{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_4265/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_4265","id":"gutenberg_4265","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/4265","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Children & Young Adult Reading","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Children's Anthologies","Heroes"],"text":"Ver.10/04/01*END*\n\n\n\n\n\nThis etext was produced by Charles Franks\nand the Online Distributed Proofreading Team\n\n\n\n\nHEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\n\nTALES FOR YOUNG PEOPLE OF THE WORLD'S HEROES IN ALL AGES\n\n----EDITED BY----\n\nHAMILTON WRIGHT MABIE\n\nILLUSTRATED AND DECORATED BY BLANCHE OSTERTAG\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTORY NOTE TO \"HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\"\n\nThe endeavour has been made in this volume to bring together the\nheroic men of different races, periods and types; and in the\nselection of material the most attractive, intelligent and\nauthoritative literature has been drawn upon. In cases in which the\nmaterial selected belongs distinctively to the best literature, no\nchanges have been made, although narratives have been abbreviated;\nin cases in which the material has a historical rather than a\ndistinctively literary quality, the text has been treated for\n\"substance of doctrine,\" and omissions have been freely made, and\nconnecting words, phrases and even sentences have been introduced to\ngive the narrative clear connection and completeness. In the\npreparation of the material for the volume the intelligence and\nskill of Miss Kate Stephens have been so freely used that she is\nentitled to the fullest recognition as associate editor.\n\nH. W. M.\n\n\n\n\nACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO \"HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\"\n\nThe editor and publishers wish to extend their thanks and\nacknowledgment to the firms who have kindly permitted the use of\nmaterial in this volume:\n\nTo The Macmillan Co. for selections from \"Heroes of Chivalry and\nRomance,\" \"Stories of Charlemagne and the Peers of France,\" \"Old\nEnglish History,\" \"The Crusaders,\" \"Father Damien: A Journey from\nCashmere to His Home in Hawaii\"; to Thomas Nelson & Son for material\nfrom \"Martyrs and Saints of the First Twelve Centuries\"; to J. M.\nDent & Co. for selections from \"Stories from Le Morte d'Arthur and\nThe Mabinogion\" in the Temple Classics for Young People; to E. P.\nDutton & Co. for material from \"Chronicle of the Cid\"; to Longmans,\nGreen & Co. for material from \"The Book of Romance\"; to John C.\nWinston Co. for material from \"Stories from History\"; to Lothrop,\nLee & Shepard for material from \"The True Story of Abraham Lincoln.\"\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS TO \"HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\"\n\n\nCHAPTER\n\n      INTRODUCTION\n\n    I. PERSEUS. Adapted from \"The Heroes,\" by Charles Kingsley\n\n   II. HERCULES. By Kate Stephens\n\n  III. DANIEL. From Book of Daniel, Chapter vi., Verses 1 to 24\n\n   IV. DAVID. From I. Book of Samuel, Chapter xvii\n\n    V. ST. GEORGE. Adapted from \"Martyrs and Saints of the First\n                   Twelve Centuries,\" by Mrs. E. Rundle Charles\n\n   VI. KING ARTHUR. Adapted from \"Stories from Le Morte d'Arthur and\n                    the Mabinogion,\" by Beatrice Clay\n\n  VII. SIR GALAHAD. Adapted from \"Stories from Le Morte d'Arthur and\n                    the Mabinogion,\" by Beatrice Clay; followed by\n                    \"Sir Galahad,\" by Alfred Tennyson\n\n VIII. SIEGFRIED. Adapted from \"Heroes of Chivalry and Romance,\" by\n                  A. J. Church\n\n   IX. ROLAND. Adapted from \"Stories of Charlemagne and the Peers of\n               France,\" by A. J. Church\n\n    X. KING ALFRED. Adapted from \"Old English History,\" by E. A.\n                    Freeman\n\n   XI. THE CID. Adapted from \"Chronicle of the Cid,\" from the Spanish,\n                by Robert Southey\n\n  XII. ROBIN HOOD. Adapted from \"Book of Romance,\" edited by Andrew\n                   Lang; including a version of the popular ballad,\n                   \"Robin Hood and the Butcher\"\n\n XIII. RICHARD THE LION-HEARTED. Adapted from \"The Crusaders,\" by A.\n                                 J. Church\n\n  XIV. SAINT Louis. Adapted from \"The Crusaders,\" by A. J. Church\n\n   XV. WILLIAM TELL. Adapted from \"Stories from History,\" by Agnes\n                     Strickland\n\n  XVI. ROBERT BRUCE. Adapted from \"Tales of a Grandfather from\n                     Scottish History,\" by Sir Walter Scott\n\n XVII. GEORGE WASHINGTON. Adapted from \"Recollections and Private\n                          Memoirs of Washington,\" by G. W. Parke Custis\n\nXVIII. ROBERT E. LEE. From \"Letters and Recollections of General\n                      Lee,\" by Captain Robert E. Lee\n\n  XIX. ABRAHAM: LINCOLN. Adapted from \"The True Story of Abraham\n                         Lincoln,\" by Elbridge S. Brooks\n\n   XX. FATHER DAMIEN. Adapted from \"Father Damien: A Journey from\n                      Cashmere to His Home in Hawaii,\" by Edward\n                      Clifford\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION TO \"HEROES EVERY CHILD SHOULD KNOW\"\n\nIf there had been no real heroes there would have been created\nimaginary ones, for men cannot live without them. The hero is just\nas necessary as the farmer, the sailor, the carpenter and the\ndoctor; society could not get on without him. There have been a\ngreat many different kinds of heroes, for in every age and among\nevery people the hero has stood for the qualities that were most\nadmired and sought after by the bravest and best; and all ages and\npeoples have imagined or produced heroes as inevitably as they have\nmade ploughs for turning the soil or ships for getting through the\nwater or weapons with which to fight their enemies. To be some kind\nof a hero has been the ambition of spirited boys from the beginning\nof history; and if you want to know what the men and women of a\ncountry care for most, you must study their heroes. To the boy the\nhero stands for the highest success: to the grown man and woman he\nstands for the deepest and richest life.\n\nMen have always worked with their hands, but they have never been\ncontent with that kind of work; they have looked up from the fields\nand watched the sun and stars; they have cut wood for their fires in\nthe forest, but they have noticed the life which goes on among the\ntrees and they have heard the mysterious sounds which often fill the\nair in the remotest places. From the beginning men have not only\nused their hands but their intellect and their imagination; they\nhave had to work or starve, but they have seen the world, thought\nabout it and dreamed about it.\n\nThey had worked and thought and dreamed only a little time before\nthey began to explain the marvelous earth on which they found\nthemselves and the strange things that happened in it; the vastness\nand beauty of the fields, woods, sky and sea, the force of the wind,\nthe coming and going of the day and night, the warmth of summer when\neverything grew, and the cold of winter when everything died, the\nrush of the storm and the terrible brightness of the lightning. They\nhad no idea of what we call law or force; they could not think of\nanything being moved or any noise being made unless there was some\none like themselves to move things and make sounds; and so they made\nstories of gods and giants and heroes and nymphs and fawns; and the\nmyths, which are poetic explanations of the world and of the life of\nmen in it, came into being.\n\nBut they did not stop with these great matters; they began to tell\nstories about themselves and the things they wanted to do and the\nkind of life they wanted to lead. They wanted ease, power, wealth,\nhappiness, freedom; so they created genii, built palaces, made magic\ncarpets which carried them to the ends of the earth and horses with\nwings which bore them through the air, peopled the woods and fields\nwith friendly, frolicsome or mischievous little people, who made\nfires for them if they were friendly, or milked cows, overturned\nbowls, broke dishes and played all kinds of antics and made all\nsorts of trouble if they were mischievous or unfriendly. Beside the\ngreat myths, like wild flowers in the shade of great trees, there\nsprang up among the people of almost all countries a host of poetic,\nsatirical, humorous or homely stories of fairies, genii, trolls,\ngiants, dwarfs, imps, and queer creatures of all kinds; so that to\nthe children of two hundred years ago the woods, the fields, the\nsolitary and quiet places everywhere, were full of folk who kept out\nof sight, but who had a great deal to do with the fortunes and fates\nof men and women.\n\nFrom very early times great honor was paid to courage and strength;\nqualities which won success and impressed the imagination in\nprimitive not less than in highly developed societies. The first\nheroes were gods or demi-gods, or men of immense strength who did\ndifficult things. When men first began to live in the world they\nwere in constant peril and faced hardships of every kind; and from\nthe start they had very hard work to do. There were fields to be\ncultivated, houses to be built, woods to be explored, beasts to be\nkilled and other beasts to be tamed and set to work. There were many\nthings to be done and no tools to work with; there were great storms\nto be faced and no houses for protection; there was terrible cold\nand no fire or clothing; there were diseases and no medicine; there\nwere perils on land, in the water and in the air, and no knowledge\nof the ways of meeting them.\n\nAt the very start courage and strength were necessary if life was to\nbe preserved and men were to live together in safety and with\ncomfort. When a strong man appeared he helped his fellows to make\nthemselves more at ease in the world. Sometimes he did this by\nsimply making himself more comfortable and thus showing others how\nto do it; sometimes he did it by working for his fellows. No matter\nhow selfish a man may be, if he does any real work in the world he\nworks not only for himself but for others. In this way a selfish man\nlike Napoleon does the work of a hero without meaning to do it: for\nthe world is so made that no capable man or woman can be entirely\nselfish, no matter how hard they try to get and keep everything for\nthemselves.\n\nIt was not long before men saw that strong men could not work for\nthemselves without working for others, and there came in very early\nthe idea of service as part of the idea of heroism, and the demi-\ngods, who were among the earliest heroes, were servants as well as\nmasters. Hercules, the most powerful of the heroes to Greek and\nRoman boys was set to do the most difficult things not for himself\nbut for others. He destroyed lions, hydras, wild boars, birds with\nbrazen beaks and wings, mad bulls, many-headed monsters, horses\nwhich fed on human flesh, dragons, he mastered the three-headed dog\nCerberus, he tore asunder the rocks at the Strait of Gibraltar which\nbear his name to open a channel between the Mediterranean and the\nAtlantic. He fought the Centaur and brought back Alcestis, the wife\nof Admetus, from the pale regions of death where she had gone to\nsave her husband's life. In all these labors, which were so great\nthat works of extraordinary magnitude have since been called\nHerculean, the brave, patient, suffering hero, was helping other\npeople rather than helping himself.\n\nAnd this was true of Thor, the strong god of the Norsemen whose\nhammer was the most terrible weapon in the world, the roll and crash\nof thunder being the sound of it and the blinding lightning the\nflash of it. The gods were the friends of men, giving the light and\nwarmth and fertility of the summer that the fields might bear food\nfor them and the long, bright days might bring them peace and\nhappiness. And the giants were the enemies of men, tirelessly trying\nto make the fields desolate and stop the singing of birds and shroud\nthe sky in darkness by driving away summer with the icy breath of\nwinter. In this perpetual conflict Thor was the hero of strength and\ncourage, beating back the giants, defeating their schemes and\nfighting the battle for gods and men with tireless zeal; counting no\nperil or hardship too great if there was heroic work to be done.\n\nCourage and achievement are the two signs of the hero; he may\npossess or lack many other qualities, but he must be daring and he\nmust do things and not dream or talk about them.\n\nFrom the days of Hercules to those of Washington and Livingston, men\nof heroic spirit have not stopped to count the cost when a deed must\nbe done but have done it, usually with very little talk or noise;\nfor heroes, as a rule, are much more interested in getting their\nwork done than in making themselves conspicuous or winning a\nreputation. Heroes have often been harsh and even brutal, especially\nin the earliest times when humane feeling and a compassionate spirit\nhad not been developed; Siegfried, Jason, Gustavas Adolphus and Von\nTromp were often arbitrary and oppressive in their attitude toward\nmen; and, in later times, Alfred the Great, William the Silent and\nNelson were not without serious defects of temper and sometimes of\ncharacter. Men are not great or heroic because they are faultless;\nthey are great and heroic because they dare, suffer, achieve and\nserve.\n\nAnd men love their heroes not because they have been perfect\ncharacters under all conditions, but because they have been brave,\ntrue, able, and unselfish, A man may have few faults and count for\nvery little in the world, because he lacks force, daring, the\ngreatness of soul which moves before a generation like a flaming\ntorch; a man may lead a stainless life, not because he is really\nvirtuous but because he has very few temptations within or without.\nSome of the most heroic men have put forth more strength in\nresisting a single temptation than men of theories and more\ncommonplace natures put forth in a life time. The serious faults of\nheroes are not overlooked or forgotten; the great man is as much the\nservant of the moral law as the little man, and pays the same price\nfor disobedience; but generosity of spirit, devotion to high aims\nand capacity for self-sacrifice often outweigh serious offences.\nNelson is less a hero because he yielded to a great temptation; but\nhe remains a hero in spite of the stain on his fame. It is much\nbetter not to be profane under any circumstances, but when\nWashington swore fiercely at Charles Lee on the battle field of\nMonmouth his profanity was the expression of the righteous wrath of\na good man. In judging the hero one must take into account the age\nin which he lived, the differences in moral standards between the\npast and the present, and the force of the temptations which come\nwith strength of body, passion, imagination, great position,\ncolossal enterprises; these do not conceal or excuse the faults of\nheroes but they explain those faults.\n\nThe men whose bravery and great deeds are described in these pages\nhave been selected not because they are faultless in character and\nlife, but because they were brave, generous, self-forgetful, self-\nsacrificing and capable of splendid deeds. Men love and honour them\nnot only because they owe them a great deal of gratitude, but\nbecause they see in their heroes the kind of men they would like to\nbe; for the possibilities of the heroic are in almost all men.\nStories of the heroes have often made other men strong and brave and\ntrue in the face of great perils and tasks, and this book is put\nforth in the faith that it will not only pass on the fame of the\nheroes of the past but help make heroes in the present.\n\nH. W. M.\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nPERSEUS\n\n\nOnce upon a time there were two princes who were twins. Their names\nwere Acrisius and Proetus, and they lived in the pleasant vale of\nArgos, far away in Hellas. They had fruitful meadows and vineyards,\nsheep and oxen, great herds of horses feeding down in Lerna Fen, and\nall that men could need to make them blest: and yet they were\nwretched, because they were jealous of each other. From the moment\nthey were born they began to quarrel; and when they grew up each\ntried to take away the other's share of the kingdom, and keep all\nfor himself.\n\nBut there came a prophet to Acrisius and prophesied against him, and\nsaid, \"Because you have risen up against your own blood, your own\nblood shall rise up against you; because you have sinned against\nyour kindred, by your kindred you shall be punished. Your daughter\nDanae shall have a son, and by that son's hands you shall die. So\nthe gods have ordained, and it will surely come to pass.\"\n\nAnd at that Acrisius was very much afraid; but he did not mend his\nways. He had been cruel to his own family, and, instead of repenting\nand being kind to them, he went on to be more cruel than ever: for\nhe shut up his fair daughter Danae in a cavern underground, lined\nwith brass, that no one might come near her. So he fancied himself\nmore cunning than the gods: but you will see presently whether he\nwas able to escape them.\n\nNow it came to pass that in time a son came to Danae: so beautiful a\nbabe that any but King Acrisius would have had pity on it. But he\nhad no pity; for he took Danae and her babe down to the seashore,\nand put them into a great chest and thrust them out to sea, for the\nwinds and the waves to carry them whithersoever they would.\n\nThe northwest wind blew freshly out of the blue mountains, and down\nthe pleasant vale of Argos, and away and out to sea. And away and\nout to sea before it floated the mother and her babe, while all who\nwatched them wept, save that cruel father, King Acrisius.\n\nSo they floated on and on, and the chest danced up and down upon the\nbillows, and the baby slept upon its mother's breast: but the poor\nmother could not sleep, but watched and wept, and she sang to her\nbaby as they floated; and the song which she sang you shall learn\nyourselves some day.\n\nAnd now they are past the last blue headland, and in the open sea;\nand there is nothing round them but the waves, and the sky, and the\nwind. But the waves are gentle, and the sky is clear, and the breeze\nis tender and low.\n\nSo a night passed, and a day, and a long day it was for Danae; and\nanother night and day beside, till Danae was faint with hunger and\nweeping, and yet no land appeared. And all the while the babe slept\nquietly; and at last poor Danae drooped her head and fell asleep\nlikewise with her cheek against the babe's.\n\nAfter a while she was awakened suddenly; for the chest was jarring\nand grinding, and the air was full of sound. She looked up, and over\nher head were mighty cliffs, all red in the setting sun, and around\nher rocks and breakers, and flying flakes of foam. She clasped her\nhands together, and shrieked aloud for help. And when she cried,\nhelp met her: for now there came over the rocks a tall and stately\nman, and looked down wonderingly upon poor Danae tossing about in\nthe chest among the waves.\n\nHe wore a rough cloak of frieze, and on his head a broad hat to\nshade his face; in his hand he carried a trident for spearing fish,\nand over his shoulder was a casting-net; but Danae could see that he\nwas no common man by his stature, and his walk, and his flowing\ngolden hair and beard; and by the two servants who came behind him,\ncarrying baskets for his fish. But she had hardly time to look at\nhim before he had laid aside his trident and leapt down the rocks,\nand thrown his casting-net so surely over Danae and the chest, that\nhe drew it, and her, and the baby, safe upon a ledge of rock.\n\nThen the fisherman took Danae by the hand, and lifted her out of the\nchest, and said:\n\n\"O beautiful damsel, what strange chance has brought you to this\nisland in so frail a ship? Who are you, and whence? Surely you are\nsome King's daughter and this boy has somewhat more than mortal.\"\n\nAnd as he spoke he pointed to the babe; for its face shone like the\nmorning star.\n\nBut Danae only held down her head, and sobbed out:\n\n\"Tell me to what land I have come, unhappy that I am; and among what\nmen I have fallen!\"\n\nAnd he said, \"This isle is called Seriphos, and I am a Hellen, and\ndwell in it. I am the brother of Polydectes the King; and men call\nme Dictys the netter, because I catch the fish of the shore.\"\n\nThen Danae fell down at his feet, and embraced his knees and cried:\n\n\"Oh, sir, have pity upon a stranger, whom a cruel doom has driven to\nyour land; and let me live in your house as a servant; but treat me\nhonourably, for I was once a king's daughter, and this my boy (as\nyou have truly said) is of no common race. I will not be a charge to\nyou, or eat the bread of idleness; for I am more skilful in weaving\nand embroidery than all the maidens of my land.\"\n\nAnd she was going on; but Dictys stopped her, and raised her up, and\nsaid:\n\n\"My daughter, I am old, and my hairs are growing grey; while I have\nno children to make my home cheerful. Come with me then, and you\nshall be a daughter to me and to my wife, and this babe shall be our\ngrandchild. For I fear the gods, and show hospitality to all\nstrangers; knowing that good deeds, like evil ones, always return to\nthose who do them.\"\n\nSo Danae was comforted, and went home with Dictys the good\nfisherman, and was a daughter to him and to his wife.\n\nFifteen years were passed and gone and the babe was now grown to a\ntall lad and a sailor, and went many voyages after merchandise to\nthe islands round. His mother called him Perseus; but all the people\nin Seriphos said that he was not the son of mortal man, and called\nhim Zeus, the son of the king of the Immortals. For though he was\nbut fifteen, he was taller by a head than any man in the island; and\nhe was the most skilful of all in running and wrestling and boxing,\nand in throwing the quoit and the javelin, and in rowing with the\noar, and in playing on the harp, and in all which befits a man. And\nhe was brave and truthful, gentle and courteous, for good old Dictys\nhad trained him well; and well it was for Perseus that he had done\nso.\n\nNow one day at Samos, while the ship was lading, Perseus wandered\ninto a pleasant wood to get out of the sun, and sat down on the turf\nand fell asleep. And as he slept a strange dream came to him--the\nstrangest dream which he had ever had in his life.\n\nThere came a lady to him through the wood, taller than he, or any\nmortal man; but beautiful exceedingly, with grey eyes, clear and\npiercing, but strangely soft and mild. On her head was a helmet, and\nin her hand a spear. And over her shoulder, above her long blue\nrobes, hung a goat-skin, which bore up a mighty shield of brass,\npolished like a mirror. She stood and looked at him with her clear\ngrey eyes; and Perseus saw that her eyelids never moved, nor her\neyeballs, but looked straight through and through him, and into his\nvery heart, as if she could see all the secrets of his soul, and\nknew all that he had ever thought or longed for since the day that\nhe was born. And Perseus dropped his eyes, trembling and blushing,\nas the wonderful lady spoke.\n\n\"Perseus, you must do an errand for me.\"\n\n\"Who are you, lady? And how do you know my name?\"\n\n\"I am Pallas Athene; and I know the thoughts of all men's hearts,\nand discern their manhood or their baseness. And from the souls of\nclay I turn away, and they are blest, but not by me. They fatten at\nease, like sheep in the pasture, and eat what they did not sow, like\noxen in the stall. They grow and spread, like the gourd along the\nground; but, like the gourd, they give no shade to the traveller,\nand when they are ripe death gathers them, and they go down unloved\ninto hell, and their name vanishes out of the land.\n\n\"But to the souls of fire I give more fire, and to those who are\nmanful I give a might more than man's. These are the heroes, the\nsons of the Immortals who are blest, but not like the souls of clay.\nFor I drive them forth by strange paths, Perseus, that they may\nfight the Titans and the monsters, the enemies of gods and men.\nThrough doubt and need, danger and battle, I drive them; and some of\nthem are slain in the flower of youth, no man knows when or where;\nand some of them win noble names, and a fair and green old age; but\nwhat will be their latter end I know not, and none, save Zeus, the\nfather of gods and men. Tell me now, Perseus, which of these two\nsorts of men seem to you more blest?\"\n\nThen Perseus answered boldly: \"Better to die in the flower of youth,\non the chance of winning a noble name, than to live at ease like the\nsheep, and die unloved and unrenowned.\"\n\nThen that strange lady laughed, and held up her brazen shield, and\ncried: \"See here, Perseus; dare you face such a monster as this, and\nslay it, that I may place its head upon this shield?\"\n\nAnd in the mirror of the shield there appeared a face and as Perseus\nlooked on it his blood ran cold. It was the face of a beautiful\nwoman; but her cheeks were pale as death, and her brows were knit\nwith everlasting pain, and her lips were thin and bitter like a\nsnake's; and, instead of hair, vipers wreathed about her temples,\nand shot out their forked tongues; while round her head were folded\nwings like an eagle's, and upon her bosom claws of brass.\n\nAnd Perseus looked awhile, and then said: \"If there is anything so\nfierce and foul on earth, it were a noble deed to kill it. Where can\nI find the monster?\"\n\nThen the strange lady smiled again, and said: \"Not yet; you are too\nyoung, and too unskilled; for this is Medusa the Gorgon, the mother\nof a monstrous brood.\"\n\nAnd Perseus said, \"Try me; for since you spoke to me a new soul has\ncome into my breast, and I should be ashamed not to dare anything\nwhich I can do. Show me, then, how I can do this!\"\n\n\"Perseus,\" said Athene, \"think well before you attempt; for this\ndeed requires a seven years' journey, in which you cannot repent or\nturn back nor escape; but if your heart fails you, you must die in\nthe Unshapen Land, where no man will ever find your bones.\"\n\n\"Better so than live despised,\" said Perseus. \"Tell me, then, oh\ntell me, fair and wise Goddess, how I can do but this one thing, and\nthen, if need be, die!\"\n\nThen Athene smiled and said:\n\n\"Be patient, and listen; for if you forget my words, you will indeed\ndie. You must go northward to the country of the Hyperboreans, who\nlive beyond the pole, at the sources of the cold north wind, till\nyou find the three Grey Sisters, who have but one eye and one tooth\nbetween them. You must ask them the way to the Nymphs, the daughters\nof the Evening Star, who dance about the golden tree, in the\nAtlantic island of the west. They will tell you the way to the\nGorgon, that you may slay her, my enemy, the mother of monstrous\nbeasts. Once she was a maiden as beautiful as morn, till in her\npride she sinned a sin at which the sun hid his face; and from that\nday her hair was turned to vipers, and her hands to eagle's claws;\nand her heart was filled with shame and rage, and her lips with\nbitter venom; and her eyes became so terrible that whosover looks on\nthem is turned to stone; and her children are the winged horse and\nthe giant of the golden sword; and her grandchildren are Echidna the\nwitch-adder, and Geryon the three-headed tyrant, who feeds his herds\nbeside the herds of hell. So she became the sister of the Gorgons,\nthe daughters of the Queen of the Sea. Touch them not, for they are\nimmortal; but bring me only Medusa's head.\"\n\n\"And I will bring it!\" said Perseus; \"but how am I to escape her\neyes? Will she not freeze me too into stone?\"\n\n\"You shall take this polished shield,\" said Athene, \"and when you\ncome near her look not at her yourself, but at her image in the\nbrass; so you may strike her safely. And when you have struck off\nher head, wrap it, with your face turned away, in the folds of the\ngoatskin on which the shield hangs. So you will bring it safely back\nto me, and win to yourself renown, and a place among the heroes who\nfeast with the Immortals upon the peak where no winds blow.\"\n\nThen Perseus said, \"I will go, though I die in going. But how shall\nI cross the seas without a ship? And who will show me my way? And\nwhen I find her, how shall I slay her, if her scales be iron and\nbrass?\"\n\nNow beside Athene appeared a young man more light-limbed than the\nstag, whose eyes were like sparks of fire. By his side was a\nscimitar of diamond, all of one clear precious stone, and on his\nfeet were golden sandals, from the heels of which grew living wings.\n\nThen the young man spoke: \"These sandals of mine will bear you\nacross the seas, and over hill and dale like a bird, as they bear me\nall day long; for I am Hermes, the far-famed Argus-slayer, the\nmessenger of the Immortals who dwell on Olympus.\"\n\nThen Perseus fell down and worshipped, while the young man spoke\nagain:\n\n\"The sandals themselves will guide you on the road, for they are\ndivine and cannot stray; and this sword itself the Argus-slayer,\nwill kill her, for it is divine, and needs no second stroke. Arise,\nand gird them on, and go forth.\"\n\nSo Perseus arose, and girded on the sandals and the sword.\n\nAnd Athene cried, \"Now leap from the cliff and be gone.\"\n\nBut Perseus lingered.\n\n\"May I not bid farewell to my mother and to Dictys? And may I not\noffer burnt offerings to you, and to Hermes the far-famed Argus-\nslayer, and to Father Zeus above?\"\n\n\"You shall not bid farewell to your mother, lest your heart relent\nat her weeping. I will comfort her and Dictys until you return in\npeace. Nor shall you offer burnt offerings to the Olympians; for\nyour offering shall be Medusa's head. Leap, and trust in the armour\nof the Immortals.\"\n\nThen Perseus looked down the cliff and shuddered; but he was ashamed\nto show his dread. Then he thought of Medusa and the renown before\nhim, and he leapt into the empty air.\n\nAnd behold, instead of falling he floated, and stood, and ran along\nthe sky. He looked back, but Athene had vanished, and Hermes; and\nthe sandals led him on northward ever, like a crane who follows the\nspring toward the Ister fens.\n\nSo Perseus started on his journey, going dry-shod over land and sea;\nand his heart was high and joyful, for the winged sandals bore him\neach day a seven days' journey. And he turned neither to the right\nhand nor the left, till he came to the Unshapen Land, and the place\nwhich has no name.\n\nAnd seven days he walked through it on a path which few can tell,\ntill he came to the edge of the everlasting night, where the air was\nfull of feathers, and the soil was hard with ice; and there at last\nhe found the three Grey Sisters, by the shore of the freezing sea,\nnodding upon a white log of driftwood, beneath the cold white winter\nmoon; and they chanted a low song together, \"Why the old times were\nbetter than the new.\"\n\nThere was no living thing around them, not a fly, not a moss upon\nthe rocks. Neither seal nor sea gull dare come near, lest the ice\nshould clutch them in its claws. The surge broke up in foam, but it\nfell again in flakes of snow; and it frosted the hair of the three\nGrey Sisters, and the bones in the ice cliff above their heads. They\npassed the eye from one to the other, but for all that they could\nnot see; and they passed the tooth from one to the other, but for\nall that they could not eat; and they sat in the full glare of the\nmoon, but they were none the warmer for her beams. And Perseus\npitied the three Grey Sisters; but they did not pity themselves.\n\nSo he said, \"Oh, venerable mothers, wisdom is the daughter of old\nage. You therefore should know many things. Tell me, if you can, the\npath to the Gorgon.\"\n\nThen one cried, \"Who is this who reproaches us with old age?\" And\nanother, \"This is the voice of one of the children of men.\"\n\nThen one cried, \"Give me the eye, that I may see him\"; and another,\n\"Give me the tooth, that I may bite him.\" But Perseus, when he saw\nthat they were foolish and proud, and did not love the children of\nmen, left off pitying them. Then he stepped close to them, and\nwatched till they passed the eye from hand to hand. And as they\ngroped about between themselves, he held out his own hand gently,\ntill one of them put the eye into it, fancying that it was the hand\nof her sister. Then he sprang back, and laughed, and cried:\n\n\"Cruel and proud old women, I have your eye; and I will throw it\ninto the sea, unless you tell me the path to the Gorgon, and swear\nto me that you tell me right.\"\n\nThen they wept, and chattered, and scolded; but in vain. They were\nforced to tell the truth, though, when they told it, Perseus could\nhardly make out the road.\n\n\"You must go,\" they said, \"foolish boy, to the southward, into the\nugly glare of the sun, till you come to Atlas the Giant, who holds\nthe heaven and the earth apart. And you must ask his daughters, the\nHesperides, who are young and foolish like yourself. And now give us\nback our eye, for we have forgotten all the rest.\"\n\nSo Perseus gave them back their eye. And he leaped away to the\nsouthward, leaving the snow and the ice behind. And the terns and\nthe sea gulls swept laughing round his head, and called to him to\nstop and play, and the dolphins gambolled up as he passed, and\noffered to carry him on their back. And all night long the sea\nnymphs sang sweetly. Day by day the sun rose higher and leaped more\nswiftly into the sea at night, and more swiftly out of the sea at\ndawn; while Perseus skimmed over the billows like a sea gull, and\nhis feet were never wetted; and leapt on from wave to wave, and his\nlimbs were never weary, till he saw far away a mighty mountain, all\nrose-red in the setting sun. Perseus knew that it was Atlas, who\nholds the heavens and the earth apart.\n\nHe leapt on shore, and wandered upward, among pleasant valleys and\nwaterfalls. At last he heard sweet voices singing; and he guessed\nthat he was come to the garden of the Nymphs, the daughters of the\nEvening Star. They sang like nightingales among the thickets, and\nPerseus stopped to hear their song; but the words which they spoke\nhe could not understand. So he stepped forward and saw them dancing,\nhand in hand around the charmed tree, which bent under its golden\nfruit; and round the tree foot was coiled the dragon, old Ladon the\nsleepless snake, who lies there for ever, listening to the song of\nthe maidens, blinking and watching with dry bright eyes.\n\nThen Perseus stopped, not because he feared the dragon, but because\nhe was bashful before those fair maids; but when they saw him, they\ntoo stopped, and called to him with trembling voices:\n\n\"Who are you, fair boy? Come dance with us around the tree in the\ngarden which knows no winter, the home of the south wind and the\nsun. Come hither and play with us awhile; we have danced alone here\nfor a thousand years, and our hearts are weary with longing for a\nplayfellow.\"\n\n\"I cannot dance with you, fair maidens; for I must do the errand of\nthe Immortals. So tell me the way to the Gorgon, lest I wander and\nperish in the waves.\"\n\nThen they sighed and wept; and answered:\n\n\"The Gorgon! she will freeze you into stone.\"\n\n\"It is better to die like a hero than to live like an ox in a stall.\nThe Immortals have lent me weapons, and they will give me wit to use\nthem.\"\n\nThen they sighed again and answered: \"Fair boy, if you are bent on\nyour own ruin, be it so. We know not the way to the Gorgon; but we\nwill ask the giant Atlas above upon the mountain peak.\" So they went\nup the mountain to Atlas their uncle, and Perseus went up with them.\nAnd they found the giant kneeling, as he held the heavens and the\nearth apart.\n\nThey asked him, and he answered mildly, pointing to the sea board\nwith his mighty hand, \"I can see the Gorgons lying on an island far\naway, but this youth can never come near them, unless he has the hat\nof darkness, which whosoever wears cannot be seen.\"\n\nThen cried Perseus, \"Where is that hat, that I may find it?\"\n\nBut the giant smiled. \"No living mortal can find that hat, for it\nlies in the depths of Hades, in the regions of the dead. But my\nnieces are immortal, and they shall fetch it for you, if you will\npromise me one thing and keep your faith.\"\n\nThen Perseus promised; and the giant said, \"When you come back with\nthe head of Medusa, you shall show me the beautiful horror, that I\nmay lose my feeling and my breathing, and become a stone for ever;\nfor it is weary labour for me to hold the heavens and the earth\napart.\"\n\nThen Perseus promised, and the eldest of the Nymphs went down, and\ninto a dark cavern among the cliffs, out of which came smoke and\nthunder, for it was one of the mouths of hell.\n\nAnd Perseus and the Nymphs sat down seven days and waited trembling,\ntill the Nymph came up again; and her face was pale, and her eyes\ndazzled with the light for she had been long in the dreary darkness;\nbut in her hand was the magic hat.\n\nThen all the Nymphs kissed Perseus, and wept over him a long while;\nbut he was only impatient to be gone. And at last they put the hat\nupon his head, and he vanished out of their sight.\n\nBut Perseus went on boldly, past many an ugly sight, far away into\nthe heart of the Unshapen Land, till he heard the rustle of the\nGorgons' wings and saw the glitter of their brazen talons; and then\nhe knew that it was time to halt, lest Medusa should freeze him into\nstone.\n\nHe thought awhile with himself, and remembered Athene's words. He\narose aloft into the air, and held the mirror of the shield above\nhis head, and looked up into it that he might see all that was below\nhim.\n\nAnd he saw the three Gorgons sleeping. He knew that they could not\nsee him, because the hat of darkness hid him; and yet he trembled as\nhe sank down near them, so terrible were those brazen claws.\n\nTwo of the Gorgons were foul as swine, and lay sleeping heavily,\nwith their mighty wings outspread; but Medusa tossed to and fro\nrestlessly, and as she tossed Perseus pitied her. But as he looked,\nfrom among her tresses the vipers' heads awoke, and peeped up with\ntheir bright dry eyes, and showed their fangs, and hissed; and\nMedusa, as she tossed, threw back her wings and showed her brazen\nclaws.\n\nThen Perseus came down and stepped to her boldly, and looked\nsteadfastly on his mirror, and struck with Herpe stoutly once; and\nhe did not need to strike again.\n\nThen he wrapped the head in the goat-skin, turning away his eyes,\nand sprang into the air aloft, faster than he ever sprang before.\n\nFor Medusa's wings and talons rattled as she sank dead upon the\nrocks; and her two foul sisters woke, and saw her lying dead.\n\nInto the air they sprang yelling, and looked for him who had done\nthe deed. They rushed, sweeping and flapping, like eagles after a\nhare; and Perseus's blood ran cold as he saw them come howling on\nhis track; and he cried, \"Bear me well now, brave sandals, for the\nhounds of Death are at my heels!\"\n\nAnd well the brave sandals bore him, aloft through cloud and\nsunshine, across the shoreless sea; and fast followed the hounds of\nDeath. But the sandals were too swift, even for Gorgons, and by\nnightfall they were far behind, two black specks in the southern\nsky, till the sun sank and he saw them no more.\n\nThen he came again to Atlas, and the garden of the Nymphs; and when\nthe giant heard him coming he groaned, and said, \"Fulfil thy promise\nto me.\" Then Perseus held up to him the Gorgon's head, and he had\nrest from all his toil; for he became a crag of stone, which sleeps\nforever far above the clouds.\n\nPerseus thanked the Nymphs, and asked them, \"By what road shall I go\nhomeward again, for I have wandered far in coming hither?\"\n\nAnd they wept and cried, \"Go home no more, but stay and play with\nus, the lonely maidens, who dwell for ever far away from gods and\nmen.\"\n\nBut he refused, and they told him his road. And he leapt down the\nmountain, and went on, lessening and lessening like a sea gull, away\nand out to sea.\n\nSo Perseus flitted onward to the northeast, over many a league of\nsea, till he came to the rolling sand hills and the dreary Lybian\nshore.\n\nAnd he flitted on across the desert: over rock ledges, and banks of\nshingle, and level wastes of sand, and shell drifts bleaching in the\nsunshine, and the skeletons of great sea monsters, and dead bones of\nancient giants, strewn up and down upon the old sea floor. And as he\nwent the blood drops fell to the earth from the Gorgon's head, and\nbecame poisonous asps and adders, which breed in the desert to this\nday.\n\nOver the sands he went, till he saw the Dwarfs who fought with\ncranes. Their spears were of reeds and rushes, and their houses of\nthe eggshells of the cranes; and Perseus laughed, and went his way\nto the northeast, hoping all day long to see the blue Mediterranean\nsparkling, that he might fly across it to his home.\n\nBut now came down a mighty wind, and swept him back southward toward\nthe desert. All day long he strove against it; but even the winged\nsandals could not prevail. So he was forced to float down the wind\nall night; and when the morning dawned there was nothing but the\nblinding sun in the blinding blue; and round him there was nothing\nbut the blinding sand.\n\nAnd Perseus said, \"Surely I am not here without the will of the\nImmortals, for Athene will not lie. Were not these sandals to lead\nme in the right road? Then the road in which I have tried to go must\nbe a wrong road.\"\n\nThen suddenly his ears were opened, and he heard the sound of\nrunning water. And at that his heart was lifted up, though he\nscarcely dare believe his ears; and within a bowshot of him was a\nglen in the sand, and marble rocks, and date trees, and a lawn of\ngay green grass. And through the lawn a streamlet sparkled and\nwandered out beyond the trees, and vanished in the sand. And Perseus\nlaughed for joy, and leapt down the cliff and drank of the cool\nwater, and ate of the dates, and slept upon the turf, and leapt up\nand went forward.\n\nThen he towered in the air like an eagle, for his limbs were strong\nagain; and he flew all night across the mountain till the day began\nto dawn, and rosy-fingered Eos came blushing up the sky. And then,\nbehold, beneath him was the long green garden of Egypt and the\nshining stream of Nile.\n\nAnd he saw cities walled up to heaven, and temples, and obelisks,\nand pyramids, and giant gods of stone. And he came down amid fields\nof barley and flax, and millet, and clambering gourds; and saw the\npeople coming out of the gates of a great city, and setting to work,\neach in his place, among the water courses, parting the streams\namong the plants cunningly with their feet, according to the wisdom\nof the Egyptians. But when they saw him they all stopped their work,\nand gathered round him, and cried:\n\n\"Who art thou, fair youth? and what Dearest thou beneath they goat--\nskin there? Surely thou art one of the Immortals; for thy skin is\nwhite like ivory, and ours is red like clay. Thy hair is like\nthreads of gold, and ours is black and curled. Surely thou art one\nof the Immortals\"; and they would have worshipped him then and\nthere; but Perseus said:\n\n\"I am not one of the Immortals; but I am a hero of the Hellens. And\nI have slain the Gorgon in the wilderness, and bear her head with\nme. Give me food, therefore, that I may go forward and finish my\nwork.\"\n\nThen they gave him food, and fruit, but they would not let him go.\nAnd when the news came into the city that the Gorgon was slain, the\npriests came out to meet him, and the maidens, with songs and\ndances, and timbrels and harps; and they would have brought him to\ntheir temple and to their King; but Perseus put on the hat of\ndarkness, and vanished away out of their sight.\n\nAnd Perseus flew along the shore above the sea; and he went on all\nthe day; and he went on all the night.\n\nAnd at the dawn of day he looked toward the cliffs; and at the\nwater's edge, under a black rock, he saw a white image stand.\n\n\"This,\" thought he, \"must surely be the statue of some sea god; I\nwill go near and see what kind of gods these barbarians worship.\"\n\nBut when he came near, it was no statue, but a maiden of flesh and\nblood; for he could see her tresses streaming in the breeze; and as\nhe came closer still, he could see how she shrank and shivered when\nthe waves sprinkled her with cold salt spray. Her arms were spread\nabove her head, and fastened to the rock with chains of brass; and\nher head drooped on her bosom, either with sleep, or weariness, or\ngrief. But now and then she looked up and wailed, and called her\nmother; yet she did not see Perseus, for the cap of darkness was on\nhis head.\n\nFull of pity and indignation, Perseus drew near and looked upon the\nmaid. And, lifting the hat from his head, he flashed into her sight.\nShe shrieked with terror, and tried to hide her face with her hair,\nfor she could not with her hands; but Perseus cried:\n\n\"Do not fear me, fair one; I am a Hellen, and no barbarian. What\ncruel men have bound you? But first I will set you free.\"\n\nAnd he tore at the fetters, but they were too strong for him; while\nthe maiden cried:\n\n\"Touch me not; I am accursed, devoted as a victim to the sea gods.\nThey will slay you, if you dare to set me free.\"\n\n\"Let them try,\" said Perseus; and drawing Herpe from his thigh, he\ncut through the brass as if it had been flax.\n\n\"Now,\" he said, \"you belong to me, and not to these sea gods,\nwhosoever they may be!\" But she only called the more on her mother.\n\n\"Why call on your mother? She can be no mother to have left you\nhere.\"\n\nAnd she answered, weeping:\n\n\"I am the daughter of Cepheus, King of Iopa, and my mother is\nCassiopoeia of the beautiful tresses, and they called me Andromeda,\nas long as life was mine. And I stand bound here, hapless that I am,\nfor the sea monster's food, to atone for my mother's sin. For she\nboasted of me once that I was fairer than the Queen of the Fishes;\nso she in her wrath sent the sea floods, and her brother the Fire\nKing sent the earthquakes, and wasted all the land, and after the\nfloods a monster bred of the slime what devours all living things.\nAnd now he must devour me, guiltless though I am--me who never\nharmed a living thing, nor saw a fish upon the shore but I gave it\nlife, and threw it back into the sea; for in our land we eat no\nfish, for fear of their queen. Yet the priests say that nothing but\nmy blood can atone for a sin which I never committed.\"\n\nBut Perseus laughed, and said, \"A sea monster? I have fought with\nworse than him: I would have faced Immortals for your sake: how much\nmore a beast of the sea?\"\n\nThen Andromeda looked up at him, and new hope was kindled in her\nbreast, so proud and fair did he stand with one hand round her, and\nin the other the glittering sword. But she only sighed, and wept the\nmore, and cried:\n\n\"Why will you die, young as you are? Is there not death and sorrow\nenough in the world already? It is noble for me to die, that I may\nsave the lives of a whole people; but you, better than them all, why\nshould I slay you too? Go you your way; I must go mine.\" And then,\nsuddenly looking up, she pointed to the sea, and shrieked:\n\n\"There he comes, with the sunrise, as they promised. I must die now.\nHow shall I endure it? Oh, go! Is it not dreadful enough to be torn\npiecemeal, without having you to look on?\" And she tried to thrust\nhim away.\n\nBut he said: \"I go; yet promise me one thing ere I go: that if I\nslay this beast you will be my wife, and come back with me to my\nkingdom in fruitful Argos. Promise me, and seal it with a kiss.\"\n\nThen she lifted up her face, and kissed him; and Perseus laughed for\njoy, and flew upward, while Andromeda crouched trembling on the\nrock.\n\nOn came the great sea monster, coasting along like a huge black\ngalley. His great sides were fringed with clustering shells and\nseaweeds, and the water gurgled in and out of his wide jaws.\n\nAt last he saw Andromeda, and shot forward to take his prey, while\nthe waves foamed white behind him, and before him the fish fled\nleaping.\n\nThen down from the height of the air fell Perseus like a shooting\nstar; down to the crests of the waves, while Andromeda hid her face\nas he shouted; and then there was silence for a while.\n\nAt last she looked up trembling, and saw Perseus springing toward\nher; and instead of the monster a long black rock, with the sea\nrippling quietly round it.\n\nWho then so proud as Perseus, as he leapt back to the rock, and\nlifted his fair Andromeda in his arms, and flew with her to the\ncliff top, as a falcon carries a dove?\n\nWho so proud as Perseus, and who so joyful as all the AEthiop\npeople? For they had stood watching the monster from the cliffs,\nwailing for the maiden's fate. And already a messenger had gone to\nCepheus and Cassiopoeia, where they sat in sackcloth and ashes on\nthe ground, in the innermost palace chambers, awaiting their\ndaughter's end. And they came, and all the city with them, to see\nthe wonder, with songs and with dances, with cymbals and harps, and\nreceived their daughter back again, as one alive from the dead.\n\nThen Cepheus said, \"Hero of the Hellens, stay here with me and be my\nson-in-law, and I will give you the half of my kingdom.\"\n\n\"I will be your son-in-law,\" said Perseus, \"but of your kingdom I\nwill have none, for I long after the pleasant land of Greece, and my\nmother who waits for me at home.\"\n\nThen Cepheus said, \"You must not take my daughter away at once, for\nshe is to us like one alive from the dead. Stay with us here a year,\nand after that you shall return with honour.\" And Perseus consented.\nSo they went up to the palace; and when they came in, there stood in\nthe hall Phineus, the brother of Cepheus, chafing like a bear robbed\nof her whelps, and with him his sons, and his servants, and many an\narmed man, and he cried to Cepheus:\n\n\"You shall not marry your daughter to this stranger of whom no one\nknows even the name. Was not Andromeda betrothed to my son? And now\nshe is safe again, has he not a right to claim her?\"\n\nBut Perseus laughed, and answered: \"If your son is in want of a\nbride, let him save a maiden for himself.\"\n\nThen he unveiled the Gorgon's head, and said, \"This has delivered my\nbride from one wild beast; it shall deliver her from many.\" And as\nhe spoke Phineus and all his men-at-arms stopped short, and\nstiffened each man as he stood; and before Perseus had drawn the\ngoat-skin over the face again, they were all turned into stone. Then\nPerseus bade the people bring levers and roll them out.\n\nSo they made a great wedding feast, which lasted seven whole days,\nand who so happy as Perseus and Andromeda?\n\nAnd when a year was ended Perseus hired Phoenicians from Tyre, and\ncut down cedars, and built himself a a noble galley; and painted its\ncheeks with vermilion and pitched its sides with pitch; and in it he\nput Andromeda, and all her dowry of jewels, and rich shawls, and\nspices from the East; and great was the weeping when they rowed\naway. But the remembrance of his brave deed was left behind; and\nAndromeda's rock was shown at Iopa in Palestine till more than a\nthousand years were past.\n\nSo Perseus and the Phoenicians rowed to the westward, across the\nsea, till they came to the pleasant Isles of Hellas, and Seriphos,\nhis ancient home.\n\nThen he left his galley on the beach, and went up as of old; and he\nembraced his mother, and Dictys his good foster-father, and they\nwept over each other a long while, for it was seven years and more\nsince they had met.\n\nThen he went home to Argos, and reigned there well with fair\nAndromeda. But the will of the gods was accomplished towards\nAcrisius, his grandfather, for he died from the falling of a quoit\nwhich Perseus had thrown in a game.\n\nPerseus and Andromeda had four sons and three daughters, and died in\na good old age. And when they died, the ancients say, Athene took\nthem up into the sky, with Cepheus and Cassiopoeia. And there on\nstarlight nights you may see them shining still; Cepheus with his\nkingly crown, and Cassiopoeia in her ivory chair, plaiting her star-\nspangled tresses, and Perseus with the Gorgon's head, and fair\nAndromeda beside him, spreading her long white arms across the\nheavens, as she stood when chained to the stone for the monster. All\nnight long they shine, for a beacon to wandering sailors; but all\nday they feast with the gods, on the still blue peaks of Olympus.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nHERCULES\n\n\nMany, many years ago in the far-off land of Hellas, which we call\nGreece, lived a happy young couple whose names were Alcmene and\nAmphitryon. Now Amphitryon, the husband, owned many herds of cattle.\nSo also the father of Alcmene, who was King of Mycenae, owned many.\n\nAll these cattle grazing together and watering at the same springs\nbecame united in one herd. And this was the cause of much trouble,\nfor Amphitryon fell to quarreling with the father of his wife about\nhis portion of the herd. At last he slew his father-in-law, and from\nthat day he fled his old home at Mycenae.\n\nAlcmene went with her husband and the young couple settled at\nThebes, where were born to them two boys--twins--which were later\nnamed Hercules and Iphicles.\n\nFrom the child's very birth Zeus, the King of all heaven that is the\nair and clouds, and the father of gods and men--from the boy's very\nbirth Zeus loved Hercules. But when Hera, wife of Zeus, who shared\nhis honours, saw this love she was angry. Especially she was angry\nbecause Zeus foretold that Hercules should become the greatest of\nmen.