CHAPTER I.

THE CALL TO BATTLE.

IN the year 1552, Charles the Fifth, Emperor of Germany, the celebrated son of Ferdinand and Isabella of Spain, laid siege to the town of Metz, famous then as now for its fortifications, and for its cathedral, which is one of the finest in Europe. It had lately been taken possession of by the French, and the Emperor vainly endeavoured to regain it. It was at the time above-named defended by Francis Duke of Guise, one of the most illustrious warriors of France, who, by his military career, as well as his high personal advantages, added not a little to the lustre of the House of Lorraine. His defence of Metz was amongst his most distinguished military exploits.

Amongst the German troops—who, not less brave than those of Spain and Italy, far surpassed them in discipline and humanity—was serving, at the time our story commences, a soldier of the name of Gaspard Stettele, a native of Munderkingen, a town of Suabia, seated on the Danube. Gaspard was not only remarkable for his courage and the diligence with which he discharged his military duties, but also for his honesty and kindness of heart, which, together with other good qualities, had secured for him the approbation and esteem of his superiors, as well as the goodwill and respect of his fellow-soldiers. A sincere piety, somewhat rare amongst men of his calling, regulated his life and conversation. Gaspard never went into action without on his knees imploring protection from One whom he well knew could preserve him in every danger.

Before the war of which we are speaking, Gaspard had married a young village girl, Katherine Stiess, and the union had been a happy one for both. Katherine was industrious, frugal, and devoted to her husband; and by the economy and order with which she managed her little family, she had kept them free from want. This was not always easy, as her husband would not, like other soldiers, enrich himself by pillage, and would no more have robbed a fallen and helpless enemy than he would a countryman or a friend.

Then, as now, soldiers scrupled not to appropriate all that the chances of war threw in their way;—not so Gaspard. He, on the contrary, grieved at the rapacity and unfeeling cruelty with which his comrades too often despoiled those who could offer no resistance, and daily returned from the scene of strife with only the approbation of his own conscience, whilst many of his comrades were loaded with booty, but too frequently cruelly obtained.

If Katherine was sometimes tempted to regret that she was not as well off as those who were thus enriched, she quickly checked the feeling, and recollected with thankfulness that no act of cruelty or dishonesty could be laid to her husband's charge, and that their fare, however poor, was honestly obtained. Three children had been born to gladden the little home. The two eldest, in health and strength, were all their parents could desire; the third, too tender to stand the life its parents were obliged to lead, was early taken from them, and they had deeply sorrowed at its loss—the only event that had clouded their happiness during the eight years of their married life. At the same time, both Gaspard and his good wife knew too well from whom the trial came to murmur under it, and perhaps there were even moments when they might think with thankfulness that their darling was safe from the various trials and troubles from which they could not have shielded it, had it been spared to them.

It had been the custom of Gaspard and his wife to observe their respective birthdays as days of pleasure and rejoicing, and to offer such little tokens of affection as it was in their power to bestow. Gaspard especially, according to the custom of all foreign countries, had never omitted presenting his wife with some small gift, varying with the means he had at his command. Katherine's birthday, or rather fête-day, was now approaching, and Gaspard feared lest he should for the first time be obliged to forgo this pleasure. The soldiers had been three weeks without their pay, in consequence of which Gaspard and Katherine had found it difficult to provide for their daily wants, and had been forced to take what little they had saved by strict economy to enable them to get on. Gaspard felt sad, as the day drew near, to think he should be unable to offer his beloved Katherine his customary gift.

Meantime, he found that his regiment had received orders to join a part of the Spanish army, for the purpose of endeavouring to take by assault a post of some importance about two leagues from Metz, occupied by the French. As soon as Gaspard was informed of this, he hastened back to the hut occupied by his family. In those days the huts, or cabins, in which soldiers were obliged to live during a campaign were miserable enough. Four strong stakes or poles served to support a thin roofing of planks, which was roughly covered over with moss or straw, the sides being formed of branches of trees, interlaced with each other, and plastered over with clay, through which the rain and light equally penetrated. Gaspard's little dwelling in no respect differed from those of his comrades, save in the neatness and cleanliness of its interior.

