University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

There stood in those times a small ancient castle, a part of which was believed to be
the work of the Romans, on the outskirts of Corbeil, although within the walls, of
which indeed it formed an important angle; jutting out into the bosom of the broad
Seine, and partially commanding the bridge, which, crossing the river, formed in this
place the grand communication between the Orleannois and the Isle de France. It
was old, even at that time, and has long ago fallen into decay so total that there are
now no vestiges to be seen, even of its foundations; but although small, it was then
by no means deficient in strength, and, having been repaired quite recently and mounted
with a few heavy cannon, it had been garrisoned for some time past by a small detachment
of artillerymen and a squadron of light-horse; the town being occupied by a whole
regiment, and sometimes even a stronger force of infantry.

From these circumstances, and from its isolated position, it had been often used as a
sort of state prison, whether for officers of the king's party, accused of any serious
breach of military discipline, or for such prisoners of war as were not admitted to a
parole of honor, or as were liable to charges of high treason; and to its walls Wyvil
and Bellechassaigne had been conducted on the morning of the advance against Villeneuve.
It was in a suite of apartments, if one moderately large room, with too light
closets containing each a truckle-bed, can be called a suite, at the top of the principal
tower, which was perhaps something better than a hundred feet in height, that the
two friends were confined. Their quarters, had they not been designated by the term
prison, a term capable of rendering even a palace hateful, though neither large nor
sumptuously furnished, would have been by no means unpleasant; for, owing to their
elevation above the paved courtyard, and the height of the outward walls, the windows
were not barred; and, from the situation of the building, projecting far out into the
current of the river, they commanded an extensive view over the richly cultivated,
although somewhat flat expanse of the Orleannois, and over two bright reaches of the
broad winding Seine. Yet, notwithstanding this advantage, and although they were
attended by their own servants, served with an excellent table, and permitted the use of
books and papers, the time lagged wearily with the impatient and high-spirited prisoners;
for both these men, however different in other points of view, were of that clase,
who, like Scottish Douglas of remoter times, ever preferred the green fields and the azure
vaults of heaven, to the soft Persian carpets and gold-fretted roofs of those luxurious
days; who had rather hear the lark sing than the mouse squeak, as the old border had it;
and to whom life itself, though coupled to every charm of power and luxury and wealth,
if it had not also been enlivened by change and peril and excitement, would have been
wearisome and odious. The first long day wore over, and that perhaps more lightly
than could have been expected, for there was something of an adventure even in their
situation; something to excite thought and create surmise; something uncertain and
even trifling in the doubt of what should follow after; that strung their minds to a high
key, and rendered them in some sort heedless of the present. But when the second
day succeeded, and no signs, as they had anticipated, showed themselves, either of a
court-martial, or of a summary execution; their minds began to wax uneasy, and their
spirits dull, and their souls heavy. Soon after breakfast Bellechassaigne began to pace
the floor with quick, irregular strides, pausing occasionally to look out of the window
over the wide sunlighted lanscape; and turning suddenly away with a brief, bitter curse,

to traverse and retraverse the narrow limits of the chamber—and so, with little intermission,
he continued during the whole day, answering shortly and impatiently to
the chance words of his companion; and hurrying round and round the walls, as if to
seek an exit, with the impatient gestures of the caged hyena. Meanwhile, the English
exile, no less disturbed and ill at ease than the young Frenchman, displayed the disorder
of his mind in a way as different as possible from his companion—he had sat down at
a small table by the window, to while away the time with the wild conceit and strange
fancies of the Gargantua of Rabelais; but, though for the first half hour he had turned
a few pages, and smiled a few times, and once even laughed aloud, he soon lapsed into
the depths of his own mind, and sat there quite immoveable, and seemingly unconscious
of all external things; with his brow bent into a gloomy frown, pondering the past,
the present, and the future; turning no leaf, reading no line of the licentious witty
author, until afternoon had long stricken, and the servant had come in and out, and
arranged the board with wine and meat and all the preparations of the midday meal,
without his raising so much as an eye from the book which he had scarce knew to be
before him—his wilder fellow-prisoner slapped him on the shoulder, and burst into a
loud rallying laugh.

