow, and the 
 stern finished as the gilded tail of ihe reptile ; and 
 many a lesser ship, meant for carrying plunder. 
 The Sea King, Olaf (or Anlaff), was the leader; 
 and as tidings came that their sails had been seen
 
 The Battle of the Blackwater. 137 
 
 upon the North Sea, more earnest than ever rang 
 out the petition in the Litany, " From the fury of 
 the Northmen, good Lord, deliver us." 
 
 Sandwich and Ipswich made no defence, and 
 were plundered ; and the fleet then sailed into the 
 mouth of the river Blackwater, as far as Maldon, 
 where the ravagers landed, and began to collect 
 spoil. When, however, they came back to their 
 ships, they found that the tide would not yet serve 
 them to re-embark ; and upon the farther bank of 
 the river bristled the spears of a body of warriors, 
 drawn up in battle array, but in numbers far inferior 
 to their own. 
 
 Anlaff sent a messenger, over the wooden bridge 
 that crossed the river, to the Earl, who, he under- 
 stood, commanded this small army. The brave old 
 man, his gray hair hanging down beneath his hel- 
 met, stood, sword in hand, at the head of his war- 
 riors. 
 
 " Lord Earl," said the messenger, " I come to 
 bid thee to yield to us thy treasure, for thy safety. 
 Buy off the fight, and we will ratify a peace with 
 gold." 
 
 " Hear, O thou sailor ! " was Brythnoth's answer, 
 "the reply of this people. Instead of Danegeld, 
 thou shalt have from them the edge of the sword, 
 and the point of the spear. Here stands an Eng- 
 lish Earl, who will defend his earldom and the 
 lands of his king. Point and edge shall judge 
 between us." 
 
 Back went the Dane with his message to Anlaff, 
 and the fight began around the bridge, where the 
 Danes long strove to force their way across, but 
 were always driven back by the gallant East-Sax- 
 ons. The tide had risen, and for some time the 
 two armies only shot at one another with bows and 
 arrows ; but when it ebbed, leaving the salt-marshes 
 dry, the stout old Earl's love of fair-play overpow-
 
 138 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ered his prudence, and he sent to offer the enemy a 
 free passage, and an open field in which to measure 
 their strength. 
 
 The numbers were too unequal ; but the battle 
 was long and bloody before the English could be 
 overpowered. Brythnoth slew one of the chief 
 Danish leaders with his own hand, but not without 
 receiving a wound. He was still able to fight on, 
 though with ebbing strength and failing numbers. 
 His hand was pierced by a dart ; but a young boy 
 at his side instantly withdrew it, and, launching it 
 back again, slew the foe who had aimed it. An- 
 other Dane, seeing the Earl faint and sinking, ad- 
 vanced to plunder him of his ring and jewelled 
 weapons ; but he still had strength to lay the 
 spoiler low with his battle-axe. This was his last 
 blow ; he gathered his strength for one last cheer 
 to his brave men, and then, sinking on the ground, 
 he looked up to heaven, exclaiming : " I thank thee, 
 Lord of nations, for all the joys I have known on 
 earth. Now, O mild Creator ! have I the utmost 
 need that Thou shouldst grant grace unto my soul, 
 that my spirit may speed to Thee with peace, O 
 King of angels ! to pass into Thy keeping. I sue 
 to Thee that Thou suffer not the rebel spirits of 
 hell to vex my parting soul ! " 
 
 With these words he died ; but an aged follower, 
 of like spirit, stood over his corpse, and exhorted 
 his fellows. " Our spirit shall be the hardier, and 
 our soul the greater, the fewer our numbers be- 
 come ! " he cried. " Here lies our chief, the brave, 
 the good, the much-loved lord, who has blessed us 
 with many a gift. Old as I am, I will not yield, 
 but avenge his death, or lay me at his side. Shame 
 befall him -that thinks to fly from such a field as 
 this ! " 
 
 Nor did the English warriors fly. Night came 
 down, at last, upon the battle-field, and saved the
 
 The Battle of the Blackwater. 139 
 
 lives of the few survivors ; but they were forced to 
 leave the body of their lord, and the Danes bore 
 away with them his head as a trophy, and with it, 
 alas ! ten thousand pounds of silver from the king, 
 who, in his sluggishness and weakness, had left 
 Brythnoth to fight and die unaided for the cause of 
 the whole nation. One of the retainers, a minstrel 
 in the happy old days of Hadleigh, who had done 
 his part manfully in the battle, had heard these last 
 goodly sayings of his master, and, living on to 
 peaceful days, loved to rehearse them to the sound 
 of his harp, and dwell on the glories of one who 
 could die, but not be defeated. 
 
 Ere those better days had come, another faithful- 
 hearted Englishman had given his life for his people. 
 In the year 1012, a huge army, called, from their 
 leader, " Thorkill's Host," were overrunning Kent, 
 and besieging Canterbury. The Archbishop /Elfeg 
 was earnestly entreated to leave the city while yet 
 there was time to escape ; but he replied, " None 
 but a hireling would leave his flock in time of dan- 
 ger " ; and he supported the resolution of the in- 
 habitants, so that they held out the city for twenty 
 days ; and as the wild Danes had very little chance 
 against a well-walled town, they would probably 
 have saved it, had not the gates been secretly 
 opened to them by the traitorous Abbot ALlfman, 
 whom /Elfeg had once himself saved, when accused 
 of treason before the king. 
 
 The Danes slaughtered all whom they found in 
 the streets, and the Archbishop's friends tried to 
 keep him in the church, lest he should run upon his 
 fate ; but he broke from them, and, confronting the 
 enemy, cried : " Spare the guiltless ! Is there glory- 
 in shedding such blood ? Turn your wrath on 
 me ! It is I who have denounced your cruelty, 
 have ransomed and re-clad your captives." The 
 Danes seized upon him,, and, after he had seen his
 
 140 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 cathedral burnt and his clergy slain, they threw him 
 into a dungeon, whence he was told he could only 
 come forth upon the payment of a heavy ransom. 
 
 His flock loved him, and would have striven to 
 raise the sum ; but, miserably used as they were by 
 the enemy, and stripped by the exactions of the 
 Danes, he would not consent that they should be 
 asked for a further contribution on his account. 
 After seven months' patience in his captivity, the 
 Danish chiefs, who were then at Greenwich, desired 
 him to be brought into their camp, where they had 
 just been holding a great feast. It was Easter-eve, 
 and the quiet of that day of calm waiting was dis- 
 turbed with their songs, and shouts of drunken 
 revelry, as the chained Archbishop was led to the 
 open space where the warriors sat and lay amid 
 the remains of their rude repast. The leader then 
 told him that they had agreed to let him off for his 
 own share with a much smaller payment than had 
 been demanded, provided he would obtain a largesse 
 for them from the king, his master. 
 
 " I am not the man," he answered, " to provide 
 Christian flesh for Pagan wolves " ; and when again 
 they repeated the demand, " Gold I have none to 
 offer you, save the true wisdom of the knowledge of 
 the living God." And he began, as he stood in the 
 midst, to " reason to them of righteousness, temper- 
 ance, and judgment to come." 
 
 They were mad with rage and drink. The old 
 man's voice was drowned with shouts of '* Gold, 
 Bishop, give us gold ! " The bones and cups 
 that lay around were hurled at him, and he fell to 
 the ground, with the cry, " O Chief Shepherd, guard 
 Thine own children ! " As he partly raised himself, 
 axes were thrown at him ; and, at last, a Dane, who 
 had begun to love and listen to him in his captivity, 
 deemed it mercy to give him a death-blow with an 
 axe. The English maintained that ^Elfeg had died
 
 77/i? Battle of the Blackivater. 141 
 
 to save his flock from cruel extortion, and held him 
 as a saint and martyr, keeping his death-day (the 
 1 9th of April) as a holiday ; and when the Italian 
 Archbishop of Canterbury (Lanfranc) disputed his 
 right to be so esteemed, there was strong opposi- 
 tion and discontent. Indeed, our own Prayer-book 
 still retains his name, under the altered form of St. 
 Alphege ; and surely no one better merits to be 
 remembered, for having loved his people far better 
 than himself.
 
 GUZMAN EL BUENO. 
 1293. 
 
 IN the early times of Spanish history, before the 
 Moors had been expelled from the peninsula, 
 or the blight of Western gold had enervated 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 cru- 
 sade, consecrated in the minds of the Spaniards as 
 being in the cause of religion, and yet in some de- 
 gree 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 the Christian kingdoms were far more derived 
 from the Moors than from the kindred nations of 
 Europe. 
 
 By the close of the thirteenth century, the Chris- 
 tian kingdoms of Castille and Aragon were descend- 
 ing 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
 
 Guzman el Bueno. 143 
 
 ot the children of the Goths ; and in 1291 the 
 nephew of our own beloved Eleanor of Castille, 
 Sancho V. called El 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 Tarif-abu-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 
 towards the sea. The Moors had fortified the city 
 with a surrounding wall and twenty-six towers, and 
 had built a castle with a lighthouse on a small adja- 
 cent island, called Isla Verde, which they had con- 
 nected with the city by a causeway. Their fortifica- 
 tions, always admirable, have existed ever since, and 
 in 1811, another five hundred years after, were suc- 
 cessfully defended against the French by a small 
 force of British troops under the command of Colo- 
 nel Hugh Gough, better known 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 effec- 
 tive against escalade. 
 
 For six months King Sancho besieged Tarifa by 
 land and sea, his fleet, hired from the Genoese, ly- 
 ing 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 military order of Calatrava offered to undertake 
 the defence with his knights for one year, hoping 
 that some other noble would come forward at the 
 end of that time and take the charge upon himself.
 
 144 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 offer was read- 
 ily 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 ac- 
 cession, continued his enmity, and fled to Portugal. 
 
 The king of Portugal, however, being requested 
 by Sancho not to permit him to remain there, he 
 proceeded to offer his services to the king of Mo- 
 rocco, Yusuf-ben-Yacoub, for whom he undertook to 
 recover Tarifa, if 5,000 horse were granted to him 
 for the purpose. The force would have been most 
 disproportionate for the attack of such a city as Ta- 
 rifa, but Don Juan reckoned on means that he had 
 already found efficacious ; when he had obtained 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 5,000 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 
 question 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
 
 Guzman el Bueno. 145 
 
 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 : u 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 himself 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 he 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 coun- 
 tenance, 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 Guzman'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 offer his thanks and regrets, but entreat- 
 ing Guzman's presence at Alcala. 
 
 All the way thither, the people thronged to see 
 the man true to his word at such a fearful cost. The 
 court was sent out to meet him, and the king, after
 
 146 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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. He was the 
 stanch 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 Gua- 
 diana 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 rather than break 
 his faith to the king has left a posterity as noble and 
 enduring as any family in Europe. 
 
 ^ ^r * 
 
 f
 
 FAITHFUL TILL DEATH. 
 1308. 
 
 ONE of the ladies most admired by the ancient 
 Romans was Arria, the wife of Caecina Paetus, 
 a Roman who was condemned by the Emperor 
 Claudius to become his own executioner. Seeing 
 him waver, his wife, who was resolved to be with 
 him in death as in life, took the dagger from his 
 hand, plunged it into her own breast, and with her 
 last strength held it out to him, gasping out, " It is 
 not painful, my Paetus." 
 
 Such was heathen faithfulness even to death ; 
 and where the teaching of Christianity had not for- 
 bidden the taking away of life by one's own hand, 
 perhaps wifely love could not go higher. Yet Chris- 
 tian women have endured a yet more fearful ordeal 
 to their tender affection, 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 of- 
 ficer at Nicomedia, in the guards of the Emperor 
 Galerius Maximianus, and only about twenty-eight 
 years old. Natalia was a Christian, but her hus- 
 band 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 him- 
 self likewise a Christian. He was thrown into
 
 148 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 prison, and sentenced to death, but he prevailed 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 wear- 
 ing 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 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 wife who held him and sustained him 
 through all, and, ere the last stroke of the execu- 
 tioner, had received his last breath. She took up 
 one of the severed hands, 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 Rudolph, 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 broth- 
 er Rudolf, a brave knight who had died young, and
 
 Faithful till Death. 149 
 
 Johann had been brought up by a baron called Wal- 
 ther von Eschenbach, until, at nineteen years old, 
 he went to his uncle to demand his father's inherit- 
 ance. Albrecht was a rude and uncouth man, and 
 refused disdainfully the demand, whereupon the 
 noblemen 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 overweening and oppressive 
 behavior of Albrecht's governors, were first taking 
 up arms to maintain that they owed no duty to him 
 as Duke of Austria, but merely as Emperor of Ger- 
 many. He 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, Jo- 
 hann, 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 be- 
 came 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, be- 
 sides his nephew and four of the secret partisans 
 of Johann. Albrecht's son Leopold was left to fol- 
 low with the rest of the suite, and the Emperor 
 rode on towards the hills of his home, towards the 
 Castle of Ilapsbtirg, where his father's noble qual- 
 ities had earned the reputation which was the cause 
 of all the greatness of the line. Suddenly his 
 nephew rode up to him, and while one of the con- 
 spirators seized the bridle of his horse, exclaimed, 
 ''Will you now restore my inheritance?" and 
 wounded him in the neck. The attendant fld ;
 
 1 50 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 differ- 
 ent directions. The whole horrible affair 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 his head in the lap of a poor 
 woman. 
 
 The murderers escaped into the Swiss moun- 
 tains, expecting shelter there ; but the stout, hon- 
 est men of the cantons were resolved not to have 
 any connection with assassins, and refused to pro- 
 tect them. Johann himself, after long and miser- 
 able wanderings in disguise, bitterly repented, 
 owned his crime to the Pope, and was received 
 into a convent ; Eschenbach escaped, and lived fif- 
 teen years as a cowherd. The others all fell into 
 the hands of the sons and daughters of Albrecht, 
 and woful was the revenge that was taken upon 
 them, and upon their innocent families and re- 
 tainers. 
 
 That Leopold, who had seen his father slain be- 
 fore his eyes, should have been deeply incensed, 
 was not wonderful, and his elder brother Frederick, 
 as Duke of Austria, was charged with the execu- 
 tion of justice ; but both brothers were horribly 
 savage and violent in their proceedings, 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 sup- 
 posed 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, whan he was rescued from her by her 
 own soldiers, and when she was watching the be- 
 heading of sixty-three vassals of another of the
 
 Faithful till Death. 151 
 
 murderers, she repeatedly exclaimed, " Now I 
 bathe in May dew." Once, indeed, she met with 
 a stern rebuke. A hermit, for whom she had of- 
 fered to build a convent, answered her, " Woman, 
 God is not served by shedding innocent blood and 
 by building convents out of the plunder of families, 
 but by compassion and forgiveness of injuries." 
 
 Rudolf von der Wart received the horrible sen- 
 tence of being broken on the wheel. On his trial 
 the Emperor's attendant declared that Der Wart 
 had attacked Albert with his dagger, and the cry, 
 " How long will ye suffer this carrion to sit on 
 horseback ? " but he persisted to the last that he 
 had been taken by surprise by the murder. How- 
 ever, there was no mercy for him ; and, by the 
 express command of Queen Agnes, after he had 
 been bound upon one wheel, and his limbs broken 
 by heavy blows from the executioner, he was fast- 
 ened to another wheel, which was set upon a pole, 
 where he was to linger out the remaining hours of 
 his life. His young wife, Gertrude, who had clung 
 to him through all his trial, was torn away and car- 
 ried off to the Castle of Kyburg ; but she made her 
 escape at dusk, and found her way, 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 herself. The guard 
 left to watch fled at her approach, and she prayed 
 beneath the scaffold ; and then, heaping some heavy 
 logs of wood together, was able to climb up near 
 enough to embrace him and stroke back the hair 
 from his fare, whilst he entreated her to leave him, 
 lost 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 suffering. 
 
 " I will die with you," she said, " 't is 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.
 
 152 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 In Mrs. Hemans's 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 me 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 returned, 
 and Gertrude took down her stage of wood and con- 
 tinued kneeling at the foot of the pole. Crowds of 
 people came to look, among them the wife of one of 
 the officials, whom Gertrude implored to intercede 
 that her husband'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 re- 
 peated 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
 
 Faithful till Death. 153 
 
 to her husband. The priest blessed Gertrude, gave 
 her his hand, and said, u Be faithful unto death, and 
 God will 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 to the 
 joys beyond. He had ceased to try to send her 
 away, and 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 re- 
 main 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 
 
 Erayer and good works ; till the time came when 
 er widowed heart should find its true rest forever.
 
 WHAT IS BETTER THAN SLAYING A 
 DRAGON. 
 
 1332. 
 
 r I "HE next story we have to tell is so strange and 
 JL wild, that it would seem better to befit the 
 cloudy times when history had not yet been disen- 
 tangled from fable, than the comparatively clear 
 light of the fourteenth century. 
 
 It took place in the island of Rhodes. This 
 Greek isle had become the home of the Knights of 
 St. John, or Hospitaliers, an order of sworn brethren 
 who had arisen at the time of the Crusades. At 
 first they had been merely monks, who kept open 
 house for the reception of the poor penniless pil- 
 grims who arrived at Jerusalem in need of shelter, 
 and often of nursing and healing. The good monks 
 not only fed and housed them, but did their best to 
 cure the many diseases that they would catch in the 
 toilsome journey in that feverish climate ; and thus 
 it has come to pass that the word hospitium, which 
 in Latin only means an inn, has, in modern lan- 
 guages, given birth, on the one hand, to hotel, or 
 lodging-house, on the other, to hospital, or house of 
 healing. The Hospital at Jerusalem was called af- 
 ter St. John the Almoner, a charitable Bishop of 
 old, and the brethren were Hospitaliers. By and by, 
 when the first Crusade was over, and there was a 
 great need of warriors to maintain the Christian 
 cause in Jerusalem, the Hospitaliers thought it
 
 What is Belter than Slaying a Dragon. 155 
 
 a pity that so many strong arms should be pre- 
 vented from exerting themselves, by the laws 
 that forbade the clergy to do battle, and they 
 obtained permission from the Pope to become 
 warriors as well as monks. They were thus all 
 in one, knights, priests, and nurses ; their mon- 
 asteries were both castles and hospitals ; and the 
 sick pilgrim or wounded Crusader was sure of 
 all the best tendance and medical care that the 
 times could afford, as well as of all the ghostly com- 
 fort and counsel that he might need, and, if he 
 recovered, he was escorted safely down to the sea- 
 shore by a party strong enough to protect him from 
 the hordes of robber Arabs. All this was for char- 
 ity's sake, and without reward. Surely the consti- 
 tution of the Order was as golden as its badge, 
 the eight-pointed cross, which the brethren wore 
 round their neck. They wore it also in white over 
 their shoulder upon a black mantle. And the 
 knights who had been admitted to the full honors 
 of the Order had a scarlet surcoat, likewise with the 
 white cross, over their armor. The whole brother- 
 hood was under the command of a Grand Master, 
 who was elected in a chapter of all the knights, and 
 to whom all vowed to render implicit obedience. 
 
 Good service in all their three capacities had been 
 done by the Order as long as the Crusaders were 
 able to keep a footing in the Holy Land ; but they 
 were driven back step by step, and at last, in 1291, 
 their last stronghold at Acre was taken, after much 
 desperate fighting, and the remnant of the Hospi- 
 taliers sailed away to the isle of Cyprus, where, 
 after a few years, they recruited their forces, and, in 
 1307, captured the island of Rhodes, which had been 
 a nest of Greek and Mahometan pirates. Here they 
 remained, hoping for a fresh Crusade to recover the 
 Holy Sepulchre, and in the mean time fulfilling their 
 old mission as the protectors and nurses of the
 
 1 56 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 weak. All the Mediterranean Sea was infested by 
 corsairs from the African coast and the Greek isles, 
 and these brave knights, becoming sailors as well as 
 all they had been before, placed their red flag with 
 its white cross at the mast-head of many a gallant 
 vessel that guarded the peaceful traveller, hunted 
 down the cruel pirate, and brought home his Chris- 
 tian slave, rescued from laboring at the oar, to the 
 Hospital for rest and tendance. Or their treasures 
 were used in redeeming the captives in the pirate 
 cities. No knight of St. John might offer any ran- 
 som for himself save his sword and scarf; but for 
 the redemption of their poor fellow-Christians their 
 wealth was ready, and many a captive was released 
 from toiling in Algiers or Tripoli, or still worse, 
 from rowing the pirate vessels, chained to fhe oar, 
 between the decks, and was restored to health and 
 returned to his friends, blessing the day he had been 
 brought into the curving harbor of Rhodes, with the 
 fine fortified town of churches and monasteries. 
 
 Some eighteen years after the conquest of Rhodes, 
 the whole island was filled with dismay by the rav- 
 ages of an enormous creature, living in a morass at 
 the foot of Mount St Stephen, about two miles from 
 the city of Rhodes. Tradition calls it a dragon, 
 and whether it were a crocodile or a serpent is un- 
 certain. There is reason to think that the monsters 
 of early creation were slow in becoming extinct, or 
 it is not impossible that either a crocodile or a py- 
 thon might have been brought over by storms or 
 currents from Africa, and have grown to a more 
 formidable size than usual in solitude among the 
 marshes, while the island was changing owners. 
 The reptile, whatever it might be, was the object of 
 extreme dread ; it devoured sheep and cattle, when 
 they came down to the water, and even young shep- 
 herd-boys were missing. And the pilgrimage to the 
 Chapel of St Stephen, on the hill above its lair, was
 
 What is Better than Slaying a Dragon. 157 
 
 especially a service of danger, for pilgrims were be- 
 lieved to be snapped up by the dragon before they 
 could mount the hill. 
 
 Several knights had gone out to attempt the de- 
 struction of the creature, but not one had returned, 
 and at last the Grand Master, Helion de Yilleneuve, 
 forbade any further attacks to be made. The dragon 
 is said to have been covered with scales that were 
 perfectly impenetrable either to arrows or any cut- 
 ting weapon ; and the severe loss that encounters 
 with him had cost the Order, convinced the Grand 
 Master that he must be let alone. 
 
 However, a young knight, named Dieudonne" de 
 Gozon, was by no means willing to acquiesce in the 
 decree : perhaps all the less because it came after 
 he had once gone out .in quest of the monster, but 
 had returned, by his own confession, without strik- 
 ing a blow. He requested leave of absence, and 
 went home for a time to his father's castle of Gozon, 
 in Languedoc ; and there he caused a model of the 
 monster to be made. He had observed that the 
 scales did not protect the animal's belly, though it 
 was almost impossible to get a blow at it. owing to 
 its tremendous teeth, and the furious strokes of its 
 length of taiL He therefore caused this part of his 
 model to be made hollow, and tilled with food, and 
 obtaining two fierce young mastiffs, he trained them 
 to fly at the under side of the monster, while he 
 mounted his war-horse, and endeavored to acccus- 
 tom it likewise to attack the strange shape without 
 swerving. 
 
 When he thought the education of horse and 
 dogs complete, he returned to Rhodes ; but fearing 
 to be prevented from carrying out his design, he did 
 not land at the city, but on a remote part of the 
 coast, whence he made his way to the Chapel of St. 
 Stephen. There, after having recommended him- 
 self to God, he left his two French squires, desiring
 
 158 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 them to return home if he were slain, but to watch 
 and come to him if he killed the dragon, or were 
 only hurt by it. He then rode down the hillside, 
 and towards the haunt of the dragon. It roused it- 
 self at his advance, and at first he charged it with 
 his lance, which was perfectly useless against the 
 scales. His horse was quick to perceive the differ- 
 ence between the true and the false monster, and 
 started back, so that he was forced to leap to the 
 ground ; but the two dogs were more stanch, and 
 sprang at the animal, whilst their master struck at 
 it with his sword, but still without reaching a vulner- 
 able part, and a blow from the tail had thrown him 
 down, and the dragon was turning upon him, when 
 the movement left the undefended belly exposed. 
 Both mastiffs fastened on it at once, and the knight, 
 regaining his feet, thrust his sword into it. There 
 was a death -grapple, and finally the servants, com- 
 ing down the hill, found their knight lying apparent- 
 ly dead under the carcass of the dragon. When 
 they had extricated him, taken off his helmet, and 
 sprinkled him with water, he recovered, and pres- 
 ently was led into the city amid the ecstatic shouts 
 of the whole populace, who conducted him in tri- 
 umph to the palace of the Grand Master. 
 
 We have seen how Titus Manlius was requited 
 by his father for his breach of discipline. It was 
 somewhat in the same manner that Helion de Ville- 
 neuve received Dieudonne. We borrow Schiller's 
 beautiful version of the conversation that took place, 
 as the young knight, pale, with his black mantle 
 rent, his shining armor dinted, his scarlet surcoat 
 stained with blood, came into the Knights' Great 
 Hall. 
 
 " Severe and grave was the Master's brow, 
 Quoth he, ' A hero bold art thou, 
 By valor 't is that knights are known ; 
 A valiant spirit hast thou shown ;
 
 What is Better than Slaying a Dragon. 159 
 
 But the first duty of a knight, 
 Now tell, who vows for CHRIST to fight 
 And bears the Cross on his coat of mail.' 
 The listeners all with fear grew pale, 
 While, bending lowly, spake the knight, 
 
 His cheeks with blushes burning, 
 ' He who the Cross would bear aright, 
 Obedience must be learning.' " 
 
 Even after hearing the account of the conflict, the 
 Grand Master did not abate his displeasure. 
 
 " ' My son, the spoiler of the land 
 Lies slain by thy victorious hand, 
 Thou art the people's god, but so 
 Thou art become thine Order's foe ; 
 A deadlier foe thine heart has bred 
 Than this which by thy hand is dead, 
 That serpent still the heart defiling, 
 To ruin and to strife beguiling ; 
 It is that spirit rash and bold, 
 
 That scorns the bands of order ; 
 Rages against them uncontrolled 
 
 Till earth is in disorder. 
 
 " ' Courage by Saracens is shown, 
 Submission is the Christian's own ; 
 And where our Saviour, high and holy, 
 Wandered a pilgrim, poor and lowly, 
 Upon that ground with mystery fraught, 
 The fathers of our Order taught 
 The duty hardest to fulfil 
 Is to give up our own self-will, 
 Thou art elate with glory vain. 
 
 Away then from rhy sight ! 
 Who can his Saviour's yoke disdain, 
 
 Bears not his Cross aright.' 
 
 " An angry cry burst from the crowd, 
 The hall rang with their tumult loud ; 
 Each knightly brother prayed for grace. 
 The victor downward bent his face,
 
 160 A Book of Golden Deeds, 
 
 Aside his cloak in silence laid, 
 
 Kissed the Grand Master's hand, nor stayed. 
 
 The Master watched him from the hall, 
 
 Then summoned him with loving call, 
 
 ' Come to embrace me, noble son, 
 
 Thine is the conquest of the soul ; 
 Take up the Cross, now truly won, 
 
 By meekness and by self-control.' " 
 
 The probation of Dieudonne is said to have been 
 somewhat longer than the poem represents, but after 
 the claims of discipline had been established, he 
 became a great favorite with stern old Villeneuve, 
 and the dragon's head was set up over the gate of 
 the city, where Thevenot professed to have seen it 
 in the seventeenth century, and said that it was 
 larger than that of a horse, with a huge mouth and 
 teeth and very large eyes. The name of Rhodes is 
 said to come from a Phoenician word meaning a 
 serpent, and the Greeks called this the Isle of Ser- 
 pents, which is all in favor of the truth of the story. 
 But, on the other hand, such traditions often are 
 prompted by the sight of the fossil skeletons of the 
 dragons of the elder world, and are generally to be 
 met with where such minerals prevail as are found 
 in the northern part of Rhodes. The tale is disbe- 
 lieved by many, but it is hard to suppose it an entire 
 invention, though the description of the monster 
 may have been exaggerated. 
 
 Dieudonne' de Gozon was elected to the Grand 
 Mastership after the death of Villeneuve, and is 
 said to have voted for hjmself. If so, it seems as 
 if he might have had, in his earlier days, an over- 
 weening opinion of his own abilities. However, he 
 was an excellent Grand Master, a great soldier, and 
 much beloved by all the poor peasants of the island, 
 to whom he was exceedingly kind. He died in 
 1353, and his tomb is said to have been only in- 
 scribed with these words : " Here lies the Dragon 
 Slayer."
 
 THE KEYS OF CALAIS. 
 
 1347- 
 
 "\TOWHERE does the continent of Europe ap- 
 l\l 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 the fortress of Calais, 
 the possession of which 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. The walls were exceed- 
 ingly 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 mas- 
 sive, the towers raised to a great height, and the 
 defenders 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 loop- 
 hole windows. The gates had absolute little castles
 
 1 62 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 of their own, a moat flowed round 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, mangonels which 
 launched stones, sows whose arched wooden backs 
 protected troops of workmen who tried to under- 
 mine the wall, and moving towers consisting of a 
 succession of stages or shelves, filled with soldiers, 
 and with a bridge with iron hooks, capable of being 
 launched from the highest story to the top of the 
 battlements. The besieged could generally discon- 
 cert the battering-ram by hanging beds or mattresses 
 over the walls to receive the brunt of the 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. Can- 
 non had indeed just been brought into use at the 
 battle of Crecy, but they only consisted of iron bars 
 fastened together with hoops, and were as yet of little 
 use, and thus there seemed to be little danger to a 
 well 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, cov- 
 ered with surcoats richly embroidered 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
 
 The Keys of Calais. 163 
 
 arrows he kept there ready to his hand. With the 
 king was his son, Edward, Prince of Wales, ,vho 
 had just won the golden spurs of knighthood so 
 gallantly at Crecy, when only in his seventeeth year, 
 and likewise the famous Hainault knight, Sir Walter 
 Mauny, and all that was noblest and bravest in Eng- 
 land. 
 
 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, swal- 
 low-tailed pennon or pointed pennoncel of their 
 leader, came marching to the gates of Calais, above 
 which floated the blue standard of Prance with its 
 golden flowers, and with it the banner of the gov- 
 ernor, 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 covered with 
 the white canvas tents, marshalled 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 were to 
 be seen walking 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 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
 
 164 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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, weap- 
 ons, and everything that could be needed to be sold 
 in this warlike market. 
 
 The Governor, Sir Jean de Vienne, began to per- 
 ceive 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 prevent any pro- 
 visions 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 to- 
 gether 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 Wednesday morning 
 he caused all the poor to be brought together, men, 
 women, and children, and sent them all out of the 
 town, to the number 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 en- 
 emy, and they went along weeping and wailing, till 
 the English soldiers met them and asked why they
 
 The Keys of Calais. 165 
 
 had come out. They answered that they had been 
 put out because they had nothing to eat, and their 
 sorrowful, 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 every 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, assem- 
 bled 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 Edward letters from his queen to 
 say that the Scots army had been entirely defeated 
 at Nevil's 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 say- 
 ing, " 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."
 
 1 66 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The king was not displeased with his squire's 
 sturdiness, but made him a knight, gave him a pen- 
 sion of ,500 a year, and desired him to surrender 
 his prisoner to the queen, as his own representa- 
 tive. This was accordingly done, and King David 
 was lodged in the Tower of London. 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 
 town. Then there was a great court, and numerous 
 feasts and dances, and the knights 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 provisions out of the town, 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 Abbeville, named 
 Marant and Mestriel, who knew the coast thor- 
 oughly, 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 Ed- 
 ward'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 merriment by the
 
 The Keys of Calais. 167 
 
 king and his queen in their wooden palace outside, 
 and with lean cheeks and scanty fare by the be- 
 sieged within. Lent was strictly observed perforce 
 by the besieged, and Easter. brought a bethrothal in 
 the English camp ; a very unwilling one op the 
 part of the bridegroom, the young Count of Flan- 
 ders, who loved the French much better than the 
 English, and had only been tormented into giving 
 his consent 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 yourtg 
 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 arranging the presents they should 
 make to all their court on the 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 Whitsun- 
 tide he completed a great wooden castle upon the 
 sea-shore, and placed in it numerous warlike en- 
 gines, with 40 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 townspeople began to feel what hunger really 
 was, but their spirits were kept up by the hope 
 that tliL-ir 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 
 Sangate, 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 hun-
 
 1 68 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 gry garrison who could see the white tents pitched 
 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 higher 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 difficult 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 in- 
 tention 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, with- 
 out the slightest effort 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 Sangate melt away 
 like a summer cloud. 
 
 August had come again, and they had suffered 
 privation for a whole year for the sake of the king 
 who deserted them at their utmost need. They 
 were in so grievous a state of hunger and distress 
 that the hardiest could endure no more, for ever since 
 Whitsuntide no fresh provisions had reached them. 
 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 Keys of Calais. 169 
 
 The governor owned that the garrison was re- 
 duced 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 an- 
 swer 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 
 unconditional terms, leaving him free to slay, or to 
 ransom, or make prisoners 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 ships. 
 
 The brave answer was : " These conditions are 
 too hard for us. We are but a small number 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, be- 
 fore we consent that the smallest boy in the town 
 shall fare worse than ourselves. I therefore entreat 
 you, for pity's 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 con- 
 dition that six of the chief citizens should present 
 themselves to him, coming 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
 
 tfo A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the citizens, and, repairing fo 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 honored 
 after all suffering in common so long ? 
 
 Then a voice was heard : it was that of the rich- 
 est burgher in the town, Eustache de St. Pierre. 
 "Messieurs, high and low," he said, "it would be a 
 sad pity to suffer so many people to die through 
 hunger, if it could be prevented ; 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 my- 
 self as first of the six." 
 
 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 grat- 
 itude. 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 companion to these, who were both his 
 cousins ; and his brother Pierre would not be left 
 behind : and two more, unnamed, made up this gal- 
 lant 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 peo- 
 ple of the town, weeping and wailing, yet, for their 
 own sakes and their children's, not daring to pre- 
 vent the sacrifice. The gates were opened, the gov- 
 ernor and the six passed out, and the gates were 
 again shut behind them. Sir Jean then rode up to 
 Sir Walter Mauny, and told him how these burghers
 
 The f^eys of Calais. 171 
 
 had voluntarily offered the.nselves, 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 fore- 
 most said : " Most gillant Kin.;-, you see before you 
 six burghers of Calais, who h ive all been capital 
 merchants, and who bring you the keys of the castle 
 and town. We yield ourselves to your absolute will 
 and pleasure, in order to save the remainder of the 
 inhabitants of Calais, who have suffered much dis- 
 tress and misery. Condescend, therefore, out of 
 your nobleness of mind to have pity on us." 
 
 Strong emotion was excite I am:>n^ all the barons 
 and knights who stood round, as they saw the re- 
 signed countenances, pale and thin with patiently- 
 endured hunger, of these venerable men, offering 
 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, an I their heads stricken 
 off. Sir Walter M.umy interceded for them with 
 all his might, even telling t'.ie king that such an 
 execution would tarnish his honor, and that repri- 
 sals would be made on his own garrisons ; and all 
 the nobles joined in entreating pardon for the citi- 
 zens, but still without effect ; and the headsman had 
 been actually sent for, when Queen Philippa, her 
 eyes streaming with tears, threw herself on her 
 knees amongst the captives, and said, "Ah, gentle 
 sir, since I have crossed the sea, with much danger, 
 to see you, I have never asked you one favor ; now 
 I beg as 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 ;
 
 172 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 then he exclaimed : " Dame, dame, would that you 
 had been anywhere than here ! You have fcr^ 
 treated in such a manner that I cannot refuse ycu ; 
 I therefore give these men to you, to do as you 
 please with." 
 
 Joyfully did Queen Philippa conduct the six citi- 
 zens to her own apartments, where she made them 
 welcome, sent them new garments, entertained them 
 with a plentiful dinner, and dismissed 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 Vienne 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 ap- 
 pears, granted to the queen, perhaps, because she 
 considered the man himself as her charge, and 
 wished to secure them for him, and her little 
 daughter Margaret was, shortly after, born in one 
 of his houses. Eustache 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. in- 
 consistent with his general character ; but it is evi- 
 dent that the men of Calais had given him strong 
 provocation by attacks on his shipping, piracies 
 Which are not easily forgiven, and that he consid- 
 ered that he had a right to make an example of 
 them. It is not unlikely that he might, after all, 
 have intended to forgive them, and have given the 
 queen the grace of obtaining their pardon, so as to 
 excuse himself from the fulfilment of some over-
 
 The Keys of Calais. 
 
 173 
 
 hasty 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- 
 
 TV T OTHING in history has been more remarkable 
 1\1 than the union of the cantons and cities of the 
 little republic of Switzerland. Of differing 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 hun- 
 dred 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 Aa^gau. Rodolf of Hapsburg was 
 elected leader of the burghers of Zurich, long before 
 he was chosen to the Empire ; and he continued a 
 Swiss in heart, retaining his mountaineer's open 
 simplicity and honesty to the end of his life. Priv- 
 ileges 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, permitted 
 those tyrannies of his bailiffs which goaded the 
 Swiss to their celebrated revolt, and commenced the
 
 The Battle of Sempach. 175 
 
 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 exac- 
 tions, and fill their hills with castles for ducal bailiffs, 
 who would be little better than licensed robbers. 
 No wonder, then, that the generation of William 
 Tell and Arnold Melchthal bequeathed a resolute 
 purpose of resistance to their descendants. 
 
 It was in 1397, ninety years since the first asser- 
 tion of Swiss independence, when Leopold the Hand- 
 some, Duke of Austria, a bold but misproud and vi- 
 olent prince, involved himself in one of the constant 
 quarrels with the Swiss that were always arising on 
 account of the insulting exactions of toil 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 Rothem- 
 burg, where the tolls had been particularly vexatious, 
 and of admitting to their league the cities of Sem- 
 pach 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 di- 
 rection of Zurich with Johann Bonstetten, and ad- 
 vanced himself with 4,000 horse and 1,400 foot upon
 
 176 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 1,300, who, on the gth of July, took post 
 in the woods around the little lake of Sempach. 
 Meanwhile, Leopold's troops rode round the walls 
 of the little city, insulting the inhabitants ; one hold- 
 ing up a halter, which he said was for the chief mag- 
 istrate ; 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 story of that day was told by one of the 
 burghers who fought in the ranks of Lucerne, a 
 shoemaker, named Albert Tchudi, who was both a 
 brave warrior and a master-singer ; and as his bal- 
 lad was translated by another master-singer, Sir 
 Walter Scott, and is the spirited record of an eye- 
 witness, we will quote from him some of his de- 
 scriptions 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 towards Zurich, and the Baron von Hasen- 
 berg (i. e. hare-rock) strongly urged this prudent 
 counsel ; but 
 
 " ' O Hare-Castle, thou heart of hare ! ' 
 
 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.' "
 
 The Battle of Sempach. 1 77 
 
 Characteristically enough, the doughty cobbler 
 describes how the first execution that took place 
 was the lopping off the long-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 the horses were 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, projecting 
 beyond the wall of gay shields and polished impen- 
 etrable armor. 
 
 The Swiss were not only few in number, but ar- 
 mor was scarce among them ; some had only boards 
 fastened on their arms by way of shields, some had 
 halberts, 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 dan- 
 ger, 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 ir- 
 remediable destruction. A moment of dismay and 
 stillness ensued. Then Arnold von Winkelried of
 
 178 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Unterwalden, 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, shout- 
 ed 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 dishon- 
 or," 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 amog 
 the thickest of the foe. His corpse was found am|d 
 a heap of slain, and no less than 2,000 of his com- 
 panions perished with him, of whom a third are said 
 to have been counts, barons, and knights. 
 
 " 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 spent 
 with the excessive heat of the July sun, they did
 
 The Battle of Sanpach. \ 79 
 
 not pursue their enemies. They gave thanks on 
 the battle-field to the God of victories, and the next 
 day buried the dead, carrying Duke Leopold and 
 twenty-seven of his most illustrious companions to 
 the Abbey of Konigsfeldt. 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, be- 
 fore the house of Hapsburg had grown arrogant 
 with success. 
 
 As to the master-singer, he tells us of himself 
 that 
 
 " A merry man was he, I wot, 
 The night he made the lay, 
 Returning from the bloody spot 
 Where God had judged the day." 
 
 On every gth of July subsequently, the people of 
 the country have been wont to assemble on the bat- 
 tle-field, 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 Switzerland, and another reads the nar- 
 rative of the battle, and the roll of the brave 200, 
 who, after YVinkelried's example, gave their lives in 
 the cause. All this is in the face of the mountains 
 and the lake now lying in summer stillness, and the 
 harvest fields whose crops are secure from maraud- 
 ers, and the congregation then proceed to the small 
 chapel, the walls of which are painted with the deed 
 of Arnold von Winkelried, and the other distin- 
 guished achievements of the confederates, and mass- 
 es are sung for the souls of those who were slain. 
 No 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. 
 
 \
 
 THE CONSTANT PRINCE. 
 
 1433- 
 
 '"pHE illustrious days of Portugal were during the 
 1 century and a half of the dynasty termed the 
 House of Aviz, because its founder, Dom Joao I. 
 had been Grand Master of the military order of 
 Aviz. 
 
 His right to the throne was questionable, or more 
 truly null, and he had only obtained the crown from 
 the desire of the nation to be independent of Cas- 
 tille, and by the assistance of our own John of Gaunt, 
 whose daughter, Philippa of Lancaster, became his 
 wife, thus connecting the glories of his line with our 
 own house of Plantagenet. 
 
 Philippa was greatly beloved in Portugal, and was 
 a most noble-minded woman, who infused her own 
 spirit into her children. She had five sons, and 
 when they all had attained an age to be admitted to 
 the order of knighthood, their father proposed to 
 give a grand tournament in which they might evince 
 their prowess. This, however, seemed but play to 
 the high-spirited youths, who h<nd no doubt fed upon 
 the story of the manner in which their uncle, the 
 Black Prince, whose name was borne by the eldest, 
 had won his spurs at Crecy. Their entreaty was, 
 not to be carpet-knights, dubbed in time of peace, 
 and King Joao, on the other hand, objected to en- 
 tering on a war merely for the sake of knighting his
 
 The Constant Prince. 181 
 
 sons. At last Dom Fernando, the youngest of the 
 brothers, a lad of fourteen, proposed that their 
 knighthood should be earned by an expedition to 
 take Ceuta from the Moors. A war with the infidel 
 never came amiss, and was in fact regarded as a sa- 
 cred duty ; moreover, Ceuta was a nest of corsairs 
 who infested the whole Mediterranean coast. Up 
 to the present century the seaports along the Afri- 
 can coast of the Mediterranean have been the hives 
 of pirates, whose small rapid vessels were the ter- 
 ror of every unarmed ship that sailed in those wa- 
 ters, and whose descents upon the coasts of Spain, 
 France, and Italy, rendered life and property con- 
 stantly insecure. A regular system of kidnapping 
 prevailed ; prisoners had their fixed price, and were 
 carried off to labor in the African dock-yards, or to 
 be chained to the benches of the Moorish ships 
 which their oars propelled, until either a ransom 
 could be procured from their friends, or they could 
 be persuaded to become renegades, or death put an 
 end to their sufferings. A captivity among the 
 Moors was by no means an uncommon circum- 
 stance even in the lives of Englishmen down to the 
 eighteenth century, and pious persons frequently 
 bequeathed sums of money for the ransom of the 
 poorer captives. 
 
 Ceuta, perched upon the southern Pillar of Her- 
 cules, was one of the most perilous of these dens of 
 robbery, and to seize it might well appear a worthy 
 action, not only to the fiery princes, but to their 
 cautious lather. He kept his designs absolutely se- 
 cret, and contrived to obtain a plan of the town by 
 causing one of his vessels to put in there as inquest 
 of provisions, while, to cover his preparations for 
 war, he sent a public challenge to the Count of Hol- 
 land, and a secret message at the same time, with 
 the assurance that it was only a blind. These pro- 
 ceedings were certainly underhand, and partook of
 
 1 82 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 treachery ; but they were probably excused in the 
 king's own mind by the notion, that no faith was to 
 be kept with unbelievers, and, moreover, such people 
 as the Ceutans were likely never to be wanting in 
 the supply of pretexts for attack. 
 
 Just as all was ready, the plague broke out in Lis- 
 bon, and the queen fell sick of it. Her husband 
 would not leave her, and just before her death she 
 sent for all her sons, and gave to each a sword, 
 charging them to defend the widow and orphan, 
 and to fight against the infidel. In the full fresh- 
 ness of their sorrow, the king and his sons set sail 
 from the Bay of Lagos, in the August of 1415, with 
 59 galleys, 33 ships of war, and 120 transports ; the 
 largest fleet ever yet sent forth by the little king- 
 dom, and the first that had left a Peninsular port 
 with the banners and streamers of which the more 
 northern armaments were so profuse. 
 
 The governor of Ceuta, Zala ben Zala, was not 
 unprepared for the attack, and had collected 5,000 
 allies to resist the Christians ; but a great storm 
 having dispersed the fleet on the first day of its ap- 
 pearance, he thought the danger over, and dis- 
 missed his friends. On the I4th of August, howev- 
 er, the whole fleet again appeared, and the king, in 
 a little boat, directed the landing of his men, led by 
 his sons, the Infantes Duarte and Henrique. The 
 Moors gave way before them, and they entered the 
 city with 500 men, among the flying enemy, and 
 there, after a period of much danger, were joined by 
 their brother Pedro. The three fought their way to 
 a mosque, where they defended themselves till the 
 king with the rest of his army made their way in. 
 Zala ben Zala fled to the citadel, but, after one as- 
 sault, quitted it in the night. 
 
 The Christian captives were released, the mosque 
 purified and consecrated as a cathedral, a bishop 
 was appointed, and the king gave the government
 
 The Constant Prince. 183 
 
 of the place to Dom Pedro de Menezes, a knight of 
 such kno\vn fidelity that the king would not sufter 
 him to take the oath of allegiance. An attempt was 
 made by the Moors four years later to recover the 
 place ; but the Infantes Pedro and Henrique hur- 
 ried from Portugal to succor Menezes, and drove 
 back the besiegers ; whereupon the Moors murdered 
 their king, Abu Sayd, on whom they laid the blame 
 of the disaster. 
 
 On the day eighteen years of the taking of Ceuta, 
 King Joao died of the plague at Lisbon, on the I4th 
 of August, 1433. Duarte came to the throne ; and, 
 a few months after, his young brother, Fernando, 
 persuaded him into fitting out another expedition 
 to Africa, of which Tangier should be the object. 
 