\n\nTherefore one night, when the two babies were but eight months old,\nHera sent two huge serpents to destroy them. The children were\nasleep in the great shield of brass which Amphitryon carried in\nbattle for his defence. It was a good bed, for it was round and\ncurved toward the centre, and filled with soft blankets which\nAlcmene and the maids of the house had woven at their looms. Forward\ntoward this shield the huge snakes were creeping, and just as they\nlifted their open mouths above the rim, and were making ready to\nseize them, the twins opened their eyes. Iphicles screamed with\nfright. His cries wakened their mother, Alcmene, who called in a\nloud voice for help. But before Amphitryon and the men of the\nhousehold could draw their swords and rush to the rescue, the baby\nHercules, sitting up in the shield unterrified and seizing a serpent\nin each hand, had choked and strangled them till they died.\n\nFrom his early years Hercules was instructed in the learning of his\ntime. Castor, the most experienced charioteer of his day, taught\nhim, Eurytus also, how to shoot with a bow and arrows; Linus how to\nplay upon the lyre; and Eumolpus, grandson of the North Wind,\ndrilled him in singing. Thus time passed to his eighteenth year\nwhen, so great already had become his strength and knowledge, he\nkilled a fierce lion which had preyed upon the flocks of Amphitryon\nwhile they were grazing on Mount Cithaeron, and which had in fact\nlaid waste many a fat farm of the surrounding country.\n\nBut the anger of Hera still followed Hercules, and the goddess sent\nupon him a madness. In this craze the hero did many unhappy deeds.\nFor punishment and in expiation he condemned himself to exile, and\nat last he went to the great shrine of the god Apollo at Delphi to\nask whither he should go and where settle. The Pythia, or priestess\nin the temple, desired him to settle at Tiryns, to serve as bondman\nto Eurystheus, who ruled at Mycenae as King, and to perform the\ngreat labours which Eurystheus should impose upon him. When these\ntasks were all accomplished, the inspired priestess added, Hercules\nshould be numbered among the immortal gods.\n\nTHE FIRST LABOUR--WRESTLING WITH THE NEMEAN LION\n\nThe first task which Eurystheus required of Hercules was to bring\nhim the skin of a lion which no arrow nor other weapon could wound,\nand which had long been a terror to the good people who lived in\nNemea. Hercules set forth armed with bow and quiver, but paused in\nthe outer wood of Nemea long enough to cut himself his famous club.\nThere too he fell in with an honest countryman who pledged him to\nmake a sacrifice to Zeus, the saviour, if he, Hercules, should\nreturn victorious; but if he were slain by the monstrous lion, then\nthe countryman should make the sacrifice a funeral offering to\nhimself as a hero.\n\nSo Hercules proceeded, far into a dense wood, deserted because all\npeople feared the fierce beast it protected. On he went till after\nmany days he sighted the lion at rest near the cave which was its\nden. Standing behind a tree of great girth, Hercules fitted and let\nfly an arrow. It struck and glanced, leaving the animal unharmed.\nThen he tried another shot, aiming at the heart. Again the arrow\nfailed. But the lion was by this time roused, and his eyes shot\nfiery glances, and the heavy roar from his throat made the woods\nmost horribly resound. Then the devoted Hercules seized his heavy\nwooden club, and rushing forward drove the lion by the suddenness\nand fierceness of his assault into his den. But the den had two\nentrances. Against one Hercules rolled huge stones, and entering the\ncave by the other he grasped the lion's throat with both hands, and\nthus held him struggling and gasping for breath till he lay at his\nfeet dead.\n\nHercules swung the mighty bulk upon his shoulders and proceeded to\nseek the countryman with whom his pledge stood. So great had been\nhis journey, and so hard his search, that he did not find the good\nman till the last of the thirty days. There he stood just on the\npoint of offering a sheep to Hercules, supposing him dead. Together\nthey sacrificed the sheep to Zeus instead, and Hercules, vigorous\nand victorious, bore the mighty lion's body to Eurystheus at\nMycenae.\n\nEntering the place and throwing the carcass down before the king,\nHercules so terrified Eurystheus by this token of his wonderful\nstrength that the King forbade him ever again to enter the city.\nIndeed some say that the terror of Eurystheus was so great that he\nhad a jar or vessel of brass secretly constructed underground which\nhe might use as a safe retreat in case of danger. This \"jar\" was\nprobably a chamber and its walls covered within with plates of\nbrass. For now in our own day is seen there at Mycenae a room under\nthe earth, and the nails which fastened the brass plates to the wall\nstill remain. Ever after the conquest of this lion Hercules clothed\nhimself with the skin.\n\nTHE SECOND LABOUR--DESTROYING THE LERNEAN HYDRA\n\nThe second task of Hercules was to destroy a hydra or water snake\nwhich dwelt in the marsh of Lerna, a small lake near Mycenae. The\nbody of this snake was large and from its body sprang nine heads.\nEight of these heads were mortal, but the ninth head was undying.\n\nHercules stepped into his chariot and his dear nephew Iolaus, who\nwas permitted by the Delphic priestess to drive for him, took up the\nreins. The way to Lerna was pleasant. In spring-time crocuses and\nhyacinths sprang by the roadside, and in early summer the\nnightingales sang in the olive groves, vineyard and forest. That so\ngreat and horrible a monster could be near!\n\nWhen Hercules and Iolaus came to Lerna they drew close to ground\nrising near a spring, and Hercules dismounting and searching found\nthe very hole into which the hydra had retired. Into this he shot\nfiery arrows. The arrows discomforting the snake it crawled forth\nand, darting at him furiously, endeavoured to twine itself about his\nlegs. The hero began then to wield his mighty club. He crushed head\nafter head upon the snake's body, but for every one crushed two\nsprang in its place.\n\nAt length the hydra had coiled so firmly round one leg, that\nHercules could not move an inch from the spot. And now an enormous\ncrab came from the water out of friendship for the hydra, and that\ntoo crept up to Hercules and, seizing his foot, painfully wounded\nhim.\n\nSwinging his club with heroic vigor Hercules beat the crab to death.\nThen he called to Iolaus to fire a little grove of trees near by.\nIolaus at once set the fire, and when the saplings were well aflame\nhe seized them and, standing by the hero, as fast as Hercules cut\noff a head of the hydra he seared the neck with a flaming brand. The\nsearing prevented the heads from growing again. When all the eight\nmortal heads had thus been dispatched Hercules struck off the one\nsaid to be immortal and buried it in the roadway, setting a heavy\nstone above. The body of the hydra he cut up and dipped his arrows\nin the gall, which was so full of poison that the least scratch from\nsuch an arrow would bring certain death.\n\nEurystheus received the news of the destruction of the water snake\nwith bad grace. He claimed that Hercules had not destroyed the\nmonster alone, but only with the assistance of Iolaus. All the\npeople, however, rejoiced greatly, and they hastened to drain the\nmarsh where the hydra had dwelt so that never again could such an\nenemy abide upon their lands.\n\nTHE THIRD LABOUR--CAPTURING THE ARCADIAN HIND\n\nIn the days in which Hercules lived, Arcadia was a beautiful country\nof cool, sweet-scented woods, clear mountain streams, and sloping\nmeadow-sides from which rose every now and then the roof of a\nhunter's cottage or a shepherd's hutch. It was a country also\npeculiarly pleasing to Artemis, the goddess of the chase, and\npeculiarly also it was the haunt of all animals especially dear to\nthe goddess.\n\nA hind was there of such loveliness and grace that Artemis had\nmarked her for her own, and given her a pair of golden horns so that\nshe might be known from all other deer and her life thus preserved.\nFor no good Hellen, or Greek, would slay for food any animal sacred\nto a god. This beautiful golden-horned hind Eurystheus ordered\nHercules to bring to him alive, for the irreverence of the King did\nnot go so far as to demand her dead.\n\nSo Hercules went forth for the hunting and, not wishing to wound the\nhind, pursued her for one entire year. Up hill he went, down many a\nmountain dale, across many a gleaming river, through deep forest and\nopen field, and always dancing before him were the golden tips of\nhorns of the hind--near enough to be seen, too far to be seized. At\nlast tired with the pursuit the lovely beast one day took refuge\nupon a mountain side, and there as she sought the water of a river,\nHercules struck her with an arrow. The wound was slight, but it\nhelped the hero to catch the creature, and to lift her to his\nshoulders. Thereupon, he started for the court of Eurystheus.\n\nBut the way was long, and it lay through a part of Arcadia where the\nbush was heavy, and forests were deep, and mountains were high, and\nwhile Hercules was pursuing his way and bearing his meek-eyed\nburden, he one day met the fair goddess to whom the hind was sacred.\nHer brother, the beautiful god Apollo, was with her.\n\nArtemis seeing her captured deer cried to the hero, \"Mortal, oho!\nthus wilt thou violate a creature set aside by the gods?\" \"Mighty\nArtemis and huntress,\" answered Hercules, \"this hind I know is\nthine. A twelve-month have I chased and at last caught her. But the\ngod Necessity forced me! Oh, immortal one, I am not impious.\nEurystheus commanded me to catch the hind and the priestess of\nApollo enjoined me to observe the King's command.\"\n\nWhen Artemis understood how Hercules was bond-man she dismissed her\nanger, and sent him forward with kind words, and thus he brought the\ngolden-horned hind to Mycenae and sent it in to the King.\n\nTHE FOURTH LABOUR--CAPTURING THE BOAR OF ERYMANTHUS\n\nIn the northwestern part of the famed Arcadia where the golden-\nhorned hind roamed was a range of mountains called Erymanthus. Over\nthe high tops of this range wandered also a wild beast, but unlike\nthe lovely hind he was fierce and terrible of aspect and deadly in\nencounter. He was known as the boar of Erymanthus. This tusked and\nterrible being the King of Mycenae, Eurystheus, commanded the mighty\nHercules, his bondman, to bring alive to him.\n\nAgain Hercules set out, and again he fared over hill and across\nbright waters, and as he went the birds sang spring songs to him\nfrom vine and tree shade, and yellow crocuses carpeted the earth. In\nhis journey he came one day to the home of Pholus, a centaur, who\ndwelt with other centaurs upon the side of a mountain. Now the\ncentaurs were, of all the dwellers of that distant land, most unlike\nus modern folks. For report has it that they were half that noble\ncreature man, and half that noble creature horse: that is to say,\nthey were men as far as the waist, and then came the body of the\nhorse with its swift four feet. There are those, indeed, who claim\nthat the centaurs were men and rode their mountain ponies so deftly\nthat man and horse seemed one whole creature. Be that as it may,\nupon this mountain side the centaur Pholus dwelt with others of his\nkind, and there to visit with him came Hercules.\n\nThe centaur with his hospitable heart and own hands prepared a\ndinner of roast meat for the hungry traveller, and as they sat at\nthe board in genial converse they had much enjoyment. But Hercules\nwas also thirsty, and the sparkling water from the mountain spring\nseemed not to satisfy him. He asked the centaur for wine. \"Ah, wine,\nmy guest-friend Hercules,\" answered Pholus, \"I have none of my own.\nYonder is a jar of old vintage, but it belongs to all the centaurs\nof our mountain and I cannot open it.\" \"But friend Pholus,\" said\nHercules pressingly, \"I would I had a little for my stomach's sake.\"\n\nNow the centaur had a kind heart as we have said, and he rejoiced\nthat Hercules had come, and to give the hero his desires he opened\nthe jar. The wine was made from grapes that grew under the fair\nskies of Arcadia and its fragrance was like a scent of lilies or of\nroses, and when the soft winds entered the door, near which Hercules\nsat drinking, it seized the perfume and bore it over the mountain\nside. Now hear of all the mischief a little wine may make.\n\nThe fragrance in the air told the centaurs, wherever each happened\nto be, that their wine jar had been opened, and they rushed to its\nresting place perhaps to defend it from any wayfaring thief, perhaps\nto help drink it, we do not know. But each came angrily to the mouth\nof the cave of Pholus and all were armed with stones and staves\nwhich they had seized as they hastened onward. When they first\nentered with raging cries and threatening gesture Hercules grasped\nthe brands burning on the hospitable hearth and drove them back. As\nothers pressed behind them the hero drew forth his arrows poisoned\nwith the gall of the Lernean hydra, and sent among them many a\nshaft. Thus they fought retreating and, they fleeing and Hercules\npursuing, came finally to the dwelling of Chiron, most famed of all\nthe centaurs and a teacher of Hercules in his youth, teacher of his\ngreat art of surgery.\n\nThe wine raging in the veins of Hercules made him for the moment\nforgetful of all the good Chiron had bestowed upon him, and still\nletting fly his poisonous arrows he, aiming at another, hit the\nnoblest of the centaurs. Grief seized Hercules when he saw what he\nhad done and he ran and drew out the arrow and applied a soft\nointment which Chiron himself had taught him to make. But it was in\nvain, for the centaur, inspiring teacher and famed for his love of\njustice as he was, soon gave up the ghost.\n\nSaddened at his own madness Hercules now returned to the cave of his\nguest-friend Pholus. There among others his host lay, and stark\ndead. He had drawn an arrow from the body of one who had died from\nits wound, and, while examining it and wondering how so slight a\nshaft could be so fatal, had accidentally dropped it out of his\nhand. It struck his foot and he expired that very moment.\n\nHercules paid all funeral honour to his friends and afterward\ndeparting from the unhappy neighbourhood took up his search of the\nboar.\n\nHeavy snows were lying on the crests of Erymanthus when Hercules\ncame upon the tracks of the wild creature, and following patiently\nfinally reached his lair. There the boar stood, his tusks pointed\noutward ready for attack, his eyes snapping vindictively. He was\nindeed a terrible thing to see.\n\nHercules, instead of shooting at the animal, began to call, and\nshouting with loud cries he so confused the boar that he ran into\nthe vast snowdrift standing near by. Thereupon the hero seized and\nbound him with a wild grapevine he had brought for the purpose. And\nso swinging him over his shoulder he took his way toward Mycenae.\n\nThe King Eurystheus was terribly frightened at the very prospect of\nhaving the boar to keep, and when he heard Hercules was coming to\ntown with the animal on his shoulders he took to the brazen\nunderground chamber, which he had built, when Hercules came in with\nthe body of the Nemean lion. There he stayed for several days,\naccording to a good old historian, Diodorus, who in writing of the\nKing told that he was so great a coward.\n\nTHE FIFTH LABOUR--CLEANSING THE STABLES OF AUGEAS\n\nAlthough Eurystheus was seized with tremor at the coming of Hercules\nwith the Erymanthian boar, still he continued relentless, and\ndemanded the performance of the next task, which was nothing less\nthan the cleaning out in one day of stables where numerous cattle\nhad been confined for many years. These noisome stalls belonged to\nAugeas, a King of Elis and a man rich in herds--so rich indeed that\nas the years passed and his cattle increased he could not find men\nenough to care for his kine and their house. Thus the animals had\ncontinued, and had so littered their abiding place that it had\nbecome well nigh intolerable and a source of disease and even of\npestilence to the people.\n\nWhen Hercules came to King Augeas he said nothing to him of the\ncommand Eurystheus had laid upon him, but looking through the\nstables which covered a space of many meadows he spoke of the cattle\nand the evil condition of their housing. \"The moon-eyed kine will do\nbetter in clean stables,\" said the wise Hercules, \"and if thou wilt\npledge me a tenth of thy herds I will clean out thy stalls in a\nday.\" To this Augeas delightedly agreed and, speaking as they were\nin the presence of the young son of the King, Hercules called upon\nthe prince to witness the pact.\n\nNow Hercules in going about the great stables had noticed that at\nthe upper end of their building flowed a swift river, and at the\nlower end was a second swift stream. When therefore Augeas had\npledged himself to the work, Hercules, beginning early next day,\ntook down the walls at the upper end of the stalls and the walls at\nthe lower end. Then with his own mighty hands he dug channels and\ncanals and led the waters of the upper swift-flowing river into the\nheavily littered floor of the stalls. And the waters rose and pushed\nthe litter before them and made one channel into the lower river,\nand then another and another and so, working through the hours of\nthe day, the upper river scoured the stables clean and carried the\nrefuse to the lower river. And the lower river took the burden and\ncarried it out to the salt sea, which is ever and always cleaning\nand purifying whatever comes to its waters. And when night fell\nthere stood the hero Hercules looking at his work--the filthy\nstables of Augeas cleaned.\n\nWhen next day Hercules asked for the tenth of the herds which the\nKing had pledged, Augeas refused to stand by his agreement. He had\nlearned that this labour of cleaning his stables had been imposed\nupon Hercules, and he claimed he should pay nothing for it; in fact,\nhe denied he had promised anything, and offered to lay the matter\nbefore judges. The cause therefore was tried, and at the trial the\nyoung son of the King, who had witnessed the pact, testified to the\ntruth of Hercules' claim. This so enraged his father that in most\nhigh-handed manner he banished both his son and the hero from Elis\nwithout waiting for the judgment of the court. Hercules returned to\nMycenae. But again the cowardly and contemptible Eurystheus refused\nto count this labour, saying Hercules had done it for hire.\n\n\n\nTHE SIXTH LABOUR--SHOOTING THE STYMPHALIAN BIRDS\n\nFar in the famed land of Arcadia is a beautiful lake known so many\nyears ago, as in the time of Hercules, and even by us in our day, as\nLake Stymphalus. It is a lake of pure sweet water and it lies, as\nsuch waters lie in our own country, high up in mountains and amid\nhillsides covered with firs and poplars and clinging vines and wild\nblossoms.\n\nIn our day the lake is a resort for gentle singing birds, but in the\ntime of Hercules other birds were there also. The other birds were\nwater fowls, and they had gathered at Lake Stymphalus because they\nhad been driven out of their old home by wolves, who alone were\nhungrier and more destructive than they. These fowls had claws of\niron, and every feather of theirs was sharper than a barbed arrow,\nand so strong and fierce and ravenous they were that they would dart\nfrom the air and attack hunters, yea, and pecking them down would\ntear and strip their flesh till but a bony skeleton remained of that\nwhich a few minutes before had been a strong, active, buoyant man\nseeking in the chase food for his hearthside.\n\nTo make way with this horrid tribe of the air was the sixth command\nEurystheus laid upon Hercules. Toward Lake Stymphalus therefore\nturned our hero. Again he walked Arcadian waysides, and again as he\nfared the spring sun shone above, and the birds sang welcome, and\nthe narcissus lifted its golden cup, and as he went his heart\nrejoiced in his life, whatever the difficulty of his labour, and in\nthe beauty of the world before his eyes. And as he walked also he\nthought of how he should accomplish the great undertaking upon which\nhe was bent.\n\nWhile thus deliberating the grey-eyed goddess of wisdom, Athene,\ncame to him--just as this goddess even in our day comes to those who\nthink--and she suggested to his mind that he should scare the fowl\nfrom their retreat by brazen rattles. The goddess did even more than\nput the notion of using a rattle in the mind of Hercules. It is said\nshe actually brought him one, a huge, bronze clapper made for him by\nthe forger of the gods, limping Hephaestus.\n\nHercules took this rattle and mounting a neighbouring height shook\nit in his great hands till every hill echoed and the very trees\nquivered with the horrid sound. And the man-eating birds? Not one\nremained hidden. Each and every one rose terrified in the air,\ncroaking and working its steely talons and sharp-pointed feathers in\ndire fear.\n\nNow from his quiver the hero fast picked his barbed arrows, and fast\nhe shot and every shot brought to his feet one of the terrible man-\neaters, till at last he had slain every one. Or, if indeed, any of\nthe tribe had escaped, they had flown far away, for never after, in\nall the long history of Lake Stymphalus, have such creatures\nappeared again above its fair waters.\n\nSo ended the sixth labour of Hercules.\n\nTHE SEVENTH LABOUR--CAPTURING THE CRETAN BULL\n\nJust as Zeus who, as we said in the beginning, was King of all\nheaven that is the air and clouds, so Posidon was King of the sea.\nWith his queen, Amphitrite, he lived far down underneath the waves,\nand dwelt in a palace splendid with all the beautiful things of the\ndeep.\n\nIn the midst of the blue waters of the Mediterranean where Posidon\nhad his home, lies an island called Crete, and long ago in the days\nwhen Hercules laboured, a King, whose name was Minos, ruled over\nthis land. The island is long and narrow and has much sea coast, and\nbecause of this fact King Minos stood in intimate relations with the\ngod of the sea.\n\nNow one day in an especial burst of friendliness, Minos vowed to\nsacrifice to Posidon whatever should come out of the salt waters.\nThe god in pleasure at the vow, and to test mayhap the devotion of\nMinos, sent at once a beautiful bull leaping and swimming through\nthe waves. When the creature had come to the rocky coast and made\nland, its side shone with such beauty, and its ivory-white horns\ngarlanded with lilies set so like a crown above its graceful head\nthat Minos and all the people who saw it marvelled that anywhere\ncould have grown such a bull. And a sort of greed and deceit seized\nMinos as he gazed, and for his sacrifice to Posidon he resolved to\nuse another bull. And so he ordered his herdsman to take this fair\ncreature that had come from the sea and to put it among his herd,\nand also to bring forth another for the offering.\n\nBecause of this avarice of Minos the god below the waves was angry\nand he made the bull wild and furious, so that no herdsman dared\napproach to feed or care for it. For his seventh task Eurystheus\ncommanded Hercules to fetch him this mad bull of Crete.\n\nHercules accordingly boarded one of the ships that plied in that\nfar-off day, as well as in this time of ours, between the rocky\ncoast of Crete and the fair land of Hellas, and in due time the hero\ncame to Minos' court. \"I have come, sire,\" said Hercules, \"for the\nmad bull that terrifies thy herdsmen and is rumoured beyond\ncapture.\" \"Ay, young man,\" cried the king, \"thou hast come for my\nbull and my bull shalt thou have. When thou hast taken it, it is\nthine,\" and the King laughed grimly, for the strength and fury of\nthe creature he deemed beyond any man's control.\n\nHercules sought the grove where Posidon's gift had strayed from its\nfellows, and there deftly seizing it by the horns, he bound its feet\nwith stout straps of bull's hide and its horns he padded with moss\nof the sea from which it came, and so having made it powerless he\nlifted it to his shoulders and carried it to the shore. A swift\nblack ship was just spreading sail from Crete, and entering upon it\nthe hero soon ended his journey and laid his capture before\nEurystheus. A day or two later Hercules loosed the bull, which,\nafter wandering through the woodlands of Arcadia, crossed the\nisthmus and came to the plains of Marathon, whence, after doing much\ndamage, it swam off to sea and was never heard of after.\n\nSo far we have told how Hercules accomplished seven of the tasks\nlaid upon him. Space does not permit us to recount in detail the\nother five. The eighth task was to bring to Eurystheus the man-\neating mares of the King of Windy Thrace. The ninth task was to\nfetch a girdle which Ares, god of war, had given the Queen of the\nAmazons--an exceedingly difficult labour, for the Amazons were a\nnation of women-warriors renowned for valour. For the tenth task\nEurystheus demanded the purple oxen of a famous giant who dwelt on\nan island far out in the ocean. The eleventh task was to bring\napples from the garden of the Hesperides--golden apples guarded by a\ndragon with a hundred heads, no one of which ever closed its eyes in\nsleep. And the twelfth and last task, which was to free the mighty\nHercules from his bondage to cowardly Eurystheus, was to fetch\nCerberus, the three-headed dog, who guarded the entrance to Hades,\nthe unseen abode of departed spirits.\n\nEach and every one of these labours the strong hero accomplished.\nHaving won his freedom and gained the honours promised by the\npriestess at Delphi many years before, Hercules worked many a noble\ndeed and finally in reward for his much enduring and his aid to\nmortals, he was carried upon a thunder cloud to the upper air, and\nentered into the very gates of heaven.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nDANIEL\n\n\nIt pleased Darius to set over the kingdom an hundred and twenty\nprinces, which should be over the whole kingdom.\n\nAnd over these three presidents; of whom Daniel was first: that the\nprinces might give accounts unto them, and the King should have no\ndamage.\n\nThen this Daniel was preferred above the presidents and princes,\nbecause an excellent spirit was in him; and the King thought to set\nhim over the whole realm.\n\nThen the presidents and princes sought to find occasion against\nDaniel concerning the kingdom; but they could find none occasion nor\nfault; forasmuch as he was faithful, neither was there any error or\nfault found in him.\n\nThen said these men, We shall not find any occasion against this\nDaniel, except we find it against him concerning the law of his God.\n\nThen these presidents and princes assembled together to the King,\nand said thus unto him, King Darius, live for ever.\n\nAll the presidents of the kingdom, the governors, and the princes,\nthe counsellors, and the captains, have consulted together to\nestablish a royal statute, and to make a firm decree, that whosoever\nshall ask a petition of any god or man for thirty days, save of\nthee, O King, he shall be cast into the den of lions.\n\nNow, O King, establish the decree, and sign the writing, that it be\nnot changed, according to the law of the Medes and Persians, which\naltereth not.\n\nWherefore King Darius signed the writing and the decree.\n\nNow when Daniel knew that the writing was signed, he went into his\nhouse; and his windows being open in his chamber toward Jerusalem,\nhe kneeled upon his knees three times a day, and prayed, and gave\nthanks before his God, as he did aforetime.\n\nThen these men assembled, and found Daniel praying and making\nsupplication before his God.\n\nThen they came near, and spake before the King concerning the King's\ndecree; Hast thou not signed a decree, that every man that shall ask\na petition of any god or man within thirty days, save of thee, O\nKing, shall be cast into the den of lions? The King answered and\nsaid, The thing is true, according to the law of the Medes and\nPersians, which altereth not.\n\nThen answered they and said before the King, That Daniel, which is\nof the children of the captivity of Judah, regardeth not thee, O\nKing, nor the decree that thou hast signed, but maketh his petition\nthree times a day.\n\nThen the King, when he heard these words, was sore displeased with\nhimself, and set his heart on Daniel to deliver him: and he laboured\ntill the going down of the sun to deliver him.\n\nThen these men assembled unto the King, and said unto the King,\nKnow, O King, that the law of the Medes and Persians is, That no\ndecree nor statute which the King establisheth may be changed.\n\nThen the King commanded, and they brought Daniel, and cast him into\nthe den of lions. Now the King spake and said unto Daniel, Thy God\nwhom thou servest continually, he will deliver thee.\n\nAnd a stone was brought, and laid upon the mouth of the den; and the\nKing sealed it with his own signet, and with the signet of his\nlords; that the purpose might not be changed concerning Daniel.\n\nThen the King went to his palace, and passed the night fasting:\nneither were instruments of music brought before him: and his sleep\nwent from him.\n\nThen the King arose very early in the morning, and went in haste\nunto the den of lions.\n\nAnd when he came to the den, he cried with a lamentable voice unto\nDaniel: and the King spake and said to Daniel, O Daniel, servant of\nthe living God, is thy God, whom thou servest continually, able to\ndeliver thee from the lions?\n\nThen said Daniel unto the King, O King, live for ever.\n\nMy God hath sent his angel, and hath shut the lions' mouths, that\nthey have not hurt me: forasmuch as before him innocency was found\nin me: and also before thee, O King, have I done no hurt.\n\nThen was the King exceeding glad for him, and commanded that they\nshould take Daniel up out of the den. So Daniel was taken up out of\nthe den, and no manner of hurt was found upon him, because he\nbelieved in his God.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nDAVID\n\n\nThe Philistines gathered together their armies to battle, and were\ngathered together at Shochoh, which belongeth to Judah, and pitched\nbetween Shochoh and Azekah, in Ephes-dammim.\n\nAnd Saul and the men of Israel were gathered together, and pitched\nby the valley of Elah, and set the battle in array against the\nPhilistines.\n\nAnd the Philistines stood on a mountain on the one side, and Israel\nstood on a mountain on the other side; and there was a valley\nbetween them.\n\nAnd there went out a champion out of the camp of the Philistines,\nnamed Goliath, of Gath, whose height was six cubits and a span.\n\nAnd he had an helmet of brass upon his head, and he was armed with a\ncoat of mail; and the weight of the coat was five thousand shekels\nof brass.\n\nAnd he had greaves of brass upon his legs, and a target of brass\nbetween his shoulders.\n\nAnd the staff of his spear was like a weaver's beam; and his spear's\nhead weighed six hundred shekels of iron; and one bearing a shield\nwent before him.\n\nAnd he stood and cried unto the armies of Israel, and said unto\nthem, Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? am not I a\nPhilistine, and ye servants to Saul? choose you a man for you, and\nlet him come down to me.\n\nIf he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your\nservants: but if I prevail against him, and kill him, then shall ye\nbe our servants, and serve us.\n\nAnd the Philistine said, I defy the armies of Israel this day; give\nme a man, that we may fight together.\n\nWhen Saul and all Israel heard those words of the Philistine, they\nwere dismayed, and greatly afraid.\n\nNow David was the son of that Ephrathite of Bethlehem-judah, whose\nname was Jesse; and he had eight sons: and the man went among men\nfor an old man in the days of Saul.\n\nAnd the three eldest sons of Jesse went and followed Saul to the\nbattle: and the names of his three sons that went to the battle were\nEliab the firstborn, and next unto him Abinadab, and the third\nShammah.\n\nAnd David was the youngest: and the three eldest followed Saul.\n\nBut David went and returned from Saul to feed his father's sheep at\nBethlehem.\n\nAnd the Philistine drew near morning and evening, and presented\nhimself forty days.\n\nAnd Jesse said unto David his son, Take now for thy brethren an\nephah of this parched corn, and these ten loaves, and run to the\ncamp to thy brethren;\n\nAnd carry these ten cheeses unto the captain of their thousand, and\nlook how thy brethren fare, and take their pledge.\n\nNow Saul, and they, and all the men of Israel, were in the valley of\nElah, fighting with the Philistines.\n\nAnd David rose up early in the morning, and left the sheep with a\nkeeper, and took, and went, as Jesse had commanded him; and he came\nto the trench, as the host was going forth to the fight, and shouted\nfor the battle.\n\nFor Israel and the Philistines had put the battle in array army\nagainst army.\n\nAnd David left his carriage in the hand of the keeper of the\ncarriage, and ran into the army, and came and saluted his brethren.\n\nAnd as he talked with them, behold, there came up the champion, the\nPhilistine of Gam, Goliath by name, out of the armies of the\nPhilistines, and spake according to the same words; and David heard\nthem.\n\nAnd all the men of Israel, when they saw the man, fled from him, and\nwere sore afraid.\n\nAnd the men of Israel said, Have ye seen this man that is come up?\nsurely to defy Israel is he come up; and it shall be, that the man\nwho killeth him, the King will enrich him with great riches, and\nwill give him his daughter, and make his father's house free in\nIsrael.\n\nAnd David spake to the men that stood by him, saying, What shall be\ndone to the man that killeth this Philistine, and taketh away the\nreproach from Israel? for who is this uncircumcised Philistine, that\nhe should defy the armies of the living God?\n\nAnd the people answered him after this manner, saying, So shall it\nbe done to the man that killeth him.\n\nAnd Eliab his eldest brother heard when he spake unto the men; and\nEliab's anger was kindled against David, and he said, Why camest\nthou down hither? and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in\nthe wilderness? I know thy pride, and the naughtiness of thine\nheart; for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle.\n\nAnd David said, What have I now done? Is there not a cause?\n\nAnd he turned from him toward another, and spake after the same\nmanner: and the people answered him again after the former manner.\n\nAnd when the words were heard which David spake, they rehearsed them\nbefore Saul: and he sent for him.\n\nAnd David said to Saul, Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy\nservant will go and fight with this Philistine.\n\nAnd Saul said to David, Thou art not able to go against this\nPhilistine to fight with him: for thou art but a youth, and he a man\nof war from his youth.\n\nAnd David said unto Saul, Thy servant kept his father's sheep, and\nthere came a lion, and a bear, and took a lamb out of the flock:\n\nAnd I went out after him, and smote him, and delivered it out of his\nmouth: and when he arose against me, I caught him by his beard, and\nsmote him, and slew him.\n\nThy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this uncircumcised\nPhilistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies\nof the living God.\n\nDavid said moreover, The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of\nthe lion, and out of the paw of the bear, he will deliver me out of\nthe hand of this Philistine. And Saul said unto David, Go, and the\nLord be with thee.\n\nAnd Saul armed David with his armour, and he put an helmet of brass\nupon his head; also he armed him with a coat of mail.\n\nAnd David girded his sword upon his armour, and he essayed to go;\nfor he had not proved it. And David said unto Saul, I cannot go with\nthese; for I have not proved them. And David put them off him.\n\nAnd he took his staff in his hand, and chose him five smooth stones\nout of the brook, and put them in a shepherd's bag which he had,\neven in a scrip; and his sling was in his hand: and he drew near to\nthe Philistine.\n\nAnd the Philistine came on and drew near unto David; and the man\nthat bore the shield went before him.\n\nAnd when the Philistine looked about, and saw David, he disdained\nhim: for he was but a youth, and ruddy, and of a fair countenance.\n\nAnd the Philistine said unto David, Am I a dog, that thou comest to\nme with staves? And the Philistine cursed David by his gods.\n\nAnd the Philistine said to David, Come to me, and I will give thy\nflesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the field.\n\nThen said David to the Philistine, Thou comest to me with a sword,\nand with a spear, and with a shield: but I come to thee in the name\nof the Lord of hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou\nhast defied.\n\nThis day will the Lord deliver thee into mine hand; and I will smite\nthee, and take thine head from thee; and I will give the carcasses\nof the host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air,\nand to the wild beasts of the earth; that all the earth may know\nthat there is a God in Israel.\n\nAnd all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with sword\nand spear: for the battle is the Lord's and He will give you into\nour hands.\n\nAnd it came to pass, when the Philistine arose, and came and drew\nnigh to meet David, that David hasted, and ran toward the army to\nmeet the Philistine.\n\nAnd David put his hand to his bag, and took thence a stone, and\nslang it, and smote the Philistine in his forehead, that the stone\nsunk into his forehead; and he fell upon his face to the earth.\n\nSo David prevailed over the Philistine with a sling and with a\nstone, and smote the Philistine, and slew him; but there was no\nsword in the hand of David.\n\nTherefore David ran, and stood upon the Philistine, and took his\nsword, and drew it out of the sheath thereof, and slew him, and cut\noff his head therewith. And when the Philistines saw their champion\nwas dead, they fled.\n\nAnd the men of Israel and of Judah arose, and shouted, and pursued\nthe Philistines, until thou comest to the valley, and to the gates\nof Ekron. And the wounded of the Philistines fell down by the way to\nShaaraim, even unto Gath, and unto Ekron.\n\nAnd the children of Irsael returned from chasing after the\nPhilistines, and they spoiled their tents.\n\nAnd David took the head of the Philistine, and brought it to\nJerusalem; but he put his armour in his tent.\n\nAnd when Saul saw David go forth against the Philistine, he said\nunto Abner, the captain of the host, Abner, whose son is this youth?\nAnd Abner said, As thy soul liveth, O King, I cannot tell.\n\nAnd the King said, Enquire thou whose son the stripling is.\n\nAnd as David returned from the slaughter of the Philistine, Abner\ntook him, and brought him before Saul with the head of the\nPhilistine in his hand.\n\nAnd Saul said to him, Whose son art thou, thou young man? And David\nanswered, I am the son of thy servant Jesse the Bethlehemite.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nST. GEORGE\n\n\nIn the year 280, in a town in Cappadocia, was born that great\nsoldier and champion of the oppressed whom we call St. George. His\nparents were Christians, and by them, and especially by his mother,\nhe was most carefully instructed and trained.\n\nWhen the youth came to the age of seventeen years he took up the\nprofession of arms, and since he was gifted with beauty of person,\nintelligence, and an exquisite courtesy, he rose rapidly to a\nconsiderable military rank. Especially he pleased his imperial\nmaster, Diocletian.\n\nOne day while the Emperor, who was devoted to the worship of Apollo,\nwas consulting at a shrine of that god upon an affair of much\nimportance, from the dark depths of the cavern came forth a voice\nsaying, \"The just who are on the earth keep me from telling the\ntruth. By them the inspiration of the Sacred Tripod is made a lie.\"\nAt once the Emperor was stricken with consternation and asked who\nthese just people were. \"Master,\" answered one of the priests of\nApollo, \"they are the Christians.\" This answer so enraged Diocletian\nthat he rekindled his persecutions.\n\nNow from the first the young soldier George had burned with\nindignation because of the unspeakable cruelties put upon\nChristians, and he had spoken out boldly in defence of his brethren.\nHis friends had counselled silence and prudence. But George would\nhave none. He knew, however, that he might be called upon to suffer\nat any time, and he hoped to do better work for the world and to die\nafter braver effort. He therefore distributed his money and his fine\napparel among the poor and needy, set free all the slaves he\npossessed, and went forth upon knightly travel.\n\nWhile pricking one day through the plains of Libya he came to a\ncertain city called Silene, the people of which were bewailing a\ndire misfortune that had come upon them. An enormous dragon had\nissued from a marsh neighbouring the town and had devoured all their\nflocks and herds. Already the monster had taken dwelling near the\ncity walls, and at such distance the people had been able to keep\nhim only by granting him two sheep every day for his food and drink.\nIf they had failed in this he would have come within their walls and\npoisoned every man, woman, and child with his plague-like breath.\n\nBut now already all the flocks and herds had been eaten. Nothing\nremained to fill the insatiable maw of the dragon but the little\npeople of the homes and hearths of all the town. Every day two\nchildren were now given him. Each child taken was under the age of\nfifteen, and was chosen by lot. Thus it happened that every house\nand every street and all the public squares echoed with the wailing\nof unhappy parents and the cries of the innocents who were soon to\nbe offered.\n\nNow it chanced that the King of the city had one daughter, an\nexceeding fair girl both in mind and body, and after many days of\nthe choosing of lots for the sacrifice, and after many a blooming\ngirl and boy had met an unhappy death, the lot fell to this maiden,\nCleodolinda. When her father, the King, heard his misfortune, in his\ndespair he offered all the gold in the state treasury and even half\nhis kingdom, to redeem the maiden. But at this many fathers and\nmothers who had lost their children murmured greatly and said, \"O\nKing, art thou just? By thy edict thou hast made us desolate. And\nnow behold thou wouldst withhold thine own child!\"\n\nThus the people spake, and speaking they waxed wroth greatly, and so\njoining together they marched threatening to burn the King in his\npalace unless he delivered the maiden to fulfil her lot. To such\ndemands the King perforce submitted, and at last he asked only a\ndelay of eight days which he might spend with the lovely girl and\nbewail her fate. This the people granted.\n\nAt the end of the time agreed to the fair victim was led forth. She\nfell at her father's feet asking his blessing and protesting she was\nready to die for her people. Then amid tears and lamentations she\nwas led to the walls and put without. The gates were shut and barred\nagainst her.\n\nShe walked towards the dwelling of the dragon, slowly and painfully,\nfor the road was strewn with the bones of her playmates, and she\nwept as she went on her way.\n\nIt was this very morning that George, courageously seeking to help\nthe weak, and strong to serve the truth, was passing by in his\nknightly journeying. He saw stretched before him the noisome path,\nand, moved to see so beautiful a maiden in tears, he checked his\ncharger and asked her why she wept. The whole pitiful story she\nrecounted, to which the valiant one answered, \"Fear not; I will\ndeliver you.\"\n\n\"Oh noble youth,\" cried the fair victim, \"tarry not here lest you\nperish with me. Fly, I beseech you.\"\n\n\"God forbid that I should fly,\" said George in answer; \"I will lift\nmy hand against this loathly thing, and I will deliver you through\nthe power that lives in all true followers of Christ.\"\n\nAt that moment the dragon was seen coming forth from his lair half\nflying and half crawling towards them. \"Fly, I beseech you, brave\nknight,\" cried the fair girl trembling, \"Leave me here to die.\"\n\nBut George answered not. Rather he put spurs to his horse and,\ncalling upon his Lord, rushed towards the monster, and, after a\nterrible and prolonged combat, pinned the mighty hulk to the earth\nwith his lance. Then he called to the maiden to bring him her\ngirdle. With this he bound the dragon fast, and gave the end of the\ngirdle into her hand, and the subdued monster crawled after them\nlike a dog.\n\nWalking in this way they approached the city. All the onlooking\npeople were stricken with terror, but George called out to them\nsaying, \"Fear nothing. Only believe in Christ, through whose help I\nhave conquered this adversary, and live in accord with His\nteachings, and I will destroy him before your eyes.\"\n\nSo the King and the people believed and such a life they endeavoured\nto live.\n\nThen St. George slew the dragon and cut off his head, and the King\ngave great treasure to the knight. But all the rewards George\ndistributed among the sick and necessitous and kept nothing for\nhimself, and then he went further on his way of helpfulness.\n\nAbout this time the Emperor Diocletian issued an edict which was\npublished the length and breadth of his empire. This edict was\nnailed to the doors of temples, upon the walls of public markets, in\nall places people frequented, and those who read it read it with\nterror and hid their faces in despair. For it condemned all\nChristians. But St. George when he saw the writing was filled with\nindignation. That spirit and courage which comes to all of us from\ncommunion with the eternal powers heartened and strengthened him,\nand he tore down the unhappy utterance and trampled it under foot.\n\nThus prepared for death George approached the Emperor. \"What wouldst\nthou?\" cried Diocletian angrily, having heard from his proconsul\nDacian that this young man deserved torture. \"Liberty, sir, for the\ninnocent Christians,\" answered the martyr. \"At the least liberty,\nsince their liberty can hurt no one.\"\n\n\"Young man,\" returned Diocletian with threatening looks, \"think of\nthine own liberty and thy future.\"\n\nBefore George could make answer the ill-will of the tyrant waxed to\nardent hatred and he summoned guards to take the martyr to prison.\nOnce within the dungeon the keepers threw him to the ground, put his\nfeet in stocks and placed a stone of great weight upon his chest.\nBut even so, in the midst of torture, the blessed one ceased not to\ngive thanks to God for this opportunity to bear witness to Christ's\nteachings.\n\nThe next day they stretched the martyr on a wheel full of sharp\nspokes. But a voice from heaven came to comfort him and said,\n\"George, fear not; so it is with those who witness to the truth.\"\nAnd there appeared to him an angel brighter than the sun, clothed in\na white robe, who stretched out a hand to embrace and encourage him\nin his pain. Two of the officers of the prison who saw this\nbeautiful vision became Christians and from that day endeavoured to\nlive after the teachings of Christ.\n\nThere is still another tale that after George had been comforted by\nthe angel who descended from heaven, his tormentors flung him into a\ncauldron of boiling lead, and when they believed they had subdued\nhim by the force of his agonies, they brought him to a temple to\nassist in their worship, and the people ran in crowds to behold his\nhumiliation, and the priests mocked him.\n\nThe Emperor, seeing the constancy of George, once more sought to\nmove him by entreaties. But the great soldier refused to be judged\nby words, only by deeds. He even demanded to go to see the gods\nDiocletian himself worshipped.\n\nThe Emperor, believing that at length George was coming to his right\nmind, and was about to yield, ordered the Roman Senate and people to\nassemble in order that all might be witnesses of George's\nacknowledgement of his own, Diocletian's, gods.\n\nWhen they were thus gathered together in the Emperor's temple, and\nthe eyes of all the people were fixed upon the weak and tortured\nsaint to see what he would do, he drew near a statue of the sun-god\nApollo, and stretching out his hand toward the image he said slowly,\n\"Wouldst thou that I should offer thee sacrifices as to a god?\" The\ndemon who was in the statue made answer, \"I am not God. There is but\none God and Christ is his greatest prophet.\" At that very hour were\nheard horrible wailing sounds coming from the mouths of idols the\nworld over, and the statues of the old gods either all fell over or\ncrumbled to dust. One account says that St. George knelt down and\nprayed, and thunder and lightning from heaven fell upon the idols\nand destroyed them.\n\nAngry at the breaking of their power, the priests of the gods cried\nto the Emperor that he must rid himself of so potent a magician and\ncut off his head. The priests also incited the people to lay hands\non the martyr.\n\nSo it was commanded that George, the Christian knight, should be\nbeheaded. He was dragged to the place of execution, and there,\nbending his neck to the sword of the executioner and absorbed in\nprayer, he received bravely and thankfully the stroke of death in\nApril, 303.\n\nSo stands St. George ever before the youth of the world, one of the\nchampions of Christendom, a model of courage, a brave interceder for\nthe oppressed, an example of pure, firm and enduring doing for\nothers, a true soldier of Christ.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nKING ARTHUR\n\n\nLong years ago, there ruled over Britain a King called Uther\nPendragon. A mighty prince was he, and feared by all men; yet, when\nhe sought the love of the fair Igraine of Cornwall, she would have\nnaught to do with him, so that, from grief and disappointment, Uther\nfell sick, and at last seemed like to die.\n\nNow in those days, there lived a famous magician named Merlin, so\npowerful that he could change his form at will, or even make himself\ninvisible; nor was there any place so remote but that he could reach\nit at once, merely by wishing himself there. One day, suddenly he\nstood at Uther's bedside, and said: \"Sir King, I know thy grief, and\nam ready to help thee. Only promise to give me, at his birth, the\nson that shall be born to thee, and thou shalt have thy heart's\ndesire.\" To this the King agreed joyfully, and Merlin kept his word:\nfor he gave Uther the form of one whom Igraine had loved dearly, and\nso she took him willingly for her husband.\n\nWhen the time had come that a child should be born to the King and\nQueen, Merlin appeared before Uther to remind him of his promise;\nand Uther swore it should be as he had said. Three days later, a\nprince was born and, with pomp and ceremony, was christened by the\nname of Arthur; but immediately thereafter, the King commanded that\nthe child should be carried to the postern-gate, there to be given\nto the old man who would be found waiting without.\n\nNot long after, Uther fell sick, and he knew that his end was come;\nso, by Merlin's advice; he called together his knights and barons,\nand said to them: \"My death draws near. I charge you, therefore,\nthat ye obey my son even as ye have obeyed me; and my curse upon him\nif he claim not the crown when he is a man grown.\" Then the King\nturned his face to the wall and died.\n\nScarcely was Uther laid in his grave before disputes arose. Few of\nthe nobles had seen Arthur or even heard of him, and not one of them\nwould have been willing to be ruled by a child; rather, each thought\nhimself fitted to be King, and, strengthening his own castle, made\nwar on his neighbours until confusion alone was supreme and the poor\ngroaned because there was none to help them.\n\nNow when Merlin carried away Arthur--for Merlin was the old man who\nhad stood at the postern-gate--he had known all that would happen,\nand had taken the child to keep him safe from the fierce barons\nuntil he should be of age to rule wisely and well, and perform all\nthe wonders prophesied of him. He gave the child to the care of the\ngood knight Sir Ector to bring up with his son Kay, but revealed not\nto him that it was the son of Uther Pendragon that was given into\nhis charge.\n\nAt last, when years had passed and Arthur was grown a tall youth\nwell skilled in knightly exercises, Merlin went to the Archbishop of\nCanterbury and advised him that he should call together at\nChristmas-time all the chief men of the realm to the great cathedral\nin London; \"For,\" said Merlin, \"there shall be seen a great marvel\nby which it shall be made clear to all men who is the lawful King of\nthis land.\" The Archbishop did as Merlin counselled. Under pain of a\nfearful curse, he bade barons and knights come to London to keep the\nfeast, and to pray heaven to send peace to the realm.\n\nThe people hastened to obey the Archbishop's commands, and, from all\nsides, barons and knights came riding in to keep the birth-feast of\nour Lord. And when they had prayed, and were coming forth from the\ncathedral, they saw a strange sight. There, in the open space before\nthe church, stood, on a great stone, an anvil thrust through with a\nsword; and on the stone were written these words: \"Whoso can draw\nforth this sword, is rightful King of Britain born.\"\n\nAt once there were fierce quarrels, each man clamouring to be the\nfirst to try his fortune, none doubting his own success. Then the\nArchbishop decreed that each should make the venture in turn, from\nthe greatest baron to the least knight, and each in turn, having put\nforth his utmost strength, failed to move the sword one inch, and\ndrew back ashamed. So the Archbishop dismissed the company, and\nhaving appointed guards to watch over the stone, sent messengers\nthrough all the land to give word of great jousts to be held in\nLondon at Easter, when each knight could give proof of his skill and\ncourage, and try whether the adventure of the sword was for him.\n\nAmong those who rode to London at Easter was the good Sir Ector, and\nwith him his son, Sir Kay, newly made a knight, and the young\nArthur. When the morning came that the jousts should begin, Sir Kay\nand Arthur mounted their horses and set out for the lists; but\nbefore they reached the field, Kay looked and saw that he had left\nhis sword behind. Immediately Arthur turned back to fetch it for\nhim, only to find the house fast shut, for all were gone to view the\ntournament. Sore vexed was Arthur, fearing lest his brother Kay\nshould lose his chance of gaining glory, till, of a sudden, he\nbethought him of the sword in the great anvil before the cathedral.