Project Gutenberg's Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year, by E.C. Hartwell

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Title: Story Hour Readings: Seventh Year

Author: E.C. Hartwell

Release Date: April 12, 2007 [EBook #21046]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK STORY HOUR READINGS: SEVENTH YEAR ***




Produced by Joseph R. Hauser, Emmy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

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This reader undertakes to provide desirable material for work in silent reading without losing sight of the other elements essential in a good reader for pupils in the seventh grade or in the first year of the junior high school.

One task before the teacher of Reading in this year is to foster, by stimulating material, a taste for good reading which it is to be hoped has at least been partially formed in the preceding grades. The selections in this volume are made with the purpose of giving the seventh-grade pupils such virile and enjoyable literature as will make them desire more of the same kind. The character and fitness of the material, not the date of its production, have governed the choice of the editor.

Arrangement by Groups. There is an obvious advantage in grouping kindred reading materials in sections under such captions as "Adventure," "From Great Books," "Our Country," etc. Besides affording some elements of continuity, the plan offers opportunity for comparison and contrast of the treatment of similar themes. It also insures a massing of the effect of the idea for which the section stands. Secondarily, the section divisions break up the solid text, and because of this the pupils feel at frequent intervals that they have completed something definite.

The groupings make no pretense to being mutually exclusive. On occasion a selection may well be transferred[4] to another section. For example, the Washington and Lincoln stories should be used in the proper season in the "Our Country" section although it is obvious that they belong in "Special Days." Teachers should have no hesitation in breaking across from one section to another when the occasion or the children's interest seems to warrant.

Mechanical Features. Editor and publisher have spared no pains or expense to make this book attractive to children. The volume is not cumbersome or unwieldy in size. The length of line is that of the normal book with which they regularly will come into contact. The type is clean-cut and legible. Finally, enough white space has been left in the pages to give the book an "open," attractive appearance. No single item has so much to do with children's future attitude toward books as the appearance of their school Readers.

Socialized Work. Opportunity for dramatization, committee work, and other team activity is presented repeatedly throughout this volume. Wherever the teacher can profitably get the pupils to work in groups she should take advantage of the cooperative spirit and do so.

Citizenship. This means more than the passing phase of so-called Americanization. It means a genuine love of country, a reverence for our pioneer fathers, a respect for law, order, and truth. This Reader is rich in patriotic content. It is hoped that the ethical element in the selections will be found to be forceful as well as pleasing. The book emphasizes throughout the importance of the individual and social virtues. If it can help teachers to make clean, upright, and loyal citizens of our great Republic it will not have been made in vain.[5]

Mastery of the printed page is not the sole end and aim of Reading. It is hoped that the devices employed in this Reader, as well as the direction and suggestions in study materials contained in the volume, may assist in developing a genuine love of good books.

Manual. Valuable assistance in dealing with the material in this book is supplied by the Teachers' Manual, Story Hour Readings, Seventh and Eighth Years. This Manual consists of three parts:

I. An introductory article on the Teaching of Reading, which discusses Silent Reading (with detailed directions for speed tests), Oral Reading, Dramatization, Appreciative Reading, Memorizing, Word Study and Use of the Dictionary, Reading Outside of School, Use of Illustrative Material, and Correlation.

II. Detailed lesson plans for each selection in Story Hour Readings Seventh Year.

III. Detailed lesson plans for each selection in Story Hour Readings Eighth Year.[6]

In addition to acknowledgments made in connection with material incorporated in this volume, thanks are due as follows for permissions to reprint:

To D. Appleton & Company, Publishers, for permission to use "A Battle with a Whale" from Frank T. Bullen's The Cruise of the Cachalot; to Thomas B. Harned, Literary Executor of Walt Whitman, for permission to reprint "O Captain! My Captain."

"The Stagecoach," from Mark Twain's Roughing It, is used by express permission of the Estate of Samuel L. Clemens, the Mark Twain Company, and Harper & Brothers, Publishers.

Selections by Emerson, Hawthorne, Holmes, Longfellow, Amy Lowell, James Russell Lowell, Sill, Thoreau, and Whittier are used by permission of and special arrangement with Houghton Mifflin Company, the authorized publishers of these authors.

Acknowledgment is made to the American Book Company for the use of selections by James Baldwin, John Esten Cooke, Edward Eggleston, Hélène Guerber, Joel Chandler Harris, William Dean Howells, James Johonnot, Orison Swett Marden, W. F. Markwick and W. A. Smith, Frank R. Stockton, and Maurice Thompson.[7]

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[12]

Ali Hafed's Quest
(See following page)

[13]

ALI HAFED'S QUEST

By Orison Swett Marden

Long, long ago, in the shadowy past, Ali Hafed dwelt
on the shores of the River Indus, in the ancient land of
the Hindus. His beautiful cottage, set in the midst of
fruit and flower gardens, looked from the mountain side
on which it stood over the broad expanse of the noble river.5

Rich meadows, waving fields of grain, and the herds and
flocks contentedly grazing on the pasture lands testified
to the thrift and prosperity of Ali Hafed. The love of
a beautiful wife and a large family of light-hearted boys
and girls made his home an earthly paradise. Healthy,10
wealthy, contented, rich in love and friendship, his cup of
happiness seemed full to overflowing.

Happy and contented was the good Ali Hafed, when
one evening a learned priest of Buddha, journeying along
the banks of the Indus, stopped for rest and refreshment 15
at his home, where all wayfarers were hospitably welcomed
and treated as honored guests.

After the evening meal, the farmer and his family with
the priest in their midst gathered around the fireside, the
chilly mountain air of the late autumn making a fire desirable. 20
The disciple of Buddha entertained his kind hosts
with various legends and myths, and last of all with the
story of the creation.

He told his wondering listeners how in the beginning
the solid earth on which they lived was not solid at all, 25
[14]but a mere bank of fog. "The Great Spirit," said he,
"thrust his finger into the bank of fog and began slowly
describing a circle in its midst, increasing the speed gradually
until the fog went whirling round his finger so rapidly
that it was transformed into a glowing ball of fire. Then
the Creative Spirit hurled the fiery ball from his hand, and 5
it shot through the universe, burning its way through other
banks of fog and condensing them into rain, which fell
in great floods, cooling the surface of the immense ball.

"Flames then bursting from the interior through the
cooled outer crust, threw up the hills and mountain ranges 10
and made the beautiful fertile valleys. In the flood of rain
that followed this fiery upheaval, the substance that
cooled very quickly formed granite, that which cooled
less rapidly became copper, the next in degree cooled down
into silver, and the last became gold. But the most beautiful 15
substance of all, the diamond, was formed by the first
beams of sunlight condensed on the earth's surface.

"A drop of sunlight the size of my thumb," said the
priest, holding up his hand, "is worth more than mines of
gold. With one such drop," he continued, turning to Ali 20
Hafed, "you could buy many farms like yours; with a
handful you could buy a province; and with a mine of
diamonds you could purchase a whole kingdom."

The company parted for the night, and Ali Hafed went
to bed, but not to sleep. All night long he tossed restlessly 25
from side to side, thinking, planning, scheming, how he
could secure some diamonds. The demon of discontent
had entered his soul, and the blessings and advantages
which he possessed in such abundance seemed as by some
malicious magic to have vanished utterly. Although his 30
wife and children loved him as before—although his
[15]farm, his orchards, his flocks and herds, were as real and
prosperous as they had ever been—yet the last words of
the priest, which kept ringing in his ears, turned his content
into vague longings and blinded him to all that had hitherto
made him happy.

Before dawn next morning the farmer, full of his purpose, 5
was astir. Rousing the priest, he eagerly inquired
if he could direct him to a mine of diamonds.

"A mine of diamonds!" echoed the astonished priest.
"What do you, who already have so much to be grateful
for, want with diamonds?" 10

"I wish to be rich and place my children on thrones."

"All you have to do, then," said the Buddhist, "is to
go and search until you find them."

"But where shall I go?" questioned the infatuated man.

"Go anywhere," was the vague reply; "north, south, 15
east, or west—anywhere."

"But how shall I know the place?" asked the farmer.

"When you find a river running over white sands between
high mountain ranges, in these white sands you will find
diamonds. There are many such rivers and many mines 20
of diamonds waiting to be discovered. All you have to do
is start out and go somewhere—" and he waved his hand—"away,
away!"

Ali Hafed's mind was fully made up. "I will no longer,"
he thought, "remain on a wretched farm, toiling day in and 25
day out for a mere subsistence, when acres of diamonds—untold
wealth—may be had by him who is bold enough
to seek them."

He sold his farm for less than half its value. Then,
after putting his young family under the care of a neighbor, 30
he set out on his quest—a quest that was to cover many
[16]years and lands.

With high hopes and the coveted diamond mines beckoning
in the far distance, Ali Hafed began his wanderings.
During the first few weeks his spirits did not flag, nor did
his feet grow weary. On and on he tramped, until he
came to the Mountains of the Moon, beyond the bounds 5
of Arabia. Weeks stretched into months, and the wanderer
often looked regretfully in the direction of his once-happy
home. Still no gleam of waters glinting over white
sands greeted his eyes. But on he went, into Egypt,
through Palestine and other eastern lands, always looking 10
for the treasure he still hoped to find.

At last, after years of fruitless search, during which he
had wandered north and south, east and west, hope left
him. All his money was spent. He was starving and
almost naked, and the diamonds—which had lured him 15
away from all that made life dear—where were they?
Poor Ali Hafed never knew. He died by the wayside,
never dreaming that the wealth for which he had sacrificed
happiness and life might have been his had he remained
at home. 20

"Here is a diamond! here is a diamond! Has Ali Hafed
returned?" shouted an excited voice.

The speaker, no other than our old acquaintance, the
Buddhist priest, was standing in the same room where
years before he had told poor Ali Hafed how the world was 25
made and where diamonds were to be found.

"No, Ali Hafed has not returned," quietly answered his
successor. "Neither is that which you hold in your hand
a diamond. It is but a pretty black pebble I picked up
in my garden." 30

[17]"I tell you," said the priest excitedly, "this is a genuine
diamond. I know one when I see it. Tell me how and
where you found it."

"One day," replied the farmer slowly, "having led my
camel into the garden to drink, I noticed, as he put his
nose into the water, a sparkle of light coming from the 5
white sand at the bottom of the clear stream. Stooping
down, I picked up the black pebble you now hold, guided
to it by that crystal eye in the center, from which the light
flashes so brilliantly."

"Why, thou simple one," cried the priest, "this is no 10
common stone, but a gem of the purest water. Come,
show me where thou didst find it."

Together they fled to the spot where the farmer had
found the "pebble," and turning over the white sands with
eager fingers, they found, to their great delight, other 15
stones even more valuable and beautiful than the first.
Then they extended their search, and, so the Oriental
story goes, "every shovelful of the old farm, as acre after
acre was sifted over, revealed gems with which to decorate
the crowns of emperors and moguls." 20

[18]

HOW KILHUGH RODE TO ARTHUR'S HALL

By James Baldwin

Prince Kilhugh blushed. The love of Olwen, the
daughter of Thistlehair, filled his heart, although he
had not heard her name before. His face flushed with
happiness, and his eyes shone with joy.

"What is the matter, my son?" asked his father. "Why 5
are you so gay and glad?"

"Father," answered Kilhugh, "my stepmother says
that no one but Olwen shall be my wife."

"Well," quoth the king, "I doubt not there will be
trouble enough before that saying comes true. But do 10
not fear, my son. Thou art first cousin to King Arthur.
Who but he should cut thy hair and be thy lord? Go to
him, and crave this of him as a boon."

To Arthur's Hall, therefore, Prince Kilhugh made ready
to go; and his father chose fifty of his bravest knights 15
to go with him, that he might present himself to King
Arthur in a befitting manner.

So gayly the youth rode forth upon a steed of dappled
gray, four summers old, with shell-shaped hoofs and well-knit
[19]limbs. His saddle was of burnished gold, his bridle 20
of shining gold chains. His saddle cloth was of purple
silk, with four golden apples embroidered in the four
corners.

The war horn slung over his shoulder was of ivory; the
sword that hung by his side had a golden hilt and a two-edged 5
blade inlaid with a cross of gold that glittered like
the lightning of heaven. His shoes, from the knee to the
tip of the toe, were embossed with gold worth three hundred
cattle; and his stirrups also were of gold.

In his hand he held two spears, with shafts of silver and10
heads of tempered steel, and of an edge so sharp as to wound
the wind and cause the blood to flow. Two white-breasted
greyhounds bounded before his steed. Broad collars
set with rubies were on their necks; and to and fro they 15
sprang, like two sea swallows sporting around him. The
blades of reed grass bent not beneath him, so light was
his courser's tread, as he journeyed toward the gate of
Arthur's palace.

The Wide White Hall of Arthur had been built by Rearfort,20
the architect. Eight and forty were the rafters of
its roof. It would hold all Arthur's companions and his
nobles, his warriors, his retainers, and his guests.

While Kilhugh was riding thither, the tables were set
for the evening meal. The king, with his knights, his
friends, and his attendants, were in their places around 25
the board. And the gate of the outer court was locked.

As the prince rode on, he beheld from afar the walls and
towers of Arthur's Hall. When he drew rein within the
shadow of the vast portal, he saw that the door was closed
and barred, and an armed warrior, stalwart and strong, 30
[20]was standing before it.

"O chieftain," he said, "is it King Arthur's custom
to have a gatekeeper stationed here?"

"It is," replied the warrior sternly; "and if thou dost
not hold thy peace, scant shall be thy welcome. I am
Arthur's porter every New Year's Day, and that is why I 5
am here now."

"And who is the porter at other times?" asked Prince
Kilhugh.

"At other times the gate is guarded by four lusty chieftains
who serve under me," answered the Dusky Hero with 10
the Mighty Grasp. "The names of the first two are
Blandmien and Speedguest. The third is Grumgruff, a
man who never did anyone a favor in his life. The fourth
is Rumbleroll, who goes on his head to save his feet. He
neither holds it up to the sky like a man, nor stretches it 15
out toward the ground like a brute; but he goes tumbling
about the floor, like nothing but a rolling stone."

"Unbar the door and let me in," commanded Kilhugh.

"Nay, that I will not," answered the Dusky Hero with
the Mighty Grasp. 20

"And why not?" cried the prince.

"The knife is in the meat and the drink is in the horn,
and there is revelry in Arthur's Hall; and no man may
enter in save the son of a king from a friendly land. But
never shall it be said that a wayfarer was turned harshly25
away from Arthur's door. Food enough for thee and thy
fifty men shall be prepared; collops shall be cooked and
peppered for all. In the stables there is fodder for thy
horses and food in plenty for thy dogs. And thou shalt
fare as well in the guest chamber as in the hall; only be30
content, and disturb not the king and his knights at the
[21]table."

"Nay, I will have nothing of all this," said young Kilhugh.
"If thou wilt open the door, well and good. But
if not, I will bring dishonor upon Arthur and shame upon
thee. Here, on the spot where I stand, I will shout thrice
and make the welkin ring. Sounds more deadly than 5
those three shouts have never been heard in this land.
They shall resound from Land's End to Cold Blast Ridge
in Ireland, and turn the hearts of youths and maidens
cold as stone. Matrons shall grow wan and weakly and
many a mother's child shall die of fright—so dreadful 10
will be my voice."

The Dusky Hero with the Mighty Grasp stood firm,
although his heart misgave him. "No clamor that thou
canst make," said he, "will ever admit thee here against
King Arthur's wishes. However, I will go and tell him 15
thou art here."

Well might he be perturbed by Kilhugh's threat. For
he remembered what had once happened in the days of
King Lud, when all Britain had been shaken by a fearful
shriek. At the sound of it, men had grown pale and feeble, 20
women listless and sad, and youths and maidens forlorn
and woebegone. Beasts deserted their young ones, birds
left their nestlings, trees cast off their fruit, the earth
yielded no harvest.

Pondering upon these things, the Dusky Hero with the 25
Mighty Grasp strode into the hall. King Arthur saw him
and called out, "Hast thou come with tidings from the
door?"

The Dusky Hero bowed, and answered in stately phrase,
becoming a knight of the Table Round: 30

[22]"Half of my life is past, noble king, and half of thine.
I have been with thee in Europe, in Asia, in Africa, and in
the Island of Corsica. I was thy companion when thou
didst spread the terror of the sword from Scandinavia to
Spain. I fought by thy side in the Battle of Shades, when
we brought away twelve hostages from the Dim Land under 5
the Sea. I have been in Jerusalem and in Castle Covert-and-Clearing,
built all of dead men's bones. I have been
in Turning Castle, and in the Castle of Riches; and there
thou knowest we saw nine kings of nations, all comely men
of noble mien. Yet, I protest and declare that I never 10
before saw a youth so handsome and dignified as that one
who is now sitting astride his horse and waiting outside
the door of this hall."

Then cried the king, "Thou didst walk hither to tell me
of him; now hie thee back to him, running at full speed. 15
Invite him to come in; and let every man who sees the light,
and every man who blinks the eye, stand ready to do him
honor."

The Dusky Hero with the Mighty Grasp returned to
the great door. He drew back bolt and bar, and set it 20
wide open before the prince and his train. The men at
arms dismounted at the horse block in the courtyard, but
Kilhugh still sat upon his steed and rode into the Hall.

"Hail to thee, King Arthur!" he cried. "I greet thee
and thy guests and thy companions and thy warriors. 25
My greeting is to the lowest as well as to the highest of all
that have a seat within this Hall. May thy name, King
Arthur, and thy fame and thy renown be forever held in
glorious memory throughout the length and the breadth
of this land!" 30

[23]"Hail to thee, noble youth!" returned Arthur. "Thou
art right welcome. Here is a place for thee between two of
my knights. Sit down, and my minstrels will play for thee."

But Kilhugh made answer: "I have not come hither,
sire, to eat and drink, but to crave of thee a boon. If thou
wilt grant it me, I will do thee such service as thou mayest 5
command; and I will carry the praise of thy bounty and
thy power into every land. But if thou dost refuse, I will
spread ill reports of thee to the four quarters of the world."

Then King Arthur was greatly pleased, and he said:
"Ask thy boon, young chieftain. Thou shalt have whatever 10
thy tongue may name, as far as the wind dries and the
rain moistens and the sun revolves and the sea encircles
and the earth extends. Thou shalt have anything that is
mine, except my ship that bears me over the sea, and
the mantle in which I can walk unseen, and my good sword,15
and my keen lance, and my shield, and my gleaming dagger,
and Guinevere my wife. Ask what thou wilt."

"My request is, that thou wilt cut my hair," answered
Kilhugh.

"Thy request is granted," quoth the king.20

Then Arthur called for a golden comb and a pair of
scissors with silver loops. And he combed the hair of the
prince, as he sat upon his steed, and cut it front and back.

"Now tell me thy name," he said.

"My name is Kilhugh," replied the prince. "My father 25
is Prince Kilith, and my mother was a sister of the fair
Ygerne."

"Then we are cousins," cried Arthur, "and I give thee
leave to ask another boon. Ask what thou wilt."
"Promise me, for the honor of thy kingdom, to grant 30
my boon," said Kilhugh.

[24]"I promise."

"Then do I crave of thee to obtain for me Olwen, the
daughter of Thistlehair, chief of the Giants, to be my wife. . . .
For the sake of the daughters of the Island of the
Mighty, I crave thy help to seek this maiden. For the
sake of Guinevere and of her sister; for the sake of Lynette 5
of the Magic Ring; for the sake of Cordelia the daughter
of King Lear, the loveliest maiden in this island; and for
the sake of Iseult la Belle, and of Elaine, and of Angarad
of the Golden Hand—for the sake of these and many
others, I crave thy help." 10

Then said Arthur, "O prince and cousin, I have never
heard of this maiden, Olwen; I have never heard of her
kindred. But I will send messengers to seek her; only
grant them time to find her and return."

"To-day is New Year's Day," answered the prince. 15
"I give them from this hour till the last day of the year."

And having said these words, he dismounted from his
steed and went and sat by King Arthur's side in the midst
of the heroes of the Table Round.

THE GIFT OF THE WHITE BEAR

By George Webbe Dasent

A long time ago there lived in Iceland a man whose
name was Audun. His means were small, but everybody
knew of his goodness. In order to see the world and to
add to his wealth, he once sailed to Greenland with a sea
captain named Thorir. Before he went, he gave everything 5
that he had to his mother—and this was not much.

In Greenland Audun bought a white bear that was well
tamed and trained—and it was the greatest treasure of
a bear that had ever been thought of. The next summer
Thorir sailed back to Norway, and Audun went with him, 10
taking the bear.

Now Audun had made up his mind to give the bear to
Sweyn, the king of Denmark; and so, leaving Thorir, he
made his way south to the Cattegat. While he was waiting
for some vessel that would carry him across the channel, it 15
so happened that Harold, the king of Norway, came also to
the same place.

Of course some one soon told King Harold about the
Icelander who had lately come from Greenland with a
wonderful white bear, and he at once sent for Audun. 20

"I have heard about your white bear," said Harold,
"and I wish to buy it."

"I will not sell it," answered Audun.

"But I will pay you twice as much as you gave for it,"
said the king. 25

[26]"Not for any price will I sell it," said the Icelander.

"Then will you give it to me?" asked the king.

"No, my lord, I will not do that," answered Audun.

"What, then, will you do with it?" asked the king.

Audun answered, "I have made up my mind to take it
to Denmark and give it to King Sweyn, for he is also the 5
king of my own country."

Then Harold spoke up sharply: "Don't you know, my
fellow, that there is war between Norway and Denmark,
and between myself and your King Sweyn? Don't you
know that I have the power to prevent you from ever 10
getting to his land?"

Audun answered, "I know that you have the power, and
that all rests with you. But I will consent to nothing
save to do as I have told you."

The king sat in thought for a moment and then said, 15
"Well, I see no reason why you should not do as you please
in this matter. But promise me that when you come this
way again, you will tell me how King Sweyn rewarded you
for the beast."

"I give you my word to do that," answered Audun. 20

Then, leading the bear behind him, he went away. But
it was a long time before he could find any means to cross
over into Denmark, and when at last he set foot upon the
shores of that country he had not even a penny with which
to buy food. Both he and the bear were starving, and it 25
was a long way to the place where the king was staying.