 Duarte doubted of the justice of the war, and re- 
 ferred the question to the Pope, who decided against 
 it ; but the answer came too late, the preparations 
 were made, and the Infantes Henrique and Fer- 
 nando took the command. Henrique was a most 
 enlightened prince, a great mathematician and na- 
 val discoverer, but he does not appear to have made 
 good use of his abilities on the present occasion ; 
 for, on arriving at Ceuta, and reviewing the troops, 
 they proved to have but 8,000, instead of 14.000, as 
 they had intended. Still they proceeded, Henrique 
 by land and Fernando by sea, and laid siege to 
 Tangier, which was defended by their old enemy, 
 Zala ben Zala. Everything was against them : their 
 scaling-ladders were too short to reach to the top 
 of the walls, and the Moors had time to collect in 
 enormous numbers for the relief of the city, under 
 the command of the kings of Fez and Morocco. 
 
 The little Christian army was caught as in a net, 
 and. after a day's hard fighting, saw the nece.sr : ty 
 of re-embarking. Ail was arrnnged for this tv. be 
 done at night ; but a vile traitor, chaplain to t'he 
 army, passed over to the Moors, and revealed
 
 1 84 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 their intention. The beach was guarded, and the 
 retreat cut off. Another day of fighting passed, 
 and at night hunger reduced them to eating their 
 horses. 
 
 It was necessary to come to terms, and messen- 
 gers were sent to treat with the two kings. The 
 only terms on which the army could be allowed to 
 depart were that one of the Infantes should remain 
 as a hostage for the delivery of Ceuta to the Moors. 
 For this purpose Fernando offered himself, though 
 it was exceedingly doubtful whether Ceuta would 
 be restored ; and the Spanish poet, Calderon, puts 
 into his mouth a generous message to his brother 
 the king, that they both were Christian princes, 
 and that his liberty was not to be weighed in the 
 scale with their father's fairest conquest. 
 
 Henrique was forced thus to leave his brave 
 brother, and return with the remnants of his army 
 to Ceuta, where he fell sick with grief and vexation. 
 He sent the fleet home ; but it met with a great 
 storm, and many vessels were driven on the coast 
 of Andalusia, where, by orders of the king, the bat- 
 tered sailors and defeated soldiers were most kindly 
 and generously treated. 
 
 Dom Duarte, having in the mean time found out 
 with how insufficient an army his brothers had been 
 sent forth, had equipped a fresh fleet, the arrival of 
 which at Ceuta cheered Henrique with hope of res- 
 cuing his brother ; but it was soon followed by ex- 
 press orders from the king that Henrique should 
 give up all such projects and return home. He 
 was obliged to comply, but, unable to look Duarte 
 in the face, he retired to his own estates at the 
 Algarve. 
 
 Duarte convoked the States-general of the king- 
 dom, to consider whether Ceuta should be yielded 
 to purchase his brother's freedom. They decided 
 the lalace was too important to be parted
 
 77/i? Constant Prince. 185 
 
 with, but undertook to raise any sum of money 
 for the ransom ; and if this were not accepted, pro- 
 posed to ask the Pope to proclaim a crusade for his 
 rescue. 
 
 At first Fernando was treated well, and kept at 
 Tangier as an honorable prisoner ; but disappoint- 
 ment enraged the Moors, and he was thrown into a 
 dungeon, starved, and maltreated. All this usage 
 he endured with the utmost calmness and resolu- 
 tion, and could by no means be threatened into 
 entreating for liberty to be won at the cost of the 
 now Christian city where his knighthood had been 
 won. 
 
 His brother Duarte meantime endeavored to raise 
 the country for his deliverance ; but the plague was 
 still desolating Portugal, so that it was impossible to 
 collect an army, and the infection at length seized 
 on the king himself, from a letter which he incau- 
 tiously opened, and he died, in the thirty-eighth year, 
 in 1438, the sixth year of his reign, and the second 
 of his brother's captivity. His successor, ArTonso 
 V., was a child of six years old, and quarrels and 
 disputes between the Queen Mother and the Infante 
 Dom Pedro rendered the chance of redeeming the 
 captivity of Fernando less and less. 
 
 The king of Castille and even the Moorish king 
 of Granada, shocked at his sufferings and touched 
 by his constancy, proposed to unite their forces 
 against Tangier for his deliverance ; but the effect 
 of this was that Zala be i Zala made him over to 
 Muley-Xeques, the king of Fez, by whom he was 
 thrown into a dungeon without light or air. After a 
 time, he was brought back to daylight, but only to 
 toil among the other Christain slaves, to whom he 
 was a model of patience, resignation, and kindness. 
 Even his enemies became struck with admiration 
 of his high qualities, and the king of Fez declared 
 that he even deserved to be a Mahometan !
 
 1 86 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 At last, in 1443, Fernando's captivity ended, but 
 only by his death. Muley Xeque caused a tall tow- 
 er to be erected on his tomb, in memory of the 
 victory of Tangier ; but in 1473, two sons of Muley 
 being made prisoners by the Portuguese, one was 
 ransomed for the body of Dom Fernando, who was 
 then solemnly laid in the vaults of the beautiful 
 Abbey of Batalha, on the field of Aljubarota, which 
 had given his father the throne. Universal honor 
 attended the name of the Constant Prince, the Por- 
 tuguese Regulus ; and seldom as the Spanish ad- 
 mire anything Portuguese, a fine drama of the poet 
 Calderon is founded upon that noble spirit which 
 preferred dreary captivity to the yielding up his 
 father's conquest to the enemies of his country and 
 religion. Nor was this constancy thrown away ; 
 Ceuta remained a Christian city. It was held by 
 Portugal till the house of Avis was extinguished in 
 Dom Sebastiao, and since that time has belonged to 
 the crown of Spain.
 
 THE CARNIVAL OF PERTH. 
 
 1435- 
 
 IT was bedtime, and the old vaulted chambers of 
 the Dominican monastery at Perth echoed with 
 sounds that would seem incongruous in such a home 
 of austerity, but that the disturbed state of Scotland 
 rendered it the habit of her kings to attach their 
 palaces to convents, that they themselves might 
 benefit by the " peace of the Church," which was 
 in general accorded to all sacred spots. 
 
 Thus it was that Christmas and Carnival time of 
 1435-6 had been spent by the Court in the clois- 
 ters of Perth, and the dance, the song, and the 
 tourney had strangely contrasted with the grave and 
 self-denying habits to which the Dominicans were 
 devoted in their neighboring cells. The festive 
 season was nearly at an end, for it was the 2oth of 
 February ; but the evening had been more than 
 usually gay, and had been spent in games at chess, 
 tables, or backgammon, reading romances of chiv- 
 alry, harping and singing. King James himself, 
 brave and handsome, and in the prime of life, was 
 the blithest of the who e joyous party. He was 
 the most accomplished man in his dominions ; for 
 though he had been basely kept a prisoner at 
 Windsor throughout his boyhood by Henry IV. of 
 England, an education had been bestowed on him 
 far above what he would have otherwise obtained ;
 
 783 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ;,nd he was naturally a man of great ability, refine- 
 ment, and strength of character. Not only was he 
 a perfect knight on horseback, but in wrestling and 
 running, throwing the hammer, and " putting the 
 stane," he had scarcely a rival, and he was skilled 
 in all the learned lore of the time, wrote poetry, 
 composed music both sacred and profane, and was a 
 complete minstrel, able to sing beautifully, and to 
 play on the harp and organ. His queen, the beau- 
 tiful Joan Beaufort, had been the lady of his min- 
 strelsy in the days of his captivity, ever since he 
 had watched her walking on the slopes of Windsor 
 Park, and wooed her in verses that are still pre- 
 served. They had now been eleven years married, 
 and their Court was one bright spot of civilization, 
 refinement, and grace, amid the savagery of Scot- 
 land. And now, after the pleasant social evening, 
 the queen, with her long fair hair unbound, was 
 sitting under the hands of her tirewomen, who were 
 preparing her for the night's rest; and the king, in 
 his furred nightgown, was standing before the bright 
 fire on the hearth of the wide chimney, laughing 
 and talking with the attendant ladies. 
 
 Yet dark hints had already been whispered, 
 which might have cast a shadow over that careless 
 mirth. Always fierce and vindictive, the Scots had 
 been growing more and more lawless and savage 
 ever since the disputed succession of Bruce and 
 Balliol had unsettled all royal authority, and led to 
 one perpetual war with the English. The twenty 
 years of James's captivity had been the worst of all, 
 almost every noble was a robber chief; Scottish 
 borderer preyed upon English borderer, Highlander 
 upon Lowlander, knight upon traveller, every one 
 who had armor upon him who had not ; each clan 
 was at deadly feud with its neighbor ; blood was 
 shed like water from end to end of the miserable 
 tend, and the higher the birth of the offender the 
 greater the impunity he claimed.
 
 The Carnival of Perth. 189 
 
 Indeed, James himself had been brought next to 
 the throne by one of the most savage and horrible 
 murders ever perpetrated, that of his elder brother 
 David, by his own uncle ; and he himself had pro- 
 bably been only saved from sharing the like fate by 
 being sent out of the "kingdom. His earnest words 
 on his return to take the rule of this unhappy realm 
 were these : " Let God but grant me life, and there 
 shall not be a spot in my realm where the key shall 
 not keep the castle, and the bracken bush the cow, 
 though I should lead the life of a dog to accom- 
 plish it." 
 
 This great purpose had been before James through 
 the eleven years of his reign, and he had worked it 
 out resolutely. The lawless nobles would not brook 
 his ruling hand, and strong and bitter was the ha- 
 tred that had arisen against him. In many of his 
 transactions he was far from blameless : he was 
 sometimes tempted to craft, sometimes to tyranny ; 
 but his object was always a high and kingly one, 
 though he was led by the horrible wickedness of the 
 men he had to deal with more than once to forget 
 that evil is not to be overcome with evil, but with 
 good. In the main, it was his high and uncom- 
 promising resolution to enforce the laws upon high 
 and low alike that led to the nobles' conspiracies 
 against him ; though, if he had always been true to 
 his purpose of swerving neither to the right nor to 
 the left, he might have avoided the last fatal offence 
 that armed the murderer against his life. 
 
 The chief misdoers in the long period of anarchy 
 had been his uncles and cousins ; nor was it till 
 after his eldest uncle's death that his return home 
 had been possible. With a strong hand had he 
 avenged upon the princes and their followers the 
 many miseries they had inflicted upon his people ; 
 and in carrying out these measures he had seized 
 upon the great earldom of Strathern, which had
 
 190 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 descended to one of their party in right of his wife, 
 declaring that it could not be inherited by a female. 
 In this he appears to have acted unjustly, from the 
 strong desire to avail himself by any pretext of an 
 opportunity of breaking the overweening power of 
 the great turbulent nobles ; and, to make up for the 
 loss, he created the new earldom of Menteith, for 
 the young Malise Graham, the son of the dispos- 
 sessed earl. But the proud and vindictive Grahams 
 were not thus to be pacified. Sir Robert Graham, 
 the uncle of the young earl, drew off into the High- 
 lands, and there formed a conspiracy among other 
 discontented men who hated the resolute govern- 
 ment that repressed their violence. Men of princely 
 blood joined in the plot, and 300 Highland catherans 
 were ready to accompany the expedition that prom- 
 ised the delights of war and plunder. 
 
 Even when the hard-worked king was setting 
 forth to enjoy his holiday at Perth, the traitors had 
 fixed upon that spot as the place of his doom ; but 
 the scheme was known to so many, that it could not 
 be kept entirely secret, and warnings began to 
 gather round the king. When, on his way to Perth, 
 he was about to cross the Firth of Forth, the wild 
 figure of a Highland woman appeared at his bridle 
 rein, and solemnly warned him " that, if he crossed 
 that water, he would never return alive." He was 
 struck by the apparition, and bade one of his 
 knights to inquire of her what she meant ; but the 
 knight must have been a dullard or a traitor, for he 
 told the king that the woman was either mad or 
 drunk, and no notice was taken of her warning. 
 
 There was likewise a saying abroad in Scotland, 
 that the new year, 1436, should see the death of a 
 king ; and this same carnival night, James, while 
 playing at chess with a young friend, whom he was 
 wont to call the king of love, laughingly observed 
 that " it must be you or I, since there are but two
 
 The Carnival of Perth. 191 
 
 kings in Scotland, therefore look well to your- 
 self." 
 
 Little did the blithe monarch guess that at that 
 moment one of the conspirators, touched by a mo- 
 ment's misgiving, was hovering round, seeking in 
 vain for an opportunity of giving him warning ; that 
 even then his chamberlain and kinsman, Sir Robert 
 Stewart, was enabling the traitors to place boards 
 across the moat for their passage, and to remove 
 the bolts and bars of all the doors in their way. 
 And the Highland woman was at the door, earnest- 
 ly entreating to see the king, if but for one moment. 
 The message was even brought to him, but, alas ! 
 he bade her wait till the morrow, and she turned 
 away, declaring that she should never more see his 
 face. 
 
 And now, as before said, the feast was over, and 
 the king stood gayly chatting with his wife and her 
 ladies, when the clang of arms was heard, and the 
 glare of torches in the court below flashed on the 
 windows. The ladies flew to secure the doors. 
 Alas ! the bolts and bars were gone ! Too late 
 the warnings returned upon the king's mind, and 
 he knew it was he alone who was sought. He tried 
 to escape by the windows, but here the bars were 
 but too firm. Then he seized the tongs, and tore 
 up a board in the floor, by which he let himself 
 down into the vault below, just as the murderers 
 came rushing along the passage, slaying on their 
 way a page named Walter Straiton. 
 
 There was no bar to the door. Yes, there was. 
 Catherine Douglas, worthy of her name, worthy of 
 the cognizance of the bleeding heart, thrust her arm 
 through the empty staples to gain for her sovereign 
 a few moments more for escape and safety ! But 
 though true as steel, the brave arm was not as 
 strong. It was quickly broken. She was thrust 
 fainting aside, and the ruffians rushed in. Queen
 
 192 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Joan stood in the midst of the room, with her hair 
 streaming round her, and her mantle thrown hastily 
 on. Some of the wretches even struck and wound- 
 ed her, but Graham called them off, and bade them 
 search for the king. They sought him in vain in 
 every corner of the women's apartments, and dis- 
 persed through the other rooms in search of their 
 prey. The -ladies began to hope that the citizens 
 and nobles in the town were coming to their help, 
 and that the king might have escaped through an 
 opening that led from the vault into the tennis-court. 
 Presently, however, the king called to them to draw 
 him up again, for he had not been able to get out 
 of the vault, having a few days before caused the 
 hole to be bricked up, because his tennis-balls used 
 to fly into it and be lost. In trying to draw him up 
 by the sheets, Elizabeth Douglas, another of the 
 ladies, was actually pulled down into the vault ; the 
 noise was heard by the assassins, who were still 
 watching outside, and they returned. 
 
 There is no need to tell of the foul and cruel 
 slaughter that ensued, nor of the barbarous ven- 
 
 geance that visited it. Our tale is of golden, not of 
 razen deeds ; and if we have turned our eyes for a 
 moment to the Bloody Carnival of Perth, it is for 
 the sake of the king, who was too upright for his 
 bloodthirsty subjects, and. above all, for that of the 
 noble-hearted lady whose /rail arm was the guardian 
 of her sovereign's life in the extremity of peril. 
 
 In like manner, on the dreadful 6th of October, 
 1787, when the infuriated mob of Paris had been 
 incited by the revolutionary leaders to rush to Ver- 
 sailles in pursuit of the royal family, whose absence 
 they fancied deprived them of bread and liberty, a 
 woman shared the honor of saving her sovereign's 
 life, at least for that time. 
 
 The confusion of the day, with the multitude 
 thronging the courts and park of Versailles, utter-
 
 The Carnival of Perth. 193 
 
 mg the most frightful threats and insults, had been 
 beyond all description : but there had been a pause 
 at night, and at two o'clock, poor Queen Maria An- 
 toinette, spent with horror and fatigue, at last went 
 to bed, advising her ladies to do the same ; but 
 their anxiety was too great, and they sat up at her 
 door. At half-past four they heard musket-shots 
 and loud shouts, and while one awakened the queen, 
 the other, Madame Auguier, flew towards the place 
 whence the noise came. As she opened the door, 
 she found one of the royal body-guards, with his 
 face covered with blood, holding his musket so as 
 to bar the door, while the furious mob were striking 
 at him. He turned to the lady, and cried, " Save 
 the queen, maclame, they are come to murder her ! " 
 Quick as lightning, Madame Auguier shut and bolt- 
 ed the door, rushed to the queen's bedside, and 
 dragged her to the opposite door, with a petticoat 
 just thrown over her. Behold, the door was fast- 
 ened on the other side ! The ladies knocked vio- 
 lently, the king's valet opened it, and in a few min- 
 utes the whole family were in safety in the king's 
 apartments. M. de Miomandre, the brave guards- 
 man, who used his musket to guard the queen's 
 door instead of to defend himself, fell wounded ; 
 but his comrade, M. de Repaire, at once took his 
 place, and, according to one account, was slain, and 
 the next day his head, set upon a pike, was borne 
 before the carriage in which the royal family were 
 escorted back to Paris. 
 
 M. de Miomandre, however, recovered from his 
 wounds, and a few weeks after, the queen, hearing 
 that his loyalty had made him a mark for the hatred 
 of the mob, sent for him to desire him to quit Paris. 
 She said that gold could not repay such a service as 
 his had been, but she hoped one day to be able to 
 recompense him more as he deserved ; meanwhile, 
 she hoped he would consider, that as a sister might
 
 1 94 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 advance a timely sum to a brother, so she might of- 
 fer him enough to defray his expenses at Paris, and 
 to provide for his journey. In a private audience, 
 then, he kissed her hand, and those of the king, 
 and his saintly sister, Elizabeth, while the queen 
 gratefully expressed her thanks, and the king stood 
 by, with tears in his eyes, but withheld by his awk- 
 ward bashfulness from expressing the feelings that 
 overpowered him. 
 
 Madame Auguier and her sister, Madame Cam- 
 pan, continued with their royal lady until the next 
 stage in that miserable downfall of all that was high 
 and noble in unhappy France. She lived through 
 the horrors of the Revolution, and her daughter be- 
 came the wife of Marshal Ney. 
 
 Well it is that the darkening firmament does but 
 show the stars, and that when treason and murder 
 surge round the fated chambers of royalty, their 
 foulness and violence do but enhance the loyal self- 
 sacrifice of such door-keepers as Catharine Doug- 
 las, Madame Auguier, or M. de Miomandre. 
 
 Such deeds can woman's spirit do, 
 O Catharine Douglas, brave and true ! 
 Let Scotland keep thy holy name 
 Still first upon her ranks of fame.
 
 THE CROWN OF ST. STEPHEN. 
 1440. 
 
 OF all the possessions of the old kingdom of 
 Hungary, none was more valued than what 
 was called the Crown of St. Stephen, so called from 
 one, which had, in the year 1000, been presented by 
 Pope Sylvester II. to Stephen, the second Christian 
 Duke, and first king of Hungary. A crown and a 
 cross were given to him for his coronation, which 
 took place in the Church of the Holy Virgin, at 
 Alba Regale, also called in German Weissenburg, 
 where thenceforth the kings of Hungary were 
 anointed to begin their troubled reigns, and at the 
 close of them were laid to rest beneath the pave- 
 ment, where most of them might have used the 
 same epitaph as the old Italian leader: "He rests 
 here, who never rested before." For it was a wild 
 realm, bordered on all sides by foes, with Poland, 
 Bohemia, and Austria, ever casting greedy eyes 
 upon it, and afterwards with the Turk upon the 
 southern border, while the Magyars, or Hungarian 
 nobles, themselves were a fierce and untamable 
 race, bold and generous^ but brooking little control, 
 claiming a voice in choosing their own sovereign, 
 and to resist him. even by force of arms, if he broke 
 the laws. No prince had a right to their allegiance 
 unless he had been crowned with St. Stephen's 
 Crown ; but if he had once worn that sacred circle,
 
 196 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 he thenceforth was held as the only lawful monarch, 
 unless he should flagrantly violate the Constitution. 
 In 1076, another crown had been given by the 
 Greek emperor to Geysa, king of Hungary, and 
 the sacred crown combined the two. It had the 
 two arches of the Roman crown, and the gold cir- 
 clet of the Constantinopolitan ; and the difference 
 of workmanship was evident. 
 
 In the year 1439 died King Albert, who had been 
 appointed king of Hungary in right of his wife, 
 Queen Elizabeth. He left a little daughter only 
 four years old, and as the Magyars had never been 
 governed by a female hand, they proposed to send 
 and offer their crown, and the hand of their young 
 widowed queen, to Wladislas, the king of Poland. 
 But Elizabeth had hopes of another child, and in 
 case it should be a son, she had no mind to give 
 away its rights to its father's throne. How, then, 
 was she to help herself among the proud and deter- 
 mined nobles of her court ? One thing was certain, 
 that if once the Polish king were crowned with St. 
 Stephen's Crown, it would be his own fault if he 
 were not king of Hungary as long as he lived ; but 
 if the crown were not to be found, of course he 
 could not receive it, and the fealty of the nobles 
 would not be pledged to him. 
 
 The most trustworthy person she had about her 
 was Helen Kottenner, the lady who had the charge 
 of her little daughter, Princess Elizabeth, and to 
 her she confided her desire that the crown might be 
 secured, so as to prevent the Polish party from get- 
 ting access to it. Helen herself has written down 
 the history of these strange events, and of her own 
 struggles of mind, at the risk she ran, and the 
 doubt whether good would come of the intrigue ; 
 and there can be no doubt that, whether the 
 queen's conduct were praiseworthy or not, Helen 
 dared a great peril for the sake purely of loyalty
 
 The Crown of St. Stephen. 197 
 
 and fidelity. " The queen's commands," she says, 
 " sorely troubled me ; for it was a dangerous ven- 
 ture for me and my little children, and I turned it 
 over in my mind what I should do, for I had no 
 one to take counsel of but God alone ; and I 
 thought if 1 did it not, and evil arose therefrom, I 
 should be guilty before God and the world. So I 
 consented to risk my life on this difficult undertak- 
 ing ; but desired to have some one to help me." 
 This was permitted ; but the first person to whom 
 the Lady of Kottenner confided her intention, a 
 Croat, lost his color from alarm, looked like one 
 half dead, and went at once in search of his horse. 
 The next thing that was heard of him was that he 
 had had a bad fall from his horse, and had been 
 obliged to return to Croatia, and the queen re- 
 mained much alarmed at her plans being known to 
 one so faint-hearted. However, a more courageous 
 confidant was afterwards found in a Hungarian 
 gentleman, whose name has become illegible in 
 Helen's old manuscript. 
 
 The crown was in the vaults of the strong castle 
 of Plintenburg, also called Vissegracl, which stands 
 upon a bend of the Danube, about twelve miles 
 from the twin cities of Buda and Pesth. It was 
 in a case, within a chest, sealed with many seals, 
 and since the king's death, it had been brought 
 up by the nobles, who closely guarded both it and 
 the queen, into her apartments, and there examined 
 and replaced it in the chest. The next night, one 
 of the queen's ladies upset a wax taper, with- 
 out being aware of it, and before the fire was dis- 
 covered, and put out, the corner of the chest was 
 singed, and a hole burnt in the blue velvet cushion 
 that lay on the top. Upon this, the lords had caused 
 the chest to be taken down again into the vault, and 
 had fastened the doors with many locks and with 
 seals. The castle had further been put into the
 
 198 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 charge of Ladislas von Gara, the queen's cousin, 
 and Ban, or hereditary commander, of the border 
 troops, and he had given it over to a Burggraf, or 
 seneschal, who had placed his bed in the chamber 
 where was the door leading to the vaults. 
 
 The queen removed to Komorn, a castle higher 
 up the Danube, in charge of her faithful cousin, 
 Count Ulric of Eily, taking with her her little 
 daughter Elizabeth, Helen Kottenner, and two other 
 ladies. This was the first stage on the journey to 
 Presburg, where the nobles had wished to lodge the 
 queen, and from thence she sent back Helen to 
 bring the rest of the maids of honor and her goods 
 to join her at Komorn. It was early spring, and 
 snow was still on the ground, and the Lady of Kot- 
 tenner and her faithful nameless assistant travelled 
 in a sledge ; but two Hungarian noblemen went 
 with them, and they had to be most careful in con- 
 cealing their arrangements. Helen had with her 
 the queen's signet, and keys ; and her friend had a 
 file in each shoe, and keys under his black velvet 
 dress. 
 
 On arriving in the evening, they found that the 
 Burggraf had fallen ill, and could not sleep in the 
 chamber leading to the vault, because it belonged to 
 the ladies' chambers, and that he had therefore put 
 a cloth over the paddock of the door and sealed it 
 There was a stove in the room, and the maidens be- 
 gan to pack up their clothes there, an operation that 
 lasted till eight o'clock ; while Helen's friend stood 
 there, talking and jesting with them, trying all the 
 while to hide the files, and contriving to say to 
 Helen : " Take care that we have a light." So she 
 begged the old housekeeper to give her plenty of 
 wax tapers, as she had many prayers to say. At 
 last every one was gone to bed, and there only re- 
 mained in the room with Helen, an old woman, 
 whom she had brought with her, who knew no Ger-
 
 The Crown of St. Stephen. 199 
 
 man, and was fast asleep. Then the accomplice 
 came back through the chapel, which opened into 
 this same hall. He had on his black velvet gown 
 and felt shoes ; and was followed by a servant, who, 
 Helen says, was bound to him by oath, and had the 
 same Christian name as himself, this being evidently 
 an additional bond of fidelity. Helen, who had re- 
 ceived from the queen all the keys of this outer 
 room, let them in, and, after the Burggraf's cloth 
 and seal had been removed, they unlocked the pad- 
 lock, and the other two locks of the outer door of 
 the vault, and the two men descended into it. There 
 were several other doors, whose chains required to 
 be filed through, and their seals and locks broken, 
 and to the ears of the waiting Helen the noise ap- 
 peared fatally loud. She says : " I devoutly prayed 
 to God and the Holy Virgin, that they would sup- 
 port and help me ; yet I was in greater anxiety for 
 my soul than for my life, and I prayed to God 
 that He would be merciful to my soul, and rather let 
 me die at once there, than that anything should 
 happen against His will, or that should bring misfor- 
 tune on my country and people." 
 
 She fancied she heard a noise of armed men at 
 the chapel door, but finding nothing there, believed, 
 not in her own nervous agitation, a thing not yet 
 invented, that it was a spirit, and returning to her 
 prayers, vowed, poor lady, to make a pilgrimage to 
 St. Maria Zell, in Styria, if the Holy Virgin's inter- 
 cessions obtained their success, and, till the pilgrim- 
 age could be made. " to forego every Saturday night 
 my feather bed ! " After another false alarm at a 
 supposed noise at the maidens' door, she ventured 
 into the vault to see how her companions were get- 
 ting on, when she found they had filed away all the 
 locks, except that of the case containing the crown, 
 and this they were obliged to burn, in spite of their 
 apprehension that the smell and smoke might be
 
 2oo A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 observed. They then shut up the chest, replaced 
 the padlocks and chains with those they had brought 
 for the purpose, and renewed the seals with the 
 queen's signet, which, bearing the royal arms, would 
 baffle detection that the seals had been tampered 
 with. They then took the crown into the chapel, 
 where they found a red velvet cushion, so large that, 
 by taking out some of the stuffing, a hiding-place 
 was made in which the crown was deposited, and 
 the cushion sewn up over it. 
 
 By this time day was dawning, the maidens were 
 dressing, and it was the hour for setting off for Ko- 
 morn. The old woman who had waited on them 
 came to the Lady of Kottenner to have her wages 
 paid, and be dismissed to Buda. While she was 
 waiting, she began to remark on a strange thing ly- 
 ing by the stove, which, to the Lady Helen's great 
 dismay, she perceived to be a bit of the case in 
 which the crown was kept. She tried to prevent 
 the old woman from noticing it, pushed it into the 
 hottest part of the stove, and, by way of further pre- 
 caution, took the old woman away with her, on the 
 plea of asking the queen to make her a bedeswo- 
 man at Vienna, and this was granted to her. 
 
 When all was ready, the gentleman desired his 
 servant to take the cushion and put it into the 
 sledge designed for himself and the Lady of Kotten- 
 ner. The man took it on his shoulders, hiding it 
 under an old ox-hide, with the tail hanging down, to 
 the laughter of all beholders. Helen further records 
 the trying to get some breakfast in the market-place 
 and finding nothing but herrings ; also the going to 
 mass, and the care she took not to sit upon the holy 
 crown, though she had to sit on its cushion in the 
 sledge. They dined at an inn, but took care to keep 
 the cushion in sight, and then in the dusk crossed 
 the Danube on the ice, which was becoming very 
 thin, and half-way across it broke under the maid-
 
 The Crown of St. Stephen. 201 
 
 ens' carriage, so that Helen expected to be lost in 
 the Danube, crown and all. However, though many 
 packages were lost under the ice, her sledge got safe 
 over, as well as all the ladies, some of whom she 
 took into her conveyance, and all safely arrived at 
 the castle of Komorn late in the evening. 
 
 The very hour of their arrival a babe was born to 
 the queen, and to her exceeding joy it was a son. 
 Count von Eily, hearing " that a king and friend 
 was born to him," had bonfires lighted, and a torch- 
 light procession on the ice that same night, and 
 early in the morning came the Archbishop of Gran 
 to christen the child. The queen wished her faith- 
 ful Helen to be godmother, but she refused in favor 
 of some lady whose family it was probably needful 
 to propitiate. She took off the little princess Eliza- 
 beth's mourning for her father and dressed her in 
 red and gold, all the maidens appeared in gay ap- 
 parel, and there was great rejoicing and thanksgiv- 
 ing when the babe was christened Ladislas, after a 
 sainted king of Hungary. 
 
 The peril was, however, far from ended ; for many 
 of the Magyars had no notion of accepting an infant 
 for their king, and by Easter the king of Poland 
 was advancing upon Buda to claim the realm to 
 which he had been invited. No one had discovered 
 the abstraction of the crown, and Elizabeth's object 
 was to take her child to Weissenburg, and there 
 have him crowned, so as to disconcert the Polish 
 party. She had sent to Buda for cloth of gold to 
 make him a coronation dress, but it did not come 
 in time, and Helen therefore shut herself into the 
 chapel at Komorn, and, with doors fast bolted, cut 
 up a rich and beautiful vestment of his grandfather's, 
 the Emperor Sigismund, of red and gold, with silver 
 spots, and made it into a tiny coronation robe, with 
 surplice and humeral (or shoulder piece), the stole 
 and banner, the gloves and shoes. The queen was
 
 2O2 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 much alarmed by a report that the Polish party meant 
 to stop her on her way to Weissenburg ; and if the 
 baggage should be seized and searched, the discov- 
 ery of the crown might have fatal consequences. 
 Helen, on this, observed that the king was more im- 
 portant than the crown, and that the best way would 
 be to keep them together ; so she wrapped up the 
 crown in a cloth, and hid it under the mattress of 
 his cradle, with a long spoon for mixing his pap up- 
 on the top, so, said the queen, he might take care 
 of his crown himself. 
 
 On Tuesday before Whitsunday the party set 
 out, escorted by Count Ulric, and several other 
 knights and nobles. After crossing the Danube in 
 a large boat, the queen and her little girl were 
 placed in a carriage, or more probably a litter, the 
 other ladies rode, and the cradle and its precious 
 contents were carried by four men ; but this the 
 poor little Lassla, as Helen shortens his lengthy 
 name, resented so much, that he began to scream so 
 loud that she was forced to dismount and carry him 
 in her arms, along a road rendered swampy by much 
 rain. 
 
 They found all the villages deserted by the peas- 
 ants, who had fled into the woods, and as most of 
 their lords were of the other party, they expected an 
 attack, so the little king was put into the carriage 
 with his mother and sister, and the ladies formed a 
 circle round it " that if any one shot at the carriage 
 we might receive the stroke." When the danger 
 was over the child was taken out again, for he would 
 be content nowhere but in the arms of either his 
 nurse or of faithful Helen, who took turns to carry 
 him on foot nearly all the way, sometimes in a high 
 wind which covered them with dust, sometimes in 
 great heat, sometimes in rain so heavy that Helen's 
 fur pelisse, with which she covered his cradle, had 
 to be wrung out several times. They slept at an
 
 The Crown of St. Stephen. 203 
 
 inn, round which the gentlemen lighted a circle of 
 fires, and kept watch all night. 
 
 Weissenburg was loyal, five hundred armed gen- 
 tlemen came out to meet them, and on Whitsun-eve 
 they entered the city, Helen carrying her little king 
 in her arms in the midst of a circle of these five 
 hundred holding their naked swords aloft. On Whit- 
 sunday, Helen rose early, bathed the little fellow, 
 who was twelve weeks old that day, and dressed 
 him. He was then carried in her arms to the 
 church, beside his mother. According to the old 
 Hungarian customs, the choir door was closed, 
 the burghers were within, and would not open till 
 the new monarch should have taken the great coro- 
 nation oath to respect the Hungarian liberties and 
 laws. 
 
 This oath was taken by the queen in the name of 
 her son, the doors were opened, and all the train en- 
 tered, the little princess being lifted up to stand by 
 the organ, lest she should be hurt in the throng. 
 First Helen held her charge up to be confirmed, and 
 then she had to hold him while he was knighted 
 with a richly-adorned sword bearing the motto " In- 
 destructible," and by a stout Hungarian knight, 
 called Mikosch Weida, who struck with such a good 
 will that Helen felt the blow on her arm, and the 
 queen cried out to him not to hurt the child. 
 
 The Archbishop of Gran anointed the little crea- 
 ture, dressed him in the red and gold robe, and put 
 on his head the holy crown, and the people admired 
 to see how straight he held up his neck under it ; 
 indeed they admired the lo'idness and strength of his 
 cries, when, as the good lady records, " the noble 
 king had little pleasure in his coronation for he 
 wept aloud." She had to hold him up for the rest 
 of the service, while Count Ulric of Eily held the 
 crown over his head, and afterwards to seat him in 
 a chair in St. Peter's Church, and then he was car-
 
 2O4 A Book of Golden Deeds, 
 
 ried home in his cradle, with the count holding the 
 crown over his head, and the other regalia borne 
 before him. 
 
 And thus Ladislas became king of Hungary at 
 twelve weeks old, and was then carried off by his 
 mother into Austria for safety. Whether this se- 
 cret robbery of the crown, and coronation by stealth, 
 was wise or just on the mother's part is a question 
 not easy of answer, though of course she deemed 
 it her duty to do her utmost for her child's rights. 
 Of Helen Kottenner's deep fidelity and conscientious 
 feeling there can be no doubt, and her having acted 
 with her eyes fully open to the risk she ran, her 
 trust in Heaven overcoming her fears and terrors, 
 rendered her truly a heroine. 
 
 The crown has had many other adventures, and 
 afterwards was kept in an apartment of its own, in 
 the castle of Ofen, with an antechamber guarded by 
 two grenadiers. The door was of iron, with three 
 locks, and the crown itself was contained in an iron 
 chest with five seals. All this, however, did not 
 prevent it from being taken away and lost in the 
 Revolution of 1 849.
 
 GEORGE THE TRILLER. 
 
 H55- 
 I. 
 
 T T THY, lady dear, so sad of cheer ? 
 
 V V Hast waked the livelong night ? " 
 " My dreams foreshow my children's woe, 
 Ernst bold and Albrecht bright. 
 
 " From the dark glades of forest shades 
 
 There rushed a raging boar, 
 Two sapling oaks with cruel strokes 
 
 His crooked tusks uptore." 
 
 " Ah, lady dear, dismiss thy fear 
 Of phantoms haunting sleep ! " 
 
 " The giant knight, Sir Konrad hight, 
 Hath vowed a vengeance deep. 
 
 " My lord, o'erbold, hath kept his gold, 
 And scornful answer spake : 
 
 ' Kunz, wisdom learn, nor strive to burn 
 The fish within their lake.' 
 
 " See, o'er the plain, with all his train, 
 
 My lord to Leipzig riding ; 
 Some danger near my children dear 
 
 My dream is sure betiding." 
 
 " The warder waits before the gates, 
 
 The castle rock is steep, 
 The massive walls protect the halls, 
 
 Thy children safely sleep."
 
 206 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 II. 
 
 'T is night's full noon, fair shines the moon 
 
 On Altenburg's old halls, 
 The silver beams in tranquil streams 
 
 Rest on the ivied walls. 
 
 Within their tower the midnight hour 
 
 Has wrapt the babes in sleep, 
 With unclosed eyes their mother lies 
 
 To listen and to weep. 
 
 What sudden sound is stirring round ? 
 
 What clang thrills on her ear ? 
 Is it the breeze amid the trees 
 
 Re-echoing her fear ? 
 
 Swift from her bed, in sudden dread, 
 
 She to her lattice flies : 
 Oh ! sight of woe, from far below 
 
 Behold a ladder rise : 
 
 And from yon tower, her children's bower, 
 
 Lo ! giant Kunz descending ! 
 Ernst, in his clasp of iron grasp, 
 
 His cries with hers is blending. 
 
 " Oh ! hear my prayer, my children spare, 
 
 The sum shall be restored ; 
 Nay, twenty-fold returned the gold, 
 
 Thou know'st how true my lord." 
 
 With mocking grace he bowed his face : 
 
 " Lady, my greetings take ; 
 Thy lord may learn how I can burn 
 
 The fish within their lake." 
 
 Oh ! double fright, a second knight " 
 
 Upon the ladder frail, 
 And in his arm, with wild alarm, 
 
 A child uplifts his wail !
 
 George the Triller. 207 
 
 Would she had wings ! She wildly springs 
 
 To rouse her slumbering train ; 
 Bolted without her door so stout 
 
 Resists her efforts vain ! 
 
 No mortal ear her calls can hear, 
 
 The robbers laugh below ; 
 Her God alone may hear her moan, 
 
 Or mark her hour of woe. 
 
 A cry below, " Oh ! let me go, 
 
 I am no prince's brother ; 
 Their playmate I Oh ! hear my cry, 
 
 Restore me to my mother ! " 
 
 With anguish sore she shakes the door ; 
 
 Once more Sir Kunz is rearing 
 His giant head. His errand sped 
 
 She sees him reappearing. 
 
 Her second child in terror wild 
 
 Is struggling in his hold ; 
 Entreaties vain she pours again, 
 
 Still laughs the robber bold. 
 
 " I greet thee well, the Elector tell 
 
 How Kunz his counsel takes, 
 And let him learn that I can burn 
 
 The fish within their lakes." 
 
 III. 
 
 " Swift, swift, good steed, death 's on thy speed, 
 
 Gain Isenburg ere morn ; 
 Though far the way, there lodged our prey, 
 
 We laugh the Prince to scorn. 
 
 " There Konrad's den and merry men 
 
 Will safely hold the boys, 
 The Prince shall grieve long ere we leave 
 
 Our hold upon his joys.
 
 208 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 " But hark ! but hark ! how through the dark 
 
 The castle bell is tolling, 
 From tower and town, o'er wood and down, 
 
 The like alarm notes rolling. 
 
 " The peal rings out ! echoes the shout ! 
 
 All Saxony 's astir ; 
 Groom, turn aside, swift must we ride 
 
 Through the lone wood of fir." 
 
 Far on before, of men a score 
 
 Prince Ernest bore still sleeping ; 
 
 " Thundering as fast, Kunz came the last, 
 
 Carrying young Albrecht weeping. 
 
 The clanging bell with distant swell 
 
 Dies on the morning air, 
 Bohemia's ground another bound 
 
 Will reach, and safety there. 
 
 The morn's fresh beam lights a cool stream, 
 Charger and knight are weary, 
 
 He draws his rein, the child's sad plain 
 He meets with accents cheery. 
 
 " Sir Konrad good, be mild of mood, 
 
 A fearsome giant thou ! 
 For love of heaven, one drop be given 
 
 To cool my throbbing brow ! " 
 
 Kunz' savage heart feels pity's smart, 
 He soothes the worn-out child, 
 
 Bathes his hot cheeks, and bending seeks 
 For woodland berries wild. 
 
 A deep-toned bark ! A figure dark, 
 Smoke-grimed and sun-embrowned, 
 
 Comes through the wood in wondering mood, 
 And by his side a hound. 
 
 " Oh, to my aid, I am betrayed, 
 The Elector's son forlorn,
 
 George the Triller. 209 
 
 From out my bed these men of dread 
 Have this night hither borne ! " 
 
 " Peace, if thou'rt wise," the false groom cries, 
 
 And aims a murderous blow ; 
 His pole-axe long, his arm so strong, 
 
 Must lay young Albrecht low. 
 
 See, turned aside, the weapon glide 
 
 The woodman's pole along, 
 To Albrecht's clasp his friendly grasp 
 
 Pledges redress from wrong. 
 
 Loud the hound's note as at the throat 
 
 Of the false groom he flies ; 
 Back at the sounds Sir Konrad bounds : 
 
 " Off hands, base churl," he cries. 
 
 The robber lord with mighty sword, 
 
 Mailed limbs of giant strength, 
 The woodman stout, all arms without, 
 
 Save his pole's timber length, 
 
 Unequal fight ! Yet for the right 
 
 The woodman holds the field ; 
 Now left, now right, repels the knight, 
 
 His pole full stoutly wields. 
 
 " His whistle clear rings full of cheer, 
 
 And lo ! his comrades true, 
 All swarth and lusty, with fire poles trusty, 
 
 Burst on Sir Konrad's view. 
 
 His horse's rein he grasps amain 
 
 Into his sclle to spring, 
 His gold-spurred heel his stirrup's steel 
 
 Has caught, his weapons ring. 
 
 His frightened steed with wildest speed 
 
 Careers with many a bound ; 
 Sir Konrad's heel fast holds the steel, 
 
 His head is on the ground. 
 14
 
 2io A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The peasants round lift from the ground 
 
 His form in woful plight, 
 To convent-cell, for keeping well, 
 
 Bear back the robber knight 
 
 " Our dear young lord, what may afford 
 
 A charcoal-burner's store 
 We freely spread, milk, honey, bread, 
 
 Our heated kiln before ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Three mournful days the mother prays, 
 
 And weeps the children's fate ; 
 The prince in vain has scoured the plain, 
 
 A sound is at the gate. 
 
 The mother hears, her head she rears, 
 
 She lifts her eager finger, 
 " Rejoice, rejoice, 't is Albrecht's voice, 
 
 Open ! O, wherefore linger ? " 
 
 See, cap in hand the woodman stand, 
 
 Mother, no more of weeping, 
 His hound well tried is at his side, 
 
 Before him Albrecht, leaping, 
 
 Cries, " Father dear, my friend is here ! 
 
 My mother ! O, my mother ! 
 The giant knight he put to flight, 
 
 The good dog tore the other." 
 
 Oh ! who the joy that greets the boy, 
 
 Or who the thanks may tell, 
 Or how they hail the woodman's tale, 
 
 How he had " trilled * him well ! " 
 
 " I trilled him well," he still will tell 
 In homely phrase his story, 
 
 * Trillen, to shake ; a word analogous to our trill, to shake the 
 voice in singing.
 
 George the Triller. 211 
 
 To those who sought to know how wrought 
 An unarmed hand such glory. 
 
 That mother sad again is glad, 
 
 Her home no more bereft ; 
 For news is brought Ernst may be sought 
 
 Within the Devil's Cleft. 
 
 That cave within, these men of sin 
 
 Had learnt their leader's fall, 
 The prince to sell they proffered well 
 
 At price of grace to all. 
 
 Another day, and Ernest lay 
 
 Safe on his mother's breast : 
 Thus to her sorrow a gladsome morrow 
 
 Had brought her joy and rest. 
 
 The giant knight was judged aright, 
 
 Sentenced to death he lay ; 
 The Elector mild, since safe his child, 
 
 Sent forth the doom to stay. 
 
 But all too late, and o'er the gate 
 
 Of Freiburg's council hall 
 Sir Konrad's head, with features dread, 
 
 The traitor's eyes appal. 
 
 The scullion Hans who wrought their plans, 
 
 And oped the window grate, 
 Whose faith was sold for Konrad's gold, 
 
 He met a traitor's fate. 
 
 V. 
 
 Behold how gay the wood to-day, 
 
 The little church how fair, 
 What banners wave, what tapestry brave, 
 
 Covers its carvings rare ! 
 
 A goodly train, the parents twain, 
 And here the princes two,
 
 212 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Here with his pole, George, stout of soul, 
 And all his comrades true. 
 
 High swells the chant, all jubilant, 
 
 And each boy bending low, 
 Humbly lays down the wrapping-gown 
 
 He wore the night of woe. 
 
 Beside them lay a smock of gray, 
 All grimed with blood and smoke ; 
 
 A thankful sign to Heaven benign, 
 That spared the sapling oak. 
 
 " What prize wouldst hold, thou ' Triller bold,' 
 
 Who trilled well for my son ? " 
 " Leave to cut wood, my lord, so good, 
 
 Near where the fight was won." 
 
 " Nay, Triller mine, the land be thine, 
 
 My trusty giant-killer, 
 A farm and house I and my spouse 
 
 Grant free to George the Triller ! " 
 
 Years hundred four, and half a score, 
 Those robes have held their place ; 
 
 The Triller's deed has grateful meed 
 From Albrecht's royal race. 
 
 The child rescued by George the Triller's Gold- 
 en Deed was the ancestor of the late Prince Con- 
 sort, and thus of our future line of kings. He was 
 the son of the Elector Friedrich the Mild of Sax- 
 ony, and of Margarethe of Austria, whose dream 
 presaged her children's danger. The Elector had 
 incurred the vengeance of the robber baron, Sir 
 Konrad of Kauffincjen, who, from his huge stature, 
 was known as the Giant Ritter, by refusing to make 
 up to him the sum of 4000 gulden which he had 
 had to pay for his ransom after being made pris- 
 oner in the Elector's service. In reply to his
 
 George the Triller. 213 
 
 threats, all the answer that the robber knight re- 
 ceived was the proverbial one, " Do not try to burn 
 the fish in the ponds, Kunz." 
 
