the robber was to be baffled, it must be done now. As he paused before he clambered over the sash, and as he held out his hands with their spoil within them, I struck them with all my strength. The suddenness of the shock effected what my weak form could never have done. The man was startled, his hands parted, and the gold rolled all over the floor. With a curse he clutched at my arm as I darted from the window, and caught it with a grasp that I feel to this hour. Had his power not been crippled by his dangerous position I should have stood but a sorry chance against him. He could only use one arm, for with the other he was compelled to steady himself on the window. With that one arm he held me, and raised his knee to step into the room. I do not know why he did not let me go. He could have caught me long before I could have given any serious alarm, and have silenced me effectually. He could not at the same time hold me and enter the room. All this time I did not scream. It seemed to me that the struggle was too serious to be interrupted, and I felt so intense an earnestness in the work of trying to escape, that I was prevented from uttering a sound. At last the thief contrived to hold my little wrist in his huge hand, and grasp the sash with it at the same time. In a second he would have been in the room. He could have stunned, or perhaps murdered, me, in a moment—have re-collected the gold, have descended into the court, and in those days, when as yet there were neither detectives nor telegraphs, have escaped. It was my left arm that was prisoned. In my right I held the knife. I was desperate, then; and though I was but a little, small-boned girl, all the devil in me was roused. I fear I could have slain the man with small compunction, at the instant of the deed. I lifted the clasp-knife to my mouth, and tore open the blade with my teeth, and then I cut at the wrist of my foe as though I would cut it through. He started back with a cry of pain and fury, lost his hold on the window, and fell. I heard the dull, heavy sound of his body as it struck the ground below. My left arm was covered with the hot blood I had shed. Then I turned round to rouse the house. But my young nerves remained strung only while the work was to be done. I staggered, and fell fainting among the broad guineas I had saved. I lay senseless for some hours, and then woke with a strange feeling of having done or suffered something—I hardly knew what. Slowly I remembered what had happened. It was still dark. I went to the window to see what had become of my antagonist. There was light enough for me to see a dark mass below me, which I thought could be nothing else than Connor’s body. I turned my head to the left, and saw the first faint light of morning breaking through the clouds. In half an hour the world of the farm would be astir. Slowly I returned to my deserted chamber, and passed through it to my father’s. It did not take long to assure him of my being whole and unhurt, in spite of my bloody nightdress. Wondering as I told him my tale, he called some of his men, and we went out to see the enemy. He was alive. I felt a thrill of pleasure at knowing that, though I could have taken his life so ruthlessly in my rage. He was alive, but so bruised and injured by his fall that he was perfectly helpless. One of his legs was broken, as we discovered afterwards, and his right arm was out of joint. The gash of my knife had done him no serious harm. It was a bad cut; but no more. He was carried off to gaol as soon as he could be moved. I will not tell you the story of his trial and his punishment. I remember the judge said that the little girl was more fit to carry the King’s colours than many a man of twice her years. But I doubt whether I could have carried a big flag, though I conquered a thief. And now my story is done. It happened seventy years ago, my children; but I remember it all, and though I own to being proud of my stout heart, I have exaggerated nothing.
B. J.
CORPORAL PIETRO MICCA.
(TIME: SIEGE OF TURIN BY THE FRENCH, 1706).
I.
Hard by the river Cerva, where Piedmont’s Alps look down
On Andorno Cacciorna, near Biella’s[1] lonely town,
Was born Piétro Micca—there I heard this story told,
How he fired the mine at Turin in the troublous times of old.
II.
Without fair Turin’s bastions the hosts of France were seen;
Within were Piedmont’s bravest hearts and Savoy’s Prince Eugene;
Blood was shed that day like water by Turin’s ’leaguered wall,
But Andorno’s little corporal was bravest of them all!
III.
Strong are the walls of Turin—but the French a breach have made;
On come their Enfans Perdus[2]—’tis time our mine was laid;
Like tigers onwards rushing to the breach, with tuck of drum,
The gallant Grenadiers of France at last indeed have come!
IV.
The mine’s well laid—no heavier charge ‘neath Turin’s wall hath been;
“Too late! too late!” in frenzy cries our gallant Prince Eugene;
“No time have we to spring it—the French are at our wall—
Their foremost, ere that mine ye sprung, would be amongst ye all!”
V.
Then pale grew bold bronzed faces—men spoke with ‘bated breath:
“To spring that mine to friend and foes alike is certain death!”
Then out spoke Corporal Micca, a sturdy pioneer,
“I’ll fire the charge myself,” quoth he, “God help my children dear!”
- ↑ The mountain town, Biella, which lies on the River Cerva, has always been proud of being the birth-place of Piétro Micca, though he was really born at Andorno Cacciorna, a hamlet a few miles from the town itself.—Count C. Arrivabene’s “Italy Under Victor-Emmanuel.”
- ↑ The “forlorn hope,” or storming party, is so called in the French army.