In his distress, Audun went to a rich man named Auki
and begged for food for himself and his bear.

"What are you going to do with the beast?" asked
Auki. 30

"Give him to King Sweyn," answered the Icelander.

[27]"And how much do you expect to receive for him?"

"Only so much as the king in his bounty wishes to give."

Then the rich man answered, "If you will give me one
half of the bear, I will feed you both."

And to this Audun made agreement, for he was almost
dead of hunger and so was the bear. 5

Then the Icelander and the rich man went on, leading
the bear, until they came to King Sweyn's house. The
king greeted Auki in a friendly manner, and turning to
Audun, said, "You are a stranger to me. Pray tell me
whence you have come." 10

"I am from Iceland," answered Audun, "and have but
lately been to Greenland. My errand here is to give you
a white bear which I bought in Greenland. But my
necessities have obliged me to part with one half of the
beast, and I can only beg of you to accept the other half." 15
And then, after much questioning, he told the whole story.

The king turned to the rich man, who was standing by,
and asked, "Is this true, Auki?"

"It is, my lord," answered Auki.

Then the king was angry and sent the rich man home, 20
empty-handed and sorrowful. But he said to the Icelander,
"I thank you for the rare and wonderful gift which you
have brought me. Stay here in my house for a while."

So Audun dwelt for some time with the king's household,
and no man was more faithful, more honest, or more 25
brave than he. Many deeds of courage did he perform,
and many and worthy were his services. All men liked
him, and the king was most gracious to him; but his heart
turned always toward Iceland and his poor mother whom
he had left behind. 30

One day when the springtide was drawing on, the king
[28]spoke to the Icelander and said: "Audun, I have never
yet given you anything for the white bear. I have a mind
to make you one of my chief officers, so that you shall
always be near me."

And Audun answered, "I thank you, my lord, with all
my heart. But far away over the northern seas there is a 5
poor woman who is my mother. I fear that by this time
she is in want; for although I left her all that I had, it
was not much. I cannot bear to sit here in ease and honor
while she has not enough to keep hunger away. And so I
have set my heart on sailing for Iceland." 10

"There speaks a good man and true," cried the king.
"You shall do as you most desire; but wait a little while
till a ship is ready."

So Audun waited. And one day when spring was at its
best, King Sweyn went with him down to the waterside, 15
where many men were busy freighting ships for foreign
lands. They walked till they came to a merchant vessel
of fine size.

"What do you think of this ship, Audun?" asked the
king. 20

"She is fine enough, surely," answered the Icelander.

"Well," said the king, "I will now repay you for the
bear. This ship and all the goods on board of it are
yours."

Audun thanked the king as well as he could. And when 25
the day came for the ship to sail, the two walked down to
the waterside again.

"I have heard much of the perils of the sea," said King
Sweyn, "and if this fair ship should be wrecked, all your
goods will doubtless be lost and little will be left to show 30
that you have met the king of Denmark."

[29]As he said this, the king put into Audun's hand a
leather bag, full of silver, saying, "Take this, and even if
your ship goes down, you will not be entirely penniless."

Audun was so filled with gratitude that he could not
speak. But the king had still another surprise for him.
He drew a ring of gold, very costly, from his arm and put 5
it upon the arm of the Icelander.

"Take this," he said. "Even though you should lose
ship and goods and money, you will still not be penniless,
for the gold will be around your arm."

What could Audun do? What could he say? 10

The king shook his hand at parting, and said: "I have
this to ask of you: Keep the gold ring on your arm and
do not part with it on any account, unless it be to some
great man to whom you feel yourself bound to give your
best treasure in return for a great favor and much goodness. 15
And now, farewell, and may good luck follow your voyage."

Then Audun, in his fair, rich ship, put to sea.

On his way to Iceland he stopped for a time in a haven
of Norway, where he heard that King Harold was holding
his court. He was desirous of seeing the king, as he had 20
given his word.

King Harold remembered him well and received him
kindly.

"Sit here and tell me how it fared with you in Denmark,"
he said. 25

Audun told him a part of his story.

"But how did King Sweyn repay you for the white bear?"
asked Harold.

"In this wise, my lord," answered Audun: "He took it
and thanked me when I offered it." 30

"I would have repaid you as well myself," said Harold,
[30]"What more did he give you?"

"He asked me to abide in his house, and he gave me his
friendship. He offered me still greater honor if I would
stay longer with him."

"That was good; but I would have done as much.
He must have given you something more." 5

"Yes. He gave me a merchant ship filled with rich
goods for trade in northern ports."

"That was a noble gift," said the king; "but I would
have equaled it. Did he give you anything more?"

Audun answered, "Yes, he gave me a leather bag full of 10
silver; for he said that if the ship and her cargo should be
lost in the sea, yet would I not go penniless."

"That was nobly thought of," said Harold; "and it is
more than I would have done. But what else did he give?"

Then Audun took the gold ring from his arm and put 15
it upon King Harold's arm, saying, "He gave me as a farewell
gift this priceless ring; and he bade me never to part
with it save to some great man to whom I felt myself indebted
for his goodness. And now I have found that man.
For it was in your power to take away not only the bear 20
but my life also, and yet you allowed me to go in peace to
Denmark."

The king looked at the ring and then at the man; for
both were of very great worth. "I thank you, Audun," he
said; and they had much pleasant talk before they parted.25

And when Audun at length came with his ship to Iceland,
everybody welcomed him as the luckiest man in the world; and
he made his poor mother comfortable for the rest of her life.

THE STORY OF IRON

The first of all mothers was Air, and she had three
daughters. Of these three maidens there is much
to be said. They were as lovely as the rainbow after a
storm; they were as fair as the full moon shining above
the mountains. They walked with noiseless feet among 5
the clouds and showered gifts upon the earth. They sent
the refreshing rain, the silent dew, and the nipping frost,
each in its season. They gave life to the fields, and strength
to the mountains, and grandeur to the sea. And because
of their bounty the earth was glad and the stars twinkled10
for joy.

"What more can we do to make the land fit for men to
dwell in? What other gift have we to bestow?" asked the
eldest of the sisters.

And the youngest said, "Let us send down iron—iron 15
of which tools may be made, iron of which sharp weapons
may be shaped. For without tools man will not be able
to plow, to reap, or to build; and without weapons he
cannot defend himself against the savage beasts of the
forest." 20

So when the sun was about going down, the sisters
went forth in trailing robes of purple and crimson and gold;
[32]and in their hands they bore mighty vessels of foaming milk.
The eldest sprinkled red milk in the brooks and marshes
and along the banks of the rivers. The middle one scattered
white milk on the wooded hills and the stony mountains.
The youngest showered blue milk in the valleys
and by the gray seashore. And, on the morrow, where 5
the red milk had been sprinkled, red and brittle ore of
iron flecked the ground; where the white milk had been
scattered, powdery ore of a yellow hue abounded; and
where the blue milk had been showered, flaky masses of
crude iron, tough and dark, lay hidden beneath the soil. 10

Thus came Iron into the world—Iron, the youngest
of three brothers. Next older than he was Fire, a raging,
dangerous fellow when free, but loving and faithful when
held in bonds. Older still was Water, terrible in strength
but, when not aroused, as gentle as a mother's caress. 15

Years upon years went by, and at length one day Iron
set out to visit his brothers. He found Water at home in
the deep sea, and by him he was welcomed kindly enough.
But when he climbed a mountain to see his second brother
he had quite another reception. Fire was in a raging 20
mood. The terrible fellow leaped and roared and stretched
out his long red fingers as though he would devour his
visitor.

Iron was so terrified that he turned and fled down the
steep slopes, never stopping nor pausing to look behind. 25
He ran on, hiding in clefts and chasms, creeping under
rocks, and lurking in the dry beds of mountain torrents.
When by and by he reached the level plain, he glanced
backward. The hills and the whole mountain top were
aflame. 30

Wild with terror he hurried on, hiding himself in the
[33]woods and under the roots of trees and resting at last in
reedy marshes where swans build their nests and wild geese
rear their young.

For ages and ages—nobody knows how many—Iron
lay hidden in bogs and forests and lonely caverns. Fear
of his raging brother made him lurk in lonely places, made5
him cover up his face. Lazy bears went ambling through
the rocky places; wolves rushed madly over the oozy
marshlands; and timid deer ran and leaped among the
trees. In time the hiding places of Iron were uncovered.
Where the paws of bears had plodded often, where the feet10
of wolves had pattered, where the sharp hoofs of deer had
trodden, there the timid metal, red, gray, yellow, black,
peeped shyly out.

At length into that same land there came a skillful Smith.
He carried a hammer of stone in one hand and tongs of 15
bronze in the other, and a song of peace was upon his lips.
On a green hillock, where the south wind blew, he built
him a smithy, and in it he placed the tools of his craft.
His anvil was a block of gray granite; his forge was carefully
built of sand and clay; his bellows was made of the 20
skins of mountain goats sewn together.

The Smith heaped live coals in his forge and blew with
his bellows until the flames leaped up, roaring and sparkling,
and the smoke rose in dense clouds over the roof of the
smithy. "This forge will do its work well," he said. Then25
he checked the bellows and smothered the flames and raked
ashes upon the fire until the red coals slumbered unseen at
the mouth of the forge.

Out into the forest the Smith wandered. Closely he
scanned the hillsides and the boggy thickets and the paths 30
among the trees. And there, where the bears had trailed
[34]and the wolves had rushed and the deer had left their
footprints, he found ruddy Iron, dusky Iron, yellow ore
of Iron, peeping, trembling, hiding. The heart of the
Smith was glad. His eyes danced merrily, and he sang a
song of magic to the timid metal:

Iron moved not, but timidly answered, "I dare not
leave my hiding places; for Fire, my brother, waits to
devour me. He is strong and fierce. He has no pity."

The Smith shook his head and made reply, still singing:

These words made Iron feel much braver; and they
were spoken in tones so sweet and persuasive that he was
almost minded to obey without another word. But he asked,25
"Why should I leave these places where I have rested so
long? What will become of me after I have made friends
[35]with Fire?"

Again the Smith replied to the query of Iron in a magic
song:

Hearing this, Iron came out of his lurking places and
without more ado bashfully followed the cunning Smith.
But no sooner was he in the smithy than he felt himself15
a prisoner. The tongs of bronze gripped him and thrust
him into the forge. The bellows roared, the Smith shouted,
and Fire leaped joyfully out of the ashes and threw his
arms around his helpless younger brother. And bashful,
bashful Iron turned first red and then white and finally20
became as soft as dough and as radiant as the sun.

Then the tongs of bronze drew him forth from the flames,
and twirled him in the air, and threw him upon the anvil;
and the hammer of stone beat him fiercely again and again
until he shrieked with pain.25

"Oh, spare me! spare me!" he cried. "Do not deal so
roughly with me. Let me go back to my lonely hiding
places and lie there in peace as in the days of old."

But the tongs pinched him worse than before, and the
hammer beat him still harder, and the Smith answered: 30

[36]"Not so, not so! Be not so cowardly. We do not hurt
you; you are only frightened. Be brave and I will shape
you into things of great use to men. Be brave and you
shall rule the world."

Then in spite of Iron's piteous cries, he kept on pounding
and twisting and turning and shaping the helpless metal 5
until at length it was changed into many forms of use and
beauty—rings, chains, axes, knives, cups, and curious
tools. But it was so soft, after being thus heated and
beaten, that the edges of the tools were quickly dulled.
Try as he might, the Smith did not know how to give the 10
metal a harder temper.

One day a honeybee strolled that way. It buzzed
around the smithy and then lit on a clover blossom by the
door.

"O bee," cried the busy Smith, "you are a cunning 15
little bird, and you know some things better than I know
them. Come now, and help me temper this soft metal.
Bring me a drop of your honey; bring the sweet liquor
which you suck from the meadow flower; bring the magic
dew of the wildwood. Give me all such things that I may 20
make a mixture to harden Iron."

The bee answered not—it was too busy with its own
affairs. It gathered what honey it could from the blossom
and then flew swiftly away.

Under the eaves above the smithy door an idler was 25
sitting—a mischief-making hornet who heard every word
that the Smith said.

"I will help him make a mixture," this wicked insect
muttered. "I will help him to give Iron another temper."

Forthwith he flew to the thorny thickets and the miry 30
bogs and the fever-breeding marshes, to gather what evils
[37]he might. Soon he returned with an arm load—the poison
of spiders, the venom of serpents, the miasmata of swamps,
the juice of the deadly nightshade. All these he cast into
the tub of water wherein the Smith was vainly trying to
temper Iron.

The Smith did not see him, but he heard him buzzing 5
and supposed it was the honeybee with sweets from the
meadow flowers.

"Thank you, pretty little bird," he said. "Now I hope
we shall have a better metal. I hope we shall make edges
that will cut and not be dulled so easily." 10

Thereupon he drew a bar of the metal, white hot, from
the forge. He held it, hissing and screeching, under the
water into which the poisons had been poured. Little
thought he of the evil that was there. He heard the hornet
humming and laughing under the eaves. 15

"Tiny honeybee," he said, "you have brought me much
sweetness. Iron tempered with your honey will be sweet
although sharp. Nothing shall be wrought of it that is
not beautiful and helpful and kind."

He drew the metal from the tub. He thrust it back 20
among the red coals. He plied the bellows and the flames
leaped up. Then, when the metal was glowing again, he
laid it on the anvil and beat it with strong, swift strokes;
and as he worked he sang:

Forthwith Iron leaped up, angry and biting and fierce.
He was not a soft and ductile metal as before, but Iron 30
[38]hardened into tough blue steel. Showers of sparks flew
from him, snapping, burning, threatening; and from among
them sprang swords and spears and battle-axes, and daggers
keen and pointed. Out of the smithy and out through
the great world these cruel weapons raced, slashing and
clashing, thrusting and cutting, raging and killing, and 5
carrying madness among men.

The wicked hornet, idling under the eaves, rejoiced at
the mischief he had wrought. But the Smith was filled
with grief, and the music of his anvil became a jangling
discord. 10

"Oh, Iron," he cried, "it was not for this that I caused
you to leave your hiding places in the hills and bogs! The
three sisters intended that you should be a blessing to
mankind; but now I greatly fear that you will become a
curse." 15

At that moment the honeybee, laden with the sweets of
field and wood, came buzzing into the smithy. It whispered
hopefully into the ear of the Smith: "Wait until
my gifts have done their work."

[39]

THE WONDERFUL ARTISAN

By James Baldwin

While Athens was still only a small city there lived
within its walls a man named Dædalus (dĕd´a-lŭs),
who was the most skillful worker in wood and stone and
metal that had ever been known. It was he who taught
the people how to build better houses and how to hang 5
their doors on hinges and how to support the roofs with
pillars and posts. He was the first to fasten things together
with glue; he invented the plumb line and the
auger; and he showed seamen how to put up masts in their
ships and how to rig the sails to them with ropes. He 10
built a stone palace for Ægeus, the young king of Athens,
and beautified the Temple of Athena which stood on the
great rocky hill in the middle of the city.

Dædalus had a nephew named Perdix, whom he had
taken when a boy to teach the trade of builder. But 15
Perdix was a very apt learner and soon surpassed his master
in the knowledge of many things. His eyes were ever
open to see what was going on about him, and he learned
the lore of the fields and the woods. Walking one day by
the sea he picked up the backbone of a great fish, and from 20
it he invented the saw. Seeing how a certain bird carved
[40]holes in the trunks of trees, he learned how to make and use
the chisel. Then he invented the wheel which potters
use in molding clay; and he made of a forked stick the
first pair of compasses for drawing circles; and he studied
out many other curious and useful things.

Dædalus was not pleased when he saw that the lad was 5
so apt and wise, so ready to learn, and so eager to do.

"If he keeps on in this way," he murmured, "he will
be a greater man than I; his name will be remembered
and mine will be forgotten."

Day after day, while at his work, Dædalus pondered over 10
this matter, and soon his heart was filled with hatred
towards young Perdix. One morning when the two were
putting up an ornament on the outer wall of Athena's
temple, Dædalus bade his nephew go out on a narrow
scaffold which hung high over the edge of the rocky cliff15
whereon the temple stood. Then when the lad obeyed,
it was easy enough, with a blow of a hammer, to knock
the scaffold from its fastenings.

Poor Perdix fell headlong through the air, and he would
have been dashed in pieces upon the stones at the foot of20
the cliff had not kind Athena seen him and taken pity
upon him. While he was yet whirling through mid-air
she changed him into a partridge, and he flitted away to
the hills to live forever in the woods and fields which he
loved so well. And to this day, when summer breezes 25
blow and the wild flowers bloom in meadow and glade,
the voice of Perdix may still sometimes be heard calling
to his mate from among the grass and reeds or amid the
leafy underwoods.

As for Dædalus, when the people of Athens heard of his 30
[41]dastardly deed they were filled with grief and rage—grief
for young Perdix, whom all had learned to love; rage
towards the wicked uncle who loved only himself. At first
they were for punishing Dædalus with the death which
he so richly deserved, but when they remembered what he
had done to make their homes pleasanter and their lives 5
easier they allowed him to live; and yet they drove him
out of Athens and bade him never return.

There was a ship in the harbor just ready to start on a
voyage across the sea, and in it Dædalus embarked with
all his precious tools and his young son Icarus (ĭk´à-rŭs). 10
Day after day the little vessel sailed slowly southward,
keeping the shore of the mainland always upon the right.
It passed Trœzen and the rocky coast of Argos and then
struck boldly out across the sea.

At last the famous Island of Crete was reached, and 15
there Dædalus landed and made himself known; and the
King of Crete, who had already heard of his wondrous
skill, welcomed him to his kingdom, and gave him a home
in his palace, and promised that he should be rewarded
with great riches and honor if he would but stay and practice 20
his craft there as he had done in Athens.

Now the name of the King of Crete was Minos. His
grandfather, whose name was also Minos, was the son of
Europa, a young princess whom a white bull, it was said,
had brought on his back across the sea from distant Asia.25
This elder Minos had been accounted the wisest of men—so
wise, indeed, that Jupiter chose him to be one of the
judges of the Lower World. The younger Minos was
almost as wise as his grandfather; and he was brave and
farseeing and skilled as a ruler of men. He had made all 30
the islands subject to his kingdom, and his ships sailed
[42]into every part of the world and brought back to Crete
the riches of foreign lands. So it was not hard for him to
persuade Dædalus to make his home with him and be the
chief of his artisans.

And Dædalus built for King Minos a most wonderful
palace with floors of marble and pillars of granite; and 5
in the palace he set up golden statues which had tongues
and could talk; and for splendor and beauty there was
no other building in all the wide earth that could be compared
with it.

There lived in those days among the hills of Crete a 10
terrible monster called the Minotaur (mĭn´ō-tôr), the like
of which has never been seen from that time until now.
This creature, it was said, had the body of a man but the
face and head of a wild bull and the fierce nature of a
mountain lion. The people of Crete would not have killed 15
him if they could; for they thought that the Mighty Folk
who lived with Jupiter on the mountain top had sent him
among them and that these beings would be angry if anyone
should take his life. He was the pest and terror of
all the land. Where he was least expected, there he was 20
sure to be; and almost every day some man, woman, or
child was caught and devoured by him.

"You have done so many wonderful things," said the
king to Dædalus, "can you not do something to rid the
land of this Minotaur?" 25

"Shall I kill him?" asked Dædalus.

"Ah, no!" said the king. "That would only bring
greater misfortune upon us."

"I will build a house for him then," said Dædalus, "and
you can keep him in it as a prisoner." 30

"But he may pine away and die if he is penned up in
[43]prison," said the king.

"He shall have plenty of room to roam about," said
Dædalus; "and if you will only now and then feed one of
your enemies to him, I promise you that he shall live and
thrive."

So the wonderful artisan brought together his workmen, 5
and they built a marvelous house with so many rooms in
it and so many winding ways that no one who went far
into it could ever find his way out again; and Dædalus
called it the Labyrinth and cunningly persuaded the
Minotaur to go inside it. The monster soon lost his way 10
among the winding passages, but the sound of his terrible
bellowings could be heard day and night as he wandered
back and forth vainly trying to find some place to escape.

Not long after this it happened that Dædalus was guilty
of a deed which angered the king very greatly; and had 15
not Minos wished him to build other buildings for him, he
would have put him to death and served him right.

"Hitherto," said the king, "I have honored you for your
skill and rewarded you for your labor. But now you shall
be my slave and shall serve me without hire and without 20
any word of praise."

Then he gave orders to the guards at the city gates that
they should not let Dædalus pass out at any time, and he
set soldiers to watch the ships that were in port so that
he could not escape by sea. But although the wonderful 25
artisan was thus held as a prisoner, he did not build any
more buildings for King Minos; he spent his time in planning
how he might regain his freedom.

"All my inventions," he said to his son Icarus, "have
hitherto been made to please other people; now I will 30
[44]invent something to please myself."

So through all the day he pretended to be planning some
great work for the king, but every night he locked himself
up in his chamber and wrought secretly by candlelight.
By and by he had made for himself a pair of strong wings,
and for Icarus another pair of smaller ones; and then, 5
one midnight, when everybody was asleep, the two went
out to see if they could fly. They fastened the wings
to their shoulders with wax, and then sprang up into the
air. They could not fly very far at first, but they did so
well that they felt sure of doing much better in time. 10

The next night Dædalus made some changes in the wings.
He put on an extra strap or two; he took out a feather
from one wing and put a new feather into another; and
then he and Icarus went out into the moonlight to try
them again. They did finely this time. They flew up to 15
the top of the king's palace, and then they sailed away over
the walls of the city and alighted on the top of a hill. But
they were not ready to undertake a long journey yet;
and so just before daybreak, they flew back home. Every
fair night after that they practiced with their wings, and 20
at the end of a month they felt as safe in the air as on the
ground and could skim over the hilltops like birds.

Early one morning, before King Minos had risen from
his bed, they fastened on their wings, sprang into the air,
and flew out of the city. Once fairly away from the island 25
they turned towards the west, for Dædalus had heard of
an island named Sicily which lay hundreds of miles away,
and he had made up his mind to seek a new home there.