“Despardieux! we are good companions, and rare fellows, too, to call ourselves tried
soldiers—particularly you, who have been shut up, as you told me, for weeks together,
without fresh air or daylight—to take on thus absurdly for a few days' confinement in
good quarters! for that, I trow, will be the worst of it.”

“Ay! that is it!” answered Wyvil, a little wildly, as if he did not altogether catch
the sense of Bellechassaigne's words—“that is just it; that is what I was thinking of.”

“Well, wake up then, man; and see here is dinner ready—they mean to fatten us, I
trow, if that they do intend to kill us!” And thus, for a short space, they both shook off
the presence of their cares, and ate, and drank, and chatted; ay! and jested, as cheerfully
as though they had been both at large—but when the meal was finished, after a
little effort to sustain a laborious conversation, their spirits flagged again, and both
returned to their occupations; the partisan, of restless and excited motion, the exile, of
deep, painful meditation. Meanwhile night fell, and candles were lighted in the prison
chamber, and, at Bellechassaigne's bidding, a stoup of wine and glasses were set upon
the board; and for a space, the two companions talked cheerfully enough about their
future prospects, and the events of the campaign; the partisan expressing his surprise
that they had heard no sounds of cannonading, which—had a battle taken place at Villeneuve—they
could not have failed to do, and drawing from the fact strong cause for
apprehension that the Duke of Lorraine might have fallen back on Charenton, upon the
first alarm, and actually crossed the bridge of boats before Turenne had overtaken him.
While they were eagerly and anxiously discussing this, their attention was attracted by
the sounds of some arrival, which created a considerable bustle in the courtyard below.
The creaking of the port levis, as it was lowered, the drawing of the hoarse bolts, and
the screaming of the rusty hinges, was succeeded by the clatter of horses' hoofs upon
the bridge, and the jingling of spurs upon the pavement, as trooper after trooper leaped
from his saddle; torches were seen flashing to and fro, and lusty voices heard calling for
the governor. Amid the tumult, the prisoners soon detected, as with every sense on the
alert, they listened to the din without, the words repeated many times—“News from the
host—a message from Turenne!”—and Bellechassaigne had just turned round to his
companion, exclaiming, “now, then, we shall soon learn our fate!” when a quick step
came up the staircase, and along the corridor; and instantly the door of their prison
was thrown open, and the head warden entered with a smile on his countenance.

“I bring you pleasant tidings,” he said, “noble gentlemen, you are discharged from
my custody—here are dispatches from the army;” and he laid two documents, addressed
to the prisoners, upon the table. “The orders for your release,” he added, “have been
received in due form from the marechal himself, and you can set forth on the instant,
if it please you. Monsieur de Flamarin, with a party of light-horse, awaits you at
the gates.”

“Lead on, then—lead on!” exclaimed Wyvil; “for by the Lord! I do not love to
breathe the air of a jail, a moment after I may quit it. Your orders are the same as
mine, I fancy, Bellechassaigne.”

“A simple mandate,” answered the partisan, “to report myself at the head-quarters
of my regiment as soon as may be!”

“Precisely,” replied Wyvil; “so now—to horse! to horse! where shall we find our
horses and our varlets, monsieur warden?”

“They have been cared for, gentlemen,” answered the man very civilly; “you will
find them below, I think, by this time. Monsieur de Flamarin bade us send for them
instantly, when he arrived, and one of my men ran down with his orderly to the Golden
Lion, where they were sent yesterday.”

No time of course was wasted, and before many minutes the friends were in the
saddle, and away toward Villeneuve, which they soon learned from their friendly escort,
had been evacuated on that morning by Lorraine, and occupied by the royal army.
Much had de Flamarin to tell them of the operations of the army, of the repeated
intercessions in their behalf by the young English duke, and by Sir Henry Oswald;
and, last not least, of the arrival on the field of battle, just as the signal was on the
point of being given, of a young lady, who had ridden all night through to win their
pardon of the marechal. He had not himself seen her, he declared, nor did he know
who she was; but all the camp, he said, was ringing with the praises of her strange
loveliness, the exquisite taste and fashion of her dress, her superb horsemanship, and
above all, her high and dauntless spirit, in traversing the midnight roads swarming with
the licentious followers of the host; in riding up to the very muzzles of the enemy's
cannon, even then about to open, and in defying, as it was said she did, the great
Turenne, when at the head of the king's forces. Both the companions, of course,
instantly suspected who was the lady that had interposed to save them; and sundry
were the questions which both put to de Flamarin; but all that they could learn was,
that she was tall and of an extreme loveliness, and that it was reported she had ventured
so much for the love of the English cavalier.