 Stung by the irony, Kunz bribed the Elector's 
 scullion, by name Hans Schwabe, to admit him and 
 nine chosen comrades into the castle of Altenburg 
 on the night of the yth of July, 1455, when the Elec- 
 tor was to be at Leipzig. Strange to say, this scul- 
 lion was able to write, for a letter is extant from 
 him to Sir Konrad, engaging to open the window 
 immediately above the steep precipice, which on 
 that side was deemed a sufficient protection to the 
 castle, and to fasten a rope-ladder by which to as- 
 cend the crags. This window can still be traced, 
 though thenceforth it was bricked up. It gave ac- 
 cess to the children's apartments, and on his way 
 to them, the robber drew the bolt of their mother's 
 door, so that though, awakened by the noise, she 
 rushed to her window, she was a captive in her own 
 apartment, and could not give the alarm, nor do 
 anything but join her vain entreaties to the cries of 
 her helpless children. It was the little son of the 
 Count von Bardi whom Wilhelm von Mosen 
 brought down by mistake for young Albrecht, and 
 Kunz, while hurrying up to exchange the children, 
 bade the rest of his band hasten on to secure the 
 elder prince without waiting for him. He followed 
 in a few seconds with Albrecht in his arms, and his 
 servant Schweinitz riding after him, but he never 
 overtook the main body. Their object was to reach 
 Konrad's own castle of Isenburg on the frontiers 
 of Bohemia, but they quickly heard the alarm-bells 
 Yinging, and beheld beacons lighted upon every hill. 
 They were forced to betake themselves to the for- 
 ests, and about half-way, Prince Ernst's captors, 
 not daring to go any further, hid themselves and 
 him in a cavern called the Devil's Cleft, on the right 
 bank of the river Mulde.
 
 214 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Kunz himself rode on till the sun had risen, and 
 he was within so few miles of his castle that the 
 terror of his name was likely to be a sufficient pro- 
 tection. Himself and his horse were, however, 
 spent by the wild midnight ride, and on the border 
 of the wood of Eterlein, near the monastery of 
 Griinheim, he halted, and finding the poor child 
 grievously exhausted and feverish, he lifted him 
 down, gave him water, and went himself in search 
 of wood-strawberries for his refreshment, leaving 
 the two horses in the charge of Schweinitz. The 
 servant dozed in his saddle, and meanwhile the 
 charcoal-burner, George Schmidt, attracted by the 
 sounds, came out of the wood, where all night he 
 had been attending to the kiln, hollowed in the 
 earth, and heaped with earth and roots of trees, 
 where a continual charring of wood was going on. 
 Little Albrecht no sooner saw this man than he 
 sprang to him, and telling his name and rank, en- 
 treated to be rescued from these cruel men. The 
 servant awaking, leapt down and struck a deadly 
 blow at the boy's head with his pole-axe, but it was 
 parried by the chorcoal-burner, who, interposing 
 with one hand the strong wooden pole he used for 
 stirring his kiln, dragged the little prince aside with 
 the other, and at the same time set his great dog 
 upon the servant. Sir Konrad at once hurried 
 back, but the -valiant charcoal-burner still held his 
 ground, dangerous as the fight was between the 
 peasant unarmed except for the long pole, and the 
 fully accoutred knight of gigantic size and strength. 
 However, a whistle from George soon brought a 
 gang of his comrades to his aid, and Kunz, finding" 
 himself surrounded, tried to leap into his saddle, 
 and break through the throng by weight of man and 
 horse, but his spur became entangled, the horse ran 
 away, and he was dragged along with his head on 
 the ground till he was taken up by the peasants and
 
 George the Triller. 215 
 
 carried to the convent of Griinheim, whence he was 
 sent to Zwickau, and was thence transported heavily 
 ironed to Freiburg, where he was beheaded on the 
 I4th of July, only a week after his act of violence. 
 The Elector, in his joy at the recovery of even one 
 child, was generous enough to send a pardon, but 
 the messenger reached Freiburg too late, and a 
 stone in the market-place still marks the place of 
 doom, while the grim effigy of Sir Konrad's head 
 grins over the door of the Rathhaus. It was a pity 
 Friedrich's mildness did not extend to sparing tor- 
 ture as well as death to his treacherous scullion, but 
 perhaps a servant's power of injuring his master 
 was thought a reason for surrounding such instances 
 of betrayal with special horrors. 
 
 The party hidden in the Devil's Cleft overheard 
 the peasants in the wood talking of the fall of the 
 Giant of Kauffingen, and, becoming alarmed for 
 themselves, they sent to the governor of the neigh- 
 boring castle of Hartenstein to offer to restore 
 Prince Ernst, provided they were promised a full 
 pardon. The boy had been given up as dead, and 
 intense were the rejoicings of the parents at his 
 restoration. The Devil's Cleft changed its name 
 to the Prince's Cleft, and the tree where Albrecht 
 had lain was called the Prince's Oak, and still re- 
 mains as a witness to the story, as do the moth- 
 eaten garments of the princely children, and the 
 smock of the charcoal-burner, which they offered 
 up in token of thanksgiving at the little forest 
 church of Ebersdorff, near the scene of the rescue. 
 
 " I trillirt the knaves right well," was honest 
 George's way of telling the story of his exploit, not 
 only a brave one, but amounting even to self-devo- 
 tion when we remember that the robber baron was 
 his near neighbor, and a terror to all around. The 
 word Triller took the place of his surname, and 
 when the sole reward he asked was leave freely to
 
 216 A Book of Golden Deeds, 
 
 cut wood in the forest, the Elector gave him a piece 
 of land of his own in the parish of Ebersbach. In 
 1855 there was a grand celebration of the rescue of 
 the Saxon princes on the Qth of July, the four hun- 
 dredth anniversary, with a great procession of forest- 
 ers and charcoal-burners to the " Triller's Brew- 
 ery," which stands where George's hut and kiln 
 were once placed. Three of his descendants then 
 figured in the procession, but since that time all 
 have died, and the family of the Trillers is now 
 extinct.
 
 SIR THOMAS MORE'S DAUGHTER. 
 
 1535- 
 
 WE have seen how dim and doubtful was the 
 belief that upbore the grave and beautiful 
 Antigone 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 Christians were living at 
 peace, worshipping freely, and venturing even to 
 raise churches. Young 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 
 worshipped, incense must be burnt to the statue of 
 the Emperor, or torture and death were the punish- 
 ment. The two brothers Simplicius and Faustinus 
 were thus asked to deny their faith, and resolutely 
 refused. They were cruelly tortured, and at length 
 beheaded, and their bodies thrown into the tawny 
 waters of the Tiber. Their sister Beatrix had taken
 
 21 8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 refuge with a poor 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, was 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. 
 
 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 ten- 
 der care for the dead. This was Margaret, the fa- 
 vorite daughter of Sir Thomas More, the true-heart- 
 ed, 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 earnestly 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 du- 
 tiful 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, bet-
 
 Sir Thomas A fore's Daughter. 219 
 
 ter 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 making them stand in their presence, and 
 striking them for any slight offence, Sir Thomas 
 More thought it his duty to be friendly and affection- 
 ate with them, to talk to them, and to enter into 
 their confidence ; and he was rewarded with their 
 full love and duty. , \i\ s 
 
 He had four children, Margaret, Elizabetn./view 
 ly, and John. His much-loved wife died when :hej 
 were all very young, and he thought it for their 
 good to marry a widow, Mrs. Alice Middleton, with 
 one daughter named Margaret, ,-and he likewise 
 adopted an orphan called Margaret 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 Thom- 
 as, or conversing with the daughters, who had been 
 highly educated, and had much of their father's hu- 
 mor and sprightliness. Even Henry VIII. himself, 
 then one of the most brilliant and graceful gentle- 
 men of his time, would sometimes arrive in his roy- 
 al 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 persuad- 
 ed in her old age to learn to play on various instru- 
 ments, including the flute. The daughters were 
 early given in marriage, and, with their husbands, 
 continued to live under their father's roof. Marga- 
 ret's husband was William Roper, a young lawyer, 
 of whom Sir Thomas was very fond, and his house- 
 hold at Chelsea was thus a large and joyous family 
 home of children and grandchildren, delighting in
 
 220 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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. 
 
 Buj: these glad days were not to last for ever. The 
 trying times of the reign of Henry VIII. were be- 
 ginning, and the question had been stirred whether 
 So king's marriage with Katharine of Arragon had 
 been a lawful one. When Sir Thomas More found 
 p'o,.'- tU VirT was determined to take his own 
 she vr j ' ' ~' * divorce himself without permission 
 . ope, it was against his conscience to re- 
 .aain 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 
 soirits rose higher than ever. His manner of com- 
 iting the change to his wife, who had been 
 , roud 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 sum- 
 . nvi Lady More by coming to her closet door, and 
 S' '^g " Madam, my lord is gone." On the day af- 
 ter s resignation, 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 
 crowned, he was invited to be present, and twenty 
 pounds were offered him to buy a suitably splendid 
 dress for the occasion ; but his conscience would 
 hot allow him to accept the invitation, though he 
 well knew the terrible peril he ran by offending the 
 i-i'no- and queen. Thenceforth there was a determi- 
 nation 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 
 ..i/ by one laJy, and a pair of gloves filled with
 
 Sir Thomas Morels Daughter. 221 
 
 gold coins by another : but it turned out, on examina- 
 tion, 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 would 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 breaking away from Rome, a proceeding 
 that Sir Thomas, both as churchman and as lawyer, 
 could not think legal. Whether 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 
 they 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 ? " 
 " Wouldest thou know, son, why I am so joyful ? 
 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 dissem- 
 ble them and please the king would be much les- 
 sened. That he had held his purpose in spite of
 
 222 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the weakness of mortal nature, was true joy to him, 
 though he was so well aware of the consequences 
 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 off is not given up." 
 
 One day, when he had asked Margaret how the 
 world 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 footballs, 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 citing him, and the whole 
 household were in much alarm, till he explained the 
 jest ; but the earnest came only a few days after- 
 wards. On the 1 3th 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 England, 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 accompany 
 him, whispering into his ear, "I thank our Lord, the 
 field is won."
 
 Sir Thomas Morels Daughter. 223 
 
 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 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 let- 
 ters from his daughter Margaret, who was fully able 
 to enter into the spirit that preferred death to trans- 
 gression. He was tried in Westminster Hall, on 
 the ist of July, and. as he had fully expected, sen- 
 tenced 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
 
 224 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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. She never saw him again ; but 
 the night before his execution he wrote to her a let- 
 ter with a piece of charcoal, with tender remem- 
 brances to all the family, and saying to 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 say- 
 ings. 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 High- 
 ness." 
 
 His body was given to his family, and laid in the 
 tomb he had already prepared in Chelsea 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 Coun- 
 cil, and accused of the stealing of her father's head. 
 She shrank not from avowing that thus it had been, 
 and that the head was 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
 
 Sir Thomas Mare's Daughter. 22i 
 
 she received it. It is far more likely that she went 
 by design, and. at the same time as some faithful 
 friend on the bridge, who detached the precious 
 head, and dropped it down to her in the boat be- 
 neath. 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 VI 11. was not a 
 Creon, and our Christian Antigone was dismissed 
 unhurt by the Council, and* allowed to retain posses- 
 sion of her treasure. She caused it to be embalmed, 
 kept it with her wherever she went, and when, nine 
 years afterwards, she died (in the year 1544), it was 
 laid in her coffin in the " Roper aisle" of St. Duns- 
 tan's church, at Canterbury.
 
 UNDER IVAN THE TERRIBLE. 
 
 "PRINCE ANDREJ KOURBSKY was one of 
 _L the chief boyards or nobles at the Court of 
 Ivan, the first Grand Prince of Muscovy who as- 
 sumed the Eastern title of Tzar, and who relieved 
 Russia from the terrible invasions of the Tatars. 
 This wild race for nearly four hundred years had 
 roamed over the country, destroying and plundering 
 all they met with, and blighting all the attempts at 
 civilization that had begun to be made in the eleventh 
 century. It was only when the Russians learnt the 
 use of fire-arms that these savages were in any de- 
 gree repressed. In the year 1551 the city of Kazan, 
 upon the river Kazanka, a tributary of the Volga, 
 was the last city that remained in the hands of the 
 Tatars. It was a rich and powerful place, a great 
 centre of trade between Europe and the East, but 
 it was also a nest of robbers, who had frequently 
 broken faith with the Russians, and had lately ex- 
 pelled the Khan Schig Alei for having endeavored 
 to fulfil his engagements to them. The Tzar Ivan 
 Vassilovitch, then only twenty-two years of age, 
 therefore marched against the place, resolved at any 
 cost to reduce it and free his country from these 
 inveterate foes. 
 
 On his way he received tidings that the Crimean 
 Tatars had come plundering into Russia, probably
 
 Ivan the Terrible.
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 227 
 
 thinking to attack Moscow, while Ivan was besieg- 
 ing Kisan. He at once sent off the Prince Kourb- 
 sky with 15,000 men, who met double that number 
 of Tatars at Toula, and totally defeated them, pur- 
 suing them to the river Chevorona, where, after a 
 second defeat, they abandoned a great number of 
 Russian captives, and a great many camels. Prince 
 Kourbsky was wounded in the head and shoulder, 
 but was able to continue the campaign. 
 
 Some of the boyards murmured at the war, and 
 declared that their strength and resources were ex- 
 hausted. Upon this the Tzar desired that two lists 
 might be drawn up of the willing and unwilling war- 
 riors in his camp. " The first," he said, " shall be 
 as dear to me as my own children ; their needs shall 
 be made known to me, and I will share all I have 
 with them. The others may stay at home ; I want 
 no cowards in my army." No one of course chose 
 to be in the second list, and about this time was 
 formed the famous guard called the Strelitzes, a 
 body of chosen warriors who were always near the 
 person of the Tzar. 
 
 In the middle of August, 1552, Ivan encamped in 
 the meadows on the banks of the Volga, which 
 spread like a brilliant green carpet around the hill 
 upon which stood the strongly fortified city of Kazan. 
 The Tatars had no fears. ' This is not the first 
 time," they said, " that we have seen the Muscovites 
 beneath our walls. Their fruitless attacks always 
 end in retreats, till we have learnt to laugh them to 
 scorn"; an 1 when Ivan sent them messengers with 
 offers of peace, they replied, " All is ready ; we only 
 await your coming to begin the feast." 
 
 They did not know of the great change that the 
 last half century had made in sieges. One of the 
 Italian condottieri. or leaders of free companies, had 
 made his way to Moscow, and, under his instruc- 
 tions, Ivan's troops were for the first time to conduct
 
 228 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 a siege in the regular modern manner, by digging 
 trenches in the earth, and throwing up the soil in 
 front into a bank, behind which the cannon and 
 gunners are posted, with only small openings made 
 through which to fire at some spot in the enemy's 
 walls. These trenches are constantly worked nearer 
 and nearer to the fortifications, till by the effect of 
 the shot an opening or breach must be made in the 
 walls, and the soldiers can then climb up upon scal- 
 ing ladders or heaps of small faggots piled up to 
 the height of the opening. Sometimes, too, the be- 
 siegers burrow underground till they are just below 
 the wall, then fill the hole with gunpowder, and 
 blow all above, them ; in short, instead of, as in 
 former days, a well-fortified city being almost impos- 
 sible to take, except by starving out the garrison, a 
 siege is in these times almost equally sure to end in 
 favor of 'the besiegers. 
 
 All through August and September the Russians 
 made their approaches, while the Tatars resisted 
 them bravely, but often showing great barbarity. 
 Once when Ivan again sent a herald, accompanied 
 by a number of Tatar prisoners, to offer terms to 
 Yediguer, the present Khan, the defenders called 
 out to their countrymen, " You had better perish by 
 our pure hands than by those of the wretched Chris- 
 tians," and shot a whole flight of arrows at them. 
 Moreover, every morning the magicians used to 
 come out at sunrise upon the walls, and their shrieks, 
 contortions, and waving of garments were believed, 
 not only by the Tatars but by the Russians, and by 
 Andrej Kourbsky himself, to bring foul weather, 
 which greatly harassed the Russians. On this Ivan 
 sent to Moscow for a sacred cross that had been 
 given to the Grand Prince Vladimir when he was 
 converted ; the rivers were blessed, and their water 
 sprinkled round the camp, and the fair weather that 
 ensued was supposed to be due to this counteraction
 
 Undzr Ivj.n tk<: Terrible. 229 
 
 of the incantations of the magicians. These Tatars 
 were Mahomedans, but they must have retained 
 some of the wind-raising enchantments of their 
 Buddhist brethren in Asia. 
 
 A great mine had been made under the gate of 
 Arsk, and eleven barrels of gunpowder placed in it. 
 On the 30th of September it was blown up, and the 
 whole tower became a heap of ruins. For some 
 minutes the consternation of the besieged was such 
 that there was a dead silence like the stillness of the 
 grave. The Russians rushed forward over the open- 
 ing, but the Tatars, recovering at the sight of them, 
 fought desperately, but could not prevent them from 
 taking possession of the tower at the gateway. Other 
 mines were already prepared, and the Tzar gave no- 
 tice of a general assault for the next day, and re- 
 commended all his warriors to purify their souls by 
 repentance, confession, and communion, in readiness 
 for the deadly strife before them. In the mean time, 
 he sent Yediguer a last offer of mercy, but the brave 
 Tatars cried out, "We will have no pardon ! If the 
 Russians have one tower, we will build another ; if 
 they ruin our ramparts we will set up more. We 
 will be buried under the walls of Kazan, or else we 
 will make him raise the siege." 
 
 Early dawn began to break. The sky was clear 
 and cloudless. The Tatars were on their walls, the 
 Russians in their trenches ; the Imperial eagle stand- 
 ard, which Ivan had lately assumed, floated in the 
 morning wind. The two armies were perfectly si- 
 lent, save here and there the bray of a signal trump- 
 et, or beat of a naker-clrum in one or the other, 
 and the continuous hum of the hymns and chants 
 from the three Russian chapel-tents. The archers 
 held their arrows on the string, the gunners stood 
 with lighted matches. The copper-clad domes of 
 the minarets began to glow with the rising sun- 
 beams, the muezzins were on the roofs about to call
 
 230 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the Moskmin to prayer : the deacon in the Tzar's 
 chapel-tent was reading the Gospel, " There shall 
 be one fold and one Shepherd." At that moment 
 the sun's disk appeared above the eastern hills, and 
 ere yet the red orb had fully mounted above the 
 horizon, there was a burst as it were of tremen- 
 dous thunderings, and the ground shook beneath 
 the church. The Tzar went to the entrance, and 
 found the whole city-hill so " rolled in sable smoke," 
 that he could distinguish nothing, and, going back 
 to his place, desired that the service should con- 
 tinue. The deacon was in the midst of the prayer 
 for the establishment of the power of the Tzar and 
 the discomfiture of his' enemies, when the crushing 
 burst of another explosion rushed upon their ears, 
 and as it died away another voice broke forth, the 
 shout raised by every man in the Russian lines, 
 " God is with us ! " On then they marched towards 
 the openings that the mines had made, but there the 
 dauntless garrison, in spite of the terror and destruc- 
 tion caused by the two explosions, met them with 
 unabated fury, rolling beams or pouring boiling wa- 
 ter upon them as they strove to climb the breach, 
 and fighting hand to hand with them if they mount- 
 ed it. However, by the time the Tzar had com- 
 pleted his devotions and mounted his horse, his 
 eagle could be seen above the smoke upon the cita- 
 del. 
 
 Still the city had to be won, step by step, house 
 by house, street by street ; and even while strug- 
 gling onwards the Russians were tempted aside by 
 plunder among the rich stores of merchandise that 
 were heaped up in the warehouses of this, the mart 
 of the East. The Khan profited by their lack of 
 discipline, and forced them back to the walls ; nay, 
 they would have absolutely been driven out at the 
 great gate, but that they beheld their young Tzar on 
 horseback among his gray-haired councillors. By
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 231 
 
 the advice of these old men, Ivan rode forward, and 
 with his own hand planted the sacred standard at 
 the gates, thus forming a barrier that the fugitives 
 were ashamed to pass. At the same time he, with 
 half his choice cavalry, dismounted, and entered the 
 town all fresh and vigorous, their rich armor glitter- 
 ing with gold and silver, and plumes of various col- 
 ors streaming from their helmets in all the brilliancy 
 of Eastern taste. This reinforcement recalled the 
 plunderers to their duty, and the Tatars were driven 
 back to the Khan's palace, whence, after an hour's 
 defence, they were forced to retreat. 
 
 At a postern gate, Andrej Kourbsky and two hun- 
 dred men met Yediguer and 10,000 Tatars, and cut 
 off their retreat, enclosing them in the narrow streets. 
 They forced their Khan to take refuge in a tower, 
 and made signs as if to capitulate. " Listen," they 
 said. " As long as we had a government we were 
 willing to die for our prince and country. Now 
 Kazan is yours, we deliver our Khan to you, alive 
 and unhurt, lead him to the Tzar. For our own 
 part, we are coming down into the open field to 
 drain our last cup of life with you." 
 
 Yediguer and one old councillor were accordingly 
 placed in the hands of an officer, and then the des- 
 perate Tatars, climbing down the outside of the 
 walls, made for the Kazanka, where no troops, ex- 
 cept the small body under Andrej Kourbsky and his 
 brother Romanus, were at leisure to pursue them. 
 The fighting was terrible, but the two princes kept 
 them in view until checked by a marsh which horses 
 could not pass. The bold fugitives took refuge in a 
 forest, where, other Russian troops coming up, all 
 were surrounded and slain, since not a man of them 
 would accept quarter. 
 
 Yediguer was kindly treated by Ivan, and accom- 
 panying him to Moscow, there became a Christian, 
 and was baptized by the name of Simeon, in the
 
 232 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 presence of the Tzar and his whole court, on the 
 banks of the Moskwa. He married a Russian lady, 
 and his whole conduct proved that his conversion 
 was sincere. 
 
 But this story has only been told at so much 
 length to show what manner of man Andrej Kourb- 
 sky was, and Ivan Vassilovitch had been, and how 
 they had once been brethren in arms ; and perhaps 
 it has been lingered over from the melancholy inter- 
 est there must always be in watching the fall of a 
 powerful nation, and the last struggles of gallant 
 men. Ivan was then a gallant, religious, and highly 
 gifted prince, generous and merciful, and with every 
 promise of a glorious reign, full of benefits to his 
 country. Alas ! this part of his career was one 
 glimpse of brightness in- the course of a long tem- 
 pestuous day. His reign had begun when he was 
 but three years old. He .had had a violent and cruel 
 mother, and had, after her death, been bred up by 
 evil-minded courtiers, who absolutely taught him 
 cruel and dissolute amusements in order to prevent 
 him from attending to state affairs. For a time, the 
 exhortations of the good and fearless patriarch, and 
 the influence of his gentle wife Anastasia, had pre- 
 vailed ; and with great vigor and strong principle he 
 had shaken off all the evil habits of his boyhood, 
 and begun, as it seemed, an admirable reign. 
 
 Too soon, a severe illness shook the balance of 
 his mind, and this was quickly followed by the death 
 of the excellent Tzarina Anastasia. Whether grief 
 further unsettled him, or whether the loss of her 
 gentle influence left him a prey to his wicked coun- 
 sellors, from that time forward his conduct was so 
 wildly savage and barbarous as to win for him the 
 surname of th'e Terrible. Frantic actions, extrava- 
 gant excesses, and freaks of horrible cruelty looked 
 like insanity ; and yet, on the other hand, he often 
 showed himself a clear-headed and sagacious mon-
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 233 
 
 arch, anxious for the glory and improvement of his 
 people. 
 
 But he lived in continual suspicion, and dreaded 
 every eminent man in his dominions. Kourbsky, 
 whom he had once loved and trusted, and had 
 charged with the command of his army, as his most 
 able boyard, fell under his suspicion ; and with hor- 
 ror and indignation, learnt that the Tzar was plot- 
 ting against his life, and intended to have him put to 
 death. Kourbsky upon this explained to his wife 
 that she must either see him put to a shameful 
 death, or let him leave her for ever. He gave his 
 blessing to his son, a boy of nine years old, and leav- 
 ing his house at night he scaled the wall of Moscow, 
 and meeting his faithful servant, Vasili Shibanoff, 
 with two horses, he made his escape. This Vasili 
 was his stirrup-bearer, one of those serfs over whom 
 the boyard on whose land they were born possessed 
 absolute power. That power was often abused, but 
 the instinctive faithfulness of the serf towards his 
 master could hardly be shaken, even by the most 
 savage treatment, and a well-treated serf viewed his 
 mister's family with enthusiastic love and venera- 
 tion. Vasili accompanied his master's flight through 
 the birch forests towards the Livonian frontier, the 
 country, where but lately Kourbsky had been leading 
 the Tzar's armies. O.i the way, the prince's horse 
 became exhausted by his weight, and Vasili insist- 
 ed on giving up his own in its stead, though capture 
 in the course of such desertion would have been cer- 
 tain death. However, master and servant safely ar- 
 rived at Wolmar in Livonia, and there Andrej came 
 to the determination of renouncing the service of 
 the ungrateful Ivan, and entering that of the king of 
 Poland. For this last step there was no excuse. 
 Nothing can justify a man in taking up arms against 
 his country, but in the Middle Ages the tie of loyalty 
 was rather to the man than to the state, and Andrej
 
 234 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Kourbsky seems to have deemed that his honor 
 would be safe, provided he sent a letter to his sov- 
 ereign, explaining his grievances and giving up his 
 allegiance. The letter is said to have been full of 
 grave severity and deep, suppressed indignation, 
 though temperate in tone ; but no one would con- 
 sent to be the bearer of such a missive, since the 
 cruel tyrant's first fury was almost certain to fall on 
 him who presented it. Believing his master's hon- 
 or at stake, Vasili offered himself to be the bearer of 
 the fatal letter, and Kourbsky accepted the offer, 
 tendering to him a sum of money, which the serf 
 rejected, knowing that money would soon be of lit- 
 tle service to him, and seeking no reward for what 
 he deemed his duty to his lord. 
 
 As Ivan's justice had turned into barbarity, so his 
 religion had turned into foolish fanatic observance. 
 He had built a monastery near Moscow for himself 
 and three hundred chosen boyards, and every morn- 
 ing at three or four o'clock he took his two sons in- 
 to the belfry with him and proceeded to strike the 
 bells, the Russian mode of ringing them, till all the 
 brethren were assembled. This bell-sounding was 
 his favorite occupation, and in it he was engaged 
 when Vasili arrived. The servant awaited him in 
 the vestibule, and delivered the letter with these 
 words : " From my master and thine exile, Prince 
 Andrej Kourbsky." 
 
 Ivan answered by such a blow on the leg with his 
 iron-tipped rod that the blood poured from the 
 wound ; but Vasili neither started, cried out, nor 
 moved a feature. At once the Tzar bade him be 
 seized and tortured, to make him disclose whether 
 his master had any partners in guilt, or if any plans 
 w : ere matured. But no extremity of agony could 
 extract aught but praises of the prince, and assur- 
 ances of his readiness to die for him. From early 
 morn till late at night the torturers worked, one sue-
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 235 
 
 ceeding when another was tired out ; but nothing 
 could overcome his constancy, and his last words 
 were a prayer to implore his God to have mercy on 
 his mister and forgive his desertion. 
 
 His praise cams even from the tyrant, who wrote 
 to Kourbsky "Let thy servant Vaska* shame 
 thee. He preserved his truth to thee before the 
 Tzar and the people. Having given thee his word 
 of faith, he kept it, even before the gates of death." 
 After the flight of Kourbsky, the rage of Ivan 
 continued to increase with each year of his life. He 
 had formed a sort of body-guard of a thousand ruf- 
 fians, called the Oprichnina, who carried out his 
 barbarous comm in Is, and committed an infinity of 
 murders and robberies on their own account. He 
 was like a distorted caricature of Henry VIII., and 
 like him, united violence and cruelty with great ex- 
 actness about religious worship, carrying his per- 
 sonal observances to the most fanatic extravagance. 
 In the vacancy of the Metropolitan See, he cast 
 his eyes upon the monastery in the little island of 
 Solovsky, in the White Sea, where the Prior, Fee- 
 leep Kolotchof, was noted for his holy life, and the 
 good he had done among the wild and miserable 
 population of the island. He was the son of a rich 
 boyard, but had devoted himself from his youth to a 
 monastic life, and the fame of his exertions in behalf 
 of the islanders had led the Tzar to send him not 
 only precious vessels for the use of his church, but 
 contributions to the stone churches, piers, and hos- 
 telries that he raised for his people ; for whom he 
 had made roads, drained marshes, introduced cat- 
 tle, and made fisheries and salt-pans, changing the 
 whole aspect of the place, and lessening even the in- 
 clemency of the climate. 
 
 On this good man the Tzar fixed his choice. He 
 
 * The abbreviation of Vasili or Basil.
 
 236 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 wrote to him to come to Moscow to attend a synod, 
 and on his arrival made him dine at the palace, and 
 informed him that he was to be chief pastor of the 
 Russian Church. Feeleep burst into tears, entreat- 
 ing permission to refuse, and beseeching the Tzar 
 not to trust " so heavy a freight to such a feeble 
 bark." Ivan held to his determination, and Feeleep 
 then begged him at least to dismiss the cruel Oprich- 
 nina. " How can I bless you," he said, " while I 
 see my country in mourning ? " 
 
 The Tzar replied by mentioning his suspicions 
 of all around him, and commanded Feeleep to be 
 silent. He expected to be sent back to his convent 
 at once, but, instead of this, the Tzar commanded 
 the clergy to elect him Archbishop, and they all 
 added their entreaties to him to accept the office, 
 and endeavor to soften the Tzar, who respected 
 him ; and he yielded at last, saying, " The will of 
 the Tzar and the pastors of the Church must, then, 
 be done." 
 
 At his consecration, he preached a sermon on the 
 power of mildness, and the superiority of the victo- 
 ries of love over the triumphs of war. It awoke 
 the better feelings of Ivan, and for months he ab- 
 stained from any deed of violence ; his good days 
 seemed to have returned, and he lived in intimate 
 friendship with the good Archbishop, 
 
 But after a time the sleeping lion began to waken. 
 Ivan's suspicious mind took up an idea that Fee- 
 leep had been incited by the nobles to request the 
 abolition of the Oprichnina, and that they were 
 exciting a revolt. The spies whom he sent into 
 Moscow told him that wherever an Oprichnik ap- 
 peared, the people shrank away in silence, as, poor 
 things ! they well might He fancied this a sign 
 that conspiracies were brewing, and all his atroci- 
 ties began again. The tortures to which whole 
 families were put were most horrible ; the Oprich-
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 237 
 
 niks went through the streets with poniards and 
 axes seeking out their victims, and killing from ten 
 to twenty a day. The corpses lay in the streets, 
 for no one dared to leave his house to bury them. 
 Feeleep vainly sent letters and exhortations to the 
 Tzar, they were unnoticed. The unhappy citi- 
 zens came to the Archbishop, entreating him to in- 
 tercede for them, and he gave them his promise that 
 he would not spare his own blood to save theirs. 
 
 One Sunday, as Feeleep was about to celebrate 
 the Holy Communion, Ivan came into the Cathe- 
 dral with a troop of his satellites, like him, fantasti- 
 cally dressed in black cassocks and high caps. He 
 came towirds the Metropolitan, but Feeleep kept 
 his eyes fixed on the picture of our Lord, and never 
 looked at him. So,ne one said, "' Holy Father, here 
 is the prince ; give him your blessing." 
 
 No," said the Archbishop, " I know not the 
 Tzar in this strange disguise, still less do I know 
 him in his government O" Prince ! we are here 
 offering sacrifice to the Lord, and beneath the altar 
 the blood of guiltless Christians is flowing in tor- 
 rents You are indeed on the throne, but there 
 
 is One above all, our Judge and yours. How shall 
 you appear before His Judgment Seat? stained 
 with the blood of the righteous, stunned with their 
 shrieks, for the stones beneath your feet cry out for 
 vengeance to heaven. Prince, I speak as shepherd 
 of souls ; I fear God alone." 
 
 The Archbishop was within the golden gates, 
 which, in Russian churches, close in the sanctuary 
 or chancel, and are only entered by the clergy. He 
 was thus out of reach of the cruel iron-tipped staff, 
 which the Tzar could only strike furiously on the 
 pavement, crying out, " Rash monk, I have spared 
 you too long. Henceforth I will be to you such as 
 you describe." 
 
 The murders went on in their full horrors ; but,
 
 238 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 in spite of the threat, the Archbishop remained un- 
 molested, though broken-hearted at the cruelties 
 around him. At last, however, his resolute witness 
 became more than the tyrant would endure, and 
 messengers were secretly sent to the island of So- 
 lovsky, to endeavor to find some accusation against 
 him. They tampered with all the monks in the 
 convent, to induce them to find some fault in him, 
 but each answered that he was a saint in every 
 thought, word, and deed ; until at last Payssi, the 
 prior who had succeeded him, was induced, by the 
 hope of a bishopric, to bear false witness against 
 him. 
 
 He was cited before an assembly of bishops and 
 boyards, presided over by the Tzar, and there he 
 patiently listened to the monstrous stories told by 
 Payssi. Instead of defending himself, he simply 
 said, " This seed will not bring you a good har- 
 vest " ; and, addressing himself to the Tzar, said, 
 " Prince, you are mistaken if you think I fear death. 
 Having attained an advanced age, far from stormy 
 passions and worldly intrigues, I only desire to re- 
 turn my soul to the Most High, my Sovereign Mas- 
 ter and yours. Better to perish an innocent martyr, 
 than as Metropolitan to look on at the horrors and 
 impieties of these wretched times. Do what you 
 will with me ! Here are the pastoral staff, the 
 white mitre, and the mantle with which you in- 
 vested me. And you, bishops, archimandrites, 
 abbots, servants of the altar, feed the flock of 
 Christ zealously, as preparing to give an account 
 thereof, and fear the Judge of Heaven more than 
 the earthly judge." 
 
 He was then departing, when the Tzar recalled 
 him, .saying that he could not be his own judge, 
 and that he must await his sentence. In truth, 
 worse indignities were preparing for him. He was 
 in the midst of the Liturgy on the 8th of Novem-
 
 Under Ivan the Terrible. 239 
 
 her, the Greek Michaelmas, when a boyard came in 
 with a troop of armed Oprichniks, who overawed 
 the people, while the boyard read a paper degrad- 
 ing the Metropolitan from his sacred office ; and 
 then the ruffians, entering through the golden 
 gates, tore off his mitre and robes, wrapped him 
 in a mean gown, absolutely swept him out of the 
 church with brooms, and took him in a sledge to 
 the Convent of the Epiphany. The people ran 
 after him, weeping bitterly, while the venerable old 
 man blessed them with uplifted hands, and, when- 
 ever he could be heard, repeated his last injunction, 
 " Pray, pray to God." 
 
 Once again he was led before the Emperor, to 
 hear the monstrous sentence, that for sorcery, and 
 other heavy charges, he was to be imprisoned for 
 life. He said no reproachful word, only, for the 
 last time, he besought the Tzar to have pity on 
 Russia, and to remember how his ancestors had 
 reigned, and the happy days of his youth. Ivan 
 only commanded the soldiers to take him away ; 
 and he was heavily ironed and thrown into a dun- 
 geon, whence he was afterwards transferred to a 
 convent on the banks of the Moskwa, where he was 
 kept bare of almost all the necessaries of life : and 
 in a few days' time the head of Ivan Borissovitch 
 Kolotchof, the chief of his family, was sent to him, 
 with the message, " Here are the remains of your 
 dear kinsman, your sorcery could not save him ! " 
 Feeleep calmly took the head in his arms, blessed 
 it, and gave it back. 
 
 The people of Moscow gathered round the con- 
 vent, gazed at his cell, and told each other stories 
 of his good works, which they began to magnify 
 into miracles. Thereupon the Emperor sent him 
 to another convent, at a greater distance. Here he 
 remained till the next year, 1569, when Maluta 
 Skouratof, a Tatar noted as a favorite of the Tzar,
 
 240 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 and one of the chief ministers of his cruelty, came 
 into his cell, and demanded his blessing fcr the 
 Tzar. 
 
 The Archbishop replied that blessings only await 
 
 food men and good works, adding tranquilly, "I 
 now what you are come for. I have long looked 
 for death. Let the Tzar's will be done." The as- 
 sassin then smothered him, but pretended to the 
 abbot that he had been stifled ty the heat of the 
 cell. He was buried in haste behind the altar, but 
 his remains have since been removed to his own 
 cathedral at Moscow, the scene where he had freely 
 offered his own life by confronting the tyrant in the 
 vain endeavor to save his people. 
 
 Vain, too, was the reproof of the hermit, who 
 shocked Ivan's scruples by offering him a piece of 
 raw flesh in the middle of Lent, and told him that 
 he was preying on the flesh and blood of his sub- 
 jects. The crimes of Ivan grew more and more 
 terrible, and yet his acuteness was such that they 
 can hardly be ascribed to insanity. He caused the 
 death of his own son by a blow with that fatal staff 
 of his ; and at last, after a fever, varied by terrible 
 delirium, in which alone his remorse manifested it- 
 self, he died while setting up the pieces for a game 
 at chess, on the iyth of March, 1584. 
 
 This has been a horrible story, in reality infinitely 
 more horrible than we have made it ; but there is 
 this blessing among many others in Christianity, 
 that the blackest night makes its diamonds only 
 show their living lustre more plainly : and surely 
 even Ivan the Terrible, in spite of himself, did some- 
 thing for the world in bringing out the faithful fear- 
 lessness of Archbishop Feeleep, and the constancy 
 of the stirrup-bearer, Vasili.
 
 FORT ST. ELMO. 
 1565. 
 
 *~pHE white cross of the Order of St. John waved 
 L on the towers of Rhodes for two hundred and 
 fifty-five years. In 1552, after a desperate resist- 
 ance, the Turks, under their great Sultan, Solyman 
 the Magnificent, succeeded in driving the Knights 
 Hospitaliers from their beautiful home, and they 
 were again cast upon the world. 
 
 They were resolved, however, to continue their old 
 work of protecting the Mediterranean travellers, and 
 thankfully accepted, as a gift from the Emperor 
 Charles V., the little islet of Malta as their new sta- 
 tion. It was a great contrast to their former home, 
 being little more than a mere rock rising steeply 
 out of the sea, white, glaring, and with very shallow 
 earth, unfit to bear corn, though it produced plenty 
 of oranges, figs, and melons, with little water, and 
 no wood, the buildings wretched, and for the most 
 part uninhabited, and the few people a miserable, 
 mongrel set. part Arab, part Greek, part Sicilian, 
 and constantly kept down by the descents of the 
 Moorish pirates, who used to land in the unpro- 
 tected bays, and carry off all the wretched beings 
 they could catch, to sell for slaves. It was a miser- 
 able exchange from fertile Rhodes, which was nearly 
 five times larger than this barren rock ; but the 
 Knights only wanted a hospital, a fortress, and a 
 16
 
 242 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 harbor ; and this last they found in the deeply-in- 
 dented northern shore, while they made the two first. 
 Only a few years had passed before the dreary 
 Citta Notabile had become in truth a notable city, 
 full of fine castle-like houses, infirmaries, and noble 
 churches, and fenced in with mighty walls and bat- 
 tlements. Country-houses were perched upon the 
 rocks ; the harbors were fortified, and filled with 
 vessels of war ; and deep vaults were hollowed out 
 in the rock, in which corn was stored sufficient to 
 supply the inhabitants for many months. 
 
 Everywhere that there was need was seen the red 
 flag with the eight-pointed cross. If there was an 
 earthquake on the shores of Italy or Sicily, there 
 were the ships of St. John, bringing succor to the 
 crushed and ruined towns-people. In every battle 
 with Turk or Moor, the Knights were among the 
 foremost ; and, as ever before, their galleys were the 
 aid of the peaceful merchant, and the terror of the 
 corsair. Indeed, they were nearer Tunis, Tripoli, 
 and Algiers, the great nests of these Moorish pi- 
 rates, and were better able to threaten them, and 
 thwart their cruel descents, than when so much far- 
 ther eastward ; and the Mahometan power found 
 them quite as obnoxious in Malta as in Rhodes. 
 
 Solyman the Magnificent resolved, in his old age, 
 to sweep these obstinate Christians from the seas, 
 and, only twelve years after the siege of Rhodes, 
 prepared an enormous armament, which he united 
 with those of the*Barbary pirates, and placed under 
 the command of Mustafa and Piali, his two bravest 
 pashas, and Dragut, a terrible Algerine corsair, who 
 had already made an attempt upon the island, but 
 had been repulsed by the good English knight, Sir 
 Nicholas Upton. Without the advice of this pirate 
 the Sultan desired that nothing should be undertaken. 
 
 The Grand Master who had to meet this tremen- 
 dous danger was Jean Parisot de La Valette, a brave
 
 Fort St. Elmo. 243 
 
 and resolute man, as noted for his piety and tender- 
 ness to the sick in the infirmaries as for his unflinch- 
 ing; courage. When he learnt the intentions of the 
 Sultan, he began by collecting a Chapter of his Or- 
 der, and, after laying his tidings before them, said : 
 " A formidable army and a cloud of barbarians are 
 about to burst on this isle. Brethren, they are the 
 enemies of Jesus Christ. The question is the de- 
 fence of the Faith, and whether the Gospel shall 
 yield to the Koran. God demands from us the life that 
 we have already devoted to Him by our profession. 
 Happy they who in so good a cause shall first con- 
 summate their sacrifice. But, that we may be wor- 
 thy, my brethren, let us hasten to the altar, there to 
 renew our vows ; and may to each one of us be im- 
 parted, by the very Blood of the Saviour of mankind, 
 and by faithful participation in His Sacraments, that 
 generous contempt of death that can alone render 
 us invincible." 
 
 With these words he led the way to the church, 
 and there was not an individual knight who did not 
 on that day confess and receive the Holy Commun- 
 ion ; after which they were as new men, all dis- 
 putes, all trivialities and follies were laid aside, and 
 the whole community awaited the siege like persons 
 under a solemn dedication. 
 
 The chief harbor of Malta is a deep bay, turned 
 towards the north, and divided into two lesser bays 
 by a large tongue of rock, on the point of which 
 stood a strong castle, calle.l Fort St. Elmo. The 
 gulf to the westward Iris ;i little island in it. and both 
 ijulf and islet are called Marza Muscat. The gulf 
 to the east, called the Grand Port, was again divided 
 by three fingers of rock projecting from the main- 
 land, at right angles to the tongue that bore Fort 
 St Elmo. Each finger was armed with a strong 
 talon, the Castle of La Sangle to the east, the 
 Castle of St Angelo in the middle, and Fort Rica-
 
 244 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 soli to the west. Between St. Angelo and La San- 
 gle was the harbor where all the ships of war were 
 shut up at night by an immense chain ; and behind 
 was il Borgo, the chief fortification in the island. 
 Citta Notabile and Gozo were inland, and their fate 
 would depend upon that of the defences of the har- 
 bor. To defend all this, the Grand Master could 
 only number 700 knights and 8,500 soldiers. He 
 sent to summon home all those of the Order who 
 were dispersed in the different commanderies in 
 France, Spain, and Germany, and entreated aid 
 from the Spanish king, Philip II., who wished to be 
 considered as the prime champion of Roman Catho- 
 lic Christendom, and who alone had the power of 
 assisting him. The Duke of Alva, viceroy for Philip 
 in Sicily, made answer that he would endeavor to 
 relieve the Order, if they could hold out Fort St. 
 Elmo till the fleet could be got together ; but that 
 if this castle were once lost, it would be impossible 
 to bring them aid, and they must be left to their 
 fate. 
 
 The Grand Master divided the various posts to 
 the knights according to their countries.. The Span- 
 iards under the Commander De Guerras, Bailiff of 
 Negropont, had the Castle of St. Elmo ; the French 
 had Port de la Sangle ; the Germans, and the few 
 English knights whom the Reformation had left, 
 were charged with the defence of the Port of the 
 Borgo, which served as head-quarters, and the Com- 
 mander Copier, with a body of troops, was to re- 
 main outside the town and watch and harass the 
 enemy. 
 
 On the i8th of May, 1565, the Turkish fleet came 
 in sight. It consisted of 159 ships, rowed by Chris- 
 tian slaves between the decks, and carrying 30,000 
 Janissaries and Spahis, the terrible warriors to whom 
 the Turks owed most of their victories, and after 
 them came, spreading for miles over the blue wa-
 
 Fort St. Elmo. 245 
 
 ters, a multitude of ships of burden bringing the 
 horses of the Spahis, and such heavy battering-can- 
 non as rendered the dangers of a siege infinitely 
 greater than in former days. These Janissaries 
 were a strange, distorted resemblance of the knights 
 themselves, for they were bound in a strict brother- 
 hood of arms, and were not married, so as to care 
 for nothing but each other, the Sultan, and the hon- 
 or of their troop. They were not dull, apathetic 
 Turks, but chiefly natives of Circassia and Georgia, 
 the land where the human race is most beautiful and 
 nobly formed. They were stolen from their homes, 
 or, too often, sold by their parents when too young 
 to remember their Christian baptism, and were bred 
 up as Mahometans, with no home but their corps, 
 no kindred but their fellow-soldiers. Their title, 
 given by the Sultan who first enrolled them, meant 
 New Soldiers, their ensign was a camp kettle, as 
 that of their Pashas was one, two, or three horses' 
 tails, in honor of the old Kurdish chief, the founder 
 of the Turkish empire ; but there was no homeli- 
 ness in their appointments, their weapons scimi- 
 tars, pistols, and carabines were crusted with gold 
 and jewels ; their head-dress, though made in imita- 
 tion of a sleeve, was gorgeous, and their garments 
 were of the richest wool and silk, dyed with the 
 deep, exquisite colors of the East. Terrible war- 
 riors were they, and almost equally dreaded were 
 the Spahis. light horsemen from Albania and the 
 other Greek and Bulgarian provinces, who had en- 
 tered the Turkish service, and were great plunderers, 
 swift and cruel, glittering, both man and horse, with 
 the jewels they had gained in their forays. 
 
 These were chiefly troops for the land attack, and 
 they were set on shore at Port St. Thomas, where 
 the commanders, Mustafa and Piali, held a .council, 
 to decide where they should first attack. Piali 
 wished to wait for Dragut, who was daily expected,
 
 246 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 but Mustafa was afraid of losing time, and of being 
 caught by the Spanish fleet, and insisted on at once 
 laying siege to Fort St. Elmo, which was, he thought, 
 so small' that it could not hold out more than five or 
 six days. 
 
 Indeed, it could not hold above 300 men, but these 
 were some of the bravest of the knights, and as it 
 was only attacked on the land side, they were able 
 to put off boats at night and communicate with the 
 Grand Master and their brethren in the Borgo. The 
 Turks set up their batteries, and fired their enor- 
 mous cannon-shot upon the fortifications. One of 
 their terrible pieces of ordnance carried stone balls 
 of 1 60 Ibs., and no wonder that stone and mortar 
 gave way before it, and that a breach was opened in 
 a few days' time. That night, when, as usual, boat- 
 loads of wounded men were transported across to 
 the Borgo, the Bailiff of Negropont sent the knight 
 La Cerda to the Grand Master to give an account 
 of the state of things and ask for help. La Cerda 
 spoke strongly, and, before a great number of 
 knights, declared that there was no chance of so 
 weak a place holding out for more than a week. 
 
