whole affair; and there was a discussion, as to which was really the
prisoner. The Emperor, whose advice governed the movements of the English
army, at last decided in favour of Bayard, but acquitted both on account of
their mutual courtesy; and King Henry said that the Good Knight might leave
the camp, if he would promise on his word of honour to remain unarmed for
six weeks. Bayard was very grateful, both to the emperor and to the king,
and went to divert himself in the country, in the best manner he could
until the six weeks were passed. During this time the King of England tried
by various means, to attach him to his service, but his trouble was thrown
away; it would have been impossible for the Chevalier to have entertained a
disloyal thought.
Not long after this Louis the Twelfth died, and his cousin, Francis, Count
of Angouleme, was declared King of France. Immediately after his
coronation, the young king began to prepare secretly for the conquest of
Milan, that duchy having lately returned to the allegiance of the Italian
duke Sforza. Bayard was ordered to repair with three or four thousand men,
to the borders of his native province of Dauphine, and after performing
several brave actions, he got down quietly into the plain of Piedmont.
Prosper Colonna, the Pope's lieutenant, was there in the Castle of
Carmaignolle. When he heard of the arrival of the Chevalier, he exclaimed,
in a tone of extreme scorn, "That Bayard has crossed the mountains; I will
take him as I would a pigeon in a cage!"
The other French captains arrived in the plain, and the Good Knight advised
that they should rest their horses that night, and attack Colonna the next
day at dawn in his castle.
They had a large piece of water to cross before they could get to the
place; but they knew of a ford, and two or three hours after midnight they
mounted their horses in silence, and set out on the road. Prosper was not
alarmed, because he still thought that only Bayard was there with his
company, and he would have remained at Carmaignolle, had he not received
orders to change his quarters. He did not hurry himself in the least, and
stopped on his journey to dine at a little town called Villefranche. When
the French arrived at the castle, they found to their disappointment that
Colonna was gone, and they all agreed to pursue him. The Seigneur
d'Imbercourt was foremost in the troop; he soon reached the town; Colonna
was already there, and his people shut the gates. The Good Knight came up
in time however to gain them, and although the enemy gave the alarm to a
body of three or four thousand Swiss, he made his way into the town,
followed by his men-at-arms, and found the Italian commander seated at his
dinner. Colonna was enraged at being thus captured, like "a pigeon in a
cage" himself, instead of in battle; the Good Knight tried to cheer him up,
and make the best of it, but the whole affair cost the signor, besides his
liberty, 50,000 crowns worth of gold and silver plate, furniture, and
money, and that was quite enough to make a man look sad. The French found a
very large sum of money in the town, and nearly 700 beautiful coursers and
Spanish horses.
Francis had already crossed the mountains which separate France from Italy.
He was delighted to hear of the capture of Colonna, and soon waged the
tremendous battle of Marignano with the Swiss, who were the partizans of
Sforza and Colonna, and were indignant that Francis had succeeded in
crossing the Alps. Marignano was situate about a league from the city of
Milan. The Swiss were determined to defend the duchy to the last extremity,
and had assembled a very large army. The battle began at four o'clock on a
September afternoon in the year 1415, and was only discontinued when it was
too dark to see to fight. The king passed the night in his armour on the
carriage of a cannon, and was surprised at daybreak to find the enemy
within a few paces of him in readiness to renew the attack. The young king
and the chevalier fought at Marignano side by side, and both displayed
extraordinary valour; and when the victory was decided for the French,
Francis, to reward Bayard for the great share he had had in it, received
the honour of knighthood from his hands.
The day of Marignano, "the combat of giants," as an old Italian hero called
it, who had been in eighteen pitched battles, was disastrous indeed for the
Swiss, for it is said that when they began to retreat they left 10,000 of
their comrades lying dead upon the battle-field.
In the last charge that was made, Bayard was mounted on a fiery courser,
the first he had ridden having been killed under him. He was so closely
beset that the bridle was torn from his horse, and the animal, thus freed
from restraint, galloped off and made its way through the enemy's ranks; it
would have carried its rider right into the midst of a troop of Swiss, if
its course had not been intercepted by a field full of vines entwined from
tree to tree; the good knight but for this timely wall of defence, must
assuredly have fallen into the hands of his enemies. He had not quite lost
his senses in the rapid flight, and he glided down gently from his horse,
threw away his arms and a part of his armour, and crawled along a ditch, in
the direction as he supposed of the French camp. Fortunately he was not
mistaken; he soon had the delight of hearing the cry of "France! France!"
in the distance, and was enabled to reach his companions, and rejoice with
them over the great victory they had gained; although a victory bought with
the lives of so many fellow creatures, cannot but bring a sharp pang of
sorrow to the heart of every man.
