Part 16

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 _maître d'hôtel_, 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 Dauphiné, and the Duke of Savoy decreed that royal honours should be paid to it on its mournful journey. When it reached Dauphiné, 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.

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 auroræ, or northern lights, flicker in the sky, the inhabitants of the Shetland Isles call them, "the merry dancers."

The gold finers were very glad that they stopped on their way at the Orkneys, for in one of the islands they found a mine of silver. The vessels only stayed there one day, however, and then put out to sea, now drifting to the north and now to the west, as the wind shifted. They were seventy-six days without sight of land, but they met on their way trunks of trees, and monstrous fishes and fowls. At length the wind was prosperous, and they came to Greenland, where the sea near the coast was again full of drift ice. One day whilst they were cruising about here they dropped a hook into the sea, and caught an enormous fish called a halibut, which is said to have furnished a whole day's food for the ship's company. It must have been a very large fish to have dined and supped 140 persons. All along the dreary shores the only living creatures they saw were some little birds. The weather, being very cold and stormy they made for Frobisher's Straits, and came again to the smaller of Hall's Islands, where the ore had been taken up the year before, but they only found this time one little piece. On the large island, however, they found plenty of what they supposed to be gold, and Frobisher, with forty gentlemen and soldiers, ascended a steep hill, and planting a column or cross upon it, he sounded a trumpet, and called the place Mount Warwick, after the good earl. Then they knelt down in a ring, and said their prayers and thanksgivings. As they were going back to their boats, they saw a number of savages making signs to them from the top of the hill, as if they wished to be friendly, but Frobisher, remembering the fate of the five mariners, did not feel inclined to trust them, and he only held up two of his fingers to signify that two of their men should advance towards two of his own. This was done, and then they began to be more confident of each other's designs. The people here had a very odd way of bartering their wares: they would bring sealskins and raw flesh and lay them on the ground, and make signs that the strangers should do the same with the things they meant to exchange. Then they went away, and if they liked the toys and the beads they saw on the ground, they came back in a little while and took them up, leaving their own wares behind them; and if they did not like them, they gathered up their property and departed.

After passing through many dangers and tempests Frobisher found a bay which he thought would be a good harbour for his ships, and he landed with his gold finers on a little island, where all the sands and cliffs glittered so brightly, that they thought they had indeed come to a land of gold. But when they tried it, to their great disappointment it turned out to be only black-lead. In the same sound they came to a small island, to which they gave the name of Smith's Island, because the smith belonging to the ship's company first set up his forge there. Here they found a mine of silver, but they had a great deal of trouble to get it out of the rocks.

Soon after this Frobisher marched upon the southern shore of the strait in search of ore with all his best men, and when he had appointed leaders, and told all those who were to follow them that they must be orderly and persevering, he made every man kneel down and thank God that He had preserved them hitherto from all dangers. Then, with a banner flying, they marched towards the tops of the mountains, which were steep and very difficult to ascend. The whole land was silent; not a human being was to be seen, so they went back to their ships, and landed next on the northern shore. Here they saw people, and found hidden under a stone such things as kettles made of fish-skins, knives of bone, and bridles. One of the savages took a bridle and caught with it a dog belonging to the strangers, to show how dogs were used to draw the sledges.

Five leagues from Bear's Sound, Frobisher found a bay in which he could anchor, near a small island, which he named after the Countess of Warwick, and this was the farthest place he visited that year. There was plenty of ore in it, and Frobisher set the miners to work, and worked hard himself also, that he might encourage the others by his example. And he sent the bark _Michael_, in which he had come to the island, for the _Aid_ and the rest of his people. They were very much astonished to see on the mainland the dwellings of the Esquimaux; these were holes in the ground, shaped like an oven, and were usually made at the foot of a hill for shelter, and opened towards the south. Above ground they built with whalebone, because they had no timber, and covered in the roof of it with sealskins, and strewed moss on the floor for a carpet. Travellers of more recent date describe the huts of the Esquimaux, as the people in these northern regions were called, as being made in the same manner. A winter hut is a hole hollowed out in the earth or snow, like a cellar; a large piece of ice serves for a door, and a lamp burns inside, where the family sleep on the skins of seals and sea-dogs. Close by is a similar hole, where they eat the flesh of whales, seals, and sea-dogs--and all of it raw. The mariners who went with Frobisher tell how the savages ate ice when they were thirsty, and could get no water. Their dogs were not unlike wolves, and were yoked together to draw the sledges; the smaller ones they fattened and kept for eating. Their weapons were made of bone, and their bow-strings of sinews; they clothed themselves in the skins of seals and sea-dogs, and sometimes even in garments made of feathers; for God, in His loving mercy, has given the fowls thicker feathers than those of more southern latitudes, and the animals warmer furs for the comfort of man, just as He has given luscious fruits to refresh his parched lips in tropical countries, and gigantic trees to shelter him from the intense heat of the sun.