All went well for a time, and the two bold flyers sped
swiftly over the sea, skimming along only a little above 30
the waves, and helped on their way by the brisk east wind.
[45]Towards noon the sun shone very warm, and Dædalus
called out to the boy, who was a little behind him, and told
him to keep his wings cool and not fly too high. But the
boy was proud of his skill in flying, and as he looked up at
the sun he thought how nice it would be to soar like it
high above the clouds in the blue depths of the sky. 5

"At any rate," said he to himself, "I will go up a little
higher. Perhaps I can see the horses which draw the sun
car, and perhaps I shall catch sight of their driver, the
mighty sun master himself."

So he flew up higher and higher, but his father, who was 10
in front, did not see him. Pretty soon, however, the heat
of the sun began to melt the wax with which the boy's
wings were fastened. He felt himself sinking through the
air; the wings had become loosened from his shoulders.
He screamed to his father, but it was too late. Dædalus 15
turned just in time to see Icarus fall headlong into the
waves. The water was very deep there, and the skill of
the wonderful artisan could not save his child. He could
only look with sorrowing eyes at the unpitying sea, and
fly on alone to distant Sicily. There, men say, he lived for 20
many years, but he never did any great work nor built
anything half so marvelous as the Labyrinth of Crete.
And the sea in which poor Icarus was drowned was called
forever afterward by his name, the Icarian Sea.

CHARLEMAGNE AND ROLAND

By Hélène A. Guerber

Numerous stories are told of the way in which
Roland first attracted the attention of the great
emperor, his uncle. Of these the most popular is that
which relates how Milon, attempting to ford a stream, had
been carried away and drowned, while his poor half-famished 5
wife at home was thus left to perish of hunger. Seeing
the signs of such acute distress around him, the child went
boldly to the banqueting hall near by, where Charlemagne
and his lords were feasting. Casting his eyes round for a
suitable dish to plunder, Roland caught up a platter of 10
food and fled. His fearless act greatly amused the emperor,
who forbade his servants to interfere. Thus the boy
carried off his prize in triumph, and soon set it before the
startled eyes of his mother.

Excited by the success of his raid, a few minutes later the 15
child reëntered the hall, and with equal coolness laid hands
[47]upon the emperor's cup, full of rich wine. Challenged by
Charlemagne, the boy then boldly declared that he wanted
the meat and wine for his mother, a lady of high degree.
In answer to the emperor's bantering questions, he declared
that he was his mother's cupbearer, her page, and
her gallant knight, which answers so amused Charlemagne 5
that he sent for her. He saw her to be his own sister, and,
stricken with remorse, he asked for her forgiveness and
treated her with kindness as long as she lived, and took her
son into his service.

Another legend relates that Charlemagne, hearing that 10
the robber knight of the Ardennes had a priceless jewel
set in his shield, called all his bravest noblemen together,
and bade them sally forth separately, with only a page as
escort, in quest of the knight. Once found, they were to
challenge him in true knightly fashion, and at the point of 15
the lance win the jewel he wore. A day was appointed
when, successful or not, the courtiers were to return, and,
beginning with the lowest in rank, were to give a truthful
account of their adventures while on the quest.

All the knights departed and scoured the forest of the 20
Ardennes, each hoping to meet the robber knight and win
the jewel. Among them was Milon, accompanied by his
son Roland, a lad of fifteen, whom he had taken as page and
armor-bearer. Milon had spent many days in vain search
for the knight, when, exhausted by his long ride, he dismounted, 25
removed his heavy armor, and lay down under a
tree to sleep, bidding Roland keep close watch during his
slumbers.

For a while Roland watched faithfully; then, fired by a
desire to distinguish himself, he donned his father's armor, 30
sprang on his steed, and rode off into the forest in search of
[48]adventures. He had not gone very far when he saw a
gigantic horseman coming to meet him, and by the dazzling
glitter of a large stone set in his shield he recognized him to
be the invincible knight of the Ardennes. Afraid of
nothing, however, he laid his lance in rest when challenged
to fight, and charged so bravely that he unhorsed 5
his opponent. A fearful battle on foot ensued, each striving
hard to accomplish the death of the other. But at last the
fresh young energy of Roland conquered, and his terrible
foe fell to the ground in agony. A minute later his corpse
lay stiff on the field, leaving the victory in the hands of 10
Roland.

Hastily wrenching the coveted jewel from the shield of
the dead warrior, the boy hid it in his breast. Then, riding
rapidly back to his sleeping father, he laid aside the armor
and removed all traces of a bloody encounter. Soon after,15
Milon awoke and resumed the quest, when he came upon
the body of the dead knight. He was disappointed indeed
to find that another had won the jewel, and rode sadly back
to court, to be present on the appointed day.

In much pomp Charlemagne ascended his throne amid 20
the deafening sound of trumpets. Then, seating himself, he
bade the knights appear before him and relate their adventures.
One after another strode up the hall, followed by an
armor-bearer holding his shield. Each in turn told of
finding the knight slain and the jewel gone. Last of all 25
came Milon. Gloomily he made his way to the throne
to repeat the story that had already been told so often.
But as he went, there followed behind him, with a radiant
face, young Roland, proudly bearing his father's shield,
in the center of which shone the precious jewel. At the 30
sight of this all the nobles started, and whispered to one
[49]another that Milon had done the deed. Then when he
dismally told how he too had found the knight dead a
shout of incredulity greeted him. Turning his head, he
saw to his amazement that his own shield bore the dazzling
gem. At the sight of it he appeared so amazed that
Charlemagne set himself to question Roland and thus soon 5
learned how it had been obtained. In reward for his bravery
in this encounter Roland was knighted, and allowed to
take his place among the paladins of the emperor. Nor was
it long before he further distinguished himself, becoming,
to his father's delight, the most renowned of that famous10
company.

—Myths and Legends of the Middle Ages.

KEEPING THE BRIDGE

By Thomas Babington Macaulay

Ancient Rome stood on seven hills on the south shore of the Tiber 5
River, which formed a part of the inner defensive works of the city.
Only one bridge—a wooden affair—spanned the river. Across the
Tiber was the Janiculum, a hill fortified as an outer post of defense.

When Lars Porsena (Pŏr´sĕ-na), king of Etruria, declared sudden
war on Rome, he marched on the city so rapidly that the Janiculum
was carried by storm. Nothing stood between him and the City of
the Seven Hills—unless the bridge were destroyed. 10

Horatius and two others elected to hold the bridgehead opposite
the city against Porsena's entire army while the Romans cut down
the bridge. The best of the Etruscan warriors came against the powerful
three, only to be slain. Just before the bridge fell into the river,
Horatius sent his two comrades back across the bridge to safety.
He held his foes at bay single-handed till the structure fell into the 15
water. Then he plunged into the Tiber with his heavy fighting gear
on, and swam to the Roman side. Thus was the city saved.

[55]

Molly Pitcher Salutes Washington
(See following page)

[57]

THE STORY OF MOLLY PITCHER

By Frank R. Stockton

At the battle of Monmouth, a young Irishwoman,
wife of an artilleryman, played a very notable part
in the working of the American cannon on that eventful
day in June.

Molly was born with the soul of a soldier, and although 5
she did not belong to the army she much preferred going
to war to staying at home and attending to domestic affairs.
She was in the habit of following her husband on his various
marches, and on the day of the Monmouth battle she was
with him on the field. 10

The day was very hot. The rays of the sun came down
with such force that many of the soldiers were taken sick
and some died; and the constant discharges of musketry
and artillery did not make the air any cooler. Molly devoted
herself to keeping her husband as comfortable as 15
possible, and she made frequent trips to a spring not far
away to bring him water; and on this account he was one
of the freshest and coolest artillerymen on the ground.
In fact, there was no man belonging to the battery who was
[58]able to manage one of these great guns better than Pitcher. 20
Returning from one of her trips to the spring, Molly
had almost reached the place where her husband was
stationed when a bullet from the enemy struck the poor
man and stretched him dead, so that Molly had no sooner
caught sight of her husband than she saw him fall. She 5
ran to the gun, but scarcely had reached it before she heard
one of the officers order the cannon to be wheeled back out
of the way, saying that there was no one there who could
serve it as it had been served.

Now Molly's eyes flashed fire. One might have thought 10
that she would have been prostrated with grief at the loss
of her husband, but as we have said, she had within her
the soul of a soldier. She had seen her husband, who was
the same to her as a comrade, fall, and she was filled with
an intense desire to avenge his death. She cried out to 15
the officer not to send the gun away but to let her serve it;
and scarcely waiting to hear what he would say, she sprang
to the cannon and began to load it and fire it. She had so
often attended her husband and even helped him in his
work that she knew all about this sort of thing, and her 20
gun was managed well and rapidly.

It might be supposed that it would be a very strange
thing to see a woman on the battlefield firing a cannon;
but even if the enemy had watched Molly with a spyglass,
they would not have noticed anything to excite their surprise. 25
She wore an ordinary skirt, like other women of
the time; but over this was an artilleryman's coat and on
her head was a cocked hat with some jaunty feathers stuck
in it, so that she looked almost as much like a man as the
rest of the soldiers of the battery. 30

During the rest of the battle Molly bravely served her
[59]gun; and if she did as much execution in the ranks of the
redcoats as she wanted to do, the loss in the regiments in
front of her must have been very great. Of course all the
men in the battery knew Molly Pitcher, and they watched
her with the greatest interest and admiration. She would
not allow anyone to take her place, but kept on loading and 5
firing until the work of the day was done. Then the
officers and men crowded about her with congratulations
and praise.

The next day General Greene went to Molly—whom he
found in very much the condition in which she had left 10
the battlefield, stained with dirt and powder, with her
fine feathers gone and her cocked hat dilapidated—and
conducted her, just as she was, to General Washington.
When the commander in chief heard what she had done,
he gave her warm words of praise. He determined to 15
bestow upon her a substantial reward; for anyone who was
brave enough and able enough to step in and fill an important
place, as Molly had filled her husband's place,
certainly deserved a reward. It was not according to the
rules of war to give a commission to a woman; but as 20
Molly had acted the part of a man, Washington considered
it right to pay her for her services as if she had been a man.
He therefore gave her the commission of a sergeant and
recommended that her name be placed on the list of half-pay
officers for life. 25

—Stories of New Jersey.

[60]

KING PHILIP TO THE WHITE SETTLERS

By Edward Everett

White man, there is eternal war between thee and
me! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my
life. In those woods where I bent my youthful bow, I will
still hunt the deer. Over yonder waters I will still glide
unrestrained in my bark canoe. By those dashing waterfalls5
I will still lay up my winter's store of food. On these
fertile meadows I will still plant my corn. Stranger, the
land is mine! I understand not these paper rights. I gave
not my consent when, as thou sayest, these broad regions
were purchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They 10
could sell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How
could my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent me
into the world to live upon? They knew not what they
did. The stranger came, a timid suppliant, few and
feeble, and asked to lie down on the red man's bearskin, and 15
warm himself at the red man's fire, and have a little piece
of land to raise corn for his women and children; and now
he is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads
[61]out his parchment over the whole, and says, "It is mine!"
Stranger, there is not room for us both. The Great Spirit
has not made us to live together. There is poison in the
white man's cup; the white man's dog barks at the red
man's heels.

If I should leave the land of my fathers, whither shall I 5
fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among the graves
of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the west?—the fierce
Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe. Shall I fly to the east?—the
great water is before me. No, stranger, here I have
lived, and here I will die! And if here thou abidest, there 10
is eternal war between thee and me. Thou hast taught
me thy arts of destruction. For that alone I thank thee;
and now take heed to thy steps; the red man is thy foe.
When thou goest forth by day, my bullet shall whistle
by thee; when thou liest down at night, my knife is at thy 15
throat. The noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy,
and the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest.
Thou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood; thou
shalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with ashes;
thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will follow after 20
with the scalping knife; thou shalt build, and I will burn,
till the white man or the Indian shall cease from the land.
Go thy way, for this time, in safety; but remember,
stranger, there is eternal war between me and thee.

[62]

PIONEER LIFE IN OHIO

By William Dean Howells

It would not be easy to say where or when the first log
cabin was built, but it is safe to say that it was somewhere
in the English colonies of North America, and it is
certain that it became the type of the settler's house
throughout the whole Middle West. It may be called the 5
American house, the Western house, the Ohio house.
Hardly any other house was built for a hundred years by the
men who were clearing the land for the stately mansions of
our day. As long as the primeval forests stood, the log cabin
remained the woodsman's home; and not fifty years ago 10
I saw log cabins newly built in one of the richest and most
prosperous regions of Ohio. They were, to be sure, log
cabins of a finer pattern than the first settler reared. They
were of logs handsomely shaped with the broadax; the
joints between the logs were plastered with mortar; the 15
chimney at the end was of stone; the roof was shingled,
the windows were of glass, and the door was solid and well
hung. They were such cabins as were the homes of the
[63]well-to-do settlers in all the older parts of the West. But
throughout that region there were many log cabins, mostly
sunk to the uses of stables and corn cribs, of the kind that
the borderers built in the times of the Indian War, from
1750 to 1800. They were framed of the round logs, untouched
by the ax except for the notches at the ends where 5
they were fitted into one another; the chimney was of
small sticks stuck together with mud, and was as frail
as a barn-swallow's nest; the walls were stuffed with moss,
plastered with clay; the floor was of rough boards called
puncheons, riven from the block with a heavy knife; the 10
roof was of clapboards, split from logs and laid loosely on
the rafters and held in place with logs fastened athwart
them.

When the first settlers broke the silence of the woods
with the stroke of their axes and hewed out a space for their 15
cabins and their fields, they inclosed their homes with a
high stockade of logs, for defense against the Indians; or
if they built their cabins outside the wooden walls of their
stronghold, they always expected to flee to it at the first
alarm and to stand siege within it. The Indians had 20
no cannon, and the logs of the stockade were proof against
their rifles; if a breach was made, there was still the blockhouse
left, the citadel of every little fort. This was heavily
built, and pierced with loopholes for the riflemen within,
whose wives ran bullets for them at its mighty hearth, and 25
who kept the savage foe from its sides by firing down upon
them through the projecting timbers of its upper story;
but in many a fearful siege the Indians set the roof ablaze
with arrows wrapped in burning tow, and then the fight
became desperate indeed. After the Indian War ended, 30
the stockade was no longer needed, and the settlers had
[64]only the wild beasts to contend with, and those constant
enemies of the poor in all ages and conditions—hunger
and cold.

They deadened the trees around them by girdling them
with the ax, and planted the spaces between the leafless
trunks with corn and beans and pumpkins. These were 5
their necessaries, but they had an occasional luxury in the
wild honey from the hollow of a bee tree when the bears
had not got at it. In its season, there was an abundance
of wild fruit, plums and cherries, haws and grapes, berries
and nuts of every kind, and the maples yielded all the 10
sugar they chose to make from them. But it was long
before they had, at any time, the profusion which our
modern arts enable us to enjoy the whole year round, and
in the hard beginnings the orchard and the garden were
forgotten for the fields. Their harvests must pay for the15
acres bought of the government, or from some speculator
who had never seen the land; and the settler must be
prompt in paying, or else see his home pass from him after
all his toil into the hands of strangers. He worked hard
and he fared hard, and if he was safer when peace came, 20
it is doubtful if he were otherwise more fortunate. As the
game grew scarcer it was no longer so easy to provide food
for his family; the change from venison and wild turkey
to the pork which early began to prevail in his diet was
hardly a wholesome one. Besides, in cutting down the 25
trees he opened spaces to the sun which had been harmless
enough in the shadow of the woods, but which now sent up
their ague-breeding miasma. Ague was the scourge of
the whole region, and it was hard to know whether the
pestilence was worse on the rich levels beside the rivers, or 30
on the stony hills where the settlers sometimes built to
[65]escape it.

When once the settler was housed against the weather,
he had the conditions of a certain rude comfort indoors.
If his cabin was not proof against the wind and rain or snow,
its vast fireplace formed the means of heating, while the
forest was an inexhaustible store of fuel. At first he dressed 5
in the skins and pelts of the deer and fox and wolf, and his
costume could have varied little from that of the red savage
about him, for we often read how he mistook Indians
for white men at first sight, and how the Indians in their
turn mistook white men for their own people. The whole 10
family went barefoot in the summer, but in winter the
pioneer wore moccasins of buckskin and buckskin leggins
or trousers; his coat was a hunting shirt belted at the
waist and fringed where it fell to his knees. It was of
homespun, a mixture of wool and flax called linsey-woolsey, 15
and out of this the dresses of his wife and daughters were
made. The wool was shorn from the sheep, which were so
scarce that they were never killed for their flesh, except
by the wolves, which were very fond of mutton but had
no use for wool. For a wedding dress a cotton check was 20
thought superb, and it really cost a dollar a yard; silks,
satins, laces, were unknown. A man never left his house
without his rifle; the gun was a part of his dress, and in
his belt he carried a hunting knife and a hatchet; on his
head he wore a cap of squirrel skin, often with the plume-like 25
tail dangling from it.

The furniture of the cabins was, like the clothing of
the pioneers, homemade. A bedstead was contrived by
stretching poles from forked sticks driven into the ground
and laying clapboards across them; the bedclothes were 30
bearskins. Stools, benches, and tables were roughed out
[66]with auger and broadax; the puncheon floor was left bare,
and if the earth formed the floor, no rug ever replaced the
grass which was its first carpet. The cabin had but one
room, where the whole of life went on by day; the father
and mother slept there at night, and the children mounted
to their chamber in the loft by means of a ladder. 5

The food was what has been already named. The meat
was venison, bear, raccoon, wild turkey, wild duck, and
pheasant; the drink was water, or rye coffee, or whisky,
which the little stills everywhere supplied only too abundantly.
Wheat bread was long unknown, and corn cakes 10
of various makings and bakings supplied its place. The
most delicious morsel of all was corn grated while still in
the milk and fashioned into round cakes eaten hot from
the clapboard before the fire, or from the mysterious depths
of the Dutch oven buried in coals and ashes on the hearth. 15
There was soon a great flow of milk from the kine that
multiplied in the pastures in the woods, and there was sweetening
enough from the maple tree and the bee tree, but
salt was very scarce and very dear, and long journeys
were made through the perilous woods to and from the 20
licks, or salt springs, which the deer had discovered before
the white man or the red man knew them.

The bees which hived their honey in the hollow trees
were tame bees gone wild, and with the coming of the
settlers some of the wild things increased so much that 25
they became a pest. Such were the crows which literally
blackened the fields after the settlers plowed, and which
the whole family had to fight from the corn when it was
planted. Such were the rabbits, and such, above all, were
the squirrels, which overran the farms and devoured every30
green thing till the people combined in great squirrel hunts
[67]and destroyed them by tens of thousands. The larger
game had meanwhile disappeared. The buffalo and the
elk went first; the deer followed, and the bear, and even
the useless wolf. But long after these the poisonous reptiles
lingered, the rattlesnake, the moccasin, and the yet-deadlier
copperhead; and it was only when the whole 5
country was cleared that they ceased to be a very common
danger.

—Stories of Ohio.

WITCHCRAFT

By Nathaniel Hawthorne

Sir William Phips became Governor of Massachusetts
in 1692. Almost as soon as he assumed the government
he became engaged in a frightful business which
might have perplexed a wiser and better-cultivated head
than his. This was the witchcraft delusion, which originated 5
in the wicked arts of a few children. They belonged
to the Rev. Mr. Parris, minister of Salem. These children
[68]complained of being pinched, and pricked with pins, and
otherwise tormented, by the shapes of men and women,
who were supposed to have power to haunt them invisibly
both in darkness and daylight.

Often in the midst of their family and friends the children
would pretend to be seized with strange convulsions and 5
would cry out that the witches were afflicting them. These
stories spread abroad and caused great tumult and alarm.
From the foundation of New England it had been the custom
of the inhabitants, in matters of doubt and difficulty,
to look to their ministers for counsel. So they did now; 10
but unfortunately the ministers and wise men were more
deluded than the illiterate people. Cotton Mather, a
very learned and eminent clergyman, believed that the
whole country was full of witches and wizards who had
given up their hopes of heaven and signed a covenant with15
the Evil One.

Nobody could be certain that his nearest neighbor or
most intimate friend was not guilty of this imaginary crime.
The number of those who pretended to be afflicted by
witchcraft grew daily more numerous; and they bore 20
testimony against many of the best and worthiest people.
A minister named George Burroughs was among the
accused. In the months of August and September, 1692,
he and nineteen other innocent men and women were put
to death. The place of execution was a high hill on the 25
outskirts of Salem; so that many of the sufferers, as they
stood beneath the gallows, could discern their habitations
in the town.

The killing of these guiltless persons served only to
increase the madness. The afflicted now grew bolder in 30
their accusations. Many people of rank and wealth were
[69]either thrown into prison or compelled to flee for their
lives. Among these were two sons of old Simon Bradstreet,
the last of the Puritan governors. Mr. Willard, a pious
minister of Boston, was cried out upon as a wizard in open
court. Mrs. Hale, the wife of the minister of Beverly,
was likewise accused. Philip English, a rich merchant of 5
Salem, found it necessary to take flight, leaving his property
and business in confusion. But a short time afterward
the Salem people were glad to invite him back.

The boldest thing the accusers did was to cry out against
the Governor's own beloved wife. Yes, the lady of Sir 10
William Phips was accused of being a witch and of flying
through the air to attend witch meetings. When the
Governor heard this, he probably trembled.

Our forefathers soon became convinced that they had
been led into a terrible delusion. All the prisoners on 15
account of witchcraft were set free. But the innocent
dead could not be restored to life, and the hill where they
were executed will always remind people of the saddest
and most humiliating passage in our history.

—Grandfather's Chair.

[70]

TEA PARTIES IN OLD NEW YORK

By Washington Irving

In those happy days, a well-regulated family always
rose with the dawn, dined at eleven, and went to bed
at sundown. Dinner was invariably a private meal, and
the fat old burghers showed incontestable symptoms of
disapprobation and uneasiness on being surprised by a 5
visit from a neighbor on such occasions. But though our
worthy ancestors were thus singularly averse to giving
dinners, yet they kept up the social bonds of intimacy by
occasional banquetings, called tea parties.

