tyrs for their apparently lost cause; eleven thousand thus perished, according to Arnaud, and the three thousand that at last came forth to wander in foreign lands looked, he says, “more like shadows than men." On reaching Protestant Switzerland they were, he adds, but "moving skeletons." The people of Geneva were affected with deepest pity for them, and as they moved along, some to Lausanne, some to Berne, to Basle, to Neufchatel, and into Germany, they were not only fed and sheltered, but many of the feebler sufferers were borne in the arms of the good citizens. Some died on the route. The scene reminded the generous Swiss of the hosts who, in the days of their fathers, had filled their highways, fleeing from the horrors of St. Bartholomew's in France, and many a devout heart sent up the appeal to heaven, "How long, O Lord! how long!" They dared not dream that these "moving skeletons were soon to rise up like those of the "valley of vision," and bear again to their ancient mountain heights the standard of the faith, and thence march down at last with triumphant hymns to Rome itself.

Assuredly such a purpose, in such circumstances, must have been a superhuman inspiration. In the heart of the heroic Pastor Arnaud, and many others, it was strong at this very moment. The strangers were allotted settlements in several places in Switzerland and Germany, but Arnaud had whispered the bold design to some hundreds, who therefore declined remote invitations, and kept together as much as possible, to be ready for the coming hour. There was no visible hope of it, but these men had as much faith as valor. Could the cause of their Lord Christ suffer any final defeat? Why had they been sustained, fighting successfully through more than twelve hundred years against the attempted invasions of Papal corruption and trained armies? Why was almost every valley, every cave, every cliff, of their country consecrated with martyr blood? Was there no providential design in these things? Could not the Lord God of hosts raise up unknown means of salvation for them? Had not a great man, one Oliver Cromwell, the greatest sovereign who had ever ruled England, made France and Italy tremble when he threatened to interpose for them? Had he not refused to sign a treaty with France till the alarmed Mazarin consented

to join his intervention? Had not a greater man, his secretary, one John Milton, the greatest poet of the nations, written for them, and thrilled Europe with his indignant words:

"Avenge, O Lord! thy slaughtered saints, whose bones

Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold," etc.?

And was there not a great man rising, in the Protestant North, William of Orange, the enemy of their enemy, and one who could aid them? But what if no help were apparent? Could God's "almightiness," as John Milton delighted to say, could this fail? Had he not rescued their valleys time and again? Therefore they silently, but bravely, passed the word along their new, scattered settlements: "The valleys can and shall be rescued again. We can march into them under the Captain of our salvation-and, if need be, under him alone." They found in Geneva "the old Vaudois hero, Javanel, who had done many a brave deed in the valley. He was now too aged, and too disabled by wounds, to return, but he planned their campaign, and bade them fight it out. "You will be told," he said, "that all France and Italy will be gathered against you. But were it the whole world, and only yourselves against all, fear ye the Almighty alone; he is your protection."

The secret must be sacredly kept, for the Protestant Governments which now sheltered them had delicate relations with France and Savoy which ought not to be compromised. Three faithful men were sent to spy out the land and report on the route. Arnaud went to Holland and consulted William of Orange, and obtained funds for the outfit of arms, and other provisions. Twice they started on their march, and had to abandon it and return-their own Protestant friends, the cantonal authorities, interposing and warning them back. Arnaud, though of undaunted courage, had a sagacious eye, and saw that the hour had not yet come; but he did not allow them to disperse the second time without inspiriting their hope by a sermon at Bex on the text, "Fear not, little flock; for it is your Father's good pleasure to give you the kingdom."

They now waited more than a year, to allay public suspicion, before resuming the attempt. But at last, in August, 1689, they secretly assembled in a woods back of Nyon, on the northern shore of Lake Leman, and, with prayer and preaching

from Arnaud, hastily organized. Between eight and nine hundred were there. The secret had been well kept, but the neighboring peasants were wondering at the strange gathering, and reports would immediately get to the municipal authorities. Curiosity to learn what was going on in the forest attracted some fifteen boats to the neighboring shore. Arnaud saw his opportunity. After prayer, at the head of the little army, he or dered the boats to be seized; their owners were compelled to row them across the lake to the Savoy shore.. The first passage was successfully made by two o'clock on the night of August 16-17, but the boatmen, fearing for their lives on the Catholic coast, on returning for the remainder escaped up and down the lake. There could be no delay for the waiting two hundred; the transported little force, now but about seven hundred, were in the enemy's country. They were arrayed in three divisions-main column, vanguard, and rear guardcomprising nineteen companies under select captains. They had plenty of officers, but Arnaud was effectively their leader. They were near Yvoire, and they knew that the alarm would be spread by daylight through the country. They must pray and march immediately. One of their three pastors went in search of a guide, but was taken prisoner by the authorities and sent to Chambery. They immediately summoned Yvoire to surrender, threatening to burn it if it did not; it had to open its gates and give up three of its functionaries as hostages, to be marched with the Vaudois to the next town, and to be sent back only when they could be substituted by new hostagesa policy which was maintained throughout the campaign.

