River Legends; Or, Father Thames and Father Rhine
distant noise aroused her from her reverie after a time, and as it drew
nearer and nearer she knew but too well that she heard the shouts of
men engaged in battle, and that one of those struggles was taking place
which at that time, alas! were but too common in unhappy England.
From the tree under which she was seated she commanded an extensive
view over the plain below, and ere long she was able to discern the
contending forces as they issued from a pass between the hills, one
party being apparently driven before the other. In the plain they
rallied, and a desperate combat appeared to be going on; then, whilst
the wave of men surged to and fro, horse and foot apparently mingled
in an undistinguishable mass, a third body appeared upon the scene,
marching round the base of one of the hills, and joining themselves to
those who had first emerged from the pass. For a time all was confusion
and clamour, and, amid the dust and din, Mathilde could make out nothing
as to the exact character of the combatants. Presently, however, a light
breeze lifted the dust, and she had a clearer view of the sight before
her eyes. The reinforcements which had just arrived had at once altered
the {132}fortunes of the battle, and the party which had at first driven
its opponents victoriously before it was now evidently giving way. It
needed no second glance to tell which was the winning side, for the
banner of the white rose floated on high, and triumphant shouts of “A
York! a York!” rent the air.
Baffled and beaten, the Lancastrians vainly endeavoured to hold
together; slowly but surely they gave way before the pressure of
superior numbers, and it was evident that the question was now only
between an orderly retreat and an utter rout. Straining her eyes to the
utmost, {133}Mathilde beheld at the head of the retreating party a tall
and martial figure which she recognised but too clearly. Conspicuous
among the throng by his height and noble bearing, and carrying him right
gallantly even when matters were going so decidedly against him, the
noble old Baron little knew whose eyes were fixed upon him with eager
and agonized gaze.
At that moment I doubt whether Mathilde had a thought even for the lover
for whose sake she had suffered so much; her father, the fond parent who
had nurtured her from earliest infancy, upon whose knees she had sat
and prattled, whose eyes had never lighted on her save with glances of
tender love, whose conduct towards her had been one continued indulgence
from the first hour of her recollection,--the father, moreover, whom she
had selfishly left to live alone and bear his solitary lot in the world
without his idolised child--that father was now in peril of his life,
and probably about to perish before the very eyes of his ungrateful
daughter. There she saw him, the brave old man, sitting upon his charger
as if he were part of the animal, dealing blows right and left with the
strength and vigour of a far younger man, parrying strokes aimed with
right good will at his devoted head, and ever and anon shielding from
attack some wounded follower, and covering the retreat of some retiring
friends. And whilst the battle raged furiously around him, ever and
anon the old man raised his war-cry aloud, “A Guerre-à-mort! a
Guerre-à-mort!” and at each cry it seemed as if a new spirit animated
his yielding troops, and with fresh energy they rallied and made head
against the superior forces of their opponents. But the fight was
too unequal to last. {134}That had happened which might have been
anticipated. The Baron had attacked and partially routed a Yorkist band,
when another party, directed by the shouts of battle, had hastened from
their line of march and arrived in time to take part in the fray, and
to throw a great preponderance of numbers on the side of the cause for
which they fought.
The Baron strove in vain to perform an impossibility, and to convert
defeat into victory. His men fell fast by his side, and he was soon left
almost alone, surrounded by the triumphant enemy. Mathilde could bear
the sight no longer, and, covering her face with her hands, burst into
a flood of tears. But even thus the suspense was too terrible to bear.
Presently, she lifted her eyes, and beheld the Lancastrians scattering
in headlong flight, pursued by the triumphant partisans of the House of
York. But where, oh! where was her father? She had not far to look. The
old horse she knew so well lay dead upon the plain, but around him
were clustered a group of men, evidently still engaged in some fierce
conflict. In another moment they fell back, and she perceived a figure
recumbent upon the ground, whilst a second figure stood over it, not
to destroy, but to guard it from the blows of others. Could she--was
it possible that she could--be mistaken? No: it was as she thought and
hoped--her own Horace standing over the prostrate body of her father,
was guarding his hereditary enemy from the destroying Yorkists.
Aye, so it was indeed, Brother Rhine, nor was this the first nor the
last instance where love has proved stronger than hate in this curious
world, and where chivalrous and valiant men have respected in others
the bravery {135}which they so well knew how to practise themselves. St.
