Chapter V: Part 5

"When a man owed a debt, and wouldn't pay it, I and my constable ordered our warrant, and then he would take the man, and bring him before me for trial. I would give judgment against him, and then an order for an execution would easily scare the debt out of him. If any one was charged with marking his neighbor's hogs, or with stealing anything,--which happened pretty often in those days,--I would have him taken, and if there was tolerable grounds for the charge, I would have him well whipped, and cleared. We kept this up till our legislature added us to the white settlements in Giles county, and appointed magistrates by law, to organize matters in the parts where I lived. They appointed every man a magistrate who had belonged to our corporation. I was then, of course, made a squire according to law, though now the honor rested more heavily on me than before. For, at first, whenever I told my constable, says I,--'Catch that fellow, and bring him up for trial,' away he went; and the fellow must come, dead or alive; for we considered this a good warrant, though it was only in verbal writings. But after I was appointed by the assembly, they told me my warrants must be in real writing, and signed; and that I must keep a book, and write my proceedings in it. This was a hard business on me, for I could just barely write my own name."

Crockett now rose rapidly; he was elected a colonel in the militia, and, by request of his friends, became a candidate for the state legislature. He made an electioneering tour of nearly three months, addressing the voters at various points. His account of this part of his life is full of wit; and not only throws much light upon western manners, but suggests many keen and sagacious reflections upon the character and conduct of political leaders, seeking the suffrages of the people. His success upon the stump was great, though he confesses he knew nothing about government, and dared not even touch the subject. He told droll stories, however, which answered a better purpose, and in the result, was triumphantly elected. We must not omit to give Crockett's own account of himself at this period.

"A short time after this," says he, "I was in Pulaski, where I met with Colonel Polk, now a member of Congress from Tennessee. He was at that time a member elected to the legislature, as well as myself; and in a large company he said to me, 'Well, Colonel, I suppose we shall have a radical change of the judiciary at the next session of the legislature.' 'Very likely, sir,' says I; and I put out quicker, for I was afraid some one would ask me what the judiciary was; and if I knowed, I wish I may be shot. I don't indeed believe I had ever before heard that there was any such thing in all nature; but still I was not willing that the people there should know how ignorant I was about it. When the time for meeting of the legislature arrived, I went on, and before I had been there long, I could have told what the judiciary was, and what the government was too; and many other things that I had known nothing about before."

Crockett now removed to the borders of the Obion, and settled in the woods, his nearest white neighbor being seven miles off. The country around gradually became peopled, and in the course of a few years he was again put in nomination, without his own consent or knowledge, for the legislature. His antagonist was Dr. Butler, a relative of General Jackson's, and, as Crockett describes him, "a clever fellow, and the most talented man I ever run against, for any office." Two other candidates were in the field, but David beat them all by a handsome majority. This occurred in 1825. In 1827, he was elected to Congress, and re-elected in 1829, by a majority of 3500 votes. No man could at that time stand against him, with hopes of success. In 1831, however, he lost his election, but succeeded in 1833. He was defeated in 1835, and, having gone to Texas, engaged in the defence of Bexar, and was slain in the storming of that place, March 6th, 1836.

The character of David Crockett is by no means to be set up as a model for imitation, yet he was a man of excellent traits of character. Brave, hospitable, honest, patriotic, and sincere, he was the representative of the hardy hunters of the west--a race of men fast fading away, or receding with the remote borders of our western settlements. Destitute of school education, he supplied the defect, in a great degree, by ready wit, and that talent which is developed strongly by the necessities of a hard and hazardous course of life. In civilized society, he retained the marks of his forest breeding, as well as the innate eccentricity of his character, and became conspicuous as one of those humorists, whom nothing can change from their original conformation.

DANIEL BOONE.

There are few names in the West better known, or more respected, than that of Colonel Daniel Boone. He is regarded as the founder of Kentucky, and in his character, was a good specimen of the early settler, who united in his own person the offices of hunter and husbandman, soldier and statesman. He was born in Pennsylvania, in the year 1746, and in his boyhood gave earnest of his future career, by his surpassing skill in the use of a gun, as exercised against squirrels, raccoons, and wild-cats.

A love of hunting became his ruling passion, and he would wander, for whole days alone, through the woods, seeming to take great delight in these rambles, even if he found no game. One morning, when he was about fourteen years old, he was observed, as usual, to throw the band that suspended his shot bag, over the shoulder, and go forth, accompanied by his dog. Night came, but, to the astonishment and alarm of his parents, the boy came not. Another day and another night passed, and still he did not return. The nearest neighbors, sympathizing with the distressed parents, who considered him lost, at length turned out, to aid in finding him.

After a long and weary search, a smoke was seen arising from a temporary hovel of sods and branches, at a distance of a league from any plantation, in which the astonished father found his child; he was, apparently, most comfortably occupied in making an experiment in housekeeping. Numerous skins of wild animals were stretched upon his cabin, as trophies of his hunting prowess. Ample fragments of their flesh were around--either thrown aside or prepared for cookery.

A few years after this, Boone removed, with his father, to North Carolina, where they founded a settlement upon the banks of the Yadkin. The country was new, and almost totally uninhabited; the game was abundant, and afforded ample scope for young Boone's talents as a hunter. One night, he went out with a friend, upon what is called a _fire hunt_, the object of which was to shoot deer. In this sport, an iron pan, filled with blazing knots of pitch pine, is carried by one of the sportsmen. This casts a ruddy glare deep into the forest; and the deer, as if bound by a spell of enchantment, stands still, and gazes at the unwonted apparition. The lustrous eye of the animal is easily seen by the hunter, and thus becomes a mark for the rifle.