As this is the first introduction of those delectable orgies 10
which have since become so fashionable in this city, I am
conscious my fair readers will be very curious to receive
information on the subject. Sorry am I that there will be
but little in my description calculated to excite their admiration.
I can neither delight them with accounts of suffocating 15
crowds, nor brilliant drawing rooms, nor towering
feathers, nor sparkling diamonds, nor immeasurable trains.

I can detail no choice anecdotes of scandal, for in those
primitive times the simple folk were either too stupid or
too good-natured to pull each other's characters to pieces; 20
nor can I furnish any whimsical anecdotes of brag—how
one lady cheated or another bounced into a passion; for
[71]as yet there was no junto of dulcet old dowagers who met
to win each other's money and lose their own tempers at
a card table.

These fashionable parties were generally confined to the
higher classes, or noblesse; that is to say, such as kept their
own cows and drove their own wagons. The company 5
commonly assembled at three o'clock and went away about
six, unless it was winter time, when the fashionable hours
were a little earlier, that the ladies might get home before
dark. I do not find that they ever treated their company
to ice creams, jellies, or sillabubs, or regaled them with 10
musty almonds, moldy raisins, or sour oranges, as is often
done in the present age of refinement. Our ancestors were
fond of more sturdy, substantial fare. The tea table was
crowned with a huge earthen dish, well stored with slices
of fat pork, fried brown, cut up into morsels, and swimming 15
in gravy.

The company, being seated around the genial board and
each furnished with a fork, evinced their dexterity in
launching at the fattest pieces of this mighty dish in much
the same manner as sailors harpoon porpoises at sea or 20
our Indians spear salmon in the lakes. Sometimes the
table was graced with immense apple pies or saucers full
of preserved peaches and pears; but it was always sure to
boast of an enormous dish of balls of sweetened dough
fried in hog's fat and called doughnuts; a delicious kind25
of cake, at present scarce known in this city except in genuine
Dutch families.

The tea was served out of a majestic delft teapot ornamented
with paintings of fat little Dutch shepherds and
shepherdesses tending pigs, with boats sailing in the air30
and houses built in the clouds, and sundry other ingenious
[72]Dutch fantasies. The beaux distinguished themselves by
their adroitness in replenishing this pot from a huge copper
teakettle which would have made the pigmy macaronis
of these degenerate days sweat merely to look at it. To
sweeten the beverage, a lump of sugar was laid beside each
cup, and the company alternately nibbled and sipped with 5
great decorum; until an improvement was introduced
by a shrewd and economic old lady, which was to suspend
a large lump directly over the tea table by a string from
the ceiling, so that it could be swung from mouth to mouth—an
ingenious expedient, which is still kept up by some 10
families in Albany, but which prevails without exception
in Communipaw, Bergen, Flatbush, and all our uncontaminated
Dutch villages.

At these primitive tea parties the utmost propriety and
dignity of deportment prevailed. No flirting nor coquetting; 15
no gambling of old ladies nor hoyden chattering and
romping of young ones; no self-satisfied struttings of
wealthy gentlemen with their brains in their pockets nor
amusing conceits and monkey divertisements of smart
young gentlemen with no brains at all. 20

The parties broke up without noise and without confusion.
They were carried home by their own carriages; that
is to say, by the vehicles nature had provided them, excepting
such of the wealthy as could afford to keep a wagon.

—Knickerbocker's History of New York.

[73]

A SCHOOL OF LONG AGO

By Edward Eggleston

A hundred and fifty years ago there was a famous
teacher among the German settlers in Pennsylvania,
who was known as "The Good Schoolmaster." His name
was Christopher Dock, and he had two little country schools.
For three days he would teach at a little place called Skippack, 5
and then for the next three days he would teach at
Salford.

People said that the good schoolmaster never lost his
temper. There was a man who thought he would try to
make him angry. He said many harsh and abusive words 10
to the teacher, and even cursed him; but the only reply
the teacher made was, "Friend, may the Lord have mercy
on you."

Other schoolmasters used to beat their scholars severely
with whips and long switches; but Schoolmaster Dock 15
had found a better way. When a child came to school for
the first time, the other scholars were made to give the
new scholar a welcome by shaking hands with him one
[74]after another. Then the new boy or girl was told that
this was not a harsh school but a place for those who would
behave. And if a scholar were lazy, disobedient, or stubborn,
the master would in the presence of the whole school
pronounce him not fit for this school but only for a school
where children were flogged. The new scholar was asked 5
to promise to obey and to be diligent. When he had made
this promise, he was shown to a seat.

"Now," the good master would say, when this was
done, "who will take this new scholar and help him to
learn?" When the new boy or girl was clean and bright 10
looking, many would be willing to take charge of him or
her; but there were few ready to teach a dirty, ragged little
child. Sometimes no one would wish to do it. In such a
case the master would offer to the one who would take such
a child a reward of one of the beautiful texts of Scripture 15
which the schoolmasters of that time used to write and
decorate for the children. Or he would give him one of
the pictures of birds which he was accustomed to paint
with his own hands.

Whenever one of the younger scholars succeeded in 20
learning his A, B, C, Christopher Dock would send word
to the father of the child to give him a penny, and he would
ask his mother to cook two eggs for him as a treat. These
were fine rewards for poor children in a new country.

There were no clocks or watches in the country. The 25
children came to school one after another, taking their
places near the master, who sat writing. They spent
their time reading until all were there; but everyone who
succeeded in reading his passage without mistake stopped
reading and came and sat at the writing table to write. 30
The poor fellow who remained last on the bench was called
[75]the Lazy Scholar.

Every Lazy Scholar had his name written on the blackboard.
If a child at any time failed to read correctly, he
was sent back to study his passage and called again after
a while. If he failed a second or a third time, all the scholars
cried out, "Lazy!" Then his name was written on 5
the blackboard, and all the poor Lazy Scholar's friends
went to work to teach him to read his lesson correctly. And
if his name should not be rubbed off the board before school
was dismissed, all the scholars might write it down and
take it home with them. But if he could read well before 10
school was out, the scholars, at the bidding of the master,
called out, "Industrious!" and then his name was erased.

The funniest of Dock's rewards was that which he gave
to those who made no mistake in their lessons. He marked
a large O with chalk on the hand of the perfect scholar. 15
Fancy what a time the boys and girls must have had, trying
to go home without rubbing out this O!

If you had gone into this school some day, you might
have seen a boy sitting on a punishment bench, all alone.
This was a fellow who had told a lie or used bad language. 20
He was put there as not fit to sit near anybody else. If
he committed the offense often, a yoke would be put round
his neck, as if he were a brute. Sometimes, however, the
teacher would give the scholars their choice of a blow on
the hand or a seat on the punishment bench. They usually 25
preferred the blow.

The old schoolmaster in Skippack wrote one hundred
rules of good behavior for his scholars. This is perhaps the
first book on good manners written in America. But rules
of behavior for people living in houses of one or two rooms, 30
as they did in that day, were very different from those
[76]needed in our time. Here are some of the rules:

"When you comb your hair, do not go out in the middle
of the room," says the schoolmaster. This was because families
were accustomed to eat and sleep in the same room.

"Do not eat your morning bread on the road or in school,"
he tells them, "but ask your parents to give it to you at 5
home." From this we see that the common breakfast
was bread alone, and that the children often ate it as they
walked to school.

"Put your knife upon the right and your bread on the
left side," he says. Forks were little used in those days, 10
and the people in the country did not have any. He also
tells them not to throw bones under the table. It was a
common practice among some people of that time to throw
bones and scraps under the table, where the dogs ate them.

As time passed on, Christopher Dock had many friends, 15
for all his scholars of former years loved him greatly. He
lived to be very old, and taught his schools to the last.
One evening he did not come home, and the people went
to look for the beloved old man. They found their dear
old master on his knees in the schoolhouse. He had died 20
while praying alone.

—Stories of American Life and Adventure.

[77]

FRENCH LIFE IN THE NORTHWEST

By James Baldwin

It is interesting to learn how the French people in the
Illinois country lived in friendship with the savage
tribes around them. The settlements were usually small
villages on the edge of a prairie or in the heart of the woods.
They were always near the bank of a river; for the watercourses 5
were the only roads and the light canoes of the
voyageurs were the only means of travel. There the French
settlers lived like one great family, having for their rulers
the village priest and the older men of the community.

The houses were built along a single narrow street and so10
close together that the villagers could carry on their
neighborly gossip each from his own doorstep. These
houses were made of a rude framework of corner posts,
studs, and crossties, and were plastered, outside and in,
with "cat and clay"—a kind of mortar, made of mud and 15
mixed with straw and moss. Around each house was a
picket fence, and the forms of the dooryards and gardens
were regulated by the village lawgivers.

Adjoining the village was a large inclosure, or "common
[78]field," for the free use of all the villagers. The size of 20
this field depended upon the number of families in the
settlement; it sometimes contained several hundred acres.
It was divided into plots or allotments, one for each household,
and the size of the plot was proportioned according
to the number of persons in the family. Each household 5
attended to the cultivation of its own ground and gathered
its own harvest. And if anyone should neglect to care for
his plot and let it become overgrown with weeds and thistles,
he forfeited his right to any part of the common field and
his ground was given to another. 10

Surrounding the common field was a large tract of
cleared land that was used as a common pasture ground.
In some cases there were thousands of acres in this tract,
and yet no person was allowed to use any part of it except
for the pasturage of his stock. When a new family came 15
into the settlement or a newly married couple began housekeeping,
a small part of the pasture ground was taken into
the common field, in order to give the new household its
proper allotment.

The priest occupied the place of father to all the villagers, 20
whether white or red. They confided all their troubles to
him. He was their oracle in matters of learning as well as
of religion. They obeyed his word as law.

The great business of all was fur trading and the care of
their little plots of ground. The women kept their homes 25
in order, tended their gardens, and helped with the plowing
and the harvesting. The men were the protectors of the
community. Some were soldiers, some were traders, but
most were engaged in hunting and in gathering beaver skins
and buffalo hides to be sold to the traders. 30

The traders kept a small stock of French goods—laces,
[79]ribbons, and other articles, useful and ornamental—and
these they exchanged for the products of the forest. The
young men, as a rule, sought business and pleasure in the
great woods. Some of them became voyageurs, or boatmen,
in the service of the traders. In their light canoes they
explored every rivulet and stream and visited the distant 5
tribes among the sources of the Mississippi and Missouri.
Others took to the forest as woods rangers, or coureurs de
bois, and became almost as wild as the Indians themselves.
They wandered wherever their fancy led them, hunting
game, trapping beavers, and trading with their dusky 10
friends. Those who roamed in the Lake regions built here
and there small forts of logs and surrounded them with
palisades. In one of these forts a company of two or three
coureurs would remain for a few weeks and then leave it
to be occupied by anyone who might next come that way. 15
A post of this kind was built at Detroit long before any
permanent settlement was made there; and scattered long
distances apart on the Lake shore and in the heart of the
wilderness, were many others.

The northern coureurs, when returning from the woods, 20
resorted to Mackinac as their headquarters; or loaded
with beaver skins they made their way to Montreal,
where they conducted themselves in a manner that would
have shamed a Mohawk or a Sioux. But the rangers
of the Illinois country were in the habit of returning once 25
each year to their village homes. There they were welcomed
with joy, balls and festivals were given in their
honor, and old and young gathered around them to hear
the story of their adventures.

Thus in the heart of the wilderness, these French settlers 30
passed their lives in the enjoyment of unbounded freedom.
[80]They delighted in amusements and there were almost as
many holidays as working days. Being a thousand miles
from any center of civilization they knew but little of what
was taking place in the world. In their hearts they were
devoted to their mother country; they believed that
"France ruled the world and therefore all must be right." 5
Further than this they troubled themselves but little.
They were contented and happy and seldom allowed
themselves to be annoyed by the perplexing cares of
business.

They had no wish to subdue the wilderness—to hew 10
down the forest, and make farms, and build roads, and
bring civilization to their doors. To do this would be to
change the modes of living that were so dear to them. It
would destroy the fur trade, and then what would become
of the traders, the voyageurs, and the coureurs15
de bois? These French settlers were not the kind of people to
found colonies and build empires.

We are indebted to Father Marest for a description
of the daily routine of life among the converts and French
settlers at Kaskaskia. At early dawn his pupils came to 20
him in the church, where they had prayers and all joined
in singing hymns. Then the Christians in the village met
together to hear him say Mass—the women standing on
one side of the room, the men on the other.

The French women were dressed in prettily colored 25
jackets and short gowns of homemade woolen stuffs or of
French goods of finer texture. In summer most of them
were barefooted, but in winter and on holidays they wore
Indian moccasins gayly decorated with porcupine quills,
shells, and colored beads. Instead of hats they wore 30
bright-colored handkerchiefs, interlaced with gay ribbons
[81]and sometimes wreathed with flowers.

The men wore long vests drawn over their shirts, leggings
of buckskin or of coarse woolen cloth, and wooden clog
shoes or moccasins of heavy leather. In winter they
wrapped themselves in long overcoats with capes and hoods
that could be drawn over their heads and thus serve for 5
hats. In summer their heads were covered with blue
handkerchiefs worn turbanlike as a protection from mosquitoes
as well as from the rays of the sun.

After the morning devotions were over, each person
betook himself to whatever business or amusement was 10
most necessary or congenial; and the priest went out to
visit the sick, giving them medicine and consoling them in
whatever way he could. In the afternoon those who chose
to do so came again to the church to be taught the catechism.
During the rest of the day the priest walked about 15
the village, talking with old and young and entering into
sympathy with all their hopes and plans. In the evening
the people would meet together again to chant the hymns
of the church. This daily round of duty and devotion
was often varied by the coming of holidays and festivals 20
and sometimes by occurrences of a sadder nature—death,
or misfortune, or the threatened invasion of savage foes.

—The Discovery of the Old Northwest.

[82]

A BEAR STORY

By Maurice Thompson

A man and his wife with three children—a boy aged nine
and two little girls, the elder seven and the younger
five years old—lived in a comfortable cabin not far from
the eastern line of Indiana. Their nearest neighbor was
six or seven miles distant, and all around their little clearing 5
stood a wall of dense forest. The father tended a small
field of corn and vegetables, but their main dependence for
food was upon the game killed by him, so he was often
absent all day in the woods, hunting deer and turkeys.

The children were forbidden to go outside the inclosure 10
while their father was away, and the mother, at the slightest
hint of danger, was instructed to close the door and bar it
and shut the portholes. But even in times of such danger,
people grew careless and permitted themselves to take
risks in a way quite incredible to our minds. Children 15
were restless when confined to a cabin or within a small
yard, when the green woods were but a few steps away,
with flowers blooming and rich mosses growing all around.
They constantly longed to be free, if only for a few moments,
to wander at will and make playhouses in the dusky shade,20
to climb upon the great logs and watch the gay-winged
[83]birds flit about in the foliage on high.

One day in early spring the father went to the woods to
hunt. Before setting forth with his rifle on his shoulder,
he particularly charged his wife not to permit the children,
no matter how much they begged and cried for it, to go
outside the yard. 5

"At this time of the year," he said, "bears and all other
wild beasts are cross. They wander everywhere and are
very dangerous when met with. Watch the children."

The wife did try faithfully to keep her eyes upon her
darlings; but she had many household duties to perform, 10
and so at last she forgot.

The spring was very early that year, and although it
was not yet May, the green tassels were on the maples and
the wild flowers made the ground gay in places. All around
the clearing ran a ripple of bird song. The sunshine was 15
dreamy, the wind soft and warm.

The little boy felt the temptation. It was as if a sweet
voice called him to the wood. Nor were the little girls
less attracted than he by the thought of gathering mosses
and flowers and running at will under the high old trees.20

Before their mother knew it, they were gone. She had
not yet discovered their truancy when a cry coming from
some distance startled her; it was her little boy's voice
screaming lustily, and upon looking out she saw all three
of the children running as fast as they could across the 25
clearing from the wood toward the house. Behind them,
at a slow, peculiar lope, a huge bear followed.

Frightened almost to death, the poor woman scarcely
knew what she was doing; but she had the fighting instinct
of all backwoods people, and her first motion was to snatch 30
off the wall, where it lay in a deer's-horn rest, a large horse
[84]pistol. With this in hand she ran to meet her children.
Some hunter had broken the bear's fore leg with a bullet
a few days before, which accounted for its strange, waddling
gait; but it was almost within reach of the hindmost child
when the mother arrived. The bear at once turned its
attention to the newcomer, and with a terrific snarl rushed 5
at her. On sped the children, screaming and crazy with
fright. It was a moment of imminent peril to the mother,
but she was equal to the occasion. She leveled the pistol
and fired. Six leaden slugs struck the bear in the head
and neck, knocking it over. 10

Not very far away in the woods at the time, the man
heard the loud report, and fearing that Indians were murdering
his family, he ran home to find his wife just reviving
from a swoon. She had fainted immediately after seeing
the effect of her shot. 15

The bear was not yet dead, but a ball from the rifle finished
him. He was a monster in size. Doubtless the
wound in his fore leg had made it difficult for him to get
food, and he had attacked the children on account of sheer
hunger. But had he not been in that maimed condition, 20
his attack would have been successful and the hindmost
child would have been torn to pieces and eaten up in the
shortest time and with little show of table manners.

—Stories of Indiana.

[85]

A PATRIOT OF GEORGIA

By Joel Chandler Harris

The Revolutionary War in Georgia developed some
very romantic figures, which are known to us rather
by tradition than by recorded history. First among them,
on the side of the patriots, was Robert Sallette. Neither
history nor tradition gives us the place of his birth or the 5
date of his death; yet it is known that he played a more
important part in the struggle in the colony than any man
who had no troops at his command. He seems to have
slipped mysteriously on the scene at the beginning of the
war. He fought bravely, even fiercely, to the end; and 10
then, having nothing else to do, slipped away as mysteriously
as he came.

Curious as we may be to know something of the personal
history of Robert Sallette, it is not to be found chronicled
in the books. The French twist to his name makes it 15
probable that he was a descendant of those unfortunate
Acadians who, years before, had been stripped of their
lands and possessions in Nova Scotia by the British, their
houses and barns burned, and they themselves transported
[86]away from their homes. They were scattered at various 20
points along the American coast. Some were landed at
Philadelphia, and some were carried to Louisiana. Four
hundred were sent to Georgia. The British had many acts
of cruelty to answer for in those days, but none more infamous
than this treatment of the gentle and helpless 5
Acadians. It stands in history to-day a stain upon the
British name.

Another fact that leads to the belief that Robert Sallette
was a descendant of the unfortunate Acadians was the
ferocity with which he pursued the British and the Tories. 10
The little that is told about him makes it certain that he
never gave quarter to the enemies of his country.

His name was a terror to the Tories. One of them, a
man of considerable means, offered a reward of one hundred
guineas to any person who would bring him the head of 15
Robert Sallette. The Tory had never seen Sallette, but
his alarm was such that he offered a reward large enough
to tempt some one to assassinate the daring partisan.
When Sallette heard of the reward, he disguised himself
as a farmer, and provided himself with a pumpkin, which 20
he placed in a bag. With the bag swinging across his
shoulder, he made his way to the house of the Tory. He
was invited in, and deposited the bag on the floor beside
him, the pumpkin striking the boards with a thump.

"I have brought you the head of Robert Sallette," said 25
he. "I hear that you have offered a reward of one hundred
guineas for it."

"Where is it?" asked the Tory.

"I have it with me," replied Sallette, shaking the loose
end of the bag. "Count out the money and take the head." 30

The Tory, neither doubting nor suspecting, counted out
[87]the money and placed it on the table.

"Now show me the head," said he.

Sallette removed his hat, tapped himself on the forehead,
and said, "Here is the head of Robert Sallette!"

The Tory was so frightened that he jumped from the
room, and Sallette pocketed the money and departed. 5

SONG OF THE PIONEERS

By W. D. Gallagher

[89]

Washington's Greatest Battle
(See page 116)

[91]

COLUMBUS AND THE ECLIPSE

By James Johonnot

When Columbus first landed upon the shores of the
New World, and for a long time after, the natives
thought that he had come down from heaven, and they
were ready to do anything for this new friend. But at
one place, where he stayed for some months, the chiefs 5
became jealous of him and tried to drive him away. It had
been their custom to bring food for him and his companions
every morning, but now the amount they brought was very
small, and Columbus saw that he would soon be starved
unless he could make a change. 10

Now Columbus knew that in a few days there was to be
an eclipse of the sun; so he called the chiefs around him
and told them that the Great Spirit was angry with them
for not doing as they agreed in bringing him provisions, and
that to show his anger, on such a day, he would cause the15
sun to be darkened. The Indians listened, but they did
not believe Columbus and there was a still greater falling
off in the amount of the food sent in.

On the morning of the day set, the sun rose clear and
bright, and the Indians shook their heads as they thought20
how Columbus had tried to deceive them. Hour after
[92]hour passed and still the sun was bright, and the Spanish
began to fear that the Indians would attack them soon, as
they seemed fully convinced that Columbus had deceived
them. But at length a black shadow began to steal over
the face of the sun. Little by little the light faded and
darkness spread over the land. 5

The Indians saw that Columbus had told them the truth.
They saw that they had offended the Great Spirit and that
he had sent a dreadful monster to swallow the sun. They
could see the jaws of this horrible monster slowly closing
to shut off their light forever. Frantic with fear, they filled 10
the air with cries and shrieks. Some fell prostrate before
Columbus and entreated his help; some rushed off and
soon returned laden with every kind of provisions they could
lay their hands on. Columbus then retired to his tent and
promised to save them if possible. About the time for the15
eclipse to pass away, he came out and told them that the
Great Spirit had pardoned them this time and he would soon
drive away the monster from the sun; but they must never
offend in that way again.

The Indians promised, and waited. As the sun began 20
to come out from the shadow their fears subsided, and
when it shone clear once more, their joy knew no bounds.
They leaped, they danced, and they sang. They thought
Columbus was a god, and while he remained on the island
the Spaniards had all the provisions they needed. 25

—Stories of Heroic Deeds.