“I told you so,” exclaimed Bellechassaigne, with a gay ringing laugh—“did I not
tell you so, the night before last, Wyvil? It all comes of your luck, man, in charging
home with a velvet coat on instead of a greasy elk-skin cassock and a steel-harness. I
knew no female heart in France could resist that passmented pourpoint, and the
feathered hat! By Heaven! I'll charge in my shirt the very next chance I get, but
I'll outdo you!”

But Wyvil answered nothing to his friend's raillery, seeming to be absorbed in deep
and serious mediation; and it was observed, and commented upon by both his comrades,
that he was unduly grave and almost sad during the whole of their ride to head.
quarters. De Flamarin, however, replied instantly—

“No, you won't—not a bit of it, Bellechassaigne. I heard the marechal himself tell
his highness of York, that he should sentence you to serve the whole campaign in the
front of your regiment, with your sword in the scabbard; and you know he's man to
keep his word!”

“I know he is, de Flamarin,” said Bellechassaigne, still laughing; “and you know
too, that I am not exactly one to forfeit mine—so, trust me, if he sentence me to that, I
will serve in a shirt over my uniform instead of a cuirass; and, if my sword be nailed
fast to my scabbard, why I must have three inches added to the length of my dagger,
and trust to that and my pistols in the meleè.”

De Flamarin was not slow to reply, and though Wyvil continued silent and abstracted
all the time, the march through the dark woods was still enlivened with loud merriment,
and now and then a song, until they reached the outposts of the army, which had been
pushed nearly a league in advance of the bridge over the Hyère, on the road toward
Corbeil, to guard against the possibility of any movement on the part of Condè, who, it
was apprehended, might cross the Seine, and attack the rear of the king's army. The
first intelligence they had of the existence of such a picquet—it had in fact been posted

after de Flamarin had left Villeneuve, in consequence of the appearance of the prince's
vanguard on the other side the river, which had come up in less than an hour after the
duke had abandoned his position and begun to retreat—was the glare of a watch-fire,
lighted by the road-side on the crest of the hill so often mentioned, and the loud hum
of many voices. No sentinel, it seemed, had been thrown out by the officer of the
picquet, and very little of precaution taken to guard against surprise; from which, however,
the nature of the ground in some degree protected them. What was, however
even more blameworthy, so loud and jocund was their revelry, that it entirely drowned
the noise which the other party made in approaching, until they had come so near that
they might see the whole of the picquet; which consisted of cavaliers of Lord Bristol's
English horse, and two or three officers of the French guard, all of them, even to the
privates, gentlemen of blood and honorable lineage. To this it was attributable, that no
distinction was made of rank or dignity as they sat revelling round the fire, while many
a flask went round, and the old forest rang with their bacchanalian glee.

Bellechassaigne, ever full of broad wit and wild humor, entreated de Flamarin to halt
his party, and steal up quietly, and so surprise the revellers; and he assenting, as they
crept up among the bushes between the feasters and their arms, which they had stacked
at a little distance in the rear, the following words met their ears, loudly chanted by a
mellow though untaught voice, and were followed by a jovial chorus of applause, that
might have been heard far and wide in the silent midnight.

So loud and long was the burst of acclamation that followed this characteristic melody,
and so completely were all hearts taken up with it, that Bellechassaigne and de
Flamarin saw their opportunity, and springing forward so as to cut the party off from
their fire-arms, shouted to them “to surrender on the instant, or they were all dead
men!” bidding their own men, at the same time, “level their carbines and take aim;”
but, although taken by surprise, beset and surrounded, not one of the picquet dreamed
of yielding.

