Chapter VIII: Part 8

Before Henry and Maximilian had arrived in the English camp, the Earl of Shrewsbury had begun the siege of Perouane, a town on the borders of Picardy, close by Guinegatte. The besieged had defended themselves bravely, and the governor of the province had succeeded in forcing his way through the English camp, to bring them a large supply of bacon and gunpowder. He had got safely back again, when the French horsemen, who had advanced to protect him, were attacked suddenly by a body of English, whilst they were straying carelessly about without their helmets and cuirasses, because they were overpowered by the intense heat of the day. Thus it was that they took flight, and that several noblemen amongst them of high rank were made prisoners. Bayard retreated with great regret; he had only fourteen men-at-arms with him, and yet he often turned back and faced his enemies. At last they came to a little bridge, where only two horsemen could pass at a time, and below it there was a deep ditch full of water. The good knight then sent word to the camp, by an archer that he had arrested the enemy for at least half an hour, and that delay, would give the army time to get into order. The archer went straight to the camp, and Bayard was left with his few men to guard the bridge. He was soon surrounded on all sides, and advised his people to surrender; and when they were all secured, he rode towards an English gentleman, who, either wearied with the fight or oppressed by the heat, was resting beneath a tree. Bayard put his sword to his throat, and exclaimed, "Surrender, man-at-arms, or you are a dead man!" The gentleman, naturally wishing to save his life, surrendered, and asked the stranger who he was. "I am the Captain Bayard," replied the knight, "and now I surrender to you, and give you my sword to hold, and entreat you to conduct me to some place of safety, and to have the kindness to let me have my sword, if we meet with any Englishmen on our way, who may desire to kill me." The gentleman promised this, and they set off for the camp of King Henry, and had really to defend themselves more than once, upon the road thither.

Bayard remained in the tent of his prisoner, who treated him well, but on the fifth day of his captivity, he said to him, "My gentleman, I wish you would lead me in safety to the camp of the king, my master, for I am utterly tired of being here."

"How?" cried the other. "We have not yet agreed as to your ransom."

"To my ransom, indeed!" said the knight; "but it is rather for me to think of yours, since you are my prisoner; and if I surrendered to you it was only to save my life. My gentleman," continued he, "whether faith is kept with me, or not, I feel assured that in some way I shall fight with you by and by."

The gentleman did not quite relish the idea of a combat with the redoubtable Bayard, so he replied in courteous terms, that he only wished to do what was right in the affair, and would consult with his captains.

When the enemy knew that Bayard was safe in the camp, they were as much pleased as if they had won another victory. The Emperor of Germany sent for him to his tent.

"Captain Bayard, my friend," said he, "I have great pleasure in seeing you. Would that I had many men like you! I think in a little while I should be able to avenge myself of all the tricks, your master has played me in times gone by." Presently, he said to him, "Methinks we have been at war together before, and I remember to have heard that Bayard was one who never fled."

"Sire," replied the Good Knight promptly, "if I had fled I should not have been here."

Then bluff King Harry came up and said, "Truly, Monsieur de Bayard, if all men were like you, the siege which I have begun before this town, would soon be raised; but any way you are my prisoner."

"Sire," answered the Chevalier, "I do not own it, and yet I would fain believe yourself and the emperor."

The gentleman whose tent Bayard had shared now appeared, and related the whole affair; and there was a discussion, as to which was really the prisoner. The Emperor, whose advice governed the movements of the English army, at last decided in favour of Bayard, but acquitted both on account of their mutual courtesy; and King Henry said that the Good Knight might leave the camp, if he would promise on his word of honour to remain unarmed for six weeks. Bayard was very grateful, both to the emperor and to the king, and went to divert himself in the country, in the best manner he could until the six weeks were passed. During this time the King of England tried by various means, to attach him to his service, but his trouble was thrown away; it would have been impossible for the Chevalier to have entertained a disloyal thought.

Not long after this Louis the Twelfth died, and his cousin, Francis, Count of Angouleme, was declared King of France. Immediately after his coronation, the young king began to prepare secretly for the conquest of Milan, that duchy having lately returned to the allegiance of the Italian duke Sforza. Bayard was ordered to repair with three or four thousand men, to the borders of his native province of Dauphine, and after performing several brave actions, he got down quietly into the plain of Piedmont. Prosper Colonna, the Pope's lieutenant, was there in the Castle of Carmaignolle. When he heard of the arrival of the Chevalier, he exclaimed, in a tone of extreme scorn, "That Bayard has crossed the mountains; I will take him as I would a pigeon in a cage!"

