The Scourge of God: A Romance of Religious Persecution
arisen could not last long, he thought; Louis could soon quell these
turbulent mountaineers; then again he could take up his task.
"Come," he said to Buscarlet, sitting before him watching his eyes and
face to see what effect his words had on him, "come. At least I will
do nothing without due thought. Will not be foolhardy. Now eat, drink
something; it will restore you. Then after that some rest." Whereupon
he pointed to the table on which were still the remains of the last
night's little feast over which the poor old man had tried to make so
merry. "Here is some of your famous trout left," he said, struggling
to speak cheerfully, "and another bottle of the Crépi. Come, let us
refresh ourselves."
"I feel as though I shall never eat again," Buscarlet whispered.
"Never after the doings of the night--never! Oh, the horror of it, the
horror of it!"
"Still cheer up," the other said, uttering words of hope which he knew
could have but little likelihood of being verified, yet striving
thereby to soften the old man's mental agony. "This may be the end, as
it has been the beginning, on our--on the Protestant--side. When
Baville, the persecutor, hears that the harryings and the burnings and
the murders--for that was a murder we witnessed last night--are not to
be on his part alone, he may pause. Nay, even Louis, beset in every
way, at every frontier, his treasury drained, may himself give orders
to stop these persecutions."
But Buscarlet only shook his head significantly, doubtingly.
"With that woman at his side, by his elbow, never!" he exclaimed.
"Nay, nay, my son, he will not stop them. He is the Scourge of God;
sweeps before him all who love God. He will never stop them. If he
desired to do so, she would not let him."
By now it was full daylight. Over the pastor's little garden with its
quaint, old-time flowers, among them many a sweet Provence rose
opening to the morning sun, that sun's rays streamed down. Also they
knew that the villagers were awake, if they had slept at all. Already
they were calling to each other, while some of them gathered in small
groups and discussed the events of the past night. Also all asked what
would be the end of it.
"I can not sleep," Buscarlet said; "it is impossible. Let me go forth.
They are my people. I must be among them. Give them counsel. Oh, God
be thanked, there was not one of us in this hamlet who assisted in the
work."
And he went out feebly through the window, Martin making no attempt to
prevent him, since he knew any such attempt must be futile. Instead,
therefore, he walked by his side.
"Whence," he asked, "since none in the village took part in
the attack, did those men come? By their garb they are of the
mountains--goatherds, shepherds. Is it there the persecutions have
been most felt?"
"It is there," the other answered, "that those who have been most
persecuted have fled. We may not quit our unhappy country. Every port
is barred, every frontier road guarded. Where, therefore, should those
whose homes are desolate flee to, whose loved ones have been
slaughtered, where but to the mountains? There none can follow them
or, following, can not find. Those mountains are full of caverns made
by Nature, God-given as a last resort of the outcast and wretched."
They reached the open _place_ by the bridge as he finished speaking;
they stood outside the still burning remains of what had been Du
Chaila's house--the house seized by him from the man he had caused to
be hanged on the bridge, in front of the window from which the widow
and orphans looked daily until they too fled into the hills. Behind
the hedge over which grew the honeysuckle and convolvuli in such rich
profusion, the hedge on to which the doomed man had fallen, and on one
of the stakes of which his leg had been broken by the fall, they saw
his body lying. Near it also they observed other bodies which had been
dragged from the smouldering ruins, one being that of his valet,
another that of his man cook, a third that of an ecclesiastic named
Roux who had acted as his secretary. Also they learned that two
friends of the dead man, themselves missionaries back from Siam, had
been allowed to depart after being found hidden under a cartload of
straw.
"Are all of those others gone?" Buscarlet asked, turning his eyes away
from the sight behind the lodge.
"All are gone, _mon père_," a man answered from the crowd. "_Pardie!_
it is best we all go too. By to-night the dragoons who have escaped
will be back from Alais. It is but ten leagues, and he (Baville) is
there. Be sure more soldiers will come with them; we shall be put to
fire and sword. And for those who are not slain--that!" And the man
pointed to the post on the apex of the bridge on which the night lamp
hung still alight, since none had remembered this morning to put it
out; on which, too, other things of a more fearful nature had hung in
all their recollections.
"You hear?" Buscarlet whispered to Martin. "You hear?"
"Yes, I hear," the other replied, calmly as usual. Then asked, "Do you
flee with them?"
"Nay," the old man replied. "My place is here, by my church which I am
no longer permitted to enter--the church whose keys have been taken
from me after forty years. Yet I can not leave it."
"Nor I you. I stay too."
"God help us all!" the pastor said again, as he had said before, and
once more he wrung his hands. That his flock were going it was
impossible to doubt. They knew that henceforth Montvert was no abiding
place for them; that if they would not be ridden down or burned in
their beds, or hung as carrion on the bridge where when boys they had
played, or taken to the jails of Alais and Nîmes and Uzès, they must
go, and go at once. Later, perhaps, they might return, if it ever
pleased God to soften the hearts of their persecutors. But now, after
the doings of the night, this was no longer a home for them.
