The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1890-05-04
CHAPTER ".

Pauline found herself in the arms OF
her watchful guardian, the dona. who
was praying and crying at the same
time. They were rudely pressed back
ward by the recoil of the men when the
French detachment struck them at full
charge. There was crash of blows and
a volley of horrible oaths mingled with
cries of rage and pain. A man came
reeling out Of the crowd and fell at Paul
ines feet, where he writhed for mo-
ment, with the blood leaping from
woand in his neck, and died face down
ward, biting the sand of the street
The nearest house was a low mud
daubed structure, the rudest form of
dwelling in use by the colonists. The
door stood open with the threshold on the
level of the ground. Into this dark room
Dona Hortense pushed Pauline, just in
time to escape volley of pistol shots fired
by half dozen of the Frenchmen. The
Compile de Championship had run his
ships in close to the mainland, and now
began raking the town with broadsides at
short range. The balls went bounding
along the ground and tearing through the
frail buildings, with that peculiar sugges-
ton of rGsistless energy SO well remem-
bered by every experienced soldier. The
roof overhead was shattered. Down from
long, ragged, diagonalren fell a shower
of boards and splinters.
"Holy Mary, save usr' prayed the
dona, sinking upon her knees and lifting
her clenched hands.
Pauline, strange to say, felt no fear.
From the beginning she had been in that
numb and bewildered state which often
comes upon one in the midst of over
whelming danger. She went to the door
way and looked out. The combatants,
French and Spanish, were all mingled
together, fighting hand to hand, without
regard for discipline or order. Blows
were falling thick and fast; swords
buses rose and fell with such sounds as
would, under ordinary circumstances,
sicken the strongest heart. She looked
on, possessed by subtitle fascination,
feeling little of the true horror of the oc-
casion. With the strange double power
OF the mind at such times she was not
ing every detail OF the struggle before
her, while at the same instant she re-
membered all the long series Of events
by which she had been led to take upon
herself this life of incompatible excite
ment and danger The vines and gar
dens Of Provence, with the roses ard the
odors; the dear old days of love and joy;
the sunshine, the shade, the moonlight
on the dusky orchards; the church bells
and all the sweet incidents and accidents
Of home life, came upon the field Of her
vision and shimnnered before her, dream
like and yet SO real, fine idealization
of her girlhood's dearest experiences.
Through the roar of cannon and the
clangor Of swords, above the yelling OF
wild savages and the oaths of Christians,
she heard the bubbling of the Rhone and
the mellow songs of the nightingales in
the leafy, odorous closes beyond the
Avignon. Sweet words that Louis Dou-
Get had marmured in her ear, the pres
sure of his hand, the betrothal kiss, a
thousand touches of sentiment and of
gentle romance thrilled her again. And
yet there were the pools of blood in the
street, red pools that slowly sank away
into the sand, and there were the fiercely
struggling men trampling then. dying
fellows as they fought. Strange that
the fragtance of the early autumn roses
growing and blowing in a neighboring
plot should have impressed her senses at
such q time, but the sweet breath came