CHAPTER III.

St. George for England.

Whilst the royal Richard and his court were feasting in the camp outside the walls of Chalus, they of the castle were in the most miserable plight that may be conceived.  Hunger, as well as the fierce assaults of the besiegers, had made dire ravages in the place.  The garrison’s provisions of corn and cattle, their very horses, dogs, and donkeys had been eaten up—­so that it might well be said by Wamba “that famine, as well as slaughter, had thinned the garrison.”  When the men of Chalus came on the walls to defend it against the scaling-parties of King Richard, they were like so many skeletons in armor; they could hardly pull their bowstrings at last, or pitch down stones on the heads of his Majesty’s party, so weak had their arms become; and the gigantic Count of Chalus—­a warrior as redoubtable for his size and strength as Richard Plantagenet himself—­was scarcely able to lift up his battle-axe upon the day of that last assault, when Sir Wilfrid of Ivanhoe ran him through the—­but we are advancing matters.

What should prevent me from describing the agonies of hunger which the Count (a man of large appetite) suffered in company with his heroic sons and garrison?—­Nothing, but that Dante has already done the business in the notorious history of Count Ugolino; so that my efforts might be considered as mere imitations.  Why should I not, if I were minded to revel in horrifying details, show you how the famished garrison drew lots, and ate themselves during the siege; and how the unlucky lot falling upon the Countess of Chalus, that heroic woman, taking an affectionate leave of her family, caused her large caldron in the castle kitchen to be set a-boiling, had onions, carrots and herbs, pepper and salt made ready, to make a savory soup, as the French like it; and when all things were quite completed, kissed her children, jumped into the caldron from off a kitchen stool, and so was stewed down in her flannel bed-gown?  Dear friends, it is not from want of imagination, or from having no turn for the terrible or pathetic, that I spare you these details.  I could give you some description that would spoil your dinner and night’s rest, and make your hair stand on end.  But why harrow your feelings?  Fancy all the tortures and horrors that possibly can occur in a beleaguered and famished castle:  fancy the feelings of men who know that no more quarter will be given them than they would get if they were peaceful Hungarian citizens kidnapped and brought to trial by his Majesty the Emperor of Austria; and then let us rush on to the breach and prepare once more to meet the assault of dreadful King Richard and his men.