 " What has been lost," said the Grand Master, 
 " since you cry out for help ? " 
 
 "Sir," replied La Cerda, "the castle may be re- 
 garded as a patient in extremity and devoid of 
 strength, who can only be sustained by continual 
 remedies and constant succor." 
 
 " I will be doctor myself," replied the Grand Mas- 
 ter, " and will bring others with me, who, if they 
 cannot cure you of fear, will at least be brave 
 jnough to prevent the infidels from seizing the fort." 
 
 The fact was, as he well knew, that the little fort 
 tould not hold out long, and he grieved over the fate 
 of his knights ; but time was everything, and the 
 fate of the whole isle depended upon the white cross 
 being still on that point of land when the tardy
 
 Fort St. Elino. 247 
 
 Sicilian fleet should set sail. He was one who would 
 ask no one to run into perils that he would not 
 share, and he was bent on throwing himself into St. 
 Elmo, and being rather buried under the ruins than 
 to leave the Mussulmans free a moment sooner than 
 could be helped to attack the Borgo and Castle of 
 St. Angelo. But the whole Chapter of Knights en- 
 treated him to abstain, and so many volunteered for 
 this desperate service, that the only difficulty was to 
 choose among them. Indeed, La Cerda had done 
 the garrison injustice ; no one's heart was failing 
 but his own ; and the next day there was a respite, 
 for a cannon-shot from St. Angelo falling into the 
 enemy's camp, shattered a stone, a splinter of which 
 struck down Piali Pasha. He was thought dead, 
 and the camp and fleet were in confusion, which 
 enabled the Grand Master to send off his nephew, 
 the Chevalier de la Valette Cornusson, to Messina, 
 to entreat the Viceroy of Sicily to hasten to their 
 relief; to give him a chart of the entrance of the 
 harbor, and a list of signals, and to desire in especial 
 that two ships belonging to the Order, and filled 
 with the knights who had hurried from distant lands 
 too late for the beginning of the siege, might come 
 to him at once. To this the Viceroy returned a 
 promise that at latest the fleet should sail on the 
 1 5th of June, adding an exhortation to him at all 
 sacrifices to maintain St. Elmo. This reply the 
 Grand Master transmitted to the garrison^and it 
 nerved them to fight even with more patience and 
 self-sacrifice. A desperate sally was led by the 
 Chevalier de Meclran. who fought his way into the 
 trenches where the Turkish cannon were planted, 
 and at first drove all before him ; but the Janissaries 
 rallied and forced back the Christians out of the 
 trenches. Unfortunately there was a high wind, 
 which drove the smoke of the artillery down on the 
 counter-scarp (the slope of masonry facing the ram- 
 part), and while it was thus hidden from the Chris-
 
 248 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 tians, the Turks succeeded in effecting a lodgment 
 there, fortifying themselves with trees and sacks of 
 earth and wool. When the smoke cleared off, the 
 knights were dismayed to see the horse-tail ensigns 
 of the Janissaries so near them, and cannon already 
 prepared to batter the ravelin, or outwork protecting 
 the gateway. 
 
 La Cerda proposed to blow this fortification up, 
 and abandon it, but no other knight would hear of 
 deserting an inch of wall while it could yet be held 
 
 But again the sea was specked with white sails 
 from the southeast. Six galleys came from Egypt, 
 bearing 900 troops, Mameluke horsemen, troops 
 recruited much like the Janissaries and quite as for- 
 midable. These ships were commanded by Ulucciali, 
 an Italian, who had denied his faith and become a Ma- 
 hometan, and was thus regarded with especial hor- 
 ror by the chivalry of Malta. And the swarm thick- 
 ened for a few days more ; like white-winged and 
 beautiful but venomous insects hovering round 
 their prey, the graceful Moorish galleys and galliots 
 came up from the south, bearing 600 dark-visaged, 
 white-turbaned, lithe-limbed Moors from Tripoli, 
 under Dragut himself. The thunders of all the guns 
 roaring forth their salute of honor, told the garrison 
 that the most formidable enemy of all had arrived. 
 And now their little white rock was closed in on 
 every side, with nothing but its own firmness to be 
 its aid. 
 
 Dragut did not approve of having begun with at- 
 tacking Fort St. Elmo ; he thought that the inland 
 towns should have been first taken, and Mustafa of- 
 fered to discontinue the attack, but this the Corsair 
 said could not now be done with honor, and under 
 him the attack went on more furiously than ever. 
 He planted a battery of four guns on the point 
 guarding the entrance of Marza Muscat, the other 
 gulf, and the spot has ever since been called Dra- 
 gut's Point. Strange to say, the soldiers in the
 
 Fort St. Elmo. 249 
 
 ravelin fell asleep, and thus enabled the enemy to 
 scramble up by climbing on one another's shoulders 
 and enter the place. As soon as the alarm was 
 given, the Bailiff of Negropont, with a number of 
 knights, rushed into the ravelin, and fought with the 
 utmost desperation, but all in vain ; they never suc- 
 ceeded in dislodging the Turks, and had almost been 
 followed by them into the fort itself. Only the ut- 
 most courage turned back the enemy at last, and, it 
 was believed, with a loss of 3,000. 'The Order had 
 twenty knights and a hundred soldiers killed, with 
 many more wounded. One knight named Abel de 
 Bridiers, who was shot through the body, refused to 
 be assisted by his brethren, saying, " Reckon me 
 no more among the living. You will be doing bet- 
 ter by defending our brothers." He dragged him- 
 self away, and was found dead before the altar 
 in the castle chapel. The other wounded were 
 brought back to the Borgo in boats at night, and La 
 Cerda availed himself of a slight scratch to come 
 with them and remain, though the Bailiff of Negro- 
 pont, a very old man, and with a really severe 
 wound, returned as soon as it had been dressed, to- 
 gether with the reinforcements sent to supply the 
 place of those who had been slain. The Grand Mas- 
 ter, on finding how small had been La Cerda's hurt, 
 put him in prison, for several days ; but he was af- 
 terwards released, and met his death bravely on the 
 ramparts of the Borgo. 
 
 The 1 5th of June was passed. Nothing would 
 make the Sicilian Viceroy move, nor even let the 
 war-ships of the Order sail with their own knights, 
 and the little fort that had been supposed unable to 
 hold out a week, had for full a month resisted every 
 attack of the enemy. 
 
 At last Dragut, though severely wounded while 
 reconnoitring, set up a battery on the hill of Calca- 
 ra, so as to command the strait, and hinder the sue-
 
 250 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 cors from being sent across to the fort. The wound- 
 ed were laid down in the chapel and the vaults, and 
 well it was for them that each knight of the Order 
 could be surgeon and nurse. One good swimmer 
 crossed under cover of darkness with their last mes- 
 sages, and La Valette prepared five armed boats for 
 their relief; but the enemy had fifteen already in the 
 bay, and communication was entirely cut off. It 
 was the night before the 23d of June when these 
 brave men knew their time was come. All night 
 they prayed, and prepared themselves to die by giv- 
 ing one another the last rites of the Church, and at 
 daylight each repaired to his post, those who could 
 not walk being carried in chairs, and sat ghastly 
 figures, sword in hand, on the brink of the breach, 
 ready for their last fight. 
 
 By the middle of the day every Christian knight in 
 St. Elmo had died upon his post, and the little heap 
 of ruins was in the hands of the enemy. Dragut 
 was dying of his wound, but just lived to hear that 
 the place was won, when it had cost the Sultan 
 8,000 men ! Well might Mustafa say, " If the son 
 has cost us so much, what will the father do ? " 
 
 It would be too long to tell the glorious story of 
 the three months' further siege of the Borgo. The 
 patience and the resolution of the knights was un- 
 shaken, though daily there were tremendous battles, 
 and week after week passed by without the tardy 
 relief from Spain. It is believed that Philip II. 
 thought that the Turks would exhaust themselves 
 against the Order, and forbade his Viceroy to haz- 
 ard his fleet ; but at last he was shamed into per- 
 mitting the armament to be fitted out. Two hun- 
 dred knights of St. John were waiting at Messina, 
 in despair at being unable to reach their brethren 
 in their deadly strait, and constantly haunting the 
 Viceroy's palace, till he grew impatient, and declared 
 they did not treat him respectfully enough nor call 
 him " Excellency."
 
 Fort St. Elmo. 251 
 
 " Senor," said one of them, " if you will only bring 
 us in time to save the Order, I will call you any- 
 thing you please, excellency, highness, or majesty 
 itself." 
 
 At last, on the ist of September, the fleet really 
 set sail, but it hovered cautiously about on the far- 
 ther side of the island, and only landed 6.000 
 men and then returned to Sicily. However, the tid- 
 ings of its approach had spread such a panic among 
 the Turkish soldiers, who were worn out and ex- 
 hausted by their exertions, that they hastily raised 
 the siege, abandoned their heavy artillery, and, re- 
 moving their garrison from Fort St. Elmo, re-em- 
 barked in haste and confusion. No sooner, how- 
 ever, was the Pasha in his ship than he became 
 ashamed of his precipitation, more especially when 
 he learned that the relief that had put 16,000 men 
 to flight consisted only of 6,000, and he resolved to 
 land and give battle ; but his troops were angry and 
 unwilling, and were actually driven out of their ships 
 by blows. 
 
 In the mean time, the Grand Master had again 
 placed a garrison in St. Elmo, which the Turks 
 had repaired and restored, and once more the 
 cross of St. John waved on the end of its tongue of 
 land to greet the Spanish allies. A battle was 
 fought with the newly-arrived troops, in which the 
 Turks were defeated ; they again took to their ships, 
 and the Viceroy of Sicily, from Syracuse, heheld 
 their fleet in full sail for the East. 
 
 Meantime, the gates of the Borgo were thrown 
 open to receive the brethren and friends who had 
 been so long held back from coming to the relief of 
 the home of the Order. Four months' siege, by the 
 heaviest artillery in Europe, had shattered the walls 
 and destroyed the streets, till, to the eyes of the new 
 comers, the town looked like a place taken by as- 
 sault, and sacked by the enemy ; and of the whole
 
 252 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 garrison, knights, soldiers, and sailors, all together, 
 only six hundred were left able to bear arms, and 
 they for the most part covered with wounds. The 
 Grand Master and his surviving knights could 
 hardly be recognized, so pale and altered were they 
 by wounds and excessive fatigue ; their hair, beards, 
 dress, and armor showing that for four full months 
 they had hardly undressed, or lain down unarmed. 
 The new comers could not retain their tears, but all 
 together proceeded to the church to return thanks 
 for the conclusion of their perils and afflictions. Re- 
 joicings extended all over Europe, above all in Ita- 
 ly, Spain, and southern France, where the Order of 
 St. John was the sole protection against the de- 
 scents of the Barbary corsairs. The Pope sent La 
 Valette a cardinal's hat, but he would not accept it, 
 as unsuited to his office; Philip II. presented him 
 with a jewelled sword and dagger. Some thousand 
 unadorned swords a few months sooner would have 
 been a better testimony to his constancy, and that 
 of the brave men whose lives Spain had wasted by 
 her cruel delays. 
 
 The Borgo was thenceforth called Citk Vittoriosa ; 
 but La Valette decided on building the chief town 
 of the isle on the peninsula of Fort St. Elmo, and 
 in this work he spent his latter days, till he was 
 killed by a sun-stroke, while superintending the new 
 works of the city which is deservedly known by his 
 name, as Valetta. 
 
 The Order of St. John lost much of its character, 
 and was finally swept from Malta in the general 
 confusion of the Revolutionary wars. The British 
 crosses now float in the harbor of Malta ; but the 
 steep white rocks must ever bear the memory of the 
 self-devoted endurance. of the beleaguered knights, 
 and, foremost of all, of those who perished in St. El- 
 mo, in order that the signal banner might to the 
 very last summon the tardy Viceroy to their aid.
 
 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 practised 
 eye detected that the wings that bore them were 
 those of a bird of prey. He knew them for African 
 brigantines, 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 rowers chained to 
 the oar. Sure as the pounce of a hawk upon a par- 
 tridge 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 un- 
 equal, 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 cap-
 
 254 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 tain 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 en- 
 deavors 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 
 Marseilles ; 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 of the 
 faith. It was true that France had scandalized Eu- 
 rope by making peace with the Dey of Tunis, but 
 this was a trifle to the corsairs ; and when, after 
 seven days' farther cruising, they put into the har- 
 bor 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 gar- 
 ments 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 those of 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 en- 
 dured 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.
 
 The Voltmtary Convict. 255 
 
 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 
 u.si 1 . so lie was sold again to one of the Moorish 
 physicians, the like of whom may still be seen, 
 smoking their pipes sleepily, under their white tur- 
 bins, cross-legged, among the dru^s in their, shop- 
 windows, these being small open spaces beneath 
 the beautiful stone lace-work of the Moorish lattices. 
 The physician 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 mak- 
 ing gold. He found his slave's learning and intelli- 
 gence 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 sufficiently 
 to be always grateful for the grace that had carried 
 him through it. At the end of a year, the old doc- 
 tor 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 
 renegade, and had the charge of one of the farms 
 of the Dey of Tunis. The farm was on a hillside 
 in an extremely hot and exposed region, and Vin- 
 cent 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 relig- 
 ion. 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 wo- 
 man at last told her husband that he must have 
 been wrong in forsaking a religion of which her
 
 256 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 slave had told her such wonderful things. Her 
 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 miserable position 
 as an apostate. A change of religion on the part 
 of a Mahometan is, however, 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, terri- 
 fied 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 we 
 know is, that master and slave trusted themselves 
 alone to a small bark, and, safely crossing the Med- 
 iterranean, landed at Aigues Mortes, on the 28th 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 wait 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 Vincent visiting at a hospital 
 at Paris, where he gave such exceeding comfort to 
 the patients that all with one voice declared him a 
 messenger from heaven. 
 
 He afterwards 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 oif the " Galeres," or Hulks,
 
 The Voluntary Convict. 257 
 
 the 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 slaves of the Africans. Go- 
 ing the round of these prison-ships, the horrible 
 state of the convicts, their halt-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 
 am )n^ these wretched 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 sor- 
 rowfulness 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-sacri- 
 fice. 
 
 He absolutely changed places with the convict 
 Probably some arrangement was made with the im- 
 mjJiate jiilor 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 prisoner 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 re- 
 ceived 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 
 17
 
 258 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 re- 
 turned, and it makes the fact certain. It would be a 
 dangerous precedent if prison chaplains were to 
 change places with their charges ; and, beautiful 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 then many who had 
 been condemned for resistance to the arbitrary will 
 of Cardinal de Richelieu, men not necessarily cor- 
 rupt 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 in- 
 finitely 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, better 
 regulations established, and, for a time, both prisons 
 and galleys were wonderfully improved, 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, tend- 
 ing 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
 
 The Voluntary Convict. 259 
 
 told all his golden deeds they would fill an entire 
 book. So we will only wait to tell how he showed 
 his remembrance of whit he had gone through in 
 his African captivity. The redemption of the pris- 
 oners ^ there might have seemed his first thought, 
 but that he did so much in other quarters. At dif- 
 ferent 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 might be 
 set free, an 1 he raised enough to release nol 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 per- 
 mitted to reside in the consul's house, and to minis- 
 ter to the souls and bodies of the Christian slaves, 
 of whom there were 6.000 in Tunis alone, besides 
 those in Algiers, Tangier, and Tripoli ! 
 
 Permission was gained, and a mission of Lazarist 
 brothers arrived. This, txx was an Order founded- 
 bv Vincent, consisting of priestly nurses like the 
 Hospitallers, though not like them warriors. They 
 came in the midst of a dreadful visitation of the 
 plague, and nursed and tended the sick, both Chris- 
 tians and Mahometans, 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 Char- 
 ity 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 cor- 
 sairs at Algiers, which has since become a French 
 colony.
 
 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 can- 
 not be omitted here. 
 
 It was in the first commencement of the long con- 
 test known as the strife between the Guelfs and Ghib- 
 ellines before even these had become the party 
 words for the Pope's and the Emperor's friends, and 
 when they only applied to the troops of Bavaria and 
 Swabia that, in 1 141, 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 offer. 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 wo- 
 men in the garrison, that they might come out with 
 as much of their valuables as they could carry. 
 
 This was freely granted, and presently the castle
 
 The Housewives of Lbwenburg. 261 
 
 gates opened. From beneath them came the ladies, 
 but in strange guise. No gold nor jewels were 
 curried 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 performance ; he hastened to assure 
 the ladies of the perfect safety of their lords, and 
 that the gentlemen 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 Guelfs 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 Weibertreue, or woman's 
 fidelity. We will not invidiously translate it wo- 
 man's truth, for there was in the transaction some- 
 thing of a subterfuge ; and it must be owned that 
 the ladies tried to the utmost the knightly respect 
 for womankind. 
 
 The good women of Lb'wenburg, who were but 
 citizens 1 wives, seem to us more worthy of admira- 
 tion for constancy to their faith, shown at a time 
 when they had little to aid them. It was such con- 
 stancy as makes martyrs ; and though the trial 
 stopped short of this, there is something in the 
 homeliness of the whole scene, and the feminine 
 form of passive resistance, that makes us so much 
 honor and a Imire the good women that we cannot 
 refrain from telling the story. 
 
 It was iu the year 1631, in the midst of the long 
 Thirty Years' War between Roman Catholics and 
 Protestants, which finally decided that each state 
 should have its own religion, Lowenburg, a city in 
 Silesia, originally Protestant, had passed into the 
 hands of the Emperor's Roman Catholic party. It 
 was a fine old German city, standing amid woods
 
 262 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 and meadows, fortified with strong walls surrounded 
 by a moat, and with gate-towers to protect the en- 
 trance. 
 
 In the centre was a large market-place, called the 
 Ring, into which looked the Council-house and four- 
 teen inns, or places of traffic, for the cloth that was 
 woven in no less than three hundred factories. The 
 houses were of stone, with gradually-projecting sto- 
 ries to the number of four or five, surmounted with 
 pointed gables. The ground floors had once had 
 trellised porches, but these had been found incon- 
 venient and were removed, and the lower story con- 
 sisted of a large hall, and strong vault, with a spa- 
 cious room behind it containing a baking-oven, and 
 a staircase leading to a wooden gallery, where the 
 family used to dine. It seems they slept in the 
 room below, though they had up stairs a handsome 
 wainscoted apartment. 
 
 Very rich and flourishing had the Lowenburgers 
 always been, and their walls were quite sufficient to 
 turn back any robber barons, or even any invading 
 Poles ; but things were different when firearms 
 were in use, and the bands of mercenary soldiers 
 had succeeded the feudal army. They were infi- 
 nitely 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 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 conformed to the Roman Cath- 
 olic Church. Most of these were of course indiffer- 
 ent 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 stanch to their Lutheran confession ;
 
 1 F.ACH \VOM\N W\S I'.KN'DINO UNDFR THE WEIGHT OF HER HUSHAND.
 
 The Housewives of Lowenburg. 263 
 
 they had followed their pastors weeping to the gates 
 of the city, loading them with gifts, and they has- 
 tened at every opportunity to hear their preachings, 
 or obtain baptism for their children at the Lutheran 
 churches in the neighborhood. 
 
 The person who had the upper hand in the Coun- 
 cil was one Julius, who had been a Franciscan 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 wo- 
 men must be brought to conformity, or else there 
 were towers and prisons for them. The Burgomas- 
 ter was ill in bed, but the Judge, one Elias Seiler, 
 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 wid- 
 ower six weeks, thought it would be hard to manage, 
 though he quite agreed to the expedient, saying, " It 
 would be truly good if man and \vife had one Creed 
 and one Paternoster ; as concerns the Ten Com- 
 mandments 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 mar- 
 ried ones. And no one would undertake to deal 
 with his own wife privately, so it ended by a mes- 
 sage being sent to the more distinguished ladies to 
 attend the Council. 
 
 But presently up came tidings that not merely
 
 264 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 lekw the 
 chamber where the dignitaries were assembled. 
 This was not by any n~eans what had I ten ex- 
 pected, and the message was sent t'cvn ll rt cnly 
 the chief ladies should come up. " No," replied the 
 Judge's wife, " we will not allcw ourselves to be sep- 
 arated." And to this they \\ere firm ; they said, as 
 one fared all should fare ; and the Town Clerk, go- 
 ing up and down with smooth words, received no 
 better answer than this frcm 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 wcmen against our conscience 
 to change our faith ? My husband and the priest 
 have not been consorting together all these days 
 for nothing ; they have been joined together almost 
 day and night ; assuredly they have either boiled 
 or baked a devil, which they may eat up them- 
 selves. I shall not enter there ! Where I remain, 
 my train and following 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 they were such ponderous articles that 
 they sometimes served as weapons. A Scottish 
 virago has been known to dash out the brains of a 
 wounded enemy with her keys ; and the intelligence
 
 The Housewives of Lowenburg. 265 
 
 that the good dames had come so well furnished, 
 filled the Council with panic. Dr. Melchior Hub- 
 ner, who had been a miller's man, wished for a hun- 
 dred 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. 
 
 This was effected as silently and quickly as pos- 
 sible, for the whole Council "could confess to a 
 state of frightful terror." Presently the women 
 peeped out, and saw the stairs bestrewn with hats, 
 
 f loves, and handkerchiefs ; and perceiving how they 
 ad 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 ten- 
 der-hearted began to pity their husbands and chil- 
 dren. As for themselves, their maids and children 
 came round the Town Hall, to hand in provisions 
 to them, and all the men who were not of the Coun- 
 cil 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 Coun- 
 cil 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 sum- 
 moned 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 poor children, who had had nothing to eat
 
 266 A Bank of Goltien Detits, 
 
 all day, and at last he threw all the dishes and 
 saucepans out of window. At last the Town Clerk 
 and two others were sent to do their best to per- 
 suade the women that they had misunderstood, 
 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 customary with my masters 
 and the very wise Council to hang a man before 
 they have caught him." 
 
 This opprobrious illustration raised a consider- 
 able 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 im- 
 pression 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 Seller, either because 
 he had been foremost in the business, or else per- 
 haps 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 an- 
 swered, " No ; we were otherwise instructed by our 
 parents and former preachers." 
 
 Then he begged them at least to tell the other 
 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 burgo- 
 master's bedside, and begged him, for Heaven's 
 sake, to prevent the priest from meddling with the
 
 The Housewives of Lbwenburg. 267 
 
 women ; for the whole bevy, hearing that their three 
 leaders 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 befel him from the women, the 
 fault would be his own ; and thereupon 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 sum- 
 mons. 
 
 However, the priest was obliged, next year, to 
 leave Lowenburg in disgrace, for he was a man of 
 notoriously bad character ; and Dr. Melchior be- 
 came 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 perse- 
 cution, as, for instance, the large number of wo- 
 men who were imprisoned for thirty-eight years at 
 Aigues Mortes ; or, again, with the steady resolu- 
 tion of the persecuted nuns of Port Royal against 
 signing the condemnation of the works of Jansen. 
 Yet, in its own way, the feminine resistance of these 
 good citizens' wives, without being equally high- 
 toned, is worthy of record, and far too full of char- 
 acter to be passed over.
 
 FATHERS AND SONS. 
 
 B.C. 219 A. D. 1642 1798. 
 
 ONE of the noblest characters in old Roman his- 
 tory 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 Carthagini- 
 ans, under Hannibal, had just completed their won- 
 derful march across the Alps, and surprised the Ro- 
 mans 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 Nu- 
 midian cavalry, and entirely broken. The Consul 
 rode in front of the few equites he could keep to- 
 gether, striving by voice and example to rally his 
 forces, until he was pierced by one of the long Nu-- 
 midian javelins, 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 him safe 
 into the camp, where he recovered, and his after 
 days retrieved the honor of the Roman 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 middle of the sev-
 
 Fathers and Sons. 269 
 
 enteenth 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 Parliamentary army, under the Earl of Es- 
 sex, intended to intercept his march. The king 
 himself 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 experi- 
 enced old soldier, sixty years of age, godson 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 after- 
 wards served in the Low Countries, under Prince 
 Maurice of Nassau ; for the long Continental wars 
 had throughout King James's peaceful reign been 
 treated by the English nobility as schools of arms, 
 and a few campaigns were considered as a graceful 
 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 Lincoln- 
 shire and Northamptonshire, of whom he had formed 
 a regiment of infantry. With him was his son Mon- 
 tagu 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," and that, 
 thinking " that the cross was an ornament to the 
 crown, and much more to the coronet, 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 
 Bedchamber. 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
 
 270 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 gentle, reflecting face, and wearing the long lovelocks 
 and deep point-lace collar and cuffs characteristic of 
 Queen Henrietta's Court. Lindsay was called Gen- 
 eral-in-chief, but the king had imprudently exempt- 
 ed 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 ar- 
 rogance 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 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 him. " I shall give 
 them battle. God, and the prayers of good men to 
 Him, assist the justice of my cause." The whole of 
 his forces, about 1 1,000 in number, were not assem- 
 bled till two o'clock in the afternoon, for the gentle- 
 men who had become officers found it no easy mat- 
 ter 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 stand- 
 ard. 
 
 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, little thinking that one
 
 Fathers and Sons. 271 
 
 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 situ- 
 ation of the Royal army required the utmost cau- 
 tion. 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 hon- 
 or under the great Swedish king, Gustavus Adol- 
 phus. A sudden charge of the Royal horse would, 
 Rupert argued, sweep the Roundheads from the 
 field, and the 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 his grave, melan- 
 choly face, sad enough at having to fight at all with 
 his subjects, and never having seen a battle, entire- 
 ly bewildered between the ardent words of his spir- 
 ited nephew and the grave replies of the well-sea- 
 soned 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 re- 
 signed 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 perplexity, 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
 
 272 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 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 bravely, 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 w : ere plundering, 
 some chasing the enemy, and none could be got to- 
 gether. Lord Lindsay was shot through the thigh 
 bone, and fell. He was instantly surrounded by the 
 rebels on horseback ; but his son, Lord Willoughby, 
 seeing his danger, flung himself alone among the 
 enemy, and forcing his way forward, raised his fa- 
 ther in his arms, thinking of nothing else, and un- 
 heeding 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 darkness. 
 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 Parliamen- 
 tary forces. Glimmering lanterns or torches moved 
 about the battle-field, those of the savage plunder- 
 ers who crept about to despoil the dead. Whether 
 the battle were won or lost, the father and son knew
 
 Fathers and Sons. 273 
 
 not, and 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 pit- 
 eous 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. 
 
 Towards midnight the Earl's old comrade, Essex, 
 had time to understand his condition, and sent some 
 officers to inquire for him, and promise speedy sur- 
 gical 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 tailed to save him. 
 
 The sorrowing son received an affectionate note 
 the next day from the king, full of regret for his fa- 
 ther and esteem for himself. Charles made every 
 effort to obtain his exchange, but could not succeed 
 for a whole year. He was 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 
 18
 
 274 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 oppressed countries 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. Napoleon 
 Bonaparte was climbing to power in France, by 
 directing her successful arms against the world. 
 He had beaten Germany and conquered 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 India. Hitherto, 
 his dreams had become earnest by the force of his 
 marvellous 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 victo- 
 rious soldiers and a magnificent fleet, all were filled 
 with vague and unbounded expectations of almost 
 fabulous glories. He swept away as it were the 
 degenerate knights of St. John from their rock of 
 Malta, and sailed for Alexandria 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 Nel- 
 son 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 de- 
 tached to reconnoitre, and he actually overpassed 
 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
 
 Fathers and Sons, 275 
 
 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 ist 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 ist 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 with all their proud calm 
 dignity out of the water, their dark portholes open- 
 ing in the white bands on their sides, and the tricol- 
 ored flag floating as their ensign. There were thir- 
 teen ships of the line and four frigates, and, of these, 
 three were So-gun ships, and one, towering high 
 above the rest, with her three decks, was L'Orient, 
 of 1 20 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 vaisseau, 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 Casabianca, the flag-captain ? And is not this 
 Admiral Brueys's own ship, looking down in scorn 
 on the fourteen little English ships, not one carrying 
 more than 74 guns, and one only 50. 
 
 \Vliy Napok'on had kept the fleet there was never 
 known. In his usual mean way of disavowing what- 
 ever 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
 
 276 A Book of Golden Deeds 
 
 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, re- 
 mained at anchor outside, in Aboukir Bay, drawn 
 up in a curve along the deepest of the water, with 
 no room to pass them at either end, so that the com- 
 missary of the fleet reported that they .could bid de- 
 fiance to a force more than double their number. 
 The admiral believed that Nelson had not ventured 
 to attack him when they had passed by one another 
 a month before, and when the English fleet was sig- 
 nalled, 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 than he signalled from his 
 ship, the Vanguard, that preparations for battle 
 should be made, and in the mean time summoned 
 up his captains to receive his orders during a hur- 
 ried meal. He explained that, where there was 
 room for a large French ship to swing, there was 
 room for a small English one to anchor, and, there- 
 fore, 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 Nelson, 
 " that we shall succeed is certain. Who may live 
 to tell the tale is a very different question." 
 
 And when 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 in an island in ad- 
 vance. Nelson's own ship, the Vanguard, was the
 
 Fathers and Sons. 277 
 
 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 
 forepart 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 slight. 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 glori- 
 ously. The Bellerophon was, indeed, overpowered 
 by /.' '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 Alexander and Leander 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 im- 
 mediately be put off for L'Orient, to save as many 
 lives as possible. 
 
 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. " No," said the boy, " he 
 was where his. father had stationed him, and bidden 
 him not to move save at his call." They told him
 
 278 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 his father'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. " No," 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 quivering 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 U 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 alto- 
 gether. For one moment a boat's crew had a sigh. 
 of a helpless figure bound to a spar, and guided by 
 a little childish swimmer, who must have gone 
 overboard with his precious freight just before the 
 explosion. They rowed after the brave little fellow, 
 earnestly desiring to save him, but in darkness, in 
 smoke, in lurid uncertain light, amid hosts of drown- 
 ing wretches, they lost sight of him again. 
 
 " The boy, O where was he ! 
 Ask of the winds 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. Nay, as 
 Nelson said, " It was not a victory, but a conquest." 
 Only four French ships escaped, and "Napoleon and
 
 Fathers and Sons. 
 
 279 
 
 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, while 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"
 
 THE SOLDIERS IN THE SNOW. 
 1672. 
 
 FEW generals have ever been more loved by 
 their soldiers than the great Viscount de Tu- 
 renne, who was Marshal of France in the time of 
 Louis XIV. Troops are always proud of a leader 
 who wins victories ; but Turenne was far more 
 loved for his generous kindness than for ^iis suc- 
 cesses. If he gained a battle, he always wrote in 
 his despatches, " We succeeded," so as to give the 
 credit to the rest of the army ; but if he were de- 
 feated, he wrote, "/ lost," so as to take all the 
 blame upon himself. He always shared as much 
 as possible in every hardship suffered by his men, 
 and they trusted him entirely. In the year 1672, 
 Turenne and his army were sent to make war upon 
 the Elector Frederick William of Brandenburg, in 
 Northern Germany. It was in the depth of winter, 
 and the marches through the heavy roads were 
 very trying and wearisome ; but the soldiers en- 
 dured all cheerfully for his sake. Once when they 
 were wading through a deep morass, some of the 
 younger soldiers complained ; but the elder ones 
 answered, " Depend upon it, Turenne is more con- 
 cerned than we are. At this moment he is thinking 
 how to deliver us. He watches for us while we 
 sleep. He is our father. It is plain that you are 
 but young."
 
 The Soldiers in the Snow. 281 
 
 Another night, when he was going the round of 
 the camp, he overheard some of the younger men 
 murmuring at the discomforts of the march ; when 
 an old soldier, newly recovered from a severe 
 wound, said : " You do not know our father. He 
 would not have made us go through such fatigue 
 unless he had some great end in view, which we 
 cannot yet make out." Turenne always declared 
 that nothing had ever given him more pleasure 
 than this conversation. 
 
 There was a severe sickness among the troops, 
 and he went about among the sufferers, comforting 
 them, and seeing that their wants were supplied. 
 When he passed by, the soldiers came out of their 
 tents to look at him, and say, " Our father is in good 
 health : we have nothing to fear." 
 
 The army had to enter the principality of Halber- 
 stadt, the way to which lay over ridges of high hills 
 with narrow defiles between them. Considerable 
 time was required for the whole of the troops to 
 march through a single narrow outlet ; and one very 
 cold day, when such a passage was taking place, the 
 marshal, quite spent with fatigue, sat down under a 
 bush to wait till all had marched by, and fell asleep. 
 When he awoke, it was snowing fast ; but he found 
 himself under a sort of tent made of soldiers' 
 cloaks, hung up upon the branches of trees planted 
 in the ground, and round it were standing, in the 
 cold ami snow, all unsheltered, a party of soldiers. 
 Turenne called out to them, to ask what they were 
 doing there. " We are taking care of our father," 
 they said ; " that is our chief concern." The general, 
 to keep up discipline, seems to have Scolded them a 
 little for straggling from their regiment ; but he was 
 much affected and gratified by this sight of their 
 hearty love for him. 
 
 Still greater and more devoted love was shown by 
 some German soldiers in the terrible winter of 1812.
 
 282 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 It was when the Emperor Napoleon I. had made his 
 vain attempt to conquer Russia, and had been pre- 
 vented from spending the winter at Moscow by the 
 great fire that consumed all the city. He was obliged 
 to retreat through the snow, with the Russian army 
 pursuing him, and his miserable troops suffering 
 horrors beyond all imagination. Among them were 
 many Italians, Poles, and Germans, whom he had 
 obliged to become his allies ; and the " Golden 
 Deed " of ten of these German soldiers, the last 
 remnant of those led from Hesse Darmstadt by their 
 
 fallant young Prince Emilius, is best told in Lord 
 loughton's verses : 
 
 " From Hessen Darmstadt every step to Moskwa's blaz- 
 ing banks, 
 
 Was Prince Emilius found in fight before the foremost 
 ranks ; 
 
 And when upon the icy waste that host was backward 
 cast, 
 
 On Beresina's bloody bridge his banner waved the last. 
 
 " His valor shed victorious grace on all that dread re- 
 treat, 
 
 That path across the wildering snow, athwart the blind- 
 ing sleet ; 
 
 And every follower of his sword could all endure and 
 dare, 
 
 Becoming warriors, strong in hope, or stronger in 
 despair. 
 
 " Now, day and dark, along the storm the demon Cos- 
 sacks sweep 
 
 The hungriest must not look for food, the weariest 
 must not sleep. 
 
 No rest but death for horse or man, whichever first 
 shall tire ; 
 
 They see the flames destroy, but ne'er may feel the 
 saving fire.
 
 The Soldiers in the Snow. 283 
 
 " Thus never closed the bitter night, nor rose the savage 
 morn, 
 
 But from that gallant company some noble part was 
 shorn ; 
 
 And, sick at heart, the Prince resolved to keep his pur- 
 posed way 
 
 With steadfast forward looks, nor count the losses of 
 the day. 
 
 " At length beside a black, burnt hut, an island of the 
 
 snow, 
 
 Each head in frigid torpor bent toward the saddle bow ; 
 They paused, and of that sturdy troop that thousand 
 
 banded men 
 At one unmeditated glance he numbered only ten ! 
 
 " Of all that high triumphant life that left his German 
 home 
 
 Of all those hearts that beat beloved, or looked for 
 love to come 
 
 This piteous remnant, hardly saved, his spirit over- 
 came, 
 
 While memory raised each friendly face, recalled an 
 ancient name. 
 
 " These were his words, serene and firm, ' Dear brothers, 
 
 it is best 
 That here, with perfect trust in Heaven, we give our 
 
 bodies rest ; 
 If we have borne, like faithful men, our part of toil 
 
 and pain, 
 Where'er we wake, for Christ's good sake, we shall 
 
 not sleep in vain.' 
 
 " Some uttered, others looked assent, they had no heart 
 
 to speak ; 
 Dumb hands were pressed, the pallid lip approached 
 
 the callous cheek. 
 They laid them side by side ; and death to him at last 
 
 did seem 
 To come attired in mazy robe of variegated dream.
 
 284 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 " Once more he floated on the breast of old familiar 
 
 Rhine, 
 His mother's and one other smile above him seemed to 
 
 shine ; 
 
 A blessed dew of healing fell on every aching limb, 
 Till the stream broadened, and the air thickened, and 
 
 all was dim. 
 
 " Nature has bent to other laws if that tremendous night 
 Passed o'er his frame, exposed and worn, and left no 
 
 deadly blight ; 
 Then wonder not that when, refreshed and warm, he 
 
 .woke at last, 
 There lay a boundless gulf of thought between him and 
 
 the past 
 
 " Soon raising his astonished head, he found himself 
 alone, 
 
 Sheltered beneath a genial heap of vestments not his 
 own ; 
 
 The light increased, the solemn truth revealing more 
 and more, 
 
 The soldiers' corses, self-despoiled, closed up the nar- 
 row door. 
 
 " That very hour, fulfilling good, miraculous succor came, 
 And Prince Emilius lived to give this worthy deed to 
 
 fame. 
 
 O brave fidelity in death ! O strength of loving will ! 
 These are the holy balsam drops that woeful wars 
 
 distil."
 
 GUNPOWDER PERILS. 
 1700. 
 
 HPHE wild history of Ireland contains many a 
 J_ frightful tale, but also many an action of the 
 noblest order ; and the short sketch given by Maria 
 Edgeworth of her ancestry, presents such a checker- 
 work of the gold and the lead that it is almost im- 
 possible to separate them. 
 
 At the rime of the great Irish rebellion of 1641, 
 the head of the Edgeworth family had left his Eng- 
 lish wife and her infant son at his castle of Cranal- 
 lagh in county Longford, thinking them safe there 
 while he joined the royal forces under the Earl of 
 Ormond. In his absence, however, the rebels at- 
 tacked the castle at night, set fire to it, and dragged 
 the lady out. absolutely naked. She hid herself un- 
 der a furze bush, and succeeded in escaping and 
 reaching Dublin, whence she made her way to her 
 father's house in Derbyshire. Her little son was 
 found by the rebels lying in his cradle, and one of 
 them actually seized the child by the leg and was 
 about to dash out his brains against the wall ; but a 
 servant named Bryan Ferral, pretending to be even 
 more ferocious, vowed that a sudden death was too 
 good for the little heretic, and that he should be 
 plunged up to the throat in a bog-hole and left for 
 the crows to pick out his eyes. He actually did 
 place the poor child in the bog, but only to save his
 
 286 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 life ; he returned as soon as he could elude his com- 
 rades, put the boy into a pannier below eggs and 
 chickens, and thus carried him straight through the 
 rebel camp to his mother at Dublin. Strange to 
 say, these rebels, who thought being dashed against 
 the wall too good a fate for the infant, extinguished 
 the flames of the castle out of reverence for the pic- 
 ture of his grandmother, who had been a Roman 
 Catholic, and was painted on a panel with a cross on 
 her bosom and a rosary in her hand. 
 
 John Edgeworth, the boy thus saved, married 
 very young, and went with his wife to see London 
 after the Restoration. To pay their expenses they 
 mortgaged an estate and put the money in a stock- 
 ing, which they kept on the top of the bed ; and 
 when that store was used up, the young man actu- 
 ally sold a house in Dublin to buy a high-crowned 
 hat and feathers. Still, reckless and improvident as 
 they were, there was sound principle within them, 
 and though they were great favorites, and Charles 
 II. insisted on knighting the husband, their glimpse 
 of the real evils and temptations of his court sufficed 
 them, and in the full tide of flattery and admiration 
 the lady begged to return home, nor did she ever 
 go back to court again. 
 
 Her home was at Castle Lissard, in full view of 
 which was a hillock called Fairymount, or Firmont, 
 from being supposed to be the haunt of fairies. 
 Lights, noises and singing at night, clearly discerned 
 from the castle, caused much terror to Lady Edge- 
 worth, though her descendants affirm that they were 
 fairies of the same genus as those who beset Sir 
 John Falstaff at Hearne's Oak, and intended to 
 frighten her into leaving the place. However, 
 though her nerves might be disturbed, her spirit 
 was not to be daunted ; and, fairies or no fairies, 
 she held her ground at Castle Lissard, and there 
 showed what manner of woman she was in a verita- 
 ble and most fearful peril.
 
 Gunpowiier Perils. 287 
 
 On some alarm which caused the gentlemen of 
 the family to take down their guns, she went to a 
 dark loft at the top of the house to fetch some pow- 
 der from a barrel that was there kept in store, tak- 
 ing a young maid-servant to carry the candle ; 
 which, as might be expected in an Irish household 
 of the seventeenth century, was devoid of any can- 
 dlestick. After taking the needful amount of gun- 
 powder, I.adv Edgeworth lOcked the door, and was 
 half-way do\vn stairs when she mis.se. 1 the candle, and 
 asking the girl whit she had done with it, received 
 the co )1 answer th.it "she had left it sticking in the 
 barrel of black salt." Lady Edge worth bade her 
 stand still, turned round, went back alone to the loft 
 where the tallow candle stood, guttering and flaring, 
 planted in the middle of the gunpowder, resolutely 
 put an untrembling hand beneath it, took it out so 
 steadily that no spark fell, carried it down, and when 
 she came to the bottom of the stairs dropped on her 
 knees, and broke forth in a thanksgiving aloud for 
 the safety of the household in this frightful peril. 
 This high-spirited lady lived to be ninety years old, 
 and left a numerous family. One grandson was the 
 AI) l >j Edgeworth, known in France as De Firmont, 
 such being the alteration of Fairymount on French 
 lips. It was he who, at the peril of his own life, 
 attended Louis XVI. to the guillotine, and thus 
 connected his name so closely with the royal cause 
 that when his cousin. Richard Lovell Edgeworth, of 
 Edgeworthstown, visited France several years after, 
 the presence of a person so called was deemed 
 perilous to the rising power of Napoleon. This 
 latter Mr. Edgeworth was the father of Maria, 
 whose works we hope are well known to our young 
 readers. 
 
 The good Chevalier Bayard was wont to mourn 
 over the introduction of fire-arms, as destructive 
 of chivalry ; and certainly the steel-clad knight, with
 
 288 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 barbed steed, and sword and lance, has disappeared 
 from the battle-field ; but his most essential quali- 
 ties, truth, honor, faithfulness, mercy, and self-devo- 
 tion, have not disappeared with him, nor can they 
 as long as Christian men and women bear in mind 
 that "greater love hath no man than this, that he 
 lay down his life for his friend." 
 
 And that terrible compound, gunpowder, has been 
 the occasion of many another daring deed, requiring 
 desperate resolution, to save others at the expense 
 of a death perhaps more frightful to the imagination 
 than any other. Listen to a story of the king's 
 birthday in Jersey "sixty years since," in 1804, 
 when that 4th of June that Eton boys delight in was 
 already in the forty-fourth year of its observance in 
 honor of the then reigning monarch, George III. 
 
 All the forts in the island had done c'ue honor to 
 the birthday of his Majesty, who was then just re- 
 covered from an attack of insanity. In each the 
 guns at noon-day thundered out their royal salute, 
 the flashes had answered one another, and the 
 smoke had wreathed itself away over the blue sea of 
 Jersey. The new fort on the hill just above the 
 town of St. Heliers had contributed its share to the 
 loyal thunders, and then it was shut up, and the 
 keys carried away by Captain Salmon, the artillery 
 officer on guard there, locking up therein 209 barrels 
 of gunpowder, with a large supply of bombshells, 
 and every kind of ammunition, such as might well 
 be needed in the Channel islands the year before 
 Lord Nelson had freed England from the chance of 
 finding the whole French army on our coast in the 
 flat-bottomed boats that were waiting at Boulogne 
 for the dark night that never came. 
 
 At six o'clock in the evening, Captain Salmon 
 went to dine with the other officers in St. Heliers 
 and to drink the king's health, when the soldiers on 
 guard beheld a cloud of smoke curling out at the air-
 
 Gunpowder Perils. 289 
 
 hole at the end of the magazine. Shouting " Fire ! " 
 they ran away to avoid an explosion that would 
 have shattered them to pieces, and might perhaps 
 endanger the entire town of St. Heliers. Happily 
 their shout was heard by a man of different mould. 
 Lieutenant Lys, the signal officer, was in the watch- 
 house on the hill, and coming out lie saw the smoke, 
 and perceived the danger. Two brothers, named 
 Thomas and Edward Touzel, carpenters, and the 
 sons of an old widow, had come up to take down a 
 ring-staff that had been raised in honor of the day, 
 and Mr. Lys ordered them to hasten to the town to 
 inform the commander-in-chief, and get the keys 
 from Captain Salmon. 
 
 Thomas went, and endeavored to persuade his 
 brother to accompany him from the heart of the 
 danger ; but Edward replied that he must die some 
 day or other, and that he would do his best to save 
 the magazine, and he tried to stop some of the run- 
 away soldiers to assist. One refused ; but another, 
 William Ponteney, of the 3d, replied that he was 
 ready to die with him, and they shook hands. 
 
 Edward Touzel then, by the help of a wooden bar 
 and an axe, broke open the door of the fort, and 
 making his way into it, saw the state of the case, 
 and shouted to Mr. Lys on the outside, " The mag- 
 azine is on fire, it will blow up, we must lose our 
 lives ; but no matter, huzza for the king ! We must 
 try and/ save it." He then rushed into the flame, 
 and seizing the matches, which were almost burnt 
 out (probably splinters of wood tipped with brim- 
 stone), he threw them by armfulls to Mr. Lys and 
 the soldier Ponteney, who stood outside and re- 
 ceived them. Mr. Lys saw a cask of water near at 
 hand ; but there was nothing to carry the water in 
 but an earthen pitcher, his own hat and the sol- 
 dier's. These, however, they filled again and again, 
 and handed to Touzel, who thus extinguished all
 
 290 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 the fire he could see ; but the smoke was so dense, 
 that he worked in horrible doubt and obscurity, al- 
 most suffocated, and with his face and hands al- 
 ready scorched. The beams over his head were on 
 fire, large cases containing powder-horns had already 
 caught, and an open barrel of gunpowder was close 
 by, only awaiting the fall of a single brand to burst 
 into a fatal explosion. Touzel called out to entreat 
 for some drink to enable him to endure the stifling, 
 and Mr. Lys handed him some spirits-and-water, 
 which he drank, and worked on ; but by this time 
 the officers had heard the alarm, dispelled the panic 
 among the soldiers, and come to the rescue. The 
 magazine was completely emptied, and the last 
 smouldering sparks extinguished ; but the whole of 
 the garrison and citizens felt that they owed their 
 lives to the three gallant men to whose exertions 
 alone, under Providence, it was owing that succor 
 did not come too late. Most of all was honor due to 
 Edward Touzel, who, as a civilian, might have turned 
 his back upon the peril without any blame ; nay, 
 could even have pleaded Mr. Lys's message as a 
 duty, but who had instead rushed foremost into 
 what he believed was certain death. 
 