The fame of Bayard had now risen to such a height, that nearly all the
young nobles of France, begged to be allowed the honour of serving under
him, in the defence of the town of Mezieres. Maximilian and Ferdinand were
both dead, and Charles V. was Emperor of Germany and King of Spain.
Charles, who was quite as ambitious as the young king of France, had
ordered the Count of Nassau to advance towards the frontiers, and lay
siege to the town of Mousson. The men who defended it were cowards, and
lay down their arms almost without fighting. The Count, finding this
success so easy, next besieged Mezieres, and through this town the Emperor
intended his troops to have passed into France. But Francis knew that if he
suffered Mezieres to be taken, it would be the most foolish thing he could
do; it was like giving the enemy the key of the gate that kept them out of
France. So he wisely ordered Bayard to hasten to its defence; and although
the Good Knight had only 1,000 men in the place, he obliged the Count of
Nassau, and his 35,000 Germans, to retire with shame and loss after a
lengthened siege. The service he thus performed for his country was very
great, and the king rewarded him for it with a hundred lances, and the
collar of St. Michael.
In the year 1524 he was sent into Italy to oppose the army of the Constable
de Bourbon, who had left his own king to serve the Emperor. Bourbon was led
to do this, on account of the many affronts he had received from the
beautiful and haughty Louisa, of Savoy, the mother of Francis I.; still,
however great the cause of offence may be, it is quite inexcusable for a
man to bear arms against his country.
The chief command of the army was given to Bonnivet: he was very brave, but
so rash that his zeal often did more harm than good, and he was totally
wanting in the judgment, and presence of mind a great captain ought to
possess. Lannoy, the viceroy of Naples, had collected a large number of
troops; to these were added the forces of the Marquis of Pescara, the
general of the Spaniards, and those of the traitor Bourbon. Bonnivet failed
in his plan of attack, and was obliged to try and get back into France by
crossing the valley of Aosta; but on his way he received a bad wound in the
arm, and could no longer lead on his men. In his distress he sent word to
Bayard that he alone could save the French army if he would. The good
knight had thought the whole enterprise ill-judged, and when he set out at
the head of his men-at-arms, he had not been cheerful and hopeful as he had
been accustomed to be whenever he entered on a fresh campaign. Nevertheless
he swore in reply to Bonnivet that he would either save the army or perish
in the attempt; and as he had always courted the post of danger, he took
the command of the rear, and made his men try bravely like himself to
sustain the whole shock of the enemy's troops, whilst the rest of the army
gained time to effect a retreat. This was at a place near Romagnano. As
Bayard was thus striving he was wounded by a musket-ball, and the shock was
so great that he uttered the word "Jesus," and then said that it was all
over with him on earth. Faint from pain and loss of blood, he held on as
long as he could to the bow of his saddle, but sank at last to the ground,
and desired to be placed under a tree with his face turned towards the foe.
And there the good knight lifted up the hilt of his sword, and kissed it as
though it had been the cross, and saying, softly, "Miserere mei, Deus!" lay
back pale and calm to wait for the approach of death. His faithful _maitre
d'hotel_, who had followed him through many dangers, was with him now, and
was almost beside himself with grief.
"Jacques, my friend," said the dying knight, "do not mourn for me. It is
the will of God that I should quit this world where I have ever received a
full measure of His grace, and far more honour than I deserved. The only
regret I have in dying is, that I have not done all that I ought to have
done, and if I had lived longer, I would have hoped to have made amends for
my past faults. But as it is, I implore my Maker to have mercy upon my poor
soul, and trust through his great and boundless love that he will not judge
me with rigour; feeling assured that Thou, oh my Saviour, hast promised
pardon to all those who turn to Thee with humble and contrite hearts."
In this condition he was found by the Constable de Bourbon, who spoke to
him thus; "Monsieur de Bayard, truly I pity you."
"Ah, Monsieur," replied the chevalier, "do not pity me, but rather have
compassion on yourself for having fought against your king, your country,
and your oath."
The Marquis of Pescara came by soon after, and was deeply grieved to see
him in such a state; he ordered a tent to be pitched over him, and had him
tended with the utmost care, but it was of no avail; a mortal blow had been
struck, and the good knight rendered up his soul to God, as so many of his
ancestors had done, upon the battle-field.
Pescara had his body embalmed and conveyed to his kinsmen in Dauphine, and
the Duke of Savoy decreed that royal honours should be paid to it on its
mournful journey. When it reached Dauphine, people of all ranks came out to
meet it, and then returned to their houses and shut themselves up in sorrow
and gloom. The body was interred at Minimes, in a church founded by the
Bishop of Grenoble.
There was mourning throughout many lands when it was known that the Good
Knight was dead. King Francis was very much attached to him, and could not
get over the loss he had sustained for a very long time. And the following
year, when he had been obliged to surrender to Lannoy after the battle of
Pavia, he exclaimed sadly within his prison walls, "Ah, Bayard, if thou
hadst been alive, I should not have been here!"
