THE CASQUET. THE SIEGE OF TORQUILSTONE. [Sir Walter Scott, born at Edinburgh, 15th Aug. 1771; died at Abbotsford, 21st September, 1832. We can speak only with affectionate reverence of the Master of Fiction-it might be written, the Master of this Century's Literature; for he excelled in almost every branch of it. As a poet, he fulfilled the noblest function of the poet's art-he taught in song the glorious recompense of fidelity and of honourable life-he pleased and elevated his pupils whilst he taught them. As an historical essayist, he indued the skeleton of antiquity with soul and human form, and these combined, constitute the real magnet of human sympathy. As a novelist, the world is, and always will be, his debtor for hours which lengthen into years of happiness. He has been in this capacity a benefactor in the highest degree. His genius has provided every home with an inexhaustible store of pleasure. There are many who question his claims as a poet; but in the realms of fiction he remains the undisputed monarch. The leading events of his life are so well known that it is unnecessary to repeat them here. "Ivanhoe," from which the following exciting scene is taken, was the anthor's first venture to adapt the materials of English history to romance. He chose the period of Richard I., "not only," he explains, "as abounding with characters whose very names were sure to attract general attention, but as affording a striking contrast betwixt the Saxons, by whom the soil was cultivated, and the Normans, who still reigned in it as conquerors." The origin of the title is curious: it was suggested by an old rhyme commemorating the forfeiture of three manors by an ancestor of the celebrated Hampden, for striking the Black Prince a blow with his racket when they quarrelled at tennis: ished at the keen sensation of pleasure which she experienced, even in a moment when all around them both was danger, if not despair. As she felt his pulse and inquired after his health, there was a softness in her touch and in her accents implying a kinder interest than she would herself have been pleased to have voluntarily expressed. Her voice faltered and her hand trembled, and it was only the cold question of Ivanhoe, Is it you, gentle maiden?" which recalled her to herself, and reminded her the sensations which she felt were not and could not be mutual. A sigh escaped, but it was scarce audible, and the questions which she put to the knight concerning his state of health were but in the tone of calm friendship. Ivanhoe answered her hastily that he was, in point of health, as well and better than he could have expected-"Thanks," he said, "dear Rebecca, to thy helpful skill.” "He calls me dear Rebecca," said the maiden to herself, "but it is in the cold and careless tone which ill suits the word. His war-horse -his hunting hound, are dearer to him than the despised Jewess." "My mind, gentle maiden," continued Ivanhoe, "is more disturbed by anxiety, than my body with pain. From the speeches of these men who were my warders just now, I learn that I am a prisoner, and if I judge aright of the loud hoarse voice which even now despatched them hence on some military duty, I am in the castle of Front-de-Boeuf-if so, how will this end, or how can I protect Rowena and my father?" "He names not the Jew or Jewess," said Rebecca, internally; "yet what is our portion in him, and how justly am I punished by Heaven for letting my thoughts dwell upon him!" She hastened after this brief self-accusation to give Ivanhoe what information she could; but it amounted only to this, that the Templar Bois-Guilbert, and the Baron Frontde Boeuf, were commanders within the castle; 1 that it was beleaguered from without, but by whom she knew not. She added, that there was a Christian priest within the castle who might be possessed of more information. A Christian priest," said the knight, joyfully; "fetch him hither, Rebecca, if thou canst say a sick man desires his ghostly counsel-say what thou wilt, but bring him-something I must do or attempt, but how can I determine until I know how matters stand without?" Rebecca, in compliance with the wishes of Ivanhoe, made an attempt to bring Cedric into the wounded knight's chamber, which was defeated by the interference of Urfried, who had been also on the watch to intercept the supposed monk. Rebecca retired to communicate to Ivanhoe the failure of her errand. "Fret not thyself, noble knight," answered Rebecca; "the sounds have ceased of a sudden it may be they join not battle." "Thou knowest nought of it," said Wilfrid, impatiently; "this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls, and expecting an instant attack; what we have heard was but the distant muttering of the storm-it will burst anon in all its fury.— Could I but reach yonder window!" "Thou wilt but injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight," replied his attendant. Observing his extreme solicitude, she firmly added, "I myself will stand at the lattice, and describe to you as I can what passes without." "You must not-you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "each lattice, each aperture, will be soon a mark for the archers; some random shaft" "It shall be welcome," murmured Rebecca, as with firm pace she ascended two or three steps which led to the window of which they spoke. They had not much leisure to regret the failure of this source of intelligence, or to contrive by what means it might be supplied; for the noise within the castle, occasioned by the defensive preparations which had been considerable for some time, now increased into tenfold bustle and clamour. The heavy yet hasty step of the men-at-arms traversed the battlements, or resounded on the narrow and winding passages and stairs which led to the various bartizans and points of defence. The voices of the knights were heard animating their follow-person at the lattice as may be." ers or directing means of defence, while their commands were often drowned in the clashing of armour, or the clamorous shouts of those whom they addressed. Tremendous as these sounds were, and yet more terrible from the awful event which they presaged, there was a sublimity mixed with them which Rebecca's high-toned mind could feel even in that moment of terror. Her eye kindled, although the blood fled from her cheeks; and there was a strong mixture of fear and of a thrilling sense of the sublime, as she repeated, halfwhispering to herself, half-speaking to her companion, the sacred text: "The quiver rattleth-the glittering spear and the shield -the noise of the captains and the shouting." Rebecca, dear Rebecca!" exclaimed Ivanhoe, "this is no maiden's pastime do not expose thyself to wounds and death, and render me for ever miserable for having given the occasion; at least, cover thyself with yonder ancient buckler, and show as little of your But Ivanhoe was like the war-horse of that sublime passage, glowing with impatience at his inactivity, and with his ardent desire to mingle in the affray of which these sounds were the introduction. "If I could but drag myself," he said, "to yonder window, that I might see how this brave game is like to go if I had but bow to shoot a shaft, or battle-axe to strike were it but a single blow for our deliverance-It is in vain-it is in vain-I am alike nerveless and weaponless." Following with wonderful promptitude the directions of Ivanhoe, and availing herself of the protection of the large ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security to herself, could witness part of what was passing without the castle, and report to Ivanhoe the preparations which the assailants were making for the storm. Indeed the situation which she thus obtained was peculiarly favourable for this purpose, because, being placed on an angle of the main building, Rebecca could not only see what passed beyond the precincts of the castle, but also commanded a view of the outwork likely to be the first object of the meditated assault. It was an exterior fortification of no great height or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with the main building, by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sally-port corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. Rebecca could observe, from the number of men placed for the defence of this post, that the besieged entertained apprehensions for its safety; and from the mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite to the outwork, it seemed no less plain that it had been selected as a vulnerable point of attack. These appearances she hastily communicated to Ivanhoe, and added, "The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow." "Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe. "Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca. "A singular novelty," answered the knight, "to advance to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed. Seest thou who they be that act as leaders?" "A knight clad in sable armour is the most conspicuous," said the Jewess; "he alone is armed from head to heel, and seems to assume the direction of all around him." "What device does he bear on his shield?" replied Ivanhoe. "Something resembling a bar of iron, and a padlock painted blue on the black shield." "A fetterlock and shackle-bolt azure," said Ivanhoe; "I know not who may bear the device, but well I ween it might now be mine own. Canst thou not see the motto?" "Scarce the device itself at this distance," replied Rebecca: "but when the sun glances fair upon his shield, it shows as I tell you." "Seem there no other leaders?" exclaimed the anxious inquirer. "None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station," said Rebecca, "but doubtless the other side of the castle is also assailed. They seem even now preparing to advance.-God of Zion, protect us!-What a dreadful sight!-Those who advance first bear huge shields, and defences made of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they come on.-They raise their bows!-God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast made!" Her description was here suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was given by the blast of a shrill bugle, and at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements, which, mingled with the deep and hollow clang of the nakers (a species of kettle-drum), retorted in notes of defiance the challenge of the enemy. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, "Saint George for merry England!" and the Normans answering them with cries of "En avant De Bracy!-Beauseant! Beau-seant!-Front-de-Bauf a la res cousse!" according to the war-cries of their different commanders. It was not, however, by clamour that the contest was to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous defence on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the long-bow, shot, to use the appropriate phrase of the time, so "wholly together," that no point at which a defender could show the least part of his person escaped their cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, while, notwithstanding, every arrow had its individual aim, and flew by scores together against each embrasure and opening in the parapets, as well as at every window where a defender either occasionally had post or might be suspected to be stationed, by this sustained discharge, two or three of the garrison were slain, and several others wounded. But, confident in their armour of proof, and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defence proportioned to the fury of the attack, and replied with the discharge of their large cross-bows, as well as with their long-bows, slings, and other missile weapons, to the close and continued shower of arrows; and, as the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, did considerably more damage than they received at their hand. The whizzing of shafts and of missiles, on both sides, was only interrupted by the shouts which arose when either side inflicted or sustained some notable loss. "And I must lie here like a bed-ridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hand of others!-Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath-Look out once more, and tell me if they yet advance to the storm." With patient courage, strengthened by the interval which she had employed in mental devotion, Rebecca again took post at the lattice, sheltering herself, however, so as not to be visible from beneath. "What dost thou see, Rebecca?" again demanded the wounded knight. "Nothing but the cloud of arrows, flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes, and to hide the bowmen who shoot them." "That cannot endure," said Ivanhoe; "if they press not right on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the knight of the fetterlock, fair Rebecca, | men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty and see how he bears himself; for as the leader is, so will his followers be." "I see him not," said Rebecca. "Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?" Templar-their united force compels the champion to pause--they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls.” "The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" said Ivanhoe. other-down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees upon their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear fresh men supply their place in the assault-Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!" "They have-they have-and they press "He blenches not! he blenches not!" said the besieged hard upon the outer wall; some Rebecca; "I see him now; he leads a body of plant ladders, some swarm like bees, and enmen close under the outer barrier of the barbi-deavour to ascend upon the shoulders of each can. 1—They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes-his high black plume floats abroad over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers they rush in-they are thrust back!-Front-de-Bœuf heads the defenders, I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand and man to man. God of Jacob! it is the meeting of two fierce tides-the conflict of two oceans moved by adverse winds." "Think not of that," replied Ivanhoe; "this is no time for such thoughts.-Who yield?who push their way?" The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the soldiers lie grovel She turned her head from the lattice, as if ling under them like crushed reptiles-the beunable longer to endure a sight so terrible. "Look forth again, Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again, there is now less danger." Rebecca again looked forth, and almost immediately exclaimed, Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight, fight hand to hand on the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife-Heaven strike with the cause of the oppressed and of the captive!" She then uttered a loud shriek, and exclaimed, "He is down!--he is down!" "Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "for our dear Lady's sake, tell me which has fallen?" sieged have the better." "Saint George strike for us," said the knight, "do the false yeomen give way?" "No!" exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly-the Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge axe-the thundering blows which he deals, you may hear them above all the din and shouts of the battle stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion-he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers.” "By Saint John of Acre," said Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch, “methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed." "The postern gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes-it is splintered by his blows -they rush in-the outwork is won-Oh God! they throw them into the moat-O men, if ye be indeed men, spare them that can resist no longer!" "The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then instantly again shouted with joy--they hurl the defenders from the battlements ful eagerness-"But no-but no!-the name of the Lord of hosts be blessed!-he is on foot again, and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm.-His sword is broken --he snatches an axe from a yeoman-he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow-the giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of the woodman-he falls-he falls!" "Front-de-Bouf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe. 1 Every Gothic castle and city had, beyond the outer walls, a fortification composed of palisades, called the barriers, which were often the scene of severe skirmishes, as these must necessarily be carried before the walls themselves could be approached. Many of those valiant feats of arms which adorn the chivalrous pages of Froissart took place at the barriers of besieged places, "The bridge-the bridge which communicates with the castle-have they won that pass?” exclaimed Ivanhoe. "No," replied Rebecca, "the Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossedfew of the defenders escaped with him into the castle-the shrieks and cries which you hear tell the fate of the others-alas! I see that it is still more difficult to look upon victory than upon battle." "What do they now, maiden?" said Ivanhoe; look forth yet again-this is no time to faint at bloodshed.” "It is over for the time," said Rebecca; "our friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have mastered, and it affords them so good a shelter from the foemen's shot, that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if rather to disquiet than effectually injure them." "Our friends," said Wilfrid, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained.-O no! I will put my faith in the good knight whose axe has rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron.-Singular:" he again muttered to himself, "if there be two who can do a deed of such derring-do-a fetterlock and a shackle-bolt on a field sable-what may that mean?-seest thou nought else, Rebecca, by which the Black Knight may be distinguished?" "Nothing," said the Jewess; "all about him is black as the wing of the night raven. Nothing can I spy that can mark him further-but having once seen him put forth his strength in battle, methinks I could know him again among a thousand warriors. He rushes to the fray as if he were summoned to a banquet. There is more than mere strength, there seems as if the whole soul and spirit of the champion were given to every blow which he deals upon his enemies. God assoilzie him of the sin of bloodshed!-it is fearful, yet magnificent, to behold how the arm and heart of one man can triumph over hundreds." "Rebecca," said Ivanhoe, "thou hast painted a hero; surely they rest but to refresh their force, or to provide the means of crossing the moat. Under such a leader as thou hast spoken this knight to be, there are no craven fears, no cold-blooded delays, no yielding up a gallant emprise; since the difficulties which render it arduous render it also glorious. I swear by the honour of my house-I vow by the name of my bright lady-love, I would endure ten years' captivity to fight one day by that good knight's side in such a quarrel as this!" "Alas!" said Rebecca, leaving her station at the window, and approaching the couch of the wounded knight, "this impatient yearning after action—this struggling with and repining at your present weakness, will not fail to injure your returning health-how couldst thou hope to inflict wounds on others, ere that be healed which thou thyself hast received?” "Rebecca," he replied, "thou knowest not how impossible it is for one trained to actions of chivalry, to remain passive as a priest, or a woman, when they are acting deeds of honour around him. The love of battle is the food 'Derring do, desperate courage. upon which we live-the dust of the mellay is the breath of our nostrils. We live not-we wish to live no longer than while we are victorious and renowned-such, maiden, are the laws of chivalry to which we are sworn, and to which we offer all that we hold dear." 'Alas!" said the fair Jewess, "and what is it, valiant knight, save an offering of sacrifice to a demon of vainglory, and a passing through the fire to Molech? What remains to you as the prize of all the blood you have spilled-of all the travail and pain you have enduredof all the tears which your deeds have caused, when death hath broken the strong man's spear, and overtaken the speed of his war-horse?" "What remains?" cried Ivanhoe; "Glory, maiden, glory! which gilds our sepulchre and embalms our name." "Glory!" continued Rebecca, "alas! is the rusted mail which hangs as a hatchment over the champion's dim and mouldering tomb-is the defaced sculpture of the inscription which the ignorant monk can hardly read to the inquiring pilgrim—are these sufficient rewards for the sacrifice of every kindly affection, for a life spent miserably that ye may make others miserable? Or is there such virtue in the rude rhymes of a wandering bard, that domestic love, kindly affection, peace and happiness, are so wildly bartered, to become the hero of these ballads which vagabond minstrels sing to drunken churls over their evening ale?" "By the soul of Hereward!" replied the knight impatiently, "thou speakest, maiden, of thou knowest not what. Thou wouldst quench the pure light of chivalry, which alone distinguishes the noble from the base, the gentle knight from the churl and the savage; which rates our life far, far beneath the pitch of our honour; raises us victorious over pain, toil, and suffering, and teaches us to fear no evil but disgrace. Thou art no Christian, Rebecca; and to thee are unknown those high feelings which swell the bosom of a noble maiden when her lover hath done some deed of emprise which sanctions his flame. Chivalry! why, maiden, it is the nurse of pure and high affection-the stay of the oppressed, the redresser of griev ances, the curb of the power of the tyrantnobility were but an empty name without her, and liberty finds the best protection in her lance and her sword." "I am, indeed," said Rebecca, "sprung from a race whose courage was distinguished in the defence of their own land, but who warred not, even while yet a nation, save at the command of the Deity, or in defending their country from oppression. The sound of the trumpet wakes |