History repeats itself; also events in one part of the world resemble
those occurring in the other. Even as in the old times before them,
the people of God had fled into the deserts of the East to escape the
tyranny of Pharaoh and of Ahab, even as the Covenanters had fled into
the Pentland Hills, so now the Protestants of the Cévennes fled into
their mountains to escape the persecutions of him whom they called the
Scourge of God.
Peaceful, law-abiding men and women, asking only to be allowed to
worship their Maker in their own way, or, failing that, to depart for
other lands where they might do so unmolested, the refusal had turned
them at last into rebels, if not against the king, at least against
his local representatives--rebels who, having suffered long under the
cruelties of their persecutors, had now become cruel themselves.
For the torch of rebellion was lighted at last in all Languedoc, and
ere long it flamed fiercely. The "Holy War" had begun.
CHAPTER IX.
"BAVILLE! UN MAGISTRAT DONT LES EPOUVANTABLES RIGUEURS DOIVENT ÊTRE
SIGNALÉES À L'HORREUR DE LA POSTÉRITÉ."--SISMONDI.
Night was near at hand again and all were gone--all except Martin
Ashurst and the pastor, both of whom sat now upon the bridge of
Montvert, their eyes fixed always on the crest of the hill which rose
between the little town and the larger one of Alais. For it was from
that situation that they expected to see at last the flash of sabres
carried by the dragoons of de Broglie and the foot soldiers of de
Peyre, Lieutenant General of the Province, to observe the rays of the
setting sun flicker on their embrowned musketoon and fusil barrels,
and to hear the ring of bridle chain and stirrup iron. That they would
come on the instant that the intelligence reached Baville of what had
been done in Montvert over night it was impossible to doubt. And
then--well, then, possibly, since there were no human beings left to
be destroyed except these two men waiting there, the village would
itself be demolished, burned to the ground. Such vengeance had been
taken only a week ago on a similarly deserted bourg from which the
inhabitants had fled, though silently and without revolt. It might be
expected that the same would happen here.
All were gone, the men, the women and children; the old, the feeble,
and the babes being carried by the stronger ones, or conveyed on the
backs of mules and asses. Also the cattle were removed--they would be
priceless in the mountain fastnesses; even the dogs had followed at
their masters' heels; upon those masters' shoulders and upon the backs
of the animals the household gods, the little gifts that had come to
them on marriage days and feast days, on christenings and
anniversaries, had been transported.
The place was deserted except for those two men who sat there
wondering what would be their lot.
That vengeance would be taken on them neither deemed likely; but that
both would be haled before Baville they both felt sure. Buscarlet was
known to be one of the Protestant pastors who, from the day when the
Revocation of Nantes was promulgated seventeen years before, had
fought strongly against his congregation attending the Romish masses
as the Government had ordered them to do. He was a man in evil odour,
though against him until the present time no overt act could be
charged. But now--now after the events of the past night, with those
dead Things lying there behind the hedge, what might he not be accused
of?
"Yet," said Martin, as he leaned over the parapet of the bridge,
glancing sometimes up at the ridge which rose between Montvert and
Alais, expecting every moment to see the soldiers approaching, and
sometimes watching the long weeds in the river as they bent beneath
its swift flow, "yet of what can you be accused? You interceded for
him," and he directed his eyes in the direction of the dead abbé,
where he lay covered by a cloth, "besought them to show mercy, to
return evil for good. Also those men, those _attroupés_, were not of
this village nor of your flock. As well call you to account for the
invasion of a hostile army or foreign levy."
But again Buscarlet only shook his head, then answered:
"No, not of this village, nor of my congregation, but of the same
faith--Protestants! Therefore accursed in Baville's and his master's
eyes. That is enough."
As he spoke, from far up in the heights toward Alais they heard the
blare of a trumpet ring loudly and clearly on the soft evening air; a
moment later and, on the white road that ran like a thread through the
green slopes, they saw the scarlet coats of the horsemen gleaming;
saw, too, a _guidon_ blown out as its rider came forward against the
wind; caught the muffled sound of innumerable horses' hoofs. Then,
next, heard orders shouted, and a moment later saw a large body of
dragoons winding down the hillside slowly, while behind them on foot
came the _milices_ of the province.
"You see?" Martin said as he watched them. "Be calm. They can do you
no harm."
And he leaned over the bridge again and continued to observe the
oncomers.
Ahead of the main body, consisting of some hundred of cavalry and an
even larger number of Languedoc _milice_ or train bands, there rode
three men abreast. In the middle was one clad in a sober riding dress
of dark gray; the others on either side of him were rich in scarlet
coats much guarded with galloon, the evening sun flickering on the
lace and causing it to sparkle like burnished gold, and with large
laced three-cornered hats in which also their gold cockades shone,
while he on the left wore the rich _justaucorps à brevet_, a sure sign
not of a soldier of France alone, but of a soldier of high social rank
and standing.
"He in the middle," said Buscarlet, "is Baville, the Scourge of the
Scourge. Be sure that when he comes with the soldiery the worst is to