[93]

FIRST THANKSGIVING DAY PROCLAMATION

By George Washington, 1789

Now, therefore, I do recommend and assign Thursday,
the 26th day of November next, to be devoted by
the people of these states to the service of that great and
glorious Being, who is the beneficent author of all the good
that was, that is, or that will be. That we may then all 5
unite in the rendering unto Him our sincere and humble
thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of
this country previous to their becoming a nation—for the
single and manifold mercies, and for the favorable interpellation
of His providence, in the course and conclusion of 10
the late war.

THANKSGIVING DAY PROCLAMATION, 1905

By Theodore Roosevelt

When, nearly three centuries ago, the first settlers
came to the country which has now become this
great republic, they fronted not only hardship and privation,
but terrible risk to their lives. In those grim years the
custom grew of setting apart one day in each year for a 5
special service of thanksgiving to the Almighty for preserving
[94]the people through the changing seasons. The
custom has now become national and hallowed by immemorial
usage. We live in easier and more plentiful
times than our forefathers, the men who with rugged
strength faced the rugged days; and yet the dangers to
national life are quite as great now as at any previous time 5
in our history. It is eminently fitting that once a year our
people should set apart a day for praise and thanksgiving
to the Giver of Good, and, at the same time that they
express their thankfulness for the abundant mercies received,
should manfully acknowledge their shortcomings 10
and pledge themselves solemnly and in good faith to strive
to overcome them. During the past year we have been
blessed with plentiful crops. Our business prosperity has
been great. No other people has ever stood on as high a
level of material well-being as ours now stands. We are 15
not threatened by foes from without. The foes from whom
we should pray to be delivered are our own passions, appetites,
and follies; and against these there is always need
that we should war.

Therefore, I now set apart Thursday, the thirtieth day 20
of this November, as a day of thanksgiving for the past and
of prayer for the future, and on that day I ask that throughout
the land the people gather in their homes and places of
worship, and in rendering thanks unto the Most High for
the manifold blessings of the past year, consecrate themselves 25
to a life of cleanliness, honor, and wisdom, so that
this nation may do its allotted work on the earth in a
manner worthy of those who founded it and of those who
preserved it.

[95]

HARVEST SONG

By James Montgomery

[96]

THE CRATCHITS' CHRISTMAS

By Charles Dickens

Then up rose Mrs. Cratchit, Cratchit's wife, dressed
out but poorly in a twice-turned gown, but brave
in ribbons, which are cheap and make a goodly show for
sixpence; and she laid the cloth, assisted by Belinda
Cratchit, second of her daughters, also brave in ribbons; 5
while Master Peter Cratchit plunged a fork into the saucepan
of potatoes, and getting the corners of his monstrous
shirt collar (Bob's private property, conferred upon his
son and heir in honor of the day) into his mouth, rejoiced
to find himself so gallantly attired and yearned to show his 10
linen in the fashionable parks. And now two smaller
Cratchits, boy and girl, came tearing in, screaming that
outside the baker's they had smelt the goose and known it
for their own; and basking in luxurious thoughts of sage
and onion these young Cratchits danced about the table 15
and exalted Master Peter Cratchit to the skies, while he
(not proud, although his collars nearly choked him) blew
the fire until the slow potatoes, bubbling up, knocked loudly
[97]at the saucepan lid to be let out and peeled.

"What has ever got your precious father, then?" said
Mrs. Cratchit. "And your brother, Tiny Tim! And
Martha warn't as late last Christmas Day by half an
hour!"

"Here's Martha, mother," said a girl, appearing as she 5
spoke.

"Here's Martha, mother!" cried the two young
Cratchits. "Hurrah! There's such a goose, Martha!"

"Why, bless your heart alive, my dear, how late you
are!" said Mrs. Cratchit, kissing her a dozen times and 10
taking off her shawl and bonnet for her with officious zeal.

"We'd a deal of work to finish up last night," replied
the girl, "and had to clear away this morning, mother!"

"Well! never mind so long as you are come," said Mrs.
Cratchit. "Sit ye down before the fire, my dear, and have15
a warm, Lord bless ye!"

"No, no! There's father coming," cried the two young
Cratchits, who were everywhere at once. "Hide, Martha,
hide!"

So Martha hid herself, and in came little Bob, the father, 20
with at least three feet of comforter, exclusive of the fringe,
hanging down before him; and his threadbare clothes
darned up and brushed, to look seasonable; and Tiny Tim
upon his shoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a little
crutch and had his limbs supported by an iron frame! 25

"Why, where's our Martha?" cried Bob Cratchit, looking
round.

"Not coming," said Mrs. Cratchit.

"Not coming!" said Bob, with a sudden declension in
his high spirits; for he had been Tim's blood horse all the 30
way from church and had come home rampant. "Not
[98]coming upon Christmas Day!"

Martha didn't like to see him disappointed, if it were
only a joke; so she came out prematurely from behind the
closet door and ran into his arms, while the two young
Cratchits hustled Tiny Tim and bore him off into the
washhouse, that he might hear the pudding singing in the 5
copper.

"And how did little Tim behave?" asked Mrs. Cratchit,
when she had rallied Bob on his credulity and Bob had
hugged his daughter to his heart's content.

"As good as gold," said Bob, "and better. Somehow he 10
gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks
the strangest things you ever heard. He told me, coming
home, that he hoped the people saw him in the church,
because he was a cripple and it might be pleasant to them
to remember, upon Christmas Day, who made lame beggars 15
walk and blind men see."

Bob's voice was tremulous when he told them this, and
trembled more when he said that Tiny Tim was growing
strong and hearty.

His active little crutch was heard upon the floor and 20
back came Tiny Tim before another word was spoken,
escorted by his brother and sister to his stool beside the
fire; and while Bob, turning up his cuffs—as if, poor
fellow, they were capable of being made more shabby—compounded
some hot mixture in a jug with gin and lemons 25
and stirred it round and round and put it on the hob to
simmer, Master Peter and the two ubiquitous young
Cratchits went to fetch the goose, with which they soon
returned in high procession.

Such a bustle ensued that you might have thought a 30
goose the rarest of all birds; a feathered phenomenon, to
[99]which a black swan was a matter of course—and in truth
it was something very like it, in that house. Mrs. Cratchit
made the gravy (ready beforehand in a little saucepan)
hissing hot; Master Peter mashed the potatoes with incredible
vigor; Miss Belinda sweetened up the apple sauce;
Martha dusted the hot plates; Bob took Tiny Tim beside 5
him in a tiny corner at the table; the two young Cratchits
set chairs for everybody, not forgetting themselves, and
mounting guard upon their posts, crammed spoons into
their mouths lest they should shriek for goose before their
turn came to be helped. At last the dishes were set on 10
and grace was said. It was succeeded by a breathless
pause, as Mrs. Cratchit, looking slowly all along the carving
knife, prepared to plunge it in the breast; but when she
did, and when the long-expected gush of stuffing issued
forth, one murmur of delight arose all round the board, 15
and even Tiny Tim, excited by the two young Cratchits,
beat on the table with the handle of his knife and feebly
cried, "Hurrah!"

There never was such a goose cooked. Its tenderness
and flavor, size and cheapness, were the themes of universal 20
admiration. Eked out by apple sauce and mashed potatoes,
it was a sufficient dinner for the whole family;
indeed, as Mrs. Cratchit said with great delight (surveying
one small atom of a bone upon the dish), they hadn't eaten
it all at last! Yet everyone had had enough, and the 25
youngest Cratchits, in particular, were steeped in sage and
onion to the eyebrows! But now the plates being changed
by Miss Belinda, Mrs. Cratchit left the room alone—too
nervous to bear witnesses—to take the pudding up, and
bring it in. 30

Suppose it should not be done enough! Suppose it
[100]should break in turning out! Suppose somebody should
have got over the wall of the back yard and stolen it, while
they were merry with the goose—a supposition at which
the two young Cratchits became livid! All sorts of horrors
were supposed.

Halloo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out 5
of the copper. A smell like a washing day! That was the
cloth. A smell like an eating house and a pastry cook's
next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to
that! That was the pudding! In half a minute Mrs.
Cratchit entered—flushed, but smiling proudly—with 10
the pudding, like a speckled cannon ball, so hard and
firm, blazing in half of half a quartern of ignited brandy
and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top.

Oh, a wonderful pudding! Bob Cratchit said, and
calmly too, that he regarded it as the greatest success 15
achieved by Mrs. Cratchit since their marriage. Mrs.
Cratchit said that now the weight was off her mind, she
would confess she had had her doubts about the quantity
of flour. Everybody had something to say about it, but
nobody said or thought it was at all a small pudding for 20
a large family. It would have been flat heresy to do so.
Any Cratchit would have blushed to hint at such a thing.

At last the dinner was all done, the cloth was cleared, the
hearth swept, and the fire made up. The compound in the
jug being tasted and considered perfect, apples and oranges 25
were put upon the table and a shovelful of chestnuts on the
fire. Then all the Cratchit family drew round the hearth
in what Bob Cratchit called a circle, meaning half a one;
and at Bob Cratchit's elbow stood the family display of
glass—two tumblers and a custard cup without a handle. 30

These held the hot stuff from the jug, however, as well as
[101]golden goblets would have done; and Bob served it out
with beaming looks, while the chestnuts on the fire sputtered
and cracked noisily. Then Bob proposed:

"A Merry Christmas to us all, my dears. God bless us!"

Which all the family reëchoed.

"God bless us every one!" said Tiny Tim, the last of all. 5

—A Christmas Carol.

THE HOLIDAY SPIRIT

By Émile Souvestre

Twelve o'clock.—A knock at my door; a poor
girl comes in and greets me by name. At first I
do not recall her, but she looks at me and smiles. Ah, it is
Paulette! But it is nearly a year since I have seen her,
and Paulette is no longer the same; the other day she was 5
a child; to-day she is almost a young woman.

Paulette is thin, pale, and miserably clad; but she has
always the same open and straightforward look—the same
mouth, smiling at every word as if to plead for sympathy—the
same voice, timid yet caressing. Paulette is not 10
pretty—she is even thought plain; as for me, I think her
charming. Perhaps that is not on her account but on my
[102]own. Paulette is a part of one of my happiest recollections.

It was the evening of a public holiday. Our principal
buildings were lighted with festoons of fire, a thousand
flags floated in the night wind, and the fireworks had just
shot forth their jets of flame in the midst of the Champ de
Mars. Suddenly one of those unaccountable panics which5
seize a multitude falls upon the dense crowd; they cry out,
they rush on headlong; the weaker ones fall and the
frightened crowd tramples them down in its convulsive
struggles. Escaping from the confusion by a miracle, I
was hastening away when the cries of a perishing child 10
arrested me; I went back into that human chaos and
after unheard-of exertions I brought Paulette away at the
peril of my life.

That was two years ago; since then I had seen the child
only at long intervals and had almost forgotten her; but 15
Paulette had a grateful heart, and she came at the beginning
of the year to bring me her good wishes. She brought
me, too, a wallflower in full bloom; she herself had planted
and reared it; it was something that belonged wholly to
herself, for it was because of her care, her perseverance, 20
and her patience that it was hers.

The wallflower had grown in a common pot; but Paulette,
who is a bandbox maker, had put it into a case of
varnished paper ornamented with arabesques. These
might have been in better taste, but I felt the good will25
none the less.

This unexpected present, the little girl's modest blushes,
the compliments she stammered out, dispelled, as by a
sunbeam, the mist which had gathered round my heart;
my thoughts suddenly changed from the leaden tints of 30
evening to the rosiest colors of dawn. I made Paulette
[103]sit down and questioned her with a light heart.

At first the little girl replied by monosyllables; but
very soon the tables were turned and it was I who interrupted
with short interjections her long confidences. The
poor child leads a hard life. She was left an orphan long
ago and with a brother and sister lives with an old grandmother, 5
who has brought them up to poverty, as she says.

However Paulette now helps her to make bandboxes, her
little sister Perrine begins to sew, and her brother Henri
is apprenticed to a printer. All would go well if it were not
for losses and want of work—if it were not for clothes which 10
wear out, for appetites which grow larger, and for the
winter, when you must buy your sunshine. Paulette complains
that candles go too quickly and that the wood costs
too much. The fireplace in their garret is so large that a
fagot produces no more effect than a match; it is so near15
the roof that the wind blows down the rain and in winter
it hails upon the hearth; so they have given up using it.
Henceforth they must be content with an earthen chafing
dish, upon which they cook their meals. The grandmother
had often spoken of a stove that was for sale at the huckster's 20
on the ground floor, but he asked seven francs for it
and the times are too hard for such an expense; the family,
therefore, resign themselves to cold for economy's sake!

As Paulette spoke I felt more and more that I was rising
above my low spirits. The first disclosures of the little25
bandbox maker created within me a wish that soon became
a plan. I questioned her about her daily occupations and
she told me that on leaving me she must go with her brother,
her sister, and her grandmother, to the different people for
whom they work. My plan was immediately settled. I 30
told the child that I would go to see her in the evening,
[104]and I sent her away, thanking her anew.

I placed the wallflower in the open window, where a ray
of sunshine bade it welcome; the birds were singing around,
the sky had cleared, and the day which began so gloomily
had become bright. I sang as I moved about my room,
and having hastily got ready I went out. 5

Three o'clock.—All is settled with my neighbor, the
chimney doctor; he will repair my old stove, the old stove
which I had replaced, and promises to make it as good as
new. At five o'clock we are going to put it up in Paulette's
grandmother's room. 10

Midnight.—All has gone well. At the hour agreed
upon I was at the old bandbox maker's; she was still out.
My Piedmontese fixed the stove, while I arranged in the
great fireplace a dozen logs borrowed from my winter's
stock. I shall make up for them by warming myself with 15
walking or by going to bed earlier.

My heart beat at every step which was heard on the
staircase; I trembled lest they should interrupt me in my
preparations and should thus spoil my intended surprise.
But no—everything is ready; the lighted stove murmurs 20
gently, the little lamp burns upon the table, and a bottle
of oil for it is provided on the shelf. The chimney doctor
is gone. Now my fear lest they should come is changed
into impatience at their delay. At last I hear children's
voices; here they are! They push open the door and 25
rush in—but they stop with cries of astonishment.

At sight of the lamp, the stove, and the visitor who
stands there like a magician in the midst of these wonders,
they draw back almost frightened. Paulette is the first to
understand, and the arrival of the grandmother, mounting 30
the stairs more slowly, finishes the explanation. Then come
[105]tears, ecstasies, thanks!

Surprises are not over yet. The little sister opens the
oven and discovers some chestnuts just roasted; the
grandmother puts her hand on the bottles of cider arranged
on the dresser; and I draw forth from the basket that I
have hidden, a cold tongue, a wedge-shaped piece of butter, 5
and some fresh rolls.

Now their wonder turns into admiration; the little family
have never taken part in such a feast! They lay the cloth,
they sit down, they eat; it is a perfect festival for all, and
each contributes his share. I had brought only the supper; 10
the bandbox maker and the children supplied the enjoyment.

What bursts of laughter at nothing! What a hubbub of
questions which waited for no reply, of replies which answered
no question! The old woman herself shared in the
wild merriment of the little ones! I have always wondered15
at the ease with which the poor forget their wretchedness.
Accustomed to live in the present, they use every pleasure
as soon as it offers itself. But the rich, blunted by luxury,
gain happiness less easily. They must have all things in
harmony before they consent to be happy. 20

The evening passed like a moment. The old woman has
told me the story of her life, sometimes smiling, sometimes
crying. Perrine has sung an old ballad with her
fresh young voice. Henri has told us what he knows of
the great writers of the day, whose proofs he has to carry. 25
At last we were obliged to separate, not without new
thanks on the part of the happy family.

I have come home slowly, with a full heart, thinking
over the pure memories of this evening. It has given me
comfort and much instruction. Now the years can come 30
and go. I know that no one is so unhappy as to have
[106]nothing to receive and nothing to give.

As I came in I met my rich neighbor's new equipage.
She too had just returned from her evening party; and as
she sprang from the carriage step with feverish impatience,
I heard her murmur, "At last!"

I, when I left Paulette's family, said, "So soon!" 5

CHRISTMAS IN THE PINES

By Meredith Nicholson

("Christmas in the Pines" is used by special courtesy of Mr. Nicholson.)

[108]

THE NEW YEAR'S DINNER PARTY

By Charles Lamb

The Old Year being dead, the New Year came of age,
which he does by Calendar Law as soon as the breath
is out of the old gentleman's body. Nothing would serve
the youth but he must give a dinner upon the occasion, to
which all the Days of the Year were invited. 5

The Festivals, whom he appointed as his stewards, were
mightily taken with the notion. They had been engaged
time out of mind, they said, in providing mirth and cheer
for mortals below; and it was time that they should have
a taste of their bounty. 10

All the Days came to dinner. Covers were provided for
three hundred and sixty-five guests at the principal table,
with an occasional knife and fork at the sideboard for the
Twenty-ninth of February.

I should have told you that invitations had been sent out. 15
The carriers were the Hours—twelve as merry little whirligig
foot pages as you should desire to see. They went all
around, and found out the persons invited well enough,
with the exception of Easter Day, Shrove Tuesday, and a
[109]few such Movables, who had lately shifted their quarters.20

Well, they were all met at last, four Days, five Days, all
sorts of Days, and a rare din they made of it. There was
nothing but "Hail! fellow Day!" "Well met, brother
Day! sister Day!"—only Lady Day kept a little on the
aloof and seemed somewhat scornful. Yet some said that 5
Twelfth Day cut her out, for she came in a silk suit, white
and gold, like a queen on a frost cake, all royal and
glittering.

The rest came, some in green, some in white—but Lent
and his family were not yet out of mourning. Rainy Days 10
came in dripping, and Sunshiny Days helped them to
change their stockings. Wedding Day was there in his
marriage finery. Pay Day came late, as he always does.
Doomsday sent word he might be expected.

April Fool (as my lord's jester) took upon himself to 15
marshal the guests. And wild work he made of it; good
Days, bad Days, all were shuffled together. He had stuck
the Twenty-first of June next to the Twenty-second of
December, and the former looked like a maypole by the side
of a marrowbone. Ash Wednesday got wedged in betwixt 20
Christmas and Lord Mayor's Day.

At another part of the table, Shrove Tuesday was helping
the Second of September to some broth, which courtesy
the latter returned with the delicate thigh of a pheasant.
The Last of Lent was springing upon Shrovetide's pancakes; 25
April Fool, seeing this, told him that he did well, for pancakes
were proper to a good fry-day.

May Day, with that sweetness which is her own, made a
neat speech proposing the health of the founder. This
being done, the lordly New Year from the upper end of 30
the table, in a cordial but somewhat lofty tone, returned
[110]thanks.

They next fell to quibbles and conundrums. The question
being proposed, who had the greatest number of followers—the
Quarter Days said there could be no question
as to that; for they had all the creditors in the world
dogging their heels. But April Fool gave it in favor of the 5
Forty Days before Easter; because the debtors in all cases
outnumbered the creditors, and they kept Lent all the year.

At last, dinner being ended, all the Days called for
their cloaks and greatcoats, and took their leaves. Lord
Mayor's Day went off in a Mist, as usual; Shortest Day 10
in a deep black Fog, which wrapped the little gentleman
all round like a hedgehog.

Two Vigils, or watchmen, saw Christmas Day safe home.
Another Vigil—a stout, sturdy patrol, called the Eve of
St. Christopher—escorted Ash Wednesday. 15

Longest Day set off westward in beautiful crimson and
gold—the rest, some in one fashion some in another, took
their departure.

—Last Essays of Elia.

[111]

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN

(Written for Jesse W. Fell, December 20, 1859)

I was born February 12, 1809, in Hardin County, Kentucky.
My parents were both born in Virginia, of
undistinguished families—second families, perhaps I
should say. My mother, who died in my tenth year, was
of a family of the name of Hanks, some of whom now reside 5
in Adams, and others in Macon County, Illinois. My
paternal grandfather, Abraham Lincoln, emigrated from
Rockingham County, Virginia, to Kentucky about 1781
or 1782, where a year or two later he was killed by the
Indians, not in battle, but by stealth, when he was laboring 10
to open a farm in the forest. His ancestors, who were
Quakers, went to Virginia from Berks County, Pennsylvania.
An effort to identify them with the New England
family of the same name ended in nothing more definite
than a similarity of Christian names in both families, such 15
as Enoch, Levi, Mordecai, Solomon, Abraham, and the like.

My father, at the death of his father, was but six years of
age, and he grew up literally without education. He removed
[112]from Kentucky to what is now Spencer County,
Indiana, in my eighth year. We reached our new home
about the time the state came into the Union. It was a
wild region, with many bears and other wild animals still
in the woods. There I grew up. There were some schools,
so called, but no qualification was ever required of a teacher 5
beyond "readin', writin', and cipherin'" to the rule of three.
If a straggler supposed to understand Latin happened to
sojourn in the neighborhood, he was looked upon as a
wizard. There was absolutely nothing to excite ambition
for education. Of course, when I came of age I did not 10
know much. Still, somehow, I could read, write, and
cipher to the rule of three, but that was all. I have not
been to school since. The little advance I now have upon
this store of education I have picked up from time to time
under the pressure of necessity. 15

I was raised to farm work, which I continued till I was
twenty-two. At twenty-one I came to Illinois, Macon
County. Then I got to New Salem, at that time in Sangamon,
now in Menard County, where I remained a year as a
sort of clerk in a store. 20

Then came the Black Hawk war, and I was elected a captain
of volunteers, a success which gave me more pleasure
than any I have had since. I went the campaign, was
elated, ran for the legislature the same year (1832), and was
beaten—the only time I have ever been beaten by the 25
people. The next and three succeeding biennial elections
I was elected to the legislature. I was not a candidate
afterward. During this legislative period I had studied
law, and removed to Springfield to practice it. In 1846 I
was once elected to the lower house of Congress. Was 30
not a candidate for reëlection. From 1849 to 1854, both
[113]inclusive, practiced law more assiduously than ever before.
Always Whig in politics; and generally on the Whig
electoral tickets, making active canvasses. I was losing
interest in politics when the repeal of the Missouri Compromise
aroused me again. What I have done since then
is pretty well known. 5

If any personal description of me is thought desirable,
it may be said I am, in height, six feet four inches, nearly;
lean in flesh, weighing on an average one hundred and
eighty pounds; dark complexion, with coarse black hair
and gray eyes. No other marks or brands recollected. 10

[114]

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN

By Walt Whitman

[116]

WASHINGTON'S GREATEST BATTLE

By Frederick Trevor Hill

Word was received from Lafayette that Cornwallis
had moved to Yorktown on the York River, Virginia,
close to Chesapeake Bay, and almost at the same
moment the long-expected dispatch arrived from de Grasse,
advising Washington that he was just on the point of 5
sailing for Chesapeake Bay. The instant he received this
news the American commander realized that his chance had
come. Cornwallis had evidently brought his army to
Yorktown that it might coöperate with a British fleet in
the Chesapeake, and by good luck de Grasse was heading 10
directly for this very spot. A bold, swift stroke might now
end the war, and the plan which Washington immediately
put in operation was daring to a really perilous degree.