 A meeting was held in the church of St. Heliers 
 to consider of a testimonial of gratitude to these 
 three brave men (it is to be hoped that thankfulness 
 to an overruling Providence was also manifested 
 there), when ^500 was voted to Mr. Lys, who was 
 the father of a large family ; ,300 to Edward Touzel ; 
 and William Ponteney received, at his own request, 
 a life annuity of 20 and a gold medal, as he de- 
 clared that he had rather continue to serve the king 
 as a soldier than be placed in any other course of 
 life. 
 
 In that same year (1804) the same dnring endur- 
 ance and heroism were evinced by the officers of H. 
 M. S. Hindostan, where, when on the way from Gib-
 
 Gunpowder Perils. 291 
 
 raltar to join Nelson's fleet at Toulon, the cry of 
 " Fire ! " was heard, and dense smoke rose from the 
 lower decks, so as to render it nearly impossible to 
 detect the situation of the fire. Again and again 
 Lieutenants Tailour and Banks descended, and fell 
 down senseless from the stifling smoke ; then were 
 carried on deck, recovered in the free air, and re- 
 turned to the vain endeavor of clearing the powder- 
 room. But no man could long preserve his facul- 
 ties in the poisonous atmosphere, and the two lieu- 
 tenants might be said to have died many deaths 
 from it. At last the fire gained so much head that 
 it was impossible to save the vessel, which had in 
 the mean time been brought into the Bay of Rosas, 
 and was near enough to land to enable the crew to 
 escape in boats, after having endured the fire six 
 hours. Nelson himself wrote : " The preservation 
 of the crew seems little short of a miracle. I never 
 read such a journal of exertions in my life." 
 
 Eight years after, on the taking of Ciudad Rodri- 
 go, in 1812, by the British army under Wellington, 
 Captain William Jones, of the 52d Regiment, having 
 captured a French officer, employed his prisoner in 
 pointing out quarters for his men. The Frenchman 
 could not speak English, and Captain Jones a 
 fiery Welshman, whom it was the fashion in the 
 regiment to term "Jack Jones " knew no French ; 
 but dumb show supplied the want of language, and 
 some of the company were lodged in a large store 
 pointed out by the Frenchman, who then led the 
 way to a church, near which Lord Wellington and 
 his staff were standing. But no sooner had the 
 guide stepped into the building than he started back, 
 crying " Sacre bleu ! " and ran out in the utmost 
 alarm. The Welsh captain, however, went on, and 
 perceived that the church had been used as a pow- 
 der-magazine by the French,; barrels were standing 
 round, samples of their contents lay loosely scat-
 
 292 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 tered on the pavement, and in the midst was a fire, 
 probably lighted by some Portuguese soldiers. Forth- 
 with Captain Jones and the sergeant entered the 
 church, took up the burning embers brand by brand, 
 bore them safe over the scattered powder, and out 
 of the church, and thus averted what might have 
 been the most terrific disaster that could have befal- 
 len our army.* 
 
 Our next story of this kind relates to a French 
 officer, Monsieur Mathieu .Martinel, adjutant of the 
 1st Cuirassiers. In 1820 there was a fire in the bar- 
 racks at Strasburg, and nine soldiers were lying sick 
 and helpless above a room containing a barrel of 
 gunpowder afld a thousand cartridges. Every one 
 was escaping, but Martinel persuaded a few men to 
 return into the barracks with him, and hurried up 
 the stairs through smoke and flame that turned back 
 his companions. He came alone to the door of a 
 room close to that which contained the powder, but 
 found it locked. Catching up a bench, he beat the 
 door in, and was met by such a burst of fire as had 
 almost driven him away ; but just as he was about 
 to descend, he thought that, when the flames reached 
 the powder, the nine sick men must infallibly be 
 blown up, and, returning to the charge, he dashed 
 forward, with eyes shut, through the midst, and with 
 face, hands, hair, and clothes singed and burnt, he 
 made his way to the magazine in time to tear away, 
 and throw to a distance from the powder, the mass 
 of paper in which the cartridges were packed, which 
 was just about to ignite, and appearing at the win- 
 dow, with loud shouts for water, thus showed the 
 
 ' * The story has been told with some variation, as to whether it was 
 the embers or a barrel of powder that he and the sergeant removed. 
 In the Record of the 52d it is said to have been the latter; but the 
 tradition the author has received from officers of the regiment, dis- 
 tinctly stated that it was the burning brands, and that the scene was 
 a reserve magazine, not, as in the brief mention in Sir William Na- 
 pier's History, the great magazine of the town.
 
 Gunpowder Perils. 293 
 
 possibility of penetrating to the magazine, and floods 
 of water were at once directed to it, so as to drench 
 the powder, and thus save the men. 
 
 This same Martinel had shortly before 'thrown 
 himself into the river 111, without waiting to undress, 
 to rescue a soldier who had fallen in, so near a wa- 
 ter-mill that there was hardly a chance of life for 
 either. Swimming straight towards the mill-dam, 
 Martinel grasped the post of the sluice with one 
 arm, and with the other tried to arrest the course of 
 the drowning man, who was borne by a rapid cnr- 
 rent towards the mill-wheel ; and was already so far 
 beneath the surface that Martinel could not reach 
 him without letting go of the post. Grasping the 
 inanimate body, he actually allowed himself to be 
 carried under the mill-wheel, without loosing his 
 hold, and came up immediately after on the other 
 side, still able to bring the man to land in time for 
 his suspended animation to be restored. 
 
 Seventeen years afterwards, when the regiment 
 was at Paris, there was, on the night of the i4th of 
 June, 1837, during the illuminations at the wedding- 
 festival of the Duke and Duchess of Orleans, one 
 of those frightful crushes that sometimes occur in 
 an ill-regulated crowJ, when there is some obstruc- 
 tion in the way, and there is nothing but a horrible 
 blind struggling and trampling, violent and fatal be- 
 cause of its very helplessness and bewilderment. 
 The crowd were trying to leave the Champ de Mars, 
 where great nu.n >^rs h i.l been witnessing some 
 mi'nificent fireworks, an 1 ha 1 blocked up the pas- 
 sage lc iding out by the Militiry College. A woman 
 fell do.vn in a fiinting rit, others stumbled over her, 
 and thus formed an obstruction, which, being un- 
 known to those in the rear, did not prevent them 
 from forcing forward the persons in front, so that 
 they too were pushed and tro hlen into one fright- 
 ful, struggling, suffocating miss of living and dying 
 men, women, and children, increasing every moment
 
 294 ^ Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 M. Martinel was passing, on his way to his quar- 
 ters, when, hearing the tumult, he ran to the gate 
 from the other side, and meeting the crowd, tried by 
 shouts and entreaties to persuade them to give back, 
 but the hindmost could not hear him, and the more 
 frightened they grew the more they tried to hurry 
 home, and so made the heap worse and worse, and 
 in the midst an illuminated yew-tree, in a pot, was 
 upset, and further barred the way. Martinel. with 
 imminent danger to himself, dragged out one or two 
 persons ; but finding his single efforts almost use- 
 less among such numbers, he ran to the barracks, 
 sounded to horse, and, without waiting till his men 
 could be got together, hurried off again on foot with 
 a few of his comrades, and dashed back into the 
 crowd, struggling as vehemently to penetrate to the 
 scene of danger as many would have done to get 
 away from it. 
 
 Private Spenlee alone kept up with him, and, 
 coming to the dreadful heap, these two labored to 
 free the passage, lift up the living, and remove the 
 dead. First he dragged out an old man in a faint- 
 ing fit, then a young soldier, next a boy, a woman, 
 a little girl, he carried them to freer air, and came 
 back the next moment, though often so nearly 
 pulled down by the frantic struggles of the terrified, 
 stifled creatures, that he was each moment in the 
 utmost peril of being trampled to death. He car- 
 ried out nine persons one by one ; Spenlee brought 
 out a man and a child ; and his brother officers, 
 coining up, took their share. One lieutenant, with 
 a girl in a swoon in his arms, caused a boy to be 
 put on his back, and under this double burden was 
 pushing against the crowd for half an hour, till at 
 length he fell, and was all but killed. 
 
 A troop of cuirassiers had by this time mounted, 
 and through the Champ cle Mars came slowly 
 along, step by step, their horses moving as gently
 
 Gunpowder Perils. 295 
 
 and cautiously as if they knew their work. Every- 
 where, as they advanced, little, children were held 
 up to them out of the throng to be saved, and many 
 of their charters were loaded with the little crea- 
 tures, perched before and behind the kind soldier. 
 With wonderful patience and forbearance, they 
 managed to insert themselves and their horses, 
 first in single file, then two by two, then more 
 abreast, like a wedge, into the press, until at last 
 they formed a wall, cutting off the crowd behind 
 from the mass in the gateway, and thus preventing 
 the encumbrance from increasing. The people 
 came to their senses, and went off to other gates, 
 and the crowd diminishing, it became possible to 
 lift up the many unhappy creatures who lay stifling 
 or crushed in the heap. They were carried into 
 the barracks, the cuirassiers hurried to bring their 
 mattresses to lay them on in the hall, brought them 
 water, linen, all they could want, and were as 
 tender to them as sisters of charity, till they were 
 taken to the hospitals or to their homes. Martinel, 
 who was the moving spirit in this gallant rescue, 
 received in the following year one of M. Monthy- 
 on's prizes for the greatest acts of virtue that could 
 be brought to light. 
 
 Nbr among the gallant actions of which powder 
 has been the cause, should be omitted that of 
 Lieutenant Willoughby, who, in the first dismay 
 of the mutiny in India, in 1858, blew up the great 
 magazine at Delhi, with all the ammunition that 
 would have armed the sepoys even yet more terri- 
 bly against ourselves. That '" Golden Deed '' was 
 one of those capable of no earthly meed, for it 
 carried the brave young officer where alone there 
 is true reward ; and all the queen and country 
 could do in his honor was to pension his widowed 
 mother, and lay up his name among those that stir 
 the heart with admiration and gratitude.
 
 HEROES OF THE PLAGUE. 
 1576 1665 1721. 
 
 W^HEN our Litany entreats that we ma^ be 
 delivered from "plague, pestilence and-./im- 
 ine," the first of these words bears a special 
 meaning, which came home with strong aud pain- 
 ful force to European minds at the time the Prayer- 
 Book was translated, and for the whole following 
 century. 
 
 It refers to the deadly sickness emphatically 
 called " the plague," a typhoid fever exceedingly 
 violent and rapid, and accompanied with a frightful 
 swelling either under the arm or on the correspond- 
 ing part of the thigh. The East is the usual haunt 
 of this fatal complaint, which some suppose to be 
 bred by the marshy, unwholesome 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 dreadful 
 visitations were 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 ;
 
 Heroes of the Plague. 297 
 
 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 judg- 
 ment " was that emphatically called the plague ; 
 especially during the sixteenth and seventeenth 
 centuries, a time when war had become far more 
 cruel and mischievous in the hands of hired regi- 
 ments than ever it had been with a feudal "army, 
 and when at the same time increasing trade was 
 filling the cities with more closely packed inhabit- 
 ants, within fortifications that would not allow the 
 city to expand in proportion to its needs. It has 
 been only the establishment of the system of quar- 
 antine 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 
 in 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 in- 
 toxicating 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 or food ; and, in the 
 Roman Catholic cities, the perishing without a 
 priest to administer the last rites of the Church 
 was viewed as more dreadful than death itself.
 
 298 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 worthi- 
 est of all the successors of St. Ambrose, when he 
 learnt at Lodi that the plague had made its appear- 
 ance in his city, where, remarkably enough, there 
 had lately been such licentious revelry that he had 
 solemnly warned the people that, unless they re- 
 pented, they would certainly bring on themselves 
 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 car- 
 rying 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 who had repaired to a villa, where 
 they spent their time in feasting and amusement in 
 the luxurious 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,
 
 Hesoes of the Plague. 299 
 
 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 who dailv preached in 
 the cathedral, bent over the beds of the sick, giv- 
 ing them food and medicine, hearing their confes- 
 sions, and administering 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 him- 
 self, 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 re- 
 nviined 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 em- 
 peror, and of St. Carlo Borromeo, who practised 
 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 Chris- 
 tian lands such judgments always 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, t namely, 
 Eyam, in Derbyshire. 
 
 This is a lovely place between Buxton and Chats- 
 worth, 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 were in operation in the moun- 
 tains, and the village was thickly inhabited. Great
 
 300 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 Rev. William Mom- 
 pesson, was still a young man, and had been mar- 
 ried only a few years. His wife, a beautiful young 
 woman, only twenty-seven years old, was exceed- 
 ingly 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 arrange- 
 ments for sending her and the children away. She 
 saw he was right in remaining, and ceased to urge 
 him to forsake his charge ; but she insisted that, if 
 he ought not to desert his flock, his wife ought not 
 to leave him ; and she wept and entreated so ear- 
 nestly, 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 medicines and prescriptions ; 
 and he likewise sent a letter to the Earl of Devon- 
 shire, at Chatsworth, to engage that his parishioners 
 should exclude themselves from the whole neighbor- 
 hood, and thus confine the contagion within tl^ir 
 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 communication with the
 
 Heroes of the Plague. 30 1 
 
 bringers, except by letters, which could be placed on 
 a stone, then fumigated, 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 seliish cruelty to other 
 places to try to escape amongst them, and thus 
 spread the danger. So rocky and wild was the 
 ground around them, that, had they striven to es- 
 cape, a regiment of soldiers could not have pre- 
 vented them. But of their own free will they at- 
 tended to their Rector's remonstrance, and it was 
 not known that one parishioner of Eyam passed the 
 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 Lon- 
 don, 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 live yards wide at the bottom, 
 which is the pebbly bed of a wintry torrent, but is dry 
 in the summer. On the side towards the village, 
 the slope upwards was of soft green turf scattered 
 with hazel, rowan, and alder bushes, and full of sing- 
 ing 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 arch- 
 way opening over the precipice ; and this Mr. Mom- 
 pesson chose for his reading-desk and pulpit. The 
 dell was so narrow, that his voice could clearly ba
 
 302 A Book of Golden Deeds. . 
 
 heard across it, and his congregation arranged them- 
 selves upon the green slope opposite, seated or 
 kneeling upon the grass. 
 
 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 was a dry hot summer ; fain would 
 they have seen thunder and rain to drive away their 
 enemy ; and seldom 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 village. 
 There he daily read of " the Resurrection 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 whole of the 
 inhabitants lived to spend the last Sunday in Cuck- 
 let Church, as the dell is still called. Mrs. Mom- 
 pesson 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 sat- 
 isfy her. His health endured perfectly, but she be- 
 gan to waste under her constant exertions, and her 
 husband feared that he saw symptoms of consump- 
 tion ; but she was full of delight at some appear- 
 ances in his wound that made her imagine that it 
 had carried off the disease, and that his danger was 
 over. 
 
 A few days after, she sickened with symptoms 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
 
 PL rots of the Plague. 303 
 
 the exertion of taking cordials, her husband en- 
 treated her to try for their children's sake, she lifted 
 herself up and made the endeavor. She lay peace- 
 fully, saying, "she was but looking for the good 
 hour to come," and calmly died, making the respon- 
 ses to her husband's prayers even to the last. Her 
 he buried in the churchyard, and fenced the grave 
 in afterwards with iron rails. There are two beau- 
 tiful 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, afterwards Lord 
 Halifax. "My drooping spirits," he says, "are 
 much refreshed with her joys, which I assure my- 
 self are unutterable." He wrote both these letters 
 in the belief that he should soon follow her. speak- 
 ing 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 willing 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 wish that His goodness were not so 
 much abused and contemned," writes the widowed 
 pastor, left alone among his dying flock. And he 
 concludes, "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 ist of September, 1666; but on the 
 2oth of November, .Mr. Mompesson was writing 
 to his uncle, in the lull after the storm. " The con- 
 dition of this place hath been so dreadful, that I 
 persuade myself it exceedeth all history and exam- 
 ple. I may truly say our town has become a Gol- 
 gotha, a place of skulls ; and had there not been a
 
 304 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 small remnant of us left, we had beer as Sodom, 
 and like unto Gomorrah. 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 families visited within my parish, out of which 
 died two hundred and fifty-nine persons." 
 
 However, since the nth of October there had 
 been no fresh cases, and he was now burning all 
 woollen 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 contagion, that, ninety-one years 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 sickened with 
 typhus fever, three of them died, and it was so in- 
 fectious 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 the 3 1st of January, 1720, which had a clean bill 
 of health when it anchored off the Chateau d'lf, at 
 Marseilles, on the 25th of May ; but six of the crew 
 were found to have died on the voyage, and the per- 
 sons 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
 
 Heroes of the Plague. 305 
 
 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 quitting 
 the city, and who were the very people who could 
 have been useful there, fled with one accord. Sud- 
 denly the lazzaretto was left without superintend- 
 ents, 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 Provost and four municipal officers 
 remained, with 1,100 livres in their treasury, in the 
 midst of an entirely disorganized city, and an enor- 
 mous 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 jist 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 overthrow 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 villages. What a 
 contrast to Mr. Mompesson's moral influence ! 
 
 Horrible crimes were committed. Malefactors 
 were released from the prisons and convicts from 
 the galleys, and employed for large payment to col- 
 lect the corpses and carry the sick to the infirma- 
 ries. Of course, they could only be wrought up to 
 such work by intoxication and unlimited opportune
 
 306 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ties of plunder, and their rude treatment both of 
 the dead and of the living sufferers added unspeak- 
 ably to the general wretchedness. To be carried to 
 the infirmary was certain death, no one lived in 
 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, fan- 
 cied that to send these supplies cast a slight upon 
 his administration, and desired his representative 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 hvi 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 gentle- 
 man 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 perpetrated by the sick in their ravings, 
 and provide 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
 
 Heroes of the Plague. 307 
 
 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 party spirit ran high. The Bishop, Henri 
 Francois 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 Ora- 
 torian, Fathers to hear confessions, because he sus- 
 pected 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 themselves heartily into the lower and 
 more disdained services to the sick, as nurses and 
 tenders 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 in- 
 justice, 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 those dreadful 
 five months. He was a man of commanding stat- 
 ure, towering above all around him ; and his fer- 
 vent sermons, aided by his example of severe and 
 strict piety, and his great charities, had greatly im- 
 pressed the people. He now went about among the 
 plague-stricken, attending to their wants, both spir- 
 itu.il 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 re- 
 sembled those of Cardinal Borromeo, and like him 
 he had recourse to constant preachings of repent- 
 ance, processions, and assemblies for litanies in the 
 church. It is curiously characteristic that it was the 
 English clergyman, who, equally pious, and sensible
 
 308 A Book of Golden Deeas. 
 
 that only the Almighty could remove the scourge, 
 yet deemed it right to take precautions against the 
 effects of bringing a large number of persons into 
 one building. How Belzunce's clergy seconded him 
 may be gathered from the numbers 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,- 
 ooo died, and about 8,000 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. Inheritances had fallen to- 
 gether into the hands of persons who found them- 
 selves 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, 
 questionable mirth as during the ensuing winter, 
 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 retri- 
 bution that was soon worked out on the folly and 
 vice of the unhappy country.
 
 THE SECOND OF SEPTEMBER. 
 1792. 
 
 r I "'HE reign of the terrible Tzar was dreadful, but 
 _L there was even a more dreadful time, that which 
 might be called the reign of the madness of the peo- 
 ple. The oppression and injustice that had for 
 generations past been worked out in France ended 
 in the most fearful reaction that history records, and 
 the horrors that took place in the Revolution pass 
 all thought or description. Every institution that 
 had been misused was overthrown at one fell swoop, 
 and the whole accumulated vengeance of generations 
 fell on the heads of the persons who occupied the 
 positions of the former oppressors. Many of these 
 were as pure and guiltless as their slaughterers 
 were the reverse, but the heads of the Revolution 
 imagined that to obtain their ideal vision of perfect 
 justice and liberty, all the remnants of the former 
 state of things must be swept away, and the fero- 
 cious beings who carried out their decrees had be- 
 come absolutely frantic with delight in bloodshed. 
 The nation seemed delivered up to a delirium of 
 murder. But as 
 
 " Even as earth's wild war cries heighten, 
 The cross upon the brow will brighten," 
 
 these times of surpassing horror were also times of
 
 3io A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 surpassing devotion and heroism. Without attempt- 
 ing to describe the various stages of the Revolution, 
 and the different committees that under different 
 titles carried on the work of destruction, we will 
 mention some of the deeds that shine out as we 
 look into that abyss of horror, the Paris of 1792 and 
 the following years. 
 
 Think of the Swiss Guards, who, on the loth of 
 August, 1792, the miserable day when the king, 
 queen, and children were made the captives of the 
 people, stood resolutely at their posts, till they were 
 massacred almost to a man. Well is their fidelity 
 honored by the noble sculpture near Lucerne, cut 
 out in the living rock of their own Alps, and repre- 
 senting a lion dying to defend the fleur-de-lis. 
 
 A more dreadful day still was in preparation. 
 The mob seemed to have imagined that the king 
 and nobility had some strange, dreadful power, and 
 that unless they were all annihilated they would 
 rise up and trample all down before them, and 
 those who had the direction of affairs profited by 
 this delusion to multiply executioners, and clear 
 away all that they supposed to stand in the way of 
 the renewal of the nation. And the attempts of the 
 emigrant nobility and of the German princes to 
 march to the rescue of the royal family added to 
 the fury of their cowardly ferocity. The prisons 
 of Paris were crowded to overflowing with aristo- 
 crats, as it was the fashion to call the nobles and 
 gentry, and with the clergy who had refused their 
 adhesion to the new state of things. The whole 
 number is reckoned at not less than 8,000. 
 
 Among those at the Abbaye de St. Germain were 
 M. Jaques Cazotte, an old gentleman of seventy- 
 three, who had been for many years in a govern- 
 ment office, and had written various poems. He 
 was living in the country, in Champagne, when on 
 the 1 8th of August he was arrested. His daughter
 
 The Second of September. 3 1 1 
 
 Elizabeth, a lovely girl of twenty, would not leave 
 him, and together they were taken first to Epernay 
 and then to Paris, where they were thrown into the 
 Abbaye, and found it crowded with prisoners. M. 
 Cazotte's bald forehead and grey locks gave him a 
 patriarchal appearance, and his talk, deeply and 
 truly pious, was full of Scripture language, as he 
 strove to persuade his fellow-captives to own the 
 true blessings of suffering. 
 
 Here Elizabeth met the like-mindel Marie de 
 Sombreuil, who had clung to her father, Charles 
 Viscount de Sombreuil, the Governor of the Inva- 
 lides, or pensioners of the French army ; and here, 
 too, had Madame de Fausse Lendry come with her 
 old uncle, the Abbe de Rastignac, who had been 
 for three months extremely ill, and was only just 
 recovering when dragged to the prison, and there 
 placed in a room so crowded that it was not possi- 
 ble to turn round, and the air in the end of August 
 was fearfully close and heated. Not once while 
 there was the poor old man able to sleep. His 
 niece spent the nights in a room belonging to the 
 jailer, with the Princess de Tarente, and Mademoi- 
 selle de Sombreuil. 
 
 On the 2d of September these slaughter-houses 
 were as full as they could hold, and about a him- 
 dred ruffians, armed with axes and guns, were sent 
 round to all the jails to do the bloody work. It 
 was a Sunday, and some of the victims had tried 
 to observe it religiously, though little divining that 
 it was to be their last. They first took alarm on 
 perceiving that their jailer had removed his family, 
 and then that he sent up their dinner earlier tha'n 
 usual, and removed all the knives and forks. By 
 and by howls and shouts were heard, and the tocsin 
 was heard ringing, alarm guns firing, and reports 
 came in to the prisoners of Abbaye that the popu^ 
 lace were breaking into the prisons.
 
 312 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The clergy were all penned up together in the 
 cloisters of the Abbaye, whither they had been 
 brought in carriages that morning. Among them 
 was the Abbe Sicard, an admirable priest, who had 
 spent his whole lifetime in instructing the deaf and 
 dumb in his own house, where 
 
 " The cunning finger finely twined 
 The subtle thread that knitteth mind to mind ; 
 There that strange bridge of signs was built where roll 
 The sunless waves that sever soul from soul, 
 And by the arch, no bigger than a hand, 
 Truth travelled over to the silent land." 
 
 He had been arrested, while teaching his pupils, 
 on the 26th of August, 1792, and shut up among 
 other clergy in the prison of the Mayoralty ; but the 
 lads whom he had educated came in a body to ask 
 leave to claim him at the bar of the National Assem- 
 bly. Massieu, his best scholar, had drawn up a 
 most touching address, saying, that in him the deaf 
 and dumb were deprived of their teacher, nurse, and 
 father. " It is he who has taught us what we know, 
 without him we should be as the beasts of the field." 
 This petition, and the gestures of the poor silent 
 beings, went to the heart of the National Assembly. 
 One young man, named Duhamel, neither deaf nor 
 dumb, from pure admiration of the good work, went 
 and offered to be imprisoned in the Abbe's place. 
 There was great applause, and a decree was passed 
 that the cause of the arrest should be inquired into, 
 but this took no effect, and on that dreadful after- 
 noon, M. Sicard was put into one of a procession 
 of carriages, which drove slowly through the streets 
 full of priests, who were reviled, pelted, and wounded 
 by 'the populace till they reached the Abbaye. 
 
 In the turnkey's rooms sat a horrible committee, 
 who acted as a sort of tribunal, but very few of the 
 priests reached it. They were for the most part cut
 
 The Second of September. 313 
 
 down as they stepped out into the throng in the 
 court, consisting of red-capped ruffians, with their 
 shirt sleeves turned up, and still more fiendish wo- 
 men, who hounded them on to the butchery, and 
 brought them wine and food. Sicard and another 
 priest contrived, while their companions fell, to rush 
 into the committee-room, exclaiming, " Messieurs^ 
 preserve an unfortunate ! " 
 
 ( ;<> along " ; they said, "do you wish us to get 
 ourselves massacred ? " 
 
 But one, recognizing him, was surprised, knowing 
 that his lite was to be spared, and took him into the 
 room, promising to save him as long as possible. 
 Here the two priests would have been safe but for a 
 wretched woman, who shrieked out to the murder- 
 ers that they had been admitted, and loud knocks 
 and demands for them came from without. Sicard 
 thought all lost, and taking out his watch, begged 
 one of the committee to give it to the first deaf mute 
 who should come and ask for him, sure that it would 
 be the faithful Massieu. At first the man replied 
 that the danger was not imminent enough : but on 
 hearing a more furious noise at the door, as if the 
 mob were going to break in, he took the watch ; and 
 Sicard falling on his knees, commended his soul to 
 God, and embraced his brother priest. 
 
 In rushed the assassins ; they paused for a mo- 
 ment, unable to distinguish the priests from the 
 committee, but the two pikemen found them out, 
 and his companion was instantly murdered. The 
 weapons were lifted against Sicard, when a man 
 pushed through the crowd, and throwing himself 
 before the pike, displayed his breast, and cried, 
 " Behold the bosom through which you must pass 
 to reach that of this good citizen. You do not know 
 him. He is the Abbe" Sicard, one of the most benev- 
 olent of men, the most useful to his country, the 
 father of the deaf and dumb ! "
 
 314 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The murderer dropped his pike ; but Sicard, per- 
 ceiving that it was the populace who were the real 
 dispensers of life or death, sprang to the window, 
 and shouted, " Friends, behold an innocent man. 
 Am I to die without being heard ? " 
 
 "You were among the rest," the mob shouted, 
 "therefore you are as bad as the others." 
 
 But when he told his name, the cry changed. 
 " He is the father of the deaf and dumb ! he is too 
 useful to perish ; his life is spent in doing good ; he 
 must be saved." And the murderers behind took 
 him up in their arms, and carried him out into the 
 court, where he was obliged to submit to be em- 
 braced by the whole gang of ruffians, who wanted 
 to carry him home in triumph ; but he did not 
 choose to go without being legally released, and 
 returning into the committee-room, he learnt for the 
 first time the name of his preserver, one Monnot, a 
 watchmaker, who, though knowing him only by 
 character, and learning that he was among the cler- 
 gy who were being driven to the slaughter, had 
 rushed in to save him. 
 
 Sicard remained in the committee-room while 
 further horrors were perpetrated all round, and at 
 night was taken to the little room called Le Violon, 
 with two other prisoners. A horrible night ensued ; 
 the murders on the outside varied with drinking and 
 dancing ; and at three o'clock the murderers tried 
 to break into Le Violon. There was a loft far over- 
 head, and the other two prisoners tried to persuade 
 Sicard to climb on their shoulders to reach it, say- 
 ing that his life was more useful than theirs. How- 
 ever, some fresh prey was brought in, which drew 
 off the attention of the murderers, and two days 
 afterwards Sicard was released to resume his life 
 of charity. 
 
 At the beginning of the night, all the ladies who 
 had accompanied their relatives were separated
 
 The Second of September. 3 1 5 
 
 from them, and put into the women's room ; but 
 when morning came they entreated earnestly to 
 return to them, but Mademoiselle de Fausse Len- 
 dry was assured that her uncle was safe, and they 
 were told soon after that all who remained were 
 pardoned. About twenty-two ladies were together, 
 and were called to leave the prison, but the two 
 who went first were at once butchered, and the sen- 
 try called out to the others, " It is a snare, go back, 
 do not show yourselves." They retreated ; but Ma- 
 rie de Sombreuil had made her way to her father, 
 and when he was called down into the court, she 
 came with him. She hung round him, beseeching 
 the murderers to have pity on his gray hairs, and 
 declaring that they must strike him only through 
 her. One of the ruffians, touched by her resolu- 
 tion, called out that they should be allowed to pass 
 if the girl would drink to the health of the nation. 
 The whole court was swimming with blood, and the 
 glass he held out to her was full of something red. 
 Marie would not shudder. She drank, and with 
 the applause of the assassins ringing in her ears, 
 she passed with her father over the threshold of 
 the fatal gates, into such freedom and safety as 
 Paris could then afford. Never again could she 
 see a glass of red wine without a shudder, and it 
 was generally believed that it was actually a glass 
 of blood that she had swallowed, though she always 
 averred that this was an exaggeration, and that it 
 had been only her impression before tasting it that 
 so horrible a draught was offered to her. 
 
 The tidings that Mademoiselle de Sombreuil had 
 saved her father came to encourage the rest of 
 ladies, and when calls were heard for 
 
 Elizabeth flew out and joined her father, and in likegp 
 manner stood between him and the butchers, tih^ 
 her devotion made the crowd cry " Pardon ! " and 
 one of the men employed about the prison opened
 
 316 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 a passage for her, by which she, too, led her father 
 away. 
 
 Madame de Fausse Lendry was not so happy. 
 Her uncle was killed early in the day, before she 
 was aware that he had been sent for, but she sur- 
 vived to relate the history of that most horrible 
 night and day. The same work was going on at all 
 the other prisons, and chief among the victims of 
 La Force was the beautiful Marie Louise of Savoy, 
 the Princess de Lamballe, and one of the most inti- 
 mate friends of the queen. A young widow with- 
 out children, she had been the ornament of the 
 court, and clever learned ladies thought her frivo- 
 lous, but the depth of her nature was shown in the 
 time of trial. Her old father-in-law had taken her 
 abroad with him when the danger first became ap- 
 parent, but as soon as she saw that the queen her- 
 self was aimed at, she went immediately back to 
 France to comfort her and share her fate. 
 
 Since the terrible loth of August, the friends had 
 been separated, and Madame de Lamballe had been 
 in the prison of La Force. There, on the evening 
 of the ad of September, she was brought down to 
 the tribunal, and told to swear liberty, equality, and 
 hatred to the king and queen. 
 
 " I will readily swear the two former. I cannot 
 swear the latter. It is not in my heart." 
 
 " Swear ! If not, you are dead." 
 
 She raised her eyes, lifted "her hands, and made a 
 step to the door. Murderers closed her in, and pike 
 thrusts in a few moments were the last " stage that 
 carried from earth to heaven " the gentle woman 
 
 S'io had loved her queenly friend to the death. Lit- 
 mattered it to her that her corpse was soon torn 
 limb from limb, and that her fair ringlets were float- 
 ing round the pike on which her head was borne 
 past her friend's prison window. Little matters it 
 now even to Marie Antoinette. The worst that the
 
 The Second of September. 3 1 7 
 
 murderers could do for such as these could only 
 work for them a more exceeding weight of glory. 
 
 M. Gazette was imprisoned again on the I2th of 
 September, and all his daughter's efforts failed to 
 save him. She was taken from him, and he died on 
 the guillotine, exclaiming, " I die as I have lived, 
 faithful to my God and to my king." Anil the same 
 winter, M. de Sombreuil was also imprisoned again. 
 When he entered the prison with his daughter, all 
 the inmates rose to do her honor. In the ensuing 
 June, after a mock trial, her father and brother were 
 put to death, and she remained for many years alone 
 with only the memory of her past days.
 
 THE VENDEENS. 
 
 1793- 
 
 WHILE the greater part of France had been 
 falling into habits of self-indulgence, and 
 from thence into infidelity and revolution, there was 
 one district where the people had not forgotten to 
 fear God and honor the king. 
 
 This was in the tract surrounding the Loire, the 
 south of which is now called La Vendee, and was 
 then termed the Bocage, or the Woodland. It is 
 full of low hills and narrow valleys, divided into 
 small fields, enclosed by high thick hedge-rows, so 
 that when viewed from the top of one of the hills 
 the whole countr / appears perfectly green, excepting 
 near harvest-time, when small patches of golden 
 corn catch the eye, or where here and there a church- 
 tower peeps above the trees, in the midst of the flat 
 red-tiled roofs of the surrounding village. The roads 
 are deep lanes, often in the winter beds of streams, 
 and in the summer completely roofed by the thick 
 foliage of the trees, whose branches meet overhead. 
 
 The gentry of La Vendee, instead of idling their 
 time at Paris, lived on their own estates in kindly 
 intercourse with their neighbors, and constantly 
 helping and befriending their tenants, visiting them 
 at their farms, talking over their crops and cattle, 
 giving them advice, and inviting them on holidays 
 to dance in the courts o.f their castles, and them-
 
 The Vendcens. 319 
 
 selves joining in their sports. The peasants were a 
 hard-working, sober, and pious people, devoutly at- 
 tending their churches, reverencing their clergy, and, 
 as well they might, loving and honoring their good 
 landlords. 
 
 Hut as the Revolution began to make its deadly 
 progress at Paris, a gloom spread over this happy 
 country. The 1'aris mob, who could not bear to see 
 any one higher in station than themselves, thirsted 
 for noble blood, and the gentry were driven from 
 France, or else imprisoned and put to death. An 
 oath contrary to the laws of their Church was re- 
 quired of the clergy, those who refused it were 
 thrust out of their parishes and others placed in 
 their room ; and throughout France all the youths 
 of a certain age were forced to dnw lots to decide 
 who should serve in the Republican army. 
 
 This conscription filled up the measure. The 
 Vende'ens had grieved over the flight of their land- 
 lords, they had sheltered and hidden their priests, 
 and heard their ministrations in secret ; but when 
 their young men were to be carried away from them, 
 and made the defenders and instruments of those 
 who were murdering their king, overthrowing their 
 Church, and ruining their country, they could endure 
 it no longer, but in the spring of 1793, soon after 
 the execution of Louis XVI., a rising took place in 
 Anjou. at the village of St. Florent, headed by a 
 Deafer named Cathelineau. and they drove back the 
 Hlues. as they called the revolutionary soldiers, who 
 had come to enforce the conscription. They begged 
 Monsieur de Honchamp, a gentleman in the neigh- 
 borhood, to take the command ; and, willing to de- 
 vote himself to the cause of his king, he complied, 
 saying as he did so, ' We must not aspire to earthly 
 rewards ; such would be beneath the purity of our 
 motives, the holiness of our cause. We must not 
 even aspire to glory, for a civil war affords none.
 
 320 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 We shall see our castles fall, we shall be proscribed, 
 slandered, stripped of our possessions, perhaps put 
 to death ; but let us thank God for giving us strength 
 to do our duty to the end." 
 
 The next person on whom the peasants cast their 
 eyes possessed as true and strong a heart, though 
 he was too young to count the cost of loyalty with 
 the same calm spirit of self-de-votion. The Marquis 
 de la Rochejacquelein, one of the most excellent of 
 the nobles of Poitou, had already emigrated with his 
 wife and all his family, excepting Henri, the eldest 
 son, who, though but eighteen years of age, had 
 been placed in the dangerous post of an officer in 
 the Royal Guards. When Louis XVI. had been 
 obliged to dismiss these brave men, he had obtained 
 a promise from each officer that he would not leave 
 France, but wait for some chance of delivering that 
 unhappy country. Henri had therefore remained at 
 Paris, until after the loth of August, 1792, when the 
 massacre at the Tuileries took place, and the impris- 
 onment of the royal family commenced ; and then 
 every gentleman being in danger in the city, he had 
 come to his father's deserted castle of Durballiere 
 in Poitou. 
 
 He was nearly twenty, tall and slender, with fair 
 hair, an oval face, and blue eyes, very gentle, al- 
 though full of animation. He was active and dex- 
 terous in all manly sports, especially shooting and 
 riding ; he was a man of few words ; and his man- 
 ners were so shy, modest, and retiring, that his 
 friends used to say he was more like an English- 
 man than a Frenchman. 
 
 Hearing that he was alone at Durballiere, and 
 knowing that as an officer in the Guards, and also 
 as being of the age liable to the conscription, he was 
 in danger from the Revolutionists in the neighbor- 
 ing towns, his cousin, the Marquis de Lescure, sent 
 to invite him to his strong castle of Clisson, which
 
 The Ven&ens. 321 
 
 was likewise situated in the Bocage. This castle 
 afforded a refuge to many others who were in dan- 
 ger, to nuns driven from their convents, dispos- 
 sessed clergy, and persons who dreaded to remain 
 at their homes, but who felt reassured under the 
 shelter of the castle, and by the character of its 
 owner, a young man of six-ancl-twenty, who, though 
 of high and unshaken loyalty, had never concerned 
 himself with politics, but led a quiet and studious 
 life, and was everywhere honored and respected. 
 
 The winter passed in great anxiety, and when in 
 the spring the rising at Anjou took place, and the 
 new government summoned all who could bear arms 
 to assist in quelling it, a council was held among the 
 party at Clisson on the steps to be taken. Henri, 
 as the youngest, spoke first, saying he would rather 
 perish than fight against the peasants ; nor among 
 the whole assembly was there one person willing to 
 take the safer but meaner course of deserting the 
 cause of their king and country. " Yes," said the 
 Duchess de Donnissan, mother to the young wife of 
 the Marquis de Lescure, " I see you are all of the 
 same opinion. Better death than dishonor. 1 ap- 
 prove your courage. It is a settled thing " : and seat- 
 ing herself in her arm-chair, she concluded, " Well, 
 then we must die." 
 
 For some little time all remained quiet at Clisson ; 
 but at length the order for the conscription arrived, 
 and a few days before the time appointed for the lots 
 to be drawn', a boy came to the castle bringing a 
 note to Henri from his aunt at St. Aubin. " Mon- 
 sieur Henri," said the boy, " they say you are to 
 draw for the conscription next Sunday ; but may 
 not your tenants rise against it in the mean time ? 
 Come with me, sir, the whole country is longing for 
 you, and will obey you." 
 
 Henri instantly promised to come, but some of 
 the ladies would have persuaded him not to endanger
 
 322 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 himself representing, too, that if he was missing 
 on the appointed day, M. cle Lescure might be made 
 responsible for him. The Marquis, however, silenced 
 them, saying to his cousin, " You are prompted by 
 honor and duty to put yourself at the head of your 
 tenants. Follow out your plan. I am only grieved 
 at not being able to go with you ; and certainly no 
 fear of imprisonment will lead me to dissuade you 
 from doing your duty." 
 
 " Well, I will come and rescue you," said Henri, 
 embracing him, and his eyes glancing with a noble 
 soldier-like expression and an eagle look. 
 
 As soon as the servants were gone to bed, he set 
 out with a guide, with a stick in his hand and a pair 
 of pistols in his belt ; and travelling through the 
 fields, over hedges and ditches, for fear of meeting 
 with the Blues, arrived at St. Aubin, and from 
 thence went on to meet M. de Bonchamp and his lit- 
 tle army. But he found to his disappointment that 
 they had just been defeated, and the chieftains, be- 
 lieving that all was lost, had dispersed their troops. 
 He went to his own home, dispirited and grieved ; 
 but no sooner did the men of St. Aubin learn the 
 arrival of their young lord, than they came trooping 
 to the castle, entreating him to place himself at 
 their head. 
 
 In the early morning, the castle court, the fields, 
 the village, were thronged with stout hardy farmers 
 and laborers, in gray coats, with broad flapping 
 hats, and red woollen handkerchiefs round their 
 necks. On their shoulders were spits, scythes, and 
 even sticks ; happy was the man who could bring 
 an old fowling-piece, and still more rejoiced the 
 owner of some powder, intended for blasting some 
 neighboring quarry. All had bold true hearts, ready 
 to suffer and to die in the cause of their Church, and 
 of their young, innocent, imprisoned king. 
 
 A mistrust of his own powers, a fear of ruining
 
 The Vendcens. 323 
 
 these brave men, crossed the mind of the youth as 
 he looked forth upon them, and he exclaimed, " If 
 my father was but here, you might trust to him. 
 Yet by my courage I will show myself worthy, and 
 lead you. If I go forward, follow me ; if I draw 
 back, kill me ; if I am slain, avenge me ! " They 
 replied by shouts of joy, and it was instantly re- 
 solved to march upon the next village, which was 
 occupied by the rebel troops. They gained a com- 
 plete victory, driving away the Blues, and taking 
 two small pieces of cannon, and immediately joined 
 M. de Bonchamp and Cathelineau, who, encouraged 
 by their success, again gathered their troops and 
 gained some further advantages. 
 
 In the mean time, the authorities had sent to 
 Clisson and arrested M. de Lescure, his wife, her 
 parents, and some of their guests, who were con- 
 ducted to Bressuire, the nearest town, and there 
 closely guarded. There was great danger that the 
 Republicans would revenge their losses upon them, 
 but the calm, dignified deportment of M. de Les- 
 cure obliged them to respect him so much that no 
 injury was offered to him. At last came the joyful 
 news that the Royalist army was approaching. The 
 Republican soldiers immediately quitted the town, 
 and the inhabitants all came to ask the protection 
 of the prisoners, desiring to send their goods to 
 Clisson for security, and thinking themselves guard- 
 ed by the presence of M. and Madame de Lescure. 
 
 M. de Lescure and his cousin Bernard de Marig- 
 ny mounted their horses and rode out to meet their 
 friends. In a quarter of an hour afterwards, Mad- 
 ame de Lescure heard the shouts, " Long live the 
 kin<^ " ; and the next minute, Henri de la Rochejac- 
 quelein hurried into the room, crying, " I have saved 
 you." The peasants marched in, to the number of 
 20,000, and spread themselves through the town, 
 but in their victory they had gained no taste for
 
 324 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 blood or plunder, they did not hurt a single inhab- 
 itant, nor touch anything that was not their own. 
 Madame de Lescure heard some of them wishing 
 for tobacco, and asked if there was none in the 
 town. " O yes, there is plenty to be sold, but we 
 have no money " ; and they were very thankful to 
 her for giving the small sum they required. Mon- 
 sieur de Donnissan saw two men disputing in the 
 street, and one drew his sword, when he interfered, 
 saying, " Our Lord prayed for His murderers, and 
 would one soldier of the Catholic army kill an- 
 other ? " The two instantly embraced. 
 
 Three times a day these peasant warriors knelt 
 at their prayers, in the churches if they were near 
 them, if not, in the open field, and seldom have 
 ever been equalled the piety, the humility, the 
 self-devotion alike of chiefs and of followers. The 
 frightful cruelties committed by the enemy were 
 returned by mercy ; though such of them as fell 
 into the hands of the Republicans were shot with- 
 out pity, yet their prisoners were instantly set at 
 liberty after being made -to promise not to serve 
 against them again, and having their hair shaved 
 off in order that they might be recognized. 
 
 Whenever an enterprise was resolved on, the 
 curates gave notice to their parishioners that the 
 leaders would be at such a place at such a time ; 
 upon which they crowded to the spot, and assem- 
 bled around the white standard of France with 
 such weapons as they could muster. 
 
 The clergy then heard them confess their sins, 
 gave them absolution, and blessed them ; then, 
 while they set forward, returned to the churches 
 where their wives and children were praying for 
 their success. They did not fight like regular 
 soldiers, but, creeping through the hedge-rows and 
 coppices, burst unexpectedly upon the Blues, who, 
 entangled in the hollow lanes, ignorant of the
 
 The Vendee ns. 325 
 
 country, and amazed by the suddenness of the at- 
 tack, had little power to resist. The chieftains were 
 always foremost in danger ; above all the eager 
 young Henri, with his eye on the white standard, 
 and on the blue sky, and his hand making the sign 
 of the cross, without which he never charged the 
 enemy, dashed on first, fearless of peril, regardless 
 of his life, thinking only of his duty to his king and 
 the protection of his followers. 
 
 It was calmness and resignation which chiefly 
 distinguished M. de Lescure, the Saint of Poitou, 
 as the peasants called him from his great piety, his 
 even temper, and the kindness and the wonderful 
 mercifulness of his disposition. Though constantly 
 at the head of his troops, leading them into the 
 most dangerous places and never sparing himself, 
 not one man was slain by his hand, nor did he 
 even permit a prisoner to receive the least injury 
 in his presence. When one of the Republicans 
 once presented his musket close to his breast, he 
 quietly put it aside with his hand, and only said, 
 "Take away the prisoner." His calmness was in- 
 deed well founded, and his trust never failed. Once 
 when the little army had received a considerable 
 check, and his cousin, M. de Marigny was in de- 
 spair, and throwing his pistols on the table, ex- 
 claimed. - I fight no longer." he took him by the 
 arm, led him to the window, and pointing to a troop 
 of peasants kneeling at their evening prayers, he 
 said, "See there a pledge of our hopes, and doubt 
 no longer that we shall conquer in our turn." 
 