The other French captains arrived in the plain, and the Good Knight advised that they should rest their horses that night, and attack Colonna the next day at dawn in his castle.

They had a large piece of water to cross before they could get to the place; but they knew of a ford, and two or three hours after midnight they mounted their horses in silence, and set out on the road. Prosper was not alarmed, because he still thought that only Bayard was there with his company, and he would have remained at Carmaignolle, had he not received orders to change his quarters. He did not hurry himself in the least, and stopped on his journey to dine at a little town called Villefranche. When the French arrived at the castle, they found to their disappointment that Colonna was gone, and they all agreed to pursue him. The Seigneur d'Imbercourt was foremost in the troop; he soon reached the town; Colonna was already there, and his people shut the gates. The Good Knight came up in time however to gain them, and although the enemy gave the alarm to a body of three or four thousand Swiss, he made his way into the town, followed by his men-at-arms, and found the Italian commander seated at his dinner. Colonna was enraged at being thus captured, like "a pigeon in a cage" himself, instead of in battle; the Good Knight tried to cheer him up, and make the best of it, but the whole affair cost the signor, besides his liberty, 50,000 crowns worth of gold and silver plate, furniture, and money, and that was quite enough to make a man look sad. The French found a very large sum of money in the town, and nearly 700 beautiful coursers and Spanish horses.

Francis had already crossed the mountains which separate France from Italy. He was delighted to hear of the capture of Colonna, and soon waged the tremendous battle of Marignano with the Swiss, who were the partizans of Sforza and Colonna, and were indignant that Francis had succeeded in crossing the Alps. Marignano was situate about a league from the city of Milan. The Swiss were determined to defend the duchy to the last extremity, and had assembled a very large army. The battle began at four o'clock on a September afternoon in the year 1415, and was only discontinued when it was too dark to see to fight. The king passed the night in his armour on the carriage of a cannon, and was surprised at daybreak to find the enemy within a few paces of him in readiness to renew the attack. The young king and the chevalier fought at Marignano side by side, and both displayed extraordinary valour; and when the victory was decided for the French, Francis, to reward Bayard for the great share he had had in it, received the honour of knighthood from his hands.

The day of Marignano, "the combat of giants," as an old Italian hero called it, who had been in eighteen pitched battles, was disastrous indeed for the Swiss, for it is said that when they began to retreat they left 10,000 of their comrades lying dead upon the battle-field.

In the last charge that was made, Bayard was mounted on a fiery courser, the first he had ridden having been killed under him. He was so closely beset that the bridle was torn from his horse, and the animal, thus freed from restraint, galloped off and made its way through the enemy's ranks; it would have carried its rider right into the midst of a troop of Swiss, if its course had not been intercepted by a field full of vines entwined from tree to tree; the good knight but for this timely wall of defence, must assuredly have fallen into the hands of his enemies. He had not quite lost his senses in the rapid flight, and he glided down gently from his horse, threw away his arms and a part of his armour, and crawled along a ditch, in the direction as he supposed of the French camp. Fortunately he was not mistaken; he soon had the delight of hearing the cry of "France! France!" in the distance, and was enabled to reach his companions, and rejoice with them over the great victory they had gained; although a victory bought with the lives of so many fellow creatures, cannot but bring a sharp pang of sorrow to the heart of every man.

The fame of Bayard had now risen to such a height, that nearly all the young nobles of France, begged to be allowed the honour of serving under him, in the defence of the town of Mezieres. Maximilian and Ferdinand were both dead, and Charles V. was Emperor of Germany and King of Spain. Charles, who was quite as ambitious as the young king of France, had ordered the Count of Nassau to advance towards the frontiers, and lay siege to the town of Mousson. The men who defended it were cowards, and lay down their arms almost without fighting. The Count, finding this success so easy, next besieged Mezieres, and through this town the Emperor intended his troops to have passed into France. But Francis knew that if he suffered Mezieres to be taken, it would be the most foolish thing he could do; it was like giving the enemy the key of the gate that kept them out of France. So he wisely ordered Bayard to hasten to its defence; and although the Good Knight had only 1,000 men in the place, he obliged the Count of Nassau, and his 35,000 Germans, to retire with shame and loss after a lengthened siege. The service he thus performed for his country was very great, and the king rewarded him for it with a hundred lances, and the collar of St. Michael.

