humbled town in Christendom."
Van Artevelde called the burghers together, and told them what the
situation was. There were 30,000 people in Ghent, and there was no food
to be had for them. There was no hope that the Count would offer any
better terms, or that anybody would come to their assistance. They must
decide quickly what they would do, and Philip said there were three
courses open to them. First, if they chose, they could wall up the gates
of the town and die of starvation. Secondly, they could accept the
Count's terms, march out with the ropes around their necks, and take
whatever punishment the Count might put upon them. If they should decide
to do that, Philip said he would offer himself to the Count to be hanged
first. Thirdly, they could get together 5000 of their best men, march to
Bruges, and fight the quarrel out.
The answer of the people was that Philip must decide for them, and he at
once said, "Then we will fight."
The 5000 men were got together, and on the 1st of May they marched out
of the town to win or lose the desperate battle. The priests of the
city stood at the gates as the men marched out, and prayed for blessings
upon them. The old men, the women, and the children cried out, "If you
lose the battle you need not return to Ghent, for you will find your
families dead in their homes."
The only food there was for these 5000 men was carried in five little
carts, while on another cart two casks of wine were taken.
The next day Van Artevelde placed his little army in line on the common
of Beverhoutsveld, at Oedelem, near Bruges. There was a marsh in front
of them, and Van Artevelde protected their flank by a fortification
consisting of the carts and some stakes driven into the ground. He then
sent a messenger to the Count, begging him to pardon the people of
Ghent, and, having done this, he ordered his men to go to sleep for the
night.
At daybreak the next morning the little army was aroused to make final
preparations for the desperate work before them. The priests exhorted
the men to fight to the death, showing them how useless it would be to
surrender or to run away, as they were sure to be put to death at any
rate. Their only hope for life was in victory, and if they could not win
that, it would be better to die fighting like men than to surrender and
be put to death like dogs.
After these exhortations were given, seven gray friars said mass and
gave the sacrament to all the soldiers. Then the five cart-loads of
provisions and the two casks of wine were divided among the men, for
their last breakfast. When that meal was eaten, the soldiers of Ghent
had not an ounce of food left anywhere.
Meanwhile the Count called his men together in Bruges, and got them
ready for battle; but the people of Bruges were so sure of easily
destroying the little Ghent army that they would not wait for orders,
but marched out shouting and singing and making merry.
[Illustration: THE BURGHERS PREPARE TO DEFEND THEIR CITY.]
As their column marched along the road in this noisy fashion, the
"troublesome burghers" of Ghent suddenly sprang upon them, crying,
"Ghent! Ghent!"
The charge was so sudden and so fierce that the Bruges people gave way,
and fled in a panic towards the town, with Van Artevelde's men at their
heels in hot pursuit. The Count's regular troops tried to make a stand,
but the burghers of Ghent came upon them so furiously that they too
became panic-stricken and fled. The Count himself ran with all his
might, and as soon as he entered the city he ordered the gates to be
shut. He was so anxious to save himself from the fury of Van Artevelde's
soldiers that he wanted to close the gates at once and leave those of
his own people who were still outside to their fate. But it was already
too late. Van Artevelde's column had followed the retreating crowd so
fast that it had already pushed its head into the town, and there was no
driving it back. The five thousand "troublesome burghers," with their
swords in their hands, and still crying "Ghent!" swarmed into Bruges,
and quickly took possession of the town. The Count's army was utterly
routed and scattered, and the Count himself would have been taken
prisoner if one of the Ghent burghers had not hidden him and helped him
to escape from the city.
Van Artevelde's soldiers, who had eaten the last of their food that
morning in the belief that they would never eat another meal on earth,
supped that night on the richest dishes that Bruges could supply; and
now that the Count was overthrown, great wagon trains of provisions
poured into poor, starving Ghent.