\nThither he rode with all speed, and the guards having deserted their\npost to view the tournament, there was none to forbid him the\nadventure. He leapt from his horse, seized the hilt, and instantly\ndrew forth the sword as easily as from a scabbard; then, mounting\nhis horse and thinking no marvel of what he had done, he rode after\nhis brother and handed him the weapon.\n\nWhen Kay looked at it, he saw at once that it was the wondrous sword\nfrom the stone. In great joy he sought his father, and showing it to\nhim, said: \"Then must I be King of Britain.\" But Sir Ector bade him\nsay how he came by the sword, and when Sir Kay told how Arthur had\nbrought it to him, Sir Ector bent his knee to the boy, and said:\n\"Sir, I perceive that ye are my King, and here I tender you my\nhomage\"; and Kay did as his father. Then the three sought the\nArchbishop, to whom they related all that had happened; and he, much\nmarvelling, called the people together to the great stone, and bade\nArthur thrust back the sword and draw it forth again in the presence\nof all, which he did with ease. But an angry murmur arose from the\nbarons, who cried that what a boy could do, a man could do; so, at\nthe Archbishop's word, the sword was put back, and each man, whether\nbaron or knight, tried in his turn to draw it forth, and failed.\nThen, for the third time, Arthur drew forth the sword. Immediately\nthere arose from the people a great shout: \"Arthur is King! Arthur\nis King! We will have no King but Arthur\"; and, though the great\nbarons scowled and threatened, they fell on their knees before him\nwhile the Archbishop placed the crown upon his head, and swore to\nobey him faithfully as their lord and sovereign.\n\nThus Arthur was made King; and to all he did justice, righting\nwrongs and giving to all their dues. Nor was he forgetful of those\nthat had been his friends; for Kay, whom he loved as a brother, he\nmade Seneschal and chief of his household, and to Sir Ector, his\nfoster father, he gave broad lands.\n\nThus Arthur was made King, but he had to fight for his own; for\neleven great kings drew together and refused to acknowledge him as\ntheir lord, and chief amongst the rebels was King Lot of Orknev who\nhad married Arthur's sister, Bellicent.\n\nBy Merlin's advice, Arthur sent for help overseas, to Ban and Bors,\nthe two great Kings who ruled in Gaul. With their aid, he overthrew\nhis foes in a great battle near the river Trent; and then he passed\nwith them into their own lands and helped them drive out their\nenemies. So there was ever great friendship between Arthur and the\nKings Ban and Bors, and all their kindred; and afterward some of the\nmost famous Knights of the Round Table were of that kin.\n\nThen King Arthur set himself to restore order throughout his\nkingdom. To all who would submit and amend their evil ways, he\nshowed kindness; but those who persisted in oppression and wrong he\nremoved, putting in their places others who would deal justly with\nthe people. And because the land had become overrun with forest\nduring the days of misrule, he cut roads through the thickets, that\nno longer wild beasts and men, fiercer than the beasts, should lurk\nin their gloom, to the harm of the weak and defenceless. Thus it\ncame to pass that soon the peasant ploughed his fields in safety,\nand where had been wastes, men dwelt again in peace and prosperity.\n\nAmongst the lesser Kings whom Arthur helped to rebuild their towns\nand restore order, was King Leodegrance of Cameliard. Now\nLeodegrance had one fair child, his daughter Guenevere; and from the\ntime that first he saw her, Arthur gave her all his love. So he\nsought counsel of Merlin, his chief adviser. Merlin heard the King\nsorrowfully, and he said: \"Sir King, when a man's heart is set, he\nmay not change. Yet had it been well if ye had loved another.\"\n\nSo the King sent his knights to Leodegrance, to ask of him his\ndaughter; and Leodegrance consented, rejoicing to wed her to so good\nand knightly a King. With great pomp, the princess was conducted to\nCanterbury, and there the King met her, and they two were wed by the\nArchbishop in the great Cathedral, amid the rejoicings of the\npeople.\n\nOn that same day did Arthur found his Order of the Round Table, the\nfame of which was to spread throughout Christendom and endure\nthrough all time. Now the Round Table had been made for King Uther\nPendragon by Merlin, who had meant thereby to set forth plainly to\nall men the roundness of the earth. After Uther died, King\nLeodegrance had possessed it; but when Arthur was wed, he sent it to\nhim as a gift, and great was the King's joy at receiving it. One\nhundred and fifty knights might take their places about it, and for\nthem Merlin made sieges, or seats. One hundred and twenty-eight did\nArthur knight at that great feast; thereafter, if any sieges were\nempty, at the high festival of Pentecost new knights were ordained\nto fill them, and by magic was the name of each knight found\ninscribed, in letters of gold, in his proper siege. One seat only\nlong remained unoccupied, and that was the Siege Perilous. No knight\nmight occupy it until the coming of Sir Galahad; for, without danger\nto his life, none might sit there who was not free from all stain of\nsin.\n\nWith pomp and ceremony did each knight take upon him the vows of\ntrue knighthood: to obey the King; to show mercy to all who asked\nit; to defend the weak; and for no worldly gain to fight in a\nwrongful cause: and all the knights rejoiced together, doing honour\nto Arthur and to his Queen. Then they rode forth to right the wrong\nand help the oppressed, and by their aid the King held his realm in\npeace, doing justice to all.\n\nNow, as time passed, King Arthur gathered into his Order of the\nRound Table knights whose peers shall never be found in any age; and\nforemost amongst them all was Sir Launcelot du Lac. Such was his\nstrength that none against whom he laid lance in rest could keep the\nsaddle, and no shield was proof against his sword dint; but for his\ncourtesy even more than for his courage and strength, Sir Launcelot\nwas famed far and near. Gentle he was and ever the first to rejoice\nin the renown of another; and in the jousts, he would avoid\nencounter with the young and untried knight, letting him pass to\ngain glory if he might.\n\nIt would take a great book to record all the famous deeds of Sir\nLauncelot, and all his adventures. He was of Gaul, for his father,\nKing Ban, ruled over Benwick; he was named Launcelot du Lac by the\nLady of the Lake who reared him when his mother died. Early he won\nrenown; then, when there was peace in his own land, he passed into\nBritain, to Arthur's Court, where the King received him gladly, and\nmade him Knight of the Round Table and took him for his trustiest\nfriend. And so it was that, when Guenevere was to be brought to\nCanterbury, to be married to the King, Launcelot was chief of the\nknights sent to wait upon her, and of this came the sorrow of later\ndays. For, from the moment he saw her, Sir Launcelot loved\nGuenevere, for her sake remaining wifeless all his days, and in all\nthings being her faithful knight. But busy-bodies and mischief-\nmakers spoke evil of Sir Launcelot and the Queen, and from their\ntalk came the undoing of the King and the downfall of his great\nwork. But that was after long years, and after many true knights had\nlived their lives, honouring the King and Queen, and doing great\ndeeds.\n\nBefore Merlin passed from the world of men, he had uttered many\nmarvellous prophesies, and one that boded ill to King Arthur; for he\nforetold that, in the days to come, a son of Arthur's sister should\nstir up bitter war against the King, and at last a great battle\nshould be fought, when many a brave knight should find his doom.\n\nNow, among the nephews of Arthur, was one most dishonourable; his\nname was Mordred. No knightly deed had he ever done, and he hated to\nhear the good report of others because he himself was a coward and\nenvious. But of all the Round Table there was none that Mordred\nhated more than Sir Launcelot du Lac, whom all true knights held in\nmost honour; and not the less did Mordred hate Launcelot that he was\nthe knight whom Queen Guenevere had in most esteem. So, at last, his\njealous rage passing all bounds, he spoke evil of the Queen and of\nLauncelot, saying that they were traitors to the King. Now Sir\nGawain and Sir Gareth, Mordred's brothers, refused to give ear to\nthese slanders, holding that Sir Launcelot, in his knightly service\nof the Queen, did honour to King Arthur also; but by ill-fortune\nanother brother, Sir Agravaine, had ill-will to the Queen, and\nprofessed to believe Mordred's evil tales. So the two went to King\nArthur with their ill stories.\n\nNow when Arthur had heard them, he was wroth; for never would he\nlightly believe evil of any, and Sir Launcelot was the knight whom\nhe loved above all others. Sternly then he bade them begone and come\nno more to him with unproven tales against any, and, least of all,\nagainst Sir Launcelot and their lady, the Queen.\n\nThe two departed, but in their hearts was hatred against Launcelot\nand the Queen, more bitter than ever for the rebuke they had called\ndown upon themselves.\n\nGreat was the King's grief. Despite all that Mordred could say, he\nwas slow to doubt Sir Launcelot, whom he loved, but his mind was\nfilled with forebodings; and well he knew that their kin would seek\nvengeance on Sir Launcelot, and the noble fellowship of the Round\nTable be utterly destroyed.\n\nAll too soon it proved even as the King had feared. Many were found\nto hold with Sir Mordred; some from envy of the honour and worship\nof the noble Sir Launcelot; and among them even were those who dared\nto raise their voice against the Queen herself, calling for judgment\nupon her as leagued with a traitor against the King, and as having\ncaused the death of so many good knights. Now in those days the law\nwas that if any one were accused of treason by witnesses, or taken\nin the act, that one should die the death by burning, be it man or\nwoman, knight or churl. So then the murmurs grew to a loud clamour\nthat the law should have its course, and that King Arthur should\npass sentence on the Queen. Then was the King's woe doubled; \"For,\"\nsaid he, \"I sit as King to be a rightful judge and keep all the law;\nwherefore I may not do battle for my own Queen, and now there is\nnone other to help her.\" So a decree was issued that Queen Guenevere\nshould be burnt at the stake outside the walls of Carlisle.\n\nForthwith, King Arthur sent for his nephew, Sir Gawain, and said to\nhim: \"Fair nephew, I give it in charge to you to see that all is\ndone as has been decreed.\" But Sir Gawain answered boldly: \"Sir\nKing, never will I be present to see my lady the Queen die. It is of\nill counsel that ye have consented to her death.\" Then the King bade\nGawain send his two young brothers, Sir Gareth and Sir Gaheris, to\nreceive his commands, and these he desired to attend the Queen to\nthe place of execution. So Gareth made answer for both: \"My Lord the\nKing, we owe you obedience in all things, but know that it is sore\nagainst our wills that we obey you in this; nor will we appear in\narms in the place where that noble lady shall die\"; then sorrowfully\nthey mounted their horses and rode to Carlisle.\n\nWhen the day appointed had come, the Queen was led forth to a place\nwithout the walls of Carlisle, and there she was bound to the stake\nto be burnt to death. Loud were her ladies' lamentations, and many a\nlord was found to weep at that grievous sight of a Queen brought so\nlow; yet was there none who dared come forward as her champion, lest\nhe should be suspected of treason. As for Gareth and Gaheris, they\ncould not bear the sight and stood with their faces covered in their\nmantles. Then, just as the torch was to be applied to the faggots,\nthere was a sound as of many horses galloping, and the next instant\na band of knights rushed upon the astonished throng, their leader\ncutting down all who crossed his path until he had reached the\nQueen, whom he lifted to his saddle and bore from the press. Then\nall men knew that it was Sir Launcelot, come knightly to rescue the\nQueen, and in their hearts they rejoiced. So with little hindrance\nthey rode away, Sir Launcelot and all his kin with the Queen in\ntheir midst, till they came to the castle of the Joyous Garde where\nthey held the Queen in safety and all reverence.\n\nAt last Sir Launcelot desired of King Arthur assurance of liberty\nfor the Queen, as also safe conduct for himself and his knights,\nthat he might bring Dame Guenevere, with due honour, to the King at\nCarlisle; and thereto the King pledged his word.\n\nSo Launcelot set forth with the Queen, and behind them rode a\nhundred knights arrayed in green velvet, the housings of the horses\nof the same all studded with precious stones; thus they passed\nthrough the city of Carlisle, openly, in the sight of all, and there\nwere many who rejoiced that the Queen was come again and Sir\nLauncelot with her, though they of Gawain's party scowled upon him.\n\nWhen they were come into the great hall where Arthur sat, with Sir\nGawain and other great lords about him, Sir Launcelot led Guenevere\nto the throne and both knelt before the King; then, rising, Sir\nLauncelot lifted the Queen to her feet, and thus he spoke to King\nArthur, boldly and well before the whole court: \"My lord, Sir\nArthur, I bring you here your Queen, than whom no truer nor nobler\nlady ever lived; and here stand I, Sir Launcelot du Lac, ready to do\nbattle with any that dare gainsay it\"; and with these words Sir\nLauncelot turned and looked upon the lords and knights present in\ntheir places, but none would challenge him in that cause, not even\nSir Gawain, for he had ever affirmed that Dame Guenevere was a true\nand honourable lady.\n\nThen Sir Launcelot spoke again; \"Now, my Lord Arthur, in my own\ndefence it behooves me to say that never in aught have I been false\nto you.\"\n\n\"Peace,\" said the King to Sir Launcelot: \"We give you fifteen days\nin which to leave this kingdom.\" Then Sir Launcelot sighed heavily\nand said: \"Full well I see that nothing availeth me.\" Then he went\nto the Queen where she sat, and said: \"Madam, the time is come when\nI must leave this fair realm that I have loved. Think well of me, I\npray you, and send for me if ever there be aught in which a true\nknight may serve lady.\" Therewith he turned him about and, without\ngreeting to any, passed through the hall, and with his faithful\nknights rode to the Joyous Garde, though ever thereafter, in memory\nof that sad day, he called it the Dolorous Garde.\n\nIn after times when the King had passed overseas to France, leaving\nSir Mordred to rule Britain in his stead, there came messengers from\nBritain bearing letters for King Arthur; and more evil news than\nthey brought might not well be, for they told how Sir Mordred had\nusurped his uncle's realm. First, he had caused it to be noised\nabroad that King Arthur was slain in battle with Sir Launcelot, and,\nsince there be many ever ready to believe any idle rumour and eager\nfor any change, it had been no hard task for Sir Mordred to call the\nlords to a Parliament and persuade them to make him King. But the\nQueen could not be brought to believe that her lord was dead, so she\ntook refuge in the Tower of London from Sir Mordred's violence, nor\nwas she to be induced to leave her strong refuge for aught that\nMordred could promise or threaten.\n\nForthwith, King Arthur bade his host make ready to move, and when\nthey had reached the coast, they embarked and made sail to reach\nBritain with all possible speed.\n\nSir Mordred, on his part, had heard of their sailing, and hasted to\nget together a great army. It was grievous to see how many a stout\nknight held by Mordred, ay, even many whom Arthur himself had raised\nto honour and fortune; for it is the nature of men to be fickle.\nThus is was that, when Arthur drew near to Dover, he found Mordred\nwith a mighty host, waiting to oppose his landing. Then there was a\ngreat sea-fight, those of Mordred's party going out in boats, to\nboard King Arthur's ships and slay him and his men or ever they\nshould come to land. Right valiantly did King Arthur bear him, as\nwas his wont, and boldly his followers fought in his cause, so that\nat last they drove off their enemies and landed at Dover in spite of\nMordred and his array.\n\nNow, by this time, many that Mordred had cheated by his lying\nreports, had drawn unto King Arthur, to whom at heart they had ever\nbeen loyal, knowing him for a true and noble King and hating\nthemselves for having been deceived by such a false usurper as Sir\nMordred.\n\nOne night, as King Arthur slept, he thought that Sir Gawain stood\nbefore him, looking just as he did in life, and said to him: \"My\nuncle and my King, God in his great love has suffered me to come\nunto you, to warn you that in no wise ye fight on the morrow; for if\nye do, ye shall be slain, and with you the most part of the people\non both sides. Make ye, therefore, a treaty.\" Immediately, the King\nawoke and called to him the best and wisest of his knights. Then all\nwere agreed that, on any terms whatsoever, a treaty should be made\nwith Sir Mordred, even as Sir Gawain had said; and, with the dawn,\nmessengers went to the camp of the enemy, to call Sir Mordred to a\nconference. So it was determined that the meeting should take place\nin the sight of both armies, in an open space between the two camps,\nand that King Arthur and Mordred should each be accompanied by\nfourteen knights. Little enough faith had either in the other, so\nwhen they set forth to the meeting, they bade their hosts join\nbattle if ever they saw a sword drawn.\n\nNow as they talked, it befell that an adder, coming out of a bush\nhard by, stung a knight in the foot; and he, seeing the snake, drew\nhis sword to kill it and thought no harm thereby. But on the instant\nthat the sword flashed, the trumpets blared on both sides and the\ntwo hosts rushed to battle. Never was there fought a fight of such\nenmity; for brother fought with brother, and comrade with comrade,\nand fiercely they cut and thrust, with many a bitter word between;\nwhile King Arthur himself, his heart hot within him, rode through\nand through the battle, seeking the traitor Mordred. So they fought\nall day, till at last the evening fell. Then Arthur, looking round\nhim, saw of his valiant knights but two left, Sir Lucan and Sir\nBedivere, and these sore wounded; and there, over against him, by a\ngreat heap of the dead, stood Sir Mordred, the cause of all this\nruin. Thereupon the King, his heart nigh broken with grief for the\nloss of his true knights, cried with a loud voice, \"Traitor! now is\nthy doom upon thee!\" and with his spear gripped in both hands, he\nrushed upon Sir Mordred and smote him that the weapon stood out a\nfathom behind. And Sir Mordred knew that he had his death wound.\nWith all the might that he had, he thrust him up the spear to the\nhaft and, with his sword, struck King Arthur upon the head, that the\nsteel pierced the helmet and bit into the head; then Mordred fell\nback, stark and dead.\n\nSir Lucan and Sir Bedivere went to the King where he lay, swooning\nfrom the blow, and bore him to a little chapel on the seashore. As\nthey laid him on the ground, Sir Lucan fell dead beside the King,\nand Arthur, coming to himself, found but Sir Bedivere alive beside\nhim.\n\nSo King Arthur lay wounded to the death, grieving, not that his end\nwas come, but for the desolation of his kingdom and the loss of his\ngood knights. And looking upon the body of Sir Lucan, he sighed and\nsaid: \"Alas! true knight, dead for my sake! If I lived, I should\never grieve for thy death, but now mine own end draws nigh.\" Then,\nturning to Sir Bedivere, who stood sorrowing beside him, he said:\n\"Leave weeping now, for the time is short and much to do. Hereafter\nshalt thou weep if thou wilt. But take now my sword Excalibur,\nhasten to the water side, and fling it into the deep. Then, watch\nwhat happens and bring me word thereof.\" \"My Lord,\" said Sir\nBedivere, \"your command shall be obeyed\"; and, taking the sword, he\ndeparted. But as he went on his way, he looked on the sword, how\nwondrously it was formed and the hilt all studded with precious\nstones; and, as he looked, he called to mind the marvel by which it\nhad come into the King's keeping. For on a certain day, as Arthur\nwalked on the shore of a great lake, there had appeared above the\nsurface of the water a hand brandishing a sword. On the instant, the\nKing had leaped into a boat, and, rowing into the lake, had got the\nsword and brought it back to land. Then he had seen how, on one side\nthe blade, was written, \"Keep me,\" but on the other, \"Throw me\naway,\" and, sore perplexed, he had shown it to Merlin, the great\nwizard, who said: \"Keep it now. The time for casting away has not\nyet come.\" Thinking on this, it seemed to Bedivere that no good, but\nharm, must come of obeying the King's word; so hiding the sword\nunder a tree, he hastened back to the little chapel. Then said the\nKing: \"What saw'st thou?\" \"Sir,\" answered Bedivere, \"I saw naught\nbut the waves, heard naught but the wind.\" \"That is untrue,\" said\nKing Arthur; \"I charge thee, as thou art true knight, go again and\nspare not to throw away the sword.\"\n\nSir Bedivere departed a second time, and his mind was to obey his\nlord; but when he took the sword in his hand, he thought: \"Sin it is\nand shameful, to throw away so glorious a sword\" Then, hiding it\nagain, he hastened back to the King. \"What saw'st thou?\" said Sir\nArthur. \"Sir, I saw the water lap on the crags.\" Then spoke the King\nin great wrath: \"Traitor and unkind! Twice hast thou betrayed me!\nArt dazzled by the splendour of the jewels, thou that, till now,\nhast ever been dear and true to me? Go yet again, but if thou fail\nme this time, I will arise and, with mine own hands, slay thee.\"\n\nThen Sir Bedivere left the King and, that time, he took the sword\nquickly from the place where he had hidden it and, forbearing even\nto look upon it, he twisted the belt about it and flung it with all\nhis force into the water. A wondrous sight he saw for, as the sword\ntouched the water, a hand rose from out the deep, caught it,\nbrandished it thrice, and drew it beneath the surface.\n\nSir Bedivere hastened back to the King and told him what he had\nseen. \"It is well,\" said Arthur; \"now, bear me to the water's edge;\nand hasten, I pray thee, for I have tarried overlong and my wound\nhas taken cold.\" So Sir Bedivere raised the King on. his back and\nbore him tenderly to the lonely shore, where the lapping waves\nfloated many an empty helmet and the fitful moonlight fell on the\nupturned faces of the dead. Scarce had they reached the shore when\nthere hove in sight a barge, and on its deck stood three tall women,\nrobed all in black and wearing crowns on their heads. \"Place me in\nthe barge,\" said the King, and softly Sir Bedivere lifted the King\ninto it. And these three Queens wept sore over Arthur, and one took\nhis head in her lap and chafed his hands, crying: \"Alas! my brother,\nthou hast been overlong in coming and, I fear me, thy wound has\ntaken cold.\" Then the barge began to move slowly from the land. When\nSir Bedivere saw this, he lifted up his voice and cried with a\nbitter cry: \"Ah! my Lord Arthur, thou art taken from me! And I,\nwhither shall I go?\" \"Comfort thyself,\" said the King, \"for in me is\nno comfort more. I pass to the Valley of Avilion, to heal me of my\ngrievous wound. If thou seest me never again, pray for me.\"\n\nSo the barge floated away out of sight, and Sir Bedivere stood\nstraining his eyes after it till it had vanished utterly. Then he\nturned him about and journeyed through the forest until, at\ndaybreak, he reached a hermitage. Entering it, he prayed the holy\nhermit that he might abide with him, and there he spent the rest of\nhis life in prayer and holy exercise.\n\nBut of King Arthur is no more known. Some men, indeed, say that he\nis not dead, but abides in the happy Valley of Avilion until such\ntime as his country's need is sorest, when he shall come again and\ndeliver it. Others say that, of a truth, he is dead, and that, in\nthe far West, his tomb may be seen, and written on it these words:\n\n  \"Here lies Arthur, once King\n     and King to be\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nSIR GALAHAD\n\n\nMany times had the Feast of Pentecost come round, and many were the\nknights that Arthur had made after he founded the Order of the Round\nTable; yet no knight had appeared who dared claim the seat named by\nMerlin the Siege Perilous. At last, one vigil of the great feast, a\nlady came to Arthur's court at Camelot and asked Sir Launcelot to\nride with her into the forest hard by, for a purpose not then to be\nrevealed. Launcelot consenting, they rode together until they came\nto a nunnery hidden deep in the forest; and there the lady bade\nLauncelot dismount, and led him into a great and stately room.\nPresently there entered twelve nuns and with them a youth, the\nfairest that Launcelot had ever seen. \"Sir,\" said the nuns, \"we have\nbrought up this child in our midst, and now that he is grown to\nmanhood, we pray you make him knight, for of none worthier could he\nreceive the honour.\" \"Is this thy own desire?\" asked Launcelot of\nthe young squire; and when he said that so it was, Launcelot\npromised to make him knight after the great festival had been\ncelebrated in the church next day.\n\nSo on the morrow, after they had worshipped, Launcelot knighted\nGalahad--for that was the youth's name--and asked him if he would\nride at once with him to the King's court; but the young knight\nexcusing himself, Sir Launcelot rode back alone to Camelot, where\nall rejoiced that he was returned in time to keep the feast with the\nwhole Order of the Round Table.\n\nNow, according to his custom, King Arthur was waiting for some\nmarvel to befall before he and his knights sat down to the banquet.\nPresently a squire entered the hall and said: \"Sir King, a great\nwonder has appeared. There floats on the river a mighty stone, as it\nwere a block of red marble, and it is thrust through by a sword, the\nhilt of which is set thick with precious stones.\" On hearing this,\nthe King and all his knights went forth to view the stone and found\nit as the squire had said; moreover, looking closer, they read these\nwords: \"None shall draw me hence, but only he by whose side I must\nhang; and he shall be the best knight in all the world.\"\nImmediately, all bade Launcelot draw forth the sword, but he\nrefused, saying that the sword was not for him. Then, at the King's\ncommand, Sir Gawain made the attempt and failed, as did Sir\nPercivale after him. So the knights knew the adventure was not for\nthem, and returning to the hall, took their places about the Round\nTable.\n\nNo sooner were they seated than an aged man, clothed all in white,\nentered the hall, followed by a young knight in red armour, by whose\nside hung an empty scabbard. The old man approached King Arthur and\nbowing low before him, said: \"Sir, I bring you a young knight of the\nhouse and lineage of Joseph of Arimathea, and through him shall\ngreat glory be won for all the land of Britain.\" Greatly did King\nArthur rejoice to hear this, and welcomed the two right royally.\nThen when the young knight had saluted the King, the old man led him\nto the Siege Perilous and drew off its silken cover; and all the\nknights were amazed, for they saw that where had been engraved the\nwords, \"The Siege Perilous,\" was written now in shining gold: \"This\nis the Siege of the noble prince, Sir Galahad.\" Straightway the\nyoung man seated himself there where none other had ever sat without\ndanger to his life; and all who saw it said, one to another: \"Surely\nthis is he that shall achieve the Holy Grail.\" Now the Holy Grail\nwas the blessed dish from which our Lord had eaten the Last Supper,\nand it had been brought to the land of Britain by Joseph of\nArimathea; but because of men's sinfulness, it had been withdrawn\nfrom human sight, only that, from time to to time, it appeared to\nthe pure in heart.\n\nWhen all had partaken of the royal banquet, King Arthur bade Sir\nGalahad come with him to the river's brink; and showing him the\nfloating stone with the sword thrust through it, told him how his\nknights had failed to draw forth the sword. \"Sir,\" said Galahad, \"it\nis no marvel that they failed, for the adventure was meant for me,\nas my empty scabbard shows.\" So saying, lightly he drew the sword\nfrom the heart of the stone, and lightly he slid it into the\nscabbard at his side. While all yet wondered at this adventure of\nthe sword, there came riding to them a lady on a white palfrey who,\nsaluting King Arthur, said: \"Sir King, Nacien the hermit sends thee\nword that this day shall great honour be shown to thee and all thine\nhouse; for the Holy Grail shall appear in thy hall, and thou and all\nthy fellowship shall be fed therefrom.\" And so to Launcelot she\nsaid: \"Sir Knight, thou hast ever been the best knight of all the\nworld; but another has come to whom thou must yield precedence.\"\nThen Launcelot answered humbly: \"I know well I was never the best.\"\n\"Ay, of a truth thou wast and art still, of sinful men,\" said she,\nand rode away before any could question her further.\n\nSo, that evening, when all were gathered about the Round Table, each\nknight in his own siege, suddenly there was heard a crash of\nthunder, so mighty that the hall trembled, and there flashed into\nthe hall a sunbeam, brighter far than any that had ever before been\nseen; and then, draped all in white samite, there glided through the\nair what none might see, yet what all knew to be the Holy Grail. And\nall the air was filled with sweet odours, and on every one was shed\na light in which he looked fairer and nobler than ever before. So\nthey sat in an amazed silence, till presently King Arthur rose and\ngave thanks to God for the grace given to him and to his court. Then\nup sprang Sir Gawain and made his avow to follow for a year and a\nday the Quest of the Holy Grail, if perchance he might be granted\nthe vision of it. Immediately other of the knights followed his\nexample, binding themselves to the Quest of the Holy Grail until, in\nall, one hundred and fifty had vowed themselves to the adventure.\n\nThen was King Arthur grieved, for he foresaw the ruin of his noble\nOrder. And turning to Sir Gawain, he said: \"Nephew, ye have done\nill, for through you I am bereft of the noblest company of knights\nthat ever brought honour to any realm in Christendom. Well I know\nthat never again shall all of you gather in this hall, and it\ngrieves me to lose men I have loved as my life and through whom I\nhave won peace and righteousness for all my realm.\" So the King\nmourned and his knights with him, but their oaths they could not\nrecall.\n\nGreat woe was there in Camelot next day when, after worship in the\ncathedral, the knights who had vowed themselves to the Quest of the\nHoly Grail got to horse and rode away. A goodly company it was that\npassed through the streets, the townfolk weeping to see them go; Sir\nLauncelot du Lac and his kin, Sir Galahad of whom all expected great\ndeeds, Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, and many another scarcely less\nfamed than they. So they rode together that day to the Castle of\nVagon, where they were entertained right hospitably, and the next\nday they separated, each to ride his own way and see what adventures\nshould befall him.\n\nSo it came to pass that, after four days' ride, Sir Galahad reached\nan abbey. Now Sir Galahad was still clothed in red armour as when he\ncame to the King's court, and by his side hung the wondrous sword;\nbut he was without a shield. They of the abbey received him right\nheartily, as also did the brave King Bagdemagus, Knight of the Round\nTable, who was resting there. When they greeted each other, Sir\nGalahad asked King Bagdemagus what adventure had brought him there.\n\"Sir,\" said Bagdemagus, \"I was told that in this abbey was preserved\na wondrous shield which none but the best knight in the world might\nbear without grievous harm to himself. And though I know well that\nthere are better knights than I, to-morrow I purpose to make the\nattempt. But, I pray you, bide at this monastery a while until you\nhear from me; and if I fail, do ye take the adventure upon you.\" \"So\nbe it,\" said Sir Galahad.\n\nThe next day, at their request, Sir Galahad and King Bagdemagus were\nled into the church by a monk and shown where, behind the altar,\nhung the wondrous shield, whiter than snow save for the blood-red\ncross in its midst. Then the monk warned them of the danger to any\nwho, being unworthy, should dare to bear the shield. But King\nBagdemagus made answer: \"I know well that I am not the best knight\nin the world, yet will I try if I may bear it.\" So he hung it about\nhis neck, and, bidding farewell, rode away with his squire.\n\nThe two had not journeyed far before they saw a knight approach,\narmed all in white mail and mounted upon a white horse. Immediately\nhe laid his spear in rest and, charging King Bagdemagus, pierced him\nthrough the shoulder and bore him from his horse; and standing over\nthe wounded knight, he said: \"Knight, thou hast shown great folly,\nfor none shall bear this shield save the peerless knight, Sir\nGalahad.\" Then, taking the shield, he gave it to the squire and\nsaid: \"Bear this shield to the good Knight Galahad and greet him\nwell from me.\" \"What is your name?\" asked the squire. \"That is not\nfor thee or any other to know.\" \"One thing, I pray you,\" said the\nsquire; \"why may this shield be borne by none but Sir Galahad\nwithout danger?\" \"Because it belongs to him only,\" answered the\nstranger knight, and vanished.\n\nThen the squire took the shield and setting King Bagdemagus on his\nhorse, bore him back to the abbey where he lay long, sick unto\ndeath. To Galahad the squire gave the shield and told him all that\nhad befallen. So Galahad hung the shield about his neck and rode the\nway that Bagdemagus had gone the day before; and presently he met\nthe White Knight, whom he greeted courteously, begging that he would\nmake known to him the marvels of the red-cross shield. \"That will I\ngladly,\" answered the White Knight. \"Ye must know, Sir Knight, that\nthis shield was made and given by Joseph of Arimathea to the good\nKing Evelake of Sarras, that, in the might of the holy symbol, he\nshould overthrow the heathen who threatened his kingdom. But\nafterwards, King Evelake followed Joseph to this land of Britain\nwhere they taught the true faith unto the people who before were\nheathen. Then when Joseph lay dying, he bade King Evelake set the\nshield in the monastery where ye lay last night, and foretold that\nnone should wear it without loss until that day when it should be\ntaken by the knight, ninth and last in descent from him, who should\ncome to that place the fifteenth day after receiving the degree of\nknighthood. Even so has it been with you, Sir Knight.\" So saying,\nthe unknown knight disappeared and Sir Galahad rode on his way.\n\nAfter Sir Launcelot had parted from his fellows at the Castle of\nVagon, he rode many days through the forest without adventure, till\nhe chanced upon a knight close by a little hermitage in the wood.\nImmediately, as was the wont of errant knights, they prepared to\njoust, and Launcelot, whom none before had overthrown, was borne\ndown, man and horse, by the stranger knight. Thereupon a nun, who\ndwelt in the hermitage, cried: \"God be with thee, best knight in all\nthis world,\" for she knew the victor for Sir Galahad. But Galahad,\nnot wishing to be known, rode swiftly away; and presently Sir\nLauncelot got to horse again and rode slowly on his way, shamed and\ndoubting sorely in his heart whether this quest were meant for him.\n\nAfterward Sir Galahad rescued Sir Percivale from twenty knights who\nbeset him, and rode on his way till night-fall, when he sought\nshelter at a little hermitage. Thither there came in the night a\ndamsel who desired to speak with Sir Galahad; so he arose and went\nto her. \"Galahad,\" said she, \"arm you and mount your horse and\nfollow me, for I am come to guide you in your quest.\" So they rode\ntogether until they had come to the seashore and there the damsel\nshowed Galahad a great ship into which he must enter. Then she bade\nhim farewell, and he, going on to the ship, found there already the\ngood knights Sir Bors and Sir Percivale, who made much joy of the\nmeeting. They abode in that ship until they had come to the castle\nof King Pelles, who welcomed them right gladly. Then, as they all\nsat at supper that night, suddenly the hall was filled with a great\nlight, and the holy vessel appeared in their midst, covered all in\nwhite samite. While they all rejoiced, there came a voice, saying:\n\"My Knights whom I have chosen, ye have seen the holy vessel dimly.\nContinue your journey to the city of Sarras and there the perfect\nvision shall be yours.\"\n\nNow in the city of Sarras had dwelt a long time Joseph of Arimathea,\nteaching its people the true faith, before ever he came into the\nland of Britain; but when Sir Galahad and his fellows came there\nafter long voyage, they found it ruled by a heathen King named\nEstorause, who cast them into a deep dungeon. There they were kept a\nyear, but at the end of that time, the tyrant died. Then the great\nmen of the land gathered together to consider who should be their\nKing; and, while they were in council, came a voice bidding them\ntake as their King the youngest of the three knights whom Estorause\nhad thrown into prison. So in fear and wonder they hastened to the\nprison, and, releasing the three knights, made Galahad King as the\nvoice had bidden them.\n\nThus Sir Galahad became King of the famous city of Sarras, in far\nBabylon. He had reigned a year when, one morning early, he and the\nother two knights, his fellows, went into the chapel, and there they\nsaw, kneeling in prayer, an aged man, robed as a bishop, and round\nhim hovered many angels. The knights fell on their knees in awe and\nreverence, whereupon he that seemed a bishop turned to them and\nsaid: \"I am Joseph of Arimathea, and I am come to show you the\nperfect vision of the Holy Grail.\" On the instant there appeared\nbefore them, without veil or cover, the holy vessel, in a radiance\nof light such as almost blinded them. Sir Bors and Sir Percivale,\nwhen at length they were recovered from the brightness of that\nglory, looked up to find that the holy Joseph and the wondrous\nvessel had passed from their sight. Then they went to Sir Galahad\nwhere he still knelt as in prayer, and behold, he was dead; for it\nhad been with him even as he had prayed; in the moment when he had\nseen the vision, his soul had gone back to God.\n\nSo the two knights buried him in that far city, themselves mourning\nand all the people with them. And immediately after, Sir Percivale\nput off his arms and took the habit of a monk, living a devout and\nholy life until, a year and two months later, he also died and was\nburied near Sir Galahad. Then Sir Bors armed him, and bidding\nfarewell to the city, sailed away until, after many weeks, he came\nagain to the land of Britain. There he took horse, and stayed not\ntill he had come to Camelot. Great was the rejoicing of Arthur and\nall his knights when Sir Bors was once more among them. When he had\ntold all the adventures which had befallen him and the good knights,\nhis companions, all who heard were filled with amaze. But the King\nhe caused the wisest clerks in the land to write in great books of\nthe Holy Grail, that the fame of it should endure unto all time.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nSIR GALAHAD\n\nBY ALFRED LORD TENNYSON\n\nMy good blade carves the casques of men,\n My tough lance thrusteth sure,\n\nMy strength is as the strength of ten,\n Because my heart is pure.\n\nThe shattering trumpet shrilleth high,\n The hard brands shiver on the steel,\n\nThe splinter'd spear-shafts crack and fly,\n The horse and rider reel:\n\nThey reel, they roll in clanging lists,\n And when the tide of combat stands,\n\nPerfume and flowers fall in showers\n That lightly rain from ladies' hands.\n\n\n How sweet are looks that ladies bend\n On whom their favours fall!\n\nFor them I battle till the end,\n To save from shame and thrall:\n\nBut all my heart is drawn above,\n My knees are bow'd in crypt and shrine:\n\nI never felt the kiss of love,\n Nor maiden's hand in mine.\n\nMore bounteous aspects on me beam,\n Me mightier transports move and thrill;\n\nSo keep I fair thro' faith and prayer\n A virgin heart in work and will.\n\n\n When down the stormy crescent goes,\n A light before me swims,\n\nBetween dark stems the forest glows,\n I hear a noise of hymns:\n\nThen by some secret shrine I ride;\n I hear a voice, but none are there;\n\nThe stalls are void, the doors are wide,\n The tapers burning fair.\n\nFair gleams the snowy altar-cloth,\n The silver vessels sparkle clean,\n\nThe shrill bell rings, the censer swings,\n And solemn chaunts resound between.\n\n\n Sometimes on lonely mountain-meres\n I find a magic bark;\n\nI leap on board: no helmsman steers\n I float till all is dark.\n\nA gentle sound, an awful light!\n Three angels bear the Holy Grail:\n\nWith folded feet, in stoles of white,\n On sleeping wings they sail.\n\nAh, blessed vision! blood of God!\n My spirit beats her mortal bars,\n\nAs down dark tides the glory slides,\n And star-like mingles with the stars.\n\n\n When on my goodly charger borne\n Thro' dreaming towns I go,\n\nThe cock crows ere the Christmas morn,\n The streets are dumb with snow.\n\nThe tempest crackles on the leads,\n And, ringing, spins from brand and mail;\n\nBut o'er the dark a glory spreads,\n And gilds the driving hail.\n\nI leave the plain, I climb the height;\n No branchy thicket shelter yields;\n\nBut blessed forms in whistling storms\n Fly o'er waste fens and windy fields.\n\n\n A maiden knight--to me is given\n Such hope, I know not fear,\n\nI yearn to breathe the airs of heaven\n That often meet me here.\n\nI muse on joy that will not cease,\n Pure spaces clothed in living beams,\n\nPure lilies of eternal peace,\n Whose odours haunt my dreams;\n\nAnd, stricken by an angel's hand,\n This mortal armour that I wear,\n\nThis weight and size, this heart and eyes,\n Are touch'd, are turn'd to finest air.\n\n\n The clouds are broken in the sky,\n And thro' the mountain-walls\n\nA rolling organ-harmony\n Swells up, and shakes and falls.\n\nThen move the trees, the copses nod,\n Wings flutter, voices hover clear:\n\n\"O just and faithful knight of God!\n Ride on! the prize is near.\"\n\nSo pass I hostel, hall, and grange;\n By bridge and ford, by park and pale,\n\nAll-arm'd I ride, whate'er betide,\n Until I find the Holy Grail.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nSIEGFRIED\n\n\nNow there dwelt in a castle in the Netherland a certain King,\nSiegmund by name, who had to wife a fair lady Sieglind. These two\nhad a son whom they called Siegfried, a very gallant prince. Very\ncarefully did they train and teach him, but the root of the matter\nwas in the lad himself, for he had an honest and good heart, and was\nin all things a very perfect knight. This Siegfried being come to\nman's estate, and being well practised in arms, and having also as\nmuch of wealth as he needed, turned his thoughts to marriage,\ndesiring to win a fair bride for himself.\n\nIt came to Prince Siegfried's ears that there was a very fair maiden\nin the Rhineland, and that many noble knights had come from far and\nwide to make their suits to her, but that she would have none of\nthem. Never yet had she seen the man whom she would take for her\nhusband. All this the Prince heard, and he said, \"This Kriemhild\nwill I have for my wife.\" But King Siegmund, when he heard of his\nson's purpose, was not a little troubled thereat; and Queen Sieglind\nwept, for she knew the brother of Kriemhild, and she was aware of\nthe strength and valour of his warriors. So they said to the Prince,\n\"Son, this is not a wise wooing.\" But Siegfried made answer, \"My\nfather, I will have none of wedlock, if I may not marry where I\nlove.\" Thereupon the King said. \"If thou canst not forego this\nmaiden, then thou shalt have all the help that I can give.\"\n\nQueen Sieglind said: \"If you are still minded to go, then I will\nprepare for you and your companions the best raiment that ever\nwarrior wore.\"\n\nSiegfried bowed low to his mother, saying: \"So be it; only remember\nthat twelve comrades only will I take with me.\"\n\nSo the Queen and her ladies sat stitching night and day, taking no\nrest till the raiment was ready. King Siegmund the while commanded\nthat the men should polish their war-gear, coats of mail, and\nhelmets, and shields.\n\nThe thirteen comrades departed and, on the seventh day, they rode\ninto the town of Worms in Rhineland, a gallant company, bravely\narrayed, for their garments flashed with gold, and their war-gear,\nover their coats of mail and their helmets, were newly polished.\nTheir long swords hung down by their sides, even to their spurs, and\nsharp were the javelins which they held in their hands. The javelin\nof Siegfried was two spans broad in the blade, and had a double\nedge. Terrible were the wounds that it made. Their bridles were\ngilded, and their horse-girths of silk. A comely sight they were to\nsee, and the people came from all round to gaze upon them.\n\nTidings had been brought to King Gunther that certain warriors were\ncome, very gallant to look upon and richly clad, but that no one\nknew who they were, and whence they came. \"Now,\" said the King,\n\"this troubles me much that no one can tell whence these warriors\ncome.\" To him Ortwein, the High Server, made answer, \"Seeing, sire,\nthat no man knows aught about these strangers, let some one fetch\nHagen, my uncle; he knows all the kingdoms of the world, and the\ndwellers therein.\"\n\nSo Hagen went to the window and looked at the men. Well pleased was\nhe with their clothing and their gear of war; but he had never seen\ntheir like in the Rhineland. So he said: \"Whencesoever these men\nhave come, my lord, that they are princes or of a prince's company\nis clear. But stay; Siegfried, the famous hero, I have never seen\nwith my eyes, but I verily believe that is he. If it indeed be,\nthere is no warrior in this land, that is his match for strength and\nvalour.\n\n\"Once upon a time riding alone, with none to help him, he came upon\nthe treasure of the Nibelungs. It had been newly taken out of the\nhollow of a mountain, and the Nibelungs were making ready to share\nit. And when they saw him, one cried aloud, 'Here comes Siegfried,\nthe great champion from the Motherland!' So the two princes of the\nNibelungs bade him welcome, and would have him divide the treasure\namong them. A mighty store it was, of jewels such plenty that scarce\nfive-score wagons could carry them away, and of red gold yet more.\nAll this they would have Siegfried divide among them. And for his\nwages they gave him the Nibelungs' sword. But little did they know\nwhat should befall at his hand. For lo! ere he had ended his\ndividing, they stirred up strife against him. Twelve stout comrades\nhad the princes, and with these the princes thought to have slain\nSiegfried. But they availed nought; with the very sword which they\nhad given him for his reward--Balmung was its name--he slew them\nall. The giants he slew, and the Kings also, and when Albrich the\ndwarf would have avenged his lords--for he was the keeper of the\ntreasure--Siegfried overcame him also, and wrested from him the Hood\nof Darkness, which whoso dons, straightway he vanishes from the\nsight of all men.\n\n\"But the treasure he would not take for himself. 'Carry it back,'\nsaid he to Albrich the dwarf, 'to the hole whence it was taken, and\nkeep if for me. And you shall swear a great oath to do me any\nservice that I shall ask of you, whensoever and wheresoever may seem\ngood to me.'\n\n\"Another story have I heard tell of Siegfried, how he slew a dragon\nwith his own hand and sword, and how he bathed him in the dragon's\nblood, and made his skin so hard and horny that no sword may pierce\nit. Let us. therefore receive him with all courtesy; for verily he\nis a right strong and valiant knight, and 'tis better, I ween, to be\nhis friend than his enemy.\"\n\n\"Methinks thou art right,\" said King Gunther. \"Let us go down and\ngreet him courteously.\"\n\nNever were guests more honoured as, of a surety, never guests had\nbolder mien. And as the days went by the Kings and their guests gave\nthemselves to sport and pastime; but whatever they did, Siegfried\nwas ever the first; none could put the stone so far, or cast the\nspear with so sure an aim. Sometimes the fair ladies of the court\nlooked on, and not a few looked on the young Prince from the\nNetherland with favour. But he had ever one only in his heart, ever\nthe fair Kriemhild.\n\nKing Gunther purposed in his heart to marry a wife. No daughter of\nhis own land would he woo, though there were many fair maidens in\nthe Rhineland. But there came to him tidings of a Queen that dwelt\nbeyond the sea; not to be matched was she for beauty, nor had she\nany peer for strength. Her love she proffered to any warrior who\ncould vanquish her at three games, hurling of the spear, and putting\nthe stone, and leaping. But if the suitor himself should be\nvanquished, then must he lose his head. Such were the conditions of\nher wooing, and many brave warriors had died for her.\n\nOn a certain day King Gunther and his chiefs sat in council, and the\nmatter was this--where shall the King seek a wife who shall both be\nfor a comfort to him and for a glory to the land? Then spake the\nKing, \"I will seek Queen Brunhild and no other. For her will I\nhazard my life; nor do I care to live if I may not win her for my\nwife.\" To him spake Siegfried, \"I would have you give up this\npurpose. He who woos Brunhild plays for too high a stake. Take my\ncounsel, sire, and go not on such a journey.\" \"I should think it\nscorn,\" said he, \"to fear a woman, were she ever so bold and\nstrong.\" \"Ah, sire,\" Siegfried made answer, \"you know not how strong\nshe is. Were you four men and not one only, you could not prevail\nover her.\"\n\nBut King Gunther would not yield. \"How strong soever she be, and\nwhatever the chances that befall me, I will woo this fair Brunhild,\"\nhe said. Then said Hagen, the King's uncle, \"Since you are resolved\nto take in hand this enterprise, ask Prince Siegfried to help you.\"\nThen said King Gunther to Siegfried, \"Will you help me to win this\nBrunhild for my wife? Do this, and ask of me what you will.\"\nSiegfried made answer, \"Give me your sister: I ask no other reward\nbut that I may have the fair Kriemhild to wife.\" \"That I promise,\"\nsaid the King. \"Of a surety, so soon as I shall have brought the\nfair Brunhild to this realm, then will I give you my sister to wife;\nand I pray from my heart that you may live long and happily\ntogether.\" Then the two sware to each other.\n\n\"Tell me now,\" said Gunther, \"how shall we travel to this land where\nBrunhild dwells? Shall we go in such state as befits a King? If you\nthink fit, I could well bring together thirty thousand warriors.\"\n\"Thirty thousand would avail nothing.\" answered Siegfried, \"so\nstrong she is and savage. We will take no army, but go as simple\nknights, taking two companions with us, and the two shall be Sir\nHagen and Sir Dankwart.\" \"And wherewithal shall we be clothed?\" said\nKing Gunther. \"As richly as maybe,\" answered Siegfried. \"My mother\nhas a great store of goodly raiment,\" said the King. Then spake\nHagen, \"Nay, sire, go not to the Queen, but rather to your sister.\nShe will provide all things that you need.\"\n\nSo they went to the Lady Kriemhild and told her all their purpose,\nand how they should need goodly raiment, three changes for the day,\nand that for four days. With good will did the fair Kriemhild\nreceive them, and promised that she would give them what they\nneeded. As she promised, so she did; for she and her ladies, thirty\nmaids skilful in the work of the needle, laboured night and day to\nfurnish a rich store of apparel. The fair Kriemhild planned them and\ncut them to just measure with her own hand and her ladies sewed\nthem. Silks there were, some from Arabia, white as snow, and from\nthe Lesser Asia others, green as grass, and strange skins of fishes\nfrom distant seas, and fur of the ermine, with black spots on snowy\nwhite, and precious stones and gold of Arabia. In seven weeks all\nwas prepared, both apparel and also arms and armour; and there was\nnothing that was either over-long or over-short, or that could be\nsurpassed for comeliness. Great thanks did the warriors give to each\nfair seamstress, and to Kriemhild the beautiful the greatest thanks\nof all.\n\nSo the four companions embarked on their ship, with Siegfried for\ntheir helmsman, for he knew all the tides and currents of Rhine.\nWell furnished were they with food and wine and all things that they\nneeded; and prosperous was their voyage, both while they sailed down\nthe river and while they crossed the sea.\n\nOn the twelfth morning they came to the land of Queen Brunhild. And\nwhen King Gunther saw how the coast stretched far away, and how on\nevery height there stood a fair castle, he said to Siegfried, \"Tell\nme, Siegfried, if you can, whose are those castles, and this fair\nland. Never in all my life, I assure you, have I seen castles so\nfairly planned and built so well.\" Siegfried made answer, \"These\ncastles and this fair land are Queen Brunhild's and this strong\nfortress that you see is Isenstein. And now, my comrades, I have a\ncounsel for your ears. To-day we shall stand in Queen Brunhild's\ncourt, and we must be wise and wary when we stand before her. Let\ntherefore one and the same story be found in the mouth of all--that\nGunther is my master, and that I am Gunther's man. If we would win\nour purpose there is no surer plan than this.