Up to this point all the movements of the French and
Americans had convinced Clinton that an attack would 15
soon be made against New York. Never for a moment did
he imagine that his opponent would dare leave the Hudson
unguarded and throw his whole army against Cornwallis.
[117]The risk of losing West Point and the difficulty of covering
the hundreds of miles that lay between New York and Yorktown
seemed to forbid any such maneuver. Nevertheless,
this was precisely what Washington intended to do, and
within a few days after the receipt of de Grasse's message
he was hurrying southward with every man he could 5
possibly spare.

Secrecy and speed were essential to success, for if Clinton
discovered what was happening, he would undoubtedly
try to throw his army between Cornwallis and the Americans,
and even though he failed in stopping them he could 10
easily delay their march until the British force at Yorktown
had time to escape. Washington, therefore, took extraordinary
care to conceal his plans, not only from his foes
but also from his friends. Indeed, Rochambeau was the
only officer who knew where the men were being headed as 15
they hurried through New Jersey, and so cleverly was their
route selected that even when Clinton learned of their
march he still believed that the Americans, having failed
in the attempt on his rear door near King's Bridge, were
about to swing around and try to get in at the front door20
from Staten Island or Sandy Hook.

This was just what Washington wanted him to think,
and to deceive him still further, camp kitchens were erected
along the expected line of march and the troops were so
handled that they seemed to be moving straight to an 25
attack on New York. But at the proper moment they were
suddenly turned southward at a pace that defied pursuit,
and before the true situation dawned on the British commander
they were almost at the Delaware River. But
though he had by this time acquired a fairly safe lead, 30
Washington did not slacken his speed, and with a roar of
[118]cheers from the now excited populace, the dusty columns
were soon pouring through Philadelphia, the American
commander pushing on ahead to Chester, and sending back
word that de Grasse had arrived in Chesapeake Bay and
that not a moment must be lost.

Clinton then made a frantic effort to save the day by 5
sending Arnold to attack some of the New England towns,
thinking that the American commander might hurry back
to their rescue. But Washington was first and foremost a
man of good, hard common sense, and he knew that all
Arnold could accomplish would be the destruction of a few10
defenseless towns, and to let Cornwallis escape in order to
protect them did not appeal to his practical mind at all.
He therefore paid no attention to the traitor's movements,
but bent all his efforts on speeding his army southward.

At Chesapeake Bay an exasperating delay occurred, for 15
there were not sufficient vessels to transport the army over
the water, and for a time the success of the whole expedition
was threatened. But Washington was in no mood to be
blocked by obstacles of this sort. If his troops could not
be ferried down the bay, they must march around it, and 20
march many of them did, their general obtaining the first
glimpse he had had in six years of his beloved Mount
Vernon as he swept by, and on September 28, 1781, his
whole force was in front of Yorktown, with success fairly
within its grasp. 25

Meanwhile de Grasse's fleet had fiercely assailed a British
squadron which had been sent to the rescue, and after a
sharp engagement the French had been able to return to
the bay while the British vessels were obliged to retire to
New York, leaving Cornwallis with the York River on one 30
side of him, the James River on the other, and the Chesapeake
[119]Bay at his back, but no ships to carry him to safety.
Only one chance of escape now remained, and that was to
hurl his whole army through the narrow neck of land immediately
in front of him and beat a hasty retreat to the south.
But Washington had anticipated this desperate move by
positive instructions to Lafayette, and acting upon them the 5
young marquis rushed a body of French troops from the
fleet into the gap, and the arrival of the American army
completely blocked it.

But, though the enemy was now in his clutch, Washington
lost no time in tightening his hold, for de Grasse 10
declared that his orders would not allow him to tarry much
longer in the Chesapeake, and the failure of the other
attempts to work with the French warned him to take no
risks on this occasion.

He therefore instantly set the troops at work with pickaxes 15
and shovels throwing up intrenchments, behind which
they crept nearer and nearer the imprisoned garrison, and
he kept them at their tasks night and day, supervising
every detail of the siege and organizing the labor with such
method that not a second of time nor an ounce of strength20
was wasted.

Finally, on October 14th—just sixteen days after the
combined armies had arrived on the scene—the commander
in chief determined to hurry matters still further
by carrying two of the enemy's outer works by assault, and 25
Hamilton was assigned to lead the Americans and Colonel
de Deuxponts the French. A brilliant charge followed,
and Washington and Rochambeau, closely watching the
movement, saw the Americans scale one of the redoubts
and capture it within ten minutes, while the French soon 30
followed with equal success. From these two commanding
[120]positions a perfect storm of shot and shell was then loosed
against the British fortifications, but still Cornwallis
would not yield.

Indeed, he made an heroic attempt to break through the
lines on the following night, and actually succeeded in
spiking some of the French cannon before he was driven 5
back; and again on the next night he made a desperate
effort to escape by water, only to be foiled by a terrific
storm. By this time, however, his defenses were practically
battered to the ground and the town behind them was
tumbling to pieces beneath the fire of more than fifty guns. 10

In the face of this terrific bombardment further resistance
was useless, and at ten o'clock on the morning of October
17, 1781, exactly four years after the surrender of Burgoyne,
a red-coated drummer boy mounted on the crumbling
ramparts and beside him appeared an officer with a white 15
flag. Instantly the firing ceased, and an American officer
approaching, the flag bearer was blindfolded and conducted
to Washington. The message he bore was a proposition
for surrender and a request that hostilities be
suspended for twenty-four hours. But to this Washington 20
would not consent. Two hours was all he would grant
for arranging the terms of surrender. To this Cornwallis
yielded, but his first propositions were promptly rejected
by Washington, and it was not until eleven at night that
all the details were finally agreed upon, and Cornwallis,25
with over eight thousand officers and men, became prisoners
of war.

Two days later the British marched from their intrenchments,
their bands playing a quaint old English tune, called
The World Turned Upside Down, and, passing between30
the French and American troops drawn up in line to receive
[121]them, laid down their arms. At the head of the
victorious columns rode Washington, Hamilton, Knox,
Steuben, Lafayette, Rochambeau, Lincoln, and many other
officers, but the British commander, being ill, was not
present in person, and when his representative, General
O'Hara, tendered his superior's sword to Washington, the 5
commander in chief allowed General Lincoln, who had
once been Cornwallis's prisoner, to receive it, and that
officer, merely taking it in his hand for a moment, instantly
returned it.

Meanwhile horsemen were flying in all directions with 10
the joyful tidings, and within a week the whole country was
blazing with enthusiasm, while Washington was calmly
planning to finish the work to which he had set his hand.

—George Gordon Byron.

[122]

JOHN JAMES AUDUBON

By W. F. Markwick and W. A. Smith

In 1828 a wonderful book, The Birds of America, by John
James Audubon, was issued. It is a good illustration
of what has been accomplished by beginning in one's youth
to use the powers of observation. Audubon loved and
studied birds. Even in his infancy, lying under the orange5
trees on his father's plantation in Louisiana, he listened to
the mocking-bird's song, watching and observing every
motion as it flitted from bough to bough. When he was
older he began to sketch every bird that he saw, and soon
showed so much talent that he was taken to France to be 10
educated.

He entered cheerfully and earnestly upon his studies,
and more than a year was devoted to mathematics; but
whenever it was possible he rambled about the country,
using his eyes and fingers, collecting more specimens, and 15
sketching with such assiduity that when he left France,
only seventeen years old, he had finished two hundred
drawings of French birds. At this period he tells us that
"it was not the desire of fame which prompted to this
[123]devotion; it was simply the enjoyment of nature." 20

A story is told of his lying on his back in the woods with
some moss for his pillow and looking through a telescopic
microscope day after day, to watch a pair of little birds
while they made their nest. Their peculiar gray plumage
harmonized with the color of the bark of the tree, so that it 5
was impossible to see the birds except by the most careful
observation. After three weeks of such patient labor,
he felt that he had been amply rewarded for the toil and
sacrifice by the results he had obtained.

His power of observation gave him great happiness, from 10
the time he rambled as a boy in the country in search of
treasures of natural history, till, in his old age, he rose with
the sun and went straightway to the woods near his home,
enjoying still the beauties and wonders of nature. His
strength of purpose and unwearied energy, combined with 15
his pure enthusiasm, made him successful in his work as a
naturalist; but it was all dependent on the habit formed
in his boyhood—this habit of close and careful observation;
and he not only had this habit of using his eyes but
he looked at and studied things worth seeing, worth 20
remembering.

This brief sketch of Audubon's boyhood shows the predominant
traits of his character—his power of observation,
the training of the eye and hand—that made him in manhood
"the most distinguished of American ornithologists," 25
with so much scientific ardor and perseverance that no expedition
seemed dangerous or solitude inaccessible when
he was engaged in his favorite study.

He has left behind him, as the result of his labors, his
great book, The Birds of America, in ten volumes, and 30
illustrated with four hundred and forty-eight colored plates
[124]of over one thousand species of birds, all drawn by his own
hand, and each bird represented in its natural size; also a
Biography of American Birds, in five large volumes, in
which he describes their habits and customs. He was
associated with Dr. Bachman, of Philadelphia, in the preparation
of a work on The Quadrupeds of America, in six 5
large volumes, the drawings for which were made by his
two sons; and later on he published his Biography of American
Quadrupeds, a work similar to the Biography of American
Birds. He died at what is known as Audubon Park,
on the Hudson, now within the limits of New York city, in10
1851, at the age of seventy.

—The True Citizen.

[125]

MEMORIAL DAY, 1917

By Woodrow Wilson

Any Memorial Day of this sort is, of course, a day touched
with sorrowful memory, and yet I for one do not see
how we can have any thought of pity for the men whose
memory we honor to-day. I do not pity them. I envy
them, rather, because theirs is a great work for liberty 5
accomplished and we are in the midst of a work unfinished,
testing our strength where their strength already has been
tested. There is a touch of sorrow, but there is a touch
of reassurance also in a day like this, because we know
how the men of America have responded to the call of the 10
cause of liberty, and it fills our minds with a perfect assurance
that that response will come again in equal measure,
with equal majesty, and with a result which will hold the
attention of all mankind.

When you reflect upon it, these men who died to preserve 15
the Union died to preserve the instrument which we are
now using to serve the world—a free nation espousing
the cause of human liberty. In one sense that great
struggle into which we have now entered is an American
struggle, because it is in defense of American honor and 20
American rights, but it is something even greater than
that; it is a world struggle. It is a struggle of men who
[126]love liberty everywhere and in this cause America will
show herself greater than ever because she will rise to a
greater thing.

We have said in the beginning that we planned this
great government that men who wish freedom might have
a place of refuge and a place where their hope could be 5
realized, and now, having established such a government,
having preserved such a government, having vindicated
the power of such a government, we are saying to all mankind,
"We did not set this government up in order that
we might have a selfish and separate liberty, for we are 10
now ready to come to your assistance and fight out upon
the fields of the world the cause of human liberty." In
this thing America attains her full dignity and the full
fruition of her great purpose.

[127]

A Grandstand Seat in the Sky
(See following page)

[129]

A GRANDSTAND SEAT IN THE SKY

By Howard Mingos

"I don't know whether we can make it or not," said
the pilot. "There's a forty-mile-an-hour wind up
aloft, and we're going straight in the teeth of it. Maybe
we'll have to turn back."

But we did not turn back, and at times before we had 5
covered the twenty-two miles separating New York from
the army's Hazlehurst Field at Mineola, Long Island, I
wished that we might turn round, if only for an instant, that
I might adjust the fur-lined chin strap, the buckle of which
snapped against my left ear with maddening persistency. 10

A half dozen times, perhaps, I had raised my left hand
carefully, only to have it flapped back at me as if I were
slapping myself in the face. For we were in the pilot's seat
of America's largest bombing plane, grandstand seats
with nothing between us and the show but air, of which 15
there was a plenty.

Captain Roy N. Francis, one of the best-known American
pilots, had cautioned me against sticking out my arm
or hand, because of the nine-foot propeller whirling alongside
of me, and its tips fanned my elbow just two thousand 20
times a minute as I huddled in the seat with Francis to
afford him more room.

You understand I wanted to make myself as small as
possible, so that he might have more space in which to
operate the controls. I had every reason to believe they 25
[130]required minute attention if we were to remain rebounding
about the skies from wind pocket to wind pocket five
thousand feet above the flying field. I had forgotten our
objective, which was Manhattan—the dreams of fifteen
years about to be realized.

I particularly wanted to be ricocheting from the crest 5
of one air wave to another. It was the choice of alternatives,
I concluded, for below us the crazy-quilted landscape
of Long Island appeared to be anything but a soft
place for landing. And there was a barn directly under
us for several minutes—the same barn. I know it was a 10
barn because it had a fence around it; otherwise it might
have been a dog's kennel—a lone dog's kennel at that—so
tiny was it from our viewpoint.

I know we hung suspended over it for some time. I
had an opportunity to review my entire past life, my good15
deeds, of which there were few that I could recall at the
moment, and my misdeeds, of which there were many.
I pondered if they would miss me at the office. I thought
of other offices and other fellows and the nature of their
retrospection, fellows who had been in positions similar 20
to mine—and I knew where they were, or rather, where
they were not.

Francis had pointed at me among four other prospective
passengers standing about the great plane while they tuned
up the motors. 25

"You there, little fellow, get in here beside me!"

I had shinnied up the stepladder and crawled in beside
him, flattered at the distinction—the others took their
places in other cockpits free from controls and instruments—and
then I understood the reason for his choice. 30

Our flying suits were lined with fur, and bulky. The
[131]cockpit was narrow at best, and Francis is not a small man.
So I huddled as far as possible at the side of the flyer's seat,
my side of it. And then: "Keep your paws in, if you
don't want them taken off with that propeller," he had
shouted into my ear. "Sit tight!"

I sat tight. No shrimp ever had as many wrinkles as I. 5
I pulled my hand in a fraction of an inch, braced my legs
against nothing in particular, while my back assumed the
characteristics of a concertina, closed.

He had thrown back the throttle. There was a blast
and a roar. I had the same lonesome feeling in the pit of my 10
stomach that had seized me when I first took the express
elevator in the Woolworth Building.

It occurred to me to win the respect of the pilot by appearing
confident. So I forced myself to peer over the side.
The earth was dropping away so fast that it all seemed 15
like a nightmare. I felt as if I had been dreaming and had
fallen out of bed.

"Grin at him," something told me. I grinned.

A dozen or more icicles immediately crunched between
my teeth, pierced the roof of my mouth, and froze my 20
brain, while leaden drops of water percolated through it
and trickled down my spine.

"Keep grinning!" that unconscious self put in again.
The advice was useless. I couldn't have closed my mouth
had I wanted to. Finally by bowing my head I shut my 25
jaws. Oh, for that chin strap which was whacking my
face! It would have kept me warm. Despite the heat
through which we had traveled in reaching Hazlehurst
Field that morning, up here, a mile high, the air was cold.

I stole a sidelong glance at Francis from behind the 30
heavy goggles which some friendly stranger had fitted over
[132]my helmet. Francis was not looking at me.

Instead of watching and appraising me, as I had thought
he was half turned round, gazing back along the fuselage
or body, of our craft, for what reason I do not know.

I turned in my seat and looked back at the tail. Not
seeing anything unusual, I sat back again. And there was 5
Francis with his head thrown back, gazing at the sky. His
hands and feet were not touching the controls.

Every time we struck an air pocket I shuddered. For
ten minutes, minutes which seemed hours, I huddled
and shrank and shuddered. That was about all there 10
appeared to be in the flight for me—huddles, shrinks,
and shudders.

That dog kennel of a barn gave me much to think about.
The wind was dead against us. Our speedometer registered
ninety miles an hour—and the wind pushing us 15
back at the rate of forty miles left us fifty miles an hour
speed. It seemed like fifty feet to me, until I saw off in
the distance ahead the silvery haze that hangs over New
York like a mantle of mist. A moment later we made out
Long Island Sound, laid out with all its little bays and harbors 20
just like a pattern of white paper fallen on the extreme
edge of a Persian carpet. There were a few specks on it,
and from them whisps of smoke drifted up, many times
smaller than pipe smoke.

Bump! A slight jar. I looked at Francis. He was 25
gazing ahead unconcernedly.

Air pockets. We had dropped twenty feet on two
separate occasions within the space of a moment. Great!

The machine was still intact. Good old machine! Nice
old craft! . . . I felt like patting it on the nose and stroking 30
its sleek fabric back—that is, if it remained constant.
[133]If ever I craved constancy in anything, it was then.

Suddenly I relaxed. A feeling of delightful content
surged through me. Approaching New York. Above the
haze, out of all the hustle and bustle of the human maelstrom.
That look of absolute futility I had seen on the
faces in the subway, on the streets, in the early hours of5
morning—these receded from memory. Life was good,
after all. It was a wonderful thing if you viewed it correctly.
And this was the way to view it.

Reflections of a bright young man being smeared all
over the island were things of the past now, as on the right, 10
as far as we could see, the Bronx stretched away, monotonously,
endlessly. I thought how much happier I was up
there, looking at the Bronx, than if I were in the Bronx
down there, looking up at me.

Straight down I made out a Sound steamer. Hell Gate 15
Bridge, a tiny thing like the toys in shop windows.

But the Bronx got me. I had heard much of the Bronx
and once or twice had visited the Zoo. But I never conceived
the Bronx as a few bushels of building blocks thrown
down on a wide green lawn and tumbled about promiscuously. 20
They were blocks, too, whole city squares, miles
and miles of squares.

And there was the Harlem River—and Harlem. I
looked for the homes of the cliff dwellers. They were not
there. The scenery was as flat as the side of a house. 25

Veering slightly to the left, a mere touch from Francis
of the auto wheel in front of him, and we were speeding
over the upper East Side. Now I knew, or thought I knew,
the millions who reside there, more or less in a state of
perpetual congestion. I had often pondered as to where 30
these millions hung their wash, when they washed. To-day
[134]I learned.

Arranged in crisscross rows, compactly and without wasting
an inch of space, that I could see, the roofs of the East
Side were literally covered, literally littered, with clothes
of a sameness that made of whole blocks or squares an
awning. Here and there a red shirt, the only outstanding 5
bit of color. At least I chose to assume that it was a shirt
because I knew that down in those narrow streets, moving
about like minute grains of sand guided only by the confines
of the conventional walls, were people sweltering in
the heat of a summer day, and they needed those shirts 10
another season.

We dropped lower. We saw between the lines of garments,
as we gazed straight downward, a bed, another bed,
then a cot, more beds, a chair or two, now and then a bit
of green I took to be plants, occasionally a bit of carpet 15
on the roof—and babies. The ten or fifteen babies who
do not spend their days in the middle of the streets are
enjoying the pleasures of their own roof gardens. As far
as we could see to the left it was the same—roofs and
clothes and babies, divided into squares like cuts of frosted 20
cake.

We struck Fifth Avenue at 110 Street. To our right
was Central Park. And it was not as large as the palm of
one's hand. In fact it might have been a bare spot from
which a few building blocks had been lifted, evenly and 25
without disturbing the sharply outlined sides and corners.

There was nothing to be seen of the beautiful drives.
The wonderful trees were as clumps of sagebrush, the
gathering spots mere splotches of gray in a patch of moldy
green. The lakes and the reservoir were as bits of broken30
glass with jagged edges and no reason on earth for their
[135]being there.

Below us we did make out a few of the taller buildings,
but it required an effort and a prior knowledge of their location.
Fifth Avenue, over which we were traveling at
ninety miles an hour as we tacked across the pathway of
the wind and sped southward, was like any other street 5
from that height. One could never recognize it as Fifth
Avenue, though in front of the Public Library the limousines
forming two thin lines like black threads helped identify it.

The Metropolitan tower was passed far more quickly than
it requires in the telling. I looked ahead to see the wonderful 10
skyline down toward the Battery with its galaxy of skyscrapers.
It was not there. Back over my shoulder I saw
42 Street and Broadway. Strange to relate, the great
buildings on that side of town stood up in bold relief.

We could now take in both the North and East rivers and 15
all of New York Bay at a single glance. A mile above them,
and we were following Broadway to Battery Park. We
recognized the Woolworth tower. But the Statue of
Liberty was far more prominent, standing alone and distinguished,
ready to meet all comers. 20

The Woolworth Building was a disappointment. I had
thought to see it at its best, gaze at it from all angles; but
I became far more interested in the piers that curbed our
little island of Manhattan, the ferryboats that plied like
toy ships, leaving scarcely a wake that we could see. 25

I recalled that the giant Leviathan was due in, that noon,
with several thousand soldiers. I scanned the bay for it.
A moment later, when we had swung around in a wide circle
and started back uptown, I saw it. The transport had
been under us and we had not seen it. I knew there must 30
be thousands in Battery Park to greet the Leviathan and
[136]her heroes.

After straining my eyes I decided that the tiny specks at
certain spots in the park where there were no trees must of
a surety be human beings. But they were specks.

At this juncture all of us received a shock. The plane
headed against the stiff west wind again, bumped into it 5
head first, and then keeled halfway over. Try tipping up
on one runner of a rocking chair, try balancing yourself
as you go whizzing through space. I realized then that if
one were placed in a rocking chair in the tonneau of a
motor car and the car rounded a corner say at thirty or 10
forty-five miles an hour, one might derive the same sensation.