In the year 1524 he was sent into Italy to oppose the army of the Constable de Bourbon, who had left his own king to serve the Emperor. Bourbon was led to do this, on account of the many affronts he had received from the beautiful and haughty Louisa, of Savoy, the mother of Francis I.; still, however great the cause of offence may be, it is quite inexcusable for a man to bear arms against his country.

The chief command of the army was given to Bonnivet: he was very brave, but so rash that his zeal often did more harm than good, and he was totally wanting in the judgment, and presence of mind a great captain ought to possess. Lannoy, the viceroy of Naples, had collected a large number of troops; to these were added the forces of the Marquis of Pescara, the general of the Spaniards, and those of the traitor Bourbon. Bonnivet failed in his plan of attack, and was obliged to try and get back into France by crossing the valley of Aosta; but on his way he received a bad wound in the arm, and could no longer lead on his men. In his distress he sent word to Bayard that he alone could save the French army if he would. The good knight had thought the whole enterprise ill-judged, and when he set out at the head of his men-at-arms, he had not been cheerful and hopeful as he had been accustomed to be whenever he entered on a fresh campaign. Nevertheless he swore in reply to Bonnivet that he would either save the army or perish in the attempt; and as he had always courted the post of danger, he took the command of the rear, and made his men try bravely like himself to sustain the whole shock of the enemy's troops, whilst the rest of the army gained time to effect a retreat. This was at a place near Romagnano. As Bayard was thus striving he was wounded by a musket-ball, and the shock was so great that he uttered the word "Jesus," and then said that it was all over with him on earth. Faint from pain and loss of blood, he held on as long as he could to the bow of his saddle, but sank at last to the ground, and desired to be placed under a tree with his face turned towards the foe. And there the good knight lifted up the hilt of his sword, and kissed it as though it had been the cross, and saying, softly, "Miserere mei, Deus!" lay back pale and calm to wait for the approach of death. His faithful _maitre d'hotel_, who had followed him through many dangers, was with him now, and was almost beside himself with grief.

"Jacques, my friend," said the dying knight, "do not mourn for me. It is the will of God that I should quit this world where I have ever received a full measure of His grace, and far more honour than I deserved. The only regret I have in dying is, that I have not done all that I ought to have done, and if I had lived longer, I would have hoped to have made amends for my past faults. But as it is, I implore my Maker to have mercy upon my poor soul, and trust through his great and boundless love that he will not judge me with rigour; feeling assured that Thou, oh my Saviour, hast promised pardon to all those who turn to Thee with humble and contrite hearts."

In this condition he was found by the Constable de Bourbon, who spoke to him thus; "Monsieur de Bayard, truly I pity you."

"Ah, Monsieur," replied the chevalier, "do not pity me, but rather have compassion on yourself for having fought against your king, your country, and your oath."

The Marquis of Pescara came by soon after, and was deeply grieved to see him in such a state; he ordered a tent to be pitched over him, and had him tended with the utmost care, but it was of no avail; a mortal blow had been struck, and the good knight rendered up his soul to God, as so many of his ancestors had done, upon the battle-field.

Pescara had his body embalmed and conveyed to his kinsmen in Dauphine, and the Duke of Savoy decreed that royal honours should be paid to it on its mournful journey. When it reached Dauphine, people of all ranks came out to meet it, and then returned to their houses and shut themselves up in sorrow and gloom. The body was interred at Minimes, in a church founded by the Bishop of Grenoble.

There was mourning throughout many lands when it was known that the Good Knight was dead. King Francis was very much attached to him, and could not get over the loss he had sustained for a very long time. And the following year, when he had been obliged to surrender to Lannoy after the battle of Pavia, he exclaimed sadly within his prison walls, "Ah, Bayard, if thou hadst been alive, I should not have been here!"

