The pastor, Leonard Morel, at the first sound of alarm, kneeled down in the pulpit and implored the divine aid. He was fired at; and then endeavoured to escape, but, as he approached the door, he stumbled over a dead body, and received two sabre cuts on the right shoulder and on his head. Believing himself to be mortally wounded, he exclaimed, “Into thy hands I commend my spirit, O Lord; for thou hast redeemed me.” He was captured, and carried, being unable to walk, into the presence of the duke. “Minister, come this way,” he said, “what emboldens thee to seduce this people?” “I am no seducer,” said Morel, “but I have faithfully preached the gospel of Jesus Christ.” “Does the gospel teach sedition, sirrah?” said M. de Guise, with his usual blasphemous oath; “thou hast caused the death of all these people; and thou shalt thyself be hanged immediately. Here, Provôt, make ready a gallows for him on the spot!” But even among that fierce crew none seemed willing to obey the savage mandate, and no one came forward to enact the part of hangman. This delay saved the life of the captive, who was removed under good guard, but eventually escaped. The following year, as the blood-thirsty duke lay on his death-bed, mortally wounded by the hand of an assassin, he protested that he had neither premeditated nor commanded the massacre of Vassy. This may be true; but his consent at the moment of its perpetration is beyond question. An extraordinary effect was produced throughout the whole kingdom, by the tidings of this cruel slaughter. Among the Reformed party it created a universal feeling of indignant horror and alarm. It was like the war-whoop of the Indians, which precedes the rush to battle. Each party flew to arms, after putting forth manifestoes, asserting the merits of their respective causes. The Prince of Condé hastened to Orleans, which he succeeded in occupying, and there the army of the Huguenots established their headquarters. In that town the Calvinist lords assembled, on the 11th of April, 1562, and after partaking the Lord’s supper together, bound themselves in an alliance, to maintain the Edicts, and to punish those who had broken them. They took a solemn oath to repress blasphemy, violence, and whatever was forbidden by the law of God, and to set up good and faithful ministers to instruct the people; and lastly, they promised, by their hope of heaven, to fulfil their duty in this cause. And thus the fearful work began, and tumult, massacre, battle, and siege prevailed. Every town in France was filled with the riot of contending factions. “It was a grand and frightful struggle of province against province, city with city, quarter with quarter, house with house, man with man,” says a recent historian. “Fanaticism had reduced France to a land of cannibals; and the gloomiest imagination would fail to conceive of all the varieties of horrors which were then practised.”