“Draw your swords, boys,” cried the singer, springing to his feet and unsheathing
with one motion his poniard and his rapier—“draw, and fall on! there be but a score
of them.” And he was bounding forward to the charge, when a loud shout of laughter,
and the cry “Friends! Turenne! Turenne!” arrested them, and all was for a few
minutes loud and wild confusion; but when this ceased—

“You keep good watch,” exclaimed de Flamarin; “and lucky is it for ye, that we
were not the rounds; as it is, ye are mulcted in a flask of wine, which we will discuss
presently—and then to horse again—but, if you will take my advice, you will detach
some two or three videttes; for I esteem it very like that some of the generals will go
the circuit of the posts between this time and morning!”

“You're in the right of it there,” answered the captain of the party; “so Mainwaring
and Digby, take up your carbines, and be off and post yourselves a hundred yards
spart, down the hill side—I will relieve you in an hour—here is the wine—but will you
not sit down and join us—”

“No, no: we must away, else worse will come of it,” Bellechassaigne made reply;
“so here's to your good health, fair comrades—and a light watch to ye—and may ye
'scape the provost marshall, as well as we have done—Wyvil and I—for by my life, I
hoped for nothing better than to be shot to-morrow morning!”

“Well, if you had been,” answered de Flamarin, laughing, “that were a better fate
than the soothsayer foretold me at the siege of Etampes.”

“Why, what was that, de Flamarin?” asked one of the English cavaliers.

“Oh! that I should die with a rope about my neck,” he replied laughing.

“By St. George! but that's pleasant,” exclaimed one.

“Yes; and probable too,” answered Bellechassaigne, “when he has the privilege
of decapitation, in right of his nobility.”

“A mighty pretty privilege that, on my honor,” replied an Irish trooper of the regiment
of Clare; “that's prerogative now, I'm not over anxious to be earning—but,
praise be to the saints, for that same! they can't make me out to be noble, any way”—
and in the shout of laughter which chorussed this naive observation, the others mounted
and rode away; and without any more adventures, made their way safely to head-quarters.

Several days elapsed, after this, without the occurrence of any event of importance;
Wyvil and Bellechassaigne having rejoined the corps to which they were attached, and
quietly resumed their duties, no notice being taken whatever, of their conduct, either
by the marèchal in person, or by their own immediate superiors. The count, meanwhile
was at St. Denis—the citizens of the metropolis, divided among themselves,
and pretty equally balanced between the causes of the cardinal and princes, holding
themselves in a sort of disaffected mutuality, with their gates closed, and refusing ingress
to either party; and it was soon understood by the gentlemen, whom her decided
and impetuous activity had preserved from the disgrace of a court-martial, that Isabella
Oswald was in attendance there on the queen mother, Anne of Austria. Thus for
some days no intercourse could possibly take place between the English cavalier and
the lady, in behalf of whom his heart was hourly declining from its allegiance to another.
This fact, however—as often is the case in the commencement at least of attachments,
before the first romance of incipient passion has been dissipated by too familiar
intercourse—tended, as it would seem, only to fix the wavering mind of the young soldier
more steadily upon the wild, high-spirited and head-strong beauty, whose every
charm was seen through the misty veil which absence casts upon remembrance, exaggerating,
like the haze of the spectral Brocken, in proportion as it renders indistinct,
the outlines of whatever it enshrines in its poetical and visionary fold. Day after day,
the more he shunned his comrades, wrapping his soul in deep abstraction, and giving
every minute he could spare from his military duties to wild and whirling fantasies.
It must not be imagined yet, that no thought of the fair and gentle being to whom he
had now begun to meditate so foul disloyalty, was intruded on his waking dreams; for
it was to no lack of kind or honorable impulses, but to want of steadiness, of direct perserving
energy, of overruling principle, that the defection of the young man was attributable.
In the early moments of his new fascination, the sweet calm face of Alice
would constantly recur to his mind, and as often as it did so, the pure and maidenly
loveliness of her character, its thoughtfulness, its absolute neglect of self, its charity
toward the faults of others, and above all, its feminine devotedness of love toward himself
smote deeply on his repentant spirit. But—alas for human nature! too true it is,
that when we have once admitted evil thoughts to be our consellors; when we have
once listened to the voice of the charmer, who, alas! ever charms too wisely; unless
we banish the dark spirit instantly, by one strong effort, so that he never shall return at
all—the pleadings of the conscience wear weaker still at every iteration, till they are
drowned wholly by the trumpet-tongue of passion—the whispers of the false one, whom
we have suffered to become the second time a visitant, recur more frequently, gain
strength at each recurrence, until he has become the lord and tyrant of our bosoms.