\" So spake Siegfried to\nhis comrades. And to the King he said, \"Mark, I pray you, what I do\nfor the love of your fair sister.\"\n\nWhile they talked one to the other the bark drifted so near to the\nshore that they could see the maidens standing at the castle\nwindows. \"Who are these?\" said King Gunther to Siegfried. Said\nSiegfried, \"Look with all your eyes at these fair ladies, and tell\nme which of them pleases you best, and which, could you win her, you\nwould choose for your wife.\" Gunther made answer, \"One that I see at\nyonder window in a snow-white vest is surely the loveliest of all.\nShe, if I can win her, shall surely be my wife.\" \"You have chosen\nwell,\" said Siegfried; \"that maiden in the snow-white vest is\nBrunhild, the fairest and fiercest of women.\"\n\nMeanwhile the Queen had bidden her maidens depart from the windows.\n\"'Tis a shame,\" said she, \"that you should make yourselves a sight\nfor strangers.\"\n\nAnd now came the four comrades from their bark to the castle.\nSiegfried led a noble charger by the bridle, and stood by the\nstirrup till King Gunther had mounted, serving him as a vassal\nserves his lord. This Brunhild marked from where she stood. \"A noble\nlord,\" thought she in her heart, \"whom such a vassal serves.\" Then\nSiegfried mounted his own steed, and Hagen and Dankwart did the\nlike. A fairer company never was seen. The King and Siegfried were\nclothed in white, and white were their horses, and their shields\nflashed far as they moved. So, in lordly fashion, they rode to the\nhall of Queen Brunhild, and the bells of gold that hung from their\nsaddles tinkled as they went. Hagen and Dankwart, on the other hand,\nwore black apparel, and their chargers were black.\n\nMeanwhile the fair Brunhild inquired of her nobles who these\nstrangers might be that had come across the sea, and on what errand\nthey had come. One of them answered, \"Fair lady, I have never seen\nthese stout warriors, save one only, who is greatly like to the\nnoble Siegfried. If this be he, I would have you give him a hearty\nwelcome. Next to him is a man of right royal mien, a King, I trow,\nwho rules with his sceptre mighty lands and herd. The third has a\nlowering brow, but is a stout warrior withal; the fourth is young\nand modest of look, but for all his gentle bearing, we should all\nrue it, I trow, if wrong were done to him.\"\n\nThen spake Queen Brunhild, \"Bring me now my royal vesture; if\nSiegfried seeks to woo me for his wife, he must risk his life on the\ncast; I fear him not so much as to yield to him without a struggle.\"\nSo the Queen arrayed her in her royal robes, and went to the hall of\naudience, and a hundred maidens and more followed her, fair of face\nand in fair array. And after the maidens came five hundred warriors\nand more, each bearing his sword in his hand, the very flower of\nIsenland.\n\nSaid Queen Brunhild to Siegfried, \"You are welcome, good Sir\nSiegfried. Show me, if you will, for what cause you have come\nhither.\" \"I thank you a thousand times,\" answered Siegfried, \"that\nyou have greeted me so courteously, but know that I must give place\nto this noble hero. He is my lord and master; I am his vassal. Let\nyour favour be for him. His kingdom is by the Rhine side, and we\nhave sailed all this way from thence that he may woo you for his\nbride. That is his fixed intent, nor will he yield whatever may\nbefall. Gunther is his name; a great King is he, and nothing will\ncontent him but to carry you back with him to the Rhine.\"\n\nQueen Brunhild answered, \"If he is the master and you the man, then\nlet him know that he must match me in my games and conquer me. If he\nprevail, then will I be his wedded wife; but if I prevail, then must\nhe die, he and you and all his comrades.\" Then spake Sir Hagen,\n\"Lady, tell us now the games at which my master must contend; and\nknow that you must strive full hard, if you would conquer him, for\nhe has a full trust that he will win you for his bride.\" The Queen\nanswered, \"He must cast the stone further than I, and also leap\nbehind it further than I leap; and also he must cast the spear with\nme. It seems to me that you are over-hasty; let him count the cost,\nere he lose both fame and life.\" Then Siegfried whispered to the\nKing, \"Have no fear for what shall be, and cast away all your care.\nLet the fair Brunhild do what she will, I will bear you harmless.\"\nSo the King spake aloud, \"Fairest of the fair, tell me your\npleasure; were it a greater task willingly would I undertake it, for\nif I win you not for my bride, willingly will I lose my head.\"\n\nThen the fair Brunhild called for her battle gear, her arms, and her\nbreastplate of gold and her mighty shield; and over all she drew a\nsurcoat of silk, marvellously made. Fierce and angry was her\ncountenance as she looked at the strangers, and Hagen and Dankwart\nwere troubled to see her, for they doubted how it might go with\ntheir master. \"'Tis a fatal journey,\" said they, \"and will bring us\nto trouble.\"\n\nMeanwhile Siegfried hied him with nimble foot to the bark, and there\nhe took, from the secret corner where he kept it, the Hood of\nDarkness, by which, at his will, he could make himself invisible.\nQuickly did he go, and quickly returned, and now no one could see\nhim, for he wore the hood. Through the crowd he went at his\npleasure, seeing all but seen of none.\n\nMeanwhile men had marked out the ring for the fray, and chiefs had\nbeen chosen as umpires, seven hundred men in armour who should judge\nbetwixt the combatants. First of the two came the fair Brunhild. So\nmighty was her presence, a man had thought her ready to match\nherself in battle with all the Kings in the world. And there was\ncarried before her a mighty shield of ruddy gold, very thick and\nbroad and heavy, overlaid with studs of steel. Four chamberlains\ncould scarce bear the weight. Sir Hagen, when he saw it, said, \"How\nnow, my lord King? this fair one whom you would woo must surely be\nthe devil's wife. \"Next came three men who scarce could carry the\nQueen's javelin, with its mighty spear-head, heavy and great as\nthough three had been melted into one. And when King Gunther saw it,\nhe said to himself, \"This is a danger from which the devil himself\ncan scarce escape. I would that I were once more by the banks of\nRhine; he that would might woo and win this fair maiden for me.\"\nAfter this there was brought the mighty stone which Brunhild was to\nhurl. Twelve knights could scarce support it, so big it was.\n\nAnd now the Queen addressed her to the contest, rolling her sleeves\nabout her arms, and fitting her buckler, and poising her mighty\nspear in her hand. And the strangers, when they saw it, were sore\nafraid for all their courage.\n\nBut now came Siegfried to King Gunther's side and touched his hand.\nGreatly amazed was the King for he did not understand his champion's\ndevice. \"Who was it that touched me?\" he said, and looked round, but\nsaw no one. \"'Tis I,\" answered the Prince, \"your trusty friend,\nSiegfried. Have no fear of the maiden. Let me carry the buckler; you\nshall seem to do each deed, but I will do it in truth. But be\ncareful to hide the device. Should the maiden discover it, she will\nnot spare to bring it to nought.\" Right glad was Gunther to know\nthat his strong ally was at hand.\n\nAnd now the Queen threw the spear with all her might against the\nshield Siegfried bore upon his arm. New was the shield and stout of\nmake, but the spearhead passed clean through it, and rang on the\nhero's coat of mail, dealing him so sore a blow that the blood\ngushed forth from his mouth. Of a truth, but for the Hood of\nDarkness, that hour both the champions had died. Then Siegfried\ncaught the great spear in his hand, and tore it from the shield, and\nhurled it back. \"She is too fair to slay,\" said he to himself, and\nhe turned the spear point behind him, and smote the maiden with the\nshaft on the silken vest that she wore. Loud rang the blow, and the\nfire-sparks leapt from her armour. Never could Gunther, for all his\nstrength, have dealt such a blow, for it felled the strong Brunhild\nto the ground. Lightly did she leap up again, crying, \"King Gunther,\nI thank you for the blow; 'twas shrewdly given,\" for she thought\nthat the King had dealt it.\n\nBut great was the wrath in her heart to find that her spear had sped\nin vain. And now she turned to the great stone where it lay, and\npoised it in her hand, and hurled it with all her might. And having\nhurled it, she herself leapt after it. Twelve full arms' length\nhurtled the great stone through the air, so mighty was the maiden,\nand she herself overpassed it by a pace. Then came Gunther to the\nplace, with Siegfried unseen by his side. And Siegfried caught the\nstone and poised it--but it seemed to all as if Gunther did it--and\nthrew it yet another arm's length beyond the cast of the maid, and\npassed the stone himself, aye, and carried King Gunther along with\nhim, so mighty was he!\n\nBut when the Queen saw that she was vanquished, she flushed with\nshame and wrath, and turning to her lords, she spake aloud, \"Come\nhither, my kinsmen and lieges. You must now be thralls of King\nGunther of Burgundy.\"\n\nSo the chiefs of Isenland laid their swords at Gunther's feet and\ndid him homage, for they thought that he had vanquished by his own\nstrength; and he, for he was a very gentle, courteous knight,\ngreeted the maid right pleasantly, and she, for her part, took him\nby the hand and said, \"Henceforth, Sir King, all the rule and power\nthat I have held is yours.\"\n\nThere is no need to tell how Gunther and Brunhild and all their\ncompany travelled to Rhineland with great joy, and how Queen Ute and\nher sons and the fair Kriemhild, and all the people of the land,\ngave them a hearty welcome and how in due time King Gunther was\nmarried to the fair Brunhild. Nor is there need of many words to\nrelate how Siegfried also took to wife the beautiful Kriemhild, as\nit had been promised him. Nor were there any to gainsay save\nBrunhild only, for she grudged that her husband's sister should be\ngiven to a vassal, for such in truth she deemed him to be. Very ill\ncontent she was, though the King would fain have satisfied her,\nsaying that he was a very noble knight, and was lord of many\nwoodlands, and had great store of gold and treasure.\n\nSo Siegfried wedded the fair Kriemhild and took her with him to his\nown land. A goodly welcome did the Netherlands give her. And\nSiegmund gave up his kingdom to his son, and the two lived in much\npeace and love together; and when in the tenth year a son was born\nto them, they called him by the name of his uncle Gunther.\n\nAlso Gunther and Brunhild lived together in much happiness. They\nalso had a son, and they called him by the name of Siegfried.\n\nBut Brunhild was ill content that Siegfried being, far so she\ndeemed, her husband's vassal, should pay no homage to his lord and\ndo no service for his fee. And she was very urgent with her husband\nthat he should suffer this no longer. But the King was fain to put\nher off. \"Nay,\" said he, \"the journey is too long. Their land is far\nfrom ours; why should we trouble him to come? Also he is a great\nprince and a powerful.\" \"Be he as great as he will,\" she answered,\n\"'tis a vassal's duty to pay homage to his lord.\" But Gunther\nlaughed to himself. Little thought had he of homage from Siegfried.\nThen the Queen changed her voice. \"Dear lord,\" she said, \"how gladly\nwould I see Siegfried and your dear sister once more. Well do I\nremember how fair she was and how kind, how gracious of speech when\nwe sat together, brides both of us.\" With such words she persuaded\nher husband. \"There are no guests that would be more welcome,\" said\nhe; \"I will find messengers who shall bid them come to the\nRhineland.\"\n\nGreat was the joy in Rhineland when the messengers returned and told\nhow they had been welcomed and royally entertained and loaded with\ngifts, and how that Siegfried and his Queen Kriemhild and a company\nof gallant knights were coming to the festival. Great was the joy\nand manifold the preparations.\n\nNo sooner did the King hear the news than he sought out Queen\nBrunhild where she sat in her chamber. \"Bear you in mind,\" said he,\n\"how Kriemhild my sister welcomed you when you came hither from your\nown land. Do you, therefore, dear wife, welcome her with the like\naffection.\" \"So shall it be,\" answered the Queen.\n\nAnd indeed, when the guests came, right royal was the welcome that\nthey had. For Gunther and Brunhild rode forth from the city to meet\nthem, and greeted them most heartily. All was mirth and jollity. By\nthe day there were tilts and tournaments and sports of every kind,\nand at night there was feasting in the hall. And so they did for\ntwelve days.\n\nBut Brunhild ever cherished a thought of mischief in her heart.\n\"Why,\" she said to herself, \"why has Siegfried stayed so long to do\nhomage for that which he holds of us in fee? I shall not be content\ntill Kriemhild answer me in this.\"\n\nIt fell out on a certain day, while sundry knights were in the\ncastle court, that the two Queens sat together. The fair Kriemhild\nthen began, \"My husband is so mighty a man that he should rule these\nkingdoms of right.\" \"Nay,\" answered Brunhild, \"that might be were\nyou and your husband only alive, and all others dead, but so long as\nGunther lives he must needs be King.\" Then said fair Kriemhild, \"See\nhow he shines among the knights, a very moon among the stars.\"\nBrunhild answered, \"However brave and strong he may be, and stately\nto look upon, Gunther, your brother, is better than he.\" \"Nay,\" said\nKriemhild, \"better he is not, nay, nor even his peer.\" \"How say\nyou?\" answered Brunhild in wrath; \"I spake not without cause. When I\nsaw the two for the first time, then I heard with my own ears how\nSiegfried confessed that he was Gunther's man. Yea, I heard him say\nit, and I hold him to be such.\" \"This is folly,\" said Kriemhild;\n\"think you that my brothers could have given me to be bride to a\nvassal? Away, Brunhild, with such idle talk, if we would still be\nfriends.\" \"I will not away with it,\" Brunhild made answer. \"Shall I\nrenounce the service which he and all the vassals are bound to\nrender to their lord?\" \"Renounce it you must,\" cried Kriemhild in\ngreat wrath. \"The service of a vassal he will never do; he is of\nhigher degree than Gunther my brother, though Gunther is a noble\nKing.\" \"You bear yourself far too proudly,\" answered Brunhild.\n\nBut the deadliest cause of quarrel was yet to come. Said Queen\nKriemhild to Queen Brunhild when next she saw her: \"Think you that\nwhen you were vanquished in your own land it was Gunther, my\nbrother, that vanquished you?\" \"Yea,\" answered the Queen, \"did I not\nsee it with my own eyes?\" \"Nay,\" said Kriemhild, \"it was not so. See\nyou this ring?\" And she took a ring that she had upon her finger and\nheld it forth. \"Do you know it?\" And Brunhild looked and knew it for\nher own. \"That,\" said Kriemhild, \"Siegfried, my husband, took from\nyou when you were smitten by his spear and knew not what had\nbefallen you, so sore was the blow. You saw him not, for he had the\nHood of Darkness on him and was invisible. But it was he that smote\nyou with the spear, and put the stone further than you, and passed\nyou in the leap. And this ring he gave me for a token, if ever you\nshould boast yourself against me. Talk, therefore, no more of lords\nand vassals. My husband feigned this vassalage that he might deceive\nyou the more readily.\"\n\nBut Brunhild held her peace, for the ring was a proof which she\ncould not gainsay. She held her peace, but she cherished her rage,\nkeeping it in the depths of her heart, and sware that she would be\navenged on the man that had so deceived her.\n\nWhen Hagen saw that Queen Brunhild was in continual trouble and\nsadness he would fain know the cause. \"'Tis of Siegfried's doing,\"\nshe answered. \"He has wronged me beyond pardon.\" And she besought\nhim that he would avenge her and King Gunther upon him.\n\nSo Hagan plotted evil, saying enemies were coming against Gunther,\nand Siegfried and his knights made them ready to go forth to the\nKing's defence. And of the chiefs of Rhineland not a few offered\nthemselves as comrades, knowing nothing of the treachery that Hagen\nand his fellows were preparing against him.\n\nBut before they departed Hagen went to bid farewell to Queen\nKriemhild. Said she, \"I have good comfort in my heart to think how\nvaliant a husband I have, and how zealous he is to help his friends,\nfor I have loved my kinsmen always, nor ever wished them ill.\" \"Tell\nme, dear lady,\" said Hagen, \"what service I can do to your husband,\nfor there is no one whom I love better than him.\" The Queen made\nanswer, \"I have no fear that my lord will fall in battle by any\nman's sword, save only that he is too ready to follow even to\nrashness his own warlike spirit.\" \"Dear lady,\" said Hagen, \"if there\nis any danger which you hold in special fear, tell me that I may\ndefend him against it.\" Then Kriemhild, in the simpleness of her\nheart, told him the secret. \"In years gone by,\" said she, \"my\nhusband slew a dragon among the mountains, and when he had slain the\nmonster, he bathed himself in its blood. So mighty was the charm,\nthat thenceforth no steel had power to wound him. And yet, for all\nthis, I am ever in fear lest by some mischance a weapon should\npierce him. Hearken now, my cousin, for you are of my kindred,\nhearken, and see how I put my trust in your honour. While Siegfried\nwashed his limbs in the blood of the dragon, there fell a leaf from\na linden tree between his shoulders. There and there only can steel\nharm him.\" \"'Tis easy,\" said the false Hagen, \"for me to defend so\nsmall a spot. Only do you sew a little token on his cloak, that I\nmay the better know the spot that most needs protection when we\nstand together in the fight.\" \"I will do so,\" said the Queen; \"I\nwill sew a little cross with threads of silk on his cloak, and you\nwill guard him when he fights in the throng of his foes.\" \"That will\nI do, dear lady,\" said the traitor.\n\nHagen went straightway to King Gunther and said, \"I have learnt that\nwhich I needed to know; put off this march; let us go on a hunt. So\nthat which we would do will be easier done.\" \"I will order that,\"\nanswered the King.\n\nSiegfried, before he set out for the hunting, bade farewell to his\nwife: \"God grant,\" said he, \"that we may soon meet happily again;\nmeanwhile be merry among your kinsfolk here.\" But Kriemhild thought\nof how she had discovered the secret to Hagen, and was sore afraid,\nyet dared not tell the truth. Only she said to her husband, \"I pray\nyou to leave this hunting. Only this night past I had an evil dream.\nI saw two wild boars pursuing you over the heath, and the flowers\nwere red as with blood. Greatly I fear some treason, my Siegfried.\"\n\"Nay,\" said he, \"there is not one in Rhineland here that bears me\nill-will. Whom have I wronged?\" \"I know not,\" answered the Queen,\n\"but yet my heart bodes evil. For I had yet another dream. I seemed\nto see two mountains fall with a terrible noise on your head. If you\ngo, you will break my heart.\" But he laughed at her fears, and\nkissed her, and so departed.\n\nThen Siegfried went on the hunting, and Gunther and Hagen went with\nhim, and a company of hunters and hounds. When they came to the\nforest Siegfried said, \"Now who shall begin the hunting?\" Hagen made\nanswer, \"Let us divide into two companies ere we begin, and each\nshall beat the coverts as he will; so shall we see who is the more\nskilful in the chase.\" \"I need no pack,\" said Siegfried; \"give me\none well-trained hound that can track the game through the coverts.\nThat will suffice for me.\" So a lime-hound was given to him. All\nthat the good hound started did Siegfried slay; no beast could\noutrun him or escape him. A wild boar first he slew, and next to the\nboar a lion; he shot an arrow through the beast from side to side.\nAfter the lion he slew a buffalo and four elks, and a great store of\ngame besides, so that the huntsmen said, \"Leave us something in our\nwoods, Sir Siegfried.\"\n\nKing Gunther bade blow the horn for breakfast. When Siegfried's\nhuntsman heard the blast he said: \"Our hunting-time is over; we must\nback to our comrades.\" So they went with all speed to the trysting-\nplace.\n\nThe whole company sat down to their meal. There was plenty of every\nkind, but wine was wanting. \"How is this?\" said Siegfried: \"the\nkitchen is plentiful; but where is the wine?\" Said Gunther the King,\n\"'Tis Hagen's fault, who makes us all go dry.\" \"True, Sir King,\"\nsaid Hagen, \"my fault it is. But I know of a runnel, cold and clear,\nthat is hard by. Let us go thither and quench our thirst.\" Then\nSiegfried rose from his place, for his thirst was sore, and would\nhave sought the place. Said Hagen, when he saw him rise, \"I have\nheard say that there is no man in all the land so fleet of foot as\nSiegfried. Will he deign to let us see his speed?\" \"With all my\nheart,\" cried the hero. \"Let us race from hence to the runnel.\"\n\"'Tis agreed,\" said Hagen the traitor. \"Furthermore,\" said\nSiegfried, \"I will carry all the equipment that I bare in the\nchase.\" So Gunther and Hagen stripped them to their shirts, but\nSiegfried carried sword and spear, all his hunting-gear, and yet was\nfar before the two at the runnel.\n\nYet, such was his courtesy, that he would not drink before the King\nhad quenched his thirst. He was ill repaid, I trow, for his grace.\nFor when the King had drunk, as Siegfried knelt plunging his head\ninto the stream, Sir Hagen took his spear and smote him on the\nlittle crosslet mark that was worked on his cloak between his\nshoulders. And when he had struck the blow he fled in mortal fear.\nWhen Siegfried felt that he was wounded, he rose with a great bound\nfrom his knees and sought for his weapons. But these the false Hagen\nhad taken and laid far away. Only the shield was left. This he took\nin his hand and hurled at Hagen with such might that it felled the\ntraitor to the ground, and was itself broken to pieces. If the hero\nhad but had his good sword Balmung in his hand, the murderer had not\nescaped with his life that day.\n\nThen all the Rhineland warriors gathered about him. Among them was\nKing Gunther, making pretence to lament. To him said Siegfried,\n\"Little it profits to bewail the man whose murder you have plotted.\nDid I not save you from shame and defeat? Is this the recompense\nthat you pay? And yet even of you I would ask one favour. Have some\nkindness for my wife. She is your sister; if you have any knightly\nfaith and honour remaining, guard her well.\" Then there came upon\nhim the anguish of death. Yet one more word he spake, \"Be sure that\nin slaying me you have slain yourselves.\" And when he had so spoken\nhe died.\n\nThen they laid his body on a shield and carried it back, having\nagreed among themselves to tell this tale, that Sir Siegfried having\nchosen to hunt by himself was slain by robbers in the wood.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nROLAND\n\n\nThe trumpets sounded and the army went on its way to France. The\nnext day King Charles called his lords together. \"You see,\" said he,\n\"these narrow passes. Whom shall I place to command the rearguard?\nChoose you a man yourselves.\" Said Ganelon, \"Whom should we choose\nbut my son-in-law, Count Roland? You have no man in your host so\nvaliant. Of a truth he will be the salvation of France.\" The King\nsaid when he heard these words, \"What ails you, Ganelon? You look\nlike to one possessed.\"\n\nWhen Count Roland knew what was proposed concerning him, he spake\nout as a true knight should speak \"I am right thankful to you, my\nfather-in-law, that you have caused me to be put in this place. Of a\ntruth the King of France shall lose nothing by my means, neither\ncharger, nor mule, nor packhorse, nor beast of burden.\"\n\nThen Roland turned to the King and said, \"Give me twenty thousand\nonly, so they be men of valour, and I will keep the passes in all\nsafety. So long as I shall live, you need fear no man.\"\n\nThen Roland mounted his horse. With him were Oliver his comrade, and\nOtho and Berenger, and Gerard of Roussillon, an aged warrior, and\nothers, men of renown. And Turpin the Archbishop cried, \"By my head,\nI will go also.\" So they chose twenty thousand warriors with whom to\nkeep the passes.\n\nMeanwhile King Charles had entered the valley of Roncesvalles. High\nwere the mountains on either side of the way, and the valleys were\ngloomy and dark. But when the army had passed through the valley,\nthey saw the fair land of Gascony, and as they saw it they thought\nof their homes and their wives and daughters. There was not one of\nthem but wept for very tenderness of heart. But of all that company\nthere was none sadder than the King himself, when he thought how he\nhad left his nephew Count Roland behind him in the passes of Spain.\n\nAnd now the Saracen King Marsilas began to gather his army. He laid\na strict command on all his nobles and chiefs that they should bring\nwith them to Saragossa as many men as they could gather together.\nAnd when they were come to the city, it being the third day from the\nissuing of the King's command, they saluted the great image of\nMahomet, the false prophet, that stood on the topmost tower. This\ndone they went forth from the city gates. They made all haste,\nmarching across the mountains and valleys of Spain till they came in\nsight of the standard of France, where Roland and Oliver and the\nTwelve Peers were ranged in battle array.\n\nThe Saracen champions donned their coats of mail, of double\nsubstance most of them, and they set upon their heads helmets of\nSaragossa of well tempered metal, and they girded themselves with\nswords of Vienna. Fair were their shields to view, their lances were\nfrom Valentia, their standards were of white, blue, and red. Their\nmules they left with the servants, and, mounting their chargers, so\nmoved forwards. Fair was the day and bright the sun, as their armour\nflashed in the light and the drums were beaten so loudly that the\nFrenchmen heard the sound.\n\nSaid Oliver to Roland, \"Comrade, methinks we shall soon do battle\nwith the Saracens.\" \"God grant it,\" answered Roland. \"'Tis our duty\nto hold the place for the King, and we will do it, come what may. As\nfor me, I will not set an ill example.\"\n\nOliver climbed to the top of a hill, and saw from thence the whole\narmy of the heathen. He cried to Roland his companion, \"I see the\nflashing of arms. We men of France shall have no small trouble\ntherefrom. This is the doing of Ganelon the traitor.\"\n\n\"Be silent,\" answered Roland, \"till you shall know; say no more\nabout him.\"\n\nOliver looked again from the hilltop, and saw how the Saracens came\non. So many there were that he could not count their battalions. He\ndescended to the plain with all speed, and came to the array of the\nFrench, and said, \"I have seen more heathen than man ever yet saw\ntogether upon the earth. There are a hundred thousand at the least.\nWe shall have such a battle with them as has never before been\nfought. My brethren of France, quit you like men, be strong; stand\nfirm that you be not conquered.\" And all the army shouted with one\nvoice, \"Cursed be he that shall fly.\"\n\nThen Oliver turned to Roland, and said, \"Sound your horn; my friend,\nCharles will hear it, and will return.\" \"I were a fool,\" answered\nRoland, \"so to do. Not so; but I will deal these heathen some mighty\nblows with Durendal my sword. They have been ill-advised to venture\ninto these passes. I swear that they are condemned to death, one and\nall.\"\n\nAfter a while, Oliver said again, \"Friend Roland sound your horn of\nivory. Then will the King returns and bring his army with him, to\nour help.\" But Roland answered again, \"I will not do dishonour to my\nkinsmen, or to the fair land of France. I have my sword; that shall\nsuffice for me. These evil-minded heathen are gathered together\nagainst us to their own hurt. Surely not one of them shall escape\nfrom death.\" \"As for me,\" said Oliver, \"I see not where the\ndishonour would be. I saw the valleys and the mountains covered with\nthe great multitude of Saracens. Theirs is, in truth, a mighty\narray, and we are but few.\" \"So much the better,\" answered Roland.\n\"It makes my courage grow. 'Tis better to die than to be disgraced.\nAnd remember, the harder our blows the more the King will love us.\"\n\nRoland was brave, but Oliver was wise. \"Consider,\" he said,\n\"comrade. These enemies are over-near to us, and the King over-far.\nWere he here, we should not be in danger; but there are some here\nto-day who will never fight in another battle.\"\n\nThen Turpin the Archbishop struck spurs into his horse, and rode to\na hilltop. Then he turned to the men of France, and spake: \"Lords of\nFrance, King Charles has left us here; our King he is, and it is our\nduty to die for him. To-day our Christian Faith is in peril: do ye\nfight for it. Fight ye must; be sure of that, for there under your\neyes are the Saracens. Confess, therefore, your sins, and pray to\nGod that He have mercy upon you. And now for your soul's health I\nwill give you all absolution. If you die, you will be God's martyrs,\nevery one of you, and your places are ready for you in His\nParadise.\"\n\nThereupon the men of France dismounted, and knelt upon the ground,\nand the Archbishop blessed them in God's name. \"But look,\" said he,\n\"I set you a penance--smite these pagans.\" Then the men of France\nrose to their feet. They had received absolution, and were set free\nfrom all their sins, and the Archbishop had blessed them in the name\nof God. After this they mounted their swift steeds, and clad\nthemselves in armour, and made themselves ready for the battle.\n\nSaid Roland to Oliver, \"Brother, you know that it is Ganelon who has\nbetrayed us. Good store he has had of gold and silver as a reward;\n'tis the King Marsilas that has made merchandise of us, but verily\nit is with our swords that he shall be paid.\" So saying, he rode on\nto the pass, mounted on his good steed Veillantif. His spear he held\nwith the point to the sky; a white flag it bore with fringes of gold\nwhich fell down to his hands. A stalwart man was he, and his\ncountenance was fair and smiling. Behind him followed Oliver, his\nfriend; and the men of France pointed to him, saying, \"See our\nchampion!\" Pride was in his eye when he looked towards the Saracens;\nbut to the men of France his regard was all sweetness and humility.\nFull courteously he spake to them: \"Ride not so fast, my lords,\" he\nsaid; \"verily these heathen are come hither, seeking martyrdom. 'Tis\na fair spoil that we shall gather from them to-day. Never has King\nof France gained any so rich.\" And as he spake, the two hosts came\ntogether.\n\nSaid Oliver, \"You did not deem it fit, my lord, to sound your horn.\nTherefore you lack the help which the King would have sent. Not his\nthe blame, for he knows nothing of what has chanced. But do you,\nlords of France, charge as fiercely as you may, and yield not one\nwhit to the enemy. Think upon these two things only--how to deal a\nstraight blow and to take it. And let us not forget King Charles's\ncry of battle.\" Then all the men of France with one voice cried out,\n\"Mountjoy!\" He that heard them so cry had never doubted that they\nwere men of valour. Proud was their array as they rode on to battle,\nspurring their horses that they might speed the more. And the\nSaracens, on their part, came forward with a good heart. Thus did\nthe Frenchmen and the heathen meet in the shock of battle.\n\nFull many of the heathen warriors fell that day. Not one of the\nTwelve Peers of France but slew his man. But of all none bare\nhimself so valiantly as Roland. Many a blow did he deal to the enemy\nwith his mighty spear, and when the spear was shivered in his hand,\nfifteen warriors having fallen before it, then he seized his good\nsword Durendal, and smote man after man to the ground. Red was he\nwith the blood of his enemies, red was his hauberk, red his arms,\nred his shoulders, aye, and the neck of his horse. Not one of the\nTwelve lingered in the rear, or was slow to strike, but Count Roland\nwas the bravest of the brave. \"Well done, Sons of France!\" cried\nTurpin the Archbishop, when he saw them lay on in such sort.\n\nNext to Roland for valour and hardihood came Oliver, his companion.\nMany a heathen warrior did he slay, till at last his spear was\nshivered in his hand. \"What are you doing, comrade?\" cried Roland,\nwhen he was aware of the mishap. \"A man wants no staff in such a\nbattle as this. 'Tis the steel and nothing else that he must have.\nWhere is your sword Hautclere, with its hilt of gold and its pommel\nof crystal?\" \"On my word,\" said Oliver, \"I have not had time to draw\nit; I was so busy with striking.\" But as he spake he drew the good\nsword from its scabbard, and smote a heathen knight, Justin of the\nIron Valley. A mighty blow it was, cleaving the man in twain down to\nhis saddle--aye, and the saddle itself with its adorning of gold and\njewels, and the very backbone also of the steed whereon he rode, so\nthat horse and man fell dead together on the plains. \"Well done!\"\ncried Roland; \"you are a true brother of mine. 'Tis such strokes as\nthis that make the King love us.\"\n\nNevertheless, for all the valour of Roland and his fellows the\nbattle went hard with the men of France. Many lances were shivered,\nmany flags torn, and many gallant youths cut off in their prime.\nNever more would they see mother and wife. It was an ill deed that\nthe traitor Ganelon wrought when he sold his fellows to King\nMarsilas!\n\nAnd now there befell a new trouble. King Almaris, with a great host\nof heathen, coming by an unknown way, fell upon the rear of the host\nwhere there was another pass. Fiercely did the noble Walter that\nkept the same charge the newcomers, but they overpowered him and his\nfollowers. He was wounded with four several lances, and four times\ndid he swoon, so that at the last he was constrained to leave the\nfield of battle, that he might call the Count Roland to his aid. But\nsmall was the aid which Roland could give him or any one. Valiantly\nhe held up the battle, and with him Oliver, and Turpin the\nArchbishop, and others also; but the lines of the men of France were\nbroken, and their armour thrust through, and then: spears shivered,\nand their flags trodden in the dust. For all this they made such\nslaughter among the heathen that King Almaris, who led the armies of\nthe enemy, scarcely could win back his way to his own people,\nwounded in four places and sorely spent. A right good warrior was\nhe; had he but been a Christian but few had matched him in battle.\n\nCount Roland saw how grievously his people had suffered and spake\nthus to Oliver his comrade: \"Dear comrade, you see how many brave\nmen lie dead upon the ground. Well may we mourn for fair France,\nwidowed as she is of so many valiant champions. But why is our King\nnot here? O Oliver, my brother, what shall we do to send him tidings\nof our state?\" \"I know not,\" answered Oliver. \"Only this I know--\nthat death is to be chosen rather than dishonour.\"\n\nAfter a while Roland said again, \"I shall blow my horn; King Charles\nwill hear it, where he has encamped beyond the passes, and he and\nhis host will come back.\" \"That would be ill done,\" answered Oliver,\n\"and shame both you and your race. When I gave you this counsel you\nwould have none of it. Now I like it not. 'Tis not for a brave man\nto sound the horn and cry for help now that we are in such case.\"\n\"The battle is too hard for us,\" said Roland again, \"and I shall\nsound my horn, that the King may hear.\" And Oliver answered again,\n\"When I gave you this counsel, you scorned it. Now I myself like it\nnot. 'Tis true that had the King been here, we had not suffered this\nloss. But the blame is not his. 'Tis your folly, Count Roland, that\nhas done to death all these men of France. But for that we should\nhave conquered in this battle, and have taken and slain King\nMarsilas. But now we can do nothing for France and the King. We can\nbut die. Woe is me for our country, aye, and for our friendship,\nwhich will come to a grievous end this day.\"\n\nThe Archbishop perceived that the two friends were at variance, and\nspurred his horse till he came where they stood. \"Listen to me,\" he\nsaid, \"Sir Roland and Sir Oliver. I implore you not to fall out with\neach other in this fashion. We, sons of France, that are in this\nplace, are of a truth condemned to death, neither will the sounding\nof your horn save us, for the King is far away, and cannot come in\ntime. Nevertheless, I hold it to be well that you should sound it.\nWhen the King and his army shall come, they will find us dead--that\nI know full well. But they will avenge us, so that our enemies shall\nnot go away rejoicing. And they will also recover our bodies, and\nwill carry them away for burial in holy places, so that the dogs and\nwolves shall not devour them.\"\n\n\"You say well,\" cried Roland, and he put his horn to his lips, and\ngave so mighty a blast upon it, that the sound was heard thirty\nleagues away. King Charles and his men heard it, and the King said,\n\"Our countrymen are fighting with the enemy.\" But Ganelon answered,\n\"Sire, had any but you so spoken, I had said that he spoke falsely.\"\n\nThen Roland blew his horn a second time; with great pain and anguish\nof body he blew it, and the red blood gushed from his lips; but the\nsound was heard yet further than at first. Again the King heard it,\nand all his nobles, and all his men. \"That,\" said he, \"is Roland's\nhorn; he never had sounded it were he not in battle with the enemy.\"\nBut Ganelon answered again: \"Believe me, Sire, there is no battle.\nYou are an old man, and you have the fancies of a child. You know\nwhat a mighty man of valour is this Roland. Think you that any one\nwould dare to attack him? No one, of a truth. Ride on, Sire, why\nhalt you here? The fair land of France is yet far away.\"\n\nRoland blew his horn a third time, and when the King heard it he\nsaid, \"He that blew that horn drew a deep breath.\" And Duke Naymes\ncried out, \"Roland is in trouble; on my conscience he is fighting\nwith the enemy. Some one has betrayed him; 'tis he, I doubt not,\nthat would deceive you now. To arms, Sire! utter your war-cry, and\nhelp your own house and your country. You have heard the cry of the\nnoble Roland.\"\n\nThen King Charles bade all the trumpets sound, and forthwith all the\nmen of France armed themselves, with helmets, and hauberks, and\nswords with pummels of gold. Mighty were their shields, and their\nlances strong, and the flags that they carried were white and red\nand blue. And when they made an end of their arming they rode back\nwith all haste. There was not one of them but said to his comrade,\n\"If we find Roland yet alive, what mighty strokes will we strike for\nhim!\"\n\nBut Ganelon the King handed over to the knaves of his kitchen. \"Take\nthis traitor,\" said he, \"who has sold his country.\" Ill did Ganelon\nfare among them. They pulled out his hair and his beard and smote\nhim with their staves; then they put a great chain, such as that\nwith which a bear is bound, about his neck, and made him fast to a\npack-horse.\n\nThis done, the King and his army hastened with all speed to the help\nof Roland. In the van and the rear sounded the trumpets as though\nthey would answer Roland's horn. Full of wrath was King Charles as\nhe rode; full of wrath were all the men of France. There was not one\namong them but wept and sobbed; there was not one but prayed, \"Now,\nmay God keep Roland alive till we come to the battlefield, so that\nwe may strike a blow for him.\" Alas! it was all in vain; they could\nnot come in time for all their speed.\n\nCount Roland looked round on the mountain-sides and on the plains.\nAlas! how many noble sons of France he saw lying dead upon them!\n\"Dear friends,\" he said, weeping as he spoke, \"may God have mercy on\nyou and receive you into His Paradise! More loyal followers have I\nnever seen. How is the fair land of France widowed of her bravest,\nand I can give you no help. Oliver, dear comrade, we must not part.\nIf the enemy slay me not here, surely I shall be slain by sorrow.\nCome then, let us smite these heathen.\"\n\nThus did Roland again charge the enemy, his good sword Durendal in\nhis hand; as the stag flies before the hounds, so did the heathen\nfly before Roland. \"By my faith,\" cried the Archbishop when he saw\nhim, \"that is a right good knight! Such courage, and such a steed,\nand such arms I love well to see. If a man be not brave and a stout\nfighter, he had better by far be a monk in some cloister where he\nmay pray all day long for our sins.\"\n\nNow the heathen, when they saw how few the Frenchmen were, took\nfresh courage. And the Caliph, spurring his horse, rode against\nOliver and smote him in the middle of his back, making his spear\npass right through him. \"That is a shrewd blow,\" he cried; \"I have\navenged my friends and countrymen upon you.\"\n\nThen Oliver knew he was stricken to death, but he would not fall\nunavenged. With his great sword Hautclere he smote the Caliph on his\nhead and cleft it to the teeth. \"Curse on you, pagan. Neither your\nwife nor any woman in the land of your birth shall boast that you\nhave taken a penny's worth from King Charles!\" But to Roland he\ncried, \"Come, comrade, help me; well I know that we two shall part\nin great sorrow this day.\"\n\nRoland came with all speed, and saw his friend, how he lay all pale\nand fainting on the ground and how the blood gushed in great streams\nfrom his wound. \"I know not what to do,\" he cried. \"This is an ill\nchance that has befallen you. Truly France is bereaved of her\nbravest son.\" So saying he went near to swoon in the saddle as he\nsat. Then there befell a strange thing. Oliver had lost so much of\nhis blood that he could not any more see clearly or know who it was\nthat was near him. So he raised up his arm and smote with all his\nstrength that yet remained to him on the helmet of Roland his\nfriend. The helmet he cleft in twain to the visor; but by good\nfortune it wounded not the head. Roland looked at him and said in a\ngentle voice, \"Did you this of set purpose? I am Roland your friend,\nand have not harmed you.\" \"Ah!\" said Oliver, \"I hear you speak, but\nI cannot see you. Pardon me that I struck you; it was not done of\nset purpose.\" \"It harmed me not,\" answered Roland; \"with all my\nheart and before God I forgive you.\" And this was the way these two\nfriends parted at the last.\n\nAnd now Oliver felt the pains of death come over him. He could no\nlonger see nor hear. Therefore he turned his thoughts to making his\npeace with God, and clasping his hands lifted them to heaven and\nmade his confession. \"O Lord,\" he said, \"take me into Paradise. And\ndo Thou bless King Charles and the sweet land of France.\" And when\nhe had said thus he died. And Roland looked at him as he lay. There\nwas not upon earth a more sorrowful man than he. \"Dear comrade,\" he\nsaid, \"this is indeed an evil day. Many a year have we two been\ntogether. Never have I done wrong to you; never have you done wrong\nto me. How shall I bear to live without you?\" And he swooned where\nhe sat on his horse. But the stirrup held him up that he did not\nfall to the ground.\n\nWhen Roland came to himself he looked about him and saw how great\nwas the calamity that had befallen his army. For now there were left\nalive to him two only, Turpin the Archbishop and Walter of Hum.\nWalter had but that moment come down from the hills where he had\nbeen fighting so fiercely with the heathen that all his men were\ndead; now he cried to Roland for help. \"Noble Count, where are you?\nI am Walter of Hum, and am not unworthy to be your friend. Help me\ntherefore. For see how my spear is broken and my shield cleft in\ntwain, my hauberk is in pieces, and my body sorely wounded. I am\nabout to die; but I have sold my life at a great price.\" When Roland\nheard him cry he set spurs to his horse and galloped to him.\n\"Walter,\" said he, \"you are a brave warrior and a trustworthy. Tell\nme now where are the thousand valiant men whom you took from my\narmy. They were right good soldiers, and I am in sore need of them.\"\n\n\"They are dead,\" answered Walter; \"you will see them no more. A sore\nbattle we had with the Saracens yonder on the hills; they had the\nmen of Canaan there and the men of Armenia and the Giants; there\nwere no better men in their army than these. We dealt with them so\nthat they will not boast themselves of this day's work. But it cost\nus dear; all the men of France lie dead on the plain, and I am\nwounded to the death. And now, Roland, blame me not that I fled; for\nyou are my lord, and all my trust is in you.\"\n\n\"I blame you not,\" said Roland, \"only as long as you live help me\nagainst the heathen.\" And as he spake he took his cloak and rent it\ninto strips and bound up Walter's wounds therewith. This done he and\nWalter and the Archbishop set fiercely on the enemy. Five-and-twenty\ndid Roland slay, and Walter slew six, and the Archbishop five. Three\nvaliant men of war they were; fast and firm they stood one by the\nother; hundreds there were of the heathen, but they dared not come\nnear to these three valiant champions of France. They stood far off,\nand cast at the three spears and darts and javelins and weapons of\nevery kind. Walter of Hum was slain forthwith; and the Archbishop's\narmour was broken, and he wounded, and his horse slain under him.\nNevertheless he lifted himself from the ground, still keeping a good\nheart in his breast. \"They have not overcome me yet\"; said he, \"as\nlong as a good soldier lives, he does not yield.\"\n\nRoland took his horn once more and sounded it, for he would know\nwhether King Charles were coming. Ah me! it was a feeble blast that\nhe blew. But the King heard it, and he halted and listened. \"My\nlords!\" said he, \"things go ill for us, I doubt not. To-day we shall\nlose, I fear me much, my brave nephew Roland. I know by the sound of\nhis horn that he has but a short time to live. Put your horses to\ntheir full speed, if you would come in time to help him, and let a\nblast be sounded by every trumpet that there is in the army.\" So all\nthe trumpets in the host sounded a blast; all the valleys and hills\nre-echoed with the sound; sore discouraged were the heathen when\nthey heard it. \"King Charles has come again,\" they cried; \"we are\nall as dead men. When he comes he shall not find Roland alive.\" Then\nfour hundred of them, the strongest and most valiant knights that\nwere in the army of the heathen, gathered themselves into one\ncompany, and made a yet fiercer assault on Roland.\n\nRoland saw them coming, and waited for them without fear. So long as\nhe lived he would not yield himself to the enemy or give place to\nthem. \"Better death than flight,\" said he, as he mounted his good\nsteed Veillantif, and rode towards the enemy. And by his side went\nTurpin the Archbishop on foot. Then said Roland to Turpin, \"I am on\nhorseback and you are on foot. But let us keep together; never will\nI leave you; we two will stand against these heathen dogs. They have\nnot, I warrant, among them such a sword as Durendal.\" \"Good,\"\nanswered the Archbishop. \"Shame to the man who does not smite his\nhardest. And though this be our last battle, I know well that King\nCharles will take ample vengeance for us.\"\n\nWhen the heathen saw these two stand together they fell back in fear\nand hurled at them spears and darts and javelins without number.\nRoland's shield they broke and his hauberk; but him they hurt not;\nnevertheless they did him a grievous injury, for they killed his\ngood steed Veillantif. Thirty wounds did Veillantif receive, and he\nfell dead under his master. At last the Archbishop was stricken and\nRoland stood alone, for the heathen had fled from his presence.\n\nWhen Roland saw that the Archbishop was dead, his heart was sorely\ntroubled in him. Never did he feel a greater sorrow for comrade\nslain, save Oliver only. \"Charles of France,\" he said, \"come as\nquickly as you may, many a gallant knight have you lost in\nRoncesvalles. But King Marsilas, on his part, has lost his army. For\none that has fallen on this side there has fallen full forty on\nthat.\" So saying he turned to the Archbishop; he crossed the dead\nman's hands upon his breast and said, \"I commit thee to the Father's\nmercy. Never has man served his God with a better will, never since\nthe beginning of the world has there lived a sturdier champion of\nthe faith. May God be good to you and give you all good things!\"\n\nNow Roland felt that his own death was near at hand. In one hand he\ntook his horn, and in the other his good sword Durendal, and made\nhis way the distance of a furlong or so till he came to a plain, and\nin the midst of the plain a little hill. On the top of the hill in\nthe shade of two fair trees were four marble steps. There Roland\nfell in a swoon upon the grass. There a certain Saracen spied him.\nThe fellow had feigned death, and had laid himself down among the\nslain, having covered his body and his face with blood. When he saw\nRoland, he raised himself from where he was lying among the slain\nand ran to the place, and, being full of pride and fury, seized the\nCount in his arms, crying aloud, \"He is conquered, he is conquered,\nhe is conquered, the famous nephew of King Charles! See, here is his\nsword; 'tis a noble spoil that I shall carry back with me to\nArabia.\" Thereupon he took the sword in one hand, with the other he\nlaid hold of Roland's beard. But as the man laid hold, Roland came\nto himself, and knew that some one was taking his sword from him. He\nopened his eyes but not a word did he speak save this only, \"Fellow,\nyou are none of ours,\" and he smote him a mighty blow upon his\nhelmet. The steel he brake through and the head beneath, and laid\nthe man dead at his feet. \"Coward,\" he said, \"what made you so bold\nthat you dared lay hands on Roland? Whosoever knows him will think\nyou a fool for your deed.\"\n\nAnd now Roland knew that death was near at hand. He raised himself\nand gathered all his strength together--ah me! how pale his face\nwas!--and took in his hand his good sword Durendal. Before him was a\ngreat rock and on this in his rage and pain he smote ten mighty\nblows. Loud rang the steel upon the stone; but it neither brake nor\nsplintered. \"Help me,\" he cried, \"O Mary, our Lady. O my good sword,\nmy Durendal, what an evil lot is mine! In the day when I must part\nwith you, my power over you is lost. Many a battle I have won with\nyour help; and many a kingdom have I conquered, that my Lord Charles\npossesses this day. Never has any one possessed you that would fly\nbefore another. So long as I live, you shall not be taken from me,\nso long have you been in the hands of a loyal knight.\"\n\nThen he smote a second time with the sword, this time upon the\nmarble steps. Loud rang the steel, but neither brake nor splintered.\nThen Roland began to bemoan himself, \"O my good Durendal,\" he said,\n\"how bright and clear thou art, shining as shines the sun! Well I\nmind me of the day when a voice that seemed to come from heaven bade\nKing Charles give thee to a valiant captain; and forthwith the good\nKing girded it on my side. Many a land have I conquered with thee\nfor him, and now how great is my grief! Can I die and leave thee to\nbe handled by some heathen?\" And the third time he smote a rock with\nit. Loud rang the steel, but it brake not, bounding back as though\nit would rise to the sky. And when Count Roland saw that he could\nnot break the sword, he spake again but with more content in his\nheart. \"O Durendal,\" he said, \"a fair sword art thou, and holy as\nfair. There are holy relics in thy hilt, relics of St. Peter and St.\nDenis and St. Basil. These heathen shall never possess thee; nor\nshalt thou be held but by a Christian hand.\"\n\nAnd now Roland knew that death was very near to him. He laid himself\ndown with his head upon the grass putting under him his horn and his\nsword, with his face turned towards the heathen foe. Ask you why he\ndid so? To shew, forsooth, to Charlemagne and the men of France that\nhe died in the midst of victory. This done he made a loud confession\nof his sins, stretching his hand to heaven. \"Forgive me, Lord,\" he\ncried, \"my sins, little and great, all that I have committed since\nthe day of my birth to this hour in which I am stricken to death.\"\nSo he prayed; and, as he lay, he thought of many things, of the\ncountries which he had conquered, and of his dear Fatherland France,\nand of his kinsfolk, and of the good King Charles. Nor, as he\nthought, could he keep himself from sighs and tears; yet one thing\nhe remembered beyond all others--to pray for forgiveness of his\nsins. \"O Lord,\" he said, \"Who art the God of truth, and didst save\nDaniel Thy prophet from the lions, do Thou save my soul and defend\nit against all perils!\" So speaking he raised his right hand, with\nthe gauntlet yet upon it, to the sky, and his head fell back upon\nhis arm and the angels carried him to heaven. So died the great\nCount Roland.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nKING ALFRED\n\n\nWe now come to the great King Alfred, the best and greatest of all\nEnglish Kings. We know quite enough of his history to be able to say\nthat he really deserves to be so called, though I must warn you\nthat, just because he left so great a name behind him, people have\nbeen fond of attributing to him things which really belonged to\nothers. Thus you may sometimes see nearly all English laws and\ncustoms attributed to Alfred, as if he had invented them all for\nhimself. You will sometimes hear that Alfred founded Trial by Jury,\ndivided England into Counties, and did all kinds of other things.