There was a great golden dragon on the belfry of Bruges, of which the
Bruges people were very proud. That dragon had once stood on the Church
of St. Sophia in Constantinople, and the Emperor Baldwin had sent it as
a present to Bruges. In token of their victory Van Artevelde's
"troublesome burghers" took down the golden dragon and carried it to
Ghent.
THE DEFENCE OF ROCHELLE.
HOW THE CITY OF REFUGE FOUGHT FOR LIBERTY.
In the old times, when people were in the habit of fighting each other
about their religion, the little French seaport Rochelle was called "the
city of refuge." The Huguenots, or French Protestants, held the place,
and when the armies of the French king tried to take it, in the latter
part of the sixteenth century, they were beaten off and so badly used in
the fight that the king was glad to make terms with the townspeople.
An agreement was therefore made that they should have their own
religion, and manage their own affairs; and to make sure of this the
king gave Rochelle so many special rights that it became almost a free
city. After that, whenever a Protestant in any part of France found that
he could not live peaceably in his own home, he went to Rochelle, and
that is the way the place came to be called the city of refuge.
For a good many years the people of Rochelle went on living quietly.
They had a fine harbor of their own, their trade was good, and they were
allowed to manage their own affairs. At last the new King of France made
up his mind that he would not have two religions in his country, but
would make everybody believe as he did. This troubled the people of
Rochelle, but the king sent them word that he only meant to make them
change their religion by showing them that his was better, and that he
did not intend to trouble them in any way.
In those days promises of that kind did not count for much; but the
king's prime-minister, Cardinal Richelieu, who really managed
everything, knew very well that Rochelle could give a great deal of
trouble if it chose, and so, perhaps, he really would have let the town
alone if it had not been for the meddling of the English prime-minister,
Buckingham.
This Buckingham, with an English fleet and army, sailed into the harbor
of Rochelle in the middle of July, 1627, and undertook to help the
people against the French king. If Buckingham had been either a soldier
or a sailor, he might have made himself master of the French king's
forts near Rochelle at once; but, although he had command of a fleet and
an army, he really knew nothing about the business of a commander, and
he blundered so badly that the generals of the French king got fresh
troops and provisions into the forts, and were able to hold them in
spite of all that the English could do.
Seeing how matters stood, Richelieu at once sent an army to surround
Rochelle, and at daylight on the 10th of August the people found a
strong force in front of the town. Rochelle had not made up its mind to
join the English, and the magistrates sent word to the French general
that they wanted peace. They said they were loyal to the French king,
and even offered to help drive the English away, if their king would
promise not to break the treaty that had been made with them many years
before.
It was too late to settle the matter in that way, however. The French
general meant to make the town surrender, and so, while the English were
fighting to get control of the island of Rhé, at some distance from the
town, he began to build works around Rochelle. His plan was to shut the
people up in the city and cut off their supplies of food; and when the
Rochelle folk saw what he was doing, they opened fire on his men.
The war was now begun, and the Huguenots made terms with Buckingham,
hoping, with his help, to win in the struggle. Buckingham promised to
help them, and he did try to do so in his blundering way; but he did
them more harm than good, for when he found that he could not take the
forts he sailed away, taking with him three hundred tons of grain, which
he ought to have sent into the town.
It was November when the English left, and Rochelle was in a very bad
situation. Richelieu set to work to shut the town in and seal it up. He
built strong works all around the land side, and then, with great
labor, brought earth and stones and built a mole, or strip of land,
nearly all the way across the mouth of the harbor, so that no boats
could pass in or out.
[Illustration: RICHELIEU SURVEYING THE WORKS AT ROCHELLE.]
The situation was a terrible one, but the people of Rochelle were brave,
and had no thought of flinching. They chose the mayor, Guiton, for their
commander, and when he accepted the office he laid his dagger on the
table, saying: "I will thrust that dagger into the heart of the first
man who speaks of giving up the town." He then went to work to defend
the place. He strengthened the works, and made soldiers of all the men
in the city, and all the boys, too, for that matter. Everybody who could
handle a weapon of any kind had to take his place in the ranks. England
had promised to send help, and the only question, Guiton thought, was
whether or not he could hold out till the help should come; so he laid
his plans to resist as long as possible.