In the centre of this temporary home was a cask, on which was laid a board that served as a table, and which, though rude and rough, was clean and decent; around were small beds of chaff and straw, with coarse woollen bedclothes. That of the good soldier was ornamented with a large bear-skin, bequeathed to him by his grandfather, who had killed a bear of unusual size in Hungary. Above these humble beds hung a large cross, which had been given to Gaspard's good and pious mother by the superior of a convent in Strasburg, and which her son held in great veneration. Near the cross hung the soldier's armour—his helmet, sword, and cuirass.

When Gaspard entered this humble dwelling, Katherine was busy preparing the evening meal. His two children ran eagerly to welcome his return;—Michael, the eldest, impatient to display a sword he had ingeniously cut out of a piece of wood, and the youngest, John, no less so to show a helmet he had made of gilt paper, and adorned with a few feathers he had picked up.

The father readily praised his children's work, and then, laying aside his arms, he seated himself, calling his wife to his side. "Katherine," said he, with ill-disguised emotion, "to-morrow by daybreak we march; there is to be an encounter with the French about two leagues from Metz."

The smiles with which Katherine had greeted her husband's return gave place to tears, and putting her hand in his, she exclaimed, "Oh! Gaspard, the day after to-morrow is my birthday; must I pass it without you?"

"Our General tells us it may not be more than a day's work," replied Gaspard; "so with God's blessing I may be with you, and may bring you yet a birthday present."

"Only return safe and well yourself," said poor Katherine; "and I shall want nothing else."

"God has protected us so far, dear wife," returned her husband; "let us put our trust in Him."

These words helped to restore Katherine's composure, and, wiping away her tears, she said more cheerfully—

"Now you must want your supper, Gaspard, as well as the children." So saying, she placed what she had prepared on the rude table, and enjoyed seeing her husband and little ones make a hearty meal. Soon after which the two boys knelt and said their evening prayer, and sang their little hymn of praise. They were soon asleep, equally unconscious of the hardships of the present, or the dangers of the future.

It was late ere their parents retired for the night. Gaspard was busy cleaning his arms and accoutrements, and Katherine worked by his side.

By an early hour the following day Gaspard was ready, and after a hasty breakfast he took a tender farewell of his wife and children, though he well knew they would follow him to where the troops were to assemble. Katherine could only look with dread at the military display before her; but the two little boys clapped their hands with delight, and eagerly watched their father, as he fell into his place in the regiment to which he belonged. The order to march was soon given, and the bands struck up an enlivening strain. Katherine witnessed their departure with a heavy heart, and when she could no longer see them, she returned, sad and sorrowful, to her now desolate home.

On joining the Spaniards, the Germans found they were under the orders of the Spanish General, Don Leva, who had taken the command of the combined force.

They were soon before the fortress, which was well protected by high and massive walls, deep moats, and strong and lofty towers. Judging from the outward appearance of the fort, it might be thought capable of holding out for at least a time against any attack. It was, however, not prepared for the one about to be made.

Having drawn up his troops in readiness for an assault, Don Leva despatched a summons to the French general to surrender. A disdainful answer was returned; the Spanish chief in consequence vowed no quarter should be granted to those who had thus defied him. He ordered an immediate attack, promising, the soldiers, in the event of victory, that all should be given up to them that the fort and castle contained.

The German detachment was ordered to form the column of attack; Gaspard was soon foremost amongst the combatants. His regiment performed prodigies of valour: they swam the moat, scaled the walls, and after pursuing the French garrison to the furthest limits of the fortress, they returned with the purpose of taking possession of the place thus evacuated. Don Leva arrested their triumphal return, and was guilty of an unpardonable act of injustice to the German soldiers. The Spaniards, unfairly claiming the honour of the day's success, laid claim to the booty resulting from it; their commander yielded it to them, wholly setting aside the joint right of the Germans to share the spoil. They had borne the first dangers of the assault, and had carried all before them; and whilst engaged in pursuing the enemy, the Spaniards entered the castle, laid hands on all they could find, and spent the time in plundering and destroying.

