In the year 1563, a number of ruffians were dispatched from the city of Le Maus to attack his house at night. He was taken by surprise, dragged out of doors, and his throat cut. His poor wife, who was within a few weeks of her confinement, rushed after him, in the hope of softening the hearts of these midnight assassins, and inducing them to spare the life of her husband; but, so far from it, they murdered her also, and a faithful valet shared the same fate. Oh, my children! let us never forget that the blood of martyrs flows in our veins! And may God of his infinite mercy grant that the remembrance of it may enliven our faith, so that we prove not unworthy scions from so noble a stock.
God has promised to bestow special blessings upon the seed of the righteous, and we can generally see his providential care guarding the children of those whose blood has been shed in his service. He mercifully preserved the lives of the three younger boys, and guided their steps to a place of safety. The oldest was about eighteen, and of his fate I am uncertain, but have reason to believe that he was from home when his parents were murdered, and that he also was massacred. The second son, James, my grandfather, was about fourteen years old; Abraham was about twelve, and the youngest was nine years old, at the time of the murder. They were filled with horror and consternation, and fled from the bloody scene, without any guide save the providence of God, and no aim but to get as far as possible from barbarians who had in a moment deprived them of both father and mother. They found their way to Rochelle, which was then a safe place, and, indeed, for many years a stronghold of Protestantism in France, containing within its walls many devout and faithful servants of the living God. These poor boys
