The Battle Of The Strong, Complete

of Normandy. Eight times has it descended, and eight times has it hurried back with broken pinion. Among these truculent invasions two stand out boldly: the spirit

nd embezzler, to whom the King of France had secretly giv

raitor Olivier Delagarde had set upon the heights of Le Couperon, where

ney was made in little more than an hour, and Rullecour himself was among the first to see the shores of Jersey loom dar

diate shore, there lay before them a vast field of scarred rocks, dimly seen. He gave the signal to lay-to, and himself took the bearings. The tide was going out rapidly, disclosing reefs on eit

es Violets. The great rocks La Coniere, La Longy, Le Gros Etac, Le Teton, and the Petite Sambiere, rise up like volcanic monuments from a floor of lava and trailing vraic, which at half-tide makes the sea a tender mauve and

the way they had come, saw the currents driving the transport boats hither and thither in confusion. Jersey was not to be conquered without opposition-no army of defence was abroad, but the elements roused themselves and furiously attacked the fleet. Battal

ht wore on, and at last the remaining legions were landed. A force was left behind to

ed, the marshes of Samares and the sea on their left, churches and manor houses on their righ

the Island when victory should be theirs. Rullecour, however, had also promised the post to a reckless young officer, the Comte de Tournay, of the House of Vaufontaine, who, under the assumed name of Yves Savary dit Detricand, marched w

our. "No, now, by the blood of Peter!" answe

n from behind by the scimitar of a swaggering Turk, who had joined the expedition as aide-de-camp to the filibustering genera

e demands of poetic justice. For, as a company of soldiers from Grouville, alarmed out of sleep by a distracted youth, hurried towards St.

rward with a cry, and knelt beside the wounded man. He had no tears, he had no sorrow. He was only sick and

gasped the stricken man fee

He is gone," said he. "Don't fret, la

and the soldiers hurr

Olivier Delagarde was dead. How strangely had things happened! He had come to stay a traitor in his crime, and here he found a martyr. But was not he himself likewise a traitor? Ought not he to have alarme

om the handle of the sword. The steel was cold, it made him shiver. He had no farewell to make. He looked out to sea. The tide would come and carry his father's body out, perhaps-f

when he met the French, for he often spent the night there. He himself had told his tale to the soldiers: how he had heard the baker and the Frenchman talking at the shop in the Rue d'Egypte. Yes, but suppose the French were

ft for him was to die. He was only a boy, but he could fight. Had not young Philip d'Avranche; the midshipman, been in deadly action many times? He w

bucket of water. He tilted the bucket and drank. He would have liked to ask for bread at the cottage-door, but he said to himself, Why should he eat, for was he not going to die? Yet why should he not ea