Our bodies were tugging at the life belts that held us
firmly in our seats. Every muscle in my body was taut.
I held my breath. Would we turn over? Would something 15
snap and send us down? I looked to see where we
would fall. We would have fallen a sheer 5000 feet, directly
on the Woolworth tower, the entire building of which
was little more than a toy. But we did not fall.

The wind was better to us now, being in the rear. Yet 20
we did not appear to be making more speed. We drifted
along, apparently. A moment later we were over green
fields again. Far ahead I saw a Long Island train, doubtless
moving. My gaze wandered momentarily. I looked
for the train. It was gone. I looked back. It was in 25
our rear, and still coming in our direction.

It seemed but a matter of a few breaths of piercingly cold
air before we were circling Hazlehurst Field. A brief glide
and we were coasting on the ground toward the exact spot
we had left. I looked at the watch again. 30

We had traveled from New York to the field, a distance
[137]of twenty-two miles, at the rate of two miles and a half a
minute. And my picture of Greater New York was that
of a beautiful toy, a diamond sunburst glittering in a setting
of purple and gold, a city full of windowpanes and skylights
that throw back the rays of the sun—but a toy nevertheless,
for verily I had beheld a city and had taken it in the 5
palm of my hand, gazed at it in wonder a moment, and had
then put it back again.

—Motor Life.
(Used by arrangement with Motor Life, New York city)

PRAYER FOR THE PILOT

By Cecil Roberts

[138]

A BATTLE WITH A WHALE

By Frank T. Bullen

"There she white-waters! Ah, bl-o-o-o-o-w, blow,
blow!" sang Louis; and then, in another tone,
"Sperm whale, sir; lone fish, headin' 'beout east-by-nothe."

"All right. Way down from aloft," answered the
skipper, who was already halfway up the main rigging; and 5
like squirrels we slipped out of our hoops and down the
backstays, passing the skipper like a flash as he toiled upwards,
bellowing orders as he went. Short as our journey
down had been, when we arrived on deck we found all
ready for a start. But as the whale was at least seven 10
miles away and we had a fair wind for him, there was no
hurry to lower, so we all stood at attention by our respective
boats, waiting for the signal. I found, to my
surprise, that although I was conscious of a much more
rapid heartbeat than usual, I was not half so scared as I15
expected to be— that the excitement was rather pleasant
than otherwise.

"Lower away boats!" came pealing down from the
skipper's lofty perch, succeeded instantly by the rattle of
[139]the patent blocks as the falls flew through them, while the 20
four beautiful craft took the water with an almost simultaneous
splash. The ship keepers had trimmed the yards
to the wind and hauled up the courses, so that simply
putting the helm down deadened our way and allowed the
boats to run clear without danger of fouling one another. 5
To shove off and hoist sail was the work of a few moments,
and with a fine working breeze away we went.

Our boat, being the chief's, had the post of honor; but
there was now only one whale, and I rather wondered
why we had all left the ship. According to expectations, 10
down he went when we were within a couple of miles of
him, but quietly and with great dignity, elevating his tail
perpendicularly in the air and sinking slowly from our
view.

The scene was very striking. Overhead, a bright-blue sky 15
just fringed with fleecy little clouds; beneath, a deep-blue
sea with innumerable tiny wavelets dancing and
glittering in the blaze of the sun; but all swayed in one
direction by a great solemn swell that slowly rolled from
east to west, like the measured breathing of some world-supporting 20
monster. Four little craft in a group, with
twenty-four men in them, silently waiting for battle with
one of the mightiest of God's creatures—one that was
indeed a terrible foe to encounter were he but wise enough
to make the best use of his opportunities. 25

My musings were very suddenly interrupted. Whether
we had overrun our distance, or the whale, who was not
"making a passage" but feeding, had changed his course,
I do not know; but anyhow he broke water close ahead,
coming straight for our boat. His great black head, like 30
the broad bow of a dumb barge driving the waves before
[140]it, loomed high and menacing to me, for I was no longer
forbidden to look ahead. But coolly as if coming alongside
the ship, the mate bent to the big steer oar and swung
the boat off at right angles to her course, bringing her back
again with another broad sheer as the whale passed foaming.
This maneuver brought us side by side with him before he 5
had time to realize that we were there. Up till that instant
he had evidently not seen us, and his surprise was correspondingly
great.

To see Louis raise his harpoon high above his head and
with a hoarse grunt of satisfaction plunge it into the black, 10
shining mass beside him, up to the hitches, was indeed a
sight to be remembered. Quick as thought he snatched up
a second harpoon, and as the whale rolled from us it flew
from his hands, burying itself like the former one, but lower
down the body. The great impetus we had when we 15
reached the whale, carried us a long way past him, out of all
danger from his struggles. No hindrance was experienced
from the line by which we were connected with the whale,
for it was loosely coiled in a space for the purpose in the
boat's bow, to the extent of two hundred feet, and this was 20
cast overboard by the harpooner as soon as the fish was
fast.

He made a fearful to-do over it, rolling completely over
several times, backward and forward, at the same time
smiting the sea with his mighty tail, making an almost 25
deafening noise and pother. But we were comfortable
enough while we unshipped the mast and made ready for
action, being sufficiently far away from him to escape the
full effect of his gambols.

After the usual time spent in furious attempts to free 30
himself from our annoyance, he betook himself below, leaving
[141]us to await his return and hasten it as much as possible
by keeping a severe strain upon the line. Our efforts in
this direction, however, did not seem to have any effect
upon him at all. Flake after flake ran out of the tubs until
we were compelled to hand the end of our line to the second
mate, to splice his own on to. Still it slipped away, and 5
at last it was handed to the third mate, whose two tubs
met the same fate. It was now Mistah Jones's turn to
"bend on," which he did with many chuckles, as of a man
who was the last resource of the unfortunate. But his
face grew longer and longer as the never-resting line continued 10
to disappear. Soon he signaled us that he was
nearly out of line, and two or three minutes after, he bent
on his "drogue" (a square piece of plank with a rope tail
spliced into its center, and considered to hinder a whale's
progress at least as much as four boats) and let go the end. 15
We had each bent on our drogues in the same way, when
we passed our ends to one another. So now our friend was
getting along somewhere below, with 7200 feet of one-and-a-half-inch
rope, and weight additional equal to the
drag of sixteen thirty-foot boats. 20

Of course we knew that unless he were dead and sinking
he could not possibly remain much longer beneath the
surface. The exhibition of endurance we had just been
favored with was a very unusual one, I was told, it being a
rare thing for a cachalot to take out two boats' lines before 25
returning to the surface to spout.

Therefore we separated as widely as was thought necessary,
in order to be near him on his arrival. It was, as
might be imagined, some time before we saw the light of
his countenance; but when we did, we had no difficulty 30
in getting alongside of him again. My friend Goliath,
[142]much to my delight, got there first and succeeded in picking
up the bight of the line. But having done so, his chance
of distinguishing himself was gone. Hampered by the
immense quantity of sunken line which was attached to
the whale, he could do nothing and soon received orders to
cut the bight of the line and pass the whale's end to us. 5

He had hardly obeyed, with a very bad grace, when the
whale started off to windward with us, at a tremendous
rate. The other boats, having no line, could do nothing to
help; so away we went alone, with barely a hundred fathoms
of line in case he should take it into his head to sound again. 10
The speed at which he went made it appear as if a gale of
wind were blowing, and we flew along the sea surface,
leaping from crest to crest of the waves with an incessant
succession of cracks like pistol shots. The flying spray
drenched us and prevented us from seeing him, but I fully15
realized that it was nothing to what we should have to
put up with if the wind freshened much. One hand was
kept bailing out the water which came so freely over the
bows, but all the rest hauled with all their might upon the
line, hoping to get a little closer to the flying monster. 20
Inch by inch we gained on him. After what seemed a
terribly long chase we found his speed slackening, and we
redoubled our efforts.

Now we were close upon him; now, in obedience to the
steersman, the boat sheered out a bit and we were abreast25
of his laboring flukes; now the mate hurls his quivering
lance with such hearty good will that every inch of its
slender shaft disappears within the huge body.

"Lay off! Off with her, Louey!" screamed the mate;
and she gave a wide sheer away from the whale, not a 30
second too soon. Up flew that awful tail, descending with
[143]a crash upon the water, not two feet from us.

"Out oars! Pull, two! starn, three!" shouted the mate;
and as we obeyed, our foe turned to fight.

Then might one see how courage and skill were such
mighty factors in the apparently unequal contest. The
whale's great length made it no easy job for him to turn, 5
while our boat, with two oars a side and the great leverage
at the stern supplied by the nineteen-foot steer oar, circled,
backed, and darted ahead like a living thing animated by
the mind of our commander. When the leviathan settled,
we gave a wide berth to his probable place of ascent; 10
when he rushed at us, we dodged him; when he paused, if
only momentarily, in we flew and got home a fearful thrust
of the deadly lance.

All fear was forgotten now—I panted, thirsted, for his
life. Once, indeed, in a sort of frenzy, when for an instant 15
we lay side by side with him, I drew my sheath knife and
plunged it repeatedly into the blubber as if I were assisting
in his destruction.

Suddenly the mate gave a howl: "Starn all—starn all!
oh, starn!" and the oars bent like canes as we obeyed. 20
There was an upheaval of the sea just ahead; then slowly,
majestically, the vast body of our foe rose into the air.
Up, up it went, while my heart stood still, until the whole of
that immense creature hung on high, apparently motionless,
and then fell—a hundred tons of solid flesh—back 25
into the sea. On either side of that mountainous mass the
waters rose in shining towers of snowy foam which fell in
their turn, whirling and eddying around us as we tossed and
fell like a chip in a whirlpool. Blinded by the flying spray,
bailing for very life to free the boat from the water with 30
which she was nearly full, it was some minutes before I
[144]was able to decide whether we were still uninjured or not.
Then I saw, at a little distance, the whale lying quietly. As
I looked he spouted, and the vapor was red with his blood.

"Starn all!" again cried our chief, and we retreated to a
considerable distance. The old warrior's practiced eye had
detected the coming climax of our efforts, the dying agony, 5
or "flurry," of the great mammal. Turning upon his side
he began to move in a circular direction, slowly at first,
then faster and faster, until he was rushing round at
tremendous speed, his great head raised quite out of water
at times, clashing his enormous jaws. Torrents of blood 10
poured from his spout hole, accompanied by hoarse bellowings
as of some gigantic bull, but really caused by the
laboring breath trying to pass through the clogged air
passages. The utmost caution and rapidity of manipulation
of the boat was necessary to avoid his maddened 15
rush, but this gigantic energy was short-lived. In a few
minutes he subsided slowly in death, his mighty body reclined
on one side, the fin uppermost waving limply as he
rolled to the swell, while the small waves broke gently over
the carcass in a low, monotonous surf, intensifying the 20
profound silence that had succeeded the tumult of our
conflict with the late monarch of the deep.

—The Cruise of the Cachalot.

[145]

THE GLOVE AND THE LIONS

By Leigh Hunt

[147]

HOW BUCK WON THE BET

By Jack London

Matthewson's sled, loaded with a thousand pounds
of flour, had been standing for a couple of hours, and
in the intense cold (it was sixty below zero) the runners had
frozen fast to the hard-packed snow. Men offered odds of
two to one that Buck could not budge the sled. A quibble 5
arose concerning the phrase "break out." O'Brien contended
it was Thornton's privilege to knock the runners loose,
leaving Buck to "break it out" from a dead standstill.
Matthewson insisted that the phrase included breaking the
runners from the frozen grip of the snow. A majority of the 10
men who had witnessed the making of the bet decided in his
favor, whereat the odds went up to three to one against Buck.

There were no takers. Not a man believed him capable
of the feat. Thornton had been hurried into the wager,
heavy with doubt; and now that he looked at the sled 15
itself, the concrete fact, with the regular team of ten dogs
curled up in the snow before it, the more impossible the task
[148]appeared. Matthewson waxed jubilant.

"Three to one!" he proclaimed. "I'll lay you another
thousand at that figure, Thornton. What d'ye say?"

Thornton's doubt was strong in his face, but his fighting
spirit was aroused—the fighting spirit that soars above
odds, fails to recognize the impossible, and is deaf to all save 5
the clamor for battle. He called Hans and Pete to him.
Their sacks were slim, and with his own the three partners
could rake together only two hundred dollars. In the
ebb of their fortunes, this sum was their total capital;
yet they laid it unhesitatingly against Matthewson's six 10
hundred.

The team of ten dogs was unhitched, and Buck, with his
own harness, was put into the sled. He had caught the
contagion of the excitement, and he felt that in some way
he must do a great thing for John Thornton. Murmurs of 15
admiration at his splendid appearance went up. He was in
perfect condition, without an ounce of superfluous flesh,
and the one hundred and fifty pounds that he weighed were
so many pounds of grit and virility. His furry coat shone
with the sheen of silk. Down the neck and across the 20
shoulders, his mane, in repose as it was, half bristled
and seemed to lift with every movement, as though excess
of vigor made each particular hair alive and active. The
great breast and heavy fore legs were no more than in
proportion with the rest of the body, where the muscles 25
showed in tight rolls underneath the skin. Men felt these
muscles and proclaimed them hard as iron, and the odds
went down to two to one.

"Gad, sir! Gad, sir!" stuttered a member of the
latest dynasty, a king of the Skookum Benches. "I offer 30
you eight hundred for him, sir, before the test, sir; eight
[149]hundred just as he stands."

Thornton shook his head and stepped to Buck's side.

"You must stand off from him," Matthewson protested.
"Free play and plenty of room."

The crowd fell silent; only could be heard the voices of
the gamblers vainly offering two to one. Everybody 5
acknowledged Buck a magnificent animal, but twenty
fifty-pound sacks of flour bulked too large in their eyes for
them to loosen their pouch strings.

Thornton knelt down by Buck's side. He took his head
in his two hands and rested cheek on cheek. He did not 10
playfully shake him, as was his wont, or murmur soft love
curses; but he whispered in his ear. "As you love me,
Buck. As you love me," was what he whispered. Buck
whined with suppressed eagerness.

The crowd was watching curiously. The affair was growing 15
mysterious. It seemed like a conjuration. As Thornton
got to his feet, Buck seized his mittened hand between
his jaws, pressing it with his teeth and releasing it slowly,
half reluctantly. It was the answer, in terms not of speech
but of love. Thornton stepped well back. 20

"Now, Buck," he said.

Buck tightened the traces, then slacked them for a
matter of several inches. It was the way he had learned.

"Gee!" Thornton's voice rang out, sharp in the tense
silence. 25

Buck swung to the right, ending the movement in a plunge
that took up the slack and with a sudden jerk arrested his
one hundred and fifty pounds. The load quivered, and
from under the runners arose a crisp crackling.

"Haw!" Thornton commanded. 30

Buck duplicated the maneuver, this time to the left. The
[150]crackling turned into a snapping, the sled pivoting and the
runners slipping and grating several inches to the side.
The sled was broken out. Men were holding their breaths,
intensely unconscious of the fact.

"Now, mush!"

Thornton's command cracked out like a pistol shot. 5
Buck threw himself forward, tightening the traces with a
jarring lunge. His whole body was gathered compactly
together in the tremendous effort, the muscles writhing and
knotting like live things under the silky fur. His great
chest was low to the ground, his head forward and down, 10
while his feet were flying like mad, the claws scarring the
hard-packed snow in parallel grooves. The sled swayed
and trembled, half started forward. One of his feet slipped,
and one man groaned aloud. Then the sled lurched ahead
in what appeared a rapid succession of jerks, though it never 15
really came to a dead stop again—half an inch—an
inch—two inches. The jerks perceptibly diminished; as
the sled gained momentum he caught them up till it was
moving steadily along.

Men gasped and began to breathe again, unaware that 20
for a moment they had ceased to breathe. Thornton was
running behind, encouraging Buck with short, cheery
words. The distance had been measured off, and as he
neared the pile of firewood which marked the end of the
hundred yards, a cheer began to grow and grow, which 25
burst into a roar as he passed the firewood and halted at
command. Every man was tearing himself loose, even
Matthewson. Hats and mittens were flying in the air.
Men were shaking hands, it did not matter with whom,
and bubbling over in a general incoherent babel. 30

But Thornton fell on his knees beside Buck. Head was
[151]against head, and he was shaking him back and forth.
Buck seized Thornton's hand in his teeth. As though
animated by a common impulse, the onlookers drew back
to a respectful distance.

—The Call of the Wild.

(From The Call of the Wild, by Jack London, used by permission of The Macmillan Company, Publishers, and by arrangement with Mrs. Charmian K. London.)

THE LOSS OF THE DRAKE

By Charlotte M. Yonge

The Newfoundland coast is a peculiarly dangerous one,
from the dense fogs that are caused by the warm
waters of the Gulf Stream. These waters rushing up from
the equator here come in contact with the cold currents from
the pole. As they meet, they send up such heavy vapor 5
that day can sometimes scarcely be discerned from night;
even at little more than arm's length objects cannot be distinguished,
while from without, the mist looks like a thick,
sheer precipice of snow.

In such a fearful fog, on the morning of the 20th of June, 10
1822, the small schooner Drake struck suddenly upon a
rock and almost immediately fell over on her side, the waves
[152]breaking over her. Her commander, Captain Baker,
ordered her masts to be cut away, in hopes of lightening
her so that she might right herself, but in vain. One boat
was washed away, another upset as soon as she was
launched, and there remained only the small boat called
the captain's gig. 5

The ship was fast breaking up; the only hope was that
the crew might reach a small rock, the point of which could
be seen above the waves at a distance that the fog made
difficult to calculate, but that, it was hoped, might not be
too great. A man named Leonard seized a rope and sprang 10
into the sea, but the current was too strong for him; he
was carried away in an opposite direction and was obliged
to be dragged on board again.

Then the boatswain, whose name was Turner, volunteered
to make the attempt in the gig, taking a rope fastened 15
round his body. The crew cheered him after the
gallant fashion of British seamen, though they were all
hanging on by the ropes to the ship, with the sea breaking
over them and threatening every moment to dash the vessel
to pieces. Anxiously they watched Turner in his boat, as 20
he made his way to within a few feet of the rock. There
the boat was lifted high and higher by a huge wave, then
hurled down on the rock and shattered to pieces; but the
brave boatswain was safe, and contrived to keep his hold
of the rope and to scramble up on the stone. 25

Another great wave, almost immediately after, heaved
up the remains of the ship and dashed her down close to
this rock of safety. Captain Baker, giving up the hope of
saving her, commanded the crew to leave her and make
their way to the rock. For the first time he met with 30
disobedience. With one voice they refused to leave the
[153]wreck unless they saw him before them in safety. Calmly
he renewed his orders, saying that his life was the last and
least consideration, and they were obliged to obey, leaving
the ship in as orderly a manner as if they were going ashore
in harbor. But they were so benumbed with cold that
many were unable to climb the rock and were swept off by 5
the waves; among these was the lieutenant.

Captain Baker last of all joined his crew. It was then
discovered that they were at no great distance from the
land, but that the tide was rising and that the rock on which
they stood would assuredly be covered at high water. The 10
heavy mist and lonely coast gave scarcely a hope that help
would come ere the slowly rising waters must devour them.

Still there was no murmur. Again the gallant boatswain,
who still held the rope, volunteered to make an effort to
save his comrades. With a few words of earnest prayer, 15
he secured the rope round his waist, struggled hard with the
waves, and reached the shore, whence he sent back the news
of his safety by a loud cheer to his comrades.

There was now a line of rope between the shore and the
rock, just long enough to reach from one to the other when 20
held by a man at each end. The only hope of safety lay
in working a desperate passage along this rope to the land.
The spray was already beating over those who were
crouched on the rock, but not a man moved till called by
name by Captain Baker, and then it is recorded that not 25
one, so summoned, stirred till he had used his best entreaties
to the captain to take his place; but the captain
had but one reply: "I will never leave the rock until every
soul is safe."

Forty-four stout sailors had made their perilous way to 30
shore. The forty-fifth looked round and saw a poor woman
[154]lying helpless, almost lifeless, on the rock, unable to move.
He took her in one arm, and with the other clung to the
rope. Alas! the double weight was more than the much-tried
rope could bear; it broke halfway, and the poor
woman and the sailor were both swallowed in the eddy.

Captain Baker and three seamen remained, utterly cut 5
off from hope of help. The men in best condition hurried
off in search of help, found a farmhouse, obtained a rope,
and hastened back; but long ere their arrival the waters
had flowed above the head of the brave and faithful captain.
All the crew could do was, with full hearts, to write 10
a most touching letter to an officer who had once sailed
with them in the Drake, entreating him to represent their
captain's conduct to the Lords of the Admiralty.

"In fact," said the letter, "during the whole business
he proved himself a man whose name and last conduct 15
ought ever to be held in the highest estimation by a crew
who feel it their duty to ask, from the Lords Commissioners
of the Admiralty, that which they otherwise have not the
means of obtaining; that is, a public and lasting record
of the lion-hearted, generous, and the very unexampled 20
way in which our late noble commander sacrificed his
life in the evening of the 20th of June."

This letter was signed by the whole surviving crew of the
Drake, and in consequence, a tablet in the dockyard chapel
at Portsmouth commemorates the heroism of Captain 25
Charles Baker.

—A Book of Golden Deeds.

[155]

THE WALRUS HUNT

By Robert M. Ballantyne

Not far from the spot where this fortunate discovery
had been made, there was a large sheet of recently
formed black ice, where the main ice had been broken away
and the open water left. The sheet, although much melted
by the thaw, was still about three inches thick, and quite5
capable of supporting a man.

While Annatock was working with his back to this ice,
he heard a tremendous crash take place behind him. Turning
hastily round, he observed that the noise was caused by
another enormous walrus, the glance of whose large round 10
eyes, and whose loud snort, showed clearly enough that he
was not frozen like his unfortunate companion. By this
time the little boy had come up with Edith and the sledge,
so Annatock ordered him to take the dogs behind a hummock
to keep them out of sight, while he selected several 15
strong harpoons and a lance from the sledge. Giving
another lance to Peetoot, he signed to Edith to sit on the
hummock while he attacked the grisly monster of the deep
[156]single-handed.

