care of our Father above, and He has preserved thee alive.’
‘But I,’ and her answering voice sunk and broke, ‘but I have been faithless—unworthy. I have doubted. I have despaired.’
The tramp of the main body of Arnaud’s army was close upon them. Gaspard remembered his place, which was on the advance guard.
‘I must go,’ he said hurriedly. ‘At our noonday halt I shall find thee. My father and mother and thee—keep together, keep with the troops. Farewell for a short while, dear one; and may God grant us each a braver faith, and then a larger heart of thankfulness!’
CHAPTER XV.
THE two women could give Arnaud very full and important information as to the whereabouts of the enemy. Madeleine, who knew every yard of the ground, could explain just where a passage was possible, exactly where the best hope lay of forcing or outflanking the Savoy guard. In their hurried escape at daybreak they had seen the spot chosen for the defence of the pass, and they could guess at the number of men entrenched behind the giant boulders, and the means they had taken to render the natural defences of the place impregnable.
The Vaudois halted about three or four miles from the crest of the gorge, well on the Prali side, and out of sight of the duke’s men. There was not one amongst them all but knew the enormous importance of the next few hours. If they were repulsed and beaten back, the Marquis de Larrey, who was in command of the French troops beyond the Doire, or the Marquis de Parelle, who held the Valley of St. Martino, would be on their track, and
they must die on the threshold of their own land, like rats caught in a trap. There was no time for much calculation. Arnaud drew his men together, and briefly told them what they must do.
‘Beyond the pass is the vale of Luserna, Angrogna, and the homes we love. The pass is held by two, perhaps three, or even four hundred troops. We must force it, or die. God, who hath helped thus far, will not forsake us now. Ask His aid, Vaudois, not with your lips only, but with your lifted hearts. His strength is with us, as He hath indeed shown us from the moment we left the wood at Nyon. For my part, I can trust Him to give us victory even here. What say you, Vaudois?’
There was a hoarse murmur, a sound more significant than articulate words. The haggard, hungry faces were alight with a living faith, an ardent hope.
‘Lead on,’ said one in whom they trusted, Montoux, the second in command to Arnaud. ‘Lead on! a blow struck swiftly needs not to be struck twice. Two hundred or four, what matters it, since they must be encountered? and so lead on.’
Then Henri Botti stepped to the front, leading Madeleine.
‘My wife well knows these hills; here she was reared, and her father’s farm stretched yonder up towards Mount Cornan. She crossed the pass this morning at the sunrising, and saw where the enemy lies to bar our path. There is a way, a toilsome and dangerous way truly, but still one that can be trodden by Vaudois’ feet, and it will lead us out beyond the crown of the defile, beyond the garrison that holds it against us.’
‘It is really so,’ said Madeleine, speaking out simply before them all. ‘The path is scarcely more than a track for wild goats, but it will serve.’
‘Aye, it will serve,’ said Arnaud. ‘Gaspard Botta, do thou go with thy mother in advance. And as for this maiden——’
‘She stays at my side, an it please thee,’ interrupted the foster-mother quickly. ‘She is my comfort, my charge, my daughter that is to be—Rénée Janavel of Rora.’
The name was enough. Some few who had looked grave at the idea of trusting at so important a crisis to a woman’s guidance turned eagerly to look at this girl, the descendant of the old chief Janavel, the man who was waiting even now at Geneva to hear how they had fared. She had something of his bearing too, the same high brow and lofty carriage of the head; ah, yes, it was only fitting that one of the name of Janavel should lead again the warriors of the valleys.
Long afterwards the story was told in Vaudois’ homes of how the Pass of Guliano was won; of how the mountaineers crept along the dangerous ways, winning foothold and advancement where it was hard to believe that armed men could go; and always before them was Madeleine Botta, hale and noble in her age and homely dignity; and at her side, with hand held ever out to aid her foster-mother, and eye watchful for each sign of danger, trod the grandchild of their hero, Rénée Janavel. And over and over the tale was repeated how the enemy broke and fled, leaving behind them provision, ammunition, and baggage; a welcome store for the men who came empty and poor in all things save belief in their cause and faith in their God.
Before the sun set the Savoy guard were fugitives on the mountain side, and the Vaudois stood shoulder to shoulder on the Col di St. Guliano, gazing down on the Luserna Valley, the very heart of their fatherland, the goal of their dearest hopes.
There was a renewed strength in Henri Botta’s face and mien as he led his wife into the rear, and brought her food from the Savoy stores, and water to bathe her bruised and bleeding feet. And as he tended her and Rénée he turned to kiss the forehead of his adopted child with fervent love and pride.
