Chapter V

Pilgrims! the end is near:

Though faint, yet still pursue;

When ye shall gain the mountain’s brow,

A scene, beyond conception now,

Shall burst upon your view!

HOURS OF SORROW.

THE exhausted troop had scarcely enjoyed their repose for four hours, when the dawn of Sabfiathmorning began to break. Arnaud opened his eyes, just as the orb of day was peeping above the horizon, and tinging the summits of the mountains with his golden beams. He enjoyed for some time the glorious prospect alone and in silence, but when wood, and rock, and forest, that had been buried in the grave of night, were beginning to emerge from the darkness, and his eye travelled over the gorgeous panorama of his native valleys, he was no longer able to repress his feelings. He well knew there were hundreds around him who could participate in his emotions, and on whom that sight would act as an enchantment, making them forget their fatigues, and inspiring them with fresh ardour to complete the conquest, whose trophies were now in view.

He lost no time, therefore, in sounding his trumpet, which awoke the echoes of the mountain. His brave men, startled at the summons, leaped from their rocky beds, and in a moment every weapon was unsheathed, as if they had heard the signal for battle. “Ye mistake me — ye mistake me,” said he to his faithful band, who were now rallying around him; “I summon you not to battle, but to the top of this mount Pisgah, that ye may behold ’ the land of promise,” the land which God gave unto your fathers!’ “See, your own valleys,” cried the i joyful champion, proudly pointing to the verdant slopes in the distance, hemmed in by their colossal mountains, which seemed the appointed guardians of these abodes of truth. “Behold the land of your birth, the cradle of your earthly bliss, the sepulchre of your ancestors! See ye not, whilst I am now speaking, how yonder sun is lighting the rocky steeps of Angrogna, and flinging his rays over the heights of St Martino, as if to betoken that a brighter sunshine is yet awaiting us, after our night of darkness and exile is spent? Ah! my noble boy,” continued he, turning to the only one of his followers whose countenance was clouded with sorrow — “I know what brings the tear to thine eye: that ray doubtless, seems to thee to be misplaced, which is falling on the rugged peaks of La Croix! But think not of the cold tabernacle of dust, which has its temporary home amid these desolate solitudes; — think rather with what complacency the departed saint, whose spirit has winged its flight into a better world, will contemplate his exiled flock once more returning to the fold of their fathers! Jehovah, our deliverer, has brought us here on the morning of his own Sabbath; and ere we begin our march, let us unite in ascribing glory to Him, for the protecting providence that has hitherto guided us in all our wanderings; and let us set up our Ebenezer — our stone of remembrance, saying, ’ hitherto hath the Lord helped us!’”

Upon this the whole assemblage, with their heads uncovered, and their hands clasped towards heaven, chanted, in strains of deep and thrilling melody, the following hymn; every rock and mountain echoing back the wild chorus, as if in sympathy for the exiled wanderers: —

Great God of armies! King of kings!
0! spread thine everlasting wings

Around our pilgrim band;
Still o’er us may thy banner stream,
And in Thy strength we shall redeem,

Our much loved fatherland!

Soon shall this night of trouble end,
If Thou from Zion help wilt send,

And cause Thy face to shine;
For, neither buckler, spear, nor shield,
Can win for us the battle-field,

The victory is Thine!

Remember, Lord, thine ancient fold,
Our martyred fathers, who, of old,

Bled on these mountains bare’;
Their couch the sod, their home the cave,
Their only resting-place, the grave,

The snow their sepulchre!

And let Thy grace and power appear,
To us their children, banished here,

When unto Thee we cry;
See, they have laid our altars low,
And, wasted by the cruel foe,

Our sanctuaries lie!

Hear us, 0 God! and peace impart
To many a broken, bleeding heart,

From home and kindred torn;
Wilt Thou refuse the exiled race
Their fathers’ peaceful dwelling-place,

And cast us oft0 forlorn?

No, — we may banish every fear,
A greater than the foe is here,

And in Hun we will trust;
For God the Lord is on our side,
And soon the fierce oppressor’s pride

Shall mingle with the dust!

Jehovah is our sure defence,
And, guarded by Omnipotence,

Our onward march shall be;
Supported by our living Head,
And by the God of battles led

To death or victory!

Cheered and invigorated, they commenced their descent into the valley of Pragelas;* and directed their course towards the Col de Pis, a lofty mountain which terminates Val St Martino.