Thus had the Chevalier lived, faithful to the promise of his childhood; ever ready to risk his life in the service of his country, helpful and loving to all, joyous and light-hearted. When he was in the enemy's territory he strictly defrayed every expense he incurred, and very often left some kind remembrance for those who had served him: in success he showed mercy, and made himself as much beloved by the vanquished as by his own soldiers. He never wished for the highest place or envied the good fortune of other men. Amid the spoils of war he seemed to desire nothing for himself, and one instance alone will suffice to show how far he was removed from any selfish feelings. During the war with the Spaniards, he received notice one day that a large sum of money was on its way to the Spanish commander. His own troops being in great want of necessaries he resolved to obtain this money, which was fair to do in warfare; so he sent some of his men to waylay the bearers of it in one part of the country, while his companion Tardien watched for it in another. Bayard had the good luck to seize the treasure, and found it to consist of 15,000 ducats. The Spaniard who carried it was in great terror at having fallen into the hands of the enemy, and gave it up without a murmur. Tardien was brave and merry-hearted, but he had the misfortune of being very poor, and he was terribly grieved on his return to the camp to find that he had not been the happy man to secure the money, and declared that the half of the sum would have redeemed his fortunes for ever.

Bayard was in a cheerful mood, and he asked his soldiers how much of the treasure they thought Tardien ought to receive. They replied, "None at all." Then Bayard, after enjoying for a time the dismay of his companion in arms, called him to him, and gave him 7,500 ducats, the exact half of the sum they had captured. The Good Knight then divided the remainder amongst his soldiers, not keeping one farthing for himself, and sent the Spaniard with an escort to a place of safety whence he could return to his own home.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] "Piquer," an old French word, signifying "to spur on, to animate, or encourage."

[21] _Palfrenier_, "groom of the stables."

[22] Gaston was Governor of Milan.

SIR MARTIN FROBISHER.

One summer's day, in the year 1576, Queen Elizabeth stood at the window of her palace at Greenwich, waving her hand in sign of farewell as two small barks and a pinnace glided gently down the river Thames. The barks were the _Gabriel_ and the _Michael_. On board the first one was the gallant Martin Frobisher, who, after having waited fifteen years for funds to enable him to carry out his voyage, was now on his way in search of a north-west passage to China. Little is known of the early days of Frobisher, except that he was at Doncaster, in Yorkshire, and that he was well skilled in maritime knowledge, and one of the most experienced seamen of his time. The passage he proposed to find, he thought would enable his countrymen to reach the shores of China in far less time than by sailing as the Portuguese always sailed, all round by the Cape of Good Hope; and thus for years before he had started, he had been going from friend to friend, nobleman and merchant, in the hope of finding some one to help him to get together a fleet. At last he found a patron in Ambrose Dudley, the good Earl of Warwick, and with his help, and his own untiring efforts besides, he raised sufficient money to fit out the two vessels and the one small pinnace, which had provisions on board to last twelve months.

After the little fleet had gone past the palace, Queen Elizabeth sent one of the gentlemen of her court on board the _Gabriel_ to tell Frobisher how much pleasure the enterprise afforded her, and to bid him come and take leave of her the following day. She was proud, too, to think that one of her subjects was brave enough to venture up into the icy seas and cold regions, the very idea of which had struck terror into the hearts of many a mariner, when he had met on the ocean great icebergs floating southwards, as though they were messengers sent to warn him of approaching the frozen seas.

When Frobisher had got as far as the Shetland Isles, he turned his course towards the west, and on the 11th of July, nearly four weeks after he had started, he came in sight of land, which he supposed to be the Freeseland seen by a Venetian, named Zeno, two hundred years before. He could not land there because of the great blocks of ice which filled the sea near the shore, and they had much ado to keep clear of them, because there was a thick fog. Here a great misfortune happened; the pinnace disappeared in the mist, and the services of the four men it had on board were thus lost. The company of the _Michael_ also began to distrust the voyage, and to repent that they had engaged in it. Under cover of the fog, they went off towards England, and were so wicked as to say on their arrival that the bark _Gabriel_ had been cast away.

