of the rival house could hardly escape their kind attention. Moreover,
those who had seen their own homes despoiled by the Baron’s invasion
were not unmindful of their oppressor when the opportunity {129}for
revenge appeared to present itself. So it came about that the Baron’s
position was somewhat precarious. Some of his outlying farms were
plundered; his retainers, when caught singly or in small numbers, were
insulted and rudely treated, and threats of something worse likely to
happen occasionally reached his ears. As yet, however, no armed body
of Yorkists had appeared in the neighbourhood, and the strength of his
castle, as well as the number and devotion of his followers, rendered
the Baron de Guerre-à-mort tolerably secure against any attack save one
from a powerful and well-organized force. Still he could see the storm
lowering in the distance, and gathering in strength sufficient to give
him cause for uneasiness. At last it seemed ready to burst. Small bands
of Yorkists had been reported as hovering about various places in the
vicinity of the castle, and rumour now had it that these bands were
likely to be united at Reading under the command of some leader of
note, who would forthwith proceed to march through Berkshire and
Buckinghamshire, putting down all those who still dared to uphold the
falling fortunes of the House of Lancaster.
Up to this time the Baron had remained within his castle walls, gloomily
watching the signs of the times, and only taking precautions to preserve
the efficiency of his troops by constant drill, and to protect his
fortress and people against possible attack. But as soon as the
above-mentioned rumours became well authenticated, he bethought himself
that some more active steps should be taken. If the enemy should once
concentrate his forces at Reading, he would probably carry all before
him, and resistance would be doubly difficult, if not impossible.
{130}But if such concentration could be prevented, and the various
bodies of Yorkists, who were said to be scattered over the face of the
country, could be attacked and routed in detail, the tide might even
yet be turned, and the drooping flag of Lancaster be once more raised
as high as ever. Animated by such thoughts as these, and determined,
if possible, to carry out the plan which appeared to him, and which
probably was, the best under the circumstances, the Baron summoned his
men, and leaving a small detachment to guard the castle, sallied forth
with the intention of cutting off the advance of the Yorkists upon
Reading.
It is difficult, however, for one body of men, unless greatly superior
in numbers, position, and generalship, to act with success against four
or five, and so it happened that before he had been many days in the
field the Baron de Guerre-à-mort found that he had before him a task
beyond his powers. A detachment of Yorkists was marching from Oxford,
whilst at the same moment another party moved from Windsor; and from the
direction of Basingstoke in one quarter, and Marlborough in another,
a third and fourth body converged towards the same point. It will be
easily understood that the Baron now ran no inconsiderable risk in his
daring attempt. In the first place, he was by no means certain that his
army was more numerous than any one of the Yorkist parties; and in the
second, if he should engage and defeat one, he might have another on his
flank before he was by any means ready to renew the combat. Prudence,
therefore, would have seemed to dictate a retreat, unless indeed he
could be sure of encountering his various enemies at the place and
moment of his own choosing.
Such {131}was the state of things on one lovely day in June, when
Mathilde was engaged in her usual employment, which day by day grew more
irksome to her as time wore on. She was seated under a tree, shading
herself from the rays of the summer sun, her pen held listlessly in her
hand, her scroll and book by her side, whilst she mused on the past,
made plans for the future, and forgot the present, after the custom of
persons when pretty comfortably seated and rather sleepily inclined. A
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.
[Illustration: 147]
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:--
THE GIANT BRAMBLE-BUFFER
“There {139}was once a Daddyroarer--”
“What the deuce is a Daddyroarer?” hastily interposed Father Thames.
The monarch of the Rhine gave him an indignant glance. “Is this the
way you keep your promise?” he inquired, in a tone of some severity.
“Another such interruption and I shall decline to continue the amusement
of legend-telling. I have no objection, however, to inform you that the
word Daddyroarer signifies a giant, though whence its derivation I am
unable to tell you with any degree of certainty. It probably comes from
two Teutonic words, but I should be sorry to attempt to give them in the
original. There is something about the name, however, which conveys
the idea of a giant. ‘Daddy,’ indeed, being the familiar appellation by
which children occasionally designate their male parent, points, not
so much to the paternal relationship of a giant with mankind, as to his
size and proportions, which are as much larger than those of man as are
the proportions and size of a father to those of his young children. I
presume that the term ‘roarer’ is not intended to convey, as in the case
of a horse, the notion of broken wind, but has rather reference to the
gruff and deep-toned voice which usually characterizes the giant.
“But, be this as it may, I repeat the fact that there was once a certain
Daddyroarer, or giant, who lived among the mountains near a certain part
of my beautiful river. For many years, indeed, in the old, old times,
the men of Rhineland were grievously troubled with giants {140}of
different sorts and sizes. Tradition tells us that they all sprang from
the mighty giant Senoj, who, as is well known, was born, nobody knows
how or where, among the loftiest peaks of the Alps, and is down to this
day popularly known in Rhineland as the father of all giants.
[Illustration: 156]
“Certain it is that his descendants, if such they were, proved
exceedingly troublesome to mankind in general, and Rhenish mankind in
particular. These creatures were, indeed, a plague and a pest to the
country. They ate voraciously, and were not particular as to the food
with which they satisfied their appetites. I am not prepared to say
whether or no they were actually cannibals, and will therefore give them
the benefit of the doubt; nevertheless, they were exceedingly unpleasant
neighbours. The quantity of food which they required was alone
sufficient to have placed this fact beyond question, for if you
recollect the feats performed in the way of swallowing by your own old
giant--
‘Robin-a-bobbin-a-Bilberry Ben,
Who ate more victuals than three-score men,’
and consider what would have been the effect upon your country of
half-a-dozen Robins, you will have no trouble in understanding the
difficulty which Rhineland experienced in supporting these worthies.