On the return of the Germans, they were ordered by Don Leva to guard the different approaches to the castle, as if to protect those who were so shamelessly pillaging it. They obeyed, but with mingled feelings of anger and indignation, not only at the injustice shown to them, but at the excesses and rapacity of the Spanish soldiers. Gaspard was amongst these, and saw, with vexation, many pass him loaded with spoil, some of which he would gladly have had to take to his wife and children.

The Spaniards were carrying on the work of plunder, whilst the Germans, fatigued and disappointed, were gloomily looking on, when suddenly all parties were startled by clouds of dense smoke arising from the castle within the fortress, quickly followed by flames, which soon burst forth, and rose high above the smoke. Whether from some carelessness on the part of the Spaniards, or from a premeditated act on that of the vanquished garrison, it was clear that the castle was on fire. The terrible element soon lit up the whole horizon. Don Leva, knowing the place to be of some importance as a place of refuge, at once ordered the Germans to endeavour to arrest the progress of the fire. With the spirit of discipline and fidelity for which they were remarkable, these brave soldiers, led by their own officers, rushed to obey the order. Their efforts were unavailing. The devastating element made rapid progress; they soon found it was hopeless to attempt to check its course; some fled from the burning place, others lingered, hoping they might snatch something from the conflagration,

whilst some few advanced into the doomed building to see if there were any in it whom they might be able to rescue from a terrible death.

Amongst the latter was Gaspard!

Smoke and flames met him as he advanced—still he pressed on. After passing through several apartments, which had apparently been lately stripped of all that once adorned them, he came to a smaller one, which had not yet been touched by the fire, nor by the rude hands of the plunderers, by whom it had probably been overlooked. It was, however, richly furnished.

Gaspard looked hastily around. What was his amazement on beholding, on a couch, a child sleeping soundly, unconscious of the danger which threatened it.

"May God, who has guided me here, enable me to save this little innocent!" exclaimed the good-hearted soldier. "Who can have been cruel enough to leave it?"

The infant appeared scarcely a year old. Its remarkable beauty struck Gaspard, even in that moment of danger. He raised it gently from the couch without awaking it, then hastily wrapping it in a large mantle, which had been thrown over it, he fastened it securely to his back as he would have done a knapsack; he then set to work to retrace his steps, anxious to escape ere surrounded by the devouring element, which, he was well aware, was gaining rapidly upon him. As he retraced his way dense smoke threatened to suffocate him; his knees shook under him, and more than once he was forced to stop to recover himself.

All around, he heard the crash of falling beams, succeeded by fresh bursts of flames, which threw a fearful glare on the surrounding objects. His situation was one of extreme peril. A short prayer for help burst from his lips, which was scarcely uttered ere, on turning suddenly round, he perceived a window opening on to a stone balcony. Gaspard rushed to it, and found it was no great height from the ground. Had he been alone, he would at once have leaped from it; as was, he proceeded more cautiously, and having his arms free, he was able to swing himself from the stone balustrade, and thus diminish the height he had to fall.

Great was his thankfulness on finding himself safe with his little charge, the more so that he now perceived that the fire was gaining rapidly on the part of the building from which he had just escaped. A few minutes more, and he might have been unable to gain the window from which he had just alighted. As he raised himself from the ground, the little infant uttered a faint cry, having been probably awakened by the fall. The good soldier hastened to disencumber it of its wrappings, so that it might breathe more freely. The little creature looked at its preserver, and smiled, seeming in no way alarmed at its new position. Gaspard having opened his flask of light wine, in order to moisten his own parched lips, ventured to give a few drops to the child, feeling sure it must have been sometime without nourishment. He then again carefully folded it in the mantle, and looked around to see how he could best find his way back to his comrades.

