GOTTFRIED AND ERARD—PURSUIT OF A HORSEMAN—RESCUE OF THE WOUNDED CHEVALIER

In the long and bloody war which followed the martyrdom of John Huss and Jerome of Prague,^[1] two hostile armies met, in 1423, in one of the most beautiful valleys of Bohemia.

The battle commenced towards the close of day, and continued until after sunset.

It was then that old Gottfried, accompanied by Erard, his grandson, climbed to the summit of a steep hill, from the edge of which might be perceived, in the depth of the valley, behind a wood, some troops still fighting.

The old man and the child, (Erard was scarcely nine years of age,) were sad and silent. They both looked towards the plain, and it was with a profound sigh that Erard at last said, "O, how good is the Lord, if he has preserved my father!"

"The Lord can preserve him!" said Gottfried, with solemnity, "Arnold belongs to him; yes, my son, your father is one of his dear children!"

"But, grandpapa," resumed Erard, looking at the old man, "do not Christians also die in battle? God does not preserve them all."

"If my son has laid down his life for the Lord," continued Gottfried, "he is not dead: his soul has gone from this world to be with his Saviour."

"To be with my good mamma!" said the child. "In heaven with the angels, is it not, dear grandpapa?"

"To be with thy mother, my son," replied the old man, drawing the child towards him. "Yes, in the heaven of the blessed! It is there that all those who love Jesus go, and your mother was his faithful servant."

Erard sighed, and exclaimed, "O, how good will God be if he has preserved my father, my good father! O, grandpapa, why did you let him go?"

"Erard," replied the old Christian, "your father would rather not have fought, he has so much patience and in his heart; but then he also has courage: he has been surnamed----"

"Grandpapa," interrupted the child, with agitation, and pointing with his hand towards the plain, under the declivity of the hill, and in a narrow passage between the rocks and woods, "do you see those three horsemen?"

In fact, three armed warriors were hastening, at the utmost speed of their horses, towards a thick coppice, which they entered, and disappeared. The first seemed to be flying before the two others, who appeared to be in furious pursuit.

Gottfried listened, but no sound was heard; and, a few moments afterwards, he distinctly saw two of the warriors come out of the wood and hasten towards the plain, repassing the defile.

"Alas!" said the old man, groaning, "they have killed him! They have dipped their hands in the blood of their brother!"

"They have killed him! Do you say so, grandpapa? Whom have they killed? Is it my father?"

"No, my son; the first warrior was not Arnold. But it was a man, and those are men who have killed him! O Lord, when wilt thou teach them to love one another? But let us go to him," added the old man.

"To the dead man!" exclaimed Erard with affright. "Grandpapa, see! it is already night."

"Come, my child," said Gottfried, "and fear not. Perhaps he is not yet dead; and if God sends us to his assistance, will you not be happy?"

"But, grandpapa, the wood is so dark, that I don't see how we shall find our way."

"Well, Erard, I will wait here. Run to the house, and return immediately with Ethbert and Matthew. Tell them that I have sent for them, and let them bring a torch and the long hand-barrow. Make haste!"

Erard was soon out of sight, and only a short time had elapsed before he returned with the two domestics, who held each a flambeaux and brought the litter.

The child trembled while they descended, over the rocks and through the woods. It seemed to him that he was about to step in the blood or fall over the body of the dead man. The flame of the torches, which wavered in the evening breeze, now struck a projection of the rock, which seemed to assume the form of a man, now penetrated behind the trunks of the pines, which appeared like ranks of soldiers. The imagination of Erard was excited: he scarcely breathed, and felt his heart sink when Ethbert, who was walking before, exclaimed, "Here he is! He is dead!"

It was a chevalier and a nobleman; whom Gottfried immediately recognized by the form of his casque and the golden scarf to which was suspended the scabbard of his sword.

The visor of the casque was closed. Gottfried raised it, and saw the pale and bloody countenance of a man, still young, whose features expressed courage and valor.

He had fallen under his horse, in whose side was found the point of a lance which had killed him; and the whole body of his steed had covered and crushed one of his limbs. The right hand of the chevalier still grasped the handle of a sword of which the blade was broken.

Gottfried and his servants looked on some moments. The light of the torches shone on the rich armor of the chevalier and on the gold-embroidered housing of his horse, and it seemed as if its brilliancy must open his closed eyes and re-animate his motionless limbs.

Erard kept close to his grandfather and a little behind him. He wept gently, but not with fear—it was with grief and sorrow,—and he repeated, in a low voice, "They have killed him! The wicked men!"

"Perhaps he still lives," said Gottfried, kneeling and placing his ear to the chevalier's mouth. "Raise him! Loose him!" exclaimed he, rising hastily. "He is not dead!"

"He is not dead! he is not dead!" repeated Erard; and he began with all his little force to push the body of the dead horse, which the three men raised, and from beneath which they at last disengaged the leg of the chevalier. It was bruised against a stone which had torn the flesh, and the blood was flowing from it copiously.

"Water!" cried Gottfried, unlacing the armor of the chevalier and taking off his casque, which one of the domestics took that he might fill it with water from the foot of the rocks.

Meanwhile the benevolent old man had laid the chevalier on the ground, upon the housing of his horse and his own garment, which he had taken off; he supported his head with one hand, and with the other lightly rubbed his breast, to revive the beating of his heart.

At last the servant brought water. Gottfried bathed and cooled with it the face and head of the chevalier, who, after a few moments, sighed, and half-opened his eyes.

"Almighty God," exclaimed Gottfried, "thou hast revived him! O, may it be for thy glory!" "Amen!" said his servants.

FOOTNOTES:[1]