Thus forsaken, the brave captain went on alone; the mast of his vessel was broken, and the topmast was blown over; nevertheless he continued to sail towards the north-west, thinking that he must surely come to some shore. And nine days after he had seen Freeseland, he came to a high piece of land, which he called Queen Elizabeth's; it was part of what is now called Labrador. Still more to the north he reached another foreland, with a great bay or passage of sea dividing two lands, but this was so blocked up with ice that he had to wait until it melted, or was carried away by currents. He called the passage "Frobisher's Straits," after himself, by which name it has been known ever since. If any little readers will unfold a map of North America and look just north of Hudson's Straits, they will see Frobisher's Straits, and how the land on either side is broken up into islands, some of which are named "Hall's Islands," after Christopher Hall, the master of the bark _Gabriel_. Frobisher thought as yet that the shores were all firm land; and when the ice broke up, he sailed sixty leagues along the strait, and there he landed. First of all he had to defend himself from some great deer, which ran at him in such a manner that he had a very narrow escape of his life. Another time when he landed he went to the top of a hill, and saw from thence several objects in the distance which he thought were porpoises or seals, but when they came nearer he found that they were boats filled with men. The boats were made of sealskins, with a keel of wood inside. The men were of dark complexion, with long black hair, broad faces, and flat noses; the women's faces were painted in blue streaks. Some of these people hid behind a rock, and were evidently watching for an opportunity of stealing his boat, but he hastened down the hill just in time to secure it, and went back to the vessel. It was terribly cold already; in one night the snow lay a foot thick upon the hatches: the brief summer of the northern regions was past. The natives soon began to come on board the bark, and to talk with the sailors in an unknown tongue; they brought the captain salmon and flesh which they eat raw themselves; also bearskins and sealskins, for which Frobisher gave them toys, bells, and looking-glasses. They got very friendly with his men, although he warned them not to trust them too quickly; and one day five of the sailors were enticed by the savages to go in a boat to the shore, and neither men nor boat ever appeared again. What was to be done? Frobisher was on board his bark, and now the only boat was gone, and he could not get to the shore. He thought that he must try and capture one of the sealskin boats of the natives, and he rang a low, sweet-toned bell, which was sure to be a great temptation to the wild men, and made signs that he would give it to him who should fetch it. The first bell he purposely threw into the sea, and then he rang another. The savages, getting more eager to secure the prize, crowded around him, and one came so very near that he had just put out his hand to grasp the bell, when the captain pulled him, boat and all, on board the bark. The poor savage was said to have been so angry at being captured, that he bit his tongue in two in his rage; he was brought to England as a specimen of the newly found race, but he fell ill soon after his arrival and died.

As the cold was rapidly increasing, Frobisher began to think of returning home to report what he had seen, and after many useless attempts to land, on account of the ice along the coasts, he told his men when next they could set foot on shore, that they were to bring him whatever they could find in memory of the region he had taken possession of in the queen's name. Some of them brought him a few flowers, some only grasses, and one brought him a piece of black stone very like sea-coal, which from its weight seemed to be a mineral. Frobisher did not think much of it at first sight, but he brought it with him to England. He arrived in his native country on the 2nd day of October, and all people praised him for his courage and perseverance; and it was thought that if another expedition were made, there would be every chance of finding the desired north-west passage to China.

One day when he was with some friends in London, it happened that he had nothing to show for his voyage except the lump of coal. The wife of one of the adventurers who was present, threw by chance a piece of it into the fire, and it burned so long that at last it was taken out and quenched in a little vinegar, when lo! as if by magic, it appeared "like a bright marquisset" of gold. It was then shown to some gold finers in London, who tried it and found that it contained pure gold, and gave great hope that more might be found in the region whence it was brought. The gold finers even offered themselves to share in a fresh enterprise, so that a second voyage was proposed for the following year, Queen Elizabeth herself entering heartily into the scheme.

The second expedition was fitted out in a more important manner than the first one had been. Frobisher sailed in a tall ship of the queen's, which was called the _Aid_, accompanied by the two barks _Michael_ and _Gabriel_. The vessels were provisioned for six months, and had on board in all 140 men, although many more would have liked to go on the voyage.