‘God has indeed blessed me, since my old eyes behold once more not only Piedmont, but you!’ he said, turning from one to the other, as if he found it hard to believe that they were there in very flesh and blood.
‘I have dreamed of you often—of you and of the old house at Rora; as I have dreamed sometimes of God’s angels and the fields of heaven. This then is true,’ he laid his knotted hand on Madeleine’s. ‘I verily behold! and the other dream, the heavenly one, is yet to be realised.’
Rénée was crying softly, for very joy and weariness; it was sweet to feel that the lonely struggle was over at last, that she and her mother, Madeleine, were encircled with friendly care, and held safe in loving companionship. The long months and years of hiding and terror were past—the waiting-time had ended in content. And yet the Vaudois had but entered the borders of their Canaan, the victory was yet to be gained, the return was yet to be accomplished.
Arnaud knew that this was so, and his look, though as firm of faith as ever, was grave to sadness as he gazed down on Luserna from the Col di St. Guliano. He knew that hitherto his men had conquered by the wild dash of their onslaught, by the sudden and unexpected way they attacked the French and Savoy troops. This could not continue.
No reinforcements could come from the wasted Vaudois villages, no ammunition could be reckoned on save what they could wrench from the enemy, unless it were the stones from the hill-side which might be used instead of bullets; and as for food they must trust to the half-ripe corn in the fields, and to the produce of such farms as dotted the glens and slopes.
Every day would raise fresh difficulties for them—every mile of ground must be gained by battle, and held by costly strife; and as the struggle swept here and there through the valleys how were the wounded to be tended, or the dead to have Christian burial?
It was no wonder that Arnaud’s brow was lined with anxious thought, as his glance swept the country lying before the entrance to the pass. There was stern work in front of his men, and he knew it.
The next day the Vaudois took Bobbio without much difficulty, and they attacked the large town of Villaro in the midst of the Luserna Valley. This latter place was defended by veteran troops, and the duke’s general succeeded in thronging into it a large body of reinforcements: and then what Arnaud had foreseen occurred. The Vaudois were beaten back, and obliged to disperse, scattering themselves over the Vandalin range, the very ground where Henri Botta and his sons had retreated before that terrible storm of death and fanaticism in 1686. The papal forces had triumphed then, the mountaineers were driven like autumn leaves before a gale. Was this to be their fate again, now, after such high hopes and glorious imaginings?
Their chronicler writes: ‘The defeat at Villaro changed their tactics; henceforth they attacked rarely, and then only convoys, advanced posts, and detached columns. They entrenched themselves in mountainous retreats difficult of access, in natural fortresses easy of defence, while their detachments scoured the country to obtain provisions. It was on the declivities of their mountains, in the centre of their verdant pastures, once covered with their flocks, but now solitary, that they prepared to sell their lives as dearly as might be; decided, as they were, to die in their heritage, on their widowed and desolate soil, or to wring from their prince an honourable peace, and freedom to worship their God.’
But during these trial days they had what they lacked in 1686. Arnaud was their leader, their comforter, their minister. With a courage that never flagged, and a simple faith that was as strong as the sunlight, he preached to them the old enthusiastic trust in the power and the grace of God.
These critical days lasted throughout September, and on the 22nd of October two thousand French troops crossed the frontier, to unite with the duke’s forces, and once more ‘sweep the valleys clean of heresy.’ Then Arnaud called a council, and asked each man if he had any plan to propose, any refuge or resource to indicate. But, for the most part, they recognised the dire necessity of the case, without being able to advise a remedy.
‘We can conquer the villages, we can force the passes,’ they said sadly, ‘but we cannot hold possession of the valleys—we, so poor a remnant, so helpless a company.’
‘Neither so poor nor so helpless as those with less righteousness in their cause,’ said Gaspard Botta. But he was a young man, and modest, as became his years, therefore his words were almost unheard in the conclave.
It was the leader, Arnaud, who decided on what was to be done. At best it was but a forlorn hope.
Northwards, just within the frontiers of the Vaudois valleys, is Balsille, a village on the Germanasque stream: here Arnaud determined to make a stand. It was a natural fortress, and strong enough, he thought, to be held—at least throughout the winter.
It is a wonderful citadel, this Rock of Balsille: a lofty hill broken into terraces, with fountains of water, and a peak commanding the country for miles around, where sentinels might give timely warning of the advance of the foe. Here they were savagely attacked by the whole strength of the French troops; but the soldiers beat against the place in vain, for the mountaineers had seized every corner of vantage, and had strengthened by earthworks and entrenchments the almost precipitous cliff.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE siege for weeks went on—uselessly. And then, as the days grew cold and dark, the French retired to seek winter quarters. They flung a jibing message to the Vaudois, bidding them have patience, and wait for them there until Easter.