\nNow the real truth is that the roots and beginnings of most of these\nthings are very much older than the time of Alfred, while the\nparticular forms in which we have them now are very much later. But\npeople have a way of fancying that everything must have been\ninvented by some particular man, and as Alfred was more famous than\nanybody else, they hit upon Alfred as the most likely person to have\ninvented them.\n\nBut, putting aside fables, there is quite enough to show that there\nhave been very few Kings, and very few men of any sort, so great and\ngood as King Alfred. Perhaps the only equally good King we read of\nis Saint Louis of France; and though he was quite as good, we cannot\nset him down as being so great and wise as Alfred. Certainly no King\never gave himself up more thoroughly than Alfred did fully to do the\nduties of his office. His whole life seems to have been spent in\ndoing all that he could for the good of his people in every way. And\nit is wonderful in how many ways his powers showed themselves. That\nhe was a brave warrior is in itself no particular praise in an age\nwhen almost every man was the same. But it is a great thing for a\nprince so large a part of whose time was spent in fighting to be\nable to say that all his wars were waged to set free his country\nfrom the most cruel enemies.\n\nAnd we may admire too the wonderful way in which he kept his mind\nalways straight and firm, never either giving way to bad luck or\nbeing puffed up by good luck. We read of nothing like pride or\ncruelty or injustice of any kind either towards his own people or\ntowards his enemies. And if he was a brave warrior, he was many\nother things besides. He was a lawgiver; at least he collected and\narranged the laws, and caused them to be most carefully\nadministered. He was a scholar, and wrote and translated many books\nfor the good of his people. He encouraged trade and enterprise of\nall kinds, and sent men to visit distant parts of the world, and\nbring home accounts of what they saw. And he was a thoroughly good\nman and a devout Christian in all relations of life. In short, one\nhardly knows any other character in all history so perfect; there is\nso much that is good in so many different ways; and though no doubt\nAlfred had his faults like other people, yet he clearly had none, at\nany rate in the greater part of his life, which took away at all\nseriously from his general goodness. One wonders that such a man was\nnever canonized as a Saint; most certainly many people have received\nthat name who did not deserve it nearly so well as he did.\n\nAlfred, or, as his name should really be spelled, Aelfred,\n[Footnote: That is, the rede or councel of the elves. A great many\nOld-English names are called after the elves or fairies.] was the\nyoungest son of King Aethelwulf, and was born at Wantage in\nBerkshire in 849. His mother was Osburh daughter of Oslac the King's\ncup-bearer, who came of the royal house of the Jutes in Wight. Up to\nthe age of twelve years Alfred was fond of hunting and other sports\nbut he had not been taught any sort of learning, not so much as to\nread his own tongue. But he loved the old English songs; and one day\nhis mother had a beautiful book of songs with rich pictures and fine\npainted initial letters, such as you may often see in ancient books.\nAnd she said to her children, \"I will give this beautiful book to\nthe one of you who shall first be able to read it.\" And Alfred said,\n\"Mother, will you really give me the book when I have learned to\nread it?\" And Osburh said, \"Yes, my son.\" So Alfred went and found a\nmaster, and soon learned to read. Then he came to his mother, and\nread the songs in the beautiful book and took the book for his own.\n\nIn 868, when he was in his twentieth year, while his brother\nAethelred was King, Alfred married. His wife's name was Ealhswyth;\nshe was the daughter of Aethelred called the Mickle or Big, Alderman\nof the Gainas in Lincolnshire, and her mother Eadburh was of the\nroyal house of the Mercians. It is said that on the very day of his\nmarriage he was smitten with a strange disease, which for twenty\nyears never quite left him, and fits of which might come on at any\ntime. If this be true, it makes all the great things that he did\neven more wonderful.\n\nMeanwhile the great Danish invasion had begun in the northern parts\nof England. There are many stories told in the old Northern Songs as\nto the cause of it. Some tell how Ragnar Lodbrog, a great hero of\nthese Northern tales, was seized by Aella, King of the\nNorthumbrians, and was thrown into a dungeon full of serpents, and\nhow, while he was dying of the bites of the serpents, he sang a\nwonderful death-song, telling of all his old fights, and calling on\nhis sons to come and avenge him. The year 871 the Danes for the\nfirst time entered Wessex. Nine great battles, besides smaller\nskirmishes, were fought this year, in some of which the English won\nand in others the Danes. One famous battle was at Ashdown, in\nBerkshire. We are told that the heathen men were in two divisions;\none was commanded by their two Kings Bagsecg and Halfdene, and the\nother by five Earls, Sidroc the Old, Sidroc the Young, Osbeorn,\nFraena, and Harold. And King Aethelred was set against the Kings and\nAlfred the Aetheling against the Earls. And the heathen men came on\nagainst them. But King Aethelred heard mass in his tent. And men\nsaid, \"Come forth, O King, to the fight, for the heathen men press\nhard upon us.\" And King Aethelred said, \"I will serve God first and\nman after, so I will not come forth till all the words of the mass\nbe ended.\" So King Aethelred abode praying, and the heathen men\nfought against Alfred the Aetheling. And Alfred said, \"I cannot\nabide till the King my brother comes forth; I must either flee, or\nfight alone with the heathen men.\" So Alfred the Aetheling and his\nmen fought against the five Earls. Now the heathen men stood on the\nhigher ground and the Christians on the lower. Yet did Alfred go\nforth trusting in God, and he made his men hold close together with\ntheir shields, and they went forth like a wild boar against the\nhounds. And they fought against the heathen men and smote them, and\nslew the five Earls, Sidroc the Old, Sidroc the Young, Osbeorn,\nFraena, and Harold. Then the mass was over, and King Aethelred came\nforth and fought against the two Kings, and slew Bagsecg the King\nwith his own hand and smote the heathen men with a great slaughter\nand chased them even unto Reading.\n\nIn 871, on Aethelred's death, Alfred became King of the West-Saxons\nand Over-lord of all England, as his father had appointed so long\nbefore with the consent of his Wise Men.\n\nThe Danes did not come again into Wessex till 876. But though the\nWest-Saxons had no fighting by land during these years, things were\nnot quite quiet, for in 875 King Alfred had a fight at sea against\nsome of the Danish pirates. This sea-fight is worth remembering as\nbeing, I suppose, the first victory won by the Englishmen at sea,\nwhere Englishmen have since won so many victories. King Alfred then\nfought against seven Danish ships, of which he took one and put the\nrest to flight. It is somewhat strange that we do not hear more than\nwe do of warfare by sea in these times, especially when we remember\nhow in earlier times the Angles and Saxons had roved about in their\nships, very much as the Danes and other Northmen were doing now. It\nwould seem that the English, after they settled in Britain, almost\nleft off being a seafaring people. We find Alfred and other Kings\ndoing what they could to keep up a fleet and to stir up a naval\nspirit among their people. And in some degree they did so; still we\ndo not find the English, for a long while after this time, doing\nnearly so much by sea as they did by land. This was a pity; for\nships might then, as in later times, have been wooden walls. It is\nmuch better to meet an enemy at sea, and to keep him from landing in\nyour country, than to let him land, even if you can beat him when he\nhas landed.\n\nBut in 876 the Danes came again into Wessex; and we thus come to the\npart of Alfred's life which is at once the saddest and the\nbrightest. It is the time when his luck was lowest and when his\nspirit was highest. The army under Guthorm or Guthrum, the Danish\nKing of East-Anglia, came suddenly to Wareham in Dorsetshire. The\nChronicle says that they \"bestole\"--that is, came secretly or\nescaped--from the West-Saxon army, which seems to have been waiting\nfor them. This time Alfred made peace with the Danes, and they gave\nhim some of their chief men for hostages, and they swore to go out\nof the land. They swore this on the holy bracelet, which was the\nmost solemn oath in use among the heathen Northmen, and on which\nthey had never before sworn at any of the times when they had made\npeace with the English. But they did not keep their oath any better\nfor taking it in this more solemn way. The part of the host which\nhad horses \"bestole away.\" King Alfred rode after the Danish horse\nas far as Exeter, but he did not overtake them till they had got\nthere, and were safe in the stronghold. Then they made peace,\nswearing oaths, and giving as many hostages as the King asked for.\n\nAnd now we come to the terrible year 878, the greatest and saddest\nand most glorious in all Alfred's life. In the very beginning of the\nyear, just after Twelfth-night, the Danish host again came suddenly-\n-\"bestole\" as the Chronicle says--to Chippenham. Then \"they rode\nthrough the West-Saxons' land, and there sat down, and mickle of the\nfolk over the sea they drove, and of the others the most deal they\nrode over; all but the King Alfred; he with a little band hardly\nfared [went] after the woods and on the moor-fastnesses.\" This time\nof utter distress lasted only a very little while, for in a few\nmonths Alfred was again at the head of an army and able to fight\nagainst the Danes.\n\nIt was during this trouble that Alfred stayed in the hut of a\nneatherd or swineherd of his, who knew who he was, though his wife\ndid not know him. One day the woman set some cakes to bake, and bade\nthe King, who was sitting by the fire mending his bow and arrows, to\ntend them. Alfred thought more of his bow and arrows than he did of\nthe cakes, and let them burn. Then the woman ran in and cried out,\n\"There, don't you see the cakes on fire? Then wherefore turn them\nnot? You are glad enough to eat them when they are piping hot.\"\n\nWe are told that this swineherd or neatherd afterwards became Bishop\nof Winchester. They say that his name was Denewulf, and that the\nKing saw that, though he was in so lowly a rank, he was naturally a\nvery wise man. So he had him taught, and at last gave him the\nBishoprick.\n\nI do not think that I can do better than tell you the next happening\nto Alfred, as it is in the Chronicle, only changing those words\nwhich you might not understand.\n\n\"And that ilk [same] winter was Iwer's and Healfdene's brother among\nthe West-Saxons in Devonshire; and him there men slew and eight\nhundred men with him and forty men of his host. And there was the\nbanner taken which they the Raven hight [call]. And after this\nEaster wrought King Alfred with his little band a work [fortress] at\nAthelney, and out of that work was he striving with the [Danish]\nhost, and the army sold [gave] him hostages and mickle oaths, and\neke they promised him that their King should receive baptism. And\nthis they fulfilled. And three weeks after came King Guthrum with\nthirty of the men that in the host were worthiest, at Aller, that is\nnear Athelney. And him the King received at his baptism, [Footnote:\nThat is, was his godfather.] and his chrisom-loosing [Footnote: That\nis, he laid aside the chrisom or white garment which a newly\nbaptised person wore.] was at Wedmore. And he was twelve nights with\nthe King, and he honoured him and his feres [companions] with mickle\nfee [money].\"\n\nThus you see how soon King Alfred's good luck came back to him\nagain. The Raven was a famous banner of the Danes, said to have been\nworked by the daughters of Ragnar Lodbrog. It was thought to have\nwonderful powers, so that they could tell by the way in which the\nraven held his wings whether they would win or not in battle.\n\nYou see the time of utter distress lasted only from soon after\nTwelfth-night to Easter, and even during that time the taking of the\nRaven must have cheered the English a good deal. After Easter things\nbegan to mend, when Alfred built his fort at Athelney and began to\nskirmish with the Danes, and seven weeks later came the great\nvictory at Ethandun, which set Wessex free. Some say that the white\nhorse which is cut in the side of the chalk hills near Edington was\ncut then, that men might remember the great battle of Ethandun. But\nit has been altered in modern times to make it look more like a real\nhorse.\n\nAll this time Alfred seems to have kept his headquarters at\nAthelney. Thence they went to Wedmore. There the Wise Men came\ntogether, and Alfred and Guthorm (or, to give him the name by which\nhe was baptised, Aethelstan) made a treaty. This treaty was very\nmuch better kept than any treaty with the Danes had ever been kept\nbefore. The Danes got much the larger part of England; still Alfred\ncontrived to keep London. Some accounts say that only those of the\nDanes stayed in England who chose to become Christians, and that the\nrest went away into Gaul under a famous leader of theirs named\nHasting. Anyhow, in 880 they went quite away into what was now their\nown land of East-Anglia, and divided it among themselves. Thus\nAlfred had quite freed his own Kingdom from the Danes, though he was\nobliged to leave so much of the island in their hands. And even\nthrough all these misfortunes, the Kingdom of Wessex did in some\nsort become greater. Remember that in 880, when Alfred had done so\nmany great things, he was still only thirty-one years old.\n\nWe can see how much people always remembered and thought of Alfred,\nby there being many more stories told of him than of almost any\nother of the old Kings. One story is that Alfred, wishing to know\nwhat the Danes were about and how strong they were, set out one day\nfrom Athelney in the disguise of a minstrel or juggler, and went\ninto the Danish camp, and stayed there several days, amusing the\nDanes with his playing, till he had seen all that he wanted, and\nthen went back without any one finding him out. This is what you may\ncall a soldier's story, while some of the others are rather what\nmonks and clergymen would like to tell. Thus there is a tale which\nis told in a great many different ways, but of which the following\nis the oldest shape.\n\n\"Now King Alfred was driven from his Kingdom by the Danes, and he\nlay hid for three years in the isle of Glastonbury. And it came to\npass on a day that all his folk were gone out to fish, save only\nAlfred himself and his wife and one servant whom he loved. And there\ncame a pilgrim to the King, and begged for food. And the King said\nto his servant, 'What food have we in the house?' And his servant\nanswered, 'My Lord, we have in the house but one loaf and a little\nwine.' Then the King gave thanks to God, and said, 'Give half of the\nloaf and half of the wine to this poor pilgrim.' So the servant did\nas his lord commanded him, and gave to the pilgrim half of the loaf\nand half of the wine, and the pilgrim gave great thanks to the King.\nAnd when the servant returned, he found the loaf whole, and the wine\nas much as there had been aforetime. And he greatly wondered, and he\nwondered also how the pilgrim had come into the isle, for that no\nman could come there save by water, and the pilgrim had no boat. And\nthe King greatly wondered also. And at the ninth hour came back the\nfolk who had gone to fish. And they had three boats full of fish,\nand they said, 'Lo, we have caught more fish this day than in all\nthe three years that we have tarried in this island.' And the King\nwas glad, and he and his folk were merry; yet he pondered much upon\nthat which had come to pass. And when night came, the King went to\nhis bed with Ealhswyth his wife. And the Lady slept, but the King\nlay awake and thought of all that had come to pass by day. And\npresently he saw a great light, like the brightness of the sun, and\nhe saw an old man with black hair, clothed in priest's garments, and\nwith a mitre on his head, and holding in his right hand a book of\nthe Gospels adorned with gold and gems. And the old man blessed the\nKing, and the King said unto him, 'Who art thou?' And he answered,\n'Alfred, my son, rejoice; for I am he to whom thou didst this day\ngive thine alms, and I am called Cuthberht the soldier of Christ.\nNow be strong and very courageous, and be of joyful heart, and\nhearken diligently to the things which I say unto thee; for\nhenceforth I will be thy shield and thy friend, and I will watch\nover thee and over thy sons after thee. And now I will tell thee\nwhat thou must do. Rise up early in the morning, and blow thine horn\nthrice, that thy enemies may hear it and fear, and by the ninth hour\nthou shalt have around thee five hundred men harnassed for the\nbattle. And this shall be a sign unto thee that thou mayest believe.\nAnd after seven days thou shalt have by God's gift and my help all\nthe folk of this land gathered unto thee upon the mount that is\ncalled Assandun. And thus shalt thou fight against thine enemies,\nand doubt not that thou shalt overcome them. Be thou therefore glad\nof heart, and be strong and very courageous, and fear not, for God\nhath given thine enemies into thine hand. And He hath given thee\nalso all this land and the Kingdom of thy fathers, to thee and to\nthy sons and to thy sons' sons after thee. Be thou faithful to me\nand to my folk, because that unto thee is given all the land of\nAlbion. Be thou righteous, because thou art chosen to be the King of\nall Britain. So may God be merciful unto thee, and I will be thy\nfriend, and none of thine enemies shall ever be able to overcome\nthee.' Then was King Alfred glad at heart, and he was strong and\nvery courageous, for that he knew that he would overcome his enemies\nby the help of God and Saint Cuthberht his patron. So in the morning\nhe arose, and sailed to the land, and blew his horn three times, and\nwhen his friends heard it they were glad, and when his enemies heard\nit they feared. And by the ninth hour, according to the word of the\nLord, there were gathered unto him five hundred men of the bravest\nand dearest of his friends. And he spake unto them and told them all\nthat God had said unto him by the mouth of his servant Cuthberht,\nand he told them that, by the gift of God and by the help of Saint\nCuthberht, they would overcome their enemies and win back their own\nland. And he bade them as Saint Cuthberht had taught him, to fear\nGod alway and to be alway righteous toward all men. And he bade his\nson Edward who was by him to be faithful to God and Saint Cuthberht,\nand so he should alway have the victory over his enemies. So they\nwent forth to battle and smote their enemies and overcame them, and\nKing Alfred took the Kingdom of all Britain, and he ruled well and\nwisely over the just and the unjust for the rest of his days.\"\n\nNow is there any truth in all this story? I think there is thus\nmuch, that Alfred, for some reason or other, thought he was under\nthe special protection of Saint Cuthberht. For several years after\n880 there was peace in the land, and for a good many more years\nstill there was much less fighting than there had been before. It\nwas no doubt at this time that Alfred was able to do all those\nthings for the good of his people of which we hear so much. He had\nnow more time than either before or after for making his laws,\nwriting his books, founding his monasteries, and doing all that he\ndid. You may wonder how he found time to do so much; but it was by\nthe only way by which anybody can do anything, namely, by never\nwasting his time, and by having fixed times of the day for\neverything. Alfred did not, like most other writers of that time,\nwrite in Latin, so that hardly anybody but the clergy could read or\nunderstand what he wrote. He loved our own tongue, and was\nespecially fond of the Old-English songs, and all that he wrote he\nwrote in English that all his people might understand. His works\nwere chiefly translations from Latin books; what we should have\nvalued most of all, his notebook or handbook, containing his remarks\non various matters, is lost. He translated into English the History\nof Basda, the History of Orosius, some of the works of Pope Gregory\nthe Great, and the Consolation of Philosophy by Boethius. Perhaps\nyou will ask why he did not rather translate some of the great and\nfamous Greek and Latin writers of earlier times. Now we may be sure\nthat King Alfred did not understand Greek at all; very few people in\nthose days in the West of Europe knew any Greek, except those who\nneeded to use the language for dealing with the men in the Eastern\nEmpire who still spoke it. Indeed Alfred complains that, when he\ncame to the Crown, very few people, even among the clergy,\nunderstood even Latin at all well. And as for Latin books, no doubt\nAlfred thought that the writings of Christians would be more\nedifying to his people than those of the old heathens. He chose the\nHistory of Orosius, as a general history of the world, and that of\nBasda, as a particular history of England. Boethius was a Roman\nConsul in the beginning of the sixth century, who was put to death\nby the great Theodoric, King of the East-Goths, who then ruled over\nItaly. While he was in prison he wrote the book which King Alfred\ntranslated. He seems not to have been a Christian; at least there is\nnot a single Christian expression in his book. But people fancied\nthat he was not only a Christian, but a saint and a martyr, most\nlikely because Theodoric, who put him to death, was not an orthodox\nChristian, but an Arian. Alfred, in translating his books, did not\nalways care to translate them quite exactly, but he often altered\nand put in things of his own, if he thought he could thus make them\nmore improving. So in translating Boethius, he altered a good deal,\nto make the wise heathen speak like a Christian. So in translating\nOrosius, where Orosius gives an account of the world, Alfred greatly\nenlarged the account of all the northern part of Europe, of which\nAlfred naturally knew much more than Orosius did.\n\nAlfred was also very careful in the government of his Kingdom,\nespecially in seeing that justice was properly administered. So men\nsaid of him in their songs, much as they had long before said of\nKing Edwin in Northumberland, that he hung up golden bracelets by\nthe roadside, and that no man dared to steal them. In his collection\nof laws, he chiefly put in order the laws of the older Kings, not\nadding many of his own, because he said that he did not know how\nthose who came after him might like them.\n\nKing Alfred was very attentive to religious matters, and gave great\nalms to the poor and gifts to churches. He also founded two\nmonasteries; one was for nuns, at Shaftesbury in Dorsetshire, of\nwhich he made his own daughter, Aethelgifu, abbess. The other was\nfor monks at Athelney; you can easily see why he should build it\nthere. He also sent several embassies to Rome, where he got Pope\nMarinus to grant certain privileges to the English School at Rome;\nthe Pope also sent him what was thought to be a piece of the wood of\nthe True Cross, that on which our Lord Jesus Christ died. He also\nsent an embassy to Jerusalem, and had letters from Abel the\nPatriarch there. And what seems stranger than all, he sent an\nembassy all the way to India, with alms for the Christians there,\ncalled the Christians of Saint Thomas and Saint Bartholomew.\n\nLastly, there seems some reason to think that the Chronicle began to\nbe put together in its present shape in Alfred's time, and that it\nwas regularly gone on with afterward, so that from the time of\nAlfred onward we have a history which was regularly written down as\nthings happened.\n\nAll these things happened mainly in the middle years of the reign of\nAlfred, when there was so much less fighting than there was before\nand after, and when some years seem to have been quite peaceable.\nGuthorm Aethelstan and his Danes in East-Anglia were for some years\ntrue to the treaty of Wedmore, and the other Danes seem just now to\nhave been busy in invading Gaul and other parts of the continent\nrather than England. Also King Alfred had now got a fleet, so that\nhe often met them at sea and kept them from landing. This he did in\n882, and we do not find that any Danes landed again in England till\n885. In that year part of the army which had been plundering along\nthe coast of Flanders and Holland came over to England, landed in\nKent, and besieged Rochester. But the citizens withstood them\nbravely, and Alfred gathered an army and drove the Danes to their\nships. They seem then to have gone to Essex and to have plundered\nthere with their ships, getting help from the Danes who were settled\nin East-Anglia, or at least from such of them as still were\nheathens. Alfred's fleet however quite overcame them and took away\ntheir treasure, but his fleet was again attacked and defeated by the\nEast-Anglian Danes. It would seem that in some part of this war\nGuthorm Aethelstan was helped by Hrolf, otherwise called Rollo, the\ngreat Northern chief.\n\nThe Danish wars began again in 893. For years now there was a great\ndeal of fighting. Two large bodies of Danes, one of them under the\nfamous chief Hasting, landed in Kent in 893 and fixed themselves in\nfortresses which they built. And the Danes who had settled in\nNorthumberland and East-Anglia helped them, though they had all\nsworn oaths to King Alfred, and those in East-Anglia had also given\nhostages. There was fighting all over the south of England\nthroughout 894, and the King had to go constantly backward and\nforward to keep up with the Danes. One time Alfred took a fort in\nKent, in which were the wife and two sons of Hasting. Now Hasting\nhad not long before given oaths and hostages to Alfred, and the two\nboys had been baptised, the King being godfather to one of them and\nAlderman Aethelred to the other. But Hasting did not at all keep to\nhis oath, but went on plundering all the same. Still, when the boys\nand their mother were taken, Alfred would not do them any harm, but\ngave them up again to Hasting.\n\nIn 897 we read that Alfred made some improvements in his ships.\n\"They were full-nigh twice as long as the others; some had sixty\noars, some more; they were both swifter and steadier and eke higher\nthan the others; they were neither on the Frisian shape nor on the\nDanish, but as himself thought that they useful might be.\" These new\nships seem to have done good service, though one time they got\naground, seemingly because they were so large, and the Danes were\ntherefore able to sail out before them. These sea-fights along the\nsouth coast were nearly the last things that we hear of in Alfred's\nreign. The crews of two Danish ships were brought to Winchester to\nAlfred and there hanged. One cannot blame him for this, as these\nDanes were mere pirates, not engaged in any lawful war, and many of\nthem had been spared, and had made oaths to Alfred, and had broken\nthem, over and over again.\n\nThis was in 897; the rest of King Alfred's reign seems to have been\nspent in peace. In 901 the great King died himself. He was then only\nfifty-two years old. Alfred's wife, the Lady Ealhswyth, lived a\nlittle while after her husband, till 903 or 905. King Alfred was\nburied at Winchester in the New Minster which he himself began to\nfound and which was finished by his son Edward. It then stood close\nto the Old Minster, that is, the cathedral church. Afterward it was\nmoved out of the city and was called Hyde Abbey. But you cannot see\nKing Alfred's grave there now, because everything has been\ndestroyed, and the bones of the great King have been turned out, to\nmake room for a prison.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nTHE CID\n\n\nAfterwards the Castillians arrived, and they kissed his hands in\nhomage, all, save only my Cid. And when King Don Alfonso saw that\nthe Cid did not do homage and kiss his hand, as all the other chief\npersons had done, he said, \"Since now ye have all received me for\nyour Lord, and given me authority over ye, I would know of the Cid\nRuydiez why he will not kiss my hand and acknowledge me; for I would\ndo something for him, as I promised unto my father King Don\nFerrando, when he commended him to me and to my brethren.\" And the\nCid arose and said, \"Sir, all whom you see here present, suspect\nthat by your counsel the King Don Sancho your brother came to his\ndeath; and therefore I say unto you that, unless you clear yourself\nof this, as by right you should do, I will never kiss your hand, nor\nreceive you for my lord.\" Then said the King, \"Cid, what you say\npleases me well; and here I swear to God and to St. Mary, that I\nnever slew him, nor took counsel for his death. And I beseech ye\ntherefore all, as friends and true vassals, that ye tell me how I\nmay clear myself.\" And the chiefs who were present said, that he and\ntwelve of the knights who came with him from Toledo, should make\nthis oath in the church at St. Gadea at Burgos, and that so he\nshould be cleared.\n\nSo the King and all his company took horse and went to Burgos. And\nwhen the day appointed for the oath was come, the King came forward\nupon a high stage that all the people might see him, and my Cid came\nto him to receive the oath; and my Cid took the book of the Gospels\nand opened it, and laid it upon the altar, and the King laid his\nhands upon it, and the Cid said unto him, \"King Don Alfonso, you\ncome here to swear concerning the death of King Don Sancho your\nbrother, that you neither slew him nor took counsel for his death;\nsay now you and these hidalgos, if ye swear this.\" And the King and\nthe hidalgos answered and said, \"Yea, we swear it.\" And the Cid\nsaid, \"If ye knew of this thing, or gave command that it should be\ndone, may you die even such a death as your brother the King Don\nSancho, by the hand of a villain whom you trust; one who is not a\nhidalgo, from another land, not a Castillian\"; and the King and the\nknights who were with him said \"Amen.\" And the King's colour\nchanged; and the Cid repeated the oath unto him a second time, and\nthe King and the twelve knights said \"Amen\" to it in like manner,\nand in like manner the countenance of the King was changed again.\nAnd my Cid repeated the oath unto him a third time, and the King and\nthe knights said \"Amen.\" But the wrath of the King was exceedingly\ngreat, and he said to the Cid, \"Ruydiez, why dost thou thus press\nme, man? To-day thou swearest me, and to-morrow thou wilt kiss my\nhand.\" And from that day forward there was no love toward my Cid in\nthe heart of the King.\n\nAfter this King Don Alfonso assembled together all his power and\nwent against the Moors. And the Cid should have gone with him, but\nhe fell sick and perforce therefore abode at home. And while the\nKing was going through Andalusia, having the land at his mercy, a\ngreat power of the Moors assembled together on the other side, and\nentered the land, and did much evil. At this time the Cid was\ngathering strength; and when he heard that the Moors were in the\ncountry, laying waste before them, he gathered together what force\nhe could, and went after them; and the Moors, when they heard this,\nbegan to fly. And the Cid followed them as far as Toledo, slaying\nand burning, and plundering and destroying, and laying hands on all\nwhom he found, so that he brought back seven thousand prisoners, men\nand women; and he and all his people returned rich and with great\nhonour. But when the King of Toledo heard of the hurt which he had\nreceived at the hands of the Cid, he sent to King Don Alfonso to\ncomplain thereof. And the King was greatly troubled. And he went\nwith all speed to Burgos, and sent from thence to bid the Cid come\nunto him.\n\nNow my Cid knew the evil disposition of the King toward him, and\nwhen he received his bidding he made answer that he would meet him\nbetween Burgos and Bivar. And the King went out from Burgos and came\nnigh unto Bivar; and the Cid came up to him and would have kissed\nhis hand, but the King withheld it, and said angrily unto him,\n\"Ruydiez, quit my land.\" Then the Cid clapt spurs to the mule upon\nwhich he rode, and vaulted into a piece of ground which was his own\ninheritance, and answered, \"Sir, I am not in your land, but in my\nown.\" And the King replied full wrathfully, \"Go out of my kingdoms\nwithout any delay.\" And the Cid made answer, \"Give me then thirty\ndays' time, as is the right of the hidalgos\"; and the King said he\nwould not, but that if he were not gone in nine days' time he would\ncome and look for him. The counts were well pleased at this; but all\nthe people of the land were sorrowful. And then the King and the Cid\nparted. And the Cid sent for all his friends and his kinsmen and\nvassals, and told them how King Don Alfonso had banished him from\nthe land, and asked of them who would follow him into banishment,\nand who would remain at home. Then Alvar Fanez, who was his cousin-\ngerman, came forward and said, \"Cid, we will all go with you,\nthrough desert and through peopled country, and never fail you. In\nyour service will we spend our mules and horses, our wealth and our\nparments, and ever while we live be unto you loyal friends and\nvassals.\" And they all confirmed what Alvar Fanez had said; and the\nCid thanked them for their love, and said that there might come a\ntime in which he should guerdon them.\n\nAnd as he was about to depart he looked back upon his own home, and\nwhen he saw his hall deserted, the household chests unfastened, the\ndoors open, no cloaks hanging up, no seats in the porch, no hawks\nupon the perches, the tears came into his eyes, and he said, \"My\nenemies have done this. God be praised for all things.\" And he\nturned toward the East and knelt and said, \"Holy Mary Mother, and\nall Saints, pray to God for me, that He may give me strength to\ndestroy all the Pagans, and to win enough from them to requite my\nfriends therewith, and all those who follow and help me.\" Then he\ncalled for Alvar Fanez and said unto him, \"Cousin, the poor have no\npart in the wrong which the King hath done us; see now that no wrong\nbe done unto them along our road,\" and he called for his horse.\n\nMy Cid Ruydiez entered Burgos, having sixty streamers in his\ncompany. And men and women went forth to see him. and the men of\nBurgos and the women of Burgos were at their windows, weeping, so\ngreat was their sorrow; and they said with one accord, \"God, how\ngood a vassal if he had but a good Lord!\" and willingly would each\nhave bade him come in, but no one dared so to do. For King Don\nAlfonso in his anger had sent letters to Burgos, saying that no man\nshould give the Cid a lodging; and that whosoever disobeyed should\nlose all that he had, and moreover the eyes in his head. Great\nsorrow had these Christian folk at this, and they hid themselves\nwhen he came near them because they did not dare speak to him; and\nmy Cid went to his Posada, and when he came to the door he found it\nfastened, for fear of the King. And his people called out with a\nloud voice, but they within made no answer. And the Cid rode up to\nthe door, and took his foot out of the stirrup, and gave it a kick,\nbut the door did not open with it, for it was well secured. A little\ngirl of nine years old then came out of one of the houses and said\nunto him, \"O Cid, the King hath forbidden us to receive you. We dare\nnot open our doors to you, for we should lose our houses and all\nthat we have, and the eyes in our head. Cid, our evil would not help\nyou, but God and all His saints be with you.\" And when she had said\nthis she returned into the house. And when the Cid knew what the\nKing had done he turned away from the door and rode up to St.\nMary's, and there he alighted and knelt down, and prayed with all\nhis heart; and then he mounted again and rode out of the town and\npitched his tent near Arlanzon, upon the sands. My Cid Ruydiez, he\nwho in a happy hour first girt on his sword, took up his lodging\nupon the sands, because there was none who would receive him within\ntheir door. He had a good company round about him, and there he\nlodged\n\nMoreover the King had given orders that no food should be sold them\nin Burgos, so that they could not buy even a pennyworth. But Martin\nAntolinez, who was a good Burgalese, he supplied my Cid and all his\ncompany with bread and wine abundantly. \"Campeador,\" said he to the\nCid, \"to-night we will rest here, and tomorrow we will be gone: I\nshall be accused for what I have done in serving you, and shall be\nin the King's displeasure; but following your fortunes, sooner or\nlater, the King will have me for his friend, and if not, I do not\ncare a fig for what I leave behind.\" Now this Martin Antolinez was\nnephew unto the Cid, being the son of his brother, Ferrando Diaz.\nAnd the Cid said unto him, \"Martin Antolinez, you are a bold\nlancier; if I live I will double you your pay. You see I have\nnothing with me, and yet must provide for my companions. I will take\ntwo chests and fill them with sand, and do you go in secret to\nRachel and Vidas, and tell them to come hither privately; for I\ncannot take my treasures with me because of their weight, and will\npledge them in their hands. Let them come for the chests at night,\nthat no man may see them. God knows that I do this thing more of\nnecessity than of wilfulness; but by God's good help I shall redeem\nall.\" Now Rachel and Vidas were rich Jews, from whom the Cid used to\nreceive money for his spoils. And Martin Antolinez went in quest of\nthem, and he passed through Burgos and entered into the Castle; and\nwhen he saw them he said, \"Ah Rachel and Vidas, my dear friends! now\nlet me speak with ye in secret.\" And they three went apart. And he\nsaid to them, \"Give me your hands that you will not discover me,\nneither to Moor nor Christian! I will make you rich men for ever.\nThe Campeador went for the tribute and he took great wealth, and\nsome of it he has kept for himself. He has two chests full of gold;\nye know that the King is in anger against him, and he cannot carry\nthese away with him without their being seen. He will leave them\ntherefore in your hands, and you shall lend him money upon them,\nswearing with great oaths and upon your faith, that ye will not open\nthem till a year be past.\" Rachel and Vidas took counsel together\nand answered, \"We well knew he got something when he entered the\nland of the Moors; he who has treasures does not sleep without\nsuspicion; we will take the chests, and place them where they shall\nnot be seen. But tell us with what will the Cid be contented, and\nwhat gain will he give us for the year?\" Martin Antolinez answered\nlike a prudent man, \"My Cid requires what is reasonable; he will ask\nbut little to leave his treasures in safety. Men come to him from\nall parts. He must have six hundred marks.\" And the Jews said, \"We\nwill advance him so much.\" \"Well then,\" said Martin Antolinez, \"ye\nsee that the night is advancing; the Cid is in haste, give us the\nmarks.\" \"This is not the way of business,\" said they; \"we must take\nfirst, and then give.\" \"Ye say well,\" replied the Burgalese: \"come\nthen to the Campeador, and we will help you to bring away the\nchests, so that neither Moors nor Christians may see us.\" So they\nwent to horse and rode out together, and they did not cross the\nbridge, but rode through the water that no man might see them, and\nthey came to the tent of the Cid.\n\nMeantime the Cid had taken two chests, which were covered with\nleather of red and gold, and the nails which fastened down the\nleather were well gilt; they were ribbed with bands of iron, and\neach fastened with three locks; they were heavy, and he filled them\nwith sand. And when Rachel and Vidas entered his tent with Martin\nAntolinez, they kissed his hand; and the Cid smiled and said to\nthem, \"Ye see that I am going out of the land, because of the King's\ndispleasure; but I shall leave something with ye.\" And they made\nanswer, \"Martin Antolinez has covenanted with us, that we shall give\nyou six hundred marks upon these chests, and keep them a full year,\nswearing not to open them till that time be expired, else shall we\nbe perjured.\" \"Take the chests,\" said Martin Antolinez; \"I will go\nwith you, and bring back the marks, for my Cid must move before\ncock-crow.\" So they took the chests, and though they were both\nstrong men they could not raise them from the ground; and they were\nfull glad of the bargain which they had made. And Rachel then went\nto the Cid and kissed his hand and said, \"Now, Campeador, you are\ngoing from Castille among strange nations, and your gain will be\ngreat, even as your fortune is. I kiss your hand, Cid, and have a\ngift for you, a red skin; it is Moorish and honourable.\" And the Cid\nlaid, \"It pleases me: give it me if ye have brought it; if not,\nreckon it upon the chests.\" And they departed with the chests, and\nMartin Antolinez and his people helped them, and went with them. And\nwhen they had placed the chests in safety, they spread a carpet in\nthe middle of the hall, and laid a sheet upon it, and they threw\ndown upon it three hundred marks of silver. Don Martin counted them,\nand took them without weighing. The other three hundred they paid in\ngold.\n\nWhen Martin Antolinez came into the Cid's tent he said unto him, \"I\nhave sped well, Campeador! you have gained six hundred marks. Now\nthen strike your tent and be gone. The time draws on, and you may be\nwith your Lady Wife at St. Pedro de Cardena, before the cock crows.\"\n\nThe cocks were crowing again, and the day began to break, when the\ngood Campeador reached St. Pedro's. The Abbot Don Sisebuto was\nsaying matins, and Dona Ximena and five of her ladies of good\nlineage were with him, praying to God and St. Peter to help my Cid.\nAnd when he called at the gate and they knew his voice, God, what a\njoyful man was the Abbot Don Sisebuto! Out into the courtyard they\nwent with torches and with tapers, and the Abbot gave thanks to God\nthat he now beheld the face of my Cid. And the Cid told him all that\nhad befallen him, and how he was a banished man; and he gave him\nfifty marks for himself, and a hundred for Dona Ximena and her\nchildren. \"Abbot,\" said he, \"I leave two little girls behind me,\nwhom I commend to your care. Take you care of them and of my wife\nand of her ladies: when this money be gone, if it be not enough,\nsupply them abundantly; for every mark which you spend upon them I\nwill give the monastery four.\" And the Abbot promised to do this\nwith a right good will. Then Dona Ximena came up weeping bitterly,\nand she said to her husband, \"Lo now you are banished from the land\nby mischief-making men, and here am I with your daughters, who are\nlittle ones and of tender years, and we and you must be parted, even\nin your lifetime. For the love of St. Mary tell me now what we shall\ndo.\" And the Cid took the children in his arms, and held them to his\nheart and wept, for he dearly loved them. \"Please God and St. Mary,\"\nsaid he, \"I shall yet live to give these my daughters in marriage\nwith my own hands, and to do you service yet, my honoured wife, whom\nI have ever loved, even as my own soul.\" Now hath my Cid left the\nkingdom of King Don Alfonso, and entered the country of the Moors.\nAnd at day-break they were near the brow of the Sierra, and they\nhalted there upon the top of the mountains, and gave barley to their\nhorses, and remained there until evening. And they set forward when\nthe evening had closed, that none might see them, and continued\ntheir way all night, and before dawn they came near to Castrejon,\nwhich is upon the Henares. And Alvar Fanez said unto the Cid, that\nhe would take with him two hundred horsemen, and scour the country\nand lay hands on whatever he could find, without fear either of King\nAlfonso or of the Moors. And he counselled him to remain in ambush\nwhere he was, and surprise the castle of Castrejon: and it seemed\ngood unto my Cid. Away went Alvar Fanez, and the two hundred\nhorsemen; and the Cid remained in ambush with the rest of his\ncompany. And as soon as it was morning, the Moors of Castrejon,\nknowing nothing of these who were so near them, opened the castle\ngates, and went out to their work as they were wont to do. And the\nCid rose from ambush and fell upon them, and took all their flocks,\nand made straight for the gates, pursuing them. And there was a cry\nwithin the castle that the Christians were upon them, and they who\nwere within ran to the gates to defend them, but my Cid came up\nsword in hand; eleven Moors did he slay with his own hand, and they\nforsook the gate and fled before him to hide themselves within, so\nthat he won the castle presently, and took gold and silver, and\nwhatever else he would.\n\nAlvar Fanez meantime scoured the country along the Henares as far as\nAlcala, and he returned driving flocks and herds before him, with\ngreat stores of wearing apparel, and of other plunder. And when the\nCid knew that he was nigh at hand he went out to meet him, and\npraised him greatly for what he had done, and gave thanks to God.\nAnd he gave order that all the spoils should be heaped together,\nboth what Alvar Fanez had brought, and what had been taken in the\ncastle; and he said to him, \"Brother, of all this which God hath\ngiven us, take you the fifth, for you well deserve it\"; but Minaya\nwould not, saying, \"You have need of it for our support.\" And the\nCid divided the spoil among the knights and foot-soldiers, to each\nhis due portion; to every horseman a hundred marks of silver, and\nhalf as much to the foot-soldiers: and because he could find none to\nwhom to sell his fifth, he spake to the Moors telling them that they\nmight come safely to purchase the spoil, and the prisoners also whom\nhe had taken, both men prisoners and women. And they came, and\nvalued the spoil and the prisoners, and gave for them three thousand\nmarks of silver, which they paid within three days: they bought also\nmuch of the spoil which had been divided, making great gain, so that\nall who were in my Cid's company were full rich. And the heart of my\nCid was joyous, and he sent to King Don Alfonso, telling him that he\nand his companions would yet do him service upon the Moors.\n\nThen my Cid assembled together his good men and said unto them,\n\"Friends, we cannot take up our abode in this castle, for there is\nno water in it, and moreover the King is at peace with these Moors,\nand I know that the treaty between them hath been written; so that\nif we should abide here he would come against us with all his power,\nand with all the power of the Moors, and we could not stand against\nhim. If therefore it seem good unto you, let us leave the rest of\nour prisoners here, that we may be free from all encumbrance, like\nmen who are to live by war.\" And it pleased them well that it should\nbe so. And he said to them, \"Ye have all had your shares, neither is\nthere anything owing to any one among ye. Now then let us be ready\nto take horse betimes on the morrow, for I would not fight against\nmy Lord the King.\" So on the morrow they went to horse and departed,\nbeing rich with the spoils which they had won: and they left the\ncastle to the Moors, who remained blessing them for this bounty\nwhich they had received at their hands. Then my Cid and his company\nwent up the Henares as fast as they could go; great were the spoils\nwhich they collected as they went along. And on the morrow they came\nagainst Alcocer. There my Cid pitched his tents upon a round hill,\nwhich was a great hill and a strong; and the river Salon ran near\nthem, so that the water could not be cut off. My Cid thought to take\nAlcocer: so he pitched his tents securely, having the Sierra on one\nside, and the river on the other, and he made all his people dig a\ntrench, that they might not be alarmed, neither by day nor by night.\n\nWhen my Cid had thus encamped, he went to look at the Alcazar, and\nsee if he could by any means enter it. And the Moors offered tribute\nto him, if he would leave them in peace; but this he would not do,\nand he lay before the town. And news went through all the land that\nthe Cid was come among them. And my Cid lay before Alcocer fifteen\nweeks; and when he saw that the town did not surrender, he ordered\nhis people to break up their camp, as if they were flying, and they\ntook their way along the Salon, with their banners spread. And when\nthe Moors saw this they rejoiced greatly, and they praised\nthemselves for what they had done in withstanding him, and said that\nthe Cid's bread and barley had failed him, and he had fled away, and\nleft one of his tents behind him. And they said among themselves,\n\"Let us pursue them and spoil them.\" And they went out after him,\ngreat and little, leaving the gates open and shouting as they went;\nand there was not left in the town a man who could bear arms. And\nwhen my Cid saw them coming he gave orders to quicken their speed,\nas if he was in fear, and would not let his people turn till the\nMoors were far from the town. But when he saw that there was a good\ndistance between them and the gates, he bade his banner turn, and\nspurred toward them crying, \"Lay on, knights, by God's mercy the\nspoil is our own.\" God! what a good joy was theirs that morning! My\nCid's vassals laid on without mercy; in one hour, and in a little\nspace, three hundred Moors were slain, and my Cid won the place, and\nplanted his banner upon the highest point of the castle. And the Cid\nsaid, \"Blessed be God and all His saints, we have bettered our\nquarters both for horses and men.\" And he said to Alvar Fanez and\nall his knights, \"Hear me, we shall get nothing by killing these\nMoors--let us take them and they shall show us their treasures which\nthey have hidden in their houses, and we will dwell here and they\nshall serve us.\" In this manner did my Cid win Alcocer, and take up\nhis abode therein.\n\nIn three weeks time after this returned Alvar Fanez from Castille.\nAnd my Cid rode up to him, and embraced him without speaking, and\nkissed his mouth and the eyes in his head. God, how joyful was that\nwhole host because Alvar Fanez was returned! for he brought them\ngreetings from their kinswomen and their brethren and the fair\ncomrades whom they had left behind. God, how joyful was my Cid with\nthe fleecy beard, that Minaya had purchased the thousand masses, and\nhad brought him the biddings of his wife and daughters! God, what a\njoyful man was he!\n\nNow it came to pass that the days of King Almudafar were fulfilled:\nand he left his two sons Zulema and Abenalfange, and Zulema had the\nkingdom of Zaragoza, and Abenalfange the kingdom of Denia. And\nZulema put his kingdom under my Cid's protection, and bade all his\npeople obey him even as they would himself. Now there began to be\ngreat enmity between the two brethren, and they made war upon each\nother. And the Count Don Ramon Berenguer of Barcelona helped\nAbenalfange, and was enemy to the Cid because he defended Zulema.\nAnd my Cid chose out two hundred horsemen and went out by night, and\nfell upon the lands of Alcaniz and brought away great booty. Great\nwas the talk among the Moors; how my Cid was over-running the\ncountry.\n\nWhen Don Ramon Berenguer the Count of Barcelona heard this, it\ntroubled him to the heart, and he held it for a great dishonour,\nbecause that part of the land of the Moors was in his keeping. And\nhe spake boastfully saying, \"Great wrong doth that Cid of Bivar\noffer unto me; he ravages the lands which are in my keeping, and I\nhave never renounced his friendship; but since he goes on in this\nway I must take vengeance.\" So he and King Abenalfange gathered\ntogether a great power both of Moors and Christians, and went in\npursuit of the Cid, and after three days and two nights they came up\nwith him in the pine-forest of Tebar. And when the Cid heard this he\nsent to Don Ramon saying, that the booty which he had won was none\nof his, and bidding him let him go on his way in peace: but the\nCount made answer, that my Cid should now learn whom he had\ndishonoured. Then my Cid sent the booty forward, and bade his\nknights make ready. \"They are coming upon us,\" said he, \"with a\ngreat power both of Moors and Christians, to take from us the spoils\nwhich we have so hardly won, and without doing battle we cannot be\nquit of them; for if we should proceed they would follow till they\novertook us: therefore let the battle be here, and I trust in God\nthat we shall win more honour, and something to boot. They come down\nthe hill, drest in their hose, with their gay saddles, and their\ngirths wet. Before they get upon the plain ground let us give them\nthe points of our lances; and Ramon Berenguer will then see whom he\nhas overtaken to-day in the pine-forest of Tebar, thinking to\ndespoil him of booty won from the enemies of God and of the faith.\"\n\nWhile my Cid was speaking, his knights had taken their arms, and\nwere ready on horseback for the charge. Presently they saw the\nFrenchmen coming down the hill, and when they had not yet set foot\nupon the plain ground, my Cid bade his people charge, which they did\nwith a right good will, thrusting their spears so stiffly, that by\nGod's good pleasure not a man whom they encountered but lost his\nseat. The Count's people stood firm round their Lord; but my Cid was\nin search of him, and when he saw where he was, he made up to him,\nclearing the way as he went, and gave him such a stroke with his\nlance that he felled him. When the Frenchmen saw their Lord in this\nplight they fled away and left him; and the pursuit lasted three\nleagues, and would have been continued farther if the conquerors had\nnot had tired horses. Thus was Count Ramon Berenguer made prisoner,\nand my Cid won from him that day the good sword Colada, which was\nworth more than a thousand marks of silver. That night did my Cid\nand his men make merry, rejoicing over their gains. And the Count\nwas taken to my Cid's tent, and a good supper was set before him;\nnevertheless he would not eat, though my Cid besought him so to do.