A dozen arms were raised at once against the solitary man, who, with his back against a wall, and one foot on the body of his horse, sternly confronted them. Henri de Malet (now Colonel De Malet, of the French Cuirassiers) was still the same dashing fellow as ever, though twenty-three years had passed since he took his first lesson in fencing from Spalatro, the Italian, of whom he had never heard a word all this while. But if Spalatro was gone, his teaching was not, and De Malet's sword seemed to be everywhere at once, keeping the swarming Russians at bay, as it had done many a time already during the terrible retreat which was now approaching its end.
"Leave him to me," cried a deep voice from behind; "he's a man worth fighting, this fellow!"
"Ay, leave him to the Colonel," chorussed the Russians. "He'll soon settle his fine fencing tricks."
A tall dark man, whose close-cropped black hair was just beginning to turn gray, stepped forward, and crossed swords with De Malet, who, feeling at once that he had met his match, stood warily on the defensive. The Russian grenadiers watched eagerly as the swords flashed and fell and rose again, while the combatants, breathing hard, and setting their teeth, struck, parried, advanced, and retreated by turns. At length De Malet, finding himself hard pressed, tried the blow taught him by Spalatro; but the stranger met it with a whirling back stroke that whisked the sword clean out of his hand. Instead of cutting him down, however, the Russian seized him by the hand with a cry of joy.
"There's but one man in the French army who knows that stroke," cried he, "and I'm glad to see you remember so well what I taught you. Now at last Spalatro the officer can repay the kindness shown to Spalatro the vagabond. When I came over here with the Russian Prince to whom you so kindly recommended me, they soon found out that I could handle soldiers as well as swords, and gave me a commission in the army, and here I am, Colonel Spalatro, with the Cross of St. George, and a big estate in Central Russia. Now if you fall into the hands of our soldiers you'll be killed to a certainty, so you'd better come with me to head-quarters, where I'll report you as my prisoner. You will be safe under my charge until there's a chance of sending you home, and then you are welcome to go as soon as you please."
And Colonel Spalatro was as good as his word.
[THE RIVER GETS INTO TROUBLE.]
BY CHARLES BARNARD.
A short time ago I told you something about a strange fight that took place between a travelling beach and a river. The beach got the best of it, and the river was obliged to turn aside, and find a way out to sea in another direction. No doubt if there were Indians living there at the time, they thought it a great disaster. Perhaps they were in the habit of sailing down the river to the sea in search of fish and oysters. When the beach closed up the mouth of the river, they thought it a strange and terrible event. If it had happened last summer, the people who live up the river would have called it a great calamity. The river would have found a new outlet, and perhaps have torn up the land, swept away farms and houses, and caused great destruction of property. There were no farms there at the time, for it all happened a long time ago.