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pubOne.info present you this new edition. MY DEAR LADS, You may be told perhaps that there is no good to be obtained from tales of fighting and bloodshed, - that there is no moral to be drawn from such histories. Believe it not. War has its lessons as well as Peace. You will learn from tales like this that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvels, that true courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity and gentleness, and that if not in itself the very highest of virtues, it is the parent of almost all the others, since but few of them can be practised without it. The courage of our forefathers has created the greatest empire in the world around a small and in itself insignificant island; if this empire is ever lost, it will be by the cowardice of their descendants.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	06 novembre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819948469
Langue	English

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SAINT GEORGE FOR ENGLAND
By G. A. Henty
PREFACE.
MY DEAR LADS, You may be told perhaps that there isno good to be obtained from tales of fighting and bloodshed, — thatthere is no moral to be drawn from such histories. Believe it not.War has its lessons as well as Peace. You will learn from taleslike this that determination and enthusiasm can accomplish marvels,that true courage is generally accompanied by magnanimity andgentleness, and that if not in itself the very highest of virtues,it is the parent of almost all the others, since but few of themcan be practised without it. The courage of our forefathers hascreated the greatest empire in the world around a small and initself insignificant island; if this empire is ever lost, it willbe by the cowardice of their descendants.
At no period of her history did England stand sohigh in the eyes of Europe as in the time whose events are recordedin this volume. A chivalrous king and an even more chivalrousprince had infected the whole people with their martial spirit, andthe result was that their armies were for a time invincible, andthe most astonishing successes were gained against numbers whichwould appear overwhelming. The victories of Cressy and Poitiers maybe to some extent accounted for by superior generalship anddiscipline on the part of the conquerors; but this will not accountfor the great naval victory over the Spanish fleet off the coast ofSussex, a victory even more surprising and won against greater oddsthan was that gained in the same waters centuries later over theSpanish Armada. The historical facts of the story are all drawnfrom Froissart and other contemporary historians, as collated andcompared by Mr. James in his carefully written history. They maytherefore be relied upon as accurate in every importantparticular.
Yours sincerely,
G. A. HENTY.
CHAPTER I: A WAYFARER
It was a bitterly cold night in the month ofNovember, 1330. The rain was pouring heavily, when a woman, withchild in her arms, entered the little village of Southwark. She hadevidently come from a distance, for her dress was travel-stainedand muddy. She tottered rather than walked, and when, upon herarrival at the gateway on the southern side of London Bridge, shefound that the hour was past and the gates closed for the night,she leant against the wall with a faint groan of exhaustion anddisappointment.
After remaining, as if in doubt, for some time, shefeebly made her way into the village. Here were many houses ofentertainment, for travelers like herself often arrived too late toenter the gates, and had to abide outside for the night. Moreover,house rent was dear within the walls of the crowded city, and many,whose business brought them to town, found it cheaper to take uptheir abode in the quiet hostels of Southwark rather than to stayin the more expensive inns within the walls. The lights came outbrightly from many of the casements, with sounds of boisteroussongs and laughter. The woman passed these without a pause.Presently she stopped before a cottage, from which a feeble lightalone showed that it was tenanted.
She knocked at the door. It was opened by apleasant-faced man of some thirty years old.
“What is it? ” he asked.
“I am a wayfarer, ” the woman answered feebly.“Canst take me and my child in for the night? ”
“You have made a mistake, ” the man said; “this isno inn. Further up the road there are plenty of places where youcan find such accommodation as you lack. ”
“I have passed them, ” the woman said, “but allseemed full of roisterers. I am wet and weary, and my strength isnigh spent. I can pay thee, good fellow, and I pray you as aChristian to let me come in and sleep before your fire for thenight. When the gates are open in the morning I will go; for I havea friend within the city who will, methinks, receive me. ”
The tone of voice, and the addressing of himself asgood fellow, at once convinced the man that the woman before himwas no common wayfarer.