But, meanwhile, how was the Rock of Balsille to be provisioned? The enemy had burned the corn-stacks and granges in the valley, and had carried off every eatable thing to be found. Starvation came very closely into the Vaudois’ reckoning in those early winter days, and starvation might have done the work in which the French had failed and conquered the garrison there and then, had it not been for a discovery of Rénée Janavel’s.
She had wandered into the valley, past the mill of Macel, and along the banks of the river, seeking something, if it were but a few frost-bitten cabbages, wherewith to make soup for her Mother-Madeleine. She was unsuccessful; the ground had been searched over and over again; not a leaf of salad, not an edible root was to be found. Icicles hung to the idle mill-wheel and fringed the edges of the stream. Long wisps of grasses lay dead and drifted in the water; and the dark sky stooped so low and frowningly that the peak of the Balsille had pierced the clouds and was out of sight beyond the lowering vapours.
Rénée was cold, and she was hungry, yet her eye was bright and her heart was lightsome; privation and suffering were not so hard to bear when safe in the love of those who loved her—the trials of the Balsille were small compared to the silence and the waiting-time in that cave in the vale of Luserna. She wrapped her tattered cloak more tightly round her, and shook the loosened hair from her eyes. She might even have been heard singing to herself as she crossed the wide snow-covered land that stretched by the banks of the river.
Suddenly she noticed a spot where some animal had been scratching in the snow. Could it be straw, grain—eatable, useful food, that lay there under the white crust, frozen beneath the snow? She flung herself on her knees, and began to search further and deeper. Presently a burning flush came on her cheeks, an eager light to her eyes.
There was rye beneath the snow. Rye, ripe and plentiful! weighed down, hidden and preserved by the thick white covering that had lain unmelted since the heavy storm of last September. Whole fields of rye! unreaped by the fugitive owners, unguessed at by the troops that had trodden across that white expanse, little dreaming of the treasure beneath their feet.
The girl ran back to the Balsille, and, panting, told her tale. Gaspard’s face flushed with proud joy as he heard her; he rejoiced that it was his Rénée that was bringing help to the Vaudois, that it should be the grandchild of Janavel who was the bearer of the best news that could come to the starving and half-desperate people.
‘It is our God’s granary!’ said Henri Botta, solemnly. ‘Our Father, who Himself stored His corn for us thus.’
And were not the words true? The God who feedeth the young lions when they cry had not forgotten His servants in the time of their need.
So the silent mill-stones of Marcel revolved once more, and the scent of the dry grain was as fragrance in the nostrils of the mountaineers. ‘We shall be ready for the foe at Easter,’ they said, and their light-hearted laughter rung out on the wind.
But their case was too grave and their position too perilous for a few acres of rye to be their salvation. When Easter came they were still holding the Balsille; but as Arnaud called them together for the daily service of prayer, he noted how their ranks had shrunk, and he saw how sickness had reduced the strength of such as still called themselves fighting men.
The foe returned in early spring; a foe numbering now no less than twenty-two thousand! Arnaud and his feeble garrison could muster but about six hundred! surely an insignificant garrison to call forth such an armament for its reduction. Cannon were planted on the opposite hill; batteries were cast up on all sides. The Balsille must be taken now, were the Vaudois as obstinate as the barbets their enemies had scoffingly likened them to. A flag of truce was sent to them, and they were summoned for the last time to surrender.
Arnaud’s answer is historical. ‘We are no subjects of the King of France,’ he said. ‘We cannot treat with his officers. We are in the heritage left us by our fathers from times unknown; by the aid and grace of the Lord of Hosts we will live and die therein. Discharge your artillery; our rocks will not be terrified, and we will listen to the thunder with calmness, should there be but ten of us left!’
The defiance was as lofty in tone as ever, but yet the heart of the man who sent that proud answer had been brought very low. His trust did not fail him, nor his submission to God’s will, but he had begun to think that it must be this will of God that he and his men should die there on the hills of their country, and that the race of the Vaudois should perish from the earth. ‘Even so, Father, since it is good in Thy sight!’
On the 14th of May they saw the Balsille could no longer be defended. Flight only remained; and once more they must begin the weary wanderings amongst caves and holes in the rocks, chased as David was chased by Saul on the hills of Palestine. Covered by a dense fog, they crept through the French lines, a woeful wreck and remnant, flying to their hill hiding-places, afraid lest word or step should betray them to immediate slaughter. Southwards they fled; down through Prali towards the mountains of Angrogna.