Passing the Balsille, of which we shall afterwards speak more particularly, they crossed the high Alp of Coline, and descended upon the first of their native villages, that of Prali. Nothing can exceed the wild sublimity of this mountain commune, which, to this hour, remains in a state of untamed and savage magnificence; the cradle of Alpine tempests, and the home of the avalanche. No traces of cultivation are visible, except a few scattered patches on the banks of the Grermanasca, or those isolated spots that chance to be screened from the fury of the storm by frowning precipices. Often do its inhabitants gaze for eight months together on a wilderness of snow, and yet, Protestants have for a thousand years chosen this howling desolation as a place of shelter; when the

* See Appendix, note D.

banners of truth were torn from the sanctuaries of Bobbio, and the invader swept the fertile plains of Lucerna, the persecuted ever found a safe asylum among the rocks, and caverns, and lonely fastnesses of Prali.

The feelings of the exiles may be imagined, when, after three years7 absence from their native homes, they found themselves once more within the sanctuary, in which they and their fathers had worshipped, and which was one of the few which their persecutors had not razed to the ground. Their joy, indeed, was at first mingled with indignant fury, to see its sacred walls hung and polluted with the signs of antichrist — the crucifix planted on the very spot where the man of God was wont to protest against idolatry, the remnants of the tapers still left in their sockets, and the withered leaves and chaplets still scattered on the floor, as mementos of the sacrilegious innovation. Sword and bayonet soon swept the walls of the detestable mummery, and they were consigned to the flames, with the exclamation of indignant triumph, “So perish all the enemies of God!” They then sang together the seventy-fourth psalm, which was beautifully and strikingly appropriate to the peculiar circumstances in which they were placed.

“0 God, why hast thou cast us off for ever? Why doth thine anger smoke against the sheep of thy pasture? Remember thy congregation, which thou hast purchased of old; the rod of thine inheritance, which thou hast redeemed; this mount Zion, wherein thou :hast dwelt. Lift up thy feet unto the perpetual desolations, even all that the enemy hath done wickedly in the sanctuary. Thine enemies roar in the midst of thy congregations; they set up their ensigns for signs... They break down the carved work thereof, at once with axes and hammers. They have cast fire into thy sanctuary; they have defiled by casting down the dwelling-place of thy name to the ground. They said in their hearts, Let us destroy them together: they have burnt up all the synagogues of God in the land,” &c. &c. “I then,” says Arnaud, in his own narration of this hour of jubilee, “mounted a bench in the door-way, that I might be audible to those within and without the church, and preached in exposition of some of these verses.”

In two days, they abandoned the fastnesses of St Martino, crossed the Col de Julien, and, chasing the foe from rock to rock, rushed down with irresistible fury on their great stronghold at Bobbio, dislodged the enemy from their fortifications, and the white banner of the Vaudois was once more seen waving from the window of its little sanctuary! The enthusiasm of the moment was unbounded; they were now in the very centre of the land of promise, and their desponding hopes seemed crowned with bright fruition. The Felice murmured in their ears; Castelluzzo, with its rocky battlements, rose in proud magnificence before their eyes.* The church spire of Villar was peeping above the sylvan glories in which it is embosomed: and they required only the trumpet of peace to be sounded in that lovely valley, and ttheir wives and children to be welcomed back from the land of their exile, to endear Lucerna, with itschesnut groves, and verdant pasturages, a thousandfold in their eyes.

Sabbath morning found them assembled within the church of this picturesque commune, but the little “temple” was found insufficient to contain the worshippers, and they adjourned to one of the adjoining slopes, where an impressive discourse was delivered by M. Montoux,” from a door placed on two rocks.1’ At the conclusion of the service, the valiant legion united in a holy covenant of mutual fidelity, which they took with uplifted hands, and which may prove interesting, as exhibiting the spirit and sentiments which animated them: —

“God, by his divine grace, having happily led us back into the heritage of our forefathers, there to re-establish the pure worship of our holy religion, by the completion of the enterprise which the

* See Appendix note E.