The French in great numbers stormed the defences time after time; but
the brave Rochellese always drove them back with great loss. It was
clear from the first that Guiton would not give way, and that no column,
however strong, could force the city gates. But there was an enemy
inside the town which was harder to fight than the one outside. There
was famine in Rochelle! The cattle were eaten up, and the horses went
next. Then everything that could be turned into food was carefully used
and made to go as far as it would. Guiton stopped every kind of waste;
but day by day the food supply grew smaller, and the people grew weaker
from hunger. Starvation was doing its work. Every day the list of deaths
grew longer, and when people met in the streets they stared at each
other with lean, white, hungry faces, wondering who would be the next to
go.
Still these heroic people had no thought of giving up. They were
fighting for liberty, and they loved that more than life. The French
were daily charging their works, but could not move the stubborn,
starving Rochellese.
The winter dragged on slowly. Spring came, and yet no help had come
from England. In March the French, thinking that the people must be worn
out, hurled their heaviest columns against the lines; but, do what they
would, they could not break through anywhere, and had to go back to
their works, and wait for famine to conquer a people who could not be
conquered by arms.
One morning in May an English fleet was seen outside the mole. The news
ran through the town like wildfire. Help was at hand, and the poor
starving people were wild with joy. Men ran through the streets shouting
and singing songs of thanksgiving. They had borne terrible sufferings,
but now help was coming, and they were sure that their heroic endurance
would not be thrown away. Thousands of their comrades had fallen
fighting, and thousands of their women and children had starved to
death; but what was that if, after all, Rochelle was not to lose her
liberties?
Alas! their hope was a vain one, and their joy soon turned to sorrow.
The English fleet did nothing. It hardly tried to do anything; but
after lying within sight of the town for a while it sailed away again
and left Rochelle to its fate.
Richelieu was sure that Guiton would surrender now, and so he sent a
messenger to say that he would spare the lives of all the people if the
town were given up within three days. But the gallant Guiton was not
ready even yet to give up the struggle. "Tell Cardinal Richelieu," he
said to the messenger, "that we are his very obedient servants;" and
that was all the answer he had to make.
When the summer came some food was grown in the city gardens, but this
went a very little way among so many people, and the famine had now
grown frightful. The people gathered all the shellfish they could find
at low tide. They ate the leaves off the trees, and even the grass of
the gardens and lawns was used for food. Everything that could in any
way help to support life was consumed; everything that could be boiled
into the thinnest soup was turned to account; everything that could be
chewed for its juice was used to quiet the pains of fierce hunger; but
all was not enough. Men, women, and children died by thousands. Every
morning when the new guard went to take the place of the old one many of
the sentinels were found dead at their posts from starvation.
Still the heroic Guiton kept up the fight, and nobody dared say anything
to him about giving up. He still hoped for help from England, and meant
to hold out until it should come, cost what it might. In order that the
soldiers might have a little more to eat, and live and fight a little
longer, he turned all the old people and those who were too weak to
fight out of the town. The French would not let these poor wretches pass
their lines, but made an attack on them, and drove them back towards
Rochelle. But Guiton would not open the city gates to them. He said they
would starve to death if he let them into Rochelle, and they might as
well die outside as inside the gates.
At last news came that the English had made a treaty with the French,
and so there was no longer any hope of help for Rochelle, and truly the
place could hold out no longer. The famine was at its worst. Out of
about thirty thousand people only five thousand were left alive, and
they were starving; of six hundred Englishmen who had stayed to help the
Rochellese all were dead but sixty-two. Corpses lay thick in the
streets, for the people were too weak, from fasting, even to bury their
dead. The end had come. On the 30th of October, 1628, after nearly
fifteen months of heroic effort and frightful suffering, Rochelle
surrendered.