“Come in, ” he said; “Geoffrey Ward is not a man toshut his doors in a woman's face on a night like this, nor does heneed payment for such small hospitality. Come hither, Madge! ” heshouted; and at his voice a woman came down from the upper chamber.“Sister, ” he said; “this is a wayfarer who needs shelter for thenight; she is wet and weary. Do you take her up to your room andlend her some dry clothing; then make her a cup of warm posset,which she needs sorely. I will fetch an armful of fresh rushes fromthe shed and strew them here: I will sleep in the smithy. Quick,girl, ” he said sharply; “she is fainting with cold and fatigue. ”And as he spoke he caught the woman as she was about to fall, andlaid her gently on the ground. “She is of better station than sheseems, ” he said to his sister; “like enough some poor lady whosehusband has taken part in the troubles; but that is no business ofours. Quick, Madge, and get these wet things off her; she is soakedto the skin. I will go round to the Green Dragon and will fetch acup of warm cordial, which I warrant me will put fresh life intoher. ”
So saying, he took down his flat cap from its peg onthe wall and went out, while his sister at once proceeded to removethe drenched garments and to rub the cold hands of the guest untilshe recovered consciousness. When Geoffrey Ward returned, the womanwas sitting in a settle by the fireside, dressed in a warm woolengarment belonging to his sister.
Madge had thrown fresh wood on the fire, which wasblazing brightly now. The woman drank the steaming beverage whichher host brought with him. The colour came faintly again into hercheeks.
“I thank you, indeed, ” she said, “for yourkindness. Had you not taken me in I think I would have died at yourdoor, for indeed I could go no further; and though I hold not tolife, yet would I fain live until I have delivered my boy into thehands of those who will be kind to him, and this will, I trust, betomorrow. ”
“Say nought about it, ” Geoffrey answered; “Madgeand I are right glad to have been of service to you. It would be apoor world indeed if one could not give a corner of one's firesideto a fellow-creature on such a night as this, especially when thatfellow creature is a woman with a child. Poor little chap! He looksright well and sturdy, and seems to have taken no ill from hisjourney. ”
“Truly, he is well and sturdy, ” the mother said,looking at him proudly; “indeed I have been almost wishing todaythat he were lighter by a few pounds, for in truth I am not used tocarry him far, and his weight has sorely tried me. His name isWalter, and I trust, ” she added, looking at the powerful figure ofher host, “that he will grow up as straight and as stalwart asyourself. ” The child, who was about three years old, was indeed anexceedingly fine little fellow, as he sat, in one scanty garment,in his mother's lap, gazing with round eyes at the blazing fire;and the smith thought how pretty a picture the child and mothermade. She was a fair, gentle-looking girl some two-and-twenty yearsold, and it was easy enough to see now from her delicate featuresand soft shapely hands that she had never been accustomed totoil.
“And now, ” the smith said, “I will e'en say goodnight. The hour is late, and I shall be having the watch comingalong to know why I keep a fire so long after the curfew. Shouldyou be a stranger in the city, I will gladly act as your guide inthe morning to the friends whom you seek, that is, should they beknown to me; but if not, we shall doubtless find them withoutdifficulty. ”
So saying, the smith retired to his bed of rushes inthe smithy, and soon afterwards the tired visitor, with her baby,lay down on the rushes in front of the fire, for in those days noneof the working or artisan class used beds, which were not indeed,for centuries afterwards, in usage by the common people.
In the morning Geoffrey Ward found that his guestdesired to find one Giles Fletcher, a maker of bows.
“I know him well, ” the smith said. “There are manywho do a larger business, and hold their heads higher; but GilesFletcher is well esteemed as a good workman, whose wares can bedepended upon. It is often said of him that did he take less painshe would thrive more; but he handles each bow that he makes as ifhe loved it, and finishes and polishes each with his own hand.Therefore he doeth not so much trade as those who are lessparticular with their wares, for he hath to charge a high price tobe able to live. But none who have ever bought his bows haveregretted the silver which they cost. Many and many a gross ofarrowheads have I sold him, and he is well-nigh as particular intheir make as he is over the spring and temper of his own bows.Many a friendly wrangle have I had with him over their weight andfinish, and it is not many who find fault with my handiwork, thoughI say it myself; and now, madam, I am at your service. ”
During the night the wayfarer's clothes had beendried. The cloak was of rough quality, such as might have been usedby a peasant woman; but the rest, though of sombre colour, were ofgood material and fashion. Seeing that her kind entertainers wouldbe hurt by the offer of money, the lady contented herself withthanking Madge warmly, and saying that she hoped to come across thebridge one day with Dame Fletcher; then, under the guidance ofGeoffrey, who insisted on carrying the boy, she set out from thesmith's cottage. They passed under the outer gate and across thebridge, which later on was covered with a double line of houses andshops, but was now a narrow structure. Over the gateway across theriver, upon pikes, were a number of heads and human limbs. The ladyshuddered as she looked up.
“It is an ugly sight, ” the smith said, “and I cansee no warrant for such exposure of the dead. There are the headsof Wallace, of three of Robert Bruce's brothers, and of many othervaliant Scotsmen who fought against the king's grandfather sometwenty years back. But after all they fought for their count