While these preparations were being made, the walrus
dived, and while it was under water the man and the boy
ran quickly forward a short distance and then lay down
behind a lump of ice. Scarcely had they done so when the
walrus came up again with a loud snort, splashing the water 5
with its broad, heavy flippers—which seemed a sort of
compromise between legs and fins—and dashing waves
over the ice as it rolled about its large, unwieldy carcass.
It was truly a savage-looking monster as large as a small
elephant and having two tusks of a foot and a half long. 10
The face bore a horrible resemblance to that of a man.
Its crown was round and bulging, its face broad and
massive, and a thick, bristling mustache—rough as the
spines of a porcupine—covered its upper lip and depended
in a shaggy dripping mass over its mouth. After spluttering 15
about a short time, it dived again.

Now was Annatock's time. Seizing a harpoon and a
coil of line, he muttered a few words to the boy, sprang up,
and running out upon the smooth ice, stood by the edge
of the open water. He had not waited here more than a 20
few seconds when the black waters were cleft by the blacker
head of the monster, as it once more ascended to renew its
elephantine gambols in the pool.

As it rose the Eskimo threw up his arm and poised the
harpoon. For one instant the surprised animal raised 25
itself breast-high out of the water and directed a stare of
intense astonishment at the man. That moment was fatal.
Annatock buried the harpoon deep under its left flipper.
With a fierce bellow the brute dashed itself against the ice,
endeavoring in its fury to reach its assailant; but the ice 30
gave way under its enormous weight, while Annatock ran
[157]back as far as the harpoon line would permit him.

The walrus, seeing that it could not reach its enemy in
this way, seemed now to be actually endowed with reason.
It took a long gaze at Annatock, and then dived. But the
Eskimo was prepared for this. He changed his position
hastily and played his line the meanwhile, fixing the point 5
of his lance into the ice in order to give him a more effective
hold. Scarcely had he done so when the spot he had just
left was smashed up, and the head of the walrus appeared,
grinning, and bellowing as if in disappointment.

At this moment Peetoot handed his uncle a harpoon, and 10
ere the animal dived the weapon was fixed in his side.
Once more Annatock changed his position; and once again
the spot on which he had been standing was burst upwards.
It was a terrible sight to see that unearthly-looking monster
smashing the ice around it and lashing the blood-stained 15
sea into foam, while it waged such mortal war with the
self-possessed and wary man. How mighty and strong
the one! how comparatively weak and seemingly helpless
the other! It was the triumph of mind over matter—of
reason over blind brute force. 20

But Annatock fought a hard battle that day ere he came
off conqueror. Harpoon after harpoon was driven into the
walrus—again and again the lance pierced deep into its
side and drank its lifeblood; but three hours had passed
away before the dead carcass was dragged from the deep 25
by the united force of dogs and man.

—Ungava: A Tale of Eskimo Land.

[158]

THE RESCUE

On a bright moonlight night, in the month of February,
1831, when it was intensely cold, the little brig which
I commanded lay quietly at her anchors inside of Sandy
Hook. We had had a hard time beating about for eleven
days off this coast, with cutting northeasters blowing and5
snow and sleet falling for the most part of that time.

Forward, the vessel was thickly coated with ice, and it
was hard work to handle her as the rigging and sails were
stiff and yielded only when the strength of the men was
exerted to the utmost. When we at length made the port, 10
all hands were worn down and exhausted.

"A bitter cold night, Mr. Larkin," I said to my mate as
I tarried for a short time upon deck. The worthy down-easter
buttoned his coat more tightly around him, and looking
up to the moon replied, "It's a whistler, Captain; and 15
nothing can live comfortably out of blankets to-night."

"The tide is running out swift and strong, and it will be
well to keep a sharp lookout for this floating ice, Mr. Larkin,"
said I, as I turned to go below.

About two hours afterward I was aroused from a sound 20
sleep by the vigilant officer. "Excuse me for disturbing
you, Captain," said he, as he detected an expression of
vexation in my face, "but I wish you would turn out and
come on deck as soon as possible."

"What's the matter, Mr. Larkin?" said I. 25

"Why, sir, I have been watching a large cake of ice,
[159]which swept by at a distance a moment ago, and I saw
something black upon it, something that I thought moved.
The moon is under a cloud and I could not see distinctly,
but I believe there is a child floating out to the sea, this
freezing night, on that cake of ice."

We were on deck before either spoke another word. 5
The mate pointed out with no little difficulty the cake of
ice floating off to the leeward, with its white, glittering
surface broken by a black spot.

"Get the glass, Mr. Larkin," said I; "the moon will be
out of that cloud in a moment and then we can see distinctly." 10

I kept my eye upon the receding mass of ice while the
moon was slowly working her way through a heavy bank of
clouds. The mate stood by me with the glass, and when
the full light fell upon the water with a brilliancy only15
known in our northern latitudes, I put the glass to my eye.
One glance was enough.

"Forward, there!" I hailed at the top of my voice; and
with one bound I reached the main hatch and began to
clear away the little cutter which was stowed in the ship's 20
yawl.

Mr. Larkin had taken the glass to look for himself.
"There are two children on that cake of ice!" he exclaimed,
as he hastened to assist me in getting out the boat.

The men answered my hail and walked quickly aft. In 25
a short space of time we launched the cutter, into which Mr.
Larkin and myself jumped, followed by the two men who
took the oars. I rigged the tiller, and the mate sat beside
me in the stern sheets.

"Do you see that cake of ice with something black upon 30
it, my lads? Put me alongside of that and I'll give you a
[160]month's extra wages when you are paid off," said I.

They bent to their oars, but their strokes were uneven
and feeble, for they were worn out by the hard duty of the
preceding fortnight; and though they did their best, the
boat made little more headway than the tide. It was a
losing chase, and Mr. Larkin, who was suffering torture 5
as he saw how little we gained, cried out, "Pull, lads! I'll
double the captain's prize; two months' extra pay. Pull,
lads! pull for life!"

A convulsive effort at the oars told how willing the men
were to obey, but the strength of the strong men was gone. 10
One of the poor fellows washed us twice in recovering his
oar and then gave out, and the other was nearly as far gone.
Mr. Larkin sprang forward and seized the deserted oar.
"Lie down in the bottom of the boat," said he to the man;
"and, Captain, take the other oar! We must row for ourselves." 15

I took the second man's place. Larkin had stripped off
his coat, and as he pulled the bow, I waited for the signal
stroke. It came, gently, but firm; and the next moment
we were pulling a long, steady stroke, gradually increasing 20
in rapidity until the wood seemed to smoke in the row-locks.
We kept time, each by the long, deep breathing
of the other.

Such a pull! We bent forward until our faces almost
touched our knees; and then throwing all our strength into 25
the backward movement, drew on the oar until every inch
covered by the sweep was gained. Thus we worked at the
oars for fifteen minutes, and it seemed to me as many
hours. The sweat rolled off in great drops, and I was enveloped
in a steam generated from my own body. 30

"Are we almost up to it, Mr. Larkin?" I gasped out.

[161]"Almost, Captain," said he; "don't give up!"

The oars flashed as their blades turned up to the moonlight,
for the men who plied them were fathers and had
fathers' hearts.

Suddenly Mr. Larkin ceased pulling, and my heart for a
moment almost stopped its beating; for the terrible thought 5
that he had given out crossed my mind. But I was reassured
by his voice: "Gently, Captain, gently; a stroke
or two more; there, that will do," and the next moment
Mr. Larkin sprang upon the ice. I started up, and calling
to the men to make fast the boat to the ice, followed him. 10

We ran to the dark spot in the center of the mass and
found two little boys. The head of the smaller was resting
in the bosom of the larger, and both were fast asleep. The
lethargy which would have been fatal but for the timely
rescue had overcome them. 15

Mr. Larkin grasped one of the lads, cut off his shoes, tore
off his jacket, and then, loosening his own garments to the
skin, placed the cold child in contact with his own warm
body, carefully wrapping his overcoat around him. I did
the same with the other child, and we then returned to the 20
boat.

The children, as we learned when we had the delight of
restoring them to their parents, were playing on the cake
of ice, which had jammed into a bend of the river about ten
miles above New York. A movement of the tide set the 25
ice in motion, and the little fellows were borne away that
cold night and would inevitably have perished but for Mr.
Larkin's espying them as they were sweeping out to sea.

[162]

DESCENDING THE GRAND CAÑON

One of the most daring voyages in the history of
American exploration was Major John Wesley Powell's
descent through the Grand Cañon of the Colorado River,
in 1869. The river had been discovered three hundred
years before his memorable journey, but Major Powell was 5
the first to explore the magnificent gorge through which it
flows and to report his findings to the world.

Major Powell was a scientist. The lack of knowledge
about the Grand Cañon was a challenge too strong for him
to resist. With a party of ten picked men he started on 10
the perilous voyage, on May 24, 1869. He did not know
that ahead of them was a seething stretch of water, two
hundred miles in length, broken by rapids and waterfalls,
teethed with jagged stones, and walled in by solid rock a
mile high in places. 15

Into the cañon shot the frail boats. Oars were soon
broken on rocks, and new ones had to be made from drift
logs. The constant hammering of the boats made them
leaky. To calk the seams, the men had to climb thousands
of feet to get resin from some stunted pine tree. 20
More than once a boat filled with water in a turbulent
passage, but the swiftness of the current carried it to more
placid waters below, where it could be bailed out.

The difficulties of the explorers were increased by the
lack of daylight hours. The sun shines each day for only 25
a short time in the gorge, and twilight follows twilight in
[163]close succession. Moreover, the winding passage prevented
a view ahead. Falls were guessed at by the roaring of
waters reverberating against the walls of rock. Upon
such a warning the boats were landed, and if there was
ledge room to walk, the men carried and dragged their
vessels around the danger spot. If there was no shelving 5
rock wide enough to permit a portage, the men climbed to a
higher ledge and eased the boats over the falls with ropes.
Sometimes nothing was left to do but to "shoot" the falls
and trust to luck to get over without capsizing.

The food supply of the crew soon ran low. The flour 10
was water-soaked, the bacon became tainted, and much of
the supply was lost by going overboard.

Short rations, scant sleep on damp ledges, and the hard
labor of navigation soon told on the men. But most of
them were of tried courage and endurance. One day they 15
came to a little patch of earth by the side of the river. On
this some corn and squashes were growing—probably
planted by Indian tribes living at the top of the gorge.
The corn was too immature to be eaten; but the men enjoyed
a feast of baked squash, even though the squashes 20
were green.

At the end of fifteen days all of their provisions were
gone, excepting some heavy flour and dried apples. They
had arrived at a place where they could climb out of the
cañon and the question arose as to seeing the voyage finished 25
or giving it up. Three men decided to give up; so they
took their share of provisions and guns and climbed out,
only to be killed shortly afterwards by the Indians. The
remainder pursued their awful way, not knowing how much
longer they must endure the terrible hardships. 30

Suddenly, on the sixteenth day, they emerged into an
[164]open space. The Grand Cañon had been traversed!

Down the river they floated till the following day, when
they found some settlers drawing in a fish net. These
settlers had heard that Major Powell had been lost in the
cañon and were keeping a lookout for pieces of boats.
Instead, a worn but victorious party confronted them. 5
Food in plenty was soon forthcoming, and the members of
the party were feasted as heroes.

NIGHT FISHING IN THE SOUTH SEAS

By Frederick O'Brien

Red Chicken became my special friend and guide,
and on one occasion it was our being together, perhaps,
saved his life, and afforded me one of the most thrilling
moments of my own.

He and I had gone in a canoe after nightfall to spear fish5
outside the Bay of Virgins. Night fishing has its attractions
in these tropics, if only for the freedom from severe
heat, the glory of the moonlight or starlight, and the waking
dreams that come to one upon the sea, when the canoe rests
tranquil, the torch blazes, and the fish swim to meet the10
[165]harpoon. The night was moonless, but the sea was covered
with phosphorescence, sometimes a glittering expanse of
light, and again black as velvet except where our canoe
moved gently through a soft and glamorous surface of
sparkling jewels. A night for a lover, a lady, and a lute.

Our torch of coconut husks and reeds, seven feet high, 5
was fixed at the prow, so that it could be lifted up when
needed to attract the fish or better to light the canoe.
Red Chicken, in a scarlet pareu fastened tightly about
his loins, stood at the prow when we had reached his
favorite spot off a point of land, while I, with a paddle, 10
noiselessly kept the canoe as stationary as possible.

Light is a lure for many creatures of land and sea and
sky. The moth and the bat whirl about a flame; the sea
bird dashes its body against the bright glass of the lonely
tower; wild deer come to see what has disturbed the dark 15
of the forest; and fish of different kinds leap at a torch.
Red Chicken put a match to ours when we were all in readiness.
The brilliant gleam cleft the darkness and sent
across the blackness of the water a beam that was a challenge
to the curiosity of the dozing fish. They hastened 20
towards us, and Red Chicken made meat of those that came
within the radius of his harpoon, so that within an hour or
two our canoe was heaped with half a dozen kinds.

Far off in the path of the flambeau rays I saw the swordfish
leaping as they pursued small fish or gamboled for 25
sheer joy in the luminous air. They seemed to be in pairs.
I watched them lazily, with academic interest in their
movements, until suddenly one rose a hundred feet away,
and in his idle caper in the air I saw a bulk so immense, and
a sword of such amazing size, that the thought of danger 30
struck me dumb.

[166]He was twenty-five feet in length, and had a dorsal fin
that stood up like the sail of a small boat. But even these
dimensions cannot convey the feeling of alarm his presence
gave me. His next leap brought him within forty feet of
us. I recalled a score of accidents I had seen, read, and
heard of; fishermen stabbed, boats rent, steel-clad ships 5
pierced through and through.

Red Chicken held the torch to observe him better, and
shouted: "Apau! Look out! Paddle fast away!"

I needed no urging. I dug into the glowing water
madly, and the sound of my paddle on the side of the canoe 10
might have been heard half a mile away. It served no
purpose. Suddenly half a dozen of the swordfish began
jumping about us, as if stirred to anger by our torch. I
called to Red Chicken to extinguish it.

He had seized it to obey when I heard a splash and the 15
canoe received a terrific shock. A tremendous bulk fell
upon it. With a sudden swing I was hurled into the air
and fell twenty feet away. In the water I heard a swish,
and glimpsed the giant espadon as he leaped again.

I was unhurt, but feared for Red Chicken. He had 20
cried out as the canoe went under, but I found him by the
outrigger, trying to right the craft. Together we succeeded,
and when I had ousted some of the water, Red Chicken
crawled in.

"Papaoufaa! I am wounded slightly," he said, as I 25
assisted him. "The Spear of the Sea has thrust me
through."

The torch was lost, but I felt a big hole in the calf of his
right leg. Blood was pouring from the wound. I made a
tourniquet of a strip of my pareu and, with a small harpoon, 30
twisted it until the flow of blood was stopped. Then,
[167]guided by him, I paddled as fast as I could to the beach,
on which there was little trouble in landing as the bay was
smooth.

Red Chicken did not utter a complaint from the moment
of his first outcry, and when I roused others and he was
carried to his house, he took the pipe handed him and 5
smoked quietly.

"The Aavehie was against him," said an old man.
Aavehie is the god of fishermen, who was always propitiated
by intending anglers in the polytheistic days and who still
has power. 10

There was no white doctor on the island, nor had there
been one for many years. There was nothing to do but
call the tatihi, or native doctor, an aged and shriveled
man whose whole body was an intricate pattern of tattooing
and wrinkles. He came at once, and with his clawlike 15
hands cleverly drew together the edges of Red Chicken's
wound and gummed them in place with the juice of the ape,
a bulbous plant like the edible taro. Red Chicken must
have suffered keenly, for the ape juice is exceedingly caustic,
but he made no protest, continuing to puff the pipe. Over20
the wound the tatihi applied a leaf, and bound the whole
very carefully with a bandage of tapa cloth, folded in surgical
fashion.

—White Shadows in the South Seas.

(Taken from O'Brien's White Shadows in the South Seas by permission of the publishers, The Century Co.)

[168]

A BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST

By Rudyard Kipling

—Departmental Ditties.

[175]

[176]

A Night Among the Pines
(See following page)

[177]

A NIGHT AMONG THE PINES

By Robert Louis Stevenson

From Bleymard after dinner, although it was already
late, I set out to scale a portion of the Lozère. An
ill-marked stony droveroad guided me forward; and I met
nearly half a dozen bullock carts descending from the woods,
each laden with a whole pine tree for the winter's firing.5
At the top of the woods, which do not climb very high upon
this cold ridge, I struck leftward by a path among the
pines, until I hit on a dell of green turf, where a streamlet
made a little spout over some stones to serve me for a water
tap. "In a more sacred or sequestered bower . . . nor 10
nymph, nor faunus, haunted." The trees were not old,
but they grew thickly round the glade; there was no outlook,
except northeastward upon distant hilltops or straight
upward to the sky; and the encampment felt secure and
private like a room. By the time I had made my arrangements 15
and fed Modestine, the day was already beginning
to decline. I buckled myself to the knees into my sack and
made a hearty meal; and as soon as the sun went down, I
[178]pulled my cap over my eyes and fell asleep.

Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but
in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews
and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the
face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to
people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light 5
and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night
long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even
as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is
one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses,
when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping 10
hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet.
It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to announce
the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course
of the night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break
their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among 15
the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with
the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of
the night.

At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of
Nature, are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour 20
to life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we
share some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies?
Even shepherds and old country folk, who are the deepest
read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or
purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the 25
morning, they declare the thing takes place; and neither
know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant
incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the
luxurious Montaigne, "that we may the better and more
sensibly relish it." We have a moment to look upon the 30
stars, and there is a special pleasure for some minds in
[179]the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor
creatures in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out
of the Bastille of civilization, and are become, for the time
being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.

When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened
thirsty. My tin was standing by me, half full of water. 5
I emptied it at a draft. The stars were clear, colored and
jewellike, but not frosty. A faint silvery vapor stood for
the Milky Way. All around me the black fir points stood
upright and stock-still. By the whiteness of the packsaddle,
I could see Modestine walking round and round at the 10
length of the tether; I could hear her steadily munching
at the sward; but there was not another sound, save the
indescribable quiet talk of the runnel over the stones. I
lay lazily smoking and studying the color of the sky, as
we call the void of space, from where it showed a reddish15
gray behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black
between the stars.

A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream
of air, passed down the glade from time to time; so that
even in my great chamber the air was being renewed all 20
night long. I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession
of myself, nor felt more independent of material aids.
The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed
after all a gentle, habitable place; and night after night a
man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the25
fields, where God keeps an open house. I thought I had
rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to
savages and hid from political economists: at the least, I
had discovered a new pleasure for myself. And yet even
while I was exulting in my solitude I became aware of a 30
strange lack. I wished a companion to lie near me in the
[180]starlight, silent and not moving, but ever within touch.
For there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude,
and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.

As I thus lay, between content and longing, a faint
noise stole towards me through the pines. I thought, at
first, it was the crowing of cocks or the barking of dogs at 5
some very distant farm; but steadily and gradually it took
articulate shape in my ears, until I became aware that a
passenger was going by upon the highroad of the valley
and singing loudly as he went. There was more of good will
than grace in his performance; but he trolled with ample 10
lungs; and the sound of his voice took hold upon the hillside
and set the air shaking in the leafy glens. I have
heard people passing by night in sleeping cities; some of
them sang; one, I remember, played loudly on the bagpipes.
I have heard the rattle of a cart or carriage spring 15
up suddenly after hours of stillness and pass, for some
minutes, within the range of my hearing as I lay abed.
There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black
hours, and with something of a thrill we try to guess their
business. But here the romance was double: first, this 20
glad passenger, who sent up his voice in music through the
night; and then I, on the other hand, buckled into my
sack, and smoking alone in the pine woods between four
and five thousand feet towards the stars.

When I awoke again (Sunday, 29th September) many of 25
the stars had disappeared, only the stronger companions
of the night still burned visibly overhead; and away
towards the east I saw a faint haze of light upon the horizon,
such as had been the Milky Way when I was last awake.
Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glowworm 30
light put on my boots and gaiters; then I broke up some
[181]bread for Modestine, filled my can at the water tap, and
lit my spirit lamp to boil myself some chocolate. The blue
darkness lay long in the glade where I had so sweetly
slumbered; but soon there was a broad streak of orange
melting into gold along the mountain top of Vivarais.
A solemn glee possessed my mind at this gradual and lovely5
coming in of day. I heard the runnel with delight; I
looked round me for something beautiful and unexpected;
but the still black pine trees, the hollow glade, the munching
ass, remained unchanged in figure. Nothing had
altered but the light, and that, indeed, shed over all a 10
spirit of life and of breathing peace, and moved me to a
strange exhilaration.

I drank my water chocolate, which was hot if it was not
rich, and strolled here and there, and up and down about
the glade. While I was thus delaying, a gush of steady 15
wind, as long as a heavy sigh, poured direct out of the
quarter of the morning. It was cold and set me sneezing.
The trees near at hand tossed their black plumes in its
passage; and I could see the thin, distant spires of pines
along the edge of the hill, rock slightly to and fro against the 20
golden east. Ten minutes after, the sunlight spread at
a gallop along the hillside, scattering shadows and sparkles,
and the day had come completely.

I hastened to prepare my pack, and tackle the steep
ascent that lay before me; but I had something on my 25
mind. It was only a fancy; yet a fancy will sometimes be
importunate. I had been most hospitably received and
punctually served in my green caravansary. The room
was airy, the water excellent, and the dawn had called me
to a moment. I say nothing of the tapestries or the inimitable 30
ceiling, nor yet of the view which I commanded from
[182]the windows; but I felt I was in some one's debt for all
this liberal entertainment. And so it pleased me, in a
half-laughing way, to leave pieces of money on the turf
as I went along, until I had left enough for my night's
lodging. I trust they did not fall to some rich and churlish
drover. 5

—Travels with a Donkey.

[183]

AUTUMN ON THE FARM

By John Greenleaf Whittier