Seven times had frosty-bearded winter covered the ground with snow, and
behung the trees with crystal icicles, since the Champion Saint George,
and the faithful De Fistycuff, lay groaning in their far-off dungeon in
Egypt, for having ventured to assert that crocodiles, and apes, and
snakes, were not fit objects of reverence.
One day, as by chance the Knight was wringing his hands, in despair of
ever getting free, he chanced to rub in a peculiar manner the magic ring
which the Fairy Sabrina had given him. A bright light was forthwith
emitted from it, which increased and increased till it filled the
chamber, and from the midst of it appeared the Fairy herself, in her
chariot drawn by ten peacocks.
"Gallant Knight, why did you not summon me before?" she asked, in her
sweet voice; and Saint George had to confess, with shame, that he had
forgotten all about the power of the magic ring.
"I cannot free you from this prison by magic power; but I will give you
tools with which you may free yourselves, and then you will set more
value on your liberty than if you had gained it without toil. I never
afford aid to any who are not ready to labour for themselves."
The Fairy having thus spoken, supplied the Knight and his Squire with
hammers, chisels, spades, mattocks, and crowbars.
"Your steeds and weapons you will find ready outside the gates," added
the Fairy. "When once more prepared for battle, go forth, and conquer."
The Knight and De Fistycuff felt their strength and spirits wonderfully
improved at these words, and already they fancied themselves scouring
over the plain in pursuit of a thousand flying foes.
"But is there no gallant achievement, no heroic deed, which you would
desire me to perform, as a mark of my gratitude?" asked Saint George,
after he had duly thanked the Fairy for the aid she had wrought him.
"Well spoken," answered the Fairy; "yes, there languishes, even now, a
brother knight, one for whose country I have a fond regard, Saint David,
of Wales, in the gloomy castle of the Magician Ormandine, on the borders
of Tartary. Go and free him. From trusting entirely to his own
strength, and not seeking rightly for all other aids, he failed in what
he undertook to accomplish. A magic sword, by which alone the Magician
can be conquered, is held in a rock near his castle. No human strength
can pull it out; but take this flask of oil, pour it into the rock, and,
waiting patiently, you will find the sword easily come forth."
The Knight promised to obey the Fairy's directions; and she having
disappeared, he and De Fistycuff set to work so manfully, although not
accustomed to handle such tools, that in a few days they hewed
themselves a subterranean passage beneath the walls of the city.
Through iron plates, and thick walls, and granite rocks, and mud, and
sand, they worked, the last, like slippery people, giving them the
greatest difficulty to deal with. At length the sky appeared; and
there, at the mouth of the cave out of which they emerged, stood their
steeds, held by two dwarfs of ugly aspect, who presented them with their
spears, and swords, and other weapons.
No sooner were they mounted, and Saint George was about, to reward the
dwarfs, than he found that they had disappeared.
Accordingly, they set off, as fast as Bayard and the Squire's steed
could carry them, along the neck of land which joins Africa to Asia, and
then galloped rapidly northward. In wonderful condition were the
horses, while the pure, fresh air their riders breathed, after their
long imprisonment, added fresh vigour to their limbs, and courage to
their hearts.
Many adventures, which cannot here be recorded, were met with; and at
length they reached the magic forest which surrounded the castle of the
fell Enchanter. They witnessed the same terrific sights, and heard the
same sounds as did Saint David and the faithful Owen; but, equally
dauntless, they clove their onward way through brake and briar, in spite
of the hissing of serpents and hooting of owls, groans and shrieks, and
other similar sounds, to which they were pretty well accustomed by this
time, till they reached the Magician's castle.
There, in the rock, they beheld the hilt of the magic sword. De
Fistycuff was about to seize hold of it at once; but Saint George warned
him to desist till he wisely had obeyed the Fairy's directions, and
poured the oil upon the rock.
Slowly it trickled down through many a crevice, when the Knight, waiting
patiently for the oil to take effect, grasped the sword with his left
hand, while he kept his own falchion ready to use in the right.
"Who knows but the Magician may come forth to attack me before I have
freed the sword?" he observed to his Squire. Gradually, but surely, the
sword yielded to his unwearied and long-sustained efforts. While still
drawing it forth, a terrific uproar was heard within the castle; the
ground shook, trembled violently, rocking to and fro, and flames darted
forth from the rock; but the Knight held fast the weapon.
Suddenly the brazen gates of the castle burst open, and there issued
forth the Necromancer Ormandine, arrayed in all the terrors with which
he could clothe himself. His helmet had a fiery plume, hissing snakes
were writhing about his casque and shoulders, his armour seemed of
red-hot metal. A hooting owl of hideous aspect sat on his shoulder,
while he brandished an iron club covered with spikes, like his armour,
red-hot. He made directly at Saint George; but Ascalon was in the
Knight's grasp, and wielding it, as he well knew how, he kept the
Magician at bay, while he tugged more vehemently than ever at the magic
sword.
With a clap louder than that of any thunder, it came at length forth
from the rock, and taking it in his right hand he with it furiously
assailed the Magician, who no sooner felt its keen edge than his club
fell from his nerveless grasp, the owl flew hooting away, the serpents
crawled hissing off, and the once-powerful Magician fell humbly on his
knees and craved for mercy.