And now commenced this wondrous march, the Glorieuse Rentrée compared with which Xenophon's "Retreat of the Ten Thousand" was an insignificant feat. The little army had no commissariat, as we have said, each man carrying his own provision of food and ammunition-they had no animalsnone but chamois could go where they had to go; had no drums-even these would have been an incumbrance; their only music was that of trumpets and psalms. It reminds us of that night when the Hebrews began their march for the Holy Land, "that night of the Lord, to be observed of all the children of Israel in their generations."

They moved rapidly, but in unbroken order and with un

shakable resolution; and their determined bearing struck with awe the hostile populations through which they advanced. They knew that they must sometimes use desperate expedients, but they hesitated before none that were necessary; they must seize their food as they passed, but they scrupulously paid for it with the money sent them from Holland. They could take no prisoners, save hostages; for how could they feed them or guard them through the Alpine passes? and they might soon be more numerous than themselves. They must dispatch them on the spot, and give no quarter in battle. Their whole route lay through the territory of the Catholic Government which had attempted their extermination; woe to any man who should challenge them! Few words, decisive acts, were all that could be possible. A desperate Puritanic rigor was their only policy, and it was grimly expressed in all their features and bearing. The Catholic populations could not mistake them, and recoiled, or obsequiously supplied their needs. Even the priests sometimes laid down their stores before them, and bade them go on "in the name of God." From town to town they took the nobles of the castles, the priests, or the leading citizens, as hostages; it was submission or death; the first alternative was always chosen, for there could not be a momentary doubt of the determined earnestness of the Vaudois. They sometimes had forty or more hostages, and had no little trouble with the curés and fat friars, who puffed and halted in their difficult mountain climbings. On the first day of the march four "gentlemen," or Savoyard knights, "on horse, well armed and followed by peasants," confronted them, demanding wherefore they advanced in this array, and proudly commanding them to lay down their arms. There was but one reply: "Down from your steeds and march with us, our hostages!" Mounting a hill, they saw two hundred armed peasants awaiting them, commanded by a Savoyard nobleman. They dispersed them at a blow, broke to pieces their arms, and took some of them as guides, "with the menace," says Arnaud, "of being hung to the first tree if they should be found unfaithful." Their commanders wrote to the municipalities beyond that the Vaudois were honest, paying for all they took, demanding only a passage. They prayed their fellow-citizens not to sound the tocsin, and not to appear in arms. Accordingly, during this

day the people on the way met them with provisions. They halted at Viù, where they were treated with bread and wine, and then resumed their march in the moonlight. At St. Jayre the frightened magistrates had rolled out a hogshead of wine for them into the street, but "some drank not, fearing it was poisoned." They marched on till midnight, when they sent back their hostages, and, taking a brief sleep on the ground, after prayer, were early again on their way; for it was necessary to hasten; all the country was now in alarm, and the French and Italian troops were in motion to intercept them. They reach the town of Cluse, in the valley of the Arve. Mont Blanc towers sublimely above them. The town is walled, and the people hostile; the municipal authorities threaten them, and bar the gates; "but it is necessary," says Arnaud, 66 to traverse this town." The inhabitants are under arms and line the fosses, and the peasants are descending the surrounding mountains with resounding shouts. There is but a prompt word from the Vaudois; they must pass, if they have to break the walls, and go on by fire and sword. Their hostages, fearing for their own lives, write to the municipality to save them; the gates open, and the little troop marches in triumph through lines, on either side of the street, of awe-struck citizens under arms. Beyond the town bread and wine are sent to them; the Vaudois send back money in payment. The leading citizens, admiring their chivalry, or glad for their own escape, send a polite invitation to the officers to return and dine with them; but there is no time for such courtesies. They forcibly take new hostages, and march on for Salanches. They defile through a narrow valley, inaccessible mountains on one side, the Arve, swollen by rains and impassable, on the other. "Stones rolled down the steeps could," writes Arnaud, "have wiped out an army." Here they face a town, a castle, and a force of armed peasants, but the latter are content to let them pass unmolested, though they bear off the nobleman of the chateau and his priest as hostages. They have now twenty of these necessary incumbrances the first men of the country hitherto.

As they approached Salanches they heard the tocsin ringing; they must cross a bridge to reach the town, and it was defended by armed men. They rushed forward, and the enemy fled. Once across, the Vaudois formed in order of battle, for six hun