On the present occasion, the two hunters had reached the corner of a farmer's field early in the evening, when Boone's companion, who held the fire pan, gave the signal that he _shined_ the eyes of a deer. Boone approached with his ready rifle, and, perceiving the glistening eyes, was about to fire, when the deer suddenly retreated. He pursued, and, after a rapid chase through the woods, came suddenly out at the farmer's house. What was the young hunter's astonishment then to discover that the object upon which he had levelled his rifle a few minutes before, was a beautiful girl of sixteen, and the daughter of the farmer! Boone could do no less than enter the house. The scene that followed is thus described by the biographer:

"The ruddy, flaxen-haired girl stood full in view of her terrible pursuer, leaning upon his rifle, and surveying her with the most eager admiration. 'Rebecca, this is young Boone, son of our neighbor,' was the laconic introduction, offered by the father. Both were young, beautiful, and at the period when the affections exercise their most energetic influence. The circumstances of the introduction were favorable to the result, and the young hunter felt that the eyes of the deer had _shined_ his bosom as fatally as his rifle-shot had ever done the innocent deer of the thickets.

"She, too, when she saw the high, open, bold forehead--the clear, keen, yet gentle and affectionate eye--the firm front, and the visible impress of decision and fearlessness of the hunter; when she interpreted a look, which said, as distinctly as looks could say it, 'how terrible it would have been to have fired!' she can hardly be supposed to have regarded him with indifference. Nor can it be wondered at that she saw in him her _beau ideal_ of excellence and beauty.

"The inhabitants of cities, who live in splendid mansions, and read novels stored with unreal pictures of life and the heart, are apt to imagine that love, with all its golden illusions, is reserved exclusively for them. It is a most egregious mistake. A model of ideal beauty and perfection is woven in almost every youthful heart, of the finest and most brilliant threads that compose the web of existence. It may not be said that this forest maiden was deeply and foolishly smitten at first sight. All reasonable time and space were granted to the claims of maidenly modesty. As for Boone, he was incurably wounded by her, whose eyes he had _shined_, and as he was remarkable for the backwoods' attribute of never being beaten out of his track, he ceased not to woo, until he gained the heart of Rebecca Bryan. In a word, he courted her successfully, and they were married."

Boone removed with his wife to the head waters of the Yadkin, where he remained for several years, engaged in the quiet pursuits of a husbandman. But in process of time, the country was settled around him, and the restraints of orderly society became established. These were disagreeable to his love of unbounded liberty, and he began to think of seeking a new home in the yet unoccupied wilderness. Having heard an account of Kentucky from a man by the name of Finley, who had made an expedition thither, he determined to explore the country. Accordingly, in 1769, he set out with four associates, and soon, bidding adieu to the habitations of man, plunged into the boundless forest.

They ascended and crossed the Alleganies, and at last stood on the western summit of the Cumberland Ridge. What a scene opened before them!--the illimitable forest, as yet unbroken by civilized man, and occupied only by savage beasts and more savage men. Yet it bore the marks of the highest fertility. Trees of every form, and touched with every shade of verdure, rose to an unwonted height on every side. In the distance, broad rivers flashed beneath the sun. How little did these hunters imagine that this noble country, within the compass of fifty years, was to be dotted with villages, and crowned with cities!

The party proceeded in their march. They met with an abundance of every species of game. The buffalo occupied the plains by thousands; and on one occasion, the whole party came near being crushed by a herd of these animals, that came rushing like a torrent across a prairie.

They spent the summer in the woods, and in December divided themselves into two parties, for the purpose of extending their means of observation. Boone and Stewart formed one division of the party. As they proceeded toward the Kentucky river, they were never out of sight of buffaloes, deer and wild turkeys. While they were one day leisurely descending a hill, the Indian yell suddenly broke upon their ears; a moment after, they were surrounded by savages, who sprung up from the cane-brakes around, and made them captives. Their hands were bound, and they were compelled to march, a long distance, to the Indian camp. On the second night, they escaped, and returned to the place where they expected to meet their former companions. These, it appears, had returned to Kentucky. That very day, however, Boone's brother arrived with a single companion, having made his way through the trackless forest, from his residence on the Yadkin.

The four adventurers now devoted themselves to hunting; but, one day, while they were out, Boone and Stewart, being separated from their companions, were attacked by Indians, and the latter was shot dead by an arrow. Boone, with some difficulty, escaped to the camp. A short time after this, the companion of the elder Boone wandered into the woods, and was lost. The two brothers sought for him with anxious care, and at last found traces of blood and fragments of his clothes in the vicinity of a place where they had heard the howling of wolves. There was little doubt that he had fallen a sacrifice to these terrible animals. Boone and his brother were now the only white men west of the mountains, yet their spirits were not damped by their condition or by the sad fate which had befallen their companions. They hunted by day; cooked their game, sat by their bright fires and sung the airs of their country at night. They also devoted much of their time to the preparation of a cabin for the approaching winter.

This came at length and passed away; but they were now in want of many things, especially ammunition, which was beginning to fail them. After long consultation, it was agreed that the elder Boone should return to North Carolina, and bring back ammunition, horses, and supplies.

The character of Daniel Boone, in consenting to be left alone in the wilderness, surrounded by perils from the Indians and wild beasts, of which he had so recently and terribly been made aware, appears in its true light. We have heard of a Robinson Crusoe, made so by the necessities of shipwreck; but all history can scarcely furnish another instance of a man, voluntarily consenting to be left alone among savages and wild beasts, seven hundred miles from the nearest white inhabitants.

The separation at last came. The elder brother disappeared in the forest, and Daniel Boone was left in the cabin, entirely alone. Their only dog followed the departing brother, and our hunter had nothing but his unconquerable spirit to sustain him during the long and lonely days and nights, visited by the remembrance of his distant wife and children.

To prevent the recurrence of dark and lonely thoughts, soon after his brother's departure, Boone set out on a tour of observation, and made an excursion to the Ohio river. He returned at last to his camp, which he found undisturbed. From this point he continued to make trips into the woods, in which he met with a variety of adventures. It was in May that his brother left him, and late in July he returned, with two horses and an abundant supply of needful articles. He brought also the welcome intelligence of the welfare of his brother's family and their kind remembrance of him.

The two brothers now set about selecting a situation for a settlement, where they intended to bring their families. One day, as they were passing through the woods, they saw a herd of buffaloes in great uproar. They were running, plunging, and bellowing, as if roused to fury. The hunters approached the throng, and perceived that a panther had leaped upon the back of one of these huge animals, and was gnawing away the flesh. The buffalo, maddened by the agony, dashed among the herd, and these were soon thrown into wild confusion. Boone picked his flint, took a deliberate aim, and fired; the panther fell from his seat, and the herd passed on.

We cannot pursue the history of our hero, in all its adventurous details. We have told enough to display the leading traits of his character, and we must now hasten on, only noting the principal events. He returned with his brother to North Carolina, and in September, 1773, commenced his removal to Kentucky, with his own family and five others, for the purpose of settling there. They were joined by forty men, who placed themselves under Boone's guidance. On their route they were attacked by the Indians; six of the men were killed, and the cattle were dispersed. The emigrants, therefore, returned as far as Clinch river, where they made a temporary settlement.

In 1775, Boone assisted in building a fort at a place which was called Boonesburgh, and when completed, he removed his family thither. Two years after, he here sustained two formidable sieges from the Indians, whom he repulsed. In the following year he was taken while hunting, by the savages, and carried to Detroit. He escaped, and at last returned to his family. Again the fort was invested by the Indians and Canadian Frenchmen, four hundred and fifty strong. Boone, with fifty men, held out, and finally the assailants withdrew. This was the last attack upon Boonesburgh.

In 1792, Kentucky was admitted into the Union as a state, and soon after, Boone, being involved in one of the innumerable law-suits which were about this time inflicted upon Kentucky, was deprived of his whole estate by an adverse decision. The indignation of the old hunter, at first, knew no bounds; but his tranquillity soon returned. He was, however, thoroughly disgusted with civilized society, and determined again, though gray with years, to find a home in the unbroken forest.

In 1798, having obtained a grant of two thousand acres of land from the Spanish authorities in upper Louisiana, now Missouri, he removed thither with his family, and settled at Charette. Here he devoted himself to his familiar pursuits of hunting and trapping, and in September, 1822, he died, being in his eighty-fifth year.

CHARLES XII. OF SWEDEN.

Charles XII. was born on the 27th June, 1682. He was the son of Charles XI., a harsh and despotic prince. From his earliest years, he glowed to imitate the heroic character of Alexander, and, in his eagerness to reign, caused himself to be declared king of Sweden at the age of fifteen. At his coronation, he boldly seized the crown from the hands of the archbishop of Upsal, and set it on his own head.

His youth seemed to invite the attacks of his neighbors, of Poland, Denmark and Russia; but Charles, unawed by the prospect of hostilities, and though scarcely eighteen, determined to assail his enemies, one after the other. He besieged Copenhagen, and, by his vigorous measures, so terrified the Danish monarch, that, in less than six weeks, he obliged him to sue for peace.

From humbled Denmark, he marched against the Russians; and though at the head of only eight thousand men, he attacked the enemy who were besieging Narva with one hundred thousand men. The conflict was dreadful; thirty thousand were slain, twenty thousand asked for quarter, and the rest were taken or destroyed; while the Swedes had only twelve hundred killed, and eight hundred wounded. From Narva, the victorious monarch advanced into Poland, defeated the Saxons who opposed his march, and obliged the Polish king, in suing for peace, to renounce his crown and acknowledge Stanislaus for his successor.

It was a disgraceful condition of the treaty made with Augustus that he should give up Reinhold Patkul, a Polish nobleman, to the Swedish king. This patriot had nobly defended the liberties of his country against its enemies, and to escape the consequences, when Poland had fallen, went to Russia, and entered into the service of the Czar. Peter sent him as ambassador to Poland, and Augustus delivered him up to Charles. He was taken to Stockholm, tried as a rebel and traitor, and broke on the wheel. Such was the justice, such the mercy, of the chivalrous Charles XII.!

Fixing his head quarters near Leipsic, with a victorious army of fifty thousand veteran Swedes, he now attracted the attention of all Europe. He received ambassadors from the principal powers, and even the Duke of Marlborough paid him a visit to induce him to join the allies against Louis XIV. But Charles had other views, which were to dethrone his rival, Peter of Russia. Accordingly, after adjusting various matters, he proceeded to the north, with forty-three thousand men, in September, 1707.

In January, he defeated the Russians in Lithuania, and in June, 1708, met Peter on the banks of the Berezina. The Swedes crossed the river, and the Russians fled. Charles pursued them as far as Smolensk; but in September he began to experience the real difficulties of a Russian campaign. The country was desolate, the roads wretched, the winter approaching, and the army had hardly provisions for a fortnight. Charles, therefore, abandoned his plan of marching upon Moscow, and turned to the south towards the Ukraine, where Mazeppa, hetman or chief of the Cossacks, had agreed to join him against Peter.

Charles advanced towards the river Desna, an affluent of the Dnieper, which it joins near Kiew; but he missed his way among the extensive marshes which cover a great part of the country, and in which almost all his artillery and wagons were lost. Meantime, the Russians had dispersed Mazeppa's Cossacks, and Mazeppa himself came to join Charles as a fugitive with a small body of followers. Lowenhaupt, also, who was coming from Poland with fifteen thousand men, was defeated by Peter in person.

Charles thus found himself in the wilds of the Ukraine, hemmed in by the Russians, without provisions, and the winter setting in with unusual severity. His army, thinned by cold, hunger, fatigue and the sword, was now reduced to twenty-four thousand men. In this condition, he passed the winter in the Ukraine, his army subsisting chiefly by the exertions of Mazeppa. In the spring, with eighteen thousand Swedes and as many Cossacks, he laid siege to the town of Pultowa, where the Russians had collected large stores. During the siege, he was severely wounded in the foot; and soon after, Peter himself appeared to relieve Pultowa, at the head of seventy thousand men. Charles had now no choice but to risk a general battle, which was fought on the 8th of July, 1709, and ended in the total defeat of the Swedes.

At the close of the battle, Charles was placed on horseback, and, attended by about five hundred horse, who cut their way through more than ten Russian regiments, was conducted, for the space of a league, to the baggage of the Swedish army. In the flight, the king's horse was killed under him, and he was placed upon another. They selected a coach from the baggage, put Charles in it, and fled towards the Borysthenes with the utmost precipitation. He was silent for a time, but, at last, made some inquiries. Being informed of the fatal result of the battle, he said, cheerfully, "Come then, let us go to the Turks."

While he was making his escape, the Russians seized his artillery in the camp before Pultowa, his baggage and his military chest, in which they found six millions in specie, the spoils of Poland and Saxony. Nine thousand men, partly Swedes and partly Cossacks, were killed in the battle, and about six thousand were taken prisoners. There still remained about sixteen thousand men, including the Swedes, Poles and Cossacks, who fled towards the Borysthenes, under conduct of General Lowenhaupt.

He marched one way with his fugitive troops, and the king took another with some of his horse. The coach in which he rode broke down by the way, and they again set him on horseback. To complete his misfortune, he was separated from his troops and wandered all night in the woods; here, his courage being no longer able to support his exhausted spirits, the pain of his wound became more intolerable from fatigue, and his horse falling under him through excessive weariness, he lay some hours, at the foot of a tree, in danger of being surprised every moment by the conquerors, who were searching for him on every side.

At last, on the 10th July, at night, Charles reached the banks of the Borysthenes. Lowenhaupt had just arrived with the shattered remains of his army. It was with a mixture of joy and sorrow that the Swedes beheld their king, whom they had supposed dead. The victorious enemy was now approaching. The Swedes had neither a bridge to pass the river, nor time to make one, nor powder to defend themselves, nor provisions to support an army which had eaten nothing for two days. But more than all this, Charles was reduced to a state of extreme weakness by his wound, and was no longer himself. They carried him along like a sick person, in a state of insensibility.

Happily there was at hand a sorry calash, which by chance the Swedes had brought along with them; this they put on board a little boat, and the king and General Mazeppa embarked in another. The latter had saved several coffers of money; but the current being rapid, and a violent wind beginning to blow, the Cossacks threw more than three fourths of his treasure overboard to lighten the boat. Thus the king crossed the river, together with a small troop of horse, belonging to his guards, who succeeded in swimming the river. Every foot soldier who attempted to cross the stream was drowned.

Guided by the dead carcasses of the Swedes, that thickly strewed their path, a detachment of the Russian army came upon the fugitives. Some of the Swedes, reduced to despair, threw themselves into the river, while others took their own lives. The remainder capitulated, and were made slaves. Thousands of them were dispersed over Siberia, and never again returned to their country. In this barbarous region, rendered ingenious through necessity, they exercised trades and employments, of which they had not before the least idea.

All the distinctions which fortune had formerly established between them before, were now banished. The officer, who could not follow any trade, was obliged to cleave and carry wood for the soldier, now turned tailor, clothier, joiner, mason, or goldsmith, and who got a subsistence by his labors. Some of the officers became painters, and others architects; some of them taught the languages and mathematics. They even established some public schools, which in time became so useful and famous, that the citizens of Moscow sent their children thither for education.

The Swedish army, which had left Saxony in such a triumphant manner, was now no more. Three fourths had perished in battle, or by starvation, and the rest were slaves. Charles XII. had lost the fruit of nine years' labor, and almost one hundred battles. He had escaped in a wretched calash, attended by a small troop. These followed, some on foot, some on horseback, and others in wagons, through a desert, where neither huts, tents, men, beasts, nor roads were to be seen. Everything was wanting, even water itself.

It was now the beginning of July; the country lay in the forty-seventh degree of latitude; the dry sand of the desert rendered the heat of the sun the more insupportable; the horses fell by the way, and the men were ready to die with thirst. A brook of muddy water, which they found towards evening, was all they met with; they filled some bottles with this water, which saved the lives of the king's troops.

Triumphing over incredible difficulties, Charles and his little guard at last reached Benda, in the Turkish territory. He was hospitably received by the governor; and the sultan, Achmet III., gave orders that he should have entertainment and protection. He now attempted to induce the sultan to engage in his cause, but the Russian agents at the Turkish court produced an impression against him, and orders were sent to the governor of Benda, to compel the king to depart, and in case he refused, to bring him, living or dead, to Adrianople.

Little used to obey, Charles determined to resist. Having but two or three hundred men, he still disposed them in the best manner he could, and when attacked by the whole force of the Turkish army, he only yielded step by step. His house at last took fire, yet the king and his soldiers still resisted. When, involved in flames and smoke, he was about to abandon it, his spurs became entangled, and he fell and was taken prisoner. His eyelashes were singed by powder and his clothes were covered with blood. He was now removed to Demotica, near Adrianople. Here he spent two months in bed, feigning sickness, and employed in reading and writing.

Convinced, at last, that he could expect no assistance from the Porte, he set off, in disguise, with two officers. Accustomed to every deprivation, he pursued his journey on horseback, through Hungary and Germany, day and night, with such haste, that only one of his attendants was able to keep up with him. Exhausted and haggard, he arrived before Stralsund, about one o'clock, on the night of the 11th November, 1714.

Pretending to be a courier with important despatches from Turkey, he caused himself to be immediately introduced to the commandant, Count Dunker, who questioned him concerning the king, without recognising him till he began to speak, when he sprang, joyfully from his bed, and embraced the knees of his master. The report of Charles' arrival spread rapidly through the city. The houses were illuminated, and every demonstration of joy was exhibited.

A combined army of Danes, Saxons, Russians and Prussians now invested Stralsund. Charles performed miracles of bravery in its defence, but was obliged, at last, to surrender the fortress. Various events now took place, and negotiations were entered into for pacification with Russia. In the mean time, Charles had laid siege to Friedrichshall, in Norway. On the 3d of November, 1718, while in the trenches, and leaning against the parapet, examining the workmen, he was struck on the head by a cannon ball, and instantly killed. He was found dead in the same position, his hand on his sword; in his pocket were the portrait of Gustavus Adolphus, and a prayer-book. It is probable that the fatal ball was fired, not from the hostile fortress, but from the Swedish side; his adjutant, Siguier, has been accused as an accomplice in his murder.

The life of Charles XII. presents a series of marvellous events, yet his character inspires us with little respect or sympathy. He aspired only to be a military hero, and to reign by the power of his arms. He had the bravery, perseverance, and decision suited to the soldier, and that utter selfishness, and recklessness of human life and happiness, which are necessary ingredients in the character of a mere warrior. His cheerfulness in adversity, and his patient endurance of pain and privation, were counterbalanced by obstinacy, amounting almost to insanity. Charles had, indeed, the power of attaching friends strongly to his person; and there is something almost sublime in the utter disregard of comfort, pleasure, and even life, displayed by his soldiers and officers, in their care of his person, and their obedience to his commands. Yet, however elevating may be the sentiment of loyalty, we cannot feel that, in the present instance, it was bestowed upon a worthy object.

THE CID.

This celebrated hero of Spanish history has been for more than eight centuries the theme of eulogy and song, and doubtless his wonderful achievements and romantic fame have contributed to kindle an emulous flame in many a youthful bosom, and to stir up even a nation to the resistance of oppression. It is by no means improbable that many of the deeds of valor and patriotic devotion witnessed during the invasion of Spain by Napoleon's armies, had their source in the name and fame of the Cid. In one of the numerous ballads which recount his history, and which are among the popular poetry of Spain to this day, he is addressed in the following vigorous lines:--

"Mighty victor, never vanquished,
Bulwark of our native land,
Shield of Spain, her boast and glory,
Knight of the far-dreaded brand,
Venging scourge of Moors and traitors,
Mighty thunderbolt of war,
Mirror bright of chivalry,
Ruy, my Cid Campeador!"

This chivalrous knight was born at Burgos, in the year 1025. His name was Rodrigo, or Ruy Diaz, Count of Bivar. He was called the _Cid_, which means lord; and the name of _Campeador_, or champion without an equal, was appropriated as his peculiar title. At this period, the greater part of the Peninsula was in the hands of the Arabs or Moors, who had invaded them three centuries before. The few Goths who had remained unconquered among the mountains, maintained a constant warfare upon the infidels, and by the time of which we speak, they had recovered a large portion of the country lying in the northwestern quarter. This territory was divided into several petty kingdoms, or counties, the principal of which, at the time of our hero's birth, were united under Ferdinand I., the founder of the kingdom of Castile. The rest of the Peninsula, subject to the Arabs, was also divided into petty kingdoms.

The father of Rodrigo, Don Diego Lainez, was the representative of an ancient, wealthy, and noble race. When our hero was a mere stripling, his father was grossly insulted by the haughty and powerful Count of Gormaz, Don Lozano Gomez, who smote him in the face, in the very presence of the king and court. The dejection of the worthy hidalgo, who was very aged, and therefore incapable of taking personal vengeance for his wrong, is thus strongly depicted in one of the ballads:--

"Sleep was banished from his eyelids;
Not a mouthful could he taste;
There he sat with downcast visage,--
Direly had he been disgraced.

Never stirred he from his chamber;
With no friends would he converse,
Lest the breath of his dishonor
Should pollute them with its curse."

When young Rodrigo, the son, was informed of the indignity offered to his father, he was greatly incensed, and determined to avenge it. He accordingly took down an old sword, which had been the instrument of mighty deeds in the hands of his ancestors, and, mounting a horse, proceeded to challenge the haughty Count Gomez, in the following terms:--

"How durst thou to smite my father?
Craven caitiff! know that none
Unto him shall do dishonor,
While I live, save God alone.

For this wrong, I must have vengeance,--
Traitor, here I thee defy!
With thy blood alone my sire
Can wash out his infamy!"

The count despised his youth, and refused his challenge; but the boy set bravely upon him, and, after a fierce conflict, was victorious. He bore the bleeding head of his antagonist to his father, who greeted him with rapture. His fame was soon spread abroad, and he was reckoned among the bravest squires of the time.

But now there appeared before king Ferdinand and the court of Burgos the lovely Ximena, daughter of the Count Gomez, demanding vengeance of the sovereign for the death of her father. She fell on her knees at the king's feet, crying for justice.

"Justice, king! I sue for justice--
Vengeance on a traitorous knight;
Grant it me! so shall thy children
Thrive, and prove thy soul's delight."

When she had spoken these words, her eye fell on Rodrigo, who stood among the attendant nobles, and she exclaimed,--

"Thou hast slain the best and bravest
That e'er set a lance in rest,
Of our holy faith the bulwark,--
Terror of each Paynim breast.

Traitorous murderer, slay me also!
Though a woman, slaughter me!
Spare not! I'm Ximena Gomez,
Thine eternal enemy!

Here's my heart,--smite, I beseech thee!
Smite! and fatal be thy blow!
Death is all I ask, thou caitiff,--
Grant this boon unto thy foe."

Not a word, however, did Rodrigo reply, but, seizing the bridle of his steed, he vaulted into the saddle, and rode slowly away. Ximena turned to the crowd of nobles, and seeing that none prepared to follow him and take up her cause, she cried aloud, "Vengeance, sirs, I pray you vengeance!" A second time did the damsel disturb the king, when at a banquet, with her cries for justice. She had now a fresh complaint.

"Every day at early morning,
To despite me more, I wist,
He who slew my sire doth ride by,
With a falcon on his fist.

At my tender dove he flies it;
Many of them hath it slain.
See, their blood hath dyed my garments,
With full many a crimson stain."

Rodrigo, however, was not punished, and the king suspected that this conduct of the young count was only typical of his purpose to hawk at the lady himself, and make her the captive of love. He was therefore left to pursue his career; and he soon performed an achievement which greatly increased his fame. Five Moorish chiefs or kings, and their attendants, had made a foray into the Castilian territories, and, being unresisted, were bearing off immense booty and many captives. Rodrigo, though still a youth under twenty, mounted his horse, Babieca, as famous in his story as is Bucephalus in that of Alexander, hastily gathered a host of armed men, and fell suddenly upon the Moors, among the mountains of Oca. He routed them with great slaughter, captured the five kings, and recovered all that they had taken.

The spoil he divided among his followers, but reserved the kings for his own share, and carried them home to his castle of Bivar, to present them, as proofs of his prowess, to his mother. With his characteristic generosity, which was conspicuous even at this early age, he then set them at liberty, on their agreeing to pay him tribute; and they departed to their respective territories, lauding his valor and magnanimity.

The fame of this exploit soon spread far and wide, through the land, and as martial valor in those chivalrous times was the surest passport to ladies' favor, it must have had its due effect on Ximena's mind, and will, in a great measure, account for the entire change in her sentiments towards the youth, which she manifested on another visit to Burgos. Falling on her knees before the king, she spoke thus:--

"I am daughter of Don Gomez,
Count of Gormaz was he hight;
Him Rodrigo by his valor
Did o'erthrow in mortal fight.

King! I come to crave a favor--
This the boon for which I pray,
That thou give me this Rodrigo
For my wedded lord this day.

Grant this precious boon, I pray thee;
'Tis a duty thou dost owe;
For the great God hath commanded
That we should forgive a foe."

There is a touch of nature in all this, that is quite amusing: while the lady's anger burns, she cries for justice; when love has taken possession of her heart, she appeals to religion to enforce her wishes. "Now I see," said the king, "how true it is, what I have often heard, that the will of woman is wild and strange. Hitherto this damsel hath sought deadly vengeance on the youth, and now she would have him to husband. Howbeit, with right good will I will grant what she desireth."

He sent at once for Rodrigo, who, with a train of three hundred young nobles, his friends and kinsmen, all arrayed in new armor and robes of brilliant color, obeyed with all speed the royal summons. The king rode forth to meet him, "for right well did he love Rodrigo," and opened the matter to him, promising him great honors and much land if he would make Ximena his bride. Rodrigo, who desired nothing better, and who doubtless had hoped for this issue, at once acquiesced.

"King and lord! right well it pleaseth
Me thy wishes to fulfil:
In this thing, as in all others,
I obey thy sovereign will."

The young pair then plighted their troth in presence of the king, and in pledge thereof gave him their hands. He kept his promise, and gave Rodrigo Valduerna, Saldana, Belforado, and San Pedro de Cardena, for a marriage portion.

The wedding was attended by vast pomp and great festivities. Rodrigo, sumptuously attired, went with a long procession to the church. After a while, Ximena came, with a veil over her head and her hair dressed in large plaits, hanging over her ears. She wore an embroidered gown of fine London cloth, and a close-fitting spencer. She walked on high-heeled clogs of red leather. A necklace of eight medals or plates of gold, with a small pendent image of St. Michael, which together were "worth a city," encircled her white neck.

The happy pair met, seized each other's hands, and embraced. Then said Rodrigo, with great emotion, as he gazed on his bride,--

"I did slay thy sire, Ximena,
But, God wot, not traitorously;
'Twas in open fight I slew him:
Sorely had he wronged me.

A man I slew,--a man I give thee,--
Here I stand thy will to bide!
Thou, in place of a dead father,
Hast a husband at thy side."

All approved well his prudence,
And extolled him with zeal;
Thus they celebrate the nuptials
Of Rodrigo of Castile.

We cannot attend this renowned hero through his long and brilliant career. We must be content to say, that on all occasions he displayed every noble and heroic quality. His life was an almost perpetual strife with the Moors, whom he defeated in many combats. Having collected a considerable force, on one occasion, he penetrated to the southeastern extremity of Arragon, and established himself in a strong castle, still called the Rock of the Cid. He afterwards pushed his victories to the borders of the Mediterranean, and laid siege to the rich and powerful Moorish city of Valencia, which he captured. Here he established his kingdom, and continued to reign till his death, about the year 1099, at the age of seventy-five.

While the Cid was living, his reputation was sufficient to keep the Moors in awe; but when he was dead, their courage revived, and they boldly attacked the Spaniards, even in Valencia, the city where his remains were laid. The Spaniards went forth to meet them; and behold, a warrior, with the well known dress of the Cid, but with the aspect of death, was at their head. The Moors recognised his features, and they fled in superstitious horror, fancying that a miracle had been performed in behalf of the Spaniards. The truth was, however, that the latter had taken him from the tomb, set him on his warhorse, and thus, even after his death, he achieved a victory over his foes. This incident sufficiently attests the wonderful power which the Cid's name exerted, as well over his countrymen as their enemies.

The Spaniards have an immense number of ballads and romances, founded upon the life of this wonderful hero. They all depict him as a noble and high-minded chief, without fear and without reproach, the very _beau ideal_ of a knight of the olden time. Some of these ballads are finely rendered into English by Mr. Lockhart, and they have been published in a style of unsurpassed beauty and splendor.

ROBIN HOOD.

It may seem strange that an outlaw, a thief and a robber, should be a favorite theme of song and of story, and continue to command the respect of mankind for centuries after the period of his existence: yet such is the fact in respect to the subject of the present sketch. He was born at Lockslay, near Nottingham, about the year 1150, and flourished during the time of Richard I. of England.

Nearly a century before this, William of Normandy had conquered England, and established the Norman sway in that realm. The great estates passed into the hands of French chiefs and barons; and while nearly all the higher ranks of society, at the period of which we speak, were French, the other classes consisted of native Saxons. Between these distinct races and orders, a natural jealousy existed, which was in no small degree cherished by the laws and policy of the government, which tended at once to oppress the people and extend the privileges of the nobles.

The game laws, which punished those who should kill game in the royal forests, by putting out the eyes, and other mutilations, excited the deepest indignation. The yeomanry of the country were, at this time, universally trained in the use of the bow, and, notwithstanding the severity of the laws, those living around the king's parks frequently shot the game. These persons were so numerous, that they finally associated together in considerable bands, for mutual protection. Many of them devoted themselves entirely to robbing the parks, and became not only skilful in the use of the bow, but familiar with the recesses and hiding-places of the forests, and expert in every device, either for plunder, concealment, or escape.

Of all the leaders of these several bands, Robin Hood became the most famous; for he was not only bold and skilful in forest craft, but he appears to have been guided by noble and patriotic sentiments. According to one of the many ballads which set forth his adventures, he displayed his courage and dexterity at a very early age.

"Robin Hood would into Nottingham go,
When the summer days were fine,
And there he saw fifteen foresters bold,
A drinking good ale and wine.

'What news? what news?' said bold Robin Hood,
'The news I fain would know;
If our king hath ordered a shooting match,
I am ready with my bow.'"

The foresters stared at him, and said, "We hold it a scorn for one so young, presuming to bear a bow, who is not able to draw a string." "I'll hold you twenty marks," said Robin, "that I will hit a mark a hundred rods off, and cause a hart to die." "We hold you twenty marks, by our lady's leave," replied the foresters, "that you neither hit the mark at that distance, nor kill a hart."

"Then Robin Hood bent his noble bow,
And a broad arrow he let fly;
He hit the mark a hundred rod,
And he caused a hart to die.