Thus had the Chevalier lived, faithful to the promise of his childhood;
ever ready to risk his life in the service of his country, helpful and
loving to all, joyous and light-hearted. When he was in the enemy's
territory he strictly defrayed every expense he incurred, and very often
left some kind remembrance for those who had served him: in success he
showed mercy, and made himself as much beloved by the vanquished as by his
own soldiers. He never wished for the highest place or envied the good
fortune of other men. Amid the spoils of war he seemed to desire nothing
for himself, and one instance alone will suffice to show how far he was
removed from any selfish feelings. During the war with the Spaniards, he
received notice one day that a large sum of money was on its way to the
Spanish commander. His own troops being in great want of necessaries he
resolved to obtain this money, which was fair to do in warfare; so he sent
some of his men to waylay the bearers of it in one part of the country,
while his companion Tardien watched for it in another. Bayard had the good
luck to seize the treasure, and found it to consist of 15,000 ducats. The
Spaniard who carried it was in great terror at having fallen into the hands
of the enemy, and gave it up without a murmur. Tardien was brave and
merry-hearted, but he had the misfortune of being very poor, and he was
terribly grieved on his return to the camp to find that he had not been the
happy man to secure the money, and declared that the half of the sum would
have redeemed his fortunes for ever.
Bayard was in a cheerful mood, and he asked his soldiers how much of the
treasure they thought Tardien ought to receive. They replied, "None at
all." Then Bayard, after enjoying for a time the dismay of his companion in
arms, called him to him, and gave him 7,500 ducats, the exact half of the
sum they had captured. The Good Knight then divided the remainder amongst
his soldiers, not keeping one farthing for himself, and sent the Spaniard
with an escort to a place of safety whence he could return to his own
home.
[Illustration: _Queen Elizabeth's farewell to Captain Martin Frobisher.--p.
225_]
FOOTNOTES:
[20] "Piquer," an old French word, signifying "to spur on, to animate, or
encourage."
[21] _Palfrenier_, "groom of the stables."
[22] Gaston was Governor of Milan.
SIR MARTIN FROBISHER.
One summer's day, in the year 1576, Queen Elizabeth stood at the window of
her palace at Greenwich, waving her hand in sign of farewell as two small
barks and a pinnace glided gently down the river Thames. The barks were the
_Gabriel_ and the _Michael_. On board the first one was the gallant Martin
Frobisher, who, after having waited fifteen years for funds to enable him
to carry out his voyage, was now on his way in search of a north-west
passage to China. Little is known of the early days of Frobisher, except
that he was at Doncaster, in Yorkshire, and that he was well skilled in
maritime knowledge, and one of the most experienced seamen of his time. The
passage he proposed to find, he thought would enable his countrymen to
reach the shores of China in far less time than by sailing as the
Portuguese always sailed, all round by the Cape of Good Hope; and thus for
years before he had started, he had been going from friend to friend,
nobleman and merchant, in the hope of finding some one to help him to get
together a fleet. At last he found a patron in Ambrose Dudley, the good
Earl of Warwick, and with his help, and his own untiring efforts besides,
he raised sufficient money to fit out the two vessels and the one small
pinnace, which had provisions on board to last twelve months.
After the little fleet had gone past the palace, Queen Elizabeth sent one
of the gentlemen of her court on board the _Gabriel_ to tell Frobisher how
much pleasure the enterprise afforded her, and to bid him come and take
leave of her the following day. She was proud, too, to think that one of
her subjects was brave enough to venture up into the icy seas and cold
regions, the very idea of which had struck terror into the hearts of many a
mariner, when he had met on the ocean great icebergs floating southwards,
as though they were messengers sent to warn him of approaching the frozen
seas.
When Frobisher had got as far as the Shetland Isles, he turned his course
towards the west, and on the 11th of July, nearly four weeks after he had
started, he came in sight of land, which he supposed to be the Freeseland
seen by a Venetian, named Zeno, two hundred years before. He could not land
there because of the great blocks of ice which filled the sea near the
shore, and they had much ado to keep clear of them, because there was a
thick fog. Here a great misfortune happened; the pinnace disappeared in the
mist, and the services of the four men it had on board were thus lost. The
company of the _Michael_ also began to distrust the voyage, and to repent
that they had engaged in it. Under cover of the fog, they went off towards
England, and were so wicked as to say on their arrival that the bark
_Gabriel_ had been cast away.
Thus forsaken, the brave captain went on alone; the mast of his vessel was
broken, and the topmast was blown over; nevertheless he continued to sail
towards the north-west, thinking that he must surely come to some shore.