Great God of armies has hitherto conducted in our favour: We, the pastors, captains, and other officers, swear before God, and at the peril of our souls, to observe union and order amongst us; never willingly to separate nor disunite, while God shall grant us life, not even though we should be so miserable as to be reduced to three or four. Never to parley nor treat with our enemies, as well of France as Piedmont, without the participation of our whole council of war; and to put together the booty which we have, or shall have, to be applied to the wants of our people, or to extraordinary cases. And we, soldiers, swear this day, before God, to obey the orders of all our officers; and we swear fidelity to them with all our hearts, even to the last drop of our blood. Also, to give up to their care, the prisoners and booty, to be disposed of, as they shall think fit. And, in order to more perfect regulation, it is forbidden, under heavy penalties, to any officer or soldier to search any enemy dead, wounded, or prisoner, during, or after battle; but persons, shall be appointed for this purpose. The officers are enjoined to take care that the soldiers keep their arms and ammunition in order, and, above all, to chastise severely any one who shall swear or blaspheme. And, to render union, which is the soul of our affairs, inseparable among us; we, the officers, swear fidelity to the soldiers, and we, soldiers, to the officers; promising, moreover, to our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ, to rescue, as far as may in us lie, our brethren from the power of the cruel Babylon, and with them, to re-establish and maintain his kingdom unto death; and by this oath we will abide all our lives.”

After having united in this sacred confederacy, they retired to refresh themselves with a night’s repose, and be in readiness on the morrow, for the prosecution of their perilous struggle.

But we must now return to Herbert and his companion, who would have yielded to none of their compatriots, in joy at once more beholdingthe home of their affections, had not a reverse of fortune, doomed them to a different destination.

In crossing the Col de Julien, the day preceding the arrival of the exiles at Villar, they had divided into three companies, pursuing different routes; in the centre one of which, were placed, Herbert Vin9on and Ferdinand Arnaud. They were marching along a narrow defile, skirted on both sides by a thick brushwood; when, all at once, they were assailed, both in front and rear, with a shower of missiles, accompanied with a multitude of voices shouting aloud,” Come on, ye barbets of Satan P A faint resistance was attempted, but in vain: they were overpowered by numbers: a few escaped by plunging into the thicket, or concealing themselves among the rocks. Herbert and his friend, with others of the brave band, were pinioned and manacled; a napkin was bound tightly across their eyes, and they were hurried, with every species of indignity, to the place of encampment. The hearts of the unfortunate captives were overwhelmed with terror, as they listened to the cruelties which were threatened to be inflicted on them. Some were for butchering them without delay in cold blood, — others for a slow death by torture; the command was given to collect wood for the pile — and the unhappy victims saw, that a death was awaiting them, more terrible far, than their imaginations had ever contemplated! One other proposal only, was suggested, that of marching the prisoners to the citadel of Pignerol, where, in two days, a number of the exiles were to be hanged, and by this means their oppressors would have an opportunity of obtaining fresh provisions, and a pretext for replenishing their cask of wine, which had been emptied by the forenoon’s dissipation. This amendment on the original proposition, was carried with acclamation by the tumultuary band; and after consultation, Herbert and Ferdinand were fixed upon, as those who were to have extended to them the sad clemency of a postponement of their tortures, which in all probability would only tend to their aggravation; and six sturdy guards were selected, as exhibiting least visibly the effects of their morning’s potations, to conduct them to the place of their captivity.

We need not enter into the details of their journey: — In addition to the cords with which their hands were bound, heavy irons were placed on their shoulders, to prevent the possibility of escape. As they were departing, they heard the crackling of the flames that were kindling for their unhappy fellow-captives, and ere they reached the plain, their shrieks and groans became distinctly audible. After four hours’ fatiguing march, preparations were made for halting during the night, at a solitary “auberge” at the mouth of Val St Martin; and to render more secure the safety of the prisoners, they were consigned to different apartments, the soldiers acting as sentinels in rotation, while the remainder were occupied in giving free scope to their dissipations. There was one of the guards, who, from his conversation in the course of their journey, seemed to anticipate with more fiendish delight, than any of his comrades, the meditated butchery. The tones of his voice seemed familiar to Herbert, — and were associated in his mind, with some one of the many painful trials, which he had undergone during the few chequered years of his exile. At length, the picture of that darkest night in his earthly history, was vividly portrayed, in which he was called upon to leave, in a desert mountain, the remains of what was dearest to him on earth. He had only to call to recollection the different actors in that tragical scene, to recognise in the voice of the most hardened of his present oppressors, the rude attendant of Father Bernard, — the cruel and unfeeling insulter of his dying parent — Alart Besson!