And so it was with Wyvil—he was from his birth upward, preeminently subject to that
“one touch of nature” which, as the great poet of the human heart has written,

To this the owed it, in the first place, that he became so readily, although so worthily,
enamored of Alice Selby—to this he owed it, too, that, when she was afar, and a fresh
“Cynthia of the minute” was brought upon the stage, his “present eye” was prompt upon
the instnat “to praise the present object.” Moreover, so unsteady was the right principle
within him, so little had he of the stern obstinate determination to do well, let
what may come of it, that, though his good impulses at first leaped out unbidden to do
battle for the absent, he yet repelled the tempter with so little energy in the first onset,
and suffered him so soon to make another and another charge, that almost ere he knew
it the lodgement was effected and the old garrison expelled—now in its turn to attack,
but as a faint and ineffectual antagonist, the citadel which had so treacherously yielded.
It had by this time therefore come to pass, that although thoughts of Alice Selby would
still at times sweep back to his false heart, they were now thrust aside by a mental effort,
as most unwelcome and intrusive visitors; for the voice of remonstrance, never too
welcome to humanity, when it has been once hushed, though it may rouse itself again
and again, is listened to each time with less attention—greater reluctance—till the object
itself, which gives rise to the self-reproval, becomes by association itself hateful and
repulsive. Through all these processes, then, had the mind of Wyvil passed, since the
day on which he had so accidentally assisted Isabella Oswald. From having his soul
full of remembrance, and of such affection for Alice Selby as he was capable of feeling
—with now and then a strange and passing thought of Isabella intruding itself, and
repulsed faintly—he had come to ponder all day long on the charms and perfections of
the latter, on the chances of winning so bright and beautiful a prize, and on the means
of recommending himself the most effectually to her favor; while, if the half-reproachful
face of Alice was summoned for a moment by his guilty conscience, to look into his
very eyes, it was dismissed at once by the most rigorous and resolute exertion of volition.
Yet even, when this was the case, it could not have been said of him truly, that
he had resolved to aim at gaining Isabella's love, or to act with base treachery to Alice.
The fact was simply this; that he was too indolent, too irresolute of mind, to determine
anything; that he left himself voluntarily like a boat cast on the billows oarless and rudderless,
to float which way soever the stormy winds of passion or the capricious tides of
fortune should waft him devious on the sea of life.

He had thus far become a traitor—that he had willingly permitted treason to grow
into the continual and licensed subject of his meditations. And who is he of mortals
that, having once admitted the evil one to be the guide of his steps, the prompter of
his secret thoughts, can say to him, “thus far shalt thou direct my footsteps, thus far
shalt thou advise my soul—thus far—thus only?” Several days elapsed, and the troops
of Turenne halted inactive at Villeneuve, but this pause of seeming indecision was destined
to be of short duration; for the great leader, having learned that beyond doubt the
Duke of Lorraine had retired beyond the frontiers, determined to resume the offensive,
and act against the prince of Conde, the only enemy now in the field against him, with
vigorous decision. Accordingly, he broke up his encampment on the twenty-first day of
June, and marching northeasterly by slow degrees to Ligny, he there crossed the Marne,
and turning westward thence arrived on the second of July, and encamped at La Chevrette,
a little village about a league distant from St. Denis on the east side of the Seine; the
prince of Condè, who had vainly quitted Etampes in the hope of effecting a junction
with Lorraine, being posted a little higher up the river, on the opposite side, at St.
Cloud. Both armies were prepared in earnest for a general action, for on the very day
of his arrival, Turenne began to bridge the Seine in several places, which is here very
wide and interspersed with islands; and Condè hastened to oppose him. Continued