And nine days after he had seen Freeseland, he came to a high piece of
land, which he called Queen Elizabeth's; it was part of what is now called
Labrador. Still more to the north he reached another foreland, with a great
bay or passage of sea dividing two lands, but this was so blocked up with
ice that he had to wait until it melted, or was carried away by currents.
He called the passage "Frobisher's Straits," after himself, by which name
it has been known ever since. If any little readers will unfold a map of
North America and look just north of Hudson's Straits, they will see
Frobisher's Straits, and how the land on either side is broken up into
islands, some of which are named "Hall's Islands," after Christopher Hall,
the master of the bark _Gabriel_. Frobisher thought as yet that the shores
were all firm land; and when the ice broke up, he sailed sixty leagues
along the strait, and there he landed. First of all he had to defend
himself from some great deer, which ran at him in such a manner that he had
a very narrow escape of his life. Another time when he landed he went to
the top of a hill, and saw from thence several objects in the distance
which he thought were porpoises or seals, but when they came nearer he
found that they were boats filled with men. The boats were made of
sealskins, with a keel of wood inside. The men were of dark complexion,
with long black hair, broad faces, and flat noses; the women's faces were
painted in blue streaks. Some of these people hid behind a rock, and were
evidently watching for an opportunity of stealing his boat, but he hastened
down the hill just in time to secure it, and went back to the vessel. It
was terribly cold already; in one night the snow lay a foot thick upon the
hatches: the brief summer of the northern regions was past. The natives
soon began to come on board the bark, and to talk with the sailors in an
unknown tongue; they brought the captain salmon and flesh which they eat
raw themselves; also bearskins and sealskins, for which Frobisher gave them
toys, bells, and looking-glasses. They got very friendly with his men,
although he warned them not to trust them too quickly; and one day five of
the sailors were enticed by the savages to go in a boat to the shore, and
neither men nor boat ever appeared again. What was to be done? Frobisher
was on board his bark, and now the only boat was gone, and he could not get
to the shore. He thought that he must try and capture one of the sealskin
boats of the natives, and he rang a low, sweet-toned bell, which was sure
to be a great temptation to the wild men, and made signs that he would give
it to him who should fetch it. The first bell he purposely threw into the
sea, and then he rang another. The savages, getting more eager to secure
the prize, crowded around him, and one came so very near that he had just
put out his hand to grasp the bell, when the captain pulled him, boat and
all, on board the bark. The poor savage was said to have been so angry at
being captured, that he bit his tongue in two in his rage; he was brought
to England as a specimen of the newly found race, but he fell ill soon
after his arrival and died.
As the cold was rapidly increasing, Frobisher began to think of returning
home to report what he had seen, and after many useless attempts to land,
on account of the ice along the coasts, he told his men when next they
could set foot on shore, that they were to bring him whatever they could
find in memory of the region he had taken possession of in the queen's
name. Some of them brought him a few flowers, some only grasses, and one
brought him a piece of black stone very like sea-coal, which from its
weight seemed to be a mineral. Frobisher did not think much of it at first
sight, but he brought it with him to England. He arrived in his native
country on the 2nd day of October, and all people praised him for his
courage and perseverance; and it was thought that if another expedition
were made, there would be every chance of finding the desired north-west
passage to China.
One day when he was with some friends in London, it happened that he had
nothing to show for his voyage except the lump of coal. The wife of one of
the adventurers who was present, threw by chance a piece of it into the
fire, and it burned so long that at last it was taken out and quenched in a
little vinegar, when lo! as if by magic, it appeared "like a bright
marquisset" of gold. It was then shown to some gold finers in London, who
tried it and found that it contained pure gold, and gave great hope that
more might be found in the region whence it was brought. The gold finers
even offered themselves to share in a fresh enterprise, so that a second
voyage was proposed for the following year, Queen Elizabeth herself
entering heartily into the scheme.
The second expedition was fitted out in a more important manner than the
first one had been. Frobisher sailed in a tall ship of the queen's, which
was called the _Aid_, accompanied by the two barks _Michael_ and
_Gabriel_. The vessels were provisioned for six months, and had on board in
all 140 men, although many more would have liked to go on the voyage.
They sailed northwards until they anchored in the bay of St. Magnus, one of
the Orkney Isles. The inhabitants fled in terror as soon as the ship's
company landed, and only took heart when they heard for what purpose they
had come. For few indeed were the visitors who came to those barren
islands, except perhaps the pirates who roamed the northern seas. There is
scarcely a tree amongst the whole group, and the people, having no wood,
make their fires of turf and heather to cheer them during the long stormy
winter. But the nights in these cold northern latitudes are made bright and
beautiful by the aurora borealis, which flashes across the sky, and is of
the same nature as lightning, only that it travels through a higher region
of the air. Sometimes it is purple and sometimes green, and where the air
is driest it is red. When the aurorae, or northern lights, flicker in the
sky, the inhabitants of the Shetland Isles call them, "the merry dancers."