They sailed northwards until they anchored in the bay of St. Magnus, one of the Orkney Isles. The inhabitants fled in terror as soon as the ship's company landed, and only took heart when they heard for what purpose they had come. For few indeed were the visitors who came to those barren islands, except perhaps the pirates who roamed the northern seas. There is scarcely a tree amongst the whole group, and the people, having no wood, make their fires of turf and heather to cheer them during the long stormy winter. But the nights in these cold northern latitudes are made bright and beautiful by the aurora borealis, which flashes across the sky, and is of the same nature as lightning, only that it travels through a higher region of the air. Sometimes it is purple and sometimes green, and where the air is driest it is red. When the aurorae, or northern lights, flicker in the sky, the inhabitants of the Shetland Isles call them, "the merry dancers."

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.

A captive, who had been taken by some of the mariners, was shown a portrait of the savage who had been enticed on board the _Gabriel_ the year before. When he saw it, he began talking to it, and asking it questions, just as if it had been really alive. He told the strangers by signs that he had knowledge of the five men who were missing, and declared that they had not been eaten up by the savages. It is supposed that they lived the rest of their lives amongst the savages; and Frobisher determined, as he could find no trace of them, that he would load his ships with the ore he had found, and return to England. He was very proud when all the labour was brought to an end, for with "five poor miners," and a few gentlemen and soldiers, they had carried on board almost two hundred tons of ore in twenty days. On the night of the 21st of August the whole company were ready to embark, and glad they were to return, for they were very weary, and the water began to freeze around their ships at night. The next day they took down their tents, lighted bonfires on the highest hill, and having marched round the island with their banner unfurled, they fired a volley of cannon in sign of farewell, and after having encountered several storms on their voyage, they reached Milford Haven about the end of September.

When Frobisher arrived in England he hastened to Windsor, where he was very graciously received by Queen Elizabeth. A third expedition was planned for the next spring, both to search for gold and to try and discover the north-west passage. A strong fort was devised, the pieces of which were to be carried in one of the ships, and put together when they arrived in the new region, to which Queen Elizabeth gave the name of "Meta Incognita," or "Unknown Land." The fort was intended for the people to dwell in, who were to remain there during the winter, whilst twelve of the vessels out of the fifteen that composed the fleet were to come home laden with ore--that is to say, if it were to be found. All the captains bade the queen farewell at Greenwich, and kissed her hand, and she gave to Frobisher "a chain of fair gold," to show the delight she took in his enterprise. They left Harwich for the third time on the 31st of May--Frobisher sailed in the _Aid_: the strictest order was to be observed during the voyage; the whole company on board were to serve God twice a day with the prayers of the Church of England: the sailors were not allowed to swear, or to play at cards and dice. Every evening all the fleet had to come up and speak with the admiral, and the watchword, if any came up in the night, was this, "Before the world was God." And the answer from the other vessel was, "After God, came Jesus Christ His Son."

On the 20th of June, after having sailed fourteen days without sight of land, they came, at two o'clock in the morning, to the west of Freeseland. Frobisher took possession of it in the queen's name, calling it West England, and gave the name of Charing Cross to one of its high cliffs. The nights in the northern regions are never dark during the summer months. As far north as the vessels sailed the sun does not set until after ten o'clock, and it rises again before two, so that a great part of the night, the sky is filled with the rosy flush of sunrise and sunset. Then, in the winter, when the days are as short as the nights are in summer, because the north part of the world is turned away from the sun, the moon and stars are wondrously bright, and with the northern lights enliven the long dark hours.

The savages in West Freeseland were like those in Meta Incognita; they were very timid, and fled at the approach of the strangers, leaving all their household goods behind them. Amongst these the mariners found some dried herrings and a box of small nails, also some pieces of carved fir wood; but for whatever they took they left pins, knives, or looking-glasses in exchange.

From Freeseland they went towards Frobisher's Straits, and on the way one of the ships, called the _Salamander_, struck a great whale such a blow with her stern that she stood quite still. A horrible noise rose up from the sea, and the next day the dead body of a whale was seen floating about.

One night the vessels entered somewhere inside the straits, and found the whole place frozen into "walls, bulwarks, and mountains," which they could not pass: they had to stem and strike the rocks of ice to make their way at all. Some of the fleet, where they found the sea open, entered in, and were in great danger.