skirmishes, and constant cannonading now took place; and every opportunity that
could be fancied was afforded for deeds of desperate and daring partisanship—and what
would seem most strange in these days, but was then deemed nothing unusual or
remarkable, the residence of the court being so near the scene of action, parties of gay
non-combatants were constantly made up to ride or drive down to the eminences over-looking
the scene of strife; so that scarcely an hour of the day passed without some
gorgeous cavalcade, with gilded carriages and bright liveries, and even ladies of high
rank among the number, being seen literalty in the line of fire; while it was scarcely
a less singular feature of the times that in the middle of a war of rebellion and civil
discord, all extreme points of courtesy were insisted upon with the minutest etiquette;
so that in fact there was little danger to the fair and gay amateurs except from a chance
shot, or spent ball, which would now and then come ricocheting through the dust, and
set them all a scampering. It will be readily imagined that, with a field like this before
them, such men as Bellechassaigne and Wyvil were constantly devising some new deed
of daring; vieing with one another in every sort of hazardous and wild excitement, and
setting all the young spirits of both armies in a flame with martial rivalry. Day by day,
night by night, sometimes together, but oftener apart, they were for ever in the saddle
—now cutting off a convoy, now capturing a picquet, now making a general officer in
his own quarters prisoner and carrying him off by surprise, till every eye was fixed upon
them in astonishment and admiration.

Several times, while engaged in scouring the country in search of some adventure,
Marmaduke had encountered Isabella, riding upon her fiery English horse, to the envy
and surprise of the Parisian dames, escorted by her father, and surrounded ever by the
noblest and most fashionable idlers of the court; but though no opportunity was given
for more than a passing glance and hasty salutation—for Wyvil was at all times upon
duty—still so deep was the blush that still accompanied the lady's greeting, so marked
and speaking was the glance that seemed to linger on her features, that he could
scarcely doubt but that he had awakened something of interest already in her bosom;
that he was stirred to aim at winning some higher token of regard, by wilder and more
that he was stirred to aim at winning some higher token of regard, by wilder and more
desperate exploits. Meantime Turenne, whose working parties had been much annoyed
by the interruption of the enemy, posted the two foot regiments of Laferte on an
island in the river, somewhat more elevated than the opposite shore, to the point of
which the bridge was in process of construction, and by this able movement prevented
the light troops of Condè from harassing his workers, hand to hand, as they had done
in the first instance. So great was the advantage which the royalists gained by this
disposition, that, on the following morning, the princes seemed disposed to make a general
attack, several heavy corps of foot having been seen at an early hour moving with
horse and cannon toward the point in question. It was as beautiful a morning as could
be imagined; the country all arrayed in the richest green of summer, the fields enamelled
with ten thousand wild flowers, that perfumed every breath of the soft, mild west
wind; the great sun laughing out of the azure skies, and filling the earth and air with
warmth and lustre. The scene, too, was of the most delightful—the meadow banks of
the blue Seine, with sloping eminences, wood-crowned, and decked with hanging vineyards,
on either hand; and all the rich and cultivated champagne, with hundreds of
white villages, and here and there the grand and massive towers of palaces and abbeys,
lying stretched out, broad, bright and beautiful, to the far distance; while to the left
hand of the gorgeous landscape, loomed up the dark magnificence of the metropolis,
with all its piles of antique masonry. What wonder, then, that all the gay court insects
were abroad, to gaze upon the pageantry and pomp of the approaching conflict.
In a small meadow, near the bridge, sat Turenne on his charger, surrounded by his
staff, calmly observing the advancement of his works, and the movements of the approaching
enemy. Before him, to the left hand, lay the island occupied by the infantry
of Lafertè, with their bright armor and tall standards; behind him, on a little eminence,
commanding the river and part of the opposite banks, was a long line of cannon, with
the artillerymen and cannoneers busily pointing them upon the heads of the enemy's

advance; and in the low fields to his right, many small bands of horse were wheeling
to and fro, distinguished from each other by many-colored scarfs and fluttering pennons,
and the cassocks of their partisan commanders. The mass of the royal army was, for
the most part, concealed by the low range of hills on which the cannon were disposed,
although the heads of their pikes, glittering in the sunshine, and the tops of their ensigns
shining above the trees and hedges, showed that they were in force and close at
hand, should they be needed; while, to complete the picture, scarcely a pistol shot
behind the cannon of the royalists, three of the king's carriages were stationed, with
their bright train of liveried attendants and magnificently appareled courtiers, among
whom were preeminent the distinguished forms of sir Henry Oswald and his unrivalled
daughter.