“What made it much worse, too, was the exceedingly loose notions which
these beings entertained upon the subject of the rights of property.
They apparently laboured under the delusion that the world was made for
giants, and for giants alone--a theory exceedingly convenient for those
who happened to be giants, but the reverse {141}of agreeable to those
who did not come within that somewhat limited category. These excellent
individuals took exactly what they pleased from its owner, without so
much as ‘by your leave’ or ‘with your leave,’ and never for a moment
dreamed of paying the value of the article in question. This was not a
comfortable state of things for the people of the land, who saw their
sheep and oxen, pigs and poultry, and other possessions which they
prized, taken away by the great bullies against whom they dared not lift
a voice nor wag a finger.
“But this was not all. It is bad enough to be robbed by another person,
and not pleasant to be assaulted, but I am not sure whether to be
utterly ignored and despised is not worse than either, especially when
accompanied by such aggravating circumstances as those to which I am now
going to allude. These huge creatures used to go walking about just as
if there were no such things as men and women in the world. They would
kick over a cottage for fun, sit down upon a barn or outhouse and crush
its roof with their weight, out of mere ignorance or wanton folly; and
even now and then set their foot on a human being and crush him into the
earth, as if he were a snake, taking no account whatever of his prayers
and struggles. In fact, they got into the habit of treating people as if
they were merely an inferior part of creation placed upon the earth to
cultivate and make it more useful for giants, and intended to be robbed,
maltreated, trodden under foot, and put out of the way, just when and
how it suited their imperious masters, for whom, and for whose sake
alone, the universe had been created.
“You {142}may well imagine, Brother Thames, that this state of affairs
was pre-eminently unsatisfactory to my poor people. No man’s life or
property was secure, and all improvement was entirely prevented. Indeed,
what was the use of building a house which was liable to be knocked down
or kicked over by a giant at any moment? Of what avail would it have
been to plant a field with wheat, oats, or barley, when at any and
every period of the year all might be trodden down by the ruthless
foot of the same monster, and the reapers possibly be stamped into the
ground, together with the crops which they were gathering? Who would
rear sheep and oxen of which he was sure to be robbed? and who would
spend time, labour, and money upon anything when all was so insecure and
uncertain? So it came about that the population diminished, no houses
were built, few fields were sown, lands went out of cultivation, and it
seemed as if, in a little time longer, the country would be neither more
nor less than a dreary wilderness. Indeed, the whole face of the country
was changed by the strange freaks of the Daddyroarers.
“Sometimes they would amuse themselves by lifting huge masses of rock,
and therewith building a mountain; at another time they would fling
enormous stones at each other in sport, which was pastime anything but
delightful to their neighbours, whose lives and property were thereby
grievously imperilled. And not the least part of the mischief they did
was when they took a fancy to snowball each other, which the survivors
of them still practise, especially in some parts of Switzerland, where
the avalanche, which occasionally overwhelms the unhappy traveller,
although mistakenly attributed to natural {143}causes, is in reality
nothing more than the fall of a larger snowball than usual, hurled by
the mighty arm of one of those mountain giants.
[Illustration: 160]
“At the time I speak of there was one particular giant who had for a
long while been remarkably troublesome. Not only was his appetite more
insatiable than that of his brethren, but he was endowed with a spirit
of mischief, which rendered him an especially disagreeable neighbour.
If he met a man he generally gave him a kick, which sent him off fifty
yards up in the air, and in most instances proved fatal. He never passed
a cottage without sitting down on the roof, or kicking the wall down,
and would walk away from a farm with a couple of haystacks, one under
each arm, simply for the love of plunder, and when he really did not
require the hay for his own purposes.
“You {144}will hardly require much argument in order to convince you
that this giant was a most obnoxious person, and was consequently held
in great detestation by all the poor creatures who had the misfortune to
dwell near him. By these he was generally called by the euphonious name
of ‘Old Bramble-Buffer,’ although the title by which he was known among
his own kith and kin was probably quite different, and has not been
handed down to posterity. For many years he tyrannized over the country
round, and the story which I am about to tell you will show how great
his fame and physical strength must have been, and thus remove any
surprise which you might otherwise possibly have felt at the power of
one monster to keep a whole neighbourhood in subjection.
“When their houses had been again and again destroyed, the wretched
inhabitants began to seek shelter in holes in the caves and rocks, in
which they hid themselves, their wives, families, and effects, and only
issued forth by stealth at night, or when they had reason to believe
that their terrible oppressor was away from home. In consequence of
this state of things, our friend the Daddyroarer found his fun somewhat
diminished. He seldom encountered a man now, the opportunities afforded
him for kicking down houses were comparatively rare, and he began to
think life in the country, under such circumstances, rather tedious. It
was in vain that he occupied himself in mountain-building with some of
his fellow-giants, snowballing was cold work, and became tiresome after
a time; and when he once tried to amuse himself by baling out my river,
he found the task too great for even one of his gigantic strength.
{145}He kept on at it for some time, being too stupid to understand
that my river, being well supplied at its sources, and aided by many a
tributary stream and mountain torrent, was in no sort of way affected by
the abstraction of the few millions of gallons of which his puny efforts
robbed it, and his exertions only caused intense mirth to my elves and
demons, without for a moment lessening the volume of water in the river,
or in any way diminishing the strength and rapidity of the current.