\nAnd on the morrow my Cid ordered a feast to be made, that he might\ndo pleasure to the Count, but the Count said that for all Spain he\nwould not eat one mouthful, but would rather die, since he had been\nbeaten in battle by such a set of ragged fellows. And Ruydiez said\nto him, \"Eat and drink, Count, for this is the chance of war; if you\ndo as I say you shall be free; and if not you will never return\nagain into your own lands.\" And Don Ramond answered, \"Eat you, Don\nRodrigo, for your fortune is fair and you deserve it; take you your\npleasure, but leave me to die.\" And in this mood he continued for\nthree days, refusing all food. But then my Cid said to him, \"Take\nfood, Count, and be sure that I will set you free, you and any two\nof your knights, and give you wherewith to return into your own\ncountry.\" And when Don Ramond heard this, he took comfort and said,\n\"If you will indeed do this thing I shall marvel at you as long as I\nlive.\" \"Eat then,\" said Ruydiez, \"and I will do it: but mark you, of\nthe spoil which we have taken from you I will give you nothing; for\nto that you have no claim neither by right nor custom, and besides\nwe want it for ourselves, being banished men, who must live by\ntaking from you and from others as long as it shall please God.\"\nThen was the Count full joyful, being well pleased that what should\nbe given him was not of the spoils which he had lost; and he called\nfor water and washed his hands, and chose two of his kinsmen to be\nset free with him. And my Cid sate at the table with them, and said,\n\"If you do not eat well, Count, you and I shall not part yet.\" Never\nsince he was Count did he eat with better will than that day! And\nwhen they had done he said, \"Now, Cid, if it be your pleasure let us\ndepart.\" And my Cid clothed him and his kinsmen well with goodly\nskins and mantles, and gave them each a goodly palfrey, with rich\ncaparisons, and he rode out with them on their way. And when he took\nleave of the Count he said to him, \"Now go freely, and I thank you\nfor what you have left behind; if you wish to play for it again let\nme know, and you shall either have something back in its stead, or\nleave what you bring to be added to it.\" The Count answered, \"Cid,\nyou jest safely now, for I have paid you and all your company for\nthis twelve--months, and shall not be coming to see you again so\nsoon.\"\n\nThen Count Ramond pricked on more than apace, and many times looked\nbehind him, fearing that my Cid would repent what he had done, and\nsend to take him back to prison, which the perfect one would not\nhave done for the whole world, for never did he do disloyal thing.\n\nAt last after long and pitiful fighting it was bruited abroad\nthroughout all lands, how the Cid Ruydiez had won the noble city of\nValencia.\n\nAnd now the Cid bethought him of Dona Ximena his wife, and of his\ndaughters Dona Elvira and Dona Sol, whom he had left in the\nmonastery of St. Pedro de Cardena and he called for Alvar Fanez and\nMartin Antolinez of Burgos, and spake with them, and besought them\nthat they would go to Castille, to King Don Alfonso and take him a\npresent from the riches which God had given them; and the present\nshould be a hundred horses, saddled and bridled; and that they would\nkiss the King's hand for him, and beseech him to send to him his\nwife Dona Ximena, and his daughters; and that they would tell the\nKing all the mercy which God had shown him, and how he was at his\nservice with Valencia and with all that he had. Moreover he bade\nthem take a thousand marks of silver to the monastery of St. Pedro\nde Cardena, and give them to the Abbot, and thirty marks of gold for\nhis wife and daughters, that they might prepare themselves and come\nin honourable guise. And he ordered three hundred marks of gold to\nbe given them, and three hundred marks of silver, to redeem the\nchests full of sand which he had pledged in Burgos to the Jews; and\nhe bade them ask Rachel and Vidas to forgive him the deceit of the\nsand, for he had done it because of his great need.\n\nThen Alvar Fanez and Martin Antolinez dispeeded themselves of the\nKing, and took their way toward Burgos. When they reached Burgos\nthey sent for Rachel and for Vidas, and demanded from them the\nchests, and paid unto them the three hundred marks of gold and the\nthree hundred of silver as the Cid had commanded, and they besought\nthem to forgive the Cid the deceit of the chests, for it was done\nbecause of his great necessity. And they said they heartily forgave\nhim, and held themselves well paid; and they prayed God to grant him\nlong life and good health, and to give him power to advance\nChristendom, and put down Pagandom. And when it was known through\nthe city of Burgos the goodness and the gentleness which the Cid had\nshown to these merchants in redeeming from them the chests full of\nsand and earth and stones, the people held it for a great wonder,\nand there was not a place in all Burgos where they did not talk of\nthe gentleness and loyalty of the Cid; and they besought blessings\nupon him, and prayed that he and his people might be advanced in\nhonour. When they had done this, they went to the monastery of St.\nPedro de Cardena, and the porter of the King went with them, and\ngave order everywhere that everything which they wanted should be\ngiven them. If they were well received, and if there was great joy\nin St. Pedro de Cardena over them, it is not a thing to ask, for\nDona Ximena and her daughters were like people beside themselves\nwith the great joy which they had, and they came running out on foot\nto meet them, weeping plenteously.\n\nAfter a long life-time of adventure the Cid sickened of a malady.\nAnd the day before his weakness waxed great, he ordered the gates of\nValencia to be shut, and went to the Church of St. Peter; and there\nthe Bishop Don Hieronymo being present, and all the clergy who were\nin Valencia, and the knights and honourable men and honourable\ndames, as many as the church could hold, the Cid Ruydiez stood up,\nand made a full noble preaching, showing that no man, however\nhonourable or fortunate he may be in this world, can escape death,\nto which, said he, \"I am now full near; and since ye know that this\nbody of mine hath never yet been conquered, nor put to shame, I\nbeseech ye let not this befall it at the end, for the good fortune\nof man is only accomplished at his end.\" Then he took leave of the\npeople, weeping plenteously, and returned to the Alcazar, and betook\nhimself to his bed, and never rose from it again; and every day he\nwaxed weaker and weaker. He called for the caskets of gold in which\nwas the balsam and the myrrh which the Soldan of Persia had sent\nhim; and when these were put before him he bade them bring him the\ngolden cup, of which he was wont to drink; and he took of that\nbalsam and of that myrrh as much as a little spoonful, and mingled\nit in the cup with rose-water, and drank of it; and for the seven\ndays which he lived he neither ate nor drank aught else than a\nlittle of that myrrh and balsam mingled with water. And every day\nafter he did this, his body and his countenance appeared fairer and\nfresher than before, and his voice clearer, though he waxed weaker\nand weaker daily, so that he could not move in his bed.\n\nOn the twenty-ninth day, being the day before he departed, he called\nfor Dona Ximena, and for the Bishop Don Hieronymo, and Don Alvar\nFanez Minaya, and Pero Bermudez, and his trusty Gil Diaz; and when\nthey were all five before him, he began to direct them what they\nshould do after his death; and he said to them, \"Ye know that King\nBucar will presently be here to besiege this city, with seven and\nthirty Kings whom he bringeth with him, and with a mighty power of\nMoors. Now therefore the first thing which ye do after I have\ndeparted, wash my body with rose-water many times and well, and when\nit has been well washed and made clean, ye shall dry it well, and\nanoint it with this myrrh and balsam, from these golden caskets,\nfrom head to foot, so that every part shall be anointed. And you, my\nDona Ximena, and your women, see that ye utter no cries, neither\nmake any lamentation for me, that the Moors may not know of my\ndeath. And when the day shall come in which King Bucar arrives,\norder all the people of Valencia to go upon the walls, and sound\nyour trumpets and tambours and make the greatest rejoicings that ye\ncan. For certes ye cannot keep the city, neither abide therein after\nthey know of my death. And see that sumpter beasts be laden with all\nthat there is in Valencia, so that nothing which can profit may be\nleft. And this I leave especially to your charge, Gil Diaz. Then\nsaddle ye my horse Bavieca, and arm him well; and apparel my body\nfull seemlily, and place me upon the horse, and fasten and tie me\nthereon so that it cannot fall: and fasten my sword Tizona in my\nhand. And let the Bishop Don Hieronymo go on one side of me, and my\ntrusty Gil Diaz on the other, and he shall lead my horse. You, Pero\nBermudez, shall bear my banner, as you were wont to bear it; and\nyou, Alvar Fanez, my cousin, gather your company together, and put\nthe host in order as you are wont to do. And go ye forth and fight\nwith King Bucar: for be ye certain and doubt not that ye shall win\nthis battle; God hath granted me this. And when ye have won the\nfight, and the Moors are discomfited, ye may spoil the field at\npleasure. Ye will find great riches.\"\n\nAnd this noble Baron yielded up his soul, which was pure and without\nspot, to God, on that Sunday which is called Quinquagesima, being\nthe twenty and ninth of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand\nand ninety and nine, and in the seventy and third year of his life.\nAfter he had thus made his end they washed his body and embalmed it\nas he had commanded. And then all the honourable men, and all the\nclergy who were in Valencia, assembled and carried it to the Church\nof St. Mary of the Virtues, which is near the Alcazar, and there\nkept their vigil, and said prayer and performed masses, as was meet\nfor so honourable a man.\n\nThree days after the Cid had departed King Bucar came into the port\nof Valencia, and landed with all his power. And there came with him\nthirty and six Kings, and one Moorish Queen, and she brought with\nher two hundred horsewomen, all negresses like herself, all having\ntheir hair shorn save a tuft on the top, and they were all armed in\ncoats of mail and with Turkish bows. King Bucar ordered his tents to\nbe pitched round about Valencia. And his people thought that the Cid\ndared not come out against them, and they were the more encouraged,\nand began to think of making engines wherewith to combat the city.\n\nAll this while the company of the Cid were preparing all things to\ngo into Castille, as he had commanded before his death; and his\ntrusty Gil Diaz did nothing else but labour at this. And the body of\nthe Cid was prepared and the virtue of the balsam and myrrh was such\nthat the flesh remained firm and fair, having its natural colour and\nhis countenance as it was wont to be, and the eyes open, and his\nlong beard in order, so that there was not a man who would have\nthought him dead if he had seen him. And on the second day after he\nhad departed, Gil Diaz placed the body upon a right noble saddle.\nAnd he took two boards and fitted them to the body, one to the\nbreast and the other to the shoulders; these were so hollowed out\nand fitted that they met at the sides and under the arms, and these\nboards were fastened into the saddle, so that the body could not\nmove. All this was done by the morning of the twelfth day; and all\nthat day the people of the Cid were busied in making ready their\narms, and in loading beasts with all that they had. When it was\nmidnight they took the body of the Cid fastened to the saddle as it\nwas, and placed it upon his horse Bavieca, and fastened the saddle\nwell: and the body sate so upright and well that it seemed as if he\nwas alive. And it had on painted hose of black and white, so\ncunningly painted that no man who saw them would have thought but\nthat they were grieves, unless he had laid his hand upon them; and\nthey put on it a surcoat of green sendal, having his arms blazoned\nthereon, and a helmet of parchment, which was cunningly painted that\nevery one might have believed it to be iron; and his shield was hung\naround his neck, and they placed the sword Tizona in his hand, and\nthey raised his arm, and fastened it up so subtly that it was a\nmarvel to see how upright he held the sword. And the Bishop Don\nHieronymo went on one side of him, and the trusty Gil Diaz on the\nother, and he led the horse Bavieca, as the Cid had commanded him.\nAnd when all this had been made ready, they went out from Valencia\nat midnight, through the gate of Roseros, which is towards Castille.\nPero Bermudez went first with the banner of the Cid, and with him\nfive hundred knights who guarded it, all well appointed. Then came\nthe body of the Cid with an hundred knights, all chosen men, and\nbehind them Dona Ximena with all her company, and six hundred\nknights in the rear. All these went out so silently, and with such a\nmeasured pace, that it seemed as if there were only a score. And by\nthe time that they had all gone out it was broad day.\n\nNow, while the Bishop Don Hieronymo and Gil Diaz led away the body\nof the Cid, and Dona Ximena, and the baggage, Alvar Fanez Minaya\nfell upon the Moors. First he attacked the tents of that Moorish\nQueen, the Negress, who lay nearest to the city; and this onset was\nso sudden, that they killed full a hundred and fifty Moors before\nthey had time to take arms or go to horse. But that Moorish Negress,\nso skilful in drawing the Turkish bow, that they called her the Star\nof the Archers, was the first that got on horseback, and with some\nfifty that were with her, did some hurt to the company of the Cid;\nbut in fine they slew her, and her people fled to the camp. And\nso great was the uproar and confusion, that few there were who took\narms, but instead thereof they turned their backs and fled toward\nthe sea. And when King Bucar and his Kings saw this they were\nastonished. And it seemed to them that there came against them on\nthe part of the Christians full seventy thousand knights, all as\nwhite as snow: and before them a knight of great stature upon a\nwhite horse. And King Bucar and the other Kings were so greatly\ndismayed that they never checked the reins till they had ridden into\nthe sea; and the company of the Cid rode after them, smiting and\nslaying and giving them, no respite. And when the Moors came to the\nsea, so great was the press among them to get to the ships, that\nmore than ten thousand died in the water. And King Bucar and they\nwho escaped with him hoisted sails and went their way, and never\nmore turned their heads.\n\nThen Alvar Fanez and his people went after the Bishop Don Hieronymo\nand Gil Diaz, who, with the body of the Cid, and Dona Ximena, and\nthe baggage, had gone on till they were clear of the host, and then\nwaited for those who were gone against the Moors. And so great was\nthe spoil, gold, and silver, and other precious things that the\npoorest man among the Christians, horseman or on foot, became rich\nwith what he won that day. And when they were all met together, they\ntook the road toward Castille; and they halted that night in a\nvillage which is called Siete Aguas, that is to say, the Seven\nWaters, which is nine leagues from Valencia.\n\nWhen the company of the Cid departed from the Siete Aguas, they held\ntheir way by short journeys. And the Cid went alway upon his horse\nBavieca, as they had brought him out from Valencia, save only that\nhe wore no arms, but was clad in right noble garments, Great was the\nconcourse of people to see the Cid Ruydiez coming in that guise.\nThey came from all the country round about, and when they saw him\ntheir wonder was the greater, and hardly could they be persuaded\nthat he was dead.\n\nAt this time King Don Alfonso abode in Toledo, and when the letters\ncame unto him saying how the Cid Campeador was departed, and after\nwhat manner he had discomfited King Bucar, and how they brought him\nin this goodly manner upon his horse Bavieca, he set out from\nToledo, taking long journeys till he came to San Pedro de Cardena to\ndo honour to the Cid at his funeral. And when the King Don Alfonso\nsaw so great a company and in such goodly array, and the Cid Ruydiez\nso nobly clad and upon his horse Bavieca, he was greatly astonished.\nAnd the King beheld his countenance, and seeing it so fresh and\ncomely, and his eyes so bright and fair, and so even and open that\nhe seemed alive, he marvelled greatly.\n\nOn the third day after the coming of King Don Alfonso, they would\nhave interred the body of the Cid, but when the King heard what Dona\nXimena had said, that while it was so fair and comely it should not\nbe laid in a coffin, he held that what she said was good. And he\nsent for the ivory chair which had been carried to the Cortes of\nToledo, and gave order that it should be placed on the right of the\naltar of St. Peter; and he laid a cloth of gold upon it, and he\nordered a graven tabernacle to be made over the chair, richly\nwrought with azure and gold. And he himself, and the King of Navarre\nand the Infante of Aragon, and the Bishop Don Hieronymo, to do\nhonour to the Cid, helped to take his body from between the two\nboards, in which it had been fastened at Valencia. And when they had\ntaken it out, the body was so firm that it bent not on either side,\nand the flesh so firm and comely, that it seemed as if he were yet\nalive. And the King thought that what they purported to do and had\nthus begun, might full well be effected. And they clad the body in\ncloth of purple, which the Soldan of Persia had sent him, and put\nhim on hose of the same, and set him in his ivory chair; and in his\nleft hand they placed his sword Tizona in its scabbard, and the\nstrings of his mantle in his right. And in this fashion the body of\nthe Cid remained there ten years and more, till it was taken thence\nand buried.\n\nGil Diaz took great delight in tending the horse Bavieca, so that\nthere were few days in which he did not lead him to water, and bring\nhim back with his own hand. And from the day in which the dead body\nof the Cid was taken off his back, never man was suffered to\nbestride that horse, but he was alway led when they took him to\nwater, and when they brought him back. And this good horse lived two\nyears and a half after the death of his master the Cid, and then he\ndied also, having lived full forty years. And Gil Diaz buried him\nbefore the gate of the monastery, in the public place, on the right\nhand; and he planted two elms upon the grave, the one at his head\nand the other at his feet, and these elms grew and became great\ntrees, and are yet to be seen before the gate of the monastery.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nROBIN HOOD\n\n\nBecause of the hardness towards the English people of William the\nConqueror, and of William's successors to several generations, many\nan Englishman exiled himself from town and passed his life in the\ngreenwood. These men were called \"outlaws.\" First they went forth\nout of love for the ancient liberties of England. Then in their\nliving in the forest, they put themselves without the law by their\nways of gaining their livelihood. Of such men none were more\nrenowned than Robin Hood and his company.\n\nWe do not know anything about Robin Hood, who he was, or where he\nlived, or what evil deed he had done. Any man might kill him and\nnever pay penalty for it. But, outlaw or not, the poor people loved\nhim and looked on him as their friend, and many a stout fellow came\nto join him, and led a merry life in the greenwood, with moss and\nfern for bed, and for meat the King's deer, which it was death to\nslay. Tillers of the land, yeomen, and some say knights, went on\ntheir ways freely, for of them Robin took no toll; but lordly\nchurchmen with money-bags well filled, or proud bishops with their\nrichly dressed followers, trembled as they drew near to Sherwood\nForest--who was to know whether behind every tree there did not lurk\nRobin Hood or one of his men?\n\nOne day Robin was walking alone in the wood, and reached a river\nspanned by a very narrow bridge, over which one man only could pass.\nIn the midst stood a stranger, and Robin bade him go back and let\nhim go over. \"I am no man of yours,\" was all the answer Robin got,\nand in anger he drew his bow and fitted an arrow to it, \"Would you\nshoot a man who has no arms but a staff?\" asked the stranger in\nscorn; and with shame Robin laid down his bow, and unbuckled an\noaken stick at his side. \"We will fight till one of us falls into\nthe water,\" he said; and fight they did, till the stranger planted a\nblow so well that Robin rolled over into the river. \"You are a brave\nsoul,\" said he, when he had waded to land, and he blew a blast with\nhis horn which brought fifty good fellows, clad in green, to the\nlittle bridge. \"Have you fallen into the river that your clothes are\nwet?\" asked one; and Robin made answer, \"No, but this stranger,\nfighting on the bridge, got the better of me, and tumbled me into\nthe stream.\"\n\nAt this the foresters seized the stranger, and would have ducked him\nhad not their leader bade them stop, and begged the stranger to stay\nwith them and make one of themselves. \"Here is my hand,\" replied the\nstranger, \"and my heart with it. My name, if you would know it, is\nJohn Little.\"\n\n\"That must be altered,\" cried Will Scarlett; \"we will call a feast,\nand henceforth, because he is full seven feet tall and round the\nwaist at least an ell, he shall be called Little John.\" And thus it\nwas done; but at the feast Little John, who always liked to know\nexactly what work he had to do, put some questions to Robin Hood.\n\"Before I join hands with you, tell me first what sort of life is\nthis you lead? How am I to know whose goods I shall take, and whose\nI shall leave? Whom I shall beat, and whom I shall refrain from\nbeating?\"\n\nAnd Robin answered: \"Look that you harm not any tiller of the\nground, nor any yeoman of the greenwood--no knight, no squire,\nunless you have heard him ill spoken of. But if bishops or\narchbishops come your way, see that you spoil them, and mark that\nyou always hold in your mind the High Sheriff of Nottingham.\"\n\nThis being settled, Robin Hood declared Little John to be second in\ncommand to himself among the brotherhood of the forest, and the new\noutlaw never forgot to \"hold in his mind\" the High Sheriff of\nNottingham, who was the bitterest enemy the foresters had.\n\nTHE BALLAD OF ROBIN HOOD, THE BUTCHER AND THE SHERIFF.\n\nUpon a time it chanced so,\n Bold Robin in forest did spy\n A jolly butcher, with a bonny fine mare,\n With his flesh to the market did hie.\n\n\"Good morrow, good fellow,\" said jolly Robin,\n \"What food hast thou? tell unto me;\n Thy trade to me tell, and where thou dost dwell,\n For I like well thy company.\"\n\nThe butcher he answer'd jolly Robin,\n \"No matter where I dwell;\n For a butcher I am, and to Nottingham\n I am going, my flesh to sell.\"\n\n\"What's the price of thy flesh?\" said jolly Robin,\n \"Come, tell it soon unto me;\n And the price of thy mare, be she never so dear,\n For a butcher fain would I be.\"\n\n\"The price of my flesh,\" the butcher replied,\n \"I soon will tell unto thee;\n With my bonny mare, and they are not dear,\n Four marks thou must give unto me.\"\n\n\"Four marks I will give thee,\" said jolly Robin,\n \"Four marks shall be thy fee;\n The money come count, and let me mount,\n For a butcher I fain would be.\"\n\nNow Robin he is to Nottingham gone,\n His butcher's trade to begin;\n With good intent to the Sheriff he went,\n And there he took up his inn.\n\nWhen other butchers did open their meat,\n Bold Robin got gold and fee,\n For he sold more meat for one penny\n Than others did sell for three.\n\nWhich made the butchers of Nottingham\n To study as they did stand,\n Saying, \"Surely he is some prodigal\n That has sold his father's land.\"\n\n\"This is a mad blade,\" the butchers still said;\n Said the Sheriff, \"He is some prodigal,\n That some land has sold for silver and gold,\n And now he doth mean to spend all.\n\n\"Hast thou any horn-beasts,\" the Sheriff asked,\n \"Good fellow, to sell to me?\"\n \"Yes, that I have, good Master Sheriff,\n I have hundreds, two or three.\n\n\"And a hundred acres of good free land,\n If you please it to see:\n And I'll make you as good assurance of it,\n As ever my father made me.\"\n\nThe Sheriff he saddled his good palfrey,\n And with three hundred pounds of gold,\n Away he went with bold Robin Hood,\n His horned beasts to behold.\n\nAway then the Sheriff and Robin did ride,\n To the forest of merry Sherwood;\n Then the Sheriff did say, \"God keep us this day\n From a man they call Robin Hood.\"\n\nBut when a little farther they came,\n Bold Robin he chanced to spy\n A hundred head of good red deer,\n Come tripping the Sheriff full nigh.\n\n\"How like you my horn-beasts, good Master Sheriff?\n They be fat and fair to see\";\n \"I tell thee, good fellow, I would I were gone,\n For I like not thy company.\"\n\nThen Robin set his horn to his mouth,\n And blew but blasts three;\n Then quickly anon there came Little John,\n And all his company.\n\n\"What is your will?\" then said Little John,\n \"Good master, come tell unto me\";\n \"I have brought hither the Sheriff of Nottingham\n This day to dine with thee,\"\n\nThen Robin took his cloak from his back\n And laid it upon the ground;\n And out of the Sheriff's portmanteau\n He took three hundred pound.\n\nHe then led the Sheriff through the wood,\n And set him on his dapple grey;\n \"Commend Robin Hood to your wife at home,\"\n He said, and went laughing away.\n\nNow Robin Hood had no liking for a company of idle men about him,\nand sent off Little John and Will Scarlett to the great road known\nas Watling Street, with orders to hide among the trees and wait till\nsome adventure might come to them; and if they took captive earl or\nbaron, abbot or knight, he was to be brought unharmed back to Robin\nHood.\n\nBut all along Watling Street the road was bare; white and hard it\nlay in the sun, without the tiniest cloud of dust to show that a\nrich company might be coming: east and west the land lay still.\n\nAt length, just where a side path turned into the broad highway,\nthere rode a knight, and a sorrier man than he never sat a horse on\nsummer day. One foot only was in the stirrup, the other hung\ncarelessly by his side; his head was bowed, the reins dropped loose,\nand his horse went on as he would. At so sad a sight the hearts of\nthe outlaws were filled with pity, and Little John fell on his knees\nand bade the knight welcome in the name of his master.\n\n\"Who is your master?\" asked the knight.\n\n\"Robin Hood,\" answered Little John.\n\n\"I have heard much good of him,\" replied the knight, \"and will go\nwith you gladly.\"\n\nThen they all set off together, tears running down the knight's\ncheeks as he rode, but he said nothing, neither was anything said to\nhim. And in this wise they came to Robin Hood.\n\n\"Welcome, Sir Knight,\" cried he, \"and thrice welcome, for I waited\nto break my fast till you or some other had come to me.\"\n\n\"God save you, good Robin,\" answered the knight, and after they had\nwashed themselves in the stream they sat down to dine off bread,\nwith flesh of the King's deer, and swans and pheasants. \"Such a\ndinner have I not had for three weeks and more,\" said the knight.\n\"And if I ever come again this way, good Robin, I will give you as\nfine a dinner as you have given me.\"\n\n\"I thank you,\" replied Robin, \"my dinner is always welcome; still, I\nam none so greedy but I can wait for it. But before you go, pay me,\nI pray you, for the food which you have had. It was never the custom\nfor a yeoman to pay for a knight.\"\n\n\"My bag is empty,\" said the knight, \"save for ten shillings only.\"\n\n\"Go, Little John, and look in his wallet,\" said Robin, \"and, Sir\nKnight, if in truth you have no more, not one penny will I take;\nnay, I will give you all that you shall need.\"\n\nSo Little John spread out the knight's mantle, and opened the bag,\nand therein lay ten shillings and naught besides.\n\n\"What tidings, Little John?\" cried his master.\n\n\"Sir, the knight speaks truly,\" said Little John.\n\n\"Then tell me, Sir Knight, whether it is your own ill doings which\nhave brought you to this sorry pass.\"\n\n\"For an hundred years my fathers have dwelt in the forest,\" answered\nthe knight, \"and four hundred pounds might they spend yearly. But\nwithin two years misfortune has befallen me, and my wife and\nchildren also.\"\n\n\"How did this evil come to pass?\" asked Robin.\n\n\"Through my own folly,\" answered the knight, \"and because of my\ngreat love I bore my son, who would never be guided of my counsel,\nand slew, ere he was twenty years old, a knight of Lancaster and his\nsquire. For their deaths I had to pay a large sum, which I could not\nraise without giving my lands in pledge to the rich Abbot of St.\nMary's. If I cannot bring him the money by a certain day they will\nbe lost to me for ever.\"\n\n\"What is the sum?\" asked Robin. \"Tell me truly.\"\n\n\"It is four hundred pounds,\" said the knight.\n\n\"And what will you do if you lose your lands?\" asked Robin again.\n\n\"Hide myself over the sea,\" said the knight, \"and bid farewell to my\nfriends and country. There is no better way open to me.\"\n\nAt this tears fell from his eyes, and he turned him to depart. \"Good\nday, my friend,\" he said to Robin, \"I cannot pay you what I should--\"\nBut Robin held him fast. \"Where are your friends?\" asked he.\n\n\"Sir, they have all forsaken me since I became poor, and they turn\naway their heads if we meet upon the road, though when I was rich\nthey were ever in my castle.\"\n\nWhen Little John and Will Scarlett and the rest heard this they wept\nfor very shame and fury.\n\n\"Little John,\" said Robin, \"go to my treasure chest, and bring me\nthence four hundred pounds. And be sure you count it truly.\"\n\nSo Little John went, and Will Scarlett, and they brought back the\nmoney.\n\n\"Sir,\" said Little John, when Robin had counted it and found it no\nmore and no less, \"look at his clothes, how thin they are! You have\nstores of garments, green and scarlet, in your coffers-no merchant\nin England can boast the like. I will measure some out with my bow.\"\nAnd thus he did.\n\n\"Master,\" spoke Little John again, \"there is still something else.\nYou must give him a horse, that he may go as beseems his quality to\nthe Abbey.\"\n\n\"Take the grey horse,\" said Robin, \"and put a new saddle on it, and\ntake likewise a good palfrey and a pair of boots, with gilt spurs on\nthem. And as it were a shame for a knight to ride by himself on this\nerrand, I will lend you Little John as squire--perchance he may\nstand you in yeoman's stead.\"\n\n\"When shall we meet again?\" asked the knight.\n\n\"This day twelve months,\" said Robin, \"under the greenwood tree.\"\n\nThen the knight rode on his way, with Little John behind him, and as\nhe went he thought of Robin Hood and his men, and blessed them for\nthe goodness they had shown towards him.\n\n\"To-morrow,\" he said to Little John, \"I must be at the Abbey of St.\nMary, which is in the city of York, for if I am but so much as a day\nlate my lands are lost for ever, and though I were to bring the\nmoney I should not be suffered to redeem them.\"\n\nNow the Abbot had been counting the days as well as the knight, and\nthe next morning he said to his monks: \"This day year there came a\nknight and borrowed of me four hundred pounds, giving his lands in\nsurety. And if he come not to pay his debt ere midnight tolls they\nwill be ours forever.\"\n\n\"It is full early yet,\" answered the Prior, \"he may still be\ncoming.\"\n\n\"He is far beyond the sea,\" said the Abbot, \"and suffers from hunger\nand cold. How is he to get here?\"\n\n\"It were a shame,\" said the Prior, \"for you to take his lands. And\nyou do him much wrong if you drive such a hard bargain.\"\n\n\"He is dead or hanged,\" spake a fat-headed monk who was the\ncellarer, \"and we shall have his four hundred pounds to spend on our\ngardens and our wines,\" and he went with the Abbot to attend the\ncourt of justice wherein the knight's lands would he declared\nforfeited by the High Justiciar.\n\n\"If he come not this day,\" cried the Abbot, rubbing his hands, \"if\nhe come not this day, they will be ours.\"\n\n\"He will not come yet,\" said the Justiciar, but he knew not that the\nknight was already at the outer gate, and Little John with him.\n\n\"Welcome, Sir Knight,\" said the porter. \"The horse that you ride is\nthe noblest that ever I saw. Let me lead them both to the stable,\nthat they may have food and rest.\"\n\n\"They shall not pass these gates,\" answered the knight, sternly, and\nhe entered the hall alone, where the monks were sitting at meat, and\nknelt down and bowed to them.\n\n\"I have come back, my lord,\" he said to the Abbot, who had just\nreturned from the court. \"I have come back this day as I promised.\"\n\n\"Have you brought my money? What do you here without it?\" cried the\nAbbot in angry tones.\n\n\"I have come to pray you for a longer day,\" answered the knight,\nmeekly.\n\n\"The day was fixed and cannot be gainsaid,\" replied the Justiciar;\n\"I am with the Abbot.\"\n\n\"Good Sir Abbot, be my friend,\" prayed the knight again, \"and give\nme one chance more to get the money and free my lands. I will serve\nyou day and night till I have four hundred pounds to redeem them.\"\n\nBut the Abbot only swore a great oath, and vowed that the money must\nbe paid that day or the lands be forfeited.\n\nThe knight stood up straight and tall: \"It is well,\" said he, \"to\nprove one's friends against the hour of need,\" and he looked the\nAbbot full in the face, and the Abbot felt uneasy, he did not know\nwhy, and hated the knight more than ever. \"Out of my hall, false\nknight!\" cried he, pretending to a courage which he did not feel.\nBut the knight stayed where he was, and answered him, \"You lie,\nAbbot. Never was I false, and that I have shown in jousts and in\ntourneys.\"\n\n\"Give him two hundred pounds more,\" said the Justiciar to the Abbot,\n\"and keep the lands yourself.\"\n\n\"No, by Heaven!\" answered the knight, \"not if you offered me a\nthousand pounds would I do it! Neither Justiciar, abbot, nor monk\nshall be heir of mine.\" Then he strode up to a table and emptied out\nfour hundred pounds. \"Take your gold, Sir Abbot, which you lent to\nme a year agone. Had you but received me civilly, I would have paid\nyou something more.\n\n    \"Sir Abbot, and ye men of law,\n     Now have I kept my day!\n     Now shall I have my land again,\n     For aught that you may say.\"\n\nSo he passed out of the hall singing merrily, leaving the Abbot\nstaring silently after him, and rode back to his house in Verisdale,\nwhere his wife met him at the gate.\n\n    \"Welcome, my lord,\" said his lady,\n    \"Sir, lost is all your good.\"\n    \"Be merry, dame,\" said the knight,\n    \"And pray for Robin Hood.\n\nBut for his kindness, we would have been beggars.\"\n\nAfter this the knight dwelt at home, looking after his lands and\nsaving his money carefully till the four hundred pounds lay ready\nfor Robin Hood. Then he bought a hundred bows and a hundred arrows,\nand every arrow was an ell long, and had a head of silver and\npeacock's feathers. And clothing himself in white and red, and with\na hundred men in his train, he set off to Sherwood Forest.\n\nOn the way he passed an open space near a bridge where there was a\nwrestling, and the knight stopped and looked, for he himself had\ntaken many a prize in that sport. Here the prizes were such as to\nfill any man with envy; a fine horse, saddled and bridled, a great\nwhite bull, a pair of gloves, and a ring of bright red gold. There\nwas not a yeoman present who did not hope to win one of them. But\nwhen the wrestling was over, the yeoman who had beaten them all was\na man who kept apart from his fellows, and was said to think much of\nhimself. Therefore the men grudged him his skill, and set upon him\nwith blows, and would have killed him, had not the knight, for love\nof Robin Hood, taken pity on him, while his followers fought with\nthe crowd, and would not suffer them to touch the prizes a better\nman had won.\n\nWhen the wrestling was finished the knight rode on, and there under\nthe greenwood tree, in the place appointed, he found Robin Hood and\nhis merry men waiting for him, according to the tryst that they had\nfixed last year:\n\n   \"God save thee, Robin Hood,\n     And all this company.\"\n    \"Welcome be thou, gentle knight,\n     And right welcome to me.\"\n\n   \"Hast thou thy land again?\" said Robin,\n    \"Truth then thou tell me.\"\n    \"Yea, for God,\" said the knight,\n    \"And that thank I God and thee.\"\n\n\n   \"Have here four hundred pounds,\" said the knight,\n    \"The which you lent to me;\n    And here are also twenty marks\n    For your courtesie.\"\n\nBut Robin would not take the money. Then he noticed the bows and\narrows which the knight had brought, and asked what they were. \"A\npoor present to you,\" answered the knight, and Robin, who would not\nbe outdone, sent Little John once more to his treasury, and bade him\nbring forth four hundred pounds, which was given to the knight.\nAfter that they parted, in much love, and Robin prayed the knight if\nhe were in any strait \"to let him know at the greenwood tree, and\nwhile there was any gold there he should have it.\"\n\nNow the King had no mind that Robin Hood should do as he willed, and\ncalled his knights to follow him to Nottingham, where they would lay\nplans how best to take captive the felon. Here they heard sad tales\nof Robin's misdoings, and how of the many herds of wild deer that\nhad been wont to roam the forest in some places scarce one remained.\nThis was the work of Robin Hood and his merry men, on whom the king\nswore vengeance with a great oath.\n\n\"I would I had this Robin Hood in my hands,\" cried he, \"and an end\nshould soon be put to his doings.\" So spake the King; but an old\nknight, full of days and wisdom, answered him and warned him that\nthe task of taking Robin Hood would be a sore one, and best let\nalone. The King, who had seen the vanity of his hot words the moment\nthat he had uttered them, listened to the old man, and resolved to\nbide his time, if perchance some day Robin should fall into his\npower.\n\nAll this time and for six weeks later that he dwelt in Nottingham\nthe King could hear nothing of Robin, who seemed to have vanished\ninto the earth with his merry men, though one by one the deer were\nvanishing too!\n\nAt last one day a forester came to the King, and told him that if he\nwould see Robin he must come with him and take five of his best\nknights. The King eagerly sprang up to do his bidding, and the six\nmen clad in monk's clothes mounted their palfreys and rode down to\nthe Abbey, the King wearing an Abbot's broad hat over his crown and\nsinging as he passed through the greenwood.\n\nSuddenly at the turn of the path Robin and his archers appeared\nbefore them.\n\n\"By your leave, Sir Abbot,\" said Robin, seizing the King's bridle,\n\"you will stay a while with us. Know that we are yeomen, who live\nupon the King's deer, and other food have we none. Now you have\nabbeys and churches, and gold in plenty; therefore give us some of\nit, in the name of holy charity.\"\n\n\"I have no more than forty pounds with me,\" answered the King, \"but\nsorry I am it is not a hundred, for you should have had it all.\"\n\nSo Robin took the forty pounds, and gave half to his men, and then\ntold the King he might go on his way. \"I thank you,\" said the King,\n\"but I would have you know that our liege lord has bid me bear you\nhis seal, and pray you to come to Nottingham.\"\n\nAt this message Robin bent his knee.\n\n    \"I love no man in all the world\n     So well as I do my King,\"\n\nhe cried, \"and, Sir Abbot, for thy tidings, which fill my heart with\njoy, to-day thou shalt dine with me, for love of my King.\" Then he\nled the King into an open place, and Robin took a horn and blew it\nloud, and at its blast seven-score of young men came speedily to do\nhis will.\n\n\"They are quicker to do his bidding than my men are to do mine,\"\nsaid the King to himself.\n\nSpeedily the foresters set out the dinner, venison and white bread,\nand Robin and Little John served the King. \"Make good cheer, Abbot,\nfor charity,\" said Robin, \"and then you shall see what sort of life\nwe lead, that so you may tell our King.\"\n\nWhen he had finished eating the archers took their bows, and hung\nrose-garlands up with a string, and every man was to shoot through\nthe garland. If he failed, he should have a buffet on the head from\nRobin.\n\nGood bowmen as they were, few managed to stand the test. Little John\nand Will Scarlett, and Much, all shot wide of the mark, and at\nlength no one was left in but Robin himself and Gilbert of the White\nHand. Then Robin fired his last bolt, and it fell three fingers from\nthe garland. \"Master,\" said Gilbert, \"you have lost, stand forth and\ntake your punishment.\"\n\n\"I will take it,\" answered Robin, \"but, Sir Abbot, I pray you that I\nmay suffer it at your hands.\"\n\nThe King hesitated. \"It did not become him,\" he said, \"to smite such\na stout yeoman,\" but Robin bade him smite on; so he turned up his\nsleeve, and gave Robin such a buffet on the head that he rolled upon\nthe ground.\n\n\"There is pith in your arm,\" said Robin. \"Come, shoot a-main with\nme.\" And the King took up a bow, and in so doing his hat fell back\nand Robin saw his face.\n\n\"My lord the King of England, now I know you well,\" cried he, and he\nfell on his knees and all the outlaws with him. \"Mercy I ask, my\nlord the King, for my men and me.\"\n\n\"Mercy I grant,\" then said the King, \"and therefore I came hither,\nto bid you and your men leave the greenwood and dwell in my court\nwith me.\"\n\n\"So it shall be,\" answered Robin, \"I and my men will come to your\ncourt, and see how your service liketh us.\"\n\n\"Have you any green cloth,\" asked the King, \"that you could sell to\nme?\" and Robin brought out thirty yards and more, and clad the King\nand his men in coats of Lincoln green. \"Now we will all ride to\nNottingham,\" said he, and they went merrily, shooting by the way.\n\nThe people of Nottingham saw them coming, and trembled as they\nwatched the dark mass of Lincoln green drawing near over the fields.\n\"I fear lest our King be slain,\" whispered one to another, \"and if\nRobin Hood gets into the town there is not one of us whose life is\nsafe\"; and every man, woman, and child made ready to fly.\n\nThe King laughed out when he saw their fright, and called them back.\nRight glad were they to hear his voice, and they feasted and made\nmerry. A few days later the King returned to London, and Robin dwelt\nin his court for twelve months. By that time he had spent a hundred\npounds, for he gave largely to the knights and squires he met, and\ngreat renown he had for his openhandedness.\n\nBut his men who had been born under the shadow of the forest, could\nnot live amid streets and houses. One by one they slipped away, till\nonly little John and Will Scarlett were left. Then Robin himself\ngrew home-sick, and at the sight of some young men shooting thought\nupon the time when he was accounted the best archer in all England,\nand went straightway to the King and begged for leave to go on a\npilgrimage to Bernisdale.\n\n\"I may not say you nay,\" answered the King; \"seven nights you may be\ngone and no more.\" And Robin thanked him, and that evening set out\nfor the greenwood.\n\nIt was early morning when he reached it at last, and listened\nthirstily to the notes of singing birds, great and small.\n\n\"It seems long since I was here,\" he said to himself; \"It would give\nme great joy if I could bring down a deer once more,\" and he shot a\ngreat hart, and blew his horn, and all the outlaws of the forest\ncame flocking round him. \"Welcome,\" they said, \"our dear master,\nback to the greenwood tree,\" and they threw off their caps and fell\non their knees before him in delight at his return.\n\nFor two and twenty years Robin Hood dwelt in Sherwood forest after\nhe had run away from court, and naught that the King could say would\ntempt him back again. At the end of that time he fell ill; he\nneither ate nor drank, and had no care for the things he loved. \"I\nmust go to merry Kirkley,\" said he, \"and have my blood let.\"\n\nBut Will Scarlett, who heard his words, spoke roundly to him. \"Not\nby MY leave, nor without a hundred bowmen at your back. For there\nabides an evil man, who is sure to quarrel with you, and you will\nneed us badly.\"\n\n\"If you are afraid, Will Scarlett, you may stay at home, for me,\"\nsaid Robin, \"and in truth no man will I take with me, save Little\nJohn only, to carry my bow.\"\n\n\"Bear your bow yourself, master, and I will bear mine.\"\n\n\"Very well, let it be so,\" said Robin, and they went on merrily\nenough till they came to some women weeping sorely near a stream.\n\n\"What is the matter, good wives?\" said Robin Hood.\n\n\"We weep for Robin Hood and his dear body, which to-day must let\nblood,\" was the answer.\n\n\"Pray why do you weep for me?\" asked Robin; \"the Prioress is the\ndaughter of my aunt, and well I know she would not do me harm for\nall the world.\" And he passed on, with Little John at his side.\n\nSoon they reached the Priory, where they were let in by the Prioress\nherself, who bade them welcome heartily, and not the less because\nRobin handed her twenty pounds in gold as payment for his stay, and\ntold her if he cost her more, she was to let him know of it. Then\nshe began to bleed him, and for long Robin said nothing, giving her\ncredit for kindness and for knowing her art, but at length so much\nblood came from him that he suspected treason. He tried to open the\ndoor, for she had left him alone in the room, but it was locked\nfast, and while the blood was still flowing he could not escape from\nthe casement. So he lay down for many hours, and none came near him,\nand at length the blood stopped. Slowly Robin uprose and staggered\nto the lattice-window, and blew thrice on his horn; but the blast\nwas so low, and so little like what Robin was wont to give, that\nLittle John, who was watching for some sound, felt that his master\nmust be nigh to death.\n\nAt this thought he started to his feet, and ran swiftly to the\nPriory. He broke the locks of all the doors that stood between him\nand Robin Hood, and soon entered the chamber where his master lay,\nwhite, with nigh all his blood gone from him.\n\n\"I crave a boon of you, dear master,\" cried Little John.\n\n\"And what is that boon,\" said Robin Hood, \"which Little John begs of\nme?\" And Little John answered, \"It is to burn Kirkley Hall, and all\nthe nunnery.\"\n\nBut Robin Hood, in spite of the wrong that had been done him, would\nnot listen to Little John's cry for revenge. \"I never hurt a woman\nin all my life,\" he said, \"nor a man that was in her company. But\nnow my time is done. That know I well. So give me my bow and a broad\narrow, and wheresoever it falls there shall my grave be digged. Lay\na green sod under my head and another at my feet, and put beside me\nmy bow, which ever made sweetest music to my ears, and see that\ngreen and gravel make my grave. And, Little John, take care that I\nhave length enough and breadth enough to lie in.\" So Robin he\nloosened his last arrow from the string. He then died. And where the\narrow fell Robin was buried.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIII\n\nRICHARD THE LION-HEARTED\n\n\nKing Richard, with his chief nobles, disembarked at Acre an hour\nbefore noon on the 8th day of June, 1191. I had the good fortune to\nsee him without difficulty, by the favour of one who has a charge in\nthe ordering of the harbour. Nor was this a small thing, for there\nwas such a press and crowding of men.\n\nThe King was as noble a warrior as ever I have seen. Some that I\nhave known were taller of stature, but never one that bore himself\nmore bravely and showed more likelihood of strength and courage.\nThey that are learned in such things said that his arms were over-\nlong for the height of his body; but this is scarce a fault in a\nswordsman, another inch of length adding I know not how much of\nstrength to a blow. He was of a ruddy complexion, his eyes blue,\nwith a most uncommon fire in them, such as few could dare to look\ninto if his wrath was kindled, his countenance, such as befitted a\nruler of men, being of an aspect both generous and commanding.\n\nSome ten days after his coming to the camp King Richard was taken\nwith sickness. This was never altogether absent, but it grew worse,\nas might indeed be looked for, in the heats of summer. The King\nsickened on the day which the Christians celebrate as the Feast of\nSt. Barnabas. [Footnote: The longest day according to the old\ncalendar. So the old adage has it: \"Barnaby bright, Barnaby bright;\nLongest day and shortest night.\"] I was called to see him, having,\nas I have said, no small fame as a healer. Never have I seen a sick\nman more intractable. My medicine he swallowed readily, I may say,\neven greedily. Had I suffered it, he would have taken it at\nintervals shorter by far than I ordered. Doubtless he thought that\nthe more a man has of a good thing, the better it is for him. (So\nindeed many believe, and of other things besides medicine, but\nwholly without reason). But in this I hindered him, leaving with\nthose who ministered to him sufficient for one dose only.\n\nHe was troubled about many things, about the siege, which, as he\njustly thought, had already been too much drawn out, about King\nPhilip of France, whom he loved not nor trusted, about his engines\nof war, of which the greater part had not yet reached the camp; the\nships that bore them having been outsailed by the rest of the fleet.\nHis fever was of the intermittent sort, coming upon him on alternate\ndays. On the days when he was whole, or as nearly whole as a man\nsick of this ague may ever be, he was busy in the field, causing\nsuch engines as he had to be set in convenient places for the\nassault of the town, and in other cares such as fall to a general.\nWhen he was perforce shut in his pavilion by access of the fever, he\nsuffered himself to take no rest. Messengers were coming and going\nfrom morning to night with news of the siege--he could never hear\nenough of the doings of the French King--and there were always near\nhim men skilful in the working and making of engines. One would show\nhim some new thing pictured upon paper; another would bring a little\nimage, so to speak, of an engine, made in wood or iron. Never was a\nchild more occupied with a toy than was King Richard with these\nthings. I am myself no judge of such matters, but I have heard it\nsaid by men well acquainted with them, that the King had a\nmarvellous understanding of such contrivances. But these cares were\na great hindrance to recovery. So at least I judged, and doubtless\nit had been thus in the case of most men. But the King was not as\nothers, and, as it seemed to me, he drove away his disease by sheer\nforce of will.\n\nOn a certain evening when King Richard was mending apace of his\nfever one carne to his tent--an English knight, Hugh Brown by name--\nwho brought the news that the King of the French had commanded that\na general assault should be made on the town the very next day. The\nKing would fain know the cause of this sudden resolve. \"Well,\" said\nthe English knight, \"it came about, as I understand, in this\nfashion. The Turks have this day destroyed two engines of King\nPhilip on which he had spent much time and gold.\" \"Aye!\" said King\nRichard, \"I know the two; the cat and the mantlet. They are pretty\ncontrivings the both of them, but I set not such store on them as\ndoes my brother of France.\" And here I should say that the cat was\nlike to a tent made of hides long and narrow and low upon the\nground, with a pointed end as it might be a ploughshare, which could\nbe brought up to the walls by men moving it from within, and so\nsheltered from the stones and darts of the enemy. As for the\nmantlet, it was made in somewhat the same fashion, only it was less\nin size, nor was it to be brought near to the wall. King Philip\nloved dearly to sit in it, cross-bow in hand--the French, I noted,\nlike rather the cross-bow, the English the long-bow--and would shoot\nhis bolts at any Turk that might show himself upon the walls.\n\nBut to come back to the knight's story. \"An hour or so after noon,\nwhen the cat had been brought close to the wall, and the mantlet was\nin its accustomed place, some fifty yards distant, the Turks made an\nattack on both at the same moment of time. On to the cat they\ndropped a heavy beam; and when this with its weight had broken in\nthe roof, or I should rather say the back of the cat, a great\nquantity of brushwood, and after the brushwood a whole pailful of\nGreek fire [Footnote: A composition, supposedly of asphalt, nitre\nand sulphur. It burnt under water.]--the machine was over near to\nthe wall, so that these things could be dropped on it from above. At\nthe mantlet they aimed bolts from a strong engine which they had\nnewly put in place, and by ill luck broke it through. And verily\nbefore the nimblest-tongued priest in the whole realm of England\ncould say a hunting-mass, both were in a blaze.\"\n\nWhat the man might mean by the priest and the hunting-mass I knew\nnot then, but heard after, that when a noble will go forth hunting,\nthe service which they call the mass is shortened to the utmost, and\nthe priest that can say it more speedily than his brethren is best\nesteemed.\n\n\"And my brother of France,\" cried the King, \"how fared he?\" \"He had\nas narrow an escape with his life,\" answered the knight, \"as ever\nhad Christian king. His mantle, nay his very hair was singed, and as\nfor his cross-bow, he was constrained to leave it behind.\" \"And he\ngave commands for the assault in his anger?\" said the King. \"'Tis\neven so,\" answered Sir Hugh.