The bark _Dennis_ struck against one of the rocks and sank within sight of the fleet. In her distress she fired a gun, and happily the whole of her crew were rescued in the boats that were sent to her aid. It was a great misfortune, nevertheless, because part of the fort was on board, and was thus lost. A violent wind from the south-east drove the ice on the backs of the vessels. The mariners and miners had never witnessed such peril before, and they were indeed in terrible plight, because they were shut in by blocks of ice on all sides, and had to fix cables, beds, and planks around their ships to protect them from them, or they would have been all cut to pieces. Besides this they had to stand the whole night and the next day beating it off with poles, pikes, and oars--Frobisher working hardest of all, and cheering his men by his kind words, and his brave, steadfast spirit. And those who were not strong enough to work prayed for the rest; which the weak can always do, whilst stronger men are doing God's will by helping their fellow-creatures; and prayer and work, blended in one, rise up an acceptable offering to the Father in heaven.

Four of the vessels were out in the open sea, and during the storm the mariners were in great alarm for the safety of those shut up in the ice, and they too knelt praying for them around their mainmast. The wind at last blew from the north-west, and dispersed the ice, and the second night the ships in distress were seen of the four others. Then the whole fleet veered off seaward, meaning to wait until the sun should melt the icebergs, or the winds drive them quite away, and when they had got out far into the sea, they took in their sails and lay adrift. On the 7th of July they thought they saw the North Foreland of the straits, but there was a dense fog at the time; and the snow often fell in flakes so that they could not clearly see, although now and then the sun would shine on the vessels with intense heat. Thus they were carried far out of the way, and the lands in that region were so much alike that Frobisher took counsel with the captains of the fleet, to determine what part they had reached.

The fogs lasted twenty days, and during that time they had indeed drifted sixty leagues out of their way into unknown straits. Frobisher was very anxious to recover the position he had lost, and as soon as he saw the ice a little open he bravely led the way and anchored at last in the Countess of Warwick's Sound. Just as he thought all peril was past, he met a great iceberg, which forced the anchor through the ship's bows and made a breach. Here they found, to their joy, two barks, which had been missing since the night of their greatest danger: it was a joyful meeting, and a good man, named Master Wolfall, who had left his living in his own country, and his wife and children, in the hope of converting the heathens in the new land, preached a sermon to the whole company, in which he told them to thank God for their deliverance, and reminded them that they should ever watch and pray, since none could tell how soon he might die.

Now that they were all assembled once more Frobisher lost no time, but set at work at once to look for the ore. Gentlemen and soldiers, all helped the miners in their labour, whilst the captains of the vessels sought out new mines, and the gold finers made trial of the ore. But when they wanted to raise the fort, so many parts of it had been destroyed in the storm that it was no longer fitted for its object, and although one of the brave captains wanted to remain there with only fifty men, it was found that a building large enough to hold them all could not be raised before the winter set in. The cold was now rapidly increasing; every night the ships' ropes were frozen so that no man might handle them without cutting his hands; besides this the vessels were leaky, and the ice at any moment might have blocked them in altogether, when all on board must have perished.

Thus Frobisher was compelled to return to England without having found the passage he had hoped all his life to discover. It is said that if he had not had charge of the fleet, he would have sailed straight to the South Sea, and thus pointed out a nearer route to China.

Before they left, they caused a house of lime and stone to be built, on the Countess of Warwick's Island, which they hoped would remain standing until the following year, and they left in it bells, pictures, looking-glasses, whistles, and pipes for the delight of the savages, and an oven, with bread baked in it, that they might taste it and see how it was made. Then they sowed peas and corn, and various sorts of grain, to see if they would grow; and they buried all the timber left of the fort, that it might be ready for them to use if they came to the place again.

Whilst the ships were being laden with the ore, the admiral wanted to find something else, and he went higher up the straits in a pinnace. It was then that he discovered that the land on either side was not all firm as he had imagined, but broken up into many islands.

On the voyage home some of the vessels got scattered during the violent storms that arose, and they were kept long apart, but they all reached England by October of the year 1578.

After this there is no account of Frobisher until he went in his ship the _Aid_ on an expedition to the West Indies with Sir Francis Drake, and was present at the taking and sacking of St. Domingo. When Philip II. of Spain sent the Invincible Armada to invade England, the English fleet prepared to resist it was divided into four squadrons, and Frobisher commanded one of them in the ship called the _Triumph_. Lord Howard of Effingham, the Lord High Admiral of the fleet, was a witness of his gallant conduct on that occasion, and knighted him on board the _Triumph_ whilst the action was going on. A little later he served under Sir Walter Raleigh in an expedition directed towards the coasts of Spain. And in 1594 Queen Elizabeth, having engaged to help King Henry the Fourth of France against the Spaniards, he was sent with four vessels to protect the coasts of Normandy and Bretagne from their attacks.