 Their greatest victory was at Saumur, owing 
 chiefly to the gallantry of Henri, who threw his hat 
 into the midst of the enemy, shouting to his fol- 
 lowers, "Who will go and fetch it for me?" and 
 rushing forward, drove all before him, and made 
 his way into the town on one side, while M. de 
 Lescure, together with Stofflet, a gamekeeper, an-
 
 326 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 other of the chiefs, made their entrance on the 
 other side. M. de Lescure was wounded in the 
 arm, and on the sight of his blood the peasants 
 gave back, and would have fled, had not Stofflet 
 threatened to shoot the first who turned ; and in 
 the mean time M. de Lescure, tying up his arm with 
 a handkerchief, declared it was nothing, and led 
 them onwards. 
 
 The city was entirely in their hands, and their 
 thankful delight was excessive ; but they only dis- 
 played it by ringing the bells, singing the Te Deum, 
 and parading the streets. Henri was almost out of 
 his senses with exultation ; but at last he fell into a 
 reverie, as he stood, with his arms folded, gazing on 
 the mighty citadel which had yielded to efforts such 
 as theirs. His friends roused him from his dream 
 by their remarks, and he replied, " I am reflecting 
 on our success, and am confounded." 
 
 They now resolved to elect a general-in-chief, and 
 M. de Lescure was the first to propose Cathelineau, 
 the pedler, who had first come forward in the cause. 
 It was a wondrous thing when the nobles, the gen- 
 try, and experienced officers who had served in the 
 regular army, all willingly placed themselves under 
 the command of the simple untrained peasant, with- 
 out a thought of selfishness or of jealousy. Nor did 
 Cathelineau himself show any trace of pride, or lose 
 his complete humility of mind or manner; but by 
 each word and deed he fully proved how wise had 
 been their judgment, and well earned the title given 
 him by the peasants of the " Saint of Anjou." 
 
 It was now that their hopes were highest ; they 
 were more numerous and better armed than they had 
 ever been before, and they even talked of a march 
 to Paris to "fetch their little king, and have him 
 crowned at Chollet," the chief town of La Vendee. 
 But martyrdom, the highest glory to be obtained on 
 this earth, was already shedding its brightness round
 
 The Vend&ns. 327 
 
 those devoted men who were counted worthy to suf- 
 fer, and it was in a higher and a purer world that 
 they were to meet their royal child. 
 
 Cathelineau turned towards Nantes, leaving Henri 
 de la Rochejaquelein, to his great vexation, to defend 
 Saumur with a party of peasants. But he found it 
 impossible to prevent these poor men from return- 
 ing to their homes ; they did not understand the 
 importance of garrison duty, and gradually departed, 
 leaving their commander alone with a few officers, 
 with whom he used to go through the town at night, 
 shouting out, " Long live the king ! " at the places 
 where there ought to have been sentinels. At last, 
 when his followers were reduced to eight, he left the 
 town, and, rejoicing to be once more in the open 
 field, overtook his friends at Angers, where they 
 had just rescued a great number of clergy who had 
 been imprisoned there, and daily threatened with 
 death. " Do not thank us," said the peasants to 
 the liberated priests ; " it is for you that we fight. 
 If we had not saved you, we should not have ven- 
 tured to return home. Since you are freed, we see 
 plainly that the good God is on our side." 
 
 But the tide was now about to turn. The govern- 
 ment in Paris sent a far stronger force into the Bo- 
 cage, and desolated it in a cruel manner. Clisson 
 was burnt to the ground with the very fireworks 
 which had been prepared for the christening of its 
 master's eldest child, and which had not been used 
 because of the sorrowful days when she was born. 
 M. de Lescure had long expected its destruction, 
 but had not chosen to remove the furniture, lest he 
 should discourage the peasants. His family were 
 with the army, where alone there was now any safety 
 for the weak and helpless. At Nantes the attack 
 was unsuccessful, and Cathelineau himself received 
 a wound of which he died in a few days, rejoicing at 
 having been permitted to shed his blood in such a 
 cause.
 
 328 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 The army, of which M. d'Elbe"e became the leader, 
 now returned to Poitou, and gained a great victory 
 at Chatillon ; but here many of them forgot the 
 mercy they had usually shown, and, enraged by 
 the sight of their burnt cottages, wasted fields, and 
 murdered relatives, they fell upon the prisoners and 
 began to slaughter them. M. de Lescure, coming 
 in haste, called out to them to desist. " No, no," 
 cried M. de Marigny ; " let me slay these monsters 
 who have burnt your castle." " Then, Marigny," 
 said his cousin, " you must fight with me. You are 
 too cruel ; you will perish by the sword." And he 
 saved these unhappy men for the time ; but they 
 were put to death on their way to their own army. 
 
 The cruelties of the Republicans occasioned a 
 proclamation on the part of the Royalists that they 
 would make reprisals ; but they could never bring 
 themselves to act upon it. When M. de Lescure 
 took Parthenay, he said to the inhabitants, " It is 
 well for you that it is I who have taken your town ; 
 for, according to our proclamation, I ought to burn 
 it ; but, as you would think it an act of private re- 
 venge for the burning of Clisson, I spare you." 
 
 Though occasional successes still maintained the 
 hopes of the Vende"ens, misfortunes and defeats now 
 became frequent ; they were unable to save their 
 country from the devastations of the enemy, and 
 disappointments began to thin the numbers of the 
 soldiers. Henri, while fighting in a hollow road, 
 was struck in the right hand by a ball, which broke 
 his thumb in three places. He continued to direct 
 his men, but they were at length driven back from 
 their post. He was obliged to leave the army for 
 some days ; and though he soon appeared again at 
 the head of the men of St. Aubin, he never recov- 
 ered the use of his hand. 
 
 Shortly after, both d'Elbee and Bonchamp were 
 desperately wounded ; and M. de Lescure, while
 
 The Vendt'cns. 329 
 
 waving his followers on to attack a Republican post, 
 received a ball in the head. The enemy pressed on 
 the broken and defeated army with overwhelming 
 force, and the few remaining chiefs resolved to cross 
 the Loire and take refuge in Brittany. It was much 
 against the opinion of M. de Lescure ; but, in his 
 feeble and suffering state, he could not make him- 
 self heard, nor could Henri's representations pre- 
 vail ; the peasants, in terror and dismay, were hast- 
 ening across as fast as they could obtain boats to 
 curry them. The enemy was near at hand, and 
 Stofflet, Marigny, and the other chiefs were only 
 deliberating whether they should not kill the prison- 
 ers whom they could not take with them, and, if set 
 at liberty, would only add to the numbers of their 
 pursuers. The order for their death had boon given ; 
 but, before it could be executed, M. de Lescure had 
 raised his head to exclaim, "It is too horrible!" 
 and M. de Bonchamp at the same moment said, al- 
 most with his last breath, "Spare them!" The 
 officers who stood by rushed to the generals, crying 
 out that Bonchamp commanded that they should be 
 pardoned. They were set at liberty ; and thus the 
 two Vend<5en chiefs avenged their deaths by saving 
 five thousand of their enemies ! 
 
 M. de Bonchamp expired immediately after ; but 
 M- de Lescure had still much to suffer in the long 
 and painful passage across the river, and afterwards, 
 while carried along the rough roads to Varades in 
 an arm-chair upon two pikes, his wife and her maid 
 supporting his feet. The Bretons received them 
 kindly, and gave him a small room, where, the next 
 day, he sent for the rest of the council, telling them 
 they ought to choose a new general, since M. d'El- 
 be"e was missing. They answered that he himself 
 alone could be commander. " Gentlemen," he an- 
 swered, " I am mortally wounded ; and even if I am 
 to live, which I do not expect, I shall be long unfit
 
 33 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 to serve. The army must instantly have an active 
 chief, loved by all, known to the peasants, trusted by 
 every one. It is the only way of saving us. M. de 
 la Rochejaquelein alone is known to the soldiers of 
 all the divisions. M. de Donnissan, my father-in- 
 law, does not belong to this part of the country, and. 
 would not Be as readily followed. The choice I 
 propose would encourage the soldiers, and I entreat 
 you to choose M. de la Rochejaquelein. As to me, 
 if I live, you know I shall not quarrel with Henri ; I 
 shall be his aide-de-camp." 
 
 His advice was readily followed, Henri was 
 chosen ; but when a second in command was to 
 be elected, he said no, he was second, for he should 
 always obey M. de Donnissan, and entreated that 
 the honor might not be given to him, saying that 
 at twenty years of age he had neither weight nor 
 experience, that his valor led him to be first in bat- 
 tle, but in council his youth prevented him from 
 being attended to; and, indeed, after giving his 
 opinion, he usually fell asleep while others were 
 debating. He was, however, elected ; and as soon 
 as M. de Lescure heard the shouts of joy with which 
 the peasants received the intelligence, he sent Mad- 
 ame de Lescure to bring him to his bedside. She 
 found him hidden in a corner, weeping bitterly ; and 
 when he came to his cousin, he embraced him, say- 
 ing earnestly, again and again, that he was not fit to 
 be general, he only knew how to fight, he was too 
 young and could never silence those who opposed 
 his designs, and entreated him to take the command 
 as soon as he was cured. " That I do not expect," 
 said M. de Lescure ; " but if it should happen, I 
 will be your aide-de-camp, and help you to conquer 
 the shyness which prevents your strength of char- 
 acter from silencing the murmurers and the ambi- 
 tious. 
 
 Henri accordingly took the command ; but it was
 
 The Vendcens. 33 1 
 
 a melancholy office that devolved upon him of 
 dragging onward his broken and dejected peasants, 
 half starved, half clothed, and followed by a wretched 
 train of women, children, and wounded ; a sad 
 change from the bright hopes with which, not six 
 months before, he had been called to the head of 
 his tenants. Yet still his high courage gained some 
 triumphs, which for a time revived the spirits of 
 his forces and restored their confidence. He was 
 active and undaunted, and it was about this time, 
 when in pursuit of the Blues, he was attacked by a 
 foot-soldier when alone in a narrow lane. His 
 right hand was useless, but he seized the man's col- 
 lar with his left, and held him fast, managing his 
 horse with his legs till his men came up. He would 
 not allow them to kill the soldier, but set him free, 
 saying, " Return to the Republicans, and tell them 
 that you were alone with the general of the brig- 
 ands, who had but one hand and no weapons, yet 
 you could not kill him." Brigands was the name 
 given by the Republicans (the true robbers) to the 
 Royalists, who, in fact, by this time, owing to the 
 wild life they had so long led, had acquired a some- 
 what rude and savage appearance. They wore gray 
 cloth coats and trousers, broad hats, white sashes 
 with knots of different colors to mark the rank of the 
 officers, and red woollen handkerchiefs. These were 
 made in the country, and were at first chiefly worn 
 by Henri, who usually had one round his neck, an- 
 other round his waist, and a third to support his 
 wounded hand ; but the other officers having heard 
 the Blues cry out to aim at the red handkerchief, 
 themselves adopted the same badge, in order that 
 he might be less conspicuous. 
 
 In the mean time a few days' rest at Laval had at 
 first so alleviated the sufferings of M. de Lescure, 
 that hopes were entertained of his recovery ; but 
 he ventured on greater exertions of strength than
 
 332 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 he was able to bear, and fever returned, which had 
 weakened him greatly before it became necessary 
 to travel onwards. Early in the morning, a day or 
 two before their departure, he called to his wife, 
 who was lying on a mattress on the floor, and de- 
 sired her to open the curtains, asking, as she did so, 
 if it was a clear day. " Yes," said she. " Then," 
 he answered, " I have a sort of veil before my eyes, 
 I cannot see distinctly ; I always thought my wound 
 was mortal, and now I no longer doubt. My dear, 
 I must leave you, that is my only regret, except 
 that I could not restore my king to the throne ; I 
 leave you in the midst of a civil war, that is what 
 afflicts me. Try to save yourself. Disguise your- 
 self and attempt to reach England." Then seeing 
 her choked with tears, he continued: "Yes, your 
 
 fief alone makes me regret life ; for my own part, 
 die tranquil ; I have indeed sinned, but I have 
 always served God with piety ; I have fought, and 
 I die for Him, and I hope in His mercy. I have 
 often seen death, and I do not fear it. I go to 
 heaven with a sure trust, I grieve but for you ; I 
 hoped to have made you happy ; if I ever have 
 given you any reason to complain, forgive me." 
 Finding her grief beyond all consolation, he al- 
 lowed her to call the surgeons, saying that it was 
 possible he might be mistaken. They gave some 
 hope, which cheered her spirits, though he still said 
 he did not believe them. The next day they left 
 Laval, and on the way, while the carriage was 
 stopping, a person came to the door and read the 
 details of the execution of Marie Antoinette, which 
 Madame de Lescure had kept from his knowledge. 
 It was a great shock to him, for he had known the 
 queen personally, and throughout the day he 
 wearied himself with exclamations on the horrible 
 trime. That night, at Ernee, he received the Sac- 
 rament, and at the same time became speechless,
 
 The Vendccns. 333 
 
 and could only lie holding his wife's hand, and look- 
 ing sometimes at her, sometimes toward heaven. 
 But the cruel enemy were close behind, and there 
 was no rest on earth even for the dying. Madame de 
 Lescure implored her friends to leave them behind ; 
 but they told her she would be exposed to a fright- 
 ful death, and that his body would fall into the 
 enemy's hands ; and she was forced to consent to 
 his removal. Her mother and her other friends 
 would not permit her to remain in the carriage with 
 him ; she was placed on horseback, and her maid 
 and the surgeon were with him. An hour after, on 
 the 3d of November, he died, but his wife did not 
 know her loss till the evening when they arrived at 
 Fougeres ; for though the surgeon left the carriage 
 on his death, the maid, fearing the effect which the 
 knowledge might have upon her in the midst of her 
 journey, remained for seven hours in the carriage 
 by his side, during two of which she was in a faint- 
 ing fit. 
 
 When Madame cle Lescure and Henri de la 
 Rochejaquelein met the next morning, they sat for 
 a quarter of an hour without speaking, and weeping 
 bitterly. At last she said, " You have lost your best 
 friend," and he replied, " Take my life, if it could 
 restore him." 
 
 Scarcely anything can be imagined more misera- 
 ble than the condition of the army, or more terrible 
 than the situation of the young general, who felt 
 himself responsible for its safety, and was compelled 
 daily to see its sufferings and find his plans thwarted 
 by the obstinacy and folly of the other officers, 
 crushed by an overwhelming force, knowing that 
 there was no quarter from which help could come, 
 yet still struggling on in fulfilment of his sad duty. 
 The hopes and expectations which had filled his 
 heart a few months back had long passed away : 
 nothing was around him but misery, nothing before
 
 334 -A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 him but desolation ; but still he never failed in 
 courage, in mildness, in confidence in Heaven. 
 
 At Mans he met with a horrible defeat ; at first, 
 indeed, with* a small party he broke the columns of 
 the enemy, but fresh men were constantly brought 
 up, and his peasants gave way and retreated, their 
 officers following them. He tried to lead them back 
 through the hedges, and if he had succeeded, would 
 surely have gained the victory. Three times with 
 two other officers he dashed into the midst of the 
 Blues ; but the broken, dispirited peasants would 
 not follow him, not one would even turn to fire a 
 shot. At last, in leaping a hedge, his saddle turned, 
 and he fell, without indeed being hurt, but the sight 
 of his fall added to the terror of the miserable Ven- 
 deens. He struggled long and desperately through 
 the long night that followed to defend the gates of 
 the town, but with the light of morning the enemy 
 perceived his weakness and effected their entrance. 
 His followers had in the mean time gradually retired 
 into the country beyond, but those who could not 
 escape fell a prey to the cruelty of the Republicans. 
 " I thought you had perished," said Madame de 
 Lescure, when he overtook her. "Would that I 
 had," was his answer. 
 
 He now resolved to recross the Loire, and return 
 to his native Bocage, where the well-known woods 
 would afford better protection to his followers. It 
 was at Craon, on their route to the river, that Mad- 
 ame de Lescure saw him for the last time, as he ral- 
 lied his men, who had been terrified by a false alarm. 
 
 She did not return to La Vendee, but, with her 
 mother, was sheltered by the peasants of Brittany 
 throughout the winter and spring until they found 
 means to leave the country. 
 
 The Vendeens reached the Loire at Ancenis, but 
 they were onlv able to find two small boats to carry 
 them over. 6n the other side, however were four
 
 The I 'cn:ii'tiis. 335 
 
 great ferry-boats loaded with hay ; and Henri, with 
 Stofflet, three other officers, and eighteen soldiers 
 crossed the river in their two boats, intending to 
 take possession of them, send them back for the rest 
 of the army, and in the mean time protect the pas- 
 s.i^e from the Blues on the Vendeen side. Unfortu- 
 nately, however, he had scarcely crossed before the 
 pursuers came down upon his troops, drove them 
 back from Ancenis. and entirely prevented them 
 from attempting the passage, while at the same time 
 Henri and his companions were attacked and forced 
 from the river by a body of Republicans on their 
 side. A last resistance was attempted by the re- 
 treating Vendcens at Savenay. where they fought 
 nobly but in vain ; four thousand were shot on the 
 field of battle, the chiefs were made prisoners and 
 carried to Nantes or Augers, where they were guillo- 
 tined, and a few who succeeded in escaping found 
 shelter among the Bretons, or one by one found 
 their way back to La Vendee. M. de Donnissan 
 was amongst those who were guillotined, and M. <!'- 
 Elbe"e, who was seized shortly after, was shot with 
 his wife. 
 
 Henri, with his few companions, when driven from 
 the banks of the Loire, dismissed the eighteen sol- 
 diers, whose number would only have attracted 
 attention without being sufficient for protection ; 
 but the five chiefs crossed the fields and wandered 
 through the country without meeting a single inhab- 
 itant, all the houses were burnt clown, and the 
 few remaining peasants hidden in the woods. At 
 last, after four-and-twenty hours' walking, they 
 came to an inhabited farm, where they laid 
 down to sleep on the straw. The next moment 
 the farmer came to tell them the Blues were com- 
 ing ; but they were so worn out with fatigue, that 
 they would not move. The Blues were happily, 
 also, very tired, and, without making search, laid
 
 336 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 down on the other side of the heap of straw, and 
 also fell asleep. Before daylight the Venclcens rose 
 and set out again, walking miles and milts in the 
 midst of desolation, until, after several days, they 
 came to Henri's own village of St. Aubin, where he 
 sought out his aunt, who was in concealment there, 
 and remained with her for three days, utterly over- 
 whelmed with grief at his fatal separation from his 
 army, and only longing for an opportunity of giving 
 his life in the good cause. 
 
 Beyond all his hopes, the peasants no sooner 
 heard his name than once more they rallied round 
 the white standard, as determined as ever not to 
 yield to the Revolutionary government ; and the be- 
 
 f inning of the year 1794 found him once more at the 
 ead of a considerable force, encamped in the forest 
 of Vesins, guarding the villages around from the 
 cruelties of the Blues. He was now doubly beloved 
 and trusted by the followers who had proved his 
 worth, and who even yet looked forward to triumphs 
 beneath his brave guidance ; but it was not so with 
 him, he had learnt the lesson of disappointment, 
 and though always active and cheerful, his mind was 
 made up, and the only hope he cherished was of 
 meeting the death of a soldier. His head-quarters 
 were in the midst of a forest, where one of the 
 Republican officers, who was made prisoner, was 
 much surprised to find the much-dreaded chieftain 
 of the Royalists living in a hut formed of boughs of 
 trees, dressed almost like a peasant, and with his 
 arm still in a sling. This person was shot, because 
 he was found to be commissioned to promise pardon 
 to the peasants, and afterwards to massacre them ; 
 but Henri had not learnt cruelty from his per- 
 secutors, and his last words were of forgivene.ss. 
 It was on Ash Wednesday that he had repulsed 
 an attack of the enemy, and had almost driven them 
 out of the wood, when, perceiving two soldiers hid-
 
 The Vendtens. 337 
 
 ing behind a hedge, he stopped, crying out, " Sur- 
 render, I spare you." As he spoke one of them 
 levelled his musket, fired, and stretched him dead 
 on the ground without a groan. Stofflet coming up 
 the next moment, killed the murderer with one stroke 
 of his sword ; but the remaining soldier was spared 
 out of regard to the last words of the general. The 
 Vende'ens wept bitterly, but there was no time to 
 indulge their sorrow, for the enemy were returning 
 upon them ; and, to save their chieftain's corpse from 
 insult, they hastily dug a grave, in which they placed 
 both bodies, and retreated as the Blues came up to 
 occupy the ground. The Republicans sought for 
 the spot, but it was preserved from their knowl- 
 edge ; and the high-spirited, pure-hearted Henri de 
 la Rochejaquelein sleeps beside his enemy in the 
 midst of the woodlands where he won for himself 
 eternal honor. His name is still loved beyond all 
 others ; the Vendeens seldom pronounce it without 
 touching their hats, and it is the highest glory of 
 many a family that one of their number has served 
 under Monsieur Henri. 
 
 Stofflet succeeded to the command, and carried 
 on the war with great skill and courage for another 
 year, though with barbarities such as had never 
 been permitted by the gentlemen ; but his career was 
 stained by the death of Marigny, whom, by false 
 accusations, he was induced to sentence to be shot. 
 Marigny showed great courage and resignation, him- 
 self giving the word to fire, perhaps at that mo- 
 ment remembering the warning of M. de Lescure. 
 Stofflet repented bitterly, and never ceased to lament 
 his death. He was at length made prisoner, and 
 shot, with his last words declaring his devotion to 
 his king and his faith. 
 
 Thus ends the tale of the Vendeen war, under- 
 taken in the best of causes, for the honor of God 
 and his Church, and the rescue, of one of the most
 
 338 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 innocent of kings, by men whose saintly characters 
 and dauntless courage have seldom been surpassed 
 by martyrs or heroes of any age. It closed with 
 blood, with fire, with miseries almost unequalled ; 
 yet who would dare to say that the lives of Catheli- 
 neau, Bonchamp, Lescure, La Rochejaquelein, with 
 their hundreds of brave and pious followers, were 
 devoted in vain ? Who could wish to see their 
 brightness dimmed with earthly rewards ? 
 
 And though the powers of evil were permitted to 
 prevail on earth, yet what could their utmost triumph 
 effect against the faithful, but to make for them, in 
 the words of the child king for whom they fought., 
 one of those thorny paths that lead to glory !
 
 THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI. 
 
 1793- 
 
 MOURNFUL as are in general the annals of 
 shivery, 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 de- 
 graded 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 in- 
 to a state in which they will perpetrate horrible fe- 
 rocities ; but in ordinary life their instinct of cour- 
 tesy and amiability makes them perhaps the least 
 obnoxious of all nations to those whom they beleive 
 their inferiors, whether in the bondage of conquest 
 or of slavery. 
 
 No doubt, however, there was a fearful arrear ot 
 wrongs in the beautiful West Indian island of His- 
 paniola. or iSt. 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 en- 
 chanted 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
 
 34o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 men of h'gh birth, further formed, in right of their 
 white skins, a jealous aristocracy, holding their 
 heads h gh above the dark population below them, 
 alike of free mulattoes of mixed descent and of ne- 
 gro slaves. Little were they prepared for the de- 
 cree of the French National Convention, which at 
 one sweep levelled all distinctions, placing the 
 black and brown of every tint on an equality with 
 the whites. The consequence was that the tri-col- 
 ored cockade was trampled on by the indignant 
 Creoles, who refused obedience to the decree of the 
 mother country, and proceeded to elect a General 
 Assembly of their own ; while the aggrieved mulat- 
 toes 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 planta- 
 tions and to massacre the whites. Fugitives came 
 rushing into Capetown, the capital, from all quar- 
 ters ; and at each plantation reached by the in- 
 surgents, 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, 2,000 white persons, of all ranks, sex'es, and 
 ages, had perished, 480 sugar plantations, and 900 
 coffee, indigo, and cotton settlements had been de- 
 stroyed. With the horrors and the bloodshed of 
 those days, however, we are not concerned, nor 
 need we trace the frightful and protracted war that 
 finally 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 protection of him 
 and his family, and when the way of escape was
 
 The Faithful Slaves of Haiti. 341 
 
 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 uncultivated and unsettled, and the 
 count was forced to take with him his body-guard of 
 faithful negroes, to cut a passage for him through 
 the tropical forest. 
 
 The spot he selected was beautifully situated, fer- 
 tile, 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 it out for 
 cocoa, upon a design peculiar to himself. The 
 outline of his grounds represented a gigantic French 
 general officer, epaulettes and all, upon whose pros- 
 trate form were ranged cocoa-plants, at about fifteen 
 or twenty feet apart, each about the size of a goose- 
 berry-bush ; and at intervals, the forest-tree known 
 by the negroes as Cocoa-Mammy, because it is sup- 
 posed 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 surname 
 of La Reconnaissance, and on the first day when he 
 brought his countess, and installed the negro fam- 
 ilies in their new abodes, he celebrated a solemn 
 thanksgiving. So much was he beloved, that twen- 
 ty years after his death the negroes of La Recon- 
 naissance still kept a holiday in his memory. 
 
 These negroes were loyal in a body ; but on an- 
 other 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
 
 342 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 two little boys of five and three years old, whom he 
 contrived to hide, and afterwards to escape with to 
 the coast, where he put them on board ship, and suc- 
 ceeded 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 Charleston, 
 so that the faithful man was able to maintain the 
 children by his labor ; and not only this, but to fulfil 
 his earnest purpose of educating 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 the two went to sea, rose to be cap- 
 tain of a merchant-ship, and married a Spanish 
 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 pock- 
 et-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 
 affectionate spirit retained as the only memory of 
 his native land. 
 
 Another negro, named Eustache, who was born in 
 *773i n 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 whites look 
 place, he is said, by his timely warnings and ingen- 
 ious contrivances, to have at different times saved 
 the lives of no less than 400 white persons without 
 betraying the negroes ; and, lastly, he was enabled 
 to place his master safely on board an American
 
 The Faithful Slaves of Haiti. 343 
 
 vessel with a sufficient cargo of sugar to secure him 
 from destitution. Eustache himself embarked at 
 the same time, considering himself as still M. Be- 
 lin's slave as completely as though they were still 
 on the plantation. O.i 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 hid conferred upon 
 him. They were a drunken, undisciplined set, and 
 while they were carousing, Eustache played all sorts 
 of antics for their amusement, until they were so 
 completely off their guard, that he succeeded in re- 
 leasing and arming the prisoners and carrying off 
 the prize, with the English as prisoners in their 
 turn, safe into the roads of Biltimore. He there 
 hired himself out to work, and applied all his earn- 
 ings to the assistance of the many ruined French 
 from St. Domingo who had taken refuge there. Af- 
 ter a time it \vas supposed that the French power 
 was re-established in the island, and M. Belin ven- 
 tured back, with a number of his friends, in hopes 
 of recovering his property ; but he found himself 
 in greater clanger than ever. The town of Fort 
 Dauphin was occupied by the Spaniards, and 20,000 
 negroes, commanded by a black called Jean Fran- 
 cais. were encamped on the heights near the town, 
 and massacred every Frenchman they encountered. 
 The Spaniards gave the unhappy 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, and, throwing off his 
 coat, ran in among them, giving his name to the of- 
 ficer. A Spanish uniform was thrown 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
 
 344 -^ Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 actually persuaded Jean Francais's wife to let him 
 hide some boxes of valuables under her bed, by tell- 
 ing 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 dis- 
 covered 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 afterwards resided at Pert au Prince, 
 where he became President of the Council. Eus- 
 tache continued in his service as attached and de- 
 voted as ever, and, after a time observing that he 
 was distressed by the increasing dimness of his 
 eyesight, this devoted slave went secretly at four 
 o'clock every morning to get himself taught to read, 
 overcame all difficulties, and, when he thought him- 
 self perfect in the art, came to his master with a 
 book, and thenceforth kept the old man occupied 
 and amused. 
 
 M. Belin took care to emancipate his faithful ser- 
 vant before his death, and left him a considerable 
 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 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 ex- 
 ertions were then made known, and, in the words 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
 
 The Faithfui Slaves of Haiti. 345 
 
 has paid. Sometimes he buys tools or agricultural 
 implements for workmen without means. Here, re- 
 lations 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 of 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 liberated all 
 the slaves in their various colonies, without having 
 given sufficient time for preparation. 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 
 owners of the large plantations hitherto entirely 
 dependent on slave labor. Among those thus de- 
 serted was one in French Guiana, named La Par- 
 terre, and belonging to a lady, a widow with a large 
 family. Out of seventy negro slaves, not one re- 
 mained 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 laboring at the dykes, and 
 at every spring tide he would watch for two or
 
 346 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 with- 
 out 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 meri- 
 torious laborer in the colony ; namely, the sum of 
 600 francs and admission for his son into the col- 
 lege at the capital. But Paul's whole devotion was 
 still for his mistress. Her son, not his own, was 
 sent to the college, and the 600 francs were ex- 
 pended in fitting the boy out as became the former 
 circumstances of his familv, 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.
 
 THE PETITIONERS FOR PARDON. 
 
 I72O 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 sen- 
 tenced to death, yet came on foot from Edinburgh 
 to London, made her way to the Duke of ArgyTe, 
 and being introduced by him, by her entreaties ob- 
 tained 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 peas- 
 ant 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, by no means was unworthy of 
 the high excellence of her youth. Her sister, Tib- 
 bie, for whom she had done so much, married and 
 left her, and she lived on to be remembered by her 
 neighbors as a religious, quiet old woman, gaining 
 her living by knitting new feet to old stockings, 
 teaching little children, and keeping chickens. Her 
 neighbors respected her, and called her a "lofty 
 body." They used to tell that in a thunder-storm 
 she used to move herself with her work and her
 
 348 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 Bible to the front of the house, saying that the Al- 
 mighty could smite as well in the city as in the 
 .field. Sir Walter Scott made her the model of the 
 most beautiful character he ever drew, and after- 
 wards placed a monument to her honor in her own 
 village church. 
 
 In the beginning of this century, a girl younger 
 than Helen Walker was impelled to a journey be- 
 side 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 Walker served to suggest the 
 Jeanie Deans of the " Heart of Mid-Lothian," so 
 Prascovia Lopouloff was the origin of Elizabeth, the 
 heroine 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 appears 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 
 Russian army, who for some unknown reason 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 off persons. 'supposed to ^be dangerous to the 
 state, to live in the intensely cold and remote dis- 
 trict of Siberia. Actual criminals are marched off in 
 chains, and kept working in the mines ; but political' 
 offenders are permitted to live with their families, 
 have a weekly sum allowed for their support, and 
 when it is insufficient, can eke it out by any form of 
 labor they prefer, whether by hunting, or by such 
 farming as the climate will allow. , 
 
 The miseries of the exiles have been much miti- 
 gated in these later times, many more comforts are 
 permitted them, and though closely watched, and
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 34C 
 
 suffering from many annoying regulations, those of 
 higher rank receive a sufficient sum out of their 
 own revenues to enable them to live in tolerable 
 ease, and without actual drudgery ; and at Tobolsk, 
 the capital of Siberia, there is a highly educated and 
 accomplished society of banished Poles and of Rus- 
 sians 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 luxu- 
 ries of civilized life to the utmost poverty, and that 
 in a climate of fearful severity, with a winter lasting 
 nine months, and 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 allow- 
 ance 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 situa- 
 tion, working hard at the common 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 fif- 
 teen, 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 represent his 
 case strongly, and the watching for the answer, and 
 continued disappointment, whenever a courier ar- 
 rived 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
 
 350 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 fate, in seeing her growing up untaught and work- 
 ing 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 her- 
 self, it one day darted into her mind like a. flash of 
 lightning, just as she finished saying her prayers, 
 that she might go to Petersburg and obtain his par- 
 don. Long did she dwell upon the thought, going 
 alone 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 Peters- 
 burg to speak for us to the Emperor," and he re- 
 lated all the scheme that had been laid before him, 
 with such a throbbing heart, in a tone of amuse- 
 ment. 
 
 " She ought to be attending to her work instead 
 of talking nonsense," said the wife ; and when poor 
 Prascovia, more mortified at derision 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 off to Petersburg at your ease." 
 
 Still day after day Prascovia returned to the charge, 
 entreating that her scheme might at last be consid- 
 ered, till her father grew displeased, and severely
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 351 
 
 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 she again ventured to 
 bring her plan before them, they did not laugh at 
 her, but besought her not to leave them in their de- 
 clining years 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 passport 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 forn: 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 pleis_\l. and the pass- 
 port 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 cer- 
 tainty 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 disappoint- 
 ment worked upon her mother to promise not to 
 prevent her from going, provided her father con- 
 sented . 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.
 
 352 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 rou- 
 ble, 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 
 affectionately promised that the kind givers should 
 share in any favor she should obtain. 
 
 When the first sunbeam shone into the room, 
 there was, according to the beautiful old Russian 
 custom, a short, solemn silence, for private prayer 
 for the traveller. Then, after a few words, also 
 customary, of indifferent conversation, there was 
 a last embrace, and Prascovia, kneeling down, re- 
 ceived 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 pres- 
 ence 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
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 353 
 
 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 hos- 
 pitably 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 ot the angel who 
 succored Hagar, and took courage ; but she had mis- 
 taken 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 Petersburg, 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 Rus- 
 sian power had first begun, was on the route ; so if 
 people did not know which was the road to Peters- 
 burg, she would ask for Kief. One day, when she 
 came to a place where three roads branched off, she 
 asked some travelers in a carriage that passed her, 
 which of them led to Kief. " Whichever you please," 
 they answered, laughing ; " one loads 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 hamlets 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 often treated as a suspicious- 
 looking vagabond. For instance, when not far from 
 a place called Kamouicheff, she was caught in a furi- 
 ous storm at the end of a long clay's m.irch. 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 
 23
 
 354 <A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 wind. Darkness came on before the storm abated 
 enough for her to venture 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 cov- 
 ered with mire ; she was spent with cold and hunger, 
 and felt herself such a deplorable object, that the 
 neatness 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 mis- 
 tress 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 its 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 terrible 
 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
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 355 
 
 were terribly swollen ; indeed, she never entirely re- 
 covered the effects of that dreadful night of exposure. 
 The villagers were shocked at their own inhospital- 
 ity ; they fetched a cart and lodged her 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 recep- 
 tion 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 she 
 met with a kind answer, she would talk of her wea- 
 riness 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 
 passport 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 acts of kindness she had received 
 were beyond counting. " People fancy," she used 
 afterwards to say, " that my journey was most dis- 
 astrous, because I tell the troubles and adventures 
 that befell me. and puss 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 bacic. 
 She did not like his looks, but there was no help for 
 it, and she turned back with him. His wife looked 
 even more repulsive than himself, and no sooner 
 had they entered the miserable one-roomed cottage,
 
 356 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 Prascovia thought 
 she saw the old people staring at her most unpleas- 
 antly, and presently they asked her where she came 
 from. 
 
 " From Ischim. I am going to Petersburg." 
 
 " And you have plenty of money for the journey ? " 
 
 " Only 80 copper-kopecks now," said Prasco- 
 via, 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 which 
 are the favorite sleeping-places of the poorer Rus- 
 sians. She laid aside her upper garments, and with 
 them her pockets and her pack, hoping within her- 
 self 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 asleep, they began whispering. 
 
 " She must have more money," they said ; " she 
 certainly has notes." 
 
 " I saw a string round her neck," said the old wo- 
 man, " and a little bag hanging to it. The money 
 must be there." 
 
 Then after some lower murmers, they said, " No 
 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 declared 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
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 357 
 
 taking off her boots, and opening her hands, while 
 the man held the light ; bat, at last, finding nothing 
 in the bag but the passport, they left her alone, and 
 lay down themselves. She lay trembling for a good 
 while, but at last she knew by their breathing that 
 they weie both asleep, and she, too, fell into a slum- 
 ber from which she did not waken till the old wo- 
 man 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 robbers 
 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 
 1 20. She always fully believed that these people 
 had had the worst intentions, and thanked God for 
 having turned their hearts. Her other greatest 
 alarm was one morning, when she had set out from 
 her night's lodging before any one 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 peasants de- 
 clared that to travel on foot alone in the snow would 
 be certain death even to the strongest men, for the 
 wind raises the drifts, and makes the way undis- 
 tinguishable, and they detained her till the arrival
 
 358 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 of a convoy of sledges, which were taking pro- 
 visions to Ekatherinenburg 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 travelling, 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 af- 
 fected her, that she was obliged to be lifted from the 
 sledge, with one cheek frost-bitten. The good car- 
 riers 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 excel- 
 lent 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 sheep- 
 skin 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 merri- 
 ment over the changes, while all the way Prascovia's 
 silent prayers arose, that these kind men's health 
 might suffer no injury frcm the cold to which they 
 thus exposed themselves. 
 
 At the inn at which they put up at Ekatherinen- 
 burg, the hostess told Prascovia the names of the
 
 The Petitioners jor Pardon. 359 
 
 most charitable persons in the town, and so especial- 
 ly praised a certain Madame Milin, that Prascovia 
 resolved to apply to her the next day for advice how 
 to proceed further. First, as it was Sunday, how- 
 ever, she went to church. Her worn travelling 
 dress, as well as her fervent devotion, attracted at- 
 tention, and as she came out, a lady asked her who 
 she was. Prascovia gave her name, and further re- 
 quested to be directed where to find Madame 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 speaking ; 
 but the stranger pointed to Madame Milin's door, 
 saying that if she were rejected there, she must re- 
 turn to her. Without answering, Prascovia asked 
 the servants whether Madame Milin were at home, 
 and only when they looked at their mistress in 
 amazement, did she discover that she had been talk- 
 ing 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 tem- 
 pest. 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 ex- 
 ertion, and Prascovia had so entirely forgotten all 
 she had known before her father's banishment, 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 pri- 
 vations of their snowy wilderness. Madame Milin,
 
 360 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 however, would not allow her to leave Ekatherinen- 
 burg 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 boatmen, in endeavoring to 
 keep the barge from running against the bank, 
 pushed Prascovia and two other passengers over- 
 board with a heavy oar. They were instantly res- 
 cued, but there was no privacy in the barge, and as 
 Prascovia could not bear to undress herself in pub- 
 lic, 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 for- 
 ward her on from Novgorod, had given her no intro- 
 ductions to any one there, nor any directions 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 bun- 
 dle than when she had left Ischim ; but, on the 
 other hand, with a far clearer knowledge of the dif- 
 ficulties 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, according to her 
 usual custom, she went up to pray there before go- 
 ing 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
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 36 1 
 
 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 her- 
 self for this failure in her trust, she returned into the 
 church to renew her prayers 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 travellers, 
 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, sup- 
 ported 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, insisted 
 on her remaining a few days to rest. Before those 
 few days were over, Prascovia was seized with so 
 dangerous an illness that the 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
 
 362 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 visitor at the merchant's advised her to 
 get a petition 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 poor girl stand on the steps 
 of the Senate-house, holding out her petition to 
 every one whom she fancied 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 Prascovia's devotions and supplications 
 were addressed entirely to her God. On Easter- 
 day, that day of universal joy, she was unusually 
 hopeful ; she went out with her hostess in the car- 
 riage, and told her that she felt a certainty that 
 another time she should meet with success. 
 
 " I would trouble myself no more with senates 
 and senators," said the lady. " It is just as well 
 worth while as it would be to offer your petition t 
 yonder iron man," pointing to the famous statue of 
 Peter the Great. 
 
 u 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; bu; as they were 
 looking at the statue, she observed that the bridge
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 363 
 
 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 al- 
 ready 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 are made. 
 Families make a point of meeting with the glorious 
 greeting, u Christ is risen," and the reponse, '* He is 
 risen indeed"; and the kiss exchanged at these 
 glad tidings seals general pardon for all the bicker- 
 ings of the year. And while Prascovia was at din- 
 ner with her friends, this very gentleman came in, 
 with the accustomed words, and, without further 
 delay, she was introduced to him, and her circum- 
 stances explained. He took great interest in her, 
 but assured her that applications to the Senate were 
 useless ; for even if she should prevail to have the 
 trial revised, it would be a tedious and protracted 
 affair, and very uncertain ; 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 merchant 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
 
 364 A Book of Golden Deeas. 
 
 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 open- 
 ing of promise led only to disappointment. Still 
 she recollected 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 her's 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 history 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 Em- 
 press that very evening. 
 
 Poor child, she turned pale and her eyes filled 
 with tears at this sudden brightening of hope. In- 
 stead 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 accept- 
 able 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 ! " 
 
 The Empress Mary was a tender-hearted woman 
 of the simplest manners. She received Prascovia 
 in her private room, and listened most kindly to her 
 story ; then praised her self-devotion and filial love,
 
 The Petitioners for Pardon. 365 
 
 and promised to speak in her behalf to the Empe- 
 ror, giving her 300 roubles for her present needs. 
 Prascovia was so much overcome by her kindness, 
 
 that when afterwards Mme. V asked how she 
 
 had sped in her interview, she could only weep for 
 gladness. 
 
 Two days after, the Empress-mother herself took 
 her to a private audience of the Emperor himself 
 and his wife, the Empress Elizabeth. No particu- 
 lars are given of this meeting, except that Prascovia 
 was most graciously received, and that she came 
 away with a gift of 5,000 roubles, and the promise 
 that her father's trial should be at once revised. 
 
 And now all the persons who had scarcely at- 
 tended to 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 un- 
 moved as ever ; she never thought of herself, nor 
 of the effect she produced, but went on in her sim- 
 plicity, 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 Siberia! " 
 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 al- 
 most fainted. Then she begged 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 feel- 
 ings, that she could not continue her course of 
 sight-seeing all that day.
 
 366 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 pardoned them for their offence, which had 
 been of a political nature, and many years old. 
 
 Prascovia had always intended to dedicate her- 
 self as a nun, believing that this would be her fullest 
 thank-offering for her father's pardon, and her heart 
 was drawn towards the convent at Nishni, where 
 she had been so tenderly nursed during her illness. 
 First, however, she went to Kief, the place where 
 the 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 surprising in so dutiful a daugh- 
 ter, without her parents' 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 ea- 
 gerly asked if there were no tidings of them. " Ex- 
 cellent 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
 
 77*6' Petitioners for Pardon. 367 
 
 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, exclaimed, " What 
 are you doing? It is Go! G;-> 1 only, who worked 
 for us. Thinks be to His providence for the won- 
 ders He has wrought in oar fivor." 
 
 For one week the parents and child were happy 
 together; but then Captain Lopoulo.f and his wife 
 were forced to proceed on their journey. The rest 
 of Prascovia's life wis 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 parents again, she was gently fading 
 away all the time. She made one visit to Peters- 
 burg, and one of those who saw her there described 
 her as having :i tine oval face, extremely black eyes, 
 an open brow, and a rennrkible calmness of expres- 
 sion, though with a melancholy smile. It is curious 
 that Scott has mxde this open-browed serenity of 
 expression a characteristic of his Jeanie Deans. 
 
 Prascovia's illness ended suddenly on the gth 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 
 >*5e sign of the cross.
 
 THE CHILDREN OF BLENTARN GHYLL. 
 1807. 
 
 T3LENTARN GHYLL is the name of a little 
 D narrow gorge in those Westmoreland moun- 
 tains, called Langdale Pikes, at whose feet lie the 
 lovely green vale and lake of Grasmere. The lake 
 is fed by mountain streamlets, called in the north 
 becks. One of these becks comes down another 
 beautiful valley called Easeclale, sheltered by moun- 
 tains and green with grass, as smooth and soft as on 
 a lawn, from being cropped short by the sheep, 
 which can be turned out here earlier in the spring 
 than on the other mountain-sides. At one end, 
 Easedale opens on the village of Grasmere, at the 
 other is a steep ascent, leading to a bare stony ra- 
 vine, shut in on all sides by high mountains, and 
 with no outlet except the rough descent into Ease- 
 dale, and likewise a dangerous winding path about 
 six miles over the mountains to Langdale Head. 
 This lonely ravine is called Far Easedale, and at the 
 upper end there formerly stood a cottage named 
 Blentarn Ghyll. Ghyll means a cleft worn in the 
 rock by water ; and just above the cottage there is 
 such a cleft, opening from a basin in the rock that 
 must once have been a tarn, or mountain lakelet, 
 but the pool is now dry, and for want of the living 
 eye of sparkling water, it is termed Blentarn or 
 Blind pool. 
 The cottage was the dwelling of an honest old
 
 The Children of Blentarn Ghyll. 369 
 
 soldier named George Green, who had taken the lit- 
 tle mountain farm, and married an active, bustling 
 woman, who kept her home in great order, and reg- 
 ularly sent her children, tidily dressed, to school at 
 Grasmere, whenever the weather did not make the 
 long, wild mountain walk impossible for them. 
 
 It was in the winter of the year 1807 that there 
 was an auction of furniture at a farm-house at Lang- 
 dale Head. These sales are great occasions among 
 the people of these hills ; every one attends them 
 for a considerable distance round, and there is much 
 friendly hospitality, much business of all sorts trans- 
 acted, an. I m my meetings of old friends, who scarcely 
 ever see each other at other times. To this gather- 
 ing George and Sarah Green set off early in the 
 forenoon of a bright winter day, leaving their cottage 
 and six little ones in the charge of the eldest sister, 
 a girl of nine years old, named Agnes, for they had 
 neither indoor nor outdoor servant, and no neighbor 
 nearer than Grasmere. 
 
 Little Agnes was, however, a remarkably steady 
 and careful child, and all went well through the day, 
 but towards night the mist settled down heavily upon 
 the hills, and the heavy sighing in the air told that 
 a storm was working up ; the children watched anx- 
 iously for their parents, but the fog cut off their view, 
 flakes of snow began to fall, and darkness closed in 
 early on them. 
 
 A^nes gave the others their supper of milk and 
 oitmjil porridge, and they sat down waiting and 
 watching, and fancying they heard sounds in the 
 hills ; but the clock struck one hour after another, 
 and no step was on the threshold, no hand at the 
 latch, no voice at the door, only the white silent 
 flakes fell thicker and thicker, and began to close 
 up the door, and come in white clinging wreaths 
 through the crevices of the windows. Agnes tried 
 to cheer the others up, but there was a dread on
 
 37o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 them all, and they could not bear to move away from 
 the peat fire on the hearth, round which they were 
 nestled. She put the two youngest, who were twins, 
 to bed in their cradle, and sat on with the others, 
 two boys and another girl, named Catherine, till the 
 clock struck twelve, when she heard them one by 
 one say their prayers, and doing the same herself, 
 lay down to rest, trusting to her Heavenly Father's 
 care. 
 