‘Mother,’ said Rénée, ‘this wild journeying will kill thee. We women can never keep up with the march of our troops. Is it not better to stay here where we stand? we can but die.’
But Madeleine laid her hand against her lips. ‘Courage yet, dear child. It is nearly over now.’
Nearly over—aye, but in another sense than that she meant.
On the 18th of May two men met the flying Vaudois. They were messengers from Victor Amadeus, and messengers to them.
A strange message they bore. England, Germany, Holland, and Spain had formed a coalition against Louis XIV., and had called upon the Duke of Savoy to decide at once whether he would join their alliance or hold to his friendship with France. He had decided; and on the side of the strongest; therefore the French were now his enemies; and he sent to ask whether Arnaud and his mountaineers would enrol themselves on the side of Savoy, and help to drive Louis’ men back across the frontier. If Arnaud consented, the valleys were to be placed there and then under his protection and control.
Could it be true? ‘Protection,’ ‘control.’ Strange words in the ears of the handful of hunted outcasts who were flying for their lives. But to enforce the news and prove its truth the Piedmontese garrison of La Torre sent out food and gifts of clothing, which were indeed sorely needed; and other messengers came from the duke, repeating the same tale and demanding instant reply. And presently—most conclusive proof of all—their minister, Montoux, and others who had been carried prisoners to Turin, came hurrying to meet them in transports of joy.
Yes, it was true! God had remembered His promise, and had been faithful to His word. The trust of the Vaudois had not been in vain, the struggle was over—the victory was won!
Before many months were past the Vaudois were re-established in their homes; from the east and west they came, flocking homewards to their land won for them by Arnaud and his heroes. Or, rather as they themselves would say, the land restored to them by the grace of their Father in heaven.
The sharp endurance, the agony, the exile—all, all was past, and for the years to come they and their children’s children might lift humble hearts in thankfulness that God had honoured them by letting them bear such witness for His truth.
The charter of their freedom was given at last. The valleys were their own; their faith was secure.
. . . . . . . .
A white-walled cottage in Rora stood smothered in vines, and resonant with children’s voices. Here Rénée, sweet-eyed as of old, albeit of matronly air and manner, watches for Gaspard’s coming from his work as her busy hands ply distaff or needle, and her foot keeps the rocker of the cradle moving in time to her song.
It is a song in which an aged voice joins now and again as Mother Madeleine catches the well-known burden of the words—a song which the Vaudois have chanted since the hour of their ‘Glorious Return’; not the ‘Psalm of Strong Confidence,’ but the song of their triumph.
When men rose up against us,
Then they had swallowed us up quick, and the stream had gone over our soul:
Blessed be the Lord, who hath not given us
As a prey to their teeth!
Our soul is escaped as a bird from the snare.
The snare is broken, and we are escaped!
Our help is in the Name of the Lord,
The Lord who made heaven and earth.’
APPENDIX.
THE INSTRUCTIONS GIVEN TO HIS COMPATRIOTS BY JOSHUA JANAVEL, WHO WAS TOO OLD TO ACCOMPANY THEM ON THEIR ‘GLORIOUS RETURN.’
THE Lord not permitting me, to my great sorrow, by reason of my infirmity, to follow you, I considered it my duty to neglect nothing for the good of my poor country: therefore I give you in writing my ideas as to the course you should take on the way, and in your engagements and attacks, if the Lord mercifully bring you to your mountains, as I hope, and I pray God with all my heart that He may prosper everything to His glory and the re-establishment of His Church. I beg you, therefore, to take in good part the contents of this letter.
If our Church has been reduced to such an extremity, our sin is the real cause thereof. We must more and more every day humble ourselves before God, and earnestly crave pardon ... ever having recourse to Him; and when troubles arise be patient, redouble your courage, so that there may be nothing firmer than your faith. Therefore doubt not that God will preserve you and accomplish your projects to His glory and the advancement of the kingdom of Jesus Christ.
As soon as you reach the enemy’s territory, you must seize three or four men of the place, wherever you find them: then you must make them march with you from place to place, and when you reach some part where there is danger of alarms, you must send one of these men with one of your own to give notice to the peasants to trouble themselves about nothing, and that you will do them no harm or injury, if only they let you pass.... And if you want anything you must pay them fairly.
You must behave as prudently as possible for the sake of your neighbours, the Swiss Lords, who should be your friends.
Moreover, as to the management of the war, provided that God in His mercy allows you to go whither you desire, you must, every one of you, fall on your knees, raise your eyes and hands to heaven, your heart and soul to the Lord in earnest prayer, that He will give you His Spirit, and enable you to choose the most capable amongst you to lead the others.
