The Casque's Lark Part 2

"You seem to know me, comrade?"

"Who in the army does not know the foster-brother of the Mother of the Camps?"

"Being a simple horseman I thought my name was more obscure than it seems to be."

"You have remained a simple horseman despite our Victoria's friends.h.i.+p for you. That is why, Schanvoch, everybody knows and esteems you."

"You certainly make me feel happy by saying so. What is your name?"

"Douarnek."

"You must be a Breton!"

"From the neighborhood of Vannes."

"My family also comes from that neighborhood."

"I thought as much, your name being a Breton name. Well, friend Schanvoch, may we sing a song? Our officer gave us orders to obey you as we would himself. I know not whither you are taking us, but a song is heard far away, especially when it is struck up in chorus by vigorous and broad-chested lads. Perhaps we must not draw attention upon our bark?"

"Just now you may sing--later not--we shall have to advance without making any noise."

"Well, boys, what shall we sing?" said the veteran without either himself or his companions intermitting the regular strokes of their oars, and only slightly turning his head towards them, seeing that, seated as he was on the first bench, he sat opposite to me. "Come, make your choice!"

"The song of the mariners, will that suit you?" answered one of the soldiers.

"That is rather long," replied Douarnek.

"The song of the Chief of the Hundred Valleys?"

"That is very beautiful," again replied Douarnek, "but it is a song of slaves who await their deliverance; by the bones of our fathers, we are now free in old Gaul!"

"Friend Douarnek," said I, "it was to the refrain of that slaves'

song--'Flow, flow, thou blood of the captive! Drop, drop, thou dew of gore!' that our fathers, arms in hand, reconquered the freedom that we enjoy to-day."

"That is true, Schanvoch, but that song is very long, and you warned us that we were soon to become silent as fishes."

"Douarnek," one of the soldiers spoke up, "sing to us the song of Hena the Virgin of the Isle of Sen. It always brings tears to my eyes. She is my favorite saint, the beautiful and sweet Hena, who lived centuries and centuries ago."

"Yes, yes," said the other soldiers, "sing the song of Hena, Douarnek!

That song predicts the victory of Gaul--and Gaul is to-day triumphant!"

Hearing these words I was greatly moved, I felt happy and, I confess it, proud at seeing that the name of Hena, dead more than three hundred years, had remained in Gaul as popular as it was at the time of Sylvest.

"Very well, the song of Hena it shall be!" replied the veteran. "I also love the sweet and saintly girl, who offered her blood to Hesus for the deliverance of Gaul. And you, Schanvoch, do you know the song?"

"Yes--quite well--I have heard it sung--"

"You will know it enough to repeat the refrain with us."

Saying this Douarnek struck up the song in a full and sonorous voice that reached far over the waters of the Rhine:

"She was young, she was fair, And holy was she.

To Hesus her blood gave That Gaul might be free.

Hena her name!

Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!

"--Blessed be the G.o.ds, my sweet daughter,-- Said her father Joel, The brenn of the tribe of Karnak.

--Blessed be the G.o.ds, my sweet daughter, Since you are at home this night To celebrate the day of your birth!--

"--Blessed be the G.o.ds, my sweet girl,-- Said Margarid, her mother.

--Blessed be your coming!

But why is your face so sad?--

"--My face is sad, my good mother; My face is sad, my good father, Because Hena your daughter Comes to bid you Adieu, Till we meet again.--

"--And where are you going, my sweet daughter?

Will your journey, then, be long?

Whither thus are you going?--

"--I go to those worlds So mysterious, above, That no one yet knows, But that all will yet know.

Where living ne'er traveled, Where all will yet travel, To live there again With those we have loved.--"

And myself and the three other oarsmen replied in chorus:

"She was young, she was fair, And holy was she.

To Hesus her blood gave, That Gaul might be free.

Hena her name!

Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"

Douarnek then proceeded with the song:

"Hearing Hena speak these words, Sadly gazed upon her her father And her mother, aye, all the family, Even the little children, For Hena loved them very dearly.

"--But why, dear daughter, Why now quit this world, And travel away beyond Without the Angel of Death having called you?--

"--Good father, good mother, Hesus is angry.

The stranger now threatens our Gaul so beloved.

The innocent blood of a virgin Offered by her to the G.o.ds May their anger well soften.

Adieu, then, till we meet again, Good father, good mother, Adieu till we meet again, All, my dear ones and friends.

These collars preserve, and these rings As mementoes of me.

Let me kiss for the last time your blonde heads, Dear little ones. Good bye till we meet.

Remember your Hena, she waits for you yonder, In the worlds yet unknown.--"

And the other oarsmen and I replied in chorus to the rythmical sound of the oars:

"She was young, she was fair, And holy was she.

To Hesus her blood gave That Gaul might be free.

Hena her name.

Hena, the Maid of the Island of Sen!"