Richelieu at once sent food into the town, and treated the people very
kindly; but he took away all the old rights and privileges of the city.
He pulled down all the earth-works used by the defenders of the place,
and gave orders that nobody should build even a garden fence anywhere
near the town. He made a law that no Protestant who was not already a
citizen of Rochelle should go thither to live, and that the "city of
refuge" should never again receive any stranger without a permit from
the king.
THE SAD STORY OF A BOY KING.
London took a holiday on the 16th of July, 1377. There were processions
of merry-makers in the streets, and the windows were crowded with gayly
dressed men, women, and children. The great lords, glittering in armor,
and mounted upon splendid steel-clad horses, marched through the town.
The bishops and clergymen in gorgeous robes made a more solemn, but not
less attractive show. The trade-guilds were out in their best clothing,
bearing the tools of their trades instead of arms. Clowns in motley,
merry-makers of all kinds, great city dignitaries, lords and
commons--everybody, in short, made a mad and merry holiday; and at night
the houses were illuminated, and great bonfires were lighted in the
streets.
All England was wild with joy; but the happiest person in the land was
Richard Plantagenet, a boy eleven years of age. Indeed, it was for this
boy's sake and in his honor that all this feasting and merry-making went
on, for on that day young Richard was crowned King of England; and in
those times a king of England was a much more important person than now,
because the people had not then learned to govern themselves, and the
king had powers which Englishmen would not allow any man to have in our
time.
Richard was too young to govern wisely, and so a council was appointed
to help him until he should grow up; but in the meantime he was a real
king, boy as he was, and it is safe to say that he was the happiest boy
in England on that July day, when all London took a holiday in his
honor.
But if he had known what this crowning was to lead to, young Richard
might have been very glad to change places with any baker's or butcher's
boy in London. The boy king had some uncles and cousins who were very
great people, and who gave him no little trouble after a while. He had
wars on his hands, too, and needed a great deal more money than the
people were willing to give him; and so, when he grew older and took the
government into his own hands, he found troubles all around him. The
Irish people rebelled frequently; the Scotch were hostile; there was
trouble with Spain because Richard's uncle wanted to become king of that
country, and there was a standing war with France.
But this was not all. In order to carry on these wars the king was
obliged to have money; and when he ordered taxes to be collected the
common people, led by Wat Tyler, rose in rebellion. They marched into
London, seized the Tower, and put to death the treasurer of the kingdom,
the Archbishop of Canterbury, and many other persons high in the
government. Tyler was so insolent one day that the Lord Mayor of London
killed him; but the boy king, who was only sixteen years old, seeing
that the rebels were too strong for him, put himself at their head, and
marched with them out of the city; and so the king, against whom the
rebellion was made, became the leader of the rebels. As soon as matters
grew quiet, however, he broke all the promises he had made, and punished
the chief rebels very harshly.
Not long after this one of the king's uncles made himself master of the
kingdom by force, and it was several years before Richard could put him
out of power.
But the greatest of all Richard's troubles were yet to come. His cousin,
Henry Bolingbroke, the son of old John of Gaunt, had misbehaved, and
Richard had sent him out of England, not to return for ten years. But
while Richard was in Ireland putting down a rebellion there, Henry came
back to England, raised an army, and was joined by many of the most
powerful men in the kingdom. When Richard came back from Ireland Henry
made him a prisoner, and not long afterwards the great men made up their
minds to set up Henry as the king instead of Richard. They made Richard
sign a paper giving up his right to the crown, and then, to make the
matter sure, Parliament passed a law that Richard should be king no
longer.