\n\n\"My brother of France is, methinks, too greedy of gain and glory; if\nhe had been willing to ask our help, he had done better.\" But King\nRichard sorrowed for the brave men, fellow-soldiers of the Cross\nwith him, who had fallen to no purpose. Nevertheless, in his secret\nheart, he was not ill-pleased that the French King had not taken the\ntown of Acre.\n\nOn the second day after the failure of the French assault upon the\ntown, King Richard would make his own essay. He was not yet wholly\nrecovered of his sickness; but it would have passed the wit of man\nto devise means by which he could be kept within his pavilion; nor\nmust it be forgotten that such restraint might have done him more of\nharm than of good. So his physicians, for he had those who regularly\nwaited on him (though I make bold to say that he trusted in me\nrather than in them), gave him the permission which he had taken. He\nhad caused a mantlet to be built for him which was brought up to the\nedge of the ditch with which the town was surrounded. In this he\nsat, with a cross-bow in hand, and shot not a few of the enemy,\nbeing skilful beyond the common in the use of this weapon. But towns\nare not taken by the shooting of bolts, howsoever well aimed they\nmay be. This may not be done save by coming to close quarters.\n\nIt was on the thirty-fourth day after the coming of King Richard\nthat the town was given up. Proclamation was made throughout the\ncamp that no one should trespass by deed or word against the\ndeparting Turks. And, indeed, he who would insult men so brave would\nbe of a poor and churlish spirit. To the last they bore themselves\nwith great courage and dignity. On the morning of the day of their\ndeparture they dressed themselves in their richest apparel, and\nbeing so drest showed themselves on the walls. This done, they laid\naside their garments, piling them in a great heap in the market-\nplace, and so marched forth from the town, each clad in his shirt\nonly, but with a most cheerful contenance.\n\nWhen the last of the Turks had left the town the Christian army\nentered. Half of it was given to the French king, who had for his\nown abode the House of the Templars, and half to King Richard, to\nwhom was assigned the palace of the Caliph. In like manner the\nprisoners and all the treasure were equally divided.\n\nFor one shameful deed the English King must answer. Of this deed I\nwill now tell the story. When the army had had sufficient rest--and\nthe King knew well that no army must have more than is sufficient,\nsuffering more from excess than from defect in this matter--and it\nwas now time to advance, there arose a great question touching the\nagreement made when the town was given up. There was much going to\nand fro of messengers and embassies between the English King and the\nCaliph Saladin, much debating, and many accusations bandied to and\nfro. Even to this day no man can speak certainly of what was done or\nnot done in this matter. What I write, I write according to the best\nof my knowledge. First, then, it is beyond all doubt that the Caliph\ndid not send either the Holy Cross or the money which had been\ncovenanted, or the prisoners whom he had promised to deliver up; but\nas to the cause wherefore he did not send them there is no\nagreement, the Christians affirming one thing, the followers of\nMahomet another. As to the Holy Cross, let that be put out of the\naccount. No man that I ever talked with--and I have talked with\nmany--ever saw it. 'Tis much to be doubted whether it was in being.\nAs to the money, that the Caliph had it, or a great portion of it,\nat hand, is certainly true. It was seen and counted by King\nRichard's own envoys. As to the prisoners, it is hard to discover\nthe truth. For my part, I believe that the Caliph was ready to\ndeliver up all that he had in his own hands or could find elsewhere,\nbut that he had promised more in respect of this than he was able to\nperform. Many of those whom he had covenanted to restore were dead,\neither of disease or by violence. As for disease, it must be noted\nthat a sick man was likely to fare worse in the hands of Turks; as\nfor violence, there was not much diversity between the Christians\nand the followers of Mahomet. But this may be said, that one who\ninvades the land of others is like to suffer worse injury should he\ncome into their power than he would have the disposition to inflict\nupon them. Whatever, then, the cause, the Caliph had engaged in this\nmatter far more than he was able to perform. But he did not fail\nfrom want of good faith. I take it that it was from the matter of\nthe money that there came the breaking of the agreement. To put it\nvery shortly, the Caliph said, \"Restore to me the hostages and you\nshall receive the gold\"; King Richard said, \"Send on the gold and\nyou shall receive the hostages.\" And neither was the Caliph willing\nto trust the good faith of the King, nor the King the good faith of\nthe Caliph.\n\nSo there was delay after delay, much talk to no purpose, and the\nhearts of men, both on one side and on the other, growing more hot\nwith anger from day to day. And there was also the need which\nincreased from day to day, as, indeed, it needs must, for the\nChristians to be about the business on which they came. They had\ntaken the town of Acre, but that was but the beginning of their\nenterprise, for they had to conquer the whole land. And how could\nthe army march with a whole multitude of prisoners in their hands? It\nwould need no small number of men to keep watch over them, lest they\nshould escape, or, what was more to be feared, do an injury to the\narmy. What could be worse in a doubtful battle than that there\nshould be these enemies in its very midst? I set these things down\nbecause I would not do an injustice to the English King, whom I have\nalways held as one to be greatly admired. Nevertheless I say again,\nthat in the matter of the prisoners he did a shameful deed. For on\nthe 20th day of August he commanded that all the prisoners that were\nin his hands, whether they had been taken in battle, or delivered up\nas hostages for the fulfilment of the covenant, should be led out of\nthe city and slain. These were in number between two and three\nthousand. Some the King kept alive, for whom, as being of high\nnobility and great wealth, he hoped to receive a ransom; others were\nsaved by private persons, a few for compassion's sake; and others in\nthe hope of gain. But the greater part were slain without mercy, the\nsoldiers falling upon them, without arms and helpless as they were.\n\nIt was soon made plain to all that the spirit of the Caliph and his\nTurks was not broken by the losing of Acre. Rather were they stirred\nup by it to more earnestness and courage; nor did they forget how\ntheir countrymen had been cruelly slaughtered. For a time they were\ncontent to watch the King's army as it went on its way, taking such\noccasion as offered itself of plundering or slaying. If any lagged\nbehind, falling out of the line of march by reason of weariness, or\nseeking refreshment on the way, as when there was a spring of water\nnear to the road, or a vineyard with grapes--'twas just the time of\nthe ripening of grapes--then the Turkish horsemen would be upon him.\nSuch loiterers escaped but seldom. And for this business the Turks\nhad a particular fitness, so quickly did they come and depart. The\nChristian knights were clad in armour, a great defense, indeed,\nagainst arrows and stones, but a great hindrance if a man would move\nquickly; the horses also had armour on them. Why do they set men on\nhorses but that they may go speedily to and fro as occasion may\ncall? but these knights are like to fortresses rather than to\nriders. A man on foot can easily outrun them; as for the Turks who\nrode on horses from the desert--than which there is no creature on\nearth lighter and speedier--they flew from the Christian who would\npursue them, as a bird flies from a child who would catch it.\n\nAll this while the Turks were close at hand, and ready to assault\nthe King's army so soon as a convenient occasion would arise. But\nthey did not take King Richard unaware, for indeed he was as\nwatchful as he was brave.\n\nI will now set forth as briefly as may be the order of the army as\nit was set out for battle at Arsuf. On the right hand of the army\nwas the sea, its front being set towards the south. In the van were\nthe Templars, and next to these the Frenchmen in two divisions, the\nsecond being led by that Guy who called himself King of Jerusalem,\nand after the Frenchmen King Richard with his Englishmen; last of\nall, holding the rear-guard, were the Hospitallers. These are ever\nrivals of the Templars, and it was the King's custom so to order his\ndisposition that this rivalry should work for the common good. On\none day the Templars would lead, and the Hospitallers bring up the\nrear; on another each would take the other's place; and there was\never a mighty contention between the two companies which would bear\nitself the better. These two posts, it should be said, were the most\nfull of peril; nor was any part of the army save only these two\ncompanies suffered to hold either the one or the other. Between the\ndivisions there was a small space, not more that sufficient to mark\none from the other: otherwise the soldiers stood and marched in as\nclose array as might be. Also they moved very slowly, travelling\nless than a league in the space of two hours. And even the King with\nsome chosen knights rode up and down the lines, watching at the same\ntime the Turks, so that whenever they might make assault the army\nmight be ready to meet them.\n\nNow King Richard's commandment had been that the Christians should\non no account break their lines to attack the enemy, but should only\ndefend themselves as best they could. There is nothing harder in the\nwhole duty of a soldier than so to stand; even they who have been\nmen of war from their youth grow greatly impatient; as for the\nyounger sort they often fail to endure altogether. Many a man will\nsooner throw himself upon almost sure death than abide danger less\nby far standing still. And so it could be seen that day in the\nChristian army. The first to fail were the men that carried the\ncross-bows; nor, indeed, is it to be wondered at that when they had\nspent their store of bolts, they, having but short swords wherewith\nto defend themselves, should be ill content to hold their place.\nMany I did see throw away their bows and fly, thrusting themselves\nby main force into the ranks of the men-at-arms, who liked not to\nbeat them back, nor yet to suffer them to pass. And they themselves\nhad much ado to hold their ground, for it was a very fierce assault\nthat they had to endure. In the first place there was such a shower\nof darts and stones and arrows that the very light of the sun itself\nwas darkened, a thing which I had always before judged to be a\nfable, but saw that day to be possible. The greater part of them, it\nis true, fell without effect to the ground, for of twenty missiles\nscarce one served its purpose, but some were not cast in vain. As\nfor the number, they lay so thick upon the ground that a man might\ngather twenty into his hand without moving from his place.\n\nAbout noon the Knights Hospitallers themselves, than whom, as I have\nsaid, there were no braver men in the whole army, sent word to the\nKing that they could bear up no longer, unless they should be\nsuffered to charge the enemy. But they got small comfort from the\nKing. \"Close up your lines,\" he said to the messenger, \"and be\npatient. Be sure that you shall not miss your reward.\" A second time\ndid they send to him, the Master of the Company himself going on the\nerrand, but he also came back with nothing done. Now the King's plan\nwas this, that when the Turks should have spent their strength, and\nshould also, through over-confidence and contempt of their\nadversaries, have fallen into disorder, then the trumpets should\nsound, and the whole army with one consent and moving all together,\nso that the whole of its strength should be put, as it were, into\none blow, should fall upon the enemy. 'Twas a wisely conceived plan,\nsave in this that there was needed for the full carrying out more\nthan the King was like to find. He laid upon his soldiers a greater\nburden of patience than they could bear.\n\nAs for the King, he was, I can scarce doubt, glad at heart that the\nseason of waiting was over. Certain it is that not only did he not\nseek to call back his men from the charge--doubtless he knew full\nwell that to do this was beyond the power of mortal--but he himself\njoined in it with the greatest vehemence; none that saw him but must\nhave believed that the affair was altogether to his liking. If\nothers were before him at the first, but a short time had passed\nwhen he was to be seen in the front rank, aye, and before it. Where\nhe rode, it was as if Azrael had passed, for the dead lay upon the\nground on either side.\n\nNever had the Caliph Saladin suffered so great a defeat as that\nwhich fell upon him in the battle of Arsuf; never, indeed, after\nthat day did he dare to meet King Richard in the open field.\nNevertheless, from that very day did the hope of the Christians that\nthey should accomplish the end of their warfare grow less and less.\nBut, if any one ask what was the cause of this falling, and who\nshould bear the blame, I, for one, know not what answer should be\nmade to him. There was not one in the whole army more brave and more\ngenerous in this matter than King Richard; yet even he, I hold, had\nnot a wholly single heart. He was ever thinking of worldly things;\nhe desired greatly to win the city of Jerusalem, yet he desired it\nas much for his own sake, for his own glory and renown, and the\nincrease of his royal power, as for any other cause.\n\nThere is no need to tell of all the combats, skirmishes, and the\nlike that took place, how on one day a company of the Templars fell\ninto an ambush, how on another the Hospitallers suffered some\ndamage. For the most part the Christians had the better in these\nthings, and this not a little because of the great skill and valour\nof the English King. Nevertheless, the fortunes of the army seemed\nto go backwards rather than forwards.\n\nAbout this time the King began to have dealings for peace with the\nCaliph Saladin, sending an embassage to him, and receiving the like\nfrom him. But it was ever thus that the King asked more than he\nlooked for the Caliph to give; and the Caliph promised more than he\nhad the purpose to fulfil. There were many courtesies passed between\nthem, and gifts also. King Richard would send a set of hawks, and,\nindeed, he had not much that he could give; but the presents that\ncame from the Caliph were of exceeding richness and splendour; there\nwas a tent made of cloth of gold, and horses such as Kings only have\nin their stalls, and rare beasts and birds, and snow from Lebanon,\nfor the cooling of wines, and many other things, both for show and\nfor use, of which it were long to tell. And these things, for all\nthat they were costly, served the Caliph's purpose well, and for\nthis reason, they seemed to show his good will, and all the while he\nwas busy destroying the towns and laying waste the country. Of these\nthings the King heard something, but not all, for in the matter of\nnews he was ill served. And all the while the Turks ceased not to do\nall the mischief that they could, slaying such as strayed from the\ncamp, yea, and coming into the camp itself, and doing men to death\nin their very tents, and Saladin, or rather Saphadin, his brother,\nfor he it was who held converse with King Richard, when complaints\nwere made of their deeds, affirmed that they were done by robbers\nand others who were not subject to him, and paid no reverence to his\ncommands; of which pretence there need be said this only, that these\nrobbers or murderers, whether they were the Caliph's men or no,\nnever harmed any but such as were his enemies.\n\nFor all this King Richard still strove by all means that he could\ndevise to come to a peaceful agreement with his adversaries. Nor did\nhe refuse any instrument by which he might hope to compass this end.\n\nWhen a whole moon had been wasted in parleying and the sending of\nmessengers to and fro, the King, seeing that he must accomplish his\npurpose by force of arms or not at all, led his army towards the\nHoly City. It would serve no profitable end to tell of the other\nplaces where he pitched his camp, or of the days which he tarried in\nthis or that. Let it suffice to say that in a month's time he\ntraversed so much space only as an army well equipped might pass\nover in a single day's march; and that about twenty-one days after\nthe winter solstice the army of the Christians came to a certain\nplace which is named the Casal of Beitenoble, and which in ancient\ntimes was, if I err not, a city of the priests. There it tarried\nsome twelve days, being much troubled by storms and rains, for the\nwinds blew and the rains fell during the whole of this time, in such\na fashion as I have never seen. As for the tents, only such as were\nappointed with ropes and so forth could be kept in their place, so\nviolent were the blasts, so that the greater part of the army lay\nunder the open sky, not a little to the damage of their health. The\nhorses also were in evil case. These creatures, all men know, suffer\nfrom much sickness, and multitudes of them perished. Also there was\na great scarcity of victuals; for the corn and even the biscuit were\nspoilt by the rain, and the hogs' flesh grew corrupt.\n\nThough not a few died of sickness, yet did the host daily grow\ngreater. Many who had stayed behind in various cities, their zeal\nhaving grown stale, now came back to the camp, judging that they\nwould do well to take part in an enterprise that was now near to\nsuccess. Also many that had tarried on the march for the cause of\nsickness now made shift to come to the camp. Some I saw carried in\nlitters, and others that could scarce set one foot before the other\ncrawled painfully along the road. Many of these were slain by the\nTurks, but not the less did the rest brave the dangers of the\njourney. And in the camp there was a great furbishing of arms and\narmour, and trimming of the plumes of helmets, for it was counted an\nunseemly thing that any man should enter such a place as the Holy\nCity save in his best array.\n\nOn a certain evening, some eleven days after the coming of the army\nto Beitenoble, there was a council held in the tent of King Richard,\nat which were present the Master of the Templars and the Master of\nthe Hospitallers, and other chief men in the army. About an hour\nafter sunset the council came to an end; darkness had long since\nfallen, but it chanced to be full moon, and the faces of them that\nhad been present at the council were plain to be seen. Before ever a\nword was said, it was manifest to all that a great misfortune had\nbefallen them. For the faces of these men were clouded with\ndiscouragement. And straightway all the multitude that had been\ngathered together departed every man to his own place. There needed\nno proclaiming that neither on the morrow nor on any other day would\nthere be a marching to the Holy City.\n\nOn the 8th day of January the army departed from Beitenoble, and on\nthe 20th it came, after much toil and suffering, for the rain and\ntempest scarcely abated for a single hour through the twelve days,\nto the city of Ascalon.\n\nFor some little time, King Richard and his army dwelt in peace in\nthe city of Ascalon. Nor can it be denied that they gathered\nstrength; the sick, being duly handled by their physicians, were\nrestored to a sound body, and they that were wearied with the\nlabours of long-continued warfare had rest and refreshment.\nNevertheless it may be doubted whether the King was able to\nadvance the cause at all which he had in hand, namely, the taking of\nthe Holy City. And the chief cause was this, that the Christians,\nnot having for the present a common foe with whom to contend, began\nto quarrel among themselves more grievously than ever. So the King\nand the French, among whom, now that the French King had departed to\nhis own land, a certain Duke of Burgundy was chief, fell out, and\nthis with such heat, that the duke departed from Ascalon to Acre in\ngreat haste, and all the Frenchmen followed him.\n\nNow about this same time there came a messenger to King Richard\nbearing a letter from one that he had set to rule in England in his\nstead while he should be absent from his kingdom. In this letter\nthere were written many things about the doings of Prince John the\nKing's brother: how he had commerce with the French to the King's\ndamage, and was troubling all loyal men, and had taken all the money\nthat was in the treasury. When the King heard these things he was\nsore distraught. And indeed he was in a great strait. On the one\nhand there was the purpose for which he had come on his present\njourney, the taking again of the Holy City; and, on the other, there\nwas the loss of his own kingdom at home. For in the letter it was\nplainly written that if he was not speedy in returning, all the\nrealm of England would be lost to him.\n\nAt the first he made no doubt of departing with but as little delay\nas might be. \"I must be gone,\" he said, \"or my kingdom will not be\nworth a silver penny.\" But before many days his purpose was changed.\n'Twas said that a holy man, a priest of the land of France, took\ncourage to speak to him and set before him his duty in this matter.\nHe said that the hearts of all were sorely troubled by the King's\npurpose to depart--and this was most certainly true, seeing that\nthey who were most jealous of the King and chafed most at his\ncommand were not less dismayed by the news of his departure than\nwere his best friends. \"Think too,\" he is reported to have spoken,\n\"how that you will greatly dim your kingly renown. You have done\nwell, O King, and God has manifestly bestowed His blessings on you.\nWill you then be ungrateful, and, if your royal grace will suffer me\nto say so much, unfaithful to Him? Verily there is a great reward\nlaid up for him that recovers the Holy City out of the hands of the\nheathen, and will you give this up on the bare rumour of mischief\nthat may befall your estate in this world?\" So the holy man is\nreported to have spoken. Such words may have had weight with the\nKing, who was ever greatly moved by eloquent words. But I also\nbelieve that when he came to himself he judged that there was no\ngreat need of haste in the matter; that the Prince John his brother\nwas not greatly loved, nor was ever like to be; that when the people\nof England had had a year's trial of his rule, if such should come\nto pass, they would be the less likely to stand by him; and,\nmoreover, that if Richard should go back to his country in high\nesteem among all men, as having set up yet again a Christian Kingdom\nin the Holy City, his enemies would be brought nought by the mere\nrumour of his coming. Certain it is that, let the cause be what it\nmight, he caused it to be made known throughout the army that they\nwould set out for the Holy City in three days' time.\n\nAgain there was great joy in the army; again the sick rose from\ntheir beds, and the lame threw away there crutches, that they might\ngo without hindrance on this great journey. Again did the army come\nalmost in sight of the Holy City; again were all things ready for\nthe assault. And then once more the more skilful and prudent of the\nleaders hindered the matter. It was not well, they said to run into\nsuch danger. It might well be that if they should assail the city\nthey would not take it; it was well-nigh certain that even if they\nshould take it, they could not hold it to any good purpose. And so\nit came to pass that King Richard and the army having once more come\nto Beitenoble, once more departed, leaving their task\nunaccomplished.\n\nWhen the leaders had taken this resolve that they would turn back\nand the army was now about to depart, there came to King Richard a\ncertain man-at-arms, who was well acquainted with the country, for\nindeed, he had travelled on foot as a pilgrim from the coast to\nJerusalem, and this not once only but twice or thrice. This man\nsaid, \"My lord King, if you are minded to see the Holy City, you can\ndo so at little pains. If you will ride a mile or so you will come\nto a hill from whence you can see the walls, and the hill on which\nthe temple was built and other of the Holy places.\" But the King\nanswered, \"I thank you much, nor, indeed, is there any sight in the\nwhole world on which I would more gladly look with my eyes, but I am\nnot worthy of so great a favour. If it had been the will of God that\nI should see His city, I do not doubt that I had done so, not as one\nwho looks upon some spectacle from far, but as the conqueror in some\ngreat battle looks upon the thing that he has won. But of this grace\nI, by reason I doubt not of my sins, have been judged unworthy.\" And\nwhen he had so spoken he turned his horse's head to the west, as\nbeing minded to return yet again to the sea-coast. And this he did.\n\nI have spoken of the King's courage and skill in arms and wisdom in\nleadership, nor need I say these things again. But one thing I will\nadd, namely, that of all the men that came to this land from the\nWest none left behind him so great a fame as did King Richard. So if\na mother was minded to make a crying child hold his peace, she would\nsay, \"Hush, child, or King Richard shall have thee\"; or if a horse\nstarted unaware, his rider would say, \"Dost see King Richard in the\nbush?\"\n\nOn the 9th day of October, 1192, did King Richard set sail to return\nto his own country. But it fared ill with him on his journey. For it\nfell out that he was separated from all his friends, and that when\nhe was in this case a certain duke, with whom he had had a strife,\nlaid hands upon him, and laid him in prison. There he remained for\nthe space of a year and more, fretting much, I doubt not, against\nhis condition, for never surely was a man more impatient of bonds.\nBut he could not escape, nor did his friends so much as know where\nhe was. And when this was discovered by some strange chance, there\nwas yet much delay, nor indeed was he set free till there had been\npaid for him a ransom of many thousands of gold pieces. Not many\nyears after he was slain by a chance arrow shot from the walls of a\ncertain castle which he was besieging, being then in the forty-\nsecond year of his age.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIV\n\nSAINT LOUIS\n\n\nKing Louis sailing from Cyprus about the 24th day of May, 1249, came\nwith a fair wind to Egypt in some four days, having a great fleet of\nships, numbering in all, it was said, some eighteen hundred, great\nand small. And now there fell upon him the first stroke of\nmisfortune. There arose a strong wind from the south which scattered\nthe fleet, so that not more than a third part remained with the\nKing. As for the others, they were blown far to the north, even to\nthe town of Acre, and, though none were cast away, it was many days\nbefore they could return. Now the King's purpose was to lay siege to\nthe town of Damietta, a town which is built on the midmost of the\nseven mouths of the Nile. It was commonly agreed that whoever should\nhold possession of this said town of Damietta might go whithersoever\nhe would in the whole land of Egypt, and further, that whosoever\nshould be master of Egypt could do what he would in the land of\nPalestine.\n\nWhen the King came with what was left to him over against the city\nof Damietta there was much debate between him and his counsellors as\nto what might best be done. \"I have no mind,\" said he, \"to turn\nback, having, by the grace of God, come so far. Say you that I\nshould do well to wait for those who have been separated from us?\nThat I would gladly do, for it grieves me much that they lose, so\nfar, their share in this great enterprise. But two reasons constrain\nme to do otherwise. First, it would put the infidel in great heart\nif they should see me so delay to make trial of them; and, second,\nthere is here no harbour or safe anchorage where I might wait. Nay,\nmy lords, it is my purpose to attack the enemy without delay, for\nthe Lord our God can save by few or by many.\"\n\nThe King being thus steadfastly resolved to have no more delay, his\nnobles and knights could not choose but obey him. This being so,\nthey strove among themselves who should be the first to come to\nblows with the enemy. There were small boats with the larger of the\nships, and these were filled with men and rowed to the shore. This\nwas not done wholly without loss, for some slipped as they descended\nfrom the ships, or missed their feet, the boat moving from under\nthem with the motion of the waves, so that some were drowned and\nothers hardly saved.\n\nMeanwhile they took the great flag of Saint Denys, from the ship in\nwhich it was, and carried it to the shore. But when the King saw the\nflag on the shore he would tarry no longer, but leapt into the sea,\naccoutred as he was, and the water came up to his armpits. When he\nsaw the Saracens, he said to the knight that followed him, \"Who are\nthese?\" And the knight answered, \"These, sir, are the Saracens.\"\nWhen he heard this he put his lance in rest, and held his shield\nbefore him, and would have charged them, but his counsellors would\nnot suffer it.\n\nWhen the enemy saw that the King and his men had landed, they sent a\nmessage to the Sultan by carrier-pigeons; this they did three times.\nBut it so chanced that the Sultan was in a fit of the fever which\ntroubled him in the summer time, and he sent no answer. Then his\nmen, thinking that he was dead, for they knew already that he was\nsick, fled straightway from the town of Damietta. When the King knew\nthis for certain, the bishops that were in the army sang the Te Deum\nwith great joy. The army which King Louis brought with him numbered\nthirty thousand men.\n\nThe army being thus established in the town of Damietta, there was\nmuch debate as to what should be done. The King was set upon\nassailing the enemy without delay. \"It is by delay,\" he said, and\nsaid truly, \"that these enterprises have been ruined heretofore, for\nnot only does an army grow less and less with every day by sickness-\n-keep it as carefully as you will, such loss must needs happen--but\nthe first fire of zeal begins to burn low.\" To such purpose the King\nspoke to his counsellors, nor could they gainsay his words. Yet they\nhad to urge on the other part reasons so weighty that they could not\nbe resisted.\n\nThe truth is that there could not have been chosen a worse time for\nthe waging of war in Egypt than that at which the King arrived.\nWhereas other rivers overflow their banks in the winier season, the\nNile overflows his in summer, and this he does because his stream is\nswollen, not by rains that fall in the land of Egypt, for such rains\nare more scanty than in any other country of the world, but by those\nthat fall in countries far inland and, haply, by the melting of\nsnows. So it is that in that part of Egypt which is nearest to the\nsea the river begins to rise in the month of June, and for a quarter\nof a year or so thereafter an army must rest perforce. The King was\nvery ill served in his ministers when he was suffered to remain in\nignorance of these things. Nevertheless, the case being so, he had\nno choice but to accept the counsel of delay. It was agreed,\ntherefore, that the army should tarry in Damietta till the floods of\nthe river should have ceased.\n\nIn the beginning of the month of December the King set out for Cairo\nwith his army. Now the Sultan had sent five hundred of his knights,\nthe bravest warriors and the best mounted that he could find in his\nwhole army, to the end that they should harass the King's army as\nmuch as might be. Now the King being very careful of the lives of\nhis men, as knowing that a soldier lost could not be replaced, had\ngiven a strict commandment that no one should presume to leave the\nline of march and charge the enemy. When the Turks saw this, or,\nhaply, had learnt from their spies that the King had given this\ncommandment, they grew bolder and bolder, till one of them, riding\nup to the line, overthrew one of the Knights Templar. This was done\nunder the very eyes of the Master of the Temple, who, when he saw\nit, could no longer endure to be quiet. So he cried to his brethren,\n\"At them, good sirs, for this is more than can be borne.\" So he\nspurred his horse, and the other Templars with him, and charged the\nTurks. And because their horses were fresh and the horses of the\nTurks weary, they bore them down. It was said that not one of the\nfive hundred escaped, many being ridden down, and the rest being\ndrowned in the river.\n\nAfter this the King encamped between the two branches of the Nile,\nthat which flows by Damietta and that which is the next to it toward\nthe sunsetting. On the other side of this branch was ranged the army\nof the Sultan, to hinder the Christians from passing, an easy thing\nseeing that there was no ford, nor any place where a man might cross\nsave by swimming.\n\nWhile they were in this strait there came a Bedouin to the camp, who\nsaid that for five hundred pieces of gold he would show them a good\nford. When the Constable Imbert, to whom the Bedouin had spoken of\nthis ford, told the matter to the King, the King said, \"I will give\nthe gold right willingly; only be sure that the man perform his part\nof the bargain.\" So the constable parleyed with the man; but the\nBedouin would not depart from his purpose. \"Give me the gold,\" said\nhe, \"and I will show you the ford.\" And because the King was in a\nstrait, he consented; so the man received the five hundred pieces,\nand he showed the ford to certain that were sent with him.\n\nIt was agreed that the Duke of Burgundy and other nobles who were\nnot of France should keep guard in the camp, and that the King with\nhis brothers should ford the river at the place which the Arab\nshould show. So, all being ready, at daybreak they came down to the\nwater. A ford there was, but not such as a man would choose save in\nthe greatest need.\n\nThe King, having with him the main body of the army, crossed amidst\na great sounding of horns and trumpets. It was a noble sight to see,\nand nothing in it nobler and more admirable than the King himself. A\nfairer knight there never was, and he stood with a gilded helmet on\nhis head, and a long German sword in his hand, being by his head and\nshoulders taller than the crowd. Then he and his knights charged the\nSaracens, who by this time had taken a stand again on the river\nbank. It was a great feat of arms. No man drew long-bow that day or\nplied cross-bow. The Crusaders and the Saracens fought with mace and\nsword, neither keeping their ranks, but all being confused together.\n\nBut the Crusaders, for all their valour, could scarce hold their\nown, because the enemy outnumbered them by much. Also there was a\ndivision of counsel among them. Also there came a messenger from\nthem that were shut up in Mansoura, telling the King how hard\npressed they were, and in what instant need of succour.\n\nAnd now the Sacarens grew more and more confident, for they were\ngreatly the better in numbers; and if, man for man and in the matter\nof arms and armour, they were scarce equal to the Crusaders, yet the\ndifference was not so great. They pushed on, therefore, and drove\nthe Christians back to the river. These were very hard pressed, and\nsome were for swimming across the river to the camp, but by this\ntime their horses were weary, and not a few perished by drowning.\n\nNevertheless as time passed the Crusaders fared somewhat better, for\nthey drew more together, and the enemy, seeing that they still held\ntheir ground, and being themselves not a little weary, drew back. In\nthe end the King and such of the chiefs as were left got back into\nthe camp. Right glad they were to rest, for the battle had been long\nand fierce.\n\nBut they had but little peace, for that very night the Saracens made\nan attack upon the camp. A great disturbance they made, and most\nunwelcome to men who had been fighting all the day. But they did not\nwork much harm. Many valiant deeds were done by the Christians.\n\nBut the Saracens were making ready for attacking the camp with more\nforce than before. And their leader could be seen from the camp,\ntaking account of the Crusaders, and strengthening his battalions\nwhere he thought that the King's camp might be most conveniently\nassailed.\n\nThe first attack was made on the Count of Anjou. He held that part\nof the camp that was nearest to the city of Cairo. Some of the enemy\nwere on horseback and some on foot; there were some also that threw\nGreek fire among the count's men. Between them they pressed the\ncount so sorely that he was fain to send to the King for help. This\nthe King gave without loss of time; he led the men himself, and it\nwas not long before they chased the Saracens from this part of the\nfield.\n\nWhen the battle was over the King called the barons to his tent, and\nthanked them for all that they had done, and gave them great\nencouragement, saying that as they had driven back the Saracens over\nand again, it would, beyond doubt, go well with them in the end.\n\nAnd now the army was sore distressed for want both of food and of\nwater. In Damietta, indeed, there were yet stores of barley, rice,\nand other grains; but in the camp scarce anything that could be\neaten. Some small fishes were caught in the river; but these were\nvery ill savoured, and all the more so--so, at least, it seemed to\nsuch as eat them under constraint of hunger--because they fed on\ndead bodies, of which many were thrown into the river. For a while\nsome portion of the stores that were in the city were carried across\nthe river to the camp. But this the Saracens hindered, for by this\ntime their ships had the mastery over the ships of the Christians.\nThey kept, therefore, the river, suffering nothing to pass. If\nanything was carried across, it was but a trifle. Some things the\ncountry people brought into the camp, but these were not to be\npurchased save for large sums of money, and money was by this time\nscarce even among the richer sort. And when it was judged expedient\nthat the King's army should cross the river again and return to the\ncamp, things were worse rather than better, so far as victuals were\nconcerned. It was well that the army should be brought together,\nboth for attack and for defence, but with the greater multitude the\nfamine grew worse and worse.\n\nAfter a while there was a treating for peace between the King and\nthe Saracens; and for a while it seemed as if they might come to an\nagreement, and this not without advantage to the King. But the\nmatter came to naught, because the Saracens would have the King\nhimself as a hostage for the due performance of the treaty. The\nChristians would have given the King's brothers, and these were\nwilling to go; but the King they could not give. \"It would be\nbetter,\" said one of the bravest knights in the army, and in this\nmatter he spake the mind of all, \"that we should all be taken\ncaptive or slain, than that we should leave the King in pledge.\"\n\nThe King, seeing that the condition of the army still grew from bad\nto worse, and that if they tarried they would all be dead men,\ncommanded that they should make their way into the town of Damietta.\nAnd this the army began to do the very next night. Now the first\nthing to be cared for was the taking of the sick, of whom there was\na great multitude, on board the ships. But while this was being\ndone, the Saracens entered the camp on the other side. When the\nsailors who were busy in embarking the sick saw this, they loosed\nthe cables by which they were moored to the shore, and made as if\nthey would fly. Now the King was on the bank of the river, and there\nwas a galley in waiting for him, whereon, if he had been so minded,\nhe might easily have escaped. Nor could he have been blamed\ntherefor, because he was afflicted with the dysentery that prevailed\nin the camp. But this he would not do; \"Nay,\" he said, \"I will stay\nwith my people.\" But when there was now no hope of safety, one of\nhis officers took him, mounted as he was on a pony, to a village\nhard by, defending him all the way from such as chanced to fall in\nwith him--but none knew that he was the King. When he was come to\nthe village they took him into a house that there was, and laid him\ndown almost dead. A good woman of Paris that was there took his head\nupon her lap, and there was no one but thought that he would die\nbefore nightfall. Then one of the nobles coming in asked the King\nwhether he should not go to the chief of the Saracens, and see\nwhether a treaty might not yet be made on such terms as they would.\nThe King said yes; so he went. Now there was a company of the\nSaracens round the house, whither by this time not a few of the\nChristians had assembled. And one of the King's officers cried-\nwhether from fear or with traitorous intent cannot be said--\"Sir\nknights, surrender yourselves! The King will have it so; if you do\nnot, the King will perish.\" So the knights gave up their swords, and\nthe Saracens took them as prisoners. When the chief of the Saracens,\nwith whom the noble aforesaid was talking, saw them, he said, \"There\ncan be no talk of truce and agreement with these men; they are\nprisoners.\"\n\nAnd now the question was not of a treaty but a ransom. About this\nthere was no little debate between the Sultan and the King. First\nthe Sultan required that the King should surrender to him the\ncastles of the Knights Templars and of the Hospitallers of St. John.\n\"Nay,\" said the King, \"that I cannot do, for they are not mine to\ngive.\" This answer greatly provoked the Sultan, and he threatened to\nput the King to the torture, to which the King answered this only,\nthat he was a prisoner in their hands, and that they could do with\nhim as they would.\n\nWhen they saw that they could not turn him from his purpose by\nthreats or by fear, they asked him how much money he was willing to\npay to the Sultan for his ransom, such money being over and above\nthe rendering up of the town of Damietta. Then the King made answer:\n\"If the Sultan will take a reasonable sum in money for ransom, I\nwill recommend it to the Queen that she should pay the same.\" \"Nay,\"\nsaid the envoy of the Sultan, \"why do you not say outright that you\nwill have it so?\" \"Because,\" answered the King, \"in this matter it\nis for the Queen to say yea or nay. I am a prisoner, and my royal\npower is gone from me.\" So it was agreed that if the Queen would pay\na thousand thousand gold pieces by way of ransom, the King should go\nfree. Said the King, \"Will the Sultan swear to this bargain?\" They\nsaid that he would. So it was agreed that the King should pay for\nthe ransom of his army a thousand thousand gold pieces, and for his\nown ransom the town of Damietta, \"for,\" said he, \"a King cannot be\nbought and sold for money.\" When the Sultan heard this, he said, \"On\nmy word, this is a noble thing of the Frenchman that he makes no\nbargaining concerning so great a thing. Tell him that I give him as\na free gift the fifth part of the sum which he has covenanted to\npay.\"\n\nAll things were now settled, and there were but four days before the\nfulfilling of the treaty, when the King should give up Damietta to\nthe Sultan, and the Sultan, on his part, should suffer the King and\nhis people to go free. But lo! there came to pass that which was\nlike to bring the whole matter to nothing. The emirs of the Sultan\nmade a conspiracy against him. \"Know this,\" they said one to\nanother, \"that so soon as he shall find himself master of Damietta,\nhe will slay us. Let us therefore be beforehand with him.\" And it\nwas agreed that this should be done. First, when the Sultan was\ngoing to his chamber after a banquet which he had given to the\nemirs, one, who was, indeed, his sword-bearer, dealt him a blow and\nstruck off his hand. But the Sultan, being young and nimble, escaped\ninto a strong tower that was hard by his chamber, and three of his\npriests were with him. The emirs called upon him to give himself up.\n\"That,\" said he, \"I will do, if you will give me a promise of my\nlife.\" \"Nay,\" they answered, \"we will give you no promises. If you\nsurrender not of your own free will, then will we compel you.\" Then\nthey threw Greek fire at the tower, and the tower, which was built\nof pine-wood, caught fire on the instant. When the Sultan saw this\nhe ran down with all the speed that he could, seeking to reach the\nriver, if so be he could find a ship. But the emirs and their men\nwere ranged along the way, nor was it long before they slew him. And\nhe that dealt him the last blow came to the King, his hand yet\ndripping with blood, and said, \"What will you give me? I have slain\nyour enemy, who would assuredly have done you to death had he\nlived.\" But the King answered him not a word.\n\nNow the covenant between the King and the Saracen chiefs was\nrenewed, nor was any change made in the conditions; only the payment\nwas differently ordered; that is to say, one-half of the ransom was\nto be paid before the King left the place where he was, and the\nother half in the town of Acre.\n\nThen the emirs on the one part and the King on the other took the\noaths that were held to be the most binding on them. The King indeed\nheld staunchly by his faith, and when the emirs would have had him\nswear in a way that he thought to be unseemly to him as a Christian\nman he would not. And the emirs paid him the more honour and\nreverence for this very cause. It was said, indeed, that they would\nhave made him Sultan of Cairo, if he had been minded to receive that\ndignity at their hands; furthermore, some that knew the King\naffirmed that he was not altogether set against it. But none knew\nfor certain the truth in the matter. Yet it was well said by one of\nthe emirs, \"There surely never was better or more steadfast\nChristian than this King Louis. Verily if he had been made our\nsultan he would never have been content till he had either made us\nall Christians, or, failing this, had put us all to the sword.\"\n\nAnd now there came a time of great peril to the prisoners. First the\ntown of Damietta was given up to the Saracens, the gates being\nopened and their flag hoisted On the towers.\n\nOn the next day the paying of the ransom was begun. When the money\nwas counted it was found to be short by some thirty thousand pieces.\nThese were taken from the treasury of the Templars much against\ntheir will, but the necessities of the prisoners prevailed.\n\nAs for the King, there could not have been a man more loyal in the\nfulfilling of his promise. When one of those that counted the money\nsaid that the Saracens had received less than their due by some ten\nthousand pieces, the King would not suffer but that the whole matter\nshould be looked into, lest the Saracens should have wrong. The\ncounter, indeed, averred that this thing was said in jest; but the\nKing answered that such a jest was out of season, and that above all\nthings it was necessary that a Christian should show good faith.\n\nNot many days after the paying of the ransom the King sent for his\nchief counsellors and opened his mind to them in the matter of his\nreturn to France. He said, \"The Queen, my mother, begs me to come\nback to France, saying that my kingdom is in great peril seeing,\nthat I have no peace, nor even a truce, with England. Tell me, then,\nwhat you think. And because it is a great matter, I give you eight\ndays to consider it.\"\n\nAfter this the King went to Acre, where he tarried till what was\nleft over of the ransom was paid.\n\nOn the day appointed the counsellors came before the King, who said\nto them, \"What do you advise? Shall I go, or shall I stay?\" They\nsaid that they had chosen one from among them, a certain Guy\nMalvoisin, to speak for them. Thereupon this Guy said, \"These lords\nhave taken counsel together, and are agreed that you cannot tarry in\nthis country without damage to yourself and your kingdom. For think\nhow that of all the knights whom you had in Cyprus, two thousand\neight hundred in number, there remain with you here in Acre scarce\none hundred. Our counsel, therefore, is that you return to France,\nand there gather another army, with which you may come hither again\nand take vengeance on your enemies for their trespasses against God\nand against you.\"\n\nThen the King turned to a certain John, who was Count of Jaffa, and\nasked him for his judgment. Count John answered: \"Ask me not, sire;\nmy domain is here, and if I bid you stay, then it will be said that\nI did this for my own profit.\" But when the King was urgent for his\nadvice he said, \"If you stay for a year it will be for your honour.\"\nAnd one other of the counsellors gave the same judgment; but all the\nrest were urgent for the King's return. Then the King said, \"I will\ntell you eight days hence what it is my pleasure to do.\"\n\nOn the day appointed they all came together again, and the King\nsaid, \"I thank you, my lords, for your counsel--both those who have\nadvised my going back and those who have advised my staying. Now I\nhold that if I stay, my kingdom of France will be in no peril,\nseeing that the Queen, my mother, is well able to keep it in charge;\nbut that if I depart, then the kingdom of Jerusalem will most\ncertainly be lost, because no man will be bold enough to stay after\nI am gone. Now, it was for the sake of this same kingdom of\nJerusalem that I have come hither. My purpose, therefore, is to\nstay.\" There was no little trouble among the barons when they heard\nthese words. There were some among them who could not hold back\ntheir tears. But though the King resolved himself to stay, yet he\ncommanded his brothers to depart. And this they did before many\ndays.\n\nWhile the King tarried at Acre there came to him messengers from the\nOld Man of the Mountain. One of the messengers was the spokesman,\nand had his place in front; the second had in his hand three\ndaggers, to signify what danger threatened him who should not listen\nto the message; the third carried a shroud of buckram for him who\nshould be smitten with the daggers. The King said to the first\nenvoy, \"Speak on.\" Then the envoy said, \"My master says, 'Know you\nme?'\" The King answered, \"I know him not, for I have never seen him;\nyet I have often heard others talk of him.\" \"Why, then,\" went on the\nenvoy, \"have you not sent him such gifts as would have gained his\nfriendship, even as the Emperor of Germany and the King of Hungary\nand other princes have done, yea, and do now year after year,\nknowing well that they cannot live save by my lord's pleasure?\" The\nKing made no answer, but bade the envoys come again in the\nafternoon. When they came they found the King sitting with the\nMaster of the Templars on one side and the Master of the\nHospitallers on the other. Now the Old Man is in great awe of these\ntwo, for he knows that if he slay them there will be put in their\nplace other two as good or better. The envoys were not a little\ndisturbed when they saw the two. And the Master of the Templars\nsaid, \"Your lord is over bold to send you with such a message for\nthe King. Now be sure that we would have drowned you in the sea, but\nthat so doing might be a wrong to him. Go now to your lord, and come\nagain in fourteen days with such a token and such gifts as may\nsuffice for the making of peace.\"\n\nSo the envoys departed, and came again in the time appointed, and\nthey brought with them the shirt of the Old Man and his ring, which\nwas of the finest gold, and with these things this message: \"As man\nwears no garment that is nearer to him than his shirt, so the Old\nMan would have the King nearer to him than any other King upon\nearth; and as a ring is the sign of marriage by which two are made\none, so the Old Man would have himself and the King to be one.\"\nOther gifts there were, an elephant of crystal, very cunningly\nwrought, and a monster which they call a giraffe, also of crystal,\nand draughts and chessmen, all finely made. The King, on his part,\nsent to the Old Man a great store of newels, and scarlet cloth, and\ndishes of gold and bridles of silver.\n\nWhile the King was at Jaffa it was told him that if he desired to\nmake a pilgrimage to Jerusalem the Sultan of Damascus would give him\na safe-conduct. The King consulted his nobles on the matter, and\nboth he and they were of one mind in the matter, to wit, that he\nshould not go. \"For,\" said they, \"if the King should go as a\npilgrim, when he has not been able to take the Holy City itself out\nof the hands of the infidel, then will other Kings in time to come\ndo the same. They will be content to go as pilgrims, but will take\nno thought as to the city, whether it be held by Christian or\ninfidel.\"\n\nAfter these things the King went to the city of Sidon and fortified\nit with strong walls, for he was greatly unwilling to give up his\nhope of winning the whole land out of the hands of the infidel. But\nwhen he had brought this work to an end, there came news to him from\nhis own country that the Queen his mother, who was charged with the\ngovernment thereof, was dead. Then he took counsel with his nobles\nwhat he should do, and it seemed to them that he must of necessity\nreturn to France. One among them put the case before the King as\nfollows:\n\n\"Sire, we see that it will not profit the kingdom of Jerusalem that\nyou tarry longer here. You have done what was in your power. You\nhave fortified the city of Sidon, and Cassarea, and Jaffa, and you\nhave made the city of Acre much stronger than it was. And now for\nyour own kingdom's sake, you must needs depart.\" And to this the\nKing gave his consent, though with an unwilling heart. So he\ndeparted, and this, as it chanced, on his birthday. As the ship went\nforth from the harbour he said to the Lord of Joinville, who stood\nby him, \"On this day I was born.\" And the Lord of Joinville said to\nhim, \"Truly, sire, I should say that you are beginning another life,\nnow that you are safely quit of this land of death.