Herbert was thrown into a small barn, where some damp straw formed his only couch, and the cold night air was freely admitted through an aperture in the roof. Here he lay for two hours, without enjoying a moment’s repose; at the end of which time, the sentinel who had been pacing with measured step before the door, retired in his turn, to enjoy the midnight revels, and was replaced by one, whose vigilance was by no means rendered more acute, by the similar occupation of the previous hours. — The unequal step with which he staggered for some time, was speedily exchanged for a heavy slumber, and the deep heavings of his breast, told the depth of his potations.

“Is it possible,” thought Herbert with himself, as he cast his eye around the place of his captivity, “that I can dream of escape T — but the thought seemed madness; his hands were bound behind his back with strong cords; his feet were shackled; the door was firmly secured with a lock; and even had it been possible to tempt the mercenary spirit of his sentinel, he was utterly destitute of what would prove an adequate bribe; besides, his noble spirit recoiled from an attempt, which, if successful, would fearfully exasperate his oppressors, and add to their cruelties towards his friend. “No,1’ said he, checking himself in the presumptuous thought,” my hours are numbered; two days more, shall relieve me from these chains, and all the fetters of earth, and place me side by side, with the glorified spirits of departed friends. And yet,

can it be,” thought the fearless youth, after a few moments’1 profound reflection, as he took a hasty glance at the* place of his confinement, to see if every chance of escape were gone.” Yes! I shall! I shall! If I fail, it may cost me acuter tortures, a more cruel death; but the same Providence that has smiled upon me till this hour, seems to whisper that I should make the attempt; — the voice of an orphan sister sounds the same in my ear, — aye, and perchance too, liberty may be obtained for my poor companion; ere break of day, I may rejoin my brethren, and get their aid to effect his rescue f

A gleam of moonshine, at that moment, streamed into the corner of the barn, where were accumulated a number of implements of agriculture:

he saw, that provided he could get his hands disentangled from the cords that bound them, there would be little difficulty in undoing the chains which fettered his limbs. After great exertion, he contrived to roll along the rough floor, till he reached the spot where this apparatus lay; he made repeated attempts to get himself raised in an upright posture, but as frequently failed; at last, he succeeded in placing the cords with which he was bound, on the blade of a scythe, and after several efforts, they were snapped asunder, and with a grateful heart, he found himself with his hands free. He now experienced no difficulty in undoing his fetters, and soon found himself once more at liberty, and ready for the daring attempt. His first object was to collect together the strongest of the cart ropes, which hung on the walls around him; these he tied together; with the use of the ladder, he ascended to the roof, and, crawling along the rafters, gained the desired loophole. There was just room, and no more, to allow him to creep through the narrow aperture; his clothes were torn, and his face and hands scarred; and, to add to his consternation, his foot loosened one of the tiles, which rattled down with a loud noise, and falling in a hundred splinters on the ground below, would have started any man from sleep, whose senses, an unusual quantity of liquor had not steeped in forgetfulness. Discovery appeared now to be inevitable: — “I am lost! I am ruined!” said the poor boy to himself, as he remained with his body half through the place of escape, and hesitating whether he ought to abandon the attempt, and, returning to his bed of straw, await the sad fate which threatened him. But he was well aware that should he now return, it would be impossible to conceal in the morning, his attempt at escape: the loosened cords would betray him, and fearfully augment his tortures. Lifting up his heart, therefore, in silent prayer to God, he resolved to persevere, and fixing the ropes round one of the strongest of the rafters, he gradually lowered himself, till, at last, he reached the ground, and found himself breathing once more the free air of heaven!

But, although his attempt escaped the observation of his sentinel, there was another silent observer of his movements, whose presence at such a place, he little dreamed of. He had no sooner planted his feet on the ground, than he heard a voice issuing from a small window immediately adjoining. The sound at first overwhelmed him with fear, but its tones he had no difficulty in instantly recognizing: “Herbert Viron! Herbert Viion!” was uttered in a low suppressed voice.

“Is it thou, holy Father, who now speaks?” whispered Herbert in reply.

“It is, it is,” answered the voice; “I came here for thy succour, but thy courage has dispensed with my services.”

“But,” said Herbert, “a beloved friend lies within these walls, a captive, and the victim of coming tortures.”

“Leave thy captive friend to me,” was the reply; “see to thine own safety, — farewell, farewell; tarry here no longer: every moment may be detection, and death.”

Herbert plunged into the adjoining forest, and by break of day, was far beyond the reach of his oppressors.