Chapter VIII

Scarcely had these events transpired when Rogere issued an order for all the men of the island to come forthwith before him, and acknowledge their allegiance to him; that is, to own him as chief of the island, and promise obedience to his government. About half of them came, but nearly a dozen men of brave hearts resolved to die rather than submit. They were roused to resistance by the women, among whom Emily was first and foremost. This young lady was small of stature, of a light and graceful form, and bearing a general aspect rather of gentleness than spirit; and her general character conformed to this. But now she was greatly changed; her dark blue eye was lighted with unwonted fire, her brow was arched, her lip compressed, and all who looked upon her were struck with the calm, yet determined and resolute bearing of the once tender and timid girl.

The remainder of the day was spent in the village in making such preparations for defence as the case admitted; but when evening came it was seen that it would be impossible to hope to make effectual resistance. It was with expectations of attack, and the gloomiest forbodings, therefore, that the villagers, of whom by far the largest part were women and children, saw the night approach. In spite of these apprehensions Emily made preparations to go forth alone. Her design was at first resisted by the leaders, but she whispered something to one or two of them, and they permitted her to depart.

She took her course toward the rocky cliff along the sea-shore which has been before described. This was in the rear of the hill upon which Rogere’s party was posted; the cliff was, indeed, but the base of the hill, and at a very short distance from the cave where Emily knew that her father and lover were confined; but she knew, also, that they were guarded by Rogere and his men.

The direct course from the tents to the cave was by an open lawn, terminating in a steep ascent up a grassy hill-side. On either hand was a thick mass of shrubbery and trees, enclosing the space in front of the cave, forming it into a sort of natural court. Standing in the middle of this, you could look over the whole island, which lay outspread before you. The place was, therefore, a sort of castle, giving its possessor a complete command of the island.

In the rear of this court, the hill terminated in a rocky precipice of considerable elevation, at the foot of which the surf chafed, foamed and wrestled in ceaseless thunders. It was here that on one occasion we have described Emily as meeting with a stranger, and it was to this point she now bent her steps. Avoiding, however, the open lawn that led to the cave, she struck off in a different direction, and involved herself in a labyrinth of trees, through which she glided like a spirit of the air. The night was calm, and the moon was shining fair, and therefore she felt the necessity of the utmost caution in order to escape the observation of Rogere’s party. This necessity was increasing, by her knowledge that, as she approached the cliff, she must pass near them, and could only hope to avoid detection by keeping in the shelter of the trees that skirted the hill, or of the rocks that beetled along the shore. With a foot, however, as fearless and light as that of the plover, she threaded her way along the dizzy edges of the cliffs, keeping an attentive eye to the two enemies between which she was now making her passage--the wave that thundered below, and the ruthless men that watched above. At last she reached a projecting angle of the rock, behind which she passed, and was soon lost in the deep shadows beyond.

Leaving her to her fate, we must now return to the unhappy and anxious party at the tents. The women and children had been gathered within the dwellings, and the mothers had sat down to watch by their offspring. It is one of the beautiful things in life that children lose their fears and their cares, and sink into sweet repose, when they know that their mothers are at the bedside. There is not, perhaps, in the compass of human experience so blessed a feeling as that of the child going to sleep in a situation of peril, under the guardianship of its mother. It is a feeling of bliss which can only be compared to that of the Christian, who, knowing the uncertainty of life, lays himself down upon a peaceful pillow at night, trusting in his God.

Such were the scenes within the tent. Without, there were about a dozen men, either sitting or standing, and armed with such weapons as they had been able to provide. No fire-arms of any kind had been brought from the ship, owing to the forecast of Brusque, who dreaded their introduction into the island. Neither party, therefore, had in their possession a musket or a pistol. Rogere had a cutlass, and most of his men were provided with daggers. The party in the tent were similarly armed; they relied, however, chiefly upon clubs, if an assault should be made, which various circumstances led them to expect in the course of the night.

About two hours after Emily had departed, a bustle was heard in the direction of the cave, and soon a dark mass was seen descending the hill. This gradually approached the tents, and at last it was seen to consist of Rogere’s entire force, saving only one man, who had been left to guard the tent and watch over the prisoners, Brusque and M. Bonfils. They were not only armed, for the most part, with daggers, but with heavy clubs, thus presenting a very formidable array.

Rogere was at the head of his force, and marching near to the tents, which were defended by a rude and slender barricade of boxes, planks, timber and trees, summoned the party within to surrender. After a short pause, the leader, who was the captain of the vessel, mentioned in the early part of our story, replied as follows:--

“M. Rogere, we are here to defend women and children; and you know the duty of men in such a case. You may succeed, for you have five-and-twenty men, and we have but twelve; but we shall each man sell his life as dearly as he can. I say to you, and to the men with you, that we are here to lay down our lives if it be necessary. I warn you, therefore, that you provoke a struggle of life and death; and though you may prevail, some of you, at least, can hardly fail to fall. And, I ask you, is the object you have in view such as men can consent to lay down their lives for? Is it such as men are willing to kill their fellow-beings in order to obtain?”

To this Rogere replied, “You are fools--madmen; surrender to me, acknowledge my government, and you shall all be free; I will secure to you your rights and possessions.”

“It is in vain,” said the captain, “for the wolf to preach freedom and security to the lamb. Sir, we know you better; we know that you are a ruthless man, bent upon the gratification of your passions. If you prevail to-night, this island is thenceforth but a scene of cruelty and oppression. These poor women will become the slaves of one who is cruel himself, and who will teach his subjects to become little better than brutes, and these children will be without protection. We have no chance but to do our duty, and, if heaven so decree, to die.”

“This is sheer madness,” said Rogere; “I am not the brute you take me for. Grant me one request, and I will leave you in safety, at least for to-night.”

“And what is that request?” said the captain.

“That you deliver the young lady, Emily Bonfils, up to me,” was the reply.

“She is not here,” said the leader, “and were she here, she should not be given up. You must pass through twelve stout hearts before you can touch one hair of that young lady’s head.”

“We will see,” said Rogere; and ordering his men to advance, they rushed upon the barricadoes at several points. The captain’s party met them, and a desperate struggle ensued. There was a fierce clashing of clubs, with shouts, and cries, and groans. In the midst of the confusion, Rogere, backed by two of his party, sprung over the bulwark, and being familiarly acquainted with the arrangement of the tents, entered that in which Emily’s parents dwelt. It was now only occupied by her aged mother, who sat upon the ground, with a lamp at her side. Her countenance bore the marks of anxiety, but not of terror. When Rogere entered, she arose, knowing him well, and with dignity and calmness she said, “Why, M. Rogere, is this intrusion into a woman’s apartment, and at this hour?”

“I beg your pardon,” said Rogere, respectfully; “I was seeking your daughter--where is she?”

“She is not here,” said the mother.

“Tell me where she is, then!” said Rogere, his passion rising into rage.

“I cannot,” was the calm reply.

“Tell me where she is,” said Rogere, in tones of thunder, “or by heaven your gray hairs shall not save you!”

“As you please,” said the lady.

“Nay, madam,” said Rogere, his fury rebuked by the calmness of the lady, “it is vain to resist my power; and why attempt it? Why not yield your daughter to my care and protection? I am now master of this island; I am its ruler and its sovereign. I will make Emily my companion; nay, I will be her slave. Tell me where she is; give her up to me, and I will treat her tenderly.”

“M. Rogere, do you think me so foolish as to be beguiled by words which are belied by actions? You came here with force, and, threatening to take the life of the mother, talk of tenderness to the child! Telling me that my gray hairs shall not save me, you promise to be kind to my daughter, if I will give her up to you! Shall the brooding dove believe the hawk when he asks for her young ones, even though he swears to protect them? Shall she believe him and give them up? Nay, sir, you came here to use force, and you will have your way. Yet I fear you not! Ruthless as you are, you dare not lay your hand upon an aged and unprotected woman. The blood of a French heart will gush out, every drop of it will leave his breast, before it will nerve a man’s arm to such a dastardly deed!”

“Listen to reason,” said Rogere.

“Listen, yourself!” said the lady; “leave this place; withdraw your men, restore us all to liberty and peace--then come and ask my daughter; and if she, in the free exercise of a woman’s choice, will give you her hand, I will not oppose it.”

“This cannot be; I know her heart is set upon that dreamer, Brusque.”

“And you, then, are to play the tyrant; force her to forego her wishes; compel her to give up the man she loves, and become the plaything of the man she must abhor! And you call this treating her tenderly! O, God, is there a being on this earth that can be guilty of such tyranny? Yes! man, lordly man, is such a creature when the restraints of government and law are withdrawn.”

“This passes all patience,” said Rogere, fiercely. “I say, old woman, as you value your life, tell me where your daughter is, or I will strike you to the earth this instant.”

“Here! here I am!” was heard from the opposite side of the tent, and Emily, entering at the instant, stood before Rogere. But she was not alone; a youth of a commanding figure, with pistols in his belt and a sword in his hand, was at her side. Placing himself before Rogere, he said briefly, “What means this?”

Rogers was evidently astonished; he gazed at the stranger for a moment, and satisfying himself that he had never seen him before, replied, “Who are you? By what right do you meet and question me here?”

“By the best right in the world! I am the brother of this fair girl, I am the son of this aged and insulted lady!”

“There is some mistake,” said Rogere.

“There is no mistake,” said François; for it was indeed he, François Bonfils, who has figured in the earlier part of our story; “leave this place instantly.”

“I go,” said Rogere, “but follow me.”

François followed him out. The battle was raging around, and its issue was still doubtful. Brusque was at the head of the tent party, and among them could be seen the aged form of M. Bonfils. Rogere took in these facts at a glance. His mind seemed for a moment to be bewildered, and his resolution to falter; but in an instant he rallied, and turning upon François struck at him with his dagger. This was returned by a pistol shot, and the ball passing through Rogere’s heart, he fell senseless upon the ground.

The two companions of Rogere now fled, and François, rushing to the point where his father and Brusque were engaged in desperate conflict, and nearly overpowered, fired his other pistol into the midst of the assailants. One of them fell, and François, rushing in among them, dealing blows thickly around, soon turned the fortune of the fight. Rogere’s two assistants now came up, and saying to the men that their leader was dead, communicated such a panic to his party that they drew back, and after a little hesitation retreated, leaving the tent party in undisputed possession of the field.

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CHINESE METHOD OF EATING.--The Chinese convey their food to the mouth with wooden rods called _chop-sticks_--in the management of which they are very expert.

London.

London, the largest city in the world, and the capital of Great Britain, contains nearly as many people as the six New England States. It is about thirty miles in circuit. The river Thames runs through it; and across this river there are seven or eight bridges. That called London Bridge is pictured at the head of this article.

There are a multitude of interesting things in this vast city. There are the Zoological Gardens, in which may be seen quadrupeds, birds, reptiles, and fishes, all living somewhat according to their natural habits. Among these creatures, there are two giraffes, elephants, a rhinoceros, antelopes, tigers, lions, leopards, panthers, monkeys, &c., &c.

In London there are several beautiful parks, which are fine grassy fields with groups of shrubbery and trees, and paths winding about, and in them you see thousands of people taking the air in fine weather.

In London there are splendid edifices, called palaces, in which the royal family resides.

The museums of London are numerous and on a scale of great magnificence. It would take a large volume to describe the curiosities of this mighty city. There are many people living in it, who have never been out of it, and who seem to think that having seen London, they have seen enough.

AURELIA AND THE SPIDER.

The muslin torn, from tears of grief
In vain Aurelia sought relief;
In sighs and tears she passed the day,
The tattered robe neglected lay.

When, busy at his spinning trade,
A spider thus addressed the maid:
“Turn, little girl, behold in me
A stimulus to industry.

This morning, e’er you left your room,
The chambermaid’s relentless broom
In one sad moment had destroyed,
To build which, thousands were employ’d.

By constant work a day or more,
My little mansion may restore;
And, if each tear that you have shed
Had been a needleful of thread,

And every sigh of sad despair,
Had been a stitch with proper care,
Closed would have been the luckless rent,
Nor thus the day have been mispent.”

Exotic Fruits and Flowers in England.

The damask rose was first introduced into England by the learned Linacre, on his return from Italy, about 1500. Thomas, Lord Cromwell, in the reign of Henry VIII., enriched the fruit-gardens there with three different kinds of plums, introduced from foreign lands. The first orange tree appears to have been taken into England by one of the Carew family; for a century afterwards they flourished at the family seat in Surrey. The cherry orchards of Kent were first planted by a gardener of Henry VIII., and the currant bush was introduced when the commerce with Zante was first opened, in the same reign.

Sir Walter Raleigh introduced the potato and the tobacco-plant from America, where they were first found. Sir Anthony Ashly first reared cabbages in England, and in his monument a cabbage is carved at his feet. The figs planted by Cardinal Pole, at Lambeth, in the reign of Henry VIII., are said to be still remaining there. Spilman, who set up the first paper-mill in England, in 1590, is said to have brought over from the continent, in his portmanteau, the two first lime-trees, which he planted at Dartford, and which are still growing there. The first mulberry trees planted in England are yet standing.

Benevolence of the Deity.

Let us consider the faculties of man, and see how many and how exquisite the pleasures are which we derive from them. What enjoyment do parents find in the love and care they bestow upon their children! How sweet and blissful is the affection which children return to parents! How pleasant is the love of brothers and sisters--of relations and friends!

And then, let us reflect upon the beauty that is spread over the face of nature. Why are flowers so beautiful, and so infinitely varied, if not to bestow pleasure upon man? Why, if God is not benevolent, has he made hills and valleys, and rolling waves, and rushing waters, so beautiful? Why has he made the forms and motions of birds so charming, if not to give pleasure? If the Creator did not intend to delight us, why did he spread sublimity over the mountains, and teach man to feel it? Why did he robe the heavens in azure, and make a myriad race of beings to feel their mingled majesty and beauty? Why did he clothe all vegetable nature in green, and make human beings with eyes to relish it above all other hues? Why did he teach the birds to sing, the waters to murmur forth melody, the trees to bend in beauty and grace to the pressure of the breeze? Why, if God is not a beneficent Being, did he make this world so pleasant--endow it with light, and color, and music, and perfumes, and place beings here adapted to the appreciation and enjoyment of these things?

* * * * *

THE HEART.--Every time the heart beats, the blood is sent through the arteries as water gushes through a syringe, and at the same time an equal amount is received from the veins. Thus two hundred and fifty pounds of blood pass through the body every hour.

In the whale, the tube through which the blood is emptied into the arteries is a foot in diameter, and at every stroke of the heart the blood rushes with a velocity like that through the sluice of a mill!

Sketches of the Manners, Customs, and
History of the Indians of America.