\"\n\nSome seventeen years after the things last recorded, I took a\njourney to the Island of Sardinia, and made my abode at a town on\nthe west coast, called Neapolis. When I had sojourned there two\nmonths there came in sight on a certain day a great fleet of ships,\nwhich those who were acquainted with such things declared to be from\nthe land of France. As for the crowd that came ashore that day, it\nwere best to say little. It is more to the purpose to say that I met\nwith one whom I knew, having consorted with him in time past, and\nthis the more constantly because he followed the same occupation as\nI. I asked him, \"How came you hither? If you are bound for\nPalestine, this is but a short stage in your journey.\" He answered\nme with something of a smile in his eye, though his mouth was set,\n\"Where could we more conveniently halt than here, for we are bound\nfor Tunis?\" \"For Tunis?\" said I; \"but how shall this help you for\nthe taking of Jerusalem?\" \"That,\" said he, \"you must ask of some one\nthat has more wisdom than I. But this I know that the King was told,\nby whom I know not, that the Bey of Tunis desired to be baptised.\nThis, then, is cause sufficient for him. Are you minded to come with\nme? If so, I can find you a place in the King's ship, for it is in\nit that I sail.\"\n\nWhen I heard that, I consented without delay. So that night I gave\nmy friend the shelter of my lodging; and the next day he took me\nwith him, and commended me to one of the chief officers of the ship,\nbearing witness to my skill as a physician. On the fourth day we\nsailed, and came in two days, the wind blowing from the north, to\nthe harbour of Tunis. As for the King, I saw him but once. His\nvalets carried him up on the deck; and, to tell the truth, he looked\nas little fit for doing feats of arms as man could look. But I\nthought that the sickness which takes many men upon the sea might be\nthe cause.\n\nScarce had the army landed than there began a most grievous\nsickness. In truth the place for the camp had been ill chosen, for\nthere was a little stream into which much of the filth of the city\nwas wont to run. From this there came a most evil smell. Many also,\nfor want of good water, would drink of the stream, than which there\ncould be no more deadly thing.\n\nOn the very day after he landed from his ship the King fell sick.\nHis physician being disabled by the same malady, I was called in to\nthe King's help; and from the first I saw that, save by a miracle,\nhe could not live. On the fourth day he died, making as good and\ndevout an end as any that I have ever seen. He would know the truth,\nfor he was not one of those who buoy themselves up with false hopes.\nAnd when he knew it, then first with the help of the priests that\nattended him he prepared his soul, and afterward he gave what time\nremained to teaching the son who should be King after him how he\nshould best do his duty to God and man.\n\nI heard much from him who had put it in my mind to come from the\nisland of Sardinia concerning King Louis. Never, he told me, was a\nKing more bent on doing justice and judgment. These he maintained\nwith his whole heart and strength, not having any respect of\npersons, or having regard to his own profit. Though he held bishops\nand priests in great reverence, being most careful of all the\noffices of religion, yet he would withstand even these when they\nseemed to seek that which was not fair and just. He was a lover of\npeace far beyond the wont of Kings, who indeed, for the most part,\ncare but little for it, so that men say in a proverb, \"War is the\ngame of Kings.\" Of the poor he was a great and constant favourer.\nEvery day he had a multitude of them fed at his cost in his palace,\nand sometimes he would serve himself, and it was his custom on a\ncertain day to wash the feet of poor men. In his eating and drinking\nhe was as temperate as man could be, drinking, for example, but one\ncup of wine, and that largely mingled with water. In all things\nwherein great men ofttimes offend he was wholly blameless and beyond\nreproach. Of all men that I had any knowledge of, whether by sight\nor by hearing, in this business of the Crusades there was not one\nwho could be so much as named in comparison with King Louis. To King\nLouis religion was as life itself. It filled, as it were, his whole\nsoul; he judged of all things by it; he hungered and thirsted after\nit. And yet of all who bore the cross this man, being, as he was, so\nmuch the most faithful to his vow, by far the truest cross-bearer of\nall, yet failed the most utterly. Of such things I have not the wit\nto judge; yet this, methinks, is manifest, that the Kingdom of God\nis not set forward by the power of armies. I do believe that if King\nLouis, being what he was, a man after God's own heart, had come, not\nwith the sword, but preaching the truth by his life, he had done\nmore for the cause that he had at heart. As it was, he furthered it\nnot at all, so far as I can discern, but rather set it back. That he\ndid not gain for Christendom so much as a single foot of earth is\nnot so much to be lamented, as that he made wider the breach between\nChristian men and the followers of Mahomet. And this he did, though\nhe was in very truth the most Christlike of all the men that I have\never seen.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XV\n\nWILLIAM TELL\n\n\nWilliam Tell was born toward the close of the thirteenth century. I\ncannot tell you the precise year of his birth; but in the year 1307\nhe was a married man, and lived with his wife and children, in the\nvillage of Burglen, near the great town of Altdorf, in the canton of\nUri.\n\nTell maintained his family chiefly by hunting the chamois, and\nshooting other wild game. So skilful was he in the use of the bow,\nthat the fame of his exploits in that way had obtained for him the\nname of \"The Crossbowman of Burglen.\" He was also very skilful in\nthe management of boats upon the lakes. His father had followed the\nprofession of a pilot, and William Tell, though he preferred the\nlife of a hunter, understood the navigation of the lakes better than\nalmost any boatman in the canton of Uri. It was a saying, \"That\nWilliam Tell knew how to handle the rudder as expertly as the bow.\"\nIn short, he was a person of strong natural talents, who observed on\neverything he saw, and acquired all the knowledge he could.\n\nSwitzerland was at that time in a state of slavery to Albert, Duke\nof Austria, who had recently been selected Emperor of Germany. He\nhad taken great offence with the Swiss, because they wished Count\nAdolph of Nassau to be elected Emperor of Germany instead of him.\nThe first use he made of his power was to punish the Swiss for\nhaving favoured the cause of his rival; and he was so unwise as to\ndeclare publicly, \"that he would no longer treat them as subjects,\nbut as slaves.\" In pursuance of this wicked resolution he deprived\nthem of many of their rights and privileges, and altered their\nancient laws and customs.\n\nBy these proceedings the Emperor rendered his government very\nunpopular, and when he found that the people expressed\ndissatisfaction, he built castles and fortresses all over the\ncountry, and filled them with soldiers to awe the people into\nsubmission. In each of these fortresses he placed a governor, who\nexercised despotic power in the district over which his sway\nextended. The inhabitants of the canton Uri, in particular, had to\ncomplain of the oppression of their German governor, Gessler, who\nhad committed several murders, and acted in such a manner as to\nexcite general indignation, by his pride, cruelty, and injustice.\nThe whole country was indeed ripe for a revolt, in case an\nopportunity should occur of throwing off the German yoke.\n\nOne cold autumnal evening, the blaze of the cheerful fire which the\nwife of William Tell had kindled on the hearth, against her\nhusband's return, gleamed through the rude latticed casements of\ntheir cottage window. The earthern floor of the humble dwelling bad\nbeen freshly swept; a clean cloth of the matron's own spinning, was\nspread on the homely board, which was garnished with wooden bowls\nand spoons of the most snowy whiteness; and a kettle of fish-soup,\nwith herbs, was stewing over the fire. Some flat oaten cakes,\ndesigned to be eaten hot with butter, were baking on the hearth.\n\nThe babe was sleeping peacefully in the cradle; two or three of the\nother little ones, weary with their sportive play, had been laid in\ntheir cribs. Henric and Lewis, two lovely boys of five and six years\nold, having promised to be very good, if allowed to sit up till\ntheir father's return, were watching their mother, who was employed\nin roasting a fine fat quail which their cousin, Lalotte, who had\narrived at the discreet age of fourteen, was basting, and spinning\nthe string by which it was suspended before the fire.\n\n\"Mother,\" said Henric, \"if my father does not come home very soon,\nthat quail will be done too much.\"\n\n\"What then?\" asked Lalotte.\n\n\"I was thinking, cousin Lalotte, that it would be a pity for it to\nbe spoiled, after you and mother have taken so much pains in cooking\nit; and it smells so very good.\"\n\n\"Oh, fie! you greedy child; you want to eat the bird that is cooking\nfor your father's supper,\" said Lalotte. \"If I were my aunt, I would\nsend you to bed only for thinking of such a thing.\"\n\n\"You are not the mistress--you are not the mistress!\" cried the\nsturdy rebel Henric; \"and I shall not go to bed at your desire.\"\n\n\"But you shall go to bed, young sir, if your cousin Lalotte tells\nyou so to do,\" said his father, who had entered during the dispute.\n\n\"Alack!\" cried Henric turning to his little brother, \"if we had only\nbeen patient, Lewis, we should have tasted the nice quail, and heard\nall our father's news into the bargain.\"\n\n\"There now, see what you have lost by being naughty children,\" cried\nLalotte, as she led the offenders into their little bedroom.\n\n\"Thy father's news is not for thy young ears, my boys,\" murmured\nWilliam Tell, as the door closed after the unconscious children.\n\n\"There is a sadness in thy voice and trouble on thy brow,\" said the\nanxious wife of Tell, looking earnestly in his face. \"Wilt thou not\ntrust me with the cause of thy care?\"\n\n\"Annette,\" replied Tell, \"thou hast been a good and faithful wife to\nme--yea, and a prudent counsellor and friend in the time of need.\nWhy, then, should I do a thing and conceal it from thee, my well-\nbeloved?\"\n\n\"What is it thou hast done, my husband?\"\n\n\"That for which thou wilt blame me, perchance.\"\n\n\"Nay, say not so; thou art a good man.\"\n\n\"Thou knowest, my loving wife, the sad state of slavery to which\nthis unhappy country of Switzerland is reduced by the unlawful\noppression of our foreign rulers,\" said Tell.\n\n\"I do,\" she replied; \"but what have peasants to do with matters so\nmuch above them?\"\n\n\"Much!\" returned Tell. \"If the good laws made by the worthies of the\nolden time, for the comfort and protection of all ranks of people,\nbe set at naught by strangers, and all the ancient institutions,\nwhich were the pride and the glory of our land, be overthrown, by\nthose to whom we owe neither the love of children, nor the\nallegiance of subjects, then, methinks, good wife, it becomes the\nduty of peasants to stand forth in defence of their rights. I have\nengaged myself, with three-and-thirty of my valiant countrymen, who\nmet this night on the little promontory of land that juts into a\nlonely angle of the Lake, to concert with them means for the\ndeliverance of my country.\"\n\n\"But how can three-and-thirty men hope to oppose the power of those\nwho enthral Switzerland?\" asked the wife of Tell.\n\n\"Great objects are often effected by small instruments,\" replied he.\n\"The whole population of Switzerland is exasperated against the\nGerman tyrants, who have of late abused their power so far as to\nrouse the indignation even of women and of children against them.\nThe father of Arnold Melchthal, one of the 'Brothers of Rutli,' as\nour band is called, was recently put to a cruel death by the unjust\nsentence of Gessler, the governor of our own canton of Uri; and who\nknoweth, gentle wife, whether his jealous caprice may not induce him\nto single me out for his next victim?\"\n\n\"Single thee out, my husband!\" exclaimed Annette turning pale. \"Nay,\nwhat accusation could he bring against thee?\"\n\n\"That of being the friend of my country, which is, of course, a\ncrime not to be forgiven by a person of Gessler's disposition.\"\n\n\"But Gessler is too much exalted above our humble sphere of life, to\nbe aware of a peasant's sentiments on such matters,\" said Annette.\n\n\"Gessler will not permit us to indulge the thoughts of our hearts in\nsecret,\" said Tell; \"for he hath recently devised a shrewd test,\nwhereby he is enabled to discern the freeman from the slave\nthroughout this province.\"\n\n\"And what is the test which the governor of Uri employeth for that\npurpose?\"\n\n\"Thou hast heard our good pastor read in the Scripture of the\nprophet Daniel, of the golden image, which the tyrant Nebuchadnezzar\ncaused to be erected. He made a decree that all nations and people\nof the world should bow down and worship it, and that those who\nrefused to do so should be cast into a burning fiery furnace.\nRememberest thou this, my beloved?\"\n\n\"Certainly,\" Annette replied. \"But what hath Gessler to do with that\npresumptuous folly of the King of Babylon?\"\n\n\"Gessler,\" replied Tell, \"imitates the presumption, albeit it is not\nin his power to rival the grandeur, of Nebuchadnezzar; for he hath\nset up an idol in the market-place of Altdorf, to which he requireth\nblind homage to be paid by fools and cowards. Now, the King of\nBabylon's idol, the prophet tells us, was of solid gold, a metal\nwhich the world is, I grieve to say, too prone to worship; but\nGessler's paltry Baal is but the empty ducal bonnet of Austria,\nwhich he hath exalted on a pole; and he commands the men of Uri to\nbow down before it, under penalty of death. Wouldst thou wish thy\nhusband to degrade the name of a Swiss, by stooping to such an\naction?\"\n\n\"No,\" she replied, \"I should blush for thee, if thou wert capable of\nsuch baseness.\"\n\n\"Thou hast spoken like a free woman,\" he exclaimed. \"Yea, and thou\nshalt be the mother of free children: for the first time I go to\nAltdorf I will resist the edict, which enjoins me and my countrymen\nto pay homage to the senseless bauble which the German governor hath\nexalted in the market-place.\"\n\n\"But why go to Altdorf at all, my husband?\" said the wife to Tell.\n\n\"My business calls me to Altdorf, and I shall go thither like an\nhonest man, in the performance of my duty,\" replied Tell. \"Thinkest\nthou that I am either to confess myself a slave, by bending my body\nto an empty cap, or to permit it to be a scarecrow, that shall\nfright me from entering the capital city of my native province, lest\nI should draw upon myself the penalty of refusing to perform a\ncontemptible action, enjoined by a wicked man? No, no, my sweet\nwife; I shall go to Altdorf, when occasion may require, without\nconsidering myself bound to observe Gessler's foolish edict.\"\n\nThe return of Lalotte put an end to this discourse; and Annette\nbegan to assist her in taking up the supper.\n\nLalotte was the orphan of Tell's brother. Her parents had both died\nwhen she and her brother Philip were very young, and they had been\nadopted into the family of her kind uncle soon after his marriage\nwith Annette. Lalotte was affectionate, sprightly, and industrious.\nShe assisted her aunt in the household work and the dairy; and it was\nher business to take charge of the children, whom she carefully\ninstructed in such things as she knew, and laboured to render them\nvirtuous and obedient.\n\nPhilip, her brother, who was about a year older than herself, had\nbeen unfortunately a spoiled child. He was self-willed and\nintractable, and, though far from a bad disposition, was always\ngetting himself and others into scrapes and difficulties.\n\nThat night his place at the board was vacant, which his uncle\nobserving, said,\n\n\"Lalotte, where is your brother Philip?\"\n\n\"Absent, uncle, I am sorry to say,\" replied Lalotte.\n\n\"It is not usual for Philip to desert the supper meal,\" observed\nTell, \"even if he be absent the rest of the day. I am afraid he is\nafter no good.\"\n\nA hasty step was heard; and Lalotte exclaimed, \"I should not wonder\nif that were my scrapegrace brother!\"\n\n\"It does not sound well of you to call him so, Lalotte, though he is\na sad plague to us all,\" said Tell.\n\nThe door was hastily opened, and Philip bounced in out of breath,\nand covered with mud. He flung himself on a wooden settle beside the\nfire, and gave way to fits of laughter.\n\n\"How now, Philip! what is the cause of all this?\" asked Tell\ngravely.\n\n\"Hurrah!\" shouted he, springing from his seat, and capering about,\n\"I have done such a deed!\"\n\n\"Some notable piece of folly, no doubt,\" observed his uncle; \"what\nis it, boy?\"\n\n\"A deed that will render my name famous throughout the whole\nprovince of Uri, my good uncle. Everybody is talking about it in\nAltdorf at this very moment,\" exclaimed Philip, rubbing his hands.\n\n\"You have long been celebrated there as the ringleader of mischief,\"\nobserved Tell; \"but I doubt whether you will have much reason to\nexult in the evil reputation you have acquired, Philip. Therefore go\nto bed, and when you say your prayers, ask for grace to reform your\nevil habits.\"\n\n\"My good uncle,\" replied Philip, \"be content. This night I have\nturned patriot, raised a rabble of boys, and pelted down the fool's\ncap which old Gessler had stuck up in the market-place of Altdorf,\nfor Switzers to pay homage to. Is not that a glorious deed!\"\n\n\"It is of a piece with the rest of your folly. Were you called upon\nto pay homage to the cap?\"\n\n\"By no means, uncle, else must I perforce have made my obeisance to\nthe empty bonnet of the Emperor-Duke of Austria. But this exploit of\nmine was after dark, when one boy could not be distinguished from\nanother; and there were fully fifty of us engaged in pelting at the\nmock majesty till down it came, feathers and all, souse into the\nmud. Then, oh stars! how we all ran! But it was my stone that hit\nit, take notice: ha! ha! ha!\"\n\n\"Your head must be as devoid of brains as the empty cap you pelted,\nPhilip, or you never would have engaged in any such adventure.\"\n\n\"How, uncle!\" cried Philip in amaze; \"would you have me pay homage\nto the ducal bonnet without a head in it?\"\n\n\"It seems you were not required to do so, Philip; therefore you had\nno pretext for raising a riot to break the peace.\"\n\n\"But, uncle, do you intend to yield obedience to the governor's\ntyrannous edict?\"\n\n\"Philip,\" replied Tell, \"I am a man, and of age to form a correct\njudgment of the things which it may be expedient to do or proper to\nrefuse. But it is not meet for idle boys to breed riots and commit\nacts of open violence, calculated to plunge a whole country into\nconfusion.\"\n\nPhilip withdrew with an air of great mortification and the family\nsoon after retired to rest.\n\nThe next day William Tell took his thoughtless nephew with him, on a\nhunting excursion, since it was necessary he should find some better\noccupation than throwing stones. After several days they returned,\nloaded with the skins of the chamois that had been slain by the\nunerring arrow of Tell.\n\nHis wife and children hastened to the cottage door to welcome him,\nwhen they beheld him coming. \"Behold, my beloved,\" said Tell, \"how\nwell I have sped in the chase! These skins will bring in a mine of\nwealth against the winter season. To-morrow is Altdorf fair and I\nshall go thither to sell them.\"\n\n\"Hurrah!\" shouted Philip. \"Is Altdorf fair to-morrow? Oh, my faith,\nI had forgotten it. Well, I shall go thither, and have some fun.\"\n\n\"And I mean to go too, cousin Philip,\" said Henric.\n\n\"Not so fast, young men,\" cried Tell. \"Altdorf fair will be full of\nsoldiers and turbulent people, and is not a proper place for rash\nboys and children.\"\n\n\"But you will take care of us, father, dear father,\" said Henric,\nstroking his father's arm caressingly.\n\n\"I shall have enough to do to take care of myself, Henric,\" replied\nTell. \"So you must be a good boy, and stay with your mother.\"\n\n\"But I won't be a good boy, if you leave me at home,\" muttered the\nlittle rebel.\n\n\"Then you must be whipped, sir,\" said his father; \"for we love you\ntoo well to permit you to be naughty without punishing you.\"\n\nOn hearing this, Henric began to weep with anger. So his father told\nLalotte to put him to bed without his supper.\n\nNow Philip was a silly, good-natured fellow, and fancied that his\nlittle cousin, Henric, of whom he was very fond, was ill-treated by\nhis father. So he took an opportunity of slipping a sweet-cake into\nhis pouch, from the supper-board, with which he slily stole to\nHenric's crib.\n\n\"Never mind my cross uncle, sweet cousin,\" said he: \"see, I have\nbrought you a nice cake.\"\n\n\"Oh! I don't care about cakes,\" cried Henric. \"I want to go to\nAltdorf fair to-morrow.\"\n\n\"And you shall go to Altdorf fair,\" said Philip.\n\n\"But how can I go, when father says he won't take me?\" sobbed\nHenric.\n\n\"There, dry your eyes, and go to sleep,\" whispered Philip; \"as soon\nas my uncle is gone I will take you to the fair with me; for I mean\nto go, in spite of all he has said to the contrary.\"\n\n\"But what will mother say?\" asked Henric.\n\n\"We won't let her know anything about it,\" said Philip.\n\n\"But Lalotte won't let us go; for Lalotte is very cross, and wants\nto master me.\"\n\n\"A fig for Lalotte!\" cried the rude Philip; \"do you think I care for\nher?\"\n\n\"I won't care for Lalotte when I grow a great big boy like you,\ncousin Philip; but she makes me mind her now,\" said Henric.\n\n\"Never fear; we will find some way of outwitting Mademoiselle\nLalotte to-morrow,\" said Philip.\n\nThe next morning William Tell rose at an early hour, and proceeded\nto the fair at Altdorf, to sell his chamois skins.\n\nPhilip instead of getting up, and offering to carry them for his\nuncle, lay in bed till after he was gone. He was pondering on his\nundutiful scheme of taking little Henric to the fair, in defiance of\nTell's express commands that both should stay at home that day.\n\nHenric could eat no breakfast that morning for thinking of the\nproject in which Philip had tempted him to engage. His kind mother\npatted his curly head, and gave him a piece of honeycomb for not\ncrying to go to the fair. He blushed crimson-red at this\ncommendation, and was just going to tell his mother all about it,\nwhen Philip, guessing his thoughts, held up his finger, and shook\nhis head at him.\n\nWhen his mother and Lalotte went into the dairy to churn the butter\nthey begged Henric and Philip to take care of Lewis and the other\nlittle ones, so that they should not get into any mischief. No\nsooner, however, were they gone, than Philip said, \"Now, Henric, is\nour time to make our escape, and go to the fair.\"\n\n\"But,\" said Henric, \"my mother gave me some sweet and honeycomb just\nnow, for being a good boy; and it will be very naughty of me to\ndisobey my father's commands after that. So, dear Philip, I was\nthinking that I would stay at home to-day, if you would stay too,\nand make little boats for me to float on the lake.\"\n\n\"I shall do no such thing, I promise you,\" replied Philip; \"for I\nmean to go to the fair, and see the fun. You may stay at home, if\nyou like--for I don't want to be plagued with your company.\"\n\n\"Oh, dear!\" cried Henric, \"but I want very much to go to the fair,\nand see the fun too.\"\n\n\"Come along then,\" said Philip; \"or we shall not get there in time\nto see the tumblers, or the apes and dancing bears, or the fire-\neaters, or any other of the shows.\"\n\nIt was nearly two hours before the truants were missed by Henric's\nmother and Lalotte; for they were all that time busy in the dairy.\nAt length they heard the children cry; on which, Lalotte ran into\nthe room, and found no one with them but Lewis.\n\n\"What a shame,\" cried Lalotte, \"for that lazy boy Philip, to leave\nall these little ones, with only you, Lewis. Where is Henric, pray?\"\n\n\"Oh! Henric is gone to the fair with cousin Philip,\" lisped little\nLewis.\n\n\"Oh that wicked Philip!\" cried Lalotte. \"Aunt! aunt! Philip has run\noff to Altdorf fair, and taken Henric with him!\"\n\n\"My dear Lalotte,\" said her aunt, \"you must put on your hood and\nsabots, and run after them. Perhaps, as you are light-footed, you\ncan overtake them, and bring Henric back. I am sure, some mischief\nwill befall him.\"\n\nLalotte hastily threw her gray serge cloak about her, and drew the\nhood over her head. She slipped her little feet into her sabots, or\nwooden shoes, and took the road to Altdorf, hurrying along as fast\nas she could, in hope of overtaking the truants before they reached\nthe town.\n\nMore than once the little maiden thought of turning back, but the\nremembrance of Philip's rash and inconsiderate temper filled her\nwith alarm for the safety of the child whom he had tempted away from\nhome. She reflected that, as her uncle was at Altdorf, it would be\nher wisest course to proceed thither to seek him out, and to inform\nhim of his little boy being then in the fair.\n\nLalotte entered the market-place of Altdorf, at the moment when her\nuncle, having disposed of his chamois-skins to advantage, was\ncrossing from the carriers' stalls to a clothier's booth to purchase\nwoollen cloths for winter garments. Fairs were formerly marts, where\nmerchants and artisans brought their goods for sale; and persons\nresorted thither, not for the purpose of riot and revelling, but to\npurchase useful commodities, clothing, and household goods at the\nbest advantage.\n\nWilliam Tell had been requested by his careful wife to purchase a\nvariety of articles for the use of the family. He was so intent in\nperforming all her biddings, to the best of his ability, that he\nnever once thought of the cap which the insolent governor, Gessler,\nhad erected in the market-place, till he found himself opposite to\nthe lofty pole on which it was exalted. He would have passed it\nunconsciously had he not been stopped by the German soldiers, who\nwere under arms on either side the pole, to enforce obedience to the\ninsulting edict of the governor of Uri. Tell then paused, and,\nraising his eyes to the object to which the captain of the guard,\nwith an authoritative gesture, directed his attention, beheld the\nducal cap of Austria just above him.\n\nThe colour mounted to the cheek of the free-born hunter of the Alps,\nat the sight of this badge of slavery of his fallen country. Casting\nan indignant glance upon the foreign soldiers who had impeded his\nprogress, he moved sternly forward, without offering the prescribed\nact of homage to the cap.\n\n\"Stop!\" cried the captain of the guard; \"you are incurring the\npenalty of death, rash man, by your disobedience to the edict of his\nexcellency the Governor of Uri.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" replied Tell. \"I was not aware that I was doing anything\nunlawful.\"\n\n\"You have insulted the majesty of our lord the Emperor by passing\nthat cap without bowing to it,\" said the officer.\n\n\"I wist not that more respect were due to an empty cap, than to a\ncloak and doublet, or a pair of hose,\" replied Tell.\n\n\"Insolent traitor! dost thou presume to level thy rude gibes at the\nbadge of royalty?\" cried the governor, stepping forward from behind\nthe soldiers, where he had been listening to the dispute between\nTell and the officer.\n\nPoor Lalotte, meantime, having caught a glimpse of her uncle's tall,\nmanly figure through the crowd, had pressed near enough to hear the\nalarming dialogue in which he had been engaged with the German\nsoldiers. While, pale with terror, she stood listening with\nbreathless attention, she recognised Philip at no great distance,\nwith little Henric in his arms, among the spectators.\n\nThe thoughtless Philip was evidently neither aware how near he was\nto his uncle, nor of the peril in which he stood. With foolish glee,\nhe was pointing out the cap to little Henric; and though Lalotte\ncould not hear what he was saying, she fancied he was rashly\nboasting to the child of the share in the exploit of pelting it down\na few nights previous.\n\nWhile her attention was thus painfully excited she heard some of the\npeople round her saying,\n\n\"Who is it that has ventured to resist the governor's decree?\"\n\n\"It is William Tell, the crossbow-man of Burglen,\" replied many\nvoices.\n\n\"William Tell!\" said one of the soldiers; \"why it was his kinsman\nwho raised a rabble to insult the ducal bonnet the other night.\"\n\n\"Ay, it was the scapegrace, Philip Tell, who assailed the cap of our\nsovereign with stones, till he struck it down,\" cried another.\n\n\"Behold where the young villain stands,\" exclaimed a third, pointing\nto Philip.\n\n\"Hallo, hallo! seize the young traitor, in the name of the Emperor\nand the governor!\" shouted the Germans.\n\n\"Run, Philip, run--run for your life!\" cried a party of his youthful\nassociates.\n\nPhilip hastily set his little cousin on his feet, and started off\nwith the speed of the wild chamois of the Alpine mountains; leaving\nlittle Henric to shift for himself.\n\n\"The child, the child! the precious boy! he will be trampled to\ndeath!\" shrieked Lalotte.\n\nHenric had caught sight of his father among the crowd while Philip\nwas holding him up to look at the ducal cap, and he had been much\nalarmed lest his father should see him. But the moment he found\nhimself abandoned by Philip, he lifted up his voice, and screamed\nwith all his might, \"Father, father!\"\n\nThe helplessness, the distress, together with the uncommon beauty of\nthe child, moved the heart of a peasant near him, to compassion.\n\"Who is your father, my fair boy?\" said he. \"Point him out, and I\nwill lead you to him.\"\n\n\"My father is William Tell, the crossbow-man of Burglen,\" said the\nchild. \"There he is close to the cap on the pole yonder.\"\n\n\"Is he your father, poor babe?\" said the peasant. \"Well, you will\nfind him in rare trouble, and I hope you may not be the means of\nadding to it, my little man.\"\n\nNo sooner had the kind man cleared the way through the crowd for his\nyoung companion, and conducted him within a few yards of the spot\nwhere William Tell stood, than the urchin drew his hand away from\nhis new friend, and running to his father, flung his little arms\nabout his knees, sobbing, \"Father, dear father, pray forgive me this\nonce, and I will never disobey you again.\"\n\nHenric made his appearance at an unlucky moment both for his father\nand himself; for the cruel governor of Uri, exasperated at the manly\ncourage of Tell, seized the boy by the arm and sternly demanded if\nhe were his son.\n\n\"Harm not the child, I pray thee,\" cried Tell: \"he is my first\nborn.\"\n\n\"It is not my intention to do him harm,\" replied the governor. \"If\nany mischief befall the child, it will be by thy own hand, traitor.\nHere,\" cried he to one of his soldiers, \"take this boy, tie him\nbeneath yon linden-tree, in the centre of the market-place, and\nplace an apple on his head--\"\n\n\"What means this?\" cried Tell.\n\n\"I am minded to see a specimen of your skill as an archer,\" replied\nGessler. \"I am told that you are the best marksman in all Uri; and,\ntherefore, your life being forfeited by your presumptuous act of\ndisobedience, I am inclined, out of the clemency of my nature, to\nallow you a chance of saving it. This you may do, if you can shoot\nan arrow so truly aimed as to cleave the apple upon thy boy's head.\nBut if thou either miss the apple, or slay the child, then shall the\nsentence of death be instantly executed.\"\n\n\"Unfeeling tyrant!\" exclaimed Tell; \"dost thou think that I could\nendeavour to preserve my own life by risking that of my precious\nchild?\"\n\n\"Nay,\" replied Gessler, \"I thought I was doing thee a great favour\nby offering thee an alternative, whereby thou mightest preserve thy\nforfeited life by a lucky chance.\"\n\n\"A lucky chance!\" exclaimed Tell: \"and dost thou believe that I\nwould stake my child's life on such a desperate chance as the cast\nof an arrow launched by the agitated hand of an anxious father, at\nsuch a mark as that? Nay, look at the child thyself, my lord. Though\nhe be no kin to thee, and thou knowest none of his pretty ways and\nwinning wiles, whereby he endeareth himself to a parent's heart--yet\nconsider his innocent countenance, the artless beauty of his\nfeatures, and the rosy freshness of his rounded cheeks, which are\ndimpling with joy at the sight of me, though the tears yet hang upon\nthem--and then say, whether thou couldst find in thine heart to aim\nan arrow that perchance might harm him?\"\n\n\"I swear,\" replied Gessler, \"that thou shalt either shoot the arrow,\nor die!\"\n\n\"My choice is soon made,\" said Tell, dropping the bow from his hand.\n\"Let me die!\"\n\n\"Ay, but the child shall be slain before thy face ere thine own\nsentence be executed, traitor!\" cried the governor, \"if thou shoot\nnot at him.\"\n\n\"Give me the bow once more!\" exclaimed Tell, in a hoarse, deep\nvoice; \"but in mercy let some one turn the child's face away from\nme. If I meet the glance of those sweet eyes of his, it will unnerve\nmy hand; and then, perchance, the shaft, on whose true aim his life\nand mine depend, may err.\"\n\nLalotte, knowing that all depended on his remaining quiet, as soon\nas the soldiers had placed him with his face averted from his\nfather, sprang forward, and whispered in Henric's ear, \"Stand firm,\ndear boy, without moving, for five minutes, and you will be forgiven\nfor your fault of this morning.\"\n\nThere was a sudden pause of awe and expectation among the dense\ncrowd that had gathered round the group planted within a bow-shot of\nthe linden-tree beneath which the child was bound. Tell, whose arms\nwere now released, unbuckled the quiver that was slung across his\nshoulder, and carefully examined his arrows, one by one. He selected\ntwo: one of them he placed in his girdle, the other he fitted to his\nbow-string; and then he raised his eyes to Heaven, and his lips\nmoved in prayer. He relied not upon his own skill but he asked the\nassistance of One in whose hands are the issues of life and death;\nand he did not ask in vain. The trembling, agitated hand that a\nmoment before shook with the strong emotion of a parent's anxious\nfears, became suddenly firm and steady; his swimming eyes resumed\ntheir keen, clear sight, and his mind recovered its wonted energy of\npurpose at the proper moment.\n\nLalotte's young voice was the first to proclaim, aloud, \"The arrow\nhath cleft the apple in twain! and the child is safe.\"\n\n\"God hath sped my shaft, and blessed be His name!\" exclaimed the\npious archer, on whose ear the thunders of applause, with which the\nassembled multitude hailed his successful shot, had fallen unheeded.\n\nThe soldiers now unbound the child; and Lalotte fearlessly advanced,\nand led him to his father. But before the fond parent could fold his\ndarling to his bosom, the tyrant Gessler sternly demanded for what\npurpose he had reserved the second arrow, which he had seen him\nselect and place in his belt.\n\n\"That arrow,\" replied Tell, giving way to a sudden burst of passion,\n\"that arrow was designed to avenge the death of my child, if I had\nslain him with the other.\"\n\n\"How to avenge?\" exclaimed the governor, furiously. \"To avenge,\nsaidst thou? and on whom didst thou intend thy vengeance would\nfall?\"\n\n\"On thee, tyrant!\" replied Tell, fixing his eyes sternly on the\ngovernor. \"My next mark would have been thy bosom, had I failed in\nmy first. Thou perceivest that mine is not a shaft to miscarry.\"\n\n\"Well, thou hast spoken frankly,\" said Gessler; \"and since I have\npromised thee thy life I will not swerve from my word. But as I have\nnow reason for personal apprehensions from thy malice, I shall\ncloset thee henceforth so safely in the dungeons of Kussnacht, that\nthe light of sun or moon shall never more visit thine eyes; and thy\nfatal bow shall hereafter be harmless.\"\n\nOn this the guard once more laid hands on the intrepid archer, whom\nthey seized and bound, in spite of the entreaties of Lalotte, and\nthe cries and tears of little Henric, who hung weeping about his\nfather.\n\n\"Take him home to his mother, Lalotte; and bear my last fond\ngreetings to her and the little ones, whom I, peradventure, shall\nsee no more,\" said Tell, bursting into tears. The mighty heart which\nhad remained firm and unshaken in the midst of all his perils and\ntrials, now melted within him at the sight of his child's tears, the\nremembrance of his home, and anticipations of the sufferings of his\ntender wife.\n\nThe inhuman Gessler scarcely permitted his prisoner the satisfaction\nof a parting embrace with Henric and Lalotte, ere he ordered him to\nbe hurried on board a small vessel in which he embarked also with\nhis armed followers. He commanded the crew to row to Brunnen, where\nit was his intention to land, and, passing through the territory of\nSchwyz, to lodge the captive Tell in the dungeon of Kussnacht, and\nthere to immure him for life.\n\nThe sails were hoisted and the vessel under weigh, when suddenly one\nof those storms common on the lake of Uri overtook them, accompanied\nwith such violent gusts of wind, that the terrified pilot forsook\nthe helm; and the bark, with the governor and his crew, was in\ndanger of being ingulfed in the raging waters. Gessler, like most\nwicked people, was in great terror at the prospect of death, when\none of his attendants reminded him that the prisoner, William Tell,\nwas no less skilful in the management of a boat than in the exercise\nof the bow. So he ordered that Tell should be unbound, and placed at\nthe helm.\n\nThe boat, steered by the master-hand of the intrepid Tell, now kept\nits course steadily through, the mountain surge; and Tell observed,\n\"that by the grace of God, he trusted a deliverance was at hand.\"\n\nAs the prow of the vessel was driven inland, Tell perceived a\nsolitary table rock and called aloud the rowers to redouble their\nefforts, till they should have passed the precipice ahead. At the\ninstant they came abreast this point he snatched his bow from the\nplank, where it was lying forgotten during the storm, and, turning\nthe helm suddenly toward the rock, he sprang lightly on shore,\nscaled the mountain, and was out of sight and beyond reach of\npursuit, before any on board had recovered from consternation.\n\nTell, meantime, entered Schwyz, and having reached the heights which\nborder the main road to Kussnacht, concealed himself among the\nbrushwood in a small hollow of the road, where he knew Gessler would\npass on his way to his own castle, in case he and his followers\nescaped and came safely to shore. This, it appeared they did, and\nhaving effected a landing at Brunnen, they took horse, and proceeded\ntowards Kussnacht, in the direction. of the only road to the castle.\n\nWhile they were passing the spot where Tell lay concealed, he heard\nthe cruel tyrant denouncing the most deadly vengeance, not only on\nhimself, but his helpless family: \"If I live to return to Altdorf,\"\nhe exclaimed, \"I will destroy the whole brood of the traitor Tell,\nmother and children, in the same hour.\"\n\n\"Monster, thou shalt return to Altdorf no more!\" murmured Tell. So,\nraising himself up in his lair, and fitting an arrow to his bow, he\ntook deadly aim at the relentless bosom that was planning the\ndestruction of all his family.\n\nThe arrow flew as truly to the mark as that which he had shot in the\nmarket-place of Altdorf, and the tyrant Gessler fell from his horse,\npierced with a mortal wound.\n\nThe daring archer thought that he had taken his aim unseen by human\neye; but, to his surprise, a familiar voice whispered in his ear,\n\"Bravo, uncle! that was the best-aimed shaft you ever shot. Gessler\nis down, and we are a free people now.\"\n\n\"Thou incorrigible varlet, what brings thee here?\" replied Tell, in\nan undervoice, giving Philip a rough grip of the arm.\n\n\"It is no time to answer questions,\" returned Philip. \"The Rutli\nband are waiting for thee, if so be thou canst escape from this\ndangerous place; and my business here was to give thee notice of the\nsame.\"\n\nOn this, Tell softly crept from the thicket, and, followed by his\nnephew, took the road to Stienen, which under cover of darkness,\nthey reached that night.\n\nPhilip, by the way, after expressing much contrition for having\nseduced little Henric to go to the fair with him, informed his uncle\nthat Henric and Lalotte had been safely conducted home by one of the\nband of the Rutli who chanced to be at Altdorf fair.\n\nWhen they reached Stienen Tell was received with open arms by\nStauffacher, the leader of the Rutli band; and with him and the\nother confederates, he so well concerted measures for the\ndeliverance of Switzerland from the German yoke, that, in the course\nof a few days, the whole country was in arms. The Emperor of\nGermany's forces were everywhere defeated; and on the first day of\nthe year, 1308, the independence of Switzerland was declared.\n\nHis grateful countrymen would have chosen William Tell for their\nsovereign, but he nobly rejected the offer, declaring that he was\nperfectly contented with the station of life in which he was born,\nand wished to be remembered in history by no other title than that\nof the Deliverer of Switzerland.\n\nThis true patriot lived happily in the bosom of his family for many\nyears, and had the satisfaction of seeing his children grow up in\nthe fear of God and the practice of virtue.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVI\n\nROBERT BRUCE\n\n\nI hope you have not forgotten, my dear child, that all the cruel\nwars of Scotland arose out of the debate between the great lords who\nclaimed the throne after King Alexander the Third's death. The\nScottish nobility rashly submitted the decision of that matter to\nKing Edward I of England, and thus opened the way to his\nendeavouring to seize the kingdom of Scotland to himself. It was\nnatural that such of the people as were still determined to fight\nfor the deliverance of their country from the English, should look\nround for some other King, under whom they might unite themselves,\nto combat the power of England.\n\nAmongst these, the principal candidates, were two powerful noblemen.\nThe first was Robert Bruce, Earl of Carrick; the other was John\nComyn, or Cuming, of Badenoch, usually called the Red Comyn, to\ndistinguish him from his kinsman, the Black Comyn, so named from his\nswarthy complexion. These two great and powerful barons had taken\npart with Sir William Wallace in the wars against England; but,\nafter his defeat, being careful of losing their great estates, and\nconsidering the freedom of Scotland as beyond the possibility of\nbeing recovered, both Bruce and Comyn had not only submitted\nthemselves to Edward, and acknowledged his title as King of\nScotland, but even borne arms, along with the English, against such\nof their countrymen as still continued to resist the usurper. But\nthe feelings of Bruce concerning the baseness of this conduct, are\nsaid, by the old tradition of Scotland, to have been awakened by the\nfollowing incident. In one of the numerous battles, or skirmishes,\nwhich took place at the time between the English and their adherents\non the one side, and the insurgent or patriotic Scots upon the\nother, Robert the Bruce was present, and assisted the English to\ngain the victory. After the battle was over, he sat down to dinner\namong his southern friends and allies, without washing his hands, on\nwhich there still remained spots of the blood which he had shed\nduring the action. The English lords, observing this whispered to\neach other in mockery, \"Look at that Scotsman, who is eating his own\nblood!\" Bruce heard what they said, and began to reflect that the\nblood upon his hands might be indeed called his own, since it was\nthat of his brave countrymen who were fighting for the independence\nof Scotland, whilst he was assisting its oppressors, who only\nlaughed at and mocked him for his unnatural conduct. He was so much\nshocked and disgusted that he arose from table, and, going into a\nneighbouring chapel, shed many tears, and, asking pardon of God for\nthe great crime he had been guilty of, made a solemn vow that he\nwould atone for it by doing all in his power to deliver Scotland\nfrom the foreign yoke. Accordingly, he left, it is said, the English\narmy, and never joined it again, but remained watching an\nopportunity for restoring the freedom of his country.\n\nNow, this Robert the Bruce was held the best warrior in Scotland. He\nwas very wise and prudent, and an excellent general; that is, he\nknew how to conduct an army, and place them in order for battle, as\nwell or better than any great man of his time. He was generous, too,\nand courteous by nature; but he had some faults, which perhaps\nbelonged as much to the fierce period in which he lived as to his\nown character. He was rash and passionate, and in his passion he was\nsometimes relentless and cruel.\n\nRobert the Brace had fixed his purpose, as I told you, to attempt\nonce again to drive the English out of Scotland, and he desired to\nprevail upon Sir John, the Red Comyn, who was his rival in his\npretensions to the throne, to join with him in expelling the foreign\nenemy by their common efforts. With this purpose, Bruce requested an\ninterview with John Comyn. They met in the Church of the Minorites\nin Dunfries, before the high altar. What passed betwixt them is not\nknown with certainty; but they quarrelled, either concerning their\nmutual pretensions to the Crown, or because Comyn refused to join\nBruce in the proposed insurrection against the English; or, as many\nwriters say, because Bruce charged Comyn with having betrayed to the\nEnglish his purpose of rising up against King Edward. It is,\nhowever, certain, that these two haughty barons came to high and\nabusive words, until at length Bruce forgot the sacred character of\nthe place in which they stood, and struck Comyn a blow with his\ndagger. Having done this rash deed, he instantly ran out of the\nchurch and called for his horse. Two friends of Bruce were in\nattendance on him. Seeing him pale, bloody, and in much agitation\nthey eagerly inquired what was the matter.\n\n\"I doubt,\" said Bruce, \"that I have slain the Red Comyn.\"\n\n\"Do you leave such a matter in doubt?\" said one, \"I will make\nsicker!\"--that is, I will make certain. Accordingly, he and his\ncompanion rushed into the church and made the matter certain with a\nvengeance, by dispatching the wounded Comyn with their daggers. His\nuncle, Sir Robert Comyn, was slain at the same time.\n\nThis slaughter of Comyn was a rash and cruel action. It was followed\nby the displeasure of Heaven; for no man ever went through more\nmisfortunes than Robert Bruce, although he at length rose to great\nhonour. After the deed was done, Bruce might be called desperate. He\nhad committed an action which was sure to bring down upon him the\nvengeance of all Comyn's relations, the resentment of the King of\nEngland, and the displeasure of the Church, on account of having\nslain his enemy within consecrated ground. He determined, therefore,\nto bid them all defiance at once, and to assert his pretensions to\nthe throne of Scotland. He drew his own followers together, summoned\nto meet him such barons as still entertained hopes of the freedom of\nthe country, and was crowned King at the Abbey of Scone, the usual\nplace where the Kings of Scotland assumed their authority.\n\nEverything relating to the ceremony was hastily performed. A small\ncirclet of gold was hurriedly made, to represent the ancient crown\nof Scotland, which Edward had carried off to England. The Earl of\nFife, descendant of the brave Macduff, whose duty it was to have\nplaced the crown on the King's head, would not give his attendance,\nbut the ceremonial was performed by his sister, Isabella, Countess\nof Buchan.\n\nEdward was dreadfully incensed when he heard that, after all the\npains which he had taken, and all the blood which had been spilled,\nthe Scots were making this new attempt to shake off his authority.\nThough now old, feeble, and sickly, he made a solemn vow, in\npresence of all his court, that he would take the most ample\nvengeance upon Robert the Bruce and his adherents; after which he\nwould never again draw his sword upon a Christian, but would only\nfight against the unbelieving Saracens for the recovery of the Holy\nLand. He marched against Bruce accordingly, at the head of a\npowerful army.\n\nThe commencement of Bruce's undertaking was most disastrous. He was\ncrowned on the twenty-ninth of March, 1306. On the eighteenth of May\nhe was ex-communicated by the Pope, on account of the murder of\nComyn within consecrated ground, a sentence which excluded him from\nall benefits of religion, and authorized any one to kill him.\nFinally, on the nineteenth of June, the new King was completely\ndefeated near Methven by the English Earl of Pembroke. Robert's\nhorse was killed under him in the action, and he was for a moment a\nprisoner. But he had fallen into the power of a Scottish knight,\nwho, though he served in the English army, did not choose to be the\ninstrument of putting Bruce into their hands, and allowed him to\nescape.\n\nBruce, with a few brave adherents, among whom was the young lord of\nDouglas, who was afterward called the Good Lord James, retired into\nthe Highland mountains. The Bruce's wife, now Queen of Scotland,\nwith several other ladies, accompanied her husband and his few\nfollowers during their wanderings. There was no way of providing for\nthem save by hunting and fishing. Driven from one place in the\nHighlands to another, starved out of some districts, and forced from\nothers by the opposition of the inhabitants, Bruce attempted to\nforce his way into Lorn; but he found enemies everywhere. The\nMacDougals, a powerful family, then called Lords of Lorn, were\nfriendly to the English, and attacked Bruce and his wandering\ncompanions as soon as they attempted to enter their territory. The\nchief, called John of Lorn, hated Bruce on account of his having\nslain the Red Comyn, to whom this MacDougal was nearly related.\nBruce was again defeated by this chief. He directed his men to\nretreat through a narrow pass, and, placing himself last of the\nparty, he fought with and slew such of the enemy as attempted to\npress hard on them. Three followers of MacDougal, a father and two\nsons, called MacAndrosser, all very strong men, when they saw Bruce\nthus protecting the retreat of his followers, rushed on the King at\nonce. Bruce was on horseback, in the strait pass betwixt a\nprecipitous rock and a deep lake. He struck the first man a blow\nwith his sword, as cut off his hand and freed the bridle. The man\nbled to death. The other brother had meantime grasped Bruce by the\nleg, and was attempting to throw him from horseback. The King,\nsetting spurs to his horse, made the animal suddenly spring forward,\nso that the Highlander fell under the horse's feet, and, as he was\nendeavouring to rise again, Bruce cleft his head in two with his\nsword. The father, seeing his two sons thus slain, flew desperately\nat the King, and grasped him by the mantle so close to his body,\nthat he could not have room to wield his long sword. But with the\nheavy pummel of that weapon the King struck this third assailant so\ndreadful a blow, that he dashed out his brains. Still, however, the\nHighlander kept his dying grasp on the King's mantle; so that, to be\nfree of the dead body, Bruce was obliged to undo the brooch, or\nclasp, by which it was fastened, and leave that, and the mantle\nitself, behind him. The brooch, which fell thus into the possession\nof MacDougal of Lorn, is still preserved in that ancient family as a\nmemorial.\n\nThe King met with many such encounters amidst his dangerous and\ndismal wanderings; yet, though almost always defeated by the\nsuperior numbers of the English, and of such Scots as sided with\nthem, he still kept up his own spirits and those of his followers.\nHe was a better scholar than was usual in those days, when, except\nclergymen, few people learned to read and write. But King Robert\ncould do both very well; and we are told that he sometimes read\naloud to his companions, to amuse them, when they were crossing the\ngreat Highland lakes, in such wretched leaky boats as they could\nfind for that purpose. Loch Lomond, in particular, is said to have\nbeen the scene of such a lecture. You may see by this, how useful it\nis to possess knowledge.\n\nAt last dangers increased so much around the brave King Robert, that\nhe was obliged to separate himself from his Queen and her ladies. So\nBruce left his Queen, with the Countess of Buchan and others, in the\nonly castle which remained to him, which was called Kildrummie, and\nis situated near the head of the river Don in Aberdeenshire. The\nKing also left his brother, Nigel Bruce, to defend the castle\nagainst the English; and he himself, with his second brother Edward,\nwho was a very brave man, went over to an island called Rachrin, on\nthe coast of Ireland, where Bruce and the few men who followed his\nfortunes passed the winter of 1306. In the meantime the castle of\nKildrummie was taken by the English, and Nigel Bruce, a beautiful\nand brave youth, was cruelly put to death by the victors. The ladies\nwho had attended on Robert's Queen, as well as the Queen herself,\nand the Countess of Buchan, were thrown into strict confinement.\n\nThe Countess of Buchan had given Edward great offence by being\nthe person who placed the crown on the head of Robert Bruce. She was\nimprisoned within the Castle of Berwick, in a cage. The cage was a\nstrong wooden and iron piece of frame-work, placed within an\napartment, and resembling one of those places in which wild-beasts\nare confined. There were such cages in most old prisons to which\ncaptives were consigned, who were to be confