Jasper County Democrat, Volume 1, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 March 1899 — THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE CHILDREN'S CRUSADE

By CAPT FREDERICK WHITTAKER

CHAPTER V. The struggle between the old count’s train and that of the boys in the Cliildrn’s Crusade was brief and decisive. The count was a strong man and had twenty burly men-at-arms with him, but they were overwhelmed in a moment by the immense number of their opponents, who came in swarms round the horses, before the soldiers fairly understood what was being done. The imposing figure of the old monk, os he thundered forth the anrses of the church on any one who afcoaid presume to interrupt the crusade, had its effect on the men, who were superstitious to the last degree; and they did ■st try to tight, as they might have otherwise done. The sight of the boys, so gracefnl a moment before, turned to litDf demons by the voice of the priest, had its effect on the soldiers also; while they •mild not rescue their young master with•ot drawing swords on a lot of children. Before they knew where they were each horseman was seized by at least twenty hoys, tumbling over one another in their aagerness; tearing them from their horses hy main force; taking their arms from them, and then standing above them, srady to pin them to the ground with their •wb swords and sftears if they ventured to resist. Old Count Stephen, in the grasp of ■nine dozen boys of eighteen, ropes throw'n ■wind his limbs as be struggled, was dragged from his warborse and thrown to the ground, when a big boy, holding up the sword he had wrenched from the old war■iar’s hand, cried out to Hildebrand: “Shall I slay the misbeliever, holy fatli*er The boy. an ignorant peasant, evidently thought he had got hold of a Turk in disguise, or something of the sort. For a moment the hermit hesitated. His flashing eye showed that he was very aagey. and he actually seemed tempted to give the signal for the death of the count, when Blanche de Vaux, with a scream of •ear, and followed by her mother, urged her horse in by the side of the big boy, •rying; “It is my father! My father! Would yon slay a good Christian ns uny here? Shame on such crusaders! Stephen, hast thou uo shame in thee? Is this the eruaade against the infidel? Stay his hand!’’ Voting Count Stephen, with a face that had become very pale in the excitement mt the moment, cried out to the boy with •he sword: “Enough. Jacob! It is my father, and A is written: ‘Honor thy father and mother.’ Let him rise.” (Md Hildebrand seemed to be glad that the youth had taken the decision of the atattcr from his hands, for he made no reaiatanee; and in another moment the old •aunt, sorely shaken by his fall, his face white with anger and shame at his discomfiture, rose slowly from the ground •ad faced his son, saying, bitterly: "Thou didst wrong to stay his hand. Better death than shame, and thou hast Pal me to open shame.” Young Stephen colored deeply, and the •Mrs came into his eyes as his father Woke ; but the old mouk, who saw in his sere signs of yielding to feeling, cried out, aternlv: “He that is not with us is against us. Tr cannot serve God and Mammon. ‘Let fee dead bury their dead,’ saith the Lord. *B*Uow thou me! They that follow me, •hr same are my brother and sister and mother.* saith the Lord.” It seemed as if the old man was gatherlag together all the harsh texts and expressions he could find in the New Testament to hnrl at the hoy. and stifle in him •be feelings of natural affection to his parents, which at that moment were at niggling hard to make themselves heard ami known. Young Stephen shuddered violently as la listened to the fierce denunciations. He had become used to the application •ad misapplication of texts on all ocea- J mans, interlarded with common discourse, according to the customs of the crusaders, aad they did not jar on him as they would As to one educated in the more correct taste of to-day. He believed in every word fee old monk spoke, and held that it was bis doty to leave his father and mother, festifle all natural affection and to devote imaself to killing Turks for the rest of Ala life, if the monk could only justify B by some text. Wbat was his astonishment, therefore, when Blanche, his gentle little sister, who lad never till that day dared to raise her •alee, and who waa noted as a devotee in fee castle, suddenly spoke up to the lawghty old monk, though her mother wm cowering in dismay at his words, never dreaming that she could answer them. The countess had not said a word since fee had come on the ground, contenting iacaclf with gazing at her son silently, Bad In a way that ahe knew had a great •Sect on him, for he dearly loved her. Bat Blanche de Vaux, as Father HildeBrand thundered out his texts, suddenly ferned her horse toward him, and called «■• in her fresh, young voice:: “Thou art a false prophet, much I fear sari Hildebrand, and dost not preach the Aaath that saveth. us.” The old monk was so much astonished fe the unlooked-for assault that he actual started, and taqniredi unguardedly: -What means the ehßd? ’ “I na> ftiir. ” rrl~* Blanche, undaunt«By: “The Lord s«id, ou earth, that not •me jot or tittle of the law should pass aaray till all should be fulfilled. The law fe Hie commandments, and thou art here •sacking these children to abandon their parents, and to expose the lives that God

gave them to the sword of the Turk for no good but to swell thy vanity. Out upon j thee for a vile man, that wouldst rob a mother of her children and a sister of her brother!” The old monk seemed staggered by her complaint, for he said: “I entice none. They are here by their own consent, and their parents have blessed them—all but thine —and who are they that they should stand in the way of tlie* crusade that will win back the sepulcher of the Lord from the infidels?” The countess here found courage to speak, when the- saw that the hermit would listen. With clasped hands and streaming eyes she addressed him, imploringly: “Good hermit Hildebrand, gracious Hildebrand, hear me, and spnre a poor, distracted mother her only son. Why | should I, of all the mothers in France, be j compelled to give up my boy to the Turks? , If thou wilt hilt wait till he grows a little older, andjs arrived at the full stnture of man, so that he may support the fatigues of war, cheerfully would I grant him leave to go with the warriors of the cross to defend the holy sepulcher. But what can these children do against men? What can their tender arms avail against the swords of the Turks?” She had made a bad argument, and the hermit saw it, for, with a sardonic smile, the old man pointed to her linsbund and his soldiers, who were all prisoners and bound, and observed: “Methinks they have shown ye already what they can do to armed men. The Lord will give them strength, for they are his children, and his strength will be on them. Get thee behind me, Satan! - ’ “But surely thou wilt not let the poor boy go without the blessing of his mother?” asked the unhappy lady, piteously. Hildebrand shook his bead. “That will not be necessary at all. Bless

him, and the blessing will return on thee. But it is nil one whether ye bless or curse. The cross on his shoulder hath given him a power to bless that none other in the wbrld can show. He is as holy today ns a monk in the cliapei saying mass.” Here Stephen, addressing his mother, said, in a broken tone: “Dearest lady mother, why shouldst thou fear for me? lam under the protection of heaven; and what errand can be holier than that of rescuing the sepulcher of our Lord from the grasp of the unbelievers? Think what a triumph it will be when we regain it, and arc able to sing praises on the very ground whore he preached and gave healing to the nations.” His mother, shaken by this appeal, could not answer him, and even the stern face of the old count softened; for, like all in his day, he was superstitious to the last degree, and the boy had struck him in his tendcrcst point. With n groan he said to his wife; “It is our fate, my lady. We cannot take him from the crusade without a deadly sin; and, after all, perhaps be will be taken care of. Truly the errand is a blessed one, if he were but a little older.” Father and mother seemed to be alike conquered, in spite of themselves, when Blanche, with the snme fearlessness that had already astonished tlfe old monk, addressed her brother, saying: “Thou sayest words of folly, Stephen; and thine errand is a bad oue.” And just as had happened with the monk, the boy -conut seemed to be surprised at her bolduess and puzzled as to her meaning, for he answered her, hesitatingly : “What meanest thou, Blanche? How can the crusade lie unholy or bad? Art thou agajnst the voice of the church?” Blanche was but a girl, but she had all a woman’s intnitive perception of shams, though she could not have told the logical reason of .her feelings. With a toss of her little head, she spoke oat: “Thou sayest that it is a holy task to rescue the sepulcher of our Lord from the Turks by slaying all that come in thy way?” “It is a holy war,” replied Btepben, sharply. “Darest thou deny it?" - • “Then, if It bea holy war, God will be with ye at all times,” the girl retorted. “He gave the laud of Israel to the Jews, and they prospered. But He hath permitted the Turks to take it from the Christians, and therefore it seems that He bath shown us plainly that He careth

nothing for the sepulcher wherein the body once lay that is now in heaven. I say that this mad crusade,-which is begun against our fathers’ and mothers’ advice, will end in disaster, ns others bare, and that the wrath of God will smite thee for disobedience to the commandments. Thy days shall not he loug in the land, and all with thee shall perish, even to the priest that has led ye into sin.” Her words were listened to in silence; hut as soon as she had finished, the old hermit, who saw that they had produced a great effect on all the young people there, the more so that they were entirely unexpected, ran forward and cried out angrily: “W’ho is this child that presumes to lecture her elders ou their duties,? Lot her keep silence aad retire, or heavy will be the penance on her for her insolence.” Then he broke forth into one of his impassioned harangues, which had already produced such an effect, wherever he had been i nAh,- habit Of preaching, addressing himself alternately to the old count, the countess and the children of the crusade, till he had wrought them up to the old pitch of enthusiasm; and even old Count Stephen, with a fervency that he had never dreamed he would lie called on to exhibit, joined in the cry of the crusader: "Dieu le Veult! Dieu lo Vcult!” The children were shouting, weeping, praying aloud, wild with excitement; thr poor countess, unable to resist the con tagion of the scene, had ceased to hope for her son; and the only person who seemed unmoved by the cries and confusion was the quiet little girl who had never raised her voice at home. Stay; yes, there was one other; but he was a mere peasant, and his voice, had he dared to raise it, would uot have been heeded. Big Peter, who had followed the old count’s train, had not attempted to join in the struggle which had resulted so ignonii: ly for the soldiers of the party, but i sat on his horse a little retired from the rest, looking on at the scene with an unmoved countenance. When the hermit concluded his sermon and called on all present to “join the crusade or depart therefrom as disturbers,” the count and his wife advanced and solemnly embraced the boy count, taking their departure as those who never expect to see their loved one again in life. Then the old hermit spoke to Blanche, saying harshly:. “Now, damsel, depart also; or, if thou wilt remain, take on they breast the same cross as the rest.” Blanche shook her head and urged her horse beside her brother, saying simply: “If Stephen will not drive me hway, I will remain with him and share his perils; but I will not pretend that I do s<> to save my soul. Igo to help him; but I will not take the cross.” Stephen ■ seemed to be affected by her speech, for he took her hand and said before the old priest: “Then, by the cross on my shoulder, sweet sister, thou shnlt stay with me and depart when thou pleasest. When danger comes, thou slialt is l sheltered from it.” “I wish nothing of the sort,” she replied. “Bound by a vow I will not be; but we shall see, ere this crusade is over,

whether those who are sworn to stay will do as well as she who goes willingly.” Then Big Peter came up beside his young master’s horse, saying: “I am my lord's foster-brother, who never deserted him yet in danger. Will my lord let mo go with him to Palestine?” Stephen looked surprised. “And why shouldst thou go to Palestine? Thou hast uo vow to bind thee, a* I have, and the journey is full of peril.” Big Peter shrugged his broad shoulders indifferently. “That is all one to me, master. If a tender child like the lady Blanche can go with thee, I can do the same without a vow. We will see who goes furthest on the way to Jerusalem ere we have finished. If the hermit will let me, I will go.” Stephen threw up his head rather haughtily. “1 am the captain of this crusade, and what I say will be done. I shall be glad to have thee with me as of old, to help me as thou hast been wont to do. Now let the trumpets sound the advance, nud we will set forth for Marseilles.” (To be continued.) Copyright.

THE STRUGGLE WAS BRIEF AND DECISIVE.