In the evening you must all gather together to offer prayer to God. You must place numerous sentinels, using the most timorous of your soldiers for the evening and throughout the night, and the boldest and most expert towards daylight.
When you see the enemy approaching, let them draw as near as possible: fire at first upon the officers, make no ill-timed discharge, and be prompt in re-charging your arms, and, if possible, have bullets which exactly fit the bore of the gun, to ensure straight firing.
When you pursue or make a search for the enemy, put soldiers in the field to attack the flanks of the troops, but never allow the head to advance without notice from the flank; in this way you will all be safe, and Christ’s Church also, provided you be faithful Christians.
In every encounter take great care to spare innocent or useless blood, so as not to have to answer for it before God; and, above all, be not overcome by fear or by anger; then will the sword of the Lord, as well as His grace, be with you, and he who trusts in the living God shall never perish.
Whoever passes over to the enemy, unless he be taken prisoner arms in hand, must be punished with death. He shall have the liberty of choosing the persons by whom he is to be shot.
Sentence of death must be passed upon anyone who remains on the field of battle to plunder the enemy before orders from the captain.
After the first battle it is desirable that your officers change clothes with the more poorly clad members of their company. While on the march there is no need to grant any quarter to prisoners.
Trust neither the letters nor the words of the enemy: and it is when they desire to confer that you must be most on your guard.
When you make an attack you must have ambuscades in the flank, and after making an advance you must fall back, so that the enemy may pursue you; when the engagement occurs in the ambuscades, you must face about, and so you will make many dead and wounded, for such are the fruits of war.
Spare converted families (catholisées), for otherwise God would be grieved.
If God grant that you reach your mountains, which I hope, you must first know where your place of retreat is to be. If you are only six or seven hundred strong, you must attack simultaneously the Valley of Luserna and the Valley of St. Martin; but first fix your retreat, which should be in the Valley of St. Martin, the Balciglia, and in the Valley of Luserna, Balmadaut, l’Aiguille, and La Combe de Giausarand, which was the ancient retreat of our fathers.
Always keep sentinels on the tops of the mountains, so as not to be surprised from the Pragela side, and keep the passes clear from one valley to the other. On the Col Julien place a guard composed of men from each valley—half from one, half from the other.
As for you others of the Balciglia, he continues, you are all men of strength and used to toil; therefore spare no pains in well fortifying this point, which will be a very strong retreat for you.
In case you are attacked by a large number of troops, you must withdraw altogether to the most convenient places, such as Balmadaut, Sarcena, La Combe de Giausarand, and l’Aiguille; but leave the Balciglia only at the last extremity. They will not fail to tell you that you cannot hold out for ever, and that all France and Italy will turn upon you rather than you should succeed; but say that you fear nothing, not even death, and that if the whole world were against you, and you alone against the whole world, you fear only the Almighty who is your Protector.
To regain possession of your valleys, he says, you must first seize that of St. Martin. To make a successful attack, you must form three companies,—one to occupy the mountain tops, the second to keep the Bridge of the Tour (near Pomaret), and the third must be divided into two, to invest Perrier. It is very necessary to take Perrier, as otherwise no assistance or retreat is possible without discovery.
As to the Valley of Luserna, the highest mountain must be reached, and promptness must be exercised in sending half of the soldiers down the rivers to cut the bridges, then to stand their ground in planting ambushes in suitable and narrow places. The Bridge of Subiasq must be strongly guarded, to prevent the carrying off of cattle and provisions.
As to the town of Bobbio, I do not believe that the enemy will encamp there. As to Villar, I will tell you by word of mouth what I think. I will not commit it to writing. Tour must be invested at night, and completely surrounded by fires, so that the smoke may serve as a screen from the fire of the fort. As to St. Jean and Angrogna, I cannot tell you all the plans proposed, and therefore you must act according to circumstances.
As soon as you have entered the valleys you must put up the ministers, doctors, and wounded in the Serre-de-Cruel, and when the town of Bobbio is taken they should withdraw to Sarcena; and when Villar is taken, they should go to Pertuzel, and when Tour is taken to Rua-de-Bonnet or to Taillaret. Finally, when Pramol, Angrogna, and Rocheplatte are taken, they must be removed to Pra-du-Tor, whence they will bestow their care and good advice upon the people of both valleys.
W. RIDER, AND SON, PRINTERS, LONDON.
| Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: |
|---|
| 1867, James II. was on the English throne=> 1687, James II. was on the English throne {pg 81} |
| those whe loved her=> those who loved her {pg 142} |