Aunay was the commander of the Yorkist party who had turned the tide of
that day’s battle. Recognising his ancient foe, he would no doubt have
sought him out with every intention of then and there taking his revenge
for the past, had it not been for the special reasons which induced him
to adopt a contrary course of proceeding. He watched, with an admiration
which it was impossible to withhold, the gallant behaviour of the
old nobleman when fighting against fearful odds. He refrained from
interference whilst it could do no good; but when he saw the Baron’s
horse slain by the thrust of a pike, and its rider thrown upon the
ground, he rushed forward to protect the fallen leader from those who
would otherwise very speedily have disposed of him after a ruthless
fashion. It was no easy or pleasant task; for the soldiery were excited
by the stubborn resistance of the old Baron, and St. Aunay had to
strike, strongly and fiercely, before he could rescue his foe from his
own friends. He succeeded, however, and, in a few moments, the Baron,
who had been partially stunned, as well by his fall, as by several blows
by no means of a light character, which he had received in spite of
St. Aunay’s efforts for his preservation, rose from the ground without
having sustained any such vital injury as had recently appeared to be
almost inevitable. Bitter, however, were his feelings when he discovered
to whom it was that he owed his life; for so deeply had the family feud
become engraven upon his heart, that it is almost doubtful whether he
would not have preferred death, to escape therefrom by means of the aid
of a St. Aunay.
There {136}was no time, however, for much to be said on either side. The
Yorkists were pursuing their flying foes, and but few were left around
the two noblemen, when from the hill-side, but a short distance off,
they beheld a female figure hurrying towards them with eager gestures
and evident excitement. Both recognised her at the same moment--both
hastened to meet her--and in a brief space of time Mathilde was once
more folded to her father’s heart. Horace de St. Aunay could have wished
that another breast had been the resting-place, but could hardly have
expected it under the peculiar circumstances. He waited patiently,
therefore (having no other reasonable alternative), until the father and
daughter had indulged their natural affection for each other, and had
entered upon certain mutual explanations, which appeared upon the whole
to be satisfactory. Then the Baron turned to him, and for some time was
unable to utter a word. The struggle was severe in his heart between his
natural affection for his child and his cherished hatred for the foe of
his house. But, luckily for all parties, the former prevailed.
The Baron was no fool, and probably felt that if Mathilde had run away
once to look for her lover, it was exceedingly likely that she might do
it again. Moreover, the Lancastrian cause was now in that condition
that those who still upheld it would ere long have nothing else to
uphold, and, whatever might become of himself, the old Baron had no
desire to see his beloved daughter dispossessed of her patrimony, and
possibly driven from house and home, or reduced to that employment as
a necessity which she had recently adopted as a temporary--though most
uncongenial--occupation.
So, {137}like a sensible man, he allowed his reason and common sense to
overcome his prejudice, and gave his consent to his daughter’s marriage
with the Count of St. Aunay. He could not have done a wiser thing. The
Count’s influence with the winning party in the state was naturally
considerable, and was efficiently exercised in favour of his
father-in-law, who was allowed to retain his castle and property, when
others, less fortunate in their daughters’ marriages, lost both on
account of their political opinions.
Horace and Mathilde were speedily united, and, as old story-books
usually say, “they lived very happily all the rest of their lives.”
It will also be doubtless satisfactory to you to know that none of the
convent authorities ever discovered that the old washerwoman had had
anything whatever to do with the disappearance of the young Baroness;
that the farmer and his wife were liberally rewarded for their kindness
to the latter; and that the followers and believers in the Witch of Salt
Hill had a higher opinion than ever of her supernatural powers, since it
had so plainly been proved that it was, as she had said, on account of
a lover that the Baron’s daughter had left the convent. And this is the
way that there came a happy termination to “The Family Feud.”
Father Thames here paused, and took a deep draught of ale; whilst he was
engaged with which, his brother of the Rhine calmly and gravely put
to him the singular question: “And what became of the pigs, Brother
Thames?”
The potentate of our English river hastily put down his {138}glass,
choked violently as he did so, and then answered with a laugh, “Confound
your jokes, Brother Rhine, you made my liquor go the wrong way, which is
a very unpleasant thing, let me tell you. But, after all, the rebuke
was deserved, for my cross-questioning you so closely after your last
legend. I own that legends are things which should be received with much
faith and no questions, or the beauty of them is lost at once.”
“I quite agree with you,” responded he of the Rhine, “and it was with
the object of bringing you to express your concurrence in this view that
I asked the remarkably stupid question about the pigs. There are some
people who always want to know a great deal more than is good for them,
and who insist upon asking what became of each and every character of
whom mention has been made in a legend. This is simply ridiculous,
and very disagreeable to the teller of the story, who is obliged to
introduce many minor characters into his tale, in order to fill up gaps,
and illustrate the position of the principal personages, but who cannot
be expected to know the final history and eventual fate of them all.
Since, then, you agree with me, Brother Thames, I shall ask you to be
good enough to listen to my next legend with a sincere determination
to believe it if you can, and in any case to demand no explanation of
circumstances which may seem strange, or with regard to persons who may
appear to be unusual in name or character, or in both the two together.”
“I promise to do as you wish,” replied Father Thames to this request,
upon which the other commenced at once as follows:--