The hart did skip, and the hart did leap,
And the hart lay on the ground;
'The wager is mine,' said bold Robin Hood,
'An' 'twere for a thousand pounds.'"

The foresters laughed, and taunted the proud archer, and also refused to pay the twenty marks, and advised him to be gone, lest blows should follow. He picked up his arrows and his bow, and was observed to smile as he retired from these discourteous churls. When at some distance, he paused,--

"Then Robin he bent his noble bow,
And broad arrows he let flye;
Till fourteen of these fifteen foresters
Upon the ground did lye."

Sherwood forest, near Nottingham, was the chief theatre of Robin Hood's achievements. At one time he had no less than a hundred archers at his command, a gallant woodsman, by the name of Little John, being his particular friend and favorite. There was also among the merry crew, a mock friar, by the name of Tuck, who appears to have been full of mirth and humor.

Robin's orders to his men were, always to spare the common people; to aid and assist the weak; to be scrupulous never to injure or insult a woman; to be the friend of the poor, the timid, and the oppressed; but to plunder fat bishops, lazy friars, purse-proud squires, and haughty barons. His system was, to take from the rich, and give to the poor; and while he ever observed this rule himself, he enforced it rigorously among all his followers. His history is full of details in which he illustrates these principles.

Robin became so notorious at last, that a price was offered for his apprehension, and several attempts were made to deliver him up; but his courage and dexterity, or his faithful friends, always saved him. One of the old ballads relates an adventure with a stout tinker, who, among others, sought to capture the redoubted outlaw. According to this story, Robin met him in the greenwood, and bade him good morrow; adding, "pray where live ye, and what is your trade? I hear there are sad news stirring." "Aye, indeed!" answered the other; "I am a tinker, and live at Banbury, and the news of which you speak have not reached me."

"'As for the news,' quoth Robin Hood,
'It is but, as I hear,
Two tinkers were set in the stocks,
For drinking ale and beer.'

'If that be all,' the tinker said,
'As I may say to you,
Your tidings are not worth a groat,
So be they were all true.'"

"Well," said Robin, "I love ale and beer when they are good, with all my heart, and so the fault of thy brethren is small: but I have told all my news; now tell me thine."

"'All the news I have,' the tinker said,
'And they are news for good;
It is to seek the bold outlaw,
Whom men call Robin Hood.

I have a warrant from the king,
To take him where I can,
And if you can tell me where he dwells,
I will make of you a man.'"

"That I can readily do," replied the outlaw; "let me look at the warrant." "Nay, nay," said the tinker, "I'll trust that with no man." "Well," answered the other, "be it as you please; come with me, and I'll show you Robin Hood." To accomplish this, Robin took him to an inn, where the ale and wine were so good and plentiful, and the tinker so thirsty, that he drank till he fell asleep; and when he awoke, he found that the outlaw had not only left him to pay the reckoning, which was beyond his means, but had stolen the king's warrant. "Where is my friend?" exclaimed the tinker, starting up. "Your friend?" said mine host; "why, men call him Robin Hood, and he meant you evil when he met with you." The tinker left his working-bag and hammer as a pledge for the reckoning, and, snatching up his crab-tree club, sallied out after Robin. "You'll find him killing the king's deer, I'll be sworn," shouted the landlord; and, accordingly, among the deer he found him. "What knave art thou," said the outlaw, "that dare come so near the king of Sherwood?"

"'No knave, no knave,' the tinker said,
'And that you soon shall know;
Which of us have done most wrong,
My crab-tree staff shall show.'

Then Robin drew his gallant blade,
Made of the trusty steel,
But the tinker he laid on so fast,
That he made Robin reel."

This raised the outlaw's wrath, and he exerted his skill and courage so well, that the tinker more than once thought of flight; but the man of Banbury was stubborn stuff, and at last drove Robin to ask a favor.

"'A boon, a boon,' Robin he cries,
'If thou wilt grant it me;'
'Before I'll do 't,' the tinker said,
'I'll hang thee on a tree.'

But the tinker looking him about,
Robin his horn did blow;
Then unto him came Little John,
And brave Will Scarlet too."

"Now what is the matter, master," said Little John, "that you sit thus by the way-side?" "You may ask the tinker there," said Robin; "he hath paid me soundly." "I must have a bout with him, then," said the other, "and see if he can do as much for me." "Hold, hold," cried Robin; "the tinker's a jovial fellow, and a stout."

"'In manhood he's a mettled man,
And a metal man by trade;
Never thought I that any man
Should have made me so afraid.

And if he will be one of us,
We will take all one fare;
Of gold and good, whate'er we get,
The tinker he shall share.'"

The tinker was not a man of many words; he nodded assent, and added another bold forester to the ranks of the outlaw.

Robin and his friends were so sharply hunted by the sheriff of Nottinghamshire, that they deemed it prudent to retire to the forests of Barnesdale, where they gaily pursued their calling. Their interference in church matters, in various ways, gave offence to his reverence, the Bishop of Hereford, who declared that measures should be taken to repress the insolence of the outlaw, and he promised to look strictly into the matter the first time he chanced to be near Barnesdale. It was on a sunny morning that Robin heard of the bishop's approach, "with all his company," and his joy was excessive.

"'Go, kill me a fat buck,' said bold Robin Hood,
'Go slay me a fair fat deer;
The Bishop of Hereford dines with me to-day,
And he shall pay well for his cheer.'"