 The morning came, and no father or mother ; only 
 the snow falling thicker than ever, and almost block- 
 ing them in ; but still Agnes did not lose hope ; she 
 thought her father and mother might have taken 
 shelter at night in some bield, as she would have 
 termed a sheepfold, or that the snow might have 
 prevented them from setting out at all, and they 
 might come home by Grasmere in the morning. 
 She cheered herself up, and dressed the others, 
 made them say their prayers, and gave them their 
 breakfast, recollecting as she saw the lessening 
 stores that her mother must know how little was 
 provided for them, and be as anxious to get home 
 as they were to see her there. She longed to go 
 down to Grasmere to inquire ; but the communi- 
 cation was entirely cut off by the snow, for the beck 
 was, in the winter, too wide for a child to leap, and 
 too rapid to be waded, and the crazy wooden bridge 
 that crossed it had so large a hole in it, that, when 
 concealed with snow, it was not safe to attempt the 
 passage. She said afterwards that she could not 
 help being terrified at the loneliness and desolate- 
 ness, but that she recollected that at least if she 
 could not get out, no bad men could get in to hurt 
 them ; and she set herself resolutely to comfort and 
 help the lesser creatures who depended on her. She 
 thought over all that could be done for the present, 
 and first wound up the clock, a friend that she could 
 not allow to be silent ; next she took all the remain-
 
 The Children of Blentarn Ghyll. 371 
 
 ing milk and scalded it, to prevent it turning sour ; 
 then she looked into the meil chest, and made some 
 porridge for breakfast, but the store was so low that 
 she was forced to put all except the babies upon 
 short allowance ; bat to reconcile the others to this, 
 she made cakes of a small hoard of flour, and baked 
 them on the hearth. It was snowing so fast that 
 she feared that the way to the peat stack would be 
 blocked up, and therefore her next work was, with 
 the help of the two boys, to^ull down as much fuel 
 as would last for a week, and carry it in-doors ; and 
 she examined the potatoes laid up in bracken leaves, 
 but fancying that if she brought them in, the warmth 
 of the cottage would spoil them, she only took 
 enough for a single meal. Milking the cow was 
 the next office performed by this orderly little maid, 
 but the poor thing was half starved and had little to 
 give. Agnes saw that more hay must be given to 
 her, and calling the boys, scrambled with them into 
 the loft, and began to pull down the hay ; but this 
 was severe work for such young children, and dark- 
 ness came on in the midst, frightening the two little 
 fellows, so that it required all the sister's steady 
 resolution and perseverance to finish supplying the 
 poor cow with even that night's supper and bed. 
 Supper time came, and after it the motherly child 
 undressed the twins, and found voice to sing them 
 to sleep, after which she joined the huddle of the 
 other three, nestled on the hearth, and hour after 
 hour they listened for the clear voices, till they fan- 
 cied they heard sounds on the howling blast, held 
 their breath, and then as it died away, were con- 
 scious of the silence of the lull. So fierce was the 
 snow-drift that Agnes had to guard the door and 
 window from admitting long wreaths of it, and pro- 
 tect the fire from being put out as it came hissing 
 down the chimney. Again her watch lasted till 
 midnight, and no parents, no help came ; again sh?
 
 372 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 went to bed, and awoke to find the snow falling 
 thicker than ever, and hope failing within her. Her 
 fond, active mother, her strong, brave father, a noted 
 climber, would surely long ago have found the way 
 home to their children had all been well with them. 
 Agnes described herself as getting through this third 
 lonely day by keeping her little flock together on 
 the hearth, and making them say their prayers aloud 
 by turns. 
 
 By the following morning the snow was over, and 
 the wind had changed, so sweeping away the drifts, 
 that though the treacherous bridge might not be at- 
 tempted, a low stone wall had been exposed, which 
 these little mountaineers knew would serve as a 
 guide into Grasmere, by a circuit, which would 
 avoid crossing the brook. It would be needful to 
 force some gaps, that is, to push down the loose 
 stones of the uncemented stone walls that divided 
 the fields, and the little boys came with Agnes to 
 help her in this as far as the ridge of the hill ; but 
 the way was long and unsafe for small children, and 
 Agnes sent them back, while she made her way 
 alone, a frail little being in the vast slopes of snow, 
 to the house nearest in Grasmere. 
 
 She knocked at the door and was made kindly 
 welcome, but no sooner did she ask for her father 
 and mother than smiles turned to looks of pity and 
 dismay. In half an hour the news that George and 
 Sarah Green were missing had spread through the 
 valley, and sixty strong men had met at Kirktown, 
 the hamlet close to the parish church, to seek for 
 them. The last that was known of them was, that, 
 after the auction, some of their friends had advised 
 them not to try the dangerous path so late ; but 
 when they -had gone no one knew. Some of the 
 people of Langdale likewise had heard wild shrieks 
 at midnight on the night after the sale, but had fan- 
 cied them merely the moans of the wind.
 
 The Children of Blcntarn Ghyll. 373 
 
 One day after another the search continued, but 
 still in vain. The neighbors patiently gave up their 
 work day after clay to turn over the deep snow 
 around the path from Langdale, but for three 
 or some say rive days no trace of them was found. 
 At last clogs were used, and guided the seekers far 
 away from the path, until a loud shout from the top 
 of a steep precipice told that the lost was found. 
 There lay Sarah Green, wrapped in her husband's 
 great-coat, of course quite dead, and at the foot of 
 the rock his body was found, in a posture that 
 seemed to show that he had been killed by the fall 
 without a struggle. The neighbors thought that the 
 mist and snow must have bewildered them till they 
 had wandered thus far in the darkness, and that 
 George had been making a few steps forward to 
 make out the road when the fall took place, but that 
 his wife had very possibly been unconscious of his 
 fall, and stood still where he had left her, uttering 
 those sad cries that had been so little regarded at 
 Langdale, until she was unable to move and was be- 
 numbed by the sleep of cold. Those who knew 
 them best, thought that the poor woman's grief and 
 terror for her lonely little ones had probably so 
 overpowered her as to disturb her husband's cool- 
 ness and presence of mind, and that if he had been 
 alone, he would probably have easily saved himself. 
 The brave little girl, keeping her patient watch and 
 guard over the five younger ones, and setting out 
 on her lonely way through the snow, must have had 
 more of the spirit of her soldier-father than of her 
 mother. It was to Dorothy Wordsworth, the sister 
 of the poet, that little Agnes was persuaded to tell 
 the history of this calm, resolute, trustful, waiting- 
 time, which, simple as it is, we think our readers 
 will own as truly worthy to be counted among Gol- 
 den Deeds. The father and mother were buried on 
 a lovely spring day at St. Oswald's Churchyard at 
 Kirktown, and Wordsworth wrote :
 
 374 A Bk of Golden Deeds. 
 
 " Now do these sternly-featured hills 
 
 Look gently on this grave, 
 And quiet now the depths of air 
 As sea without a wave. 
 
 " But deeper lies the heart of peace, 
 
 In quiet more profound ; 
 The heart of quietness is here, 
 Within this churchyard bound. 
 
 " And from all agony of mind 
 It keeps them safe, and far 
 From fear, and grief, and from all need 
 Of sun or guiding star." 
 
 After the funeral, the farm folk of the neighbor- 
 hood were all pressing forward to beg to adopt one 
 or other of the little orphans. The twins were kept 
 together, Catherine was taken by the Wordsworth 
 family, Agnes and her brothers found separate but 
 comfortable homes among their parents' friends. 
 Help came pouring in. Queen Charlotte and her 
 daughters were greatly touched by the mountain 
 child's tender motherliness, and sent a handsome 
 donation for the benefit of the orphans, and so many 
 subscriptions were offered, that at last Miss Words- 
 worth declined receiving any more, lest the children 
 should be injured by having too much wealth for 
 the station to which they were growing up.
 
 AGOSTINA OF ZARAGOZA. 
 
 1808. 
 
 ONE of the most unjustifiable acts of Napoleon's 
 grasping policy was the manner in which he 
 entrapped the poor, foolish, weak Spanish royal 
 family into his power, and then kept them in cap- 
 tivity, 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 peas- 
 antry rose as one man to repel this shameful aggres- 
 sion. A long course of bad government had done 
 much to destroy the vigor of the nation, and as sol- 
 diers in the open field they were utterly worthless ; 
 but still there were high qualities of patience and 
 perseverance among them, and these were never 
 more fully shown than in their defence of Zaragoza, 
 the ancient capital of the kingdom of Aragon. 
 
 This city stands in an open plain, covered with 
 olive-grounds, and closed in by high mountains. 
 About a mile to the southwest of the city was some 
 high ground called the Torrero, upon whic'n stood a 
 convent, and close beside the city flowed the Ebro, 
 crossed by two bridges, one of which \v .s made of 
 wood, ana said to be the most beauti/al specimen 
 of the kind of fabric in Europe. Th< water is of a 
 dirty red, but grows clear when it Las stood long 
 enough, and is then excellent to dr- ..-ik. There were 
 no regular fortifications, only 3 orick wall, ten or
 
 376 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 twelve feet high, and three feet thick, and often en- 
 croached upon by houses. Part of it was, however, 
 of old Roman workmanship, having been built under 
 Augustus, by whom the town was called Caesarea 
 Augusta, a name since corrupted into Zaragoza (both 
 #'s 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 modern 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 Ara- 
 gon, 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 be- 
 came a girl's name in the surrounding country, and 
 this was the centre of pilgrimages to the Aragonese, 
 as St. James's shrine at Compostella was to the Cas- 
 tilians. 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 II.'s policy had fallen on them, dull, 
 apathetic beings, too proud and indolent for exer- 
 tion, 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
 
 Agostina of Zaragoza. 377 
 
 dullest place they had ever yet entered, and greatly 
 despised the inhabitants. 
 
 General Lefebvre Desnouettes was sent to quiet 
 the insurrection against the French in Aragon ; and 
 on the 1 3th and I4th of June, 1808, he easily routed 
 the bodies of Spaniards who tried to oppose him. 
 The flying Spanish troops were pursued into Zara- 
 goza by the French cavalry, but here the inhabit- 
 ants 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 were only 220 soldiers, 
 and endeavored to arm the inhabitants, about 60,000 
 in number, and all full of the most determined spirit 
 of resistance to the invaders. He had only sixteen 
 cannon and a few muskets, but fowling-pieces were 
 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 con- 
 stant discharge of those terrible shells and grenades 
 that burst in pieces where 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 them 
 from the shells. The awnings that sheltere ' the 
 windows from the summer sun were taken down, 
 sewn up into sacks, and tilled 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, la/y population toiling
 
 378 A Book of Golden Deeds, 
 
 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 Coun- 
 tess Burita, a beautiful young lady, formed the 
 women into an organized company for carrying 
 wine, water, and food to the soldiers on guard, and 
 relieving the wounded, and throughout the whole 
 siege her courage and perseverance never failed ; 
 she was continually seen in the places most ex- 
 posed to the enemy's fire, bringing help and re- 
 freshment 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 con- 
 fusion thus caused, the 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 un- 
 daunted 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 
 were carrying refreshments came up. Her name
 
 Agostina of Zaragoza. 379 
 
 was Agostina Zaragoza ; she was a fine-looking 
 woman of two-and-t\venty, and was full of a deter- 
 mined 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, de- 
 clared 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 ob- 
 tained a right to provisions for her little children, 
 who 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 womanli- 
 ness of Agostina's character, that for the sake of 
 her children she should have run into the hottest of 
 the peril, and taken up the task in which her hus- 
 band had died. 
 
 Her readiness in that critical moment saved the 
 Portillo for that time, but the attacks were renewed 
 again ajid again with equal fury and fearful blood- 
 shed. The French general had fancied that he 
 could easily take such an unfortified place, and find- 
 ing 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 sup- 
 plied its place by wonderful ingenuity. All the sul- 
 phur 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
 
 380 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 was not a single place safe from the shot and shell 
 On the 2d of August, a hospital caught fire, and the 
 courage of the women was again shown by their 
 exertions 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 4th of August, the French opened a bat- 
 tery within pistol-shot of the gate called after the 
 great Convent of St. Engracia. The mud walls 
 were levelled at the first discharge, and after a dead- 
 ly 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-quar- 
 ters, Zaragoza. War to the knife." 
 
 There they were. A street about as wide as Pall- 
 Mail was all that lay between besiegers and besieged, 
 to whom every frail brick house had become a for- 
 tress, while the openings of the narrow cross streets 
 were piled up with sand-bags to form batteries. 
 Soon the space was heaped with dead bodies, either 
 killed on the spot or thrown from the windows, and 
 this was enough to breed a pestilence among the 
 survivors. The French let them lie, knowing that 
 such a disease would be the surest destruction to 
 the garrison, and they fired on the Spaniards when- 
 ever 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
 
 Agostina of Zaragoza. 38 1 
 
 countrymen, and thus this danger was lessened, al- 
 though not entirely removed, and sickness as well as 
 famine was added to the misery of the brave Ara- 
 gonese. The manufactory of powder, too, could no 
 longer be carried on, but happily Don Francisco, 
 the brother of Palafox, was able to make his way 
 into the city with 3.000 men, and a convoy of arms 
 and ammunition. Padre Santiago Sass, the curate 
 of one of the parishes of Zaragoza, showed him- 
 self one of the bravest of all the brave, fighting at 
 every hazardous point, and at other times men ing 
 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 days. Of- 
 ten, 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 8th of August, the Spaniards agreed that 
 if they could not hold their ground in the citv, 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 re- 
 mained to them ; and on the night of the I3th 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 rt. lining houses, the climax of the hor- 
 rors of the siege seemed to be come ! But the 
 reports of the batteries gradually ceased, and, with 
 the earlv morning light, the garrison beheld the 
 road to Pamplona filled with French troops in full 
 retreat.
 
 382 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 In effect, intelligence had been received of re- 
 verses to the invaders, and of extended movements 
 among the Spaniards, which had led the French to 
 decide on quitting Zaragoza ere these desperate de- 
 fenders 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 from the French 
 usurpation.
 
 CASAL NOVO. 
 1811. 
 
 'T^HERE is something exceedingly interesting in 
 L 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 Penin- 
 sula, that one is selected of which the doer spoke 
 thus, forty-seven years later, when he thought him- 
 self upon his deathbed : 
 
 " 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. We 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 allow- 
 ances for us all, giving more credit for good and less 
 blame for evil than our fellow-creatures' harsh judg- 
 ing 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-sacrificing 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 remem-
 
 384 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 her, but 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 realizing 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 en- 
 trenched his army on the slopes of Torres Vedras, 
 in Portugal, and there, by his patience and sagacity, 
 had repulsed the French army under Marshal Mas- 
 sena, 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 I4th 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 Regi- 
 ments and the Rifles, all the very flower of the army, 
 was an incompetent man, and fancying the French 
 were in full retreat ordered his troops to move for- 
 ward on their march. Some of the officers objected 
 to the rashness of plunging into the mist without 
 precaution ; but they were not heeded, and the order 
 to advance was given. 
 
 The 52d moved forward fjrst, in a column of sec- 
 tions, and were to be followed by the Rifles. Down 
 the hillside they went, then across a narrow ravine 
 at the bottom, and were mounting the steep road 
 on the other side, when there was a sudden hail of
 
 Casal Novo. 385 
 
 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 Napier, and another, " Jack Jones," 
 afterwards the hero of the powder-magazine at 
 Ciuclnd Rodrigo. 
 
 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 5 3d 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 other two, he 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 Napier, coming up into 
 a walled field where he expected to join the left 
 side of the 5 3d, found only Captain Dobbs and two 
 men of the 52d cut off from the rest of their regi- 
 ment. 
 
 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
 
 386 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 52d men followed, 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 companies. Dobbs en- 
 treated him not to attempt it, saying that it was im- 
 possible to make two steps from the wall and live. 
 Still, however, Napier, who was stung by the back- 
 wardness 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 with their heavy knapsacks on 
 their backs, and still more from the mismanagement 
 of the two lieutenants in command of them, both 
 dull, rude men, tyrannical in their behavior. 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 extremity 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 lieutenant's cowardly lead- 
 ing, 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 Jell. The French 
 most ungenerously continued to fire at him as he 
 lay, and his legs had been paralyzed by the effect of 
 his wound, so that he could only drag himself by his 
 hands towards a heap of stones, behind which he
 
 Casal Ncrvo. 387 
 
 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 off 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 exhausted, 
 the grenadier company of Royal Scots were hasten- 
 ing forward, and their captain, seeing the wounded 
 man, ran up, and said, " I hope you are not danger- 
 ously 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 
 tumblerfuls ; 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 remarkably beautiful outline of his 
 features, and the sweet and noble expression of his 
 countenance made a great impression on Captain 
 Wilson ; but among the numbers of the army, they 
 were never again thrown together, and did not know 
 each others names. 
 
 Napier 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 ? " Cap- 
 tain Napier, of the $2d, 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 Condeixa,
 
 388 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 but, besides their wounds, they, like all the army, 
 suffered terribly from famine, for the French had 
 destroyed everything before them, and the villagers 
 themselves were absolutely starving. A tallow can- 
 dle 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 Napier soon partially recovered, but the 
 bullet could never be extracted, and,, caused him 
 agonies at intervals throughout 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 his- 
 tory 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 Novo, 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 adven- 
 ture of the olive-tree. 
 
 Assuredly that stony field was a scene to look 
 back on from old age with thankful satisfaction. 
 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 
 Wilberforce in freeing England from the crimes 
 inseparable from slave-holding. It is 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 sum- 
 mer of 1816, when he was thirty years old, a 
 capital sportsman and a man of remarkable per- 
 sonal strength and great height (six foot four). He 
 was not as yet a baronet, and was at the time living 
 at H unpsteacl, and daily riding into Spitalfields to 
 atten-l 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 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
 
 390 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 then rode off to his business in town ; but as he re- 
 turned 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, wait- 
 ing 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 him- 
 self. 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 up from the ground, he was more easily 
 managed, and Mr. Buxton 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, then changed hands, and thus put on 
 the other glove. At last the gardener 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 
 carrying Prince by the neck. He was determined 
 not to kill the dog at once, thinking that if it should
 
 The Mad Dog. 391 
 
 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 determined 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 ch.i'm, and with all his force "which," he says, 
 " was nearly exhausted by the dog's frantic strug- 
 
 fles," threw the creature as far away from him as 
 e could, and sprang back in time to avoid poor 
 Prince's desperate bound after him, which was fol- 
 lowed by ''the most fearful yell he ever heard." 
 
 All day the unhappy creature, in the misery of 
 that horrible disease to which our faithful compan- 
 ions are sometimes subject, rushed round 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 
 is 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. How- 
 ever, 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 business 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 consequences might be avert-
 
 39 2 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ed from them. He himself expressed great thank- 
 fulness 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 was. 
 You must not scold me for the risk 1 ran. What I 
 did, 1 did from a conviction that it was my duty, and 
 I never can think that an over-cautious care of self 
 in circumstances where your risk may preserve oth- 
 ers, is so great a virtue as you seem to think it. I 
 do believe if 1 had shrunk from the danger, and 
 others had suffered in consequence, I should have 
 felt more pain than I should have done had I re- 
 ceived 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 conviction of the duty of encoun- 
 tering 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 hydro- 
 phobia 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 Si- 
 mon 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 en- 
 countered a mad dog, who had already greatly in- 
 jured several of the townspeople. The creature 
 was advancing slowly, but suddenly turned upon 
 him. Setting his back against a wall, he coura- 
 geously 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.
 
 The Mad Dog. 393 
 
 Monsieur Portat, a mounted gendarme, heard 
 him, and, hastening to his help, found him strug- 
 gling with this large hound, holding him by the 
 neck and ears, and constantly asking lor 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 heav- 
 ier club, and gave it a finishing stroke. Albony 
 had received fourteen wounds on the body, thighs, 
 and hands ; but they were immediately operated 
 upon, and at the time his name was brought for- 
 ward, seven months afterwards, to receive a prize 
 from the Monthyon fund for his heroism, it was 
 hoped that the danger of any bad effects had passed 
 away.
 
 THE MONTHYON PRIZES. 
 1820. 
 
 r I ^HE Baron de Monthyon was a French lawyer, 
 _L 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 pro- 
 vide 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 
 prize for whosoever shall invent any means of per- 
 fecting medical science or surgical art. 
 
 "14. A like sum of io,oco 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 hos- 
 pitals. All the prizes, we believe, continue to be
 
 Tlic Monthyon Prizes. 395 
 
 given ; but it is with the " Prize of Virtue," as it is 
 called, that \ve are concerned. The French Acade- 
 my, which is a society of all the most distinguished 
 literary personages in France, has the office of be- 
 stowing this prize, which may cither be given entire, 
 or divided into lesser portions among a number 
 of claimants, 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 by 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 dis- 
 course upon virtue in general is delivered by 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 capa- 
 ble of such actions would much rather hide them- 
 selves than hear their praises trumpeted forth by 
 an Academician. Nevertheless, there is something 
 noble in M. de Monthyon's intention ; and as al- 
 most all the " virtuous actions " were done perfectly 
 irrespective of the prize, we cannot but be grateful 
 for having had them brought to our 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 
 pri/e was given in 1835. 
 
 She was one of the eight children of a laborer at 
 Coulange, near Montr'sor, and was born in 1786. 
 She was in service when, in 1812, her mother be-
 
 396 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 came paralytic, and she came home and thenceforth 
 devoted herself to the care of her parents. A few 
 years after, her father had a sort of fit, in which his 
 teeth were 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 regularly did 
 Jeanne expose her hands to the dreadful bites of 
 her unconscious father, until sometimes the flesh 
 was torn almost to the bone, 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 supported 
 by Jeanne's exertions, together with an allowance 
 from the Bureau de 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 wo- 
 man of forty-five, made no difficulties, but petted 
 and caressed her, promising 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,
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 397 
 
 led her a little further, and put the chair down again. 
 They were three-quarters of an hour in going the 
 distance Jeanne would 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 ten- 
 derness, 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 God should forsake 
 me." 
 
 Jeanne and her mother lived on a ground floor, 
 and many persons thus had the opportunity of 
 observing that her tenderness never relaxed. She 
 herself lived on the interior bread provided by the 
 charity, with a few turnips and potatoes, whilst she 
 kept her mother 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 ? " 
 
 ' 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 ! nei- 
 ther hearing, nor seeing, and always in pain." 
 
 In a great frost, when it was bitterly cold, she was
 
 398 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 found trying to cover her mother with an old worn- 
 out pelisse, and looking quite melancholy, so a good 
 thick woollen 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 beam- 
 ing 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 cleanli- 
 ness 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 daugh- 
 ter smiled, looking like a young mother compli- 
 mented 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 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 ted, 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
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 399 
 
 out to receive honor due by the first men in intellec} 
 and position in her country, and all for the simple, 
 homely virtues of humble life. 
 
 Madame Vigier, a bourgeoise of Aurillac, origi- 
 nally 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.'A/omard, 
 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. 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 with 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 cu- 
 rate 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." 
 
 " Xo. Monsieur le Cure, I have not been crying. 
 I know it all. My mother shall not go to the hospi- 
 tal, she would die of vexation. I will not return 
 to school. I will stay with her. I will support 
 her."
 
 400 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 fin- 
 ishing 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 hospital, and he was not to be per- 
 suaded. He consulted his brothers, who were mak- 
 ing their way in the world, and begged them to assist 
 him in maintaining her ; then when they refused, he 
 asked them at least to lend him a small sum, prom- 
 ising 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 chil- 
 dren's toys, and succeeded in earning encugh to 
 support his mother. At the time his name was 
 brought forward for a "prix de i : ertu " he had been 
 nineteen years solely devoted to her, refusing every 
 offer that would separate him from her, and mak- 
 ing 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 maybe 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.
 
 The Mouthy on Prizes. 401 
 
 Bad management, together with the reverses of 
 the Revolution, gradually destroyed the riches of this 
 family, and at last the Marquis d'Aubespine was 
 obliged to sell the castle of Villebon, with all the 
 memorials of the great Sully, and the only estate 
 that remained to him. Out of the price, he could 
 only save enough from his creditors to purchase for 
 himself an annuity of 6,000 francs, another of 2,400 
 francs for his son, and a third of 400 for Alexandre 
 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 credit- 
 ors 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, 
 which he had learnt at the Marquis's expense before 
 becoming his servant. On the i6th of June, 1830, 
 his cottage door opened, and there stood his old 
 master's son, the Comte d'Aubespine, with his three 
 little motherless children, Angelique, 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 lie 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 
 Wt'll 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 were maintained, as far as pos- 
 sible, according to their rank. At their meals they 
 were seated at the cottage- table, and waited on as 
 26
 
 402 A Book of Golden Deeds 
 
 respectfully by Martin, as if they had been at the 
 grand salon in the chateau, and he their footman. 
 He never sat down with them, but kept them dis- 
 tinct 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 neat- 
 ly ; 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 
 famHy towards their master's grandchildren. Xo 
 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 Ro- 
 trou, 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. Afterwards a scholarship was 
 presented to him by Louis Philippe at the College 
 of Henri IV., and in 1838, he and Alexandre Martin 
 were both present at a meeting of the Academy, 
 when a discourse was made by M. Salvandi, part of 
 w r hich 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 3,000 
 francs. And you, Louis d'Aubespine, since you are 
 present at this solemnity, may it make a deep and
 
 The Monthyon Prises. 403 
 
 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 blessings is to be honored 
 by one's country, 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. O.ie day you will be told that illustrious 
 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 
 Mirtin. Grow up then to show yourself 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 Revolution, entirely 
 maintained her master and mistress after they had 
 been ruined by the loss of their estates in St. Do- 
 mingo. She was eighty years in the service of the 
 same family, and received a prize in her hundredth 
 year, in 1856. 
 
 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 Buzancais, 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 tremen- 
 dous riot in the town, on account of the high price 
 of bread. For some time beforehand reports had 
 been flying about that the Red Republicans intend- 
 ed 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 al- 
 ready, at the third I shall fix my scythe crosswise, 
 and then woe to the bourgeois. These rumours filled 
 the town with alarm, and certain rich persons were 
 known to be marked out for the fury of the mob, and
 
 404 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 among them were Madame Chambert and her son. 
 On the night before the affray, their servants re- 
 ceived 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 name Bourgeau and Madeleine 
 Blanch et. 
 
 On the morning of the I4th of January was heard 
 that sound of dread, the tocsin. The Republicans 
 were already collected, and began by sacking a great 
 manufactory, and then falling upon the various ob- 
 noxious establishments in the town, becoming more 
 savage with every success. There was no resist- 
 ance ; the citizens shut themselves up in their 
 houses, 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 pop- 
 ulace 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 went up to him 
 and knocked him down ; but as others of the furi- 
 ous mob came rushing in, Bourgeau's courage for- 
 sook him, and he fled. His master had fetched his 
 gun, and shot Venin, who had risen for another at- 
 tack ; 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, even 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 mean time, recovered from
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 405 
 
 her swoon, recalled by the shrieks and sobs of her 
 poor old mistress, mingled with the oaths, impreca- 
 tions, 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 
 ftices. Her first endeavor, on regaining her senses, 
 was to push through them to the side of the old la- 
 dy, 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 re- 
 move 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 rath- 
 er carried than led Madame Chambert into the 
 court; but here was the greatest danger of all. See- 
 ing the lady escaping, the mob outside fell upon her, 
 blows were aimed at the two defenceless women, 
 and the mistress fell down, while the ruffians rushed 
 at them with cries of " Death ! death ! " 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 out- 
 stretched arms, she parried all the strokes at her 
 mistress, all the time appealing to their better feel- 
 ings, and showing them the cowardly barbarity of 
 thus wreaking their vengeance on a helpless old 
 woman. Her words, and still more her self-devo- 
 tion, touched two of the men, whose human hearts 
 returned to them sufficiently to make them assist
 
 406 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 recollected her mis- 
 tress's property, and hurried back into the midst of 
 the mob to save all she could, seizing on the plate 
 and other valuables whenever 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, de- 
 positing 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 
 fulfilment of her trust as a servant. 
 
 When order was restored, and the rioters were 
 tried for their atrocities, she was called in as a wit- 
 ness, and asked what she had seen. She replied 
 shortly and clearly, 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 your 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. 
 
 " If,'' said the 1'resident, after hearing all tlvj evi- 
 dence, "there had been only twenty men at Buzan- 
 c,ais with the heart of that woman, none of the dis- 
 asters we deplore would have taken place." 
 
 And yet Madeleine had begun by fainting ; thus 
 showing how little sensibility of nerves has to do
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 407 
 
 with that true moral courage whose source is in the 
 soul alone, as the Academician gaid 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 5,000 francs. 
 
 Almost at the same time there came to light an 
 act of generosity, of the most unusual description, 
 on the part of a servant, and not even towards her 
 own master. Fanny Muller, a young girl in one of 
 the semi-German departments of France, was be- 
 trothed to Jean Pierre Wat, a youth in her native 
 village, before they parted, in order to go into ser- 
 . vice, and save enough to marry upon. Fanny be- 
 came 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 political causes, and suffering acutely from a 
 frightful wound 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 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 him- 
 self 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 2.000 
 francs, and claimed her promise. She told him all, 
 and, wonderful to relate, he was a like-minded 
 man ; he freely gave his little fortune into her hands 
 to pay the debt, and, putting off the marriage, he
 
 408 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 further assisted her in supporting the invalid and 
 the boy. At lat, after fifteen years of this patient 
 generosity, the poor old officer died of the effects 
 of the amputation of the injured limb ; and the cler- 
 gyman of the district, knowing the circumstances, 
 recommended the betrothed pair for the Monthyon 
 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 benefi- 
 cence 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, living 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 to forty sous a day, 
 came, some days ago, to ask help for a helpless, in- 
 digent woman, maimed of two fingers, and incapable 
 of gaining a livelihood. 
 
 ' 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 chil- 
 dren. 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 pray- 
 ers." 
 
 " Does not your husband complain ? "
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 409 
 
 " 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 chil- 
 dren." 
 
 " Ten months is a long time." 
 
 " She was out in the street, and begged me to 
 shelter her for two or three days ; and Jacquemin and 
 I could never have the heart to turn her out. He 
 says, besides, that one must do as one would b 
 done by." 
 
 " But, my good woman, what is your lodging ? " 
 
 "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 your- 
 self." 
 
 "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 petitions 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. Eti- 
 enne de Varenne, in the department of the Rhone. 
 This girl had, even when a child, sent out to watch
 
 41 o A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 cattle in the fields, been in the habit of sharing the 
 meals she carried out with her with the poor, only 
 begging them 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 off 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 nourishment 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 between 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 yesterday, 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. Towards 
 the end of a long night, Madeleine had lighted a few 
 green sticks to endeavor to lessen the intense cold, 
 when the 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. AK 
 Madeleine could do was to spring to the door, and
 
 The Monthyon Prizes. 41 1 
 
 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 deceived or not, 
 he was 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 Mad- 
 eleine 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 solitude, 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 prowl- 
 ing round the hut, and that its frail defence had not 
 excluded him from entering it. 
 
 France, with all its faults, has always been dis- 
 tinguished 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 Amclie, before the Monthyon prize was de- 
 creed to her. 
 
 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 establish-
 
 412 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ment. Indeed, the rescuers from water, from fire, 
 and all the accidents to which human life is lia- 
 ble, 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 com- 
 manding officer is to be the last to secure his own 
 life, the last to leave the ship in 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 
 who will save his life shall lose it, and he who will 
 lose his life shall save it ? " 
 
 The Newfoundland coast is a peculiarly danger- 
 ous one, from the dense fogs that hang over the 
 water, caused by the warm waters of the Gulf- 
 stream ; which, rushing up from the equator, here 
 come in contact with the cold currents from the pole, 
 and send up such heavy vapor, that clay can some- 
 times scarcely be discerned from night, and even at 
 little more than arm's length objects cannot be dis- 
 tinguished, while from without the mist looks like a 
 thick sheer precipice of snow. 
 
 In such a fearful fog, on the morning of the 2oth 
 of June, 1822, the small schooner, Drake, struck
 
 4i 4 ^ Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 suddenly upon a rock, and almost immediately fell 
 over on her side, the waves breaking 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, another upset as soon as she was 
 launched, and there only remained the small boat 
 called the captain's gig. The ship was fast break- 
 ing 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 might not be 
 too great. A man named Lennard seized a rope, and 
 sprang into the sea, but the current was too strong 
 for him, he was carried away in an opposite direc- 
 tion, and was obliged to be dragged on board again. 
 Then the boatswain, whose name was Turner, vol- 
 unteered 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 threat- 
 ening 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 scram- 
 ble 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 saving her, commanded 
 the crew to leave her and make their wa*y 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
 
 The Loss of the Drake. 415 
 
 his orders, saying that his life was the last and least 
 consideration ; and they were obliged to obey, leav- 
 ing the ship in as orderly a manner as if they were 
 g'.>!n_j ashore in harbor. But they were so be- 
 nu:n')^d with col;!, th.it many were unable to climb 
 t'u r >;k and wjre s\vept off by "^he waves, among 
 them the lieutenant. Captain Baker last of ail 
 joined his crew, and it was then discovered that 
 they were at no great distance from the land, but 
 tint the ti.le was rising, and that the rock on which 
 they stood would assuredly be covered at high wa- 
 ter, and the he ivv mist and lonely coast gave scarce- 
 ly a hope that help would come ere the slowly ris- 
 ing waters mast devour them. 
 
 Still there wis no murmur, and again the gallant 
 boatswvin, who still held the rope, volunteered to 
 mike an effort to save his comrades. With a tew 
 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 was 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 pas- 
 sage 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 bv name 
 by Captain Baker, and then it is recorded that not 
 one, so summoned, stirred till he had used his best 
 entreaties to the captain to take his place ; but the 
 captain had but one reply, " I will never leave the 
 rock until everv soul is safe." 
 
 Forty-four stout sailors had made .their perilous 
 way to shore. The forty-fifth looked round and saw 
 a poor woman lying helpless, almost lifeless, on the 
 rock, unable to move. He took her in ore arm. and 
 with the other clung to the rope. Alas ! the double
 
 4i 6 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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. Cap- 
 tain Baker and three seamen remained, utterly cut 
 off from hope or help. The men in best condition 
 hurried 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 cap- 
 tain'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, frcm 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, gen- 
 erous, and very unexampled way in which our late 
 noble commander sacrificed his life, in the evening 
 of the 23d of June." This letter was signed by 
 the whole surviving crew of the Drake, and in 
 consequence, a tablet in the dockyard chapel at 
 Portsmouth commemorates the heroism of Captain 
 Charles Baker. 
 
 No wonder that the newly-escaped crew, who had 
 watched the grave, resolute face, and heard the calm, 
 firm answers, felt as if such bravery were unex- 
 ampled, 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 Carribean Sea, where the intense
 
 The Loss of the Ifngpie. 417 
 
 blue of the tropical sky is reflected in a sea of still 
 deeper blue, sparkling and dimpling under the full 
 ^ lower of the sunbeams, and broken by the wooded 
 islands, forming the most exquisite summer scenery 
 en the world. 
 
 But these most beautiful of seas are also the most 
 treacherous. This is the especial home of the hur- 
 ricane, and of brief furious squalls, that rise almost 
 without warning, except from slight indications in 
 the sky, which only an experienced 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 ^errinc of her enemies. 
 
 In these seas, in the August of 1826, the little 
 schooner J/^yVV. was cruising, under the command 
 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 towards evening the Afagpie lay becalmed 
 off the Colorados 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 
 stillness, 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 head.'ong on, 
 lashed into one white sheet of foam, flying up like 
 flakes of snow. It was upon them ! Tht Jeuten- 
 27
 
 41 8 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ant'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 mo- 
 ment, 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 relief, 
 heard a voice asking if any one was near. It was 
 that of Mr. Smith, who, with six more, was clinging 
 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 them- 
 selves by hanging round the gunwales till the boat 
 could be lightened enough to admit them. Just as 
 the baling had commenced, one of the men cried out 
 that he saw the fin of a shark, and the horror of be- 
 coming a prey to the monster made the men forget 
 everything ; they struggled to get into the boat, and 
 upset it again ! Again, however, the lieutenant'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 foul 
 men, morning had come, and hope with it, when 
 at about ten o'clock, the cry, " A shark ! a shark ! ''
 
 The Loss of the Magpie. 419 
 
 was renewed, and at least fifteen of these crea- 
 tures 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 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 rime 
 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 hold- 
 ing 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 rem lined, when, as the lieutenant 
 looked into the boat for a second, he ceased splash- 
 ing, and at that moment one leg was bitten off. Still, 
 in order not to startle his men, he endured the an- 
 guish 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 convulsed 
 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 there- 
 fore 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 
 promote Meldrum to be a gunner." 
 
 He then shook each man by the hand and bade
 
 42O A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 sun- 
 set, on another alarm of the sharks, a startled move- 
 ment 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 unmur- 
 muring 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 himself, 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 was one of the best loved and most 
 promising of the sons of a Hampshire 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 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, him- 
 self, the gunner's mate, Meklrum, the boy Wilson, 
 and one more. Twenty hours of struggling in the 
 water, with, latterly, the sun broiling their 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 overgone, 
 and both jumped overboard and perished.
 
 The Loss of the Magpie Schooner. 421 
 
 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 wake 
 till the sun was glaring upon them far above the 
 horizon. What a wakening ! alone in a frail boat, 
 their companions gone, water all round, and swarm- 
 ing with the cruel sharks, the sun burning over- 
 head, 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 would 
 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 towards 
 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, and the dark hull could be seen 
 above the horizon. 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 an- 
 nounced his intention of swimming to the vessel. 
 It was a long, tearfully long distance for a man fast- 
 ing 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 on
 
 422 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 entreaty, that if Mr. Maclean saw a shark in pur- 
 suit, he would not let him know, shook hands, and, 
 with a brief prayer for the protection of the Al- 
 mighty, 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. Meldrum swam, straining every nerve, splash- 
 ing as he went to keep away the sharks, and shout- 
 ing, but- no one appeared on deck; and when he 
 had accomplished about two-thirds of the way, his 
 strength failed him, and he was about to resign 
 himself 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, 
 that the destitute pair were taken for escaped pi- 
 rates ; but they were, at last, set on shore at Ha- 
 vanna, and thence conveyed to Port Royal by the 
 first man-of-war that touched there. 
 
 At the court-martial held by Sir Lawrence Hal- 
 stead these facts came out. Meldrum could not be 
 prevailed on to tell his own story ; but when his 
 young officer had related it, both burst into tears, 
 and embraced before the court. Not 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 un- 
 daunted resolution and unwearied patience.
 
 THE FEVER AT OSMOTHERLY. 
 1825. 
 
 /^vSMOTHERLY is a small village in Yorkshire, 
 \^s not far from North Allerton. It had been 
 much neglected, the houses were ill-built, and there 
 had been little attention to the means of cleanliness, 
 so that the place was exceedingly unhealthy, and 
 the people were in the state of dulness and igno- 
 rance, that was sure to be the result of possessing 
 a clergyman, who unhappily cared neither for their 
 souls nor bodies, and did not even reside among 
 them, but only came over from time to time to read 
 the service in the church. 
 
 No wonder that a deadly low fever broke out in 
 this unfortunate place, in the autumn of 1825, and 
 went creeping on from house to house, laying one 
 person low after another, so that the healthy could 
 hardly be found to nurse the sick. Among the fam- 
 ilies upon whom it fell very heavily was that of an 
 old widow, who had seen better days, but had be- 
 come nearly destitute, and had for many years past 
 been chiefly supported by an allowance from her 
 brother, who had settled as a merchant in America. 
 This brother had died in the previous year, and his 
 only child, Mary Lovell Pickard, at that time twen- 
 ty-five years of age. had. after her long nursing of 
 him, been persuaded to cross the Atlantic, and make 
 acquaintance with her English relations.
 
 424 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 She had spent many happy months with aunts 
 and cousins in prosperous circumstances, but she 
 was not going to neglect the poor old aunt in the 
 North, and taking advantage of the escort of some 
 friends who were going to Scotland, she travelled 
 with them as far as to Penrith, and then went by 
 coach to North Allerton, and by post-chaise to Os- 
 motherly, where she intended to pay a three weeks' 
 visit at Brush Farm, and be picked up again at Pen- 
 rith on their return. 
 
 Her first letter from this place, written on the 2d 
 of September, 1825, describes her hostess as "a 
 small, thin old lady, with a pale complexion, and the 
 very brightest black eyes, which sparkle when she 
 speaks with a degree of animation almost amusing 
 in such an old lady. She lives in a comfortable little 
 two-story cottage, of four rooms, which far exceeds 
 anything I ever saw for neatness," though it 
 seems to have had a clay floor. " I find," added 
 kind-hearted Mary, " that I could not have come 
 at a better time to do good, or a worse for gaining 
 spirits." She found the poor old lady nearly worn 
 out with the care of two little grandsons, one of 
 whom was dre'adfully ill with whooping-cough, but 
 could not be nursed at home, as his younger brother, 
 a baby of a fortnight old, was equally ill with the 
 same complaint, and his father was in great danger 
 with the fever, and had just lost a brother in small- 
 pox. And worse than all, a son of the old lady had 
 been just brought home in a melancholy state, that 
 was almost madness. 
 
 Many would have thought only of flying from the 
 fever, Mary Pickard only thought how she could 
 help the sufferers. First she took charge of the 
 sick child, who was soon very fond of her, and took 
 a fancy to call her " Uncle Mady," and she likewise 
 went about among the other poor, teaching them the 
 care of their sick, and giving them every kind of
 
 The Fever at Osmotherly. 425 
 
 nourishment they needed, aiding them with hand 
 and head, till no wonder they were always declar- 
 ing, " they never saw such a lady as Miss Pickard." 
 What she gave away among them was never known, 
 probably not even to herself; but it is plain that she 
 must have been at the expense of their medical ad- 
 vice, since her aunt was totally dependent on her, 
 and the daughter's husband had hitherto lived solely 
 by his daily labor, while the rest of the parish was 
 extremely poor, and the destitution caused by sick- 
 . ness was dreadful. She says herself that the "good 
 little doctor " was her only helper, and no doubt she 
 must have called him in, since in those days unions 
 and union-doctors were not, and though parish-doc- 
 tors were appointed, they were a benefit only in 
 name to the poor, who depended almost entirely 
 on private charity, where they were within reach of 
 it, or else upon old women, cunning men, and herb- 
 alists. She had a hard fight with the village super- 
 stitious fancies, and a harder one with the cottagers' 
 habits of uncleanliness ; and such was the panic 
 that prevailed, that she could hardly rouse them 
 into exertion to remove the dirt that was probably 
 the cause of the sickness, and certainly much in- 
 creased it. Whole families seem to have owed their 
 food to her, while their bread-winner was laid by ; 
 but there is no record of the details of her general 
 doings. She said, in after years, that she should like 
 to write down an account of the curious things that 
 had befallen her at Osmotherly, but she never had 
 time to do so, and we only have her letters written 
 to her American friends at the time, which speak 
 of little but what concerned her relations, and for 
 them the work she did would have seemed in itself 
 sufficient. 
 
 Her cousin " Bessy's " husband died of the fever 
 on the 8th of September, and Mary it was who 
 closed his eyes, and the next day stood godmother
 
 426 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ttf the poor little month-old baby, which was chris- 
 tened at its father's funeral, with little hope of its 
 living, for its cough was bringing on fits. Two 
 nights after she says : " I had been up with the 
 little boy the greater part of the night before . . . 
 but, (in the true spirit of Polly Pickard, attempting 
 to do more than any one would have thought rea- 
 sonable,) I was quite persuaded that, as 1 was to sit 
 up, it was as well to do all I could ; and as poor 
 Bessy had not had a quiet night since her child was 
 born, and was going to sleep alone in her house for 
 the first time since her husband's death, I thought 
 it would do her good, and me no harm, to sit up in 
 her parlor, and take care of the baby in the cradle, 
 that she might have a little sleep, and not feel alone. 
 The dear little baby had been better than for some 
 time during the day, and I doubted not that it would 
 lie in the cradle or on my knee very quietly, except 
 during its coughing fits. Bessy went to bed ; but 
 the poor little creature grew worse, and coughed 
 itself into a fit, in which it lay so long, that I thought 
 it dead, and awoke its mother. But its little heart 
 began to beat again, and it seemed to be reviving, 
 though slowly, and I sent her off again. It appeared 
 for some time to, be recovering ; but all at once it 
 sunk away and died in my arms, so peacefully and 
 sweetly, that I could scarcely be persuaded that it 
 had not fallen into a still slumber, or had another 
 fit. But it was indeed gone ; and when I could 
 bring myself to give it up, I arranged its little body 
 for its last home. I don't know when I have had 
 my feelings more excited. It was a lovely little 
 creature, and I have nursed it so much since I have 
 been here, that I found it had become an object of 
 great interest to me : not a day has passed that I 
 have not given three or four hours to it, and it was 
 always so quiet with me, that it seemed almost to 
 know when I took it." As to her own danger in
 
 The Fever at O smother ly. 427 
 
 the midst of infection : " Don't fear for me ; I don't 
 think I am going to be sick, and it'will be for some 
 good purpose if I am." 
 
 She took up her quarters with the poor bereaved 
 mother, and was able to be a great comfort to her, 
 by long talks at night, when all was still, showing 
 her the way to the only true comfort, of which the 
 poor, ill-taught young woman had hitherto known 
 little. At the week's end, however, poor Bessy 
 sickened of the worst form of typhus ; and the next 
 day the favorite little Jamie fell ill also. The villa- 
 gers thought the house doomed, and Mary saw not 
 a creature but the doctor, day after day. The ill- 
 ness lasted eleven days, during which Mary never 
 left her night or day, except to run back to the 
 grandmother's for a change of clothes ; for the suf- 
 ferer did not like to be touched by any other person, 
 and it was best that as few should be exposed to the 
 infection as possible. " Her senses never forsook 
 her for a moment, nor her deep sense of gratitude 
 to God for the mercies which He had bestowed on 
 her amid all her sufferings. It seemed to her that 
 His immediate Providence had sent me to them just 
 at this time ; and her expressions of affection and 
 thankfulness were indeed most delightful to me." 
 She died on the 3Oth of September ; and Mary re- 
 turned to the care of the little Jamie, who was still 
 extremely ill. The elder boy was seven years old, 
 and able to understand the desolateness of his home, 
 and, as he sat by the fire, kept on repeating at inter- 
 vals the entreaty, " Cousin Mary, you will let me live 
 with you, won't you ? " Poor little fellow ! he did 
 not long need an earthly home ; he, too, fell ill, 
 and, after a most patiently-borne sickness, watched 
 constantly by this loving friend, died on the 3Oth 
 of October. 
 