On being told that they had seized the Fort of Croysson, near Brest in Bretagne, and that Sir John Norris was trying to regain it, he hastened to land his troops and join the English and French. With the help he afforded the fort was taken; and although he was wounded severely during the assault, he brought back the fleet in safety to Plymouth.

Soon after he arrived, however, his wound proved mortal, through the carelessness, as it is said, of his surgeon, and England lost the services of one of her bravest and most faithful officers. His chroniclers say of him that he was courageous, clever, upright, hasty, and severe. He was not the less a hero because he did not succeed in his undertakings; his attempts were made in an earnest and faithful spirit, and his example served to encourage other men to embark in fresh voyages of discovery, which proved more fortunate than his own.

It is said that some of the ore he brought home the third time did not prove to be gold, and Queen Elizabeth therefore renounced the idea of a fourth expedition.

In her wardrobe of jewels she preserved the bone of a strange fish, "like a sea-unicorn," the mariners had found on their second voyage, embedded in the ice. "The fish was twelve yards long," round like a porpoise, with a bone of two yards growing out of the snout or nostrils.

SIR WALTER RALEIGH.

Sir Walter Raleigh, famed as a soldier, a sailor, an author, and a courtier, was born in Devonshire, in the year 1552. His father, Walter Raleigh, whose ancestors were known before the Conquest, had an estate near Plymouth; his mother was Elizabeth, daughter of Sir Philip Camperdown. He received the earlier part of his education at a school in the parish of Budely; at the age of sixteen we find that he was a commoner at Oxford, and already distinguished as an orator and a philosopher. A year later he went as a volunteer with one of his relations to help the Protestants in France, and afterwards served in the Netherlands under the Prince of Orange.

Raleigh had naturally a very active mind, and when he was not engaged in war, he would be busily employed in planning expeditions to the New World, some of which were carried out partly at his own expense. He had read the voyages of Columbus and of Vasco de Gama with the deepest interest, and, like many other ardent men of his time, desired earnestly to follow in the path of those brave pioneers.

In the year 1580 he commanded the royal troops in Ireland at the time of Desmond's rebellion. Philip II., to punish Elizabeth for having helped his Flemish subjects, sent a number of Spaniards and Italians to join the rebels. The Spanish general was besieged in a fort he had built at Kerry; he was forced to surrender, and the enemies of Raleigh cast great blame on him for the cruelties exercised towards the unhappy prisoners, whilst in reality he was only carrying out the orders of Lord Grey, the deputy of Ireland.

In a dispute he had with Lord Grey on his return to England, Raleigh defended himself so cleverly, that he drew upon him the attention of the queen; and an incident which occurred about this time served to bring him into great favour at court.

The queen was out walking with some of her courtiers, and having come to a muddy place, she paused, as if in doubt whether to cross it or not. Raleigh was present, and he immediately threw off a beautiful new cloak he wore, and spread it on the ground. The queen tripped lightly over it, much pleased with the gallant action, which she never forgot.

Raleigh was of middle height; he had dark hair, and was said to have been very handsome, although he had an exceedingly high forehead, and was "long-faced and sour-lidded." His dress as he stood amongst the courtiers would have consisted of a doublet of silk or satin fitting closely to the body, with enormous silken or velvet hose, richly ornamented; a peaked hat, and the cloak of gay hue, "fronted with gold and silver lace," would have completed the costume. Raleigh was always richly attired; at one time of his life he had a suit of armour composed of solid plates of silver, with which he wore a belt adorned with precious stones; and Sir Walter Scott describes a portrait he had seen of him which represented him clad in white satin, with a chain of very large pearls hanging around his neck.

The queen in the course of time bestowed on him lands in Ireland, both in the counties of Cork and Waterford. She also gave him an estate at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, where he laid out some beautiful gardens. He asked so many favours for his friends, as well as for himself, that Elizabeth once said to him soon after she had knighted him, "When shall you cease to be a beggar, Sir Walter?"

"When your Majesty ceases to be benevolent," he replied.