Two or three shots had been fired from the royal cannon, which, though they had
done no real damage, had already checked the advance of the prince's columns; for
these had not been supported by artillery, so that it began to appear doubtful whether
anything of consequence would take place that day; and the fair amateurs were even
beginning to display some such feelings, as would be now called forth by the non-appearance
on the stage of some popular tragedian, whose announcement had called them
thither—when, suddenly, a small party of perhaps two hundred fantassins, rushed down
from the main body with such rapidity, as set at nought the fire of the artillery which
opened on them furiously as they came; and took up a position behind the brow of a
little sloping hill, which sheltered them entirely from cannon shot. It evidently was
impossible to drive them from that post by any missiles then in use, for, although bomb.
shells had been introduced in the attack of towns, the management of mortars was so
little understood, that hardly any aim could be taken; and this was the more to be
regretted, that they kept up so terrible a fire on the regiments which held the island,
not being above a hundred yards from the river bank, that the men might be seen falling
by scores at every volley from their unseen assailants; and that the working parties
ran in, unable to sustain the constant and well-aimed discharge. Meanwhile, a dozen
squadrons of dragoons moved down, and drew themselves up in line of battle, a little
way in the rear of the fantassins; while several regiments of foot came winding down
a hollow way to the left, as if with the intent to cross over to the island under the cover
of their ambushed tirailleurs.

The brow of Turenne grew dark as night; and, in a moment, a cavalier went at full
gallop from his side to the artillerymen, who instantly commenced a furious cannonade
upon the horse in the rear, which were exposed to their fire, and within half an hour
forced them to fall back to a mile's distance; although they did so most reluctantly,
making two or three different attempts to rally at successive intervals, and losing nearly
a third of their number, before they gave up the point. Still the foot-soldiers continued
undisturbed behind the hill, and poured their balls in an incessant stream of quick
glancing fire into the dense ranks of Lafertè, which had no means of returning the
discharge by which they were so cruel sufferers. For this there seemed no remedy:
and now the marechal was on the point of sending an order to the relics of those
regiments to abandon the island, until such time as he could erect breast-works during
the night to cover them, when, on a sudden, one of the troops, which have been mentioned
as wheeling to and fro in the meadows on the right like birds of prey seeking
to swoop, came up at a light canter to the general's station. This little handful, for, in
truth, it was no more, consisted but of fifty men besides their leader; but they were
mounted, one and all, on fine gray horses, with headpieces and corslets of clear polished
steel; and were distinguished from all other parties of the kind, as well by the exquisite
finish of their whole equipment, as by their parti-colored plumes and scarfs, which,
like the pennons that waved over them, were singularly blended of bright blue and yellow,
with fringes and embroidery of silver. The officer who led them was a tall slender
youth, with a profusion of light curls falling down from beneath his helmet, and a
buff coat superbly laced with silver, instead of a cuirass, crossed by a silken baldric of
the same colors as those home by his retainers. The cloud passed partially away

from the brow of the marèchal, as he observed the movement of this party, and he
even told the orderly whom he was just dispatching to the regiments of La Fertè, to
await further orders, observing, with a half smile, to the Duke of York, who stood
beside him—“Now then, I fancy, we shall have some strange proposition from you
dare-devil, though what it can be is beyond my guess, to dislodge those accursed fantassins
who are playing havoc with our men yonder! By heaven! if he succeeds, it
shall go hard with me, but I will have amends made to him, where best he'll value it.
Let us hear what he has got to say, duke;” and, as he spoke, he moved his horse a
little way from his staff, to meet the partisan; while a loud murmur of applause, not
unlike that which often greets a favorite actor, rose from the concourse of spectators,
who seemed to anticipate some high gratification from one so much renowned already
for his extravagant and dashing valor. Halting his band at some short distance, the
young man rode up to the marèchal, and humbly asked permission to swim across the
river with his men, and bring away the marksmen who were so much annoying the
infantry upon the island.

“Bring them away, Captain Wyvil? “exclaimed Turenne; “I am sure I shall be
much obliged to you if you will; but, for my life, I cannot see how you will set about it!”

“There is a large bark there, your excellency,” answered Marmaduke, pointing to a
little cove on the opposite side, where a vessel of some five-and-twenty tons was moored
to a rude dock; “my head upon it that we bring them if you will but permit the guns
to cover us as we return.”