At this moment he heard the trumpet of recall, and the well-known and welcome sound guided him in which way to direct his steps. Gaspard hastened to obey the summons. On rejoining his brave companions in arms, he found it somewhat difficult to recognise them; they, like himself, were disfigured and blackened with smoke and dirt, their hair and beards singed and scorched. Gaspard was amongst the last of the stragglers, and his appearance was heartily welcomed, some fears having been entertained for his safety.

Presently a cry from the infant he had rescued attracted the notice and excited the curiosity of his fellow-soldiers. Gaspard quietly undid the bundle he carried, and displayed to the astonished gaze of those who stood around the beautiful child he had saved. A shout of laughter was the result, followed by such exclamations as—"Was that all you could find to bring away?"—"I would have had something better than that for my trouble."

There were others, however, who did silent justice to the courage and humanity of the good soldier, amongst whom was his captain, the young Baron Otto of Helfenstein. He approached the group, and listened with interest to Gaspard's short and simple account of his finding the child, whom, it was easy to perceive belonged to some one of high birth. Its clothes were of the finest texture and richly embroidered; whilst the fairness of its complexion and the beauty of its golden curls showed plainly that it had been carefully tended.

The young Baron summoned some of the French prisoners, in the hope that they might be able to give some information that might enable him to discover to whom the poor little infant belonged; but he could learn nothing respecting it.

"The little one must then remain with its preserver," said the Baron, addressing Gaspard, "till we can trace its parents; but you have already a wife and children. This will be another to provide for; you must let me help you and your good wife, if she is willing to take charge of this poor little one."

Gaspard thanked his captain with tears in his eyes; he felt more grateful for his approbation than for his promise of assistance, and with a light heart he resumed his precious charge.

The order to march was soon given; the wearied soldiers gladly obeyed, though somewhat dispirited and dissatisfied with the day's work. Gaspard, however, far from murmuring, was thankful for his preservation, as well as for that of the little being who, he now hoped, might, through the Baron's kindness, be a help rather than a burden to himself and his wife. He pleased himself by imagining the surprise with which Katherine would receive such a gift for her birthday. Knowing her tenderness of heart, he felt sure of a welcome for the little foundling, and that she would readily take the deserted one to her heart. The day was drawing to a close when the regiment reached its quarters; orders for the morrow having been issued, the soldiers were at liberty to return each to his own hut.

CHAPTER II.

THE BIRTHDAY GIFT.

GASPARD was hastening away with the rest, when recalled by his captain, who, placing three pieces of gold in his hand, said as he did so,—

"My friend, take these to your good wife, with the new charge you are taking to her, and tell her you shall never want a friend whilst I live."

"May God bless you, my noble captain!" exclaimed Gaspard, now more impatient than ever to reach his home. He lost no time in repairing thither, and entered it with a light heart.

Katherine flew to meet him. "Gaspard!" she cried, in a terrified tone, "Gaspard, what has happened? You are all black,—your hair and clothes burnt;—are you hurt?—tell me, tell me quick?"

"It is nothing, dear wife; I am not hurt, but I have had to defend myself, not only against the enemy, but a terrible fire, by which at one time I was almost surrounded, and which scorched my face and hands, as you see, and blackened me from head to foot; but I brought away a birthday present for you, Katherine, which I hope may bring a blessing with it." So saying, he unfolded the mantle, and displayed to his wife's astonished eyes the lovely infant he had so wonderfully and humanely rescued.

"Dear husband," she exclaimed, "whose is it, and where did you find it?" Then taking it in her arms, she tenderly kissed it, and smoothed its fair, glossy curls. Gaspard shortly related all that had occurred— the danger he had been in, in the midst of the burning castle—the finding the child—the merciful escape he had had—and, finally, the kind promise made by the young Baron Otto de Helfenstein.

"God be praised!" said Katherine, when her husband ceased speaking, "for having thus preserved you and this little one from such fearful peril."