 Still, Mary's nursing was not ended. On the 2d 
 of November, she wrote : " There are very many
 
 428 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 cases of the fever in the village, and as I am almost 
 the only person in it who is not afraid of infection, 
 I still have full employment in assisting the poor 
 sufferers. My cousin's little niece is still very ill. 
 I have indeed been wonderfully preserved and 
 strengthened. Heaven save me from presumption, 
 but I cannot help feeling that I could not have lived 
 through all that I have, unless God had protected 
 me!" 
 
 By the end of the month, however, the fever had 
 abated sufficiently for Mary to comply with the 
 earnest entreaties of her friends, and come to them 
 at Penrith ; but it was a cruel parting with poor 
 little Jamie, who had grown so fond of her, that his 
 screams of agony at her departure long echoed in 
 her ears. The welcome and quiet she enjoyed 
 among her friends made the stay with them "like 
 the rest of the Sabbath to the weary laborer," though 
 she was very weak and weary, and needed much 
 rest and care. But before December was at an end, 
 came a letter from the doctor, telling her the poor 
 old aunt herself was at the point of death, with the 
 same malignant fever. Vainly did Mary's friends 
 assure her that the danger of returning into the 
 infected air was far greater than even all she had 
 gone through before, in her present weakened state. 
 She knew it was her duty to go, and took her leave 
 of them "with many solemn thoughts, though hid 
 by cheerful looks," and feeling as if it was for ever 
 that she parted with them. 
 
 After an eight hour's solitary journey, she arrived, 
 and had the pleasure of the most ecstatic greeting 
 from poor little Jamie. " He ran round me, jumped 
 up in my lap, stroked and kissed my face, as if he 
 could not trust to the evidence of one sense, and at 
 last burst out a-crying, ' Uncle Mady won't go away 
 again ! Uncle Mady live with Jamie every day, 
 won't you, Uncle Mady ? ' "
 
 The Fever at Osmotherly. 429 
 
 Again she had to be sole nurse and servant in the 
 sick house, " acting in a fourfold capacity," as she 
 called it. She put up a little bed in a corner of her 
 aunt's room, and devoted herself to her. It was 
 less lonely than before ; for the doctor had brought 
 his sister to keep house for him, and Mary was able 
 to see much ot her. Moreover, the old aunt began 
 to recover from the time of her arrival ; and her 
 American heart was rejoiced by the snow, "it 
 looked so homeish, and so much like your happy 
 home the last time I saw it, that I have been enjoy- 
 ing the sight highly." 
 
 Lkit the cold and wet, at last, broke down her 
 strength. One night, when alone, such a dreadful 
 cramp seized her, that she fell on the floor, and for 
 a considerable time could neither move nor make 
 any one hear. For many days after, she lay on her 
 bed, in a state of extreme weakness, from which she 
 could hardly be recovered, but with unfailing bright- 
 ness. It was always remarked, that "her worst 
 days were her gayest ones " ; and at length she re- 
 covered, and left the place where she had been for 
 so many months truly a ministering angel. She 
 returned to that home in America which had, during 
 her toils, seemed to her " like the dreams one has 
 of heaven, in the twilight hours, between sleeping 
 and waking." There she became a happy wife and 
 mother, and continued to send remittances to the 
 old aunt, as long as they were needed ; but she lost 
 sight of little Jamie, and had no further intercourse 
 with him. He, however, did not forget her, and, 
 early in 1849, sent a long, affectionate letter to her, 
 dwelling gratefully on all she had done for his dying 
 parents and himself. But alas ! the letter came too 
 late. Mary, now the widowed Mrs. Ware, had 
 long been sinking under a fatal malady, so endured, 
 that " her sick chamber was always the happiest 
 room in the house," and had died on a lovely April
 
 430 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 day. in which she looked up and said, with a smile, 
 " What a beautiful day to go home .' " 
 
 Surely, if it be a glorious deed to save life at the 
 risk of our own, Mary Lovell Pickard, standing 
 alone among the dead and dying, in her cheerful 
 resolution and strong trust, deserves honor as much 
 as any hero who braved death in battle or in wreck. 
 
 Miss Pickard's noble action, and another similar 
 one, suggested a beautiful sketch by Miss Martin- 
 eau, entitled " The Sickness and Health of the Peo- 
 ple of Bleaburn," in Nos. 9, 10, n, 12 of House- 
 hold Words. 
 
 Let us add to this a parallel from Saint Remi 
 Bosrecourt, near Dieppe, where, in 1824, there was 
 a terrible attack of typhus, extremely infectious. 
 It broke out in a house where there were eleven 
 persons ; and such were its ravages, that, at last, 
 only the father remained with four little children, 
 all ill ; and such was the general alarm, that no one 
 would go near the cottage. All the nurses whom 
 the authorities of the village endeavored to employ, 
 replied that they would not run after death. At 
 last, a lady, Mademoiselie Celestine Detriment, 
 offered herself; and when the fearful risk was set 
 before her, she answered, "In the service of God 
 and the poor there is no fear of death." To the 
 cottage then she went. One more child died, and 
 she herself prepared it for burial, placing the coffin 
 in the court-yard, where alone any one dared to 
 come. The other three and the father were saved 
 by her care ; and this is said to have been only 
 one instance in a whole life of self-devotion and 
 charity.
 
 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 cor- 
 al worms, but in the midst of them are lofty moun- 
 tains, thrown up by the wonderful power that we 
 call volcanic. In sailing 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 per- 
 petual snow, the other is dark, dark with lava and 
 cinders, on which the inward heat will not permit 
 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 volcano in the 
 world, and is named Kilauea. The enormous cra- 
 ter 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 caul- 
 dron. The edge of this huge bason of burning 
 matter is a ledge of hard lava, above which rises a 
 mighty wall of scoria or cinder ; in one place form-
 
 432 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 ing an abrupt precipice, 4,000 feet high, but in oth- 
 ers 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 sub- 
 stance formed by the action of the air upon the 
 vapor rising from the molten minerals beneath ; it 
 is like cobwebs of spun glass. Tremendous 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 mountain-side, forming cascades of living 
 fire, or spreading destruction over the plains, and 
 when reaching the sea, struggling, roars, thunder- 
 ing, in bubbling flames and dense smoke for the 
 mastery with the other element. 
 
 Heathen nations living among such wonderful 
 appearances of nature cannot fail to connect them 
 with divine beings. The very name of Volcano tes- 
 tifies 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 glassy threads that covered the hills. 
 Fierce 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. 
 
 At length, however, the islanders were delivered 
 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 detached itself from the savage deities 
 they had worshipped, and they began to revere the 
 One true Maker of heaven and earth. But still their 
 superstitions hung round Kilauea. There the fiery
 
 The Chicftainess and the Volcano. 433 
 
 goddess still revelled 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 Liholiho, with all his court, had made up their 
 minds to abandon their idols, give up their super- 
 stitious practices, and seek instruction from Chris- 
 tian teachers, still the priests of Pele, on her flam- 
 ing mountain, kept their stronghold of heathenism, 
 and threatened her wrath upon those who should 
 forsake the ancient worship. 
 
 Then it was that a brave Christian woman, strong 
 in faith and courage, resolved to defy the goddess 
 in her fastness, and break the spell that bound the 
 trembling people to her worship. Her name was 
 Kapiolani, wife of Naihe, the public orator of Hawaii. 
 There was no common trust and resolution needed 
 to enable her to carry out her undertaking. Not 
 only was she outraging the old notions that fearful 
 consequences must follow the transgression of the 
 tabu, or setting apart. Not only was the ascent 
 toilsome, and leading into cold regions, which were 
 dreadful to a delicate Hawaiian, but the actual dan- 
 ger of the ascent was great. Wild crags, and slip- 
 pery sheets of lava, or slopes of crumbling cinders, 
 were strangers to the feet of the tender coast-bred 
 woman. And the heated soil, the groanings, the 
 lurid atmosphere, the vapor that oozed up from the 
 crevices of the half-cooled lava, must have filled any 
 mind witli 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 moun- 
 tain-side by the mephitic gases of the volcano 
 struck dead, as it must have seemed, by the breath 
 of the goddess. 
 28
 
 434 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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, exclaimed : "If I perish by the 
 anger of Pele, 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 was 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 philosopher Empedocles had 
 leapt into the burning crater of Mount Etna, thereby 
 to obtain an imperishable name. How much more 
 noble is the name that Kapiolani 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.
 
 DISCIPLINE. 
 
 T)ERHAPS there have never been occasions, 
 .1 when the habit of instantaneous obedience to 
 the voice of duty has produced more touching in- 
 stances of forbearance and unselfishness, than in the 
 confusion and despair of a shipwreck. What a wreck 
 can be without such qualities, has been but too 
 well proved by the horrible scenes that took place 
 after the loss of the French ship J/^/.Y.VY, when bru- 
 tal selfishness was followed by savage violence and 
 cannibalism too shocking to be dwelt upon ; though 
 memorable as an example, that " every man for him- 
 self," is the most fatal of all policies, even were self- 
 preservation the primary object. 
 
 In British ships of war, unshrinking obedience, 
 heeding nothing but the one matter in hand, is the 
 rule. " As a landsman,'' says Colonel Fisher, an 
 engineer-officer, who was on board the Piercer gun- 
 boat in the hottest fire on the Peiho river. " I was 
 much struck with the coolness with which the navi- 
 gation of the vessel was attended to ; the man in 
 the chains cries the soundings, the master gives his 
 orders to the man at the helm and the engineers 
 below ; the helmsman has no eyes or ears but for 
 the master's directions and signals. . . . All seem 
 intent on what is their duty at the time being, and 
 utterly unmindful of the struggle raging round 
 them." And this when not only were they being
 
 436 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 shot down every moment, but when each compara- 
 tively harmless ball rocked the gun-boat, sent splin- 
 ters flying, or brought the yards down upon their 
 heads. Where such conduct is regarded as a mere 
 matter of course, from the grey-headed admiral 
 down to the cadet and the cabin-boy, no wonder that 
 multitudes of deeds have been done, glorious be- 
 cause they placed duty far above self, and proved 
 that 'Nelson's signal is indeed true to the strongest 
 instinct of the English sailor. 
 
 The only difficulty is to choose among the in- 
 stances of patient obedience on record ; and how 
 many more are there, unknown to all but to Him who 
 treasures up the record, until the day when "the 
 sea shall give up her dead ! " Let us cast a glance 
 at the Atalante, bewildered in a fog upon the coast 
 of Nova Scotia, and deceived by the signal-guns of 
 another ship in distress, till she struck upon the 
 formidable reefs, known by the name of the Sisters 
 Rocks, off Sambro Island. The wreck was com- 
 plete and hopeless, and a number of men scrambled 
 at once into the pinnace ; but the captain, seeing 
 that she could never float so loaded, ordered twenty 
 of them out, and was implicitly obeyed, so entirely 
 without a murmur, that as the men hung clinging to 
 the weather-gunwale of the ship, they drowned the 
 crashing of the falling masts with their cheers. 
 
 As soon as the pinnace was lightened, she floated 
 off, but immediately turned bottom upwards. Still 
 the crew never lost their self-possession for one 
 moment, but succeeded in righting her, and resum- 
 ing their places, without the loss of a man. They 
 then waited beyond the dash of the breakers on the 
 reef, for Captain Hickey and their companions, who 
 were still clinging to the remains of the ship. 
 There were two other boats, but too small to hold 
 the whole number, and an attempt was made to con- 
 struct a raft, but the beating of the waves rendered
 
 Discipline. 437 
 
 this impossible, so the men already in the pinnace 
 were directed to lie down in the bottom, and pack 
 themselves like herrings in a barrel, while.the lesser 
 boats returned through the surf to pick off the rest, 
 a most difficult matter, and indeed some had to 
 be dragged off on ropes, and others to swim, but 
 not one was lost. The captain was of course the 
 last man to quit the wreck, though several of. the 
 officers were most unwilling to precede him even 
 for a moment, and by the time he reached the boat, 
 the last timbers had almost entirely disappeared, 
 amid the loud cheers of the brave-hearted crew. 
 
 Nothing was saved but the admiral's despatches, 
 which the captain had secured at the first moment, 
 and the chronometer. This, last was the special 
 charge of the captain's clerk, who had been directed 
 always to hold it in his hand when the guns were 
 fired, or the ship underwent any shock, so as to pre- 
 vent the works from being injured. On the first 
 alarm he had caught up the chronometer and run 
 on deck, but being unable to swim, was forced to 
 cling to the mizzen-mast. When the ship fell over, 
 and the mast became nearly horizontal, he crawled 
 out to the mizzen-top, and sat there till the spar gave 
 way and plunged him into the waves, whence he 
 was dragged into one of the boats, half-drowned, 
 but grasping tight his precious trust. A poor merry 
 iK'nro, who held fast to his fiddle to the last mo- 
 ment, as he clung to the main-chains, was obliged 
 to let his instrument go, amid the laughter and fun 
 of his messmates, who seem to have found food for 
 merriment in every occurrence. No one had a full 
 suit of clothes but an old quartermaster, named 
 Samuel Shanks, who had comported himself 
 throughout as composedly as if shipwrecks befell 
 him every day, and did not even take off his hat, 
 except for a last cheer to the Atnlantt: as she sunk. 
 He recollected that he had a small compass seal
 
 438 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 hanging to his watch, and this being handed to the 
 captain, in his gig, and placed on the top of the 
 chronometer, it proved steady enough to steer by, 
 as the three boats crept carefully along in the dense 
 fog. They landed, after a few hours, on the coast, 
 about twenty miles from Halifax, at a fishing sta- 
 tion, where they were warmed and fed. 
 
 Thence the captain took the most exhausted and 
 least clothed of the party in the boats to Halifax, 
 leaving the others to march through the half-cleared 
 country. Before night the whole ship's company 
 assembled, without one man missing, in as complete 
 order as if nothing had happened. 
 
 Here perfect discipline had proved the means of 
 safety, and hope had never failed for a moment ; but 
 we have still fresh in our memories an occasion 
 where such forbearing obedience led to a willing 
 self-sacrifice, when safety might have been possible 
 to the strong at the expense of certain destruction to 
 the weak. 
 
 The Btrketthead, a war steamer used as a trans- 
 port, was on her way to Algoa Bay with about 630 
 persons on board, 132 being her own crew, the rest 
 being detachments from the I2th, 74th, and gist 
 regiments, and the wives and children of the soldiers. 
 In the dead of the night, between the 25th and 28th 
 of February, the vessel struck on a reef of sunken 
 rocks on the African coast, and from the rapidity 
 with which she was moving, and the violence of the 
 waves, became rapidly a hopeless wreck. On the 
 shock, the whole of the men and officers hurried on 
 deck, and the commanding officer, Lieutenant-Colo- 
 nel Seton, calling the other officers about him, im- 
 pressed on them the necessity of preserving order 
 and silence among the men, and placed them at the 
 disposal of the commander of the vessel. 
 
 Sixty were placed at the pumps, others to disen- 
 gage the boats, and others to throw the poor horses
 
 Discipline. 439 
 
 overboard, so as to lighten the ship, while the rest 
 were sent to the poop to ease the fore part of the 
 ship. Every one did as directed, and not a murmur 
 nor cry was heard. They were as steady as if on 
 parade, as ready as though embarking in a British 
 harbor. 
 
 The largest boat was unhappily too much encum- 
 bered to be got at quickly enough, but the cutter 
 was filled with the women and children, and pushed 
 off, as did two other small boats. Of the other two 
 large ones, one was capsized, the other stove in by 
 the fall of the funnel, which took place immediately 
 after the cutter was clear of the ship, only twelve or 
 fifteen minutes after the ship had struck. At the 
 same time the whole vessel broke in two parts, cross- 
 wise, and the stern part began to sink and fill with 
 water. The commander called out, " All those that 
 can swim jump overboard and swim for the boats." 
 
 But Colonel Seton and the officers with him be- 
 sought their men to forbear, showing them that if 
 they did so the boats with the women must be 
 swamped. And they stood still. Not more than 
 three made the attempt. Officers and men alike 
 waited to face almost certain death rather than en- 
 danger the women and children. Young soldiers, 
 mostly but a short time in the service, were as pa- 
 tiently resolute as their elders. In a few moments 
 the whole of these brave men were washed into the 
 sea, some sinking, some swimming, some clinging 
 to spars. The boats picked up as many as was pos- 
 sible without overloading them, and then made for 
 the shore, which was only two miles off, hoping to 
 land these and return for more, but the surf ran so 
 high that landing was impossible, and after seeking 
 till daylight fora safe landing-place, they were at last 
 picked up by a schooner, which then made for the 
 wreck, where thirty or forty were still hanging to the 
 masts in a dreadful state of exhaustion.
 
 440 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 A few, both of men and horses, had succeeded in 
 swimming to the shore, but some were devoured by 
 the sharks on the way, and out of the whole number 
 in the ship, only 192 were saved. But those who 
 were lost, both sailors and soldiers, have left behind 
 them a memory of calm, self-denying courage as 
 heroic as ever was shown on battle-field.
 
 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 Cromer, in 
 the county of Norfolk. It is taken from a poem by 
 Joanna Baillie, and is literally and exactly true. 
 There, amid 
 
 " 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 ; 
 Learned, and loving learning well, 
 For college hall or cloistered cell
 
 442 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 healthiest among them in per- 
 sonal activity, though unable through her whole life 
 to stand or move without mechanical aid. Her in- 
 tellect 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 dwell- 
 ing on nothing beyond her own constant and severe 
 sufferings, and the studies that beguiled her atten- 
 tion from them. 
 
 Yet she was full of the warmest, brightest sym- 
 pathy. Her conversation was not only delightful 
 from her brilliant powers, but from her ready per- 
 ception of the wants and wishes of others. Not 
 only was her wheeled chair propelled 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 dis- 
 tance, her chair was turned in that direction, and 
 the object was presented with infinite grace. She 
 made young people exceedingly fond of her, and de- 
 lighted to assist them in their studies. She would 
 help boys to prepare their Greek and Latin tasks
 
 The Rescuers. 443 
 
 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 kind- 
 ness and helpfulness, the strongest influence over 
 the fisherfolk upon the coast, who looked upon her 
 as a superior being. 
 
 At her own expense she procured a life-boat and 
 apparatus for rescuing the shipwrecked, and to se- 
 cure 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, con- 
 stantly in pain, whose right it would have seemed 
 to be shielded from a rough blast or the very knowl- 
 edge of suffering, coming forth in the dead of night, 
 amid the howling storm, beating spray, and drench- 
 ing rain, to direct and inspirit its rugged, seafaring 
 men, and send them on errands of life or death. 
 Which was most marvellous, it is hard to say, the 
 force of will that actuated her, or the force of un- 
 derstanding 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 sound 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 ;
 
 444 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 And there lays her down on her peaceful pillow, 
 Blessed by the Lord of the wind and the billow." 
 
 When, at the age of sixty-one, she laid her down 
 on her last pillow, she 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 
 stone steps of the open vault, they formed a knot 
 at the foot and wept bitterly. More than a thou- 
 sand 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 pres- 
 ent. " 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 cheerful brightness, which 
 showed that his faith had realized her gain, he gave 
 thanks for her. 
 
 The cripple gave what she had, her vigorous 
 mind, her means, and her spirit. Let us turn to 
 one who had neither silver or gold, nothing but her 
 resolute heart and brave skilful hands. Grace Dar- 
 ling, 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 towards 
 the morning of the 6th of September, 1838, by 
 shrieks of distress ; and when dawn came, per- 
 ceived the remains of a wreck upon Longstone 
 Island, the outermost of the group. 
 
 Grace awoke her father and urged him to launch 
 his boat and go to the rescue of any one 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, however, was sure that she 
 discerned a movement on the wreck, as though liv- 
 ing beings were still there, and seizing an oar.
 
 7%i? Rescuers. 445 
 
 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 attempts, succeeded in landing on 
 the rock, and making his way to the wreck, while 
 Grace rowed off and on among the breakers, dex- 
 terously guiding her little boat, which but for her 
 excellent management would have been dashed to 
 pieces against the rocks. 
 
 One by one, with the u f most care and skill, the 
 nine survivors 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 chil- 
 dren, of eleven and eight years old, had actually 
 been buffeted to death by the waves while she held 
 them in her arms, and who was 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 rendered the 
 engines useless, and when the storm 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 number 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 en- 
 tire amount of the lost was not known, but more 
 than forty had certainly gone on board at Hull.
 
 446 
 
 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 testimonial 
 that could be offered was sent to her. We believe 
 that this brave girl soon after died of decline.
 
 THE RESCUE PARTY. 
 
 1853- 
 
 ' I "HE Arctic seas have been the scene of some 
 JL of. the most noted instances of daring and pa- 
 tience 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 Spitzbergen, the relentless ice, 
 and soft though fatal snows of those dreary realms, 
 have formed the grave of many a gallant sailor. 
 Many a life has been lost in the attempt to dis- 
 cover the North-west passage, between Davis's and 
 Behring's 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 later 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 their fate, until 
 the Admiralty decided that to send forth more ex- 
 ploring parties was a vain risking of valuable lives,
 
 448 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 and it was only the earnest perseverance of Sir John 
 Franklin's wife and the chivalrous adventure of in- 
 dividuals that carried on the search, until, at the 
 end of fourteen years, Captain, now Sir Leopold 
 M'Clin.tock, 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. 
 
 Gallant and resolute as were all these northern 
 travellers, there are two names that perhaps deserve, 
 above the others, to be recorded, because their free 
 offer of themselves was not prompted by the com- 
 mon 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 com- 
 mand 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, ac- 
 cording to the shifting of the icebergs. 
 
 His vessel was the brig Advance, and his course 
 was directed through Davis's Straits, and on the 
 way past the Danish settlements in Greenland, they 
 provided themselves with a partially educated 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 epi- 
 sode in their adventures, hoping that it may send our
 
 The Rescue Party. 449 
 
 readers to the book itself. The ship was brought to 
 a standstill in Renfaelner Bay, on the west side of 
 Smith's Strait, between the 79th and 8oth degrees 
 of latitude. It was only the loth of September when 
 the ice closed in so as to render further progress of 
 the ship impossible. On the yth of November the 
 sun was seen for the last time, and darkness set in 
 for 141 days, such darkness at times as was mis- 
 ery 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 pro- 
 visions, at various intervals. These were to be 
 used by the exploring companies whom he pro- 
 posed to send out in sledges, while the ice was 
 still unbroken, in hopes of thus discovering 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 i8th of March a sledge was 
 despatched with eight men to arrange one of these 
 depots for future use. Towards midnight on the 
 29111, 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 Mickey, 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 ex- 
 hausted and bewildered, that 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 
 29
 
 450 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 sixteen 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 bay, 
 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 per- 
 fectly 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 legs, and the thermometer had sunk 
 three degrees lower, so 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 tem- 
 perature, if it be not thawed before touching the 
 mouth, it burns like caustic, 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
 
 The Rescue Party* 451 
 
 their shattered nerves in 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 Esquimaux 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 hum- 
 mock 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 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 
 wellnigh overcome by strong feeling. 
 
 Here were fifteen souls in all to be brought back 
 to the ship. The new comers had travelled 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 buffalo skins, in which 
 having had each limb swathed in reindeer skins 
 they were laid on their own sledge, and sewn up in 
 one huge bale, with an opening over each mouth for 
 breathing. This took four hours, and gave almost
 
 452 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 all the rescuers frost-bitten fingers, and then, a\l 
 hands standing round, a prayer was said, and the 
 ten set out to drag the four in their sledge over ice 
 and snow, now in ridges, now in hummocks, up and 
 down, hard and wild beyond conception. Ohlsen 
 was sufficiently restored to walk, and all went cheer- 
 fully 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. 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 im- 
 mediate 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 whiskey, which had been put under all the cover- 
 ings 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, 
 meaning 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 remem- 
 ber having seen a bear walking leisurely along, and
 
 The Rescue Party. 453 
 
 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 half-way tent undergoing 
 the same fate. However, their approach frightened 
 away the bear, after it had done no worse than over- 
 throwing 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 God- 
 frey 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 grievous 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 over- 
 powered by the deadly sleep of cold, dropping tor- 
 pid 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 recollection of their proceedings ; they 
 only traced their course afterwards by their foot- 
 marks. But when perception and memory were lost, 
 obedience and self-devotion lived on, still these 
 hungry, frost-bitten, senseless men tugged at the 
 sledge that bore their comrades, still held to- 
 gether, and obeyed their leader, who afterwards 
 continued the soundest of the party. One was sent
 
 454 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 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 Doctor Kane had 
 charged him with for the surgeon. 
 
 A dog-team, with a sledge and some restoratives, 
 was at once sent out to meet the others, with the 
 surgeon, Dr. Hayes, who was shocked at the con- 
 dition 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, everyone 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 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 Rescue Party. 455 
 
 the first to recover, Ohlsen the last, his mind con- 
 stantly 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 Ad- 
 vance, 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 
 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 unselfish- 
 ness that form part of the best treasury this world 
 has to show. 
 

 
 THE CHILDREN IN THE WOOD OF THE FAR 
 SOUTH. 
 
 1864. 
 
 OUR roll of Golden Deeds is nearly at an end ; 
 not indeed that acts of self-devotion are ex- 
 hausted, but that full and authentic particulars have 
 not reached us of more than we have related. We 
 have not ventured to tell the stories of the gentle- 
 men, who, in the Indian mutiny, rode for miles 
 through an enemy's country, under a burning sun, 
 with the young child of a friend in their arms. One 
 of these little creatures, still under three years old, 
 whose protector had had to fight his way through 
 the natives with her on his horse's neck, was too 
 young to know what she owed to him, and only re- 
 membered the horrors of her ride, so that when he 
 was at length able to restore her to her mother, she 
 shrank from him, and would not even look at him. 
 The other little girl, a little Miss Christian, not four 
 years old, was only rescued for the time to fall with 
 her protector into the possession of a native prince, 
 who retained them in his power while besieging 
 Lucknow. The child pined and died before the 
 time of release came, but her illness was the occa- 
 sion of an unlooked-for comfort to her companions 
 in captivity. A native doctor, who was allowed to 
 prescribe for her, sent some powders for her wrapped 
 in a chance bit of printed paper. It proved to be
 
 The Children in the Wood of the Far South. 457 
 
 the leaf of a torn Bible, and these were the words 
 that it bore : " I, even I, am He that comforteth 
 you : who art thou, that thou shouldest be afraid of 
 a man that shall die, and of the son of man that 
 shall be made as grass ; and forgettest the LORD 
 thy Maker, that hath stretched forth the heavens, 
 and laid the foundations of the earth ; and hast 
 feared continually every day because of the fury of 
 the oppressor, and where is the fury of the Op- 
 pressor ? The captive exile hasteneth that he may 
 be loosed, and that he should not die in the pit, nor 
 that his bread should fail. But I am the LORD thy 
 God, that divided the sea, whose waves roared. The 
 LORD of hosts is His Name." (Is. li. 12 15.) 
 
 The few survivors of that band of " captive ex- 
 iles ' have declared that these words were to them 
 a message of exceeding joy and hope of deliverance 
 from the fury of the oppressor, and that they were 
 thus greatly strengthened to endure unto the end. 
 Neither the child nor her rescuer were among them. 
 They had both been set free by sickness from cap- 
 tivity and all other ills of this mortal life. 
 
 Neither can we here pause upon the story of Ar- 
 thur Cheek, the young ensign of only sixteen years 
 old. who at Allahabad, sorely wounded and dying 
 of thirst, not only was steadfast in confessing his 
 own faith, but by his exclamation, " O, my friend, 
 come what may. do not deny the LORD JESUS," pre- 
 vented the apostasy of a convert from Mahometan- 
 ism, whom the Sepoys were cruelly torturing. A 
 sudden attack of the Madras fusileers saved the 
 convert, but it was too late to save the martyr boy, 
 who had sunk to rest ere his countrymen had made 
 their way into the city. 
 
 We must turn from these, and speak of those 
 little elder sisters, almost mothers in their love and 
 devotion. We see such little heroines oftener than 
 we think dragging about babies as big as them-
 
 458 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 selves, to whom they often give the last morsel 
 when they are hungry enough themselves, or rush- 
 ing almost under horses' hoofs, or carriage-wheels, 
 to snatch some unlucky brother from the destruc- 
 tion into which he is just big enough to toddle. Per- 
 haps the most notable of all these sisters was Fran- 
 coise Marie, of Rochebeaucour, who, at eleven years 
 old, was left an orphan with a little brother of four, 
 to whom she fully did a mother's part for three years, 
 maintaining him entirely by her knitting and spin- 
 ning, until, in a severe winter, a wolf with five 
 whelps burst into the cottage, attracted by the 
 smell of the hot loaves that Franchise had been 
 baking. 
 
 She had almost driven the she-wolf off with a 
 heavy stick, when, seeing one of the cubs about to 
 attack her brother, she seized the boy, thrust him 
 into a cupboard, and buttoned the door. That mo- 
 ment gave the wolf time to fly on her throat, and 
 the next moment she was the prey of the wild 
 beasts. Her brother remained safe, though unable 
 to get out of the cupboard till released by the 
 neighbors. He was an old man in 1796, still cher- 
 ishing the memory of the mother-like sister who 
 had died to save him. 
 
 Nor may we forget the little Scottish sister, who, 
 when lost with her little brother on the mountain 
 ,side, was saved by the good collie dog, who sped 
 home to call help, and guided the father to the spot 
 where, buried far under a snow-drift, lay the two 
 children, the younger wrapped in all the warmer gar- 
 ments of the elder. Both survived, thanks to the 
 good dog's timely sagacity. Indeed, we believe that 
 a chapter of canine deeds almost deserving the name 
 of golden, might be brought together in honor of our 
 faithful comrades. There was Delta, the dog whose 
 skeleton was disinterred at Herculaneum, stretched 
 over that of a boy of twelve years old, with an in-
 
 The Children in the M'ood of the Far South. 459 
 
 scription on his collar, telling that he had three times 
 saved the life of his master, from the sea, from 
 robbers, and from wolves ; there was Phileros, the 
 dog of Athens, who broke his leg by leaping after 
 his young master when he had fallen out at the win- 
 dow, and finally died of grief on his grave ; there 
 was the dog who is commemorated in Vandyke's 
 picture of the Duke of Richmond, whom his sagacity 
 and courage had saved from assassins ; there was 
 the dog who awoke his master. Lord Forbes, at 
 Castle Forbes, in Ireland, and dragged him, half 
 suffocated and helpless, from his burning bedroom ; 
 here was the well-known dog who daily carried ban- 
 nocks to the shepherd's child lost in the cave behind 
 the waterfall ; there was the Newfoundland dog who 
 won a silver collar by saving first the postman, and 
 then his letter-bag from the water of a swelled ford. 
 Gellert must be given up, since his story proves to 
 be only a western version of an Indian legend of a 
 serpent and mungoose, instead of a wolf and a 
 hound, but there is no passing by the dog of Mon- 
 targis, who, under Charles VI. of France, vainly de- 
 fended his master, Aubri de Montdidier, when set 
 upon by his mortal foe, Macaire ; then lay day and 
 night on the forest grave where Macaire hoped his 
 crime was hidden, only going to the house of his 
 master's chief friend in Paris, for his daily meal, un- 
 til at length he was followed, the ground searched, 
 the murder discovered, and the corpse freshly 
 buried. Afterwards, the dog's furious attacks upon 
 Macaire were deemed an accusation, and the matter 
 was put to the proof by the ordeal of combat in the 
 Isle de Notre Dame. The dog had a tub into which 
 he might retire, the man a club and a shield. The 
 combat was so lengthy that Macaire, no doubt from 
 the force of conscience, was so worn out that he 
 fainted away, and on coming to himself owned the 
 deed. Dogs of St. Bernard and Newfoundland dogs
 
 460 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 rise before us by scores when we think of these gal- 
 lant uoings, "ainong them the strange black dog 
 who came to the lone widow's house the night she 
 had with he, all the proceeds of the sale of her ef- 
 iccts, fought manfully till he drove off the thieves 
 who assailed the house, and disappeared so myste- 
 riously next morning, that she always regarded him 
 as a special messenger of Providence for her pro~ 
 tection. The touching picture O f " Rab and his 
 inends " is no unique incident ; it is only that in 
 Dr. John Brown it met with a spectator and biogra- 
 pher able to appreciate and regard the beautiful af- 
 fection and fidelity that our Maker has embodied 
 before our eyes in these His good creatures. If, as 
 some wise men have deemed, the brutes are created 
 to show us, in living shape, figures and emblems of 
 our own qualities, the dog, with his master taking to 
 him the place of our Great Master, is most certainly 
 the living type of that heart-whole devotion which 
 is the root of Golden Deeds. 
 
 But we must pass on to the latest of which we 
 have heard, and then turn aside from the roll that 
 has truly been a labor of love and refreshment. 
 
 It was in Australia, that great and somewhat 
 repulsive southern island, or rather continent, that 
 has deranged the convenient old geographical ar- 
 rangement of four quarters of the world, and will- 
 ingly or unwillingly has received a large proportion 
 of the English population, before whom the poor 
 feeble native race are fast dwindling away. 
 
 Under English management, Australia is excel- 
 lent for sheep farms ; but the "bush," as colonists 
 everywhere call uncleared forest land, is particularly 
 desolate and dreary. And it was into such bush 
 that, in the winter of 1864, the three little children 
 of a carpenter, named Duff, at a station near Mel- 
 bourne, were often sent out to gather broom. The 
 eldest was a boy of nine years old ; Jane, his sister,
 
 The Children in the Wood of the Far South. 461 
 
 was seven, and little Frank was five. One evening 
 they did not come-back, and their parents became 
 alarmed. There are, indeed, in Australia no dan- 
 gerous wild beasts, such as the bears that two little 
 lost Canadian babes once called to as their father's 
 oxen. " Buck " and " Bell " ; but, on the other hand, 
 there are no raspberries, such as sustained those 
 little wanderers, not even the " blackberries " that 
 ''dyed the pretty lips" of our own '"Babes in the 
 Wood," only dull gum-trees, with oddly-shaped 
 cones and blue upright leaves, and bark that they 
 shed instead of changing leaves, she-oak trees, 
 with hard joints, like overgrown English horse-tails, 
 monstrous nettle-trees, like a bad dream of our 
 English stinging-nettle, all growing in such similar 
 shapes and clusters, that it is a most difficult, nay, 
 impossible, thing for a person once lost to recover 
 his bearings ; and, worse than all, the drought is 
 terrible, so that thirst will cause a more painful 
 death than even hunger. Stout men, sturdy explor- 
 ers, have been known to lie down, famished, to die 
 in this inhospitable forest ; and what could be the 
 fate of the poor little children ? 
 
 The father and his neighbors in vain shouted 
 " Cooee ! " (the bush call), and sought the country 
 day after day, until a week had passed ; when he 
 obtained the aid of some of the natives, who, de- 
 spised as they are by the colonists, have a wonder- 
 ful power of tracking the faintest trail in their for- 
 ests. They soon made out signs where the children 
 had been, from the bendings of the twigs or the 
 tramplings of the grass. " Here little one tired," 
 they said ; "sit down. Big one kneel down ; carry 
 him along. Here travel all night; dark, not see 
 that bush ; her fall on him." Then came : "Here 
 little one tired again ; big one kneel down ; no get 
 up, fall flat on face." 
 
 The children had been lost on Friday afternoon.
 
 462 A Book of Golden Deeds. 
 
 On the Saturday week, the blacks led the father up 
 to a clump of broom, where lay three little figures, 
 the least in the middle, with his sister's frock over his 
 own clothes. Duff went up to them, comforted, at 
 least, that he could carry home the little corpses to 
 their mother. But the eldest boy roused himself, 
 sat up, and said, " Father ! " then fell back from 
 sheer weakness ; and, indeed, his lips were so 
 shrunk, that they could no longer cover his teeth. 
 Little Frank awoke as if from a quiet sleep. " Father, 
 why did 'nt you come before ? " he said ; " we were 
 cooeeing for you." Jane was scarcely alive ; when 
 she was lifted up, she only made a murmur of " Cold, 
 cold ! " If neither had lived to tell the tale, little 
 Frank's condition, so much better than that of his 
 elders, would have told how free from selfishness 
 their behavior must have been through all that 
 dreadful week. When the elder brother was car- 
 ried past the places that the blacks had pointed out, 
 his account of their wanderings and adventures ex- 
 actly agreed with what the natives had inferred. 
 He said that this whole time they had been without 
 food, and had only had one drink of water, per- 
 haps from the "pitcher plant," which is a native of 
 those woods, and has a wonderfully-shaped cup, 
 which retains water for many weeks. A man had 
 been known to live eleven days in the bush upon 
 nothing but water ; but the endurance of these little 
 ones was even more wonderful. 
 
 They were all fast recovering ; and the feeling of 
 admiration for little Jane was so strong in the col- 
 ony, that a subscription was being raised for her, 
 which soon amounted to several hundred pounds. 
 May it be well and wisely laid out on her behalf, 
 and may her further life be worthy of the Golden 
 Deed of her childhood !
 
 CHRONOLOGICAL TABLE. 
 
 A TABLE is here given to enable the reader to arrange 
 the various events related according to time and place. 
 Those in CAPITALS are those circumstantially narrated ; 
 the others are those merely alluded to. 
 
 Date 
 
 Deed 
 ALCESTIS'S SACRIFICE FOR HER Hus- 
 
 Place 
 Thrace 
 
 Page 
 
 B.C. 
 
 Antigone's Burial of her Brother . . 
 
 Thebes . . 
 
 13 
 
 1068. 
 
 Codrus's Devotion 
 
 Athens . 
 
 63 
 
 1050. 
 
 DAVID'S DRAUGHT OF WATER . . . 
 
 Palestine . 
 
 *7 
 
 512. 
 
 The Silence of Leaena 
 
 Athens . . 
 
 5 
 
 S7- 
 
 HORATIUS AT THE BRIDGE .... 
 
 Rome . . 
 
 23 
 
 480. 
 
 THE SPARTANS AT THERMOPYLAE. . 
 
 Thessaly . 
 
 - 34 
 
 389- 
 
 COMI NIL'S AT THE RoCK 
 
 Rome 
 
 45 
 
 380. 
 
 DAMON'S FRIENDSHIP 
 
 Syracuse . 
 
 . 58 
 
 339- 
 
 THE DEVOTION OF DECILES THE ELDER 
 
 Italy . . . 
 
 63 
 
 326. 
 
 ALEXANDER'S CUP OF WATER . . . 
 
 Persia . , 
 
 20 
 
 294. 
 
 The Devotion of Dccius the Younger . 
 
 Italy. . 
 
 . . 68 
 
 249. 
 
 THE CONSTANCY OF REGULUS . . . 
 
 Carthage 
 
 7 1 
 
 219. 
 
 The Rescue of Scipio 
 
 Italy . . 
 
 . . 268 
 
 180. 
 
 THE RISING OK THF, MACCABEES . . 
 
 Palestine 
 
 . . 78 
 
 52- 
 
 THE SURRENDER OF VERCINGETORIX . 
 
 Gaul . . 
 
 . . 88 
 
 A.D. 
 
 
 
 
 42- 
 
 The Affection of Arria 
 
 Rome 
 
 M7 
 
 60. 
 
 The Sentinel at Pompeii 
 
 Italy . . 
 
 4 
 
 290. 
 
 Beatrix Burying her Brother .... 
 
 Rome 
 
 . . 217 
 
 306. 
 
 NATALIA'S AFFECTION 
 
 Bithynia 
 
 . . M7 
 
 389. 
 
 THE REBUKE TO THEODOSIUS . . . 
 
 Milan 
 
 . 99 
 
 44- 
 
 THE HHRMIT IN THE COLISEUM . . 
 
 Egyptian 
 
 . . 105
 
 464 Chronological Table. 
 
 Date Deed Place Page 
 
 483. GENEVIEVE PLEADING FOR PARIS . . Paris .... 115 
 
 533. THE ESCAPE OF ATTALUS .... France . . . 121 
 
 991. THE BATTLE OF THE BLACKWATER . Essex ... 135 
 
 1064. THE REBUKE TO SVEND Denmark . . 103 
 
 1066. The Northman on Stamford Bridge . England . . 29 
 
 1149. The Ladies of Weinsburg Germany . . 260 
 
 1273. Rodolf's Draught of Water .... Germany . . 21 
 
 1291. GUZMAN'S FIDELITY Tarifa . . . 142 
 
 1308. GERTRUDE VON DE WART'S FAITHFUL- 
 NESS Austria ... 147 
 
 1332. DIKUDOXNE"S SUBMISSION Rhodes . . . 154 
 
 1347. SURRENDER OF THE BURGHERS OF 
 
 CALAIS Calais . . . 161 
 
 1397. WINKELRIED'S CHARGE Switzerland . 174 
 
 1401. The Succorer of Rothsay Scotland . . 6 
 
 '433- FERNANDO'S CONSTANCY Africa . . . 180 
 
 1435. CATHARINE DOUGLAS'S DEFENCE . . Scotland . . 187 
 1440. HELEN KOTTENNER AND ST. STE- 
 PHEN'S CROWN Hungary . . 195 
 
 1450. The Succorer of Gilles de Bretagne . . Brittany . . 6 
 
 1455. GEORGE THE TRILLER'S RESCUE . . Saxony . . . 205 
 
 1491. The Spaniard at the Gates of Granada Spain ... 3 
 
 1535. Margaret Roper's Filial Love . . . England . . 217 
 
 1564. KOURBSKY'S LETTER-CARRIER . . . Russia . . . 233 
 
 1565. DEFENCE OF FORT ST. ELMO . . . Malta . . . 241 
 1576. SIDNEY'S DRAUGHT OF WATER . . Holland. . . 21 
 
 1578. BORROMEO IN THE PLAGUE OF MlLAN Milan . . . 296 
 
 1622. VINCENT DE PAUL AS A CONVICT . . France ... 253 
 
 1641. THE HOUSEWIVES OF LOWENBURG . . Germany . . 260 
 
 1643. The Spanish Infantry's Fall at Rocroy Flanders . . 4 
 
 1648. THE LINDSAYS AT EDGEHILL . . . England . . 268 
 
 1652. The Flask at Flensborg Holstein . . 22 
 
 1666. THE PLAGUE-STRICKEN EYAM . . . England . . 299 
 
 1672. The Soldiers' Cloaks covering Turenne Germany . . 280 
 1700, c. LADY EDGEWORTH'S PRESENCE OF 
 
 MIND Ireland . . . 285 
 
 1720, c. HELEN WALKER'S PETITION . . . England . . 347 
 1721. BISHOP BELZUNCE IN THE PLAGUE OF 
 
 MARSEILLES France . . . 307
 
 Chronological Table. 465 
 
 Date Deed Place Page 
 
 1760. THE SHOUT OF D 'Ass AS Germany . . 32 
 
 1790. Madame Augguier at the Queen's Door France 
 
 1792. THE RESCUE OF ABB SICARD . . . France 
 
 1792. THE DAUGHTERS' DEFENCE .... France 
 
 1792. THE PRINCESSE DE LAMBALLE'S 
 
 FRIENDSHIP France 
 
 1793. THE REVOLT OF LA VENIJE'E . . . France . . . 318 
 1793. THE FAITHFUL SLAVES OF HAITI . West Indies . 339 
 1798. CASABIANCA'S OBEDIENCE .... Aboukir Bay . 275 
 18 . Rose Pasquer's Faithfulness .... France . . . 403 
 1804. THE GUNPOWDER AT ST. HEUERS . Jersey . . . 288 
 
 1804. Crew of the Hindostan Mediterranean 290 
 
 1805. PRASCOVIA'S JOURNEY Russia . . . 348 
 
 1807. THE FORTITUDE OF AGNES GREEN . England . . 368 
 
 1808. THE DEFENCE OF ZARAGOZA . . . Spain . . . 375 
 
 1811. THE FIELD OF CASAL Novo . . . Spain . . . 383 
 
 1812. THE MAGAZINE OF CIUDAD RODRIGO Spain ... 291 
 1812. THE HESSIAN SOLDIERS IN THE RE- 
 TREAT Russia . . . 280 
 
 1812. JEANNE PARELLE'S FILIAL PIETY . France . . . 395 
 
 1816. MR. BUXTON AND THE MAD DOG . England . . 389 
 
 1820. The Fire at Strasburg . France . . . 292 
 
 1822. THE CREW OF THE DRAKE .... Newfoundland 413 
 
 1823. MERE JAQUEMIN AND HER LODGER . France . . . 408 
 
 1824. The Saint Remi Fever France . . . 430 
 
 1825. THE OSMOTHERI.Y FEVER .... England . . 423 
 
 1825. DEFYING THE VOLCANO Hawaii ... 431 
 
 1826. THE Loss OF THE MAGPIE .... West Indies . 417 
 1830. Albony's Fight with the Mad Dog . . France . . . 392 
 1830. FANNY MULLER'S SELF-DENIAL . . France . . . 407 
 1830, MARTIN'S FIDELITY TO SULLY'S DE- 
 SCENDANTS France ... 401 
 
 1837. JEAN VIGIER'S LOVE TO HIS MOTHER France . . . 399 
 
 1838. GRACE DARLING England . . 444 
 
 1840. MADELINE SAUNIER'S CHARITY . . France . . . 409 
 
 i8so,c. SOLDIERS IN THE BIRKENHEAD . . African Coast . 438 
 
 Crew of the Atalante Nova Scotia . 436 
 
 ANNA GURNEY'S RESCUES .... England . . 441
 
 466 
 
 Chronological Table. 
 
 Date Deed 
 
 1848. PAUL DUNEZ'S FAITHFULNESS . . . 
 
 1832. MADELEINE BLANCHET'S DEFENCE . 
 
 1853. DR. KANE'S RESCUE PARTY . . . 
 
 1854. Dr. Thomson at the Alma 
 
 1854. Florence Nightingale 
 
 1857. Lieutenant Willoughby in the Maga- 
 zine at Delhi 
 
 1857. Dr. Hay at Benares 
 
 1857. Deeds of the English in the Mutiny 
 
 1863. Unselfish Soldier 
 
 1864. Dying Engineer 
 
 1864. AUSTRALIAN CHILDREN IN THE WOOD 
 
 Place Page 
 
 Cayenne . . 345 
 France . . . 403 
 Arctic Regions 447 
 Crimea ... 7 
 Crimea ... 8 
 
 India . . . 295 
 
 India ... 7 
 
 India . . . 456 
 
 U. States . . 9 
 
 U. States . . 9 
 
 Australia . . 456
 

 

 
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