Richard was only thirty-three years old when all this was done, but
after so many troubles he might well have been glad to give up his
kingship, if that had been the end of the matter. But a king who has
been set aside is always a dangerous man to have in the kingdom, and it
would not do to let Richard go free. He might gather his friends around
him and give trouble. So it was decided that the unfortunate man should
be shut up in a prison for the rest of his life.
But even this was not the worst of the matter. Richard had a wife--Queen
Isabella--whom he loved very dearly, and if the two could have gone away
together into some quiet place to live, they might still have been happy
in spite of being under guard all the time. But the new king would not
have it so. He gave orders that Richard should be shut up closely in a
prison, and that Isabella should go back to France, where Richard had
married her.
This was a terrible thing for the young man and his younger wife, who
might have had a long life of happiness still before them if Richard
had never been a king. But Richard had been King of England, and so he
had to give up both his freedom and his wife.
In his play of "King Richard the Second" Shakespeare makes a very
touching scene of their parting. In the play their farewell takes place
in the street, as shown in our picture. Isabella, anxious to see her
husband once more before they part forever, waits at a point which she
knows he must pass on his way to prison. There they meet and talk
together for the last time on earth. The words which Shakespeare puts
into their mouths are terribly sad, but very beautiful. You will find
the scene at the beginning of Act V. of the play. The picture shows the
two at the moment when Richard moves away to his prison, leaving
Isabella to mourn for him in a nunnery for the rest of her life.
It is not certainly known what became of Richard after he was taken to
prison. It is believed that he was murdered there--perhaps starved to
death--but there is a story that he got away and lived in Scotland,
dying there in 1419. It is not at all likely that the story is true,
however, and the common belief has always been that he died or was
killed in Pontefract Castle, where he was imprisoned.
[Illustration: THE PARTING BETWEEN KING RICHARD II. AND QUEEN ISABELLA.]
However that may be, Richard's life was a terribly unhappy one, and all
his sorrows grew out of the fact that he was a king. If he could have
looked forward on that July day when the people were making merry in his
honor, and could have known all that was to happen to him, instead of
being the happiest boy in England on his coronation day, he would have
been the most wretched.
TWO OBSCURE HEROES.
HOW THE PARTISAN WARFARE IN THE CAROLINAS WAS BEGUN.
When the British marched up from Savannah and took Charleston, in the
spring of 1780, they thought the Revolution was at an end in the
Southern States, and it really seemed so. Even the patriots thought it
was useless to resist any longer, and so when the British ordered all
the people to come together at different places and enrol themselves as
British subjects, most of them were ready to do it, simply because they
thought they could not help themselves.
Only a few daring men here and there were bold enough to think of
refusing, and but for them the British could have set up the royal power
again in South Carolina, and then they would have been free to take
their whole force against the patriots farther north. The fate of the
whole country depended, to a large extent, upon the courage of the few
men who would not give up even at such a time, but kept up the fight
against all odds. These brave men forced the British to keep an army in
the South which they needed farther north.
The credit of beginning this kind of partisan warfare belongs chiefly to
two or three plain men, who did it simply because they loved their
country more than their ease.
The man who first began it was Justice Gaston--a white-haired patriot
who lived on a little stream called Fishing Creek, near Rocky Mount. He
was eighty years of age, and might well have thought himself too old to
care about war matters; but he was a brave man and a patriot, and the
people who lived near him were in the habit of taking his advice and
doing as he did.
When the news came that Tarleton had killed a band of patriots under
Colonel Buford in cold blood Justice Gaston called his nine sons and
many of his nephews around him. Joining hands, these young men promised
each other that they never would take the British oath, and never would
give up the cause, come what might.
Soon afterwards a British force came to the neighborhood, and all the
people were ordered to meet at Rocky Mount to enrol their names and take
the oath. One of the British officers went to see Justice Gaston, and
tried to persuade him that it was folly to refuse. He knew that if
Gaston advised the people to give up, there would be no trouble; but the
white-haired patriot told him to his face that he would never take the
oath himself or advise anybody else to do so.