Saint George, telling De Fistycuff to guard him, entered the castle,
where, on iron beds, he found, bound with chains, his friend and comrade
Saint David, and the faithful Owen, groaning, and sighing, and mourning
their hard fate. Cutting the chains, with as much ease as if they had
been cords of silk, with the magic sword, he set them, to their great
joy, on their legs, when, with a profusion of words, they poured out
their expressions of gratitude.
Saint David then told Saint George of his vow to the Emperor of Tartary;
when the English Knight informed him that the Enchanter was in his
power, but that he was unwilling to take his life.
"But, behold the signs of his cruelty!" said Saint David, pointing out
to Saint George the other nine hundred and ninety-eight iron beds in the
hall. "There lie bound many other noble knights and squires who for
many long years have been prevented from engaging in any deeds of
heroism. Think how many victories they might have won; how many captive
knights released; how many forlorn maidens rescued from durance vile;
how many other noble deeds they might have done!"
This speech so completely changed Saint George's view of things, that he
told Saint David he would hand over the Magician to him. Then the
Champion of Wales went forth from the castle, and with one blow of his
sword cut off Ormandine's hideous head, and sticking it on a pole, which
he delivered to the faithful Owen to carry, informed his brother
Champion that he was ready forthwith to depart for the court of the
Emperor of Tartary.
The other nine hundred and ninety-eight gallant knights and squires,
released by the courage and wisdom of Saint George, having expressed a
strong desire to follow his fortunes, he undertook to lead them round
the world in search of adventures worthy of their prowess. Saint David,
also, promised, when he had fulfilled his vow to the Emperor of Tartary,
to search him out and aid him.
Often had the noble Champion of England thought of the lovely Sabra, but
knew not where she was. At length, with his army of valiant knights and
trusty squires, having reached the kingdom of Bagabornabou, he, on
inquiring for her, heard, with dismay, that she had been carried off a
prisoner by Almidor, the black King of Morocco, and had ever since been
pining in a dungeon.
Calling his knights around him, he told them of the occurrence, and with
loud shouts, waving on high their swords, they promised to accompany him
to rescue her, or to die in the attempt. Setting off forthwith, they
reached the dominions of the black King; when Saint George, disguising
himself as a humble palmer, entered the city, followed by De Fistycuff,
in the same habit, to ascertain in what vile dungeon the lovely Sabra
was shut up.
In vain he wandered up and down, whispering her name, and inquiring of
all he met, till, at length, he saw a beautiful white dove fly upward
from a hole in the ground beneath the massive wall of a huge castle.
Catching the dove, he wrote on a slip of parchment, which he placed
under its wing, "Saint George of England has come to Sabra's rescue.
Tell me if you are here!"
Soon the dove, having entered the hole, returned to the Knight, when he
discovered, under its wing, on the same parchment: "I, the hapless
Sabra, am here; oh, free me, and receive a maiden's grateful love!"
Instantly returning to his knights, and throwing off his palmer
garments, Saint George led them to the assault.
On every side the castle-walls were stormed. Some climbed up ladders,
some over each other's backs, with such desperate valour, that the
Moorish soldiers gave way on every side; till Almidor, hearing the
turmoil and loud shouts of war, rushed to the battlements. Then ensued
a fight most desperate between the noble Champion of England and the
black King, in which the latter would most assuredly have been slain had
he not, like a recreant, turned his back and fled, among his followers,
through a postern gate, which, happily for him, stood open,--proudly
asserting that he would return and fight another day.
Having thus victoriously taken possession of the Moorish castle, Saint
George and all his knights and squires burst open all the doors and
gates, and explored all the passages they could find, till they arrived
at a gloomy vault. Within it was a little door. Saint George thundered
at it with his battle-axe. It burst open; and there he beheld his
lovely and beloved Sabra, her beauty dimmed, but not extinguished, by
her long imprisonment.
Saint George and his knights having taken possession of the Moorish
capital, he held a grand banquet in honour of the occasion, when a
herald announced, in due form, that the British Champion was about to
wed the lovely African Princess. Thrice was the announcement made; and
no one objecting, the fair Sabra, after all her misfortune, became, as
her reward, the bride of the noblest Knight Europe, or the world, has
ever known.
So enchanted were the Moors with the valour and courtesy of Saint
George, that their chiefs, lords, and nobles, and the councillors of
state, came in humble guise and proffered him the crown of their
country; but he declared, with many expressions suitable to the
occasion, that he had not yet won that renown for which his soul panted,
and must decline the honour.
Having dismissed the nine hundred and ninety-eight knights and squires,
whom he had rescued from the castle of Ormandine, with warm thanks for
the assistance they had rendered him, and sincere wishes for their
welfare, they all departed to their separate countries and homes, and
such as were married to their wives and children, who had long been
mourning their absence, and in most cases, though not in all, wishing
for their return; Saint George and his beautiful bride, the enchanting
Sabra, set out on their travels, through many unknown and strange lands,
attended by the faithful De Fistycuff, whose wife would much rather that
he had gone back to look after her and their children in England.