“Well, sir,” replied the merechal, “I give you my permission—the guns shall open
as soon as you turn back toward the shore; see to that, will you, Dunmont,” he added,
looking to a young subaltern of his staff, who rode away to the cannoneers immediately.
Wyvil bowed low and looked much gratified, as he received the answer of Turenne;
and, instantly leaving rejoined his men, addressed a few words to them, which they
received with a loud cheer, and put their horses at once to a hand-gallop; while all the
cortège on the hill began to move down nearer to the river in the anticipation of some
animated spectacle. Nor were they disappointed—for just as his band began to gallop,
Wyvil dashed to their head, and seizing his pennon from the hand of the bearer, led
them at a tremendous pace across the meadow to a spot where the bank shelved gradually
to the river, showing a hard and gravelly soil. It scarcely seemed a moment
before he reached the brink, and giving his good horse the spur, was in deep water—
his troopers setting up another loud cheer, as he rose from the stream, which had at first
almost ingulfed him, and following without a second's hesitation. The river was both
broad and deep; and though not swift, the current swept along in dark and turbid
eddies, and it required the utmost strength and skill in horse and rider to stem its
powerful tide. Yet not one charger failed—one trooper faltered! The regiments upon
the island, now seeing the intention of the movement, set up the cry of France, known
for so many ages—their cry upon the battle plain, or at the festive board, in the extremity
of peril, or in their height of rapture—“Vive le roi! vive le roi!” and the heart,
stirring deep hurrah of the few English cavaliers responded to the mighty acclamation,
with bold and dauntless greeting. Luckily for the little troop, the very elevation of the
ground which sheltered the fantassins of the enemy, prevented them from aiming at the
daring swimmers; and when the cavalry of Condè, who, being on the upper ground,
saw what was concealed by the sloping banks from the skirmishers, once more attempted
to move down, the royal cannon again belched forth, through flame and volumed smoke-wreaths,
their hail of iron bullets, and scattered them in wild confusion.

Heavily the white clouds swept down, and curtained for a moment the bright Seine,
and shut off the scene of action from the anxious eyes that gazed on it. They cleared
away—and lo! Wyvil had landed safely, had formed his men upon the hostile bank—
and was in the act of charging, with battle cry and trumpet note, the surprised and dismayed
fantassins. Furious and loud now waxed the cheering from the island, while
from that little troop the clash of blades, on morion and corslet, and pistol shots glancing
among the melèe, made meet accompaniment to that fierce stormy chorus. But

the affair was ended in a moment—taken entirely by surprise, cut down, and trampled
under foot, their leader killed, and their position forced, the skirmishers threw down
their weapons and surrendered. Five minutes more saw them embarked in the sloop
under a fitting guard, the mooring ropes cut, and thhe vessel drifting with sail and oar
toward the other bank; while, without losing horse or man, the gallant partisan swam
back, among the redoubled plaudits of his party, uninjured and in triumph. As he returned,
the marechal rode down himself to meet and thank him, at the head of his
whole staff; and, having done so, ordered a dozen field-pieces to be passed over with
a company of engineers, who should intrench the island, in the same bark which had
brought over the fantassins. But yet another and a higher gratification awaited the ambitious
partisan; for, as he wheeled his men back to their quarters, he met the royal
cavalcade returning to St. Denis; many a high encomium was passed upon his conduct
by tongues not wont to commend lightly; many a glance and smile were flashed on
him from eyes and lips that rarely glanced or melted but for the mighty and renowned—
but one soft sigh was faltered forth, which went more deeply to his soul than all the
eulogies of chiefs and princes—one hurried speaking beam was shot from an eye half-averted,
that thrilled his heart more hurriedly than all the fascinations of all those gay
court beauties. The cavalcade swept onward; but as they passed, there fell at Wyvil's
feet a lady's kerchief of pale lilac with a broad gold border. From out ten thousand,
the eye of Marmaduke would have discovered it, and sworn to its transcendent
owner—thenceforth he wore that kerchief knotted upon his arm—that owner enthroned
nighest his seat of life! From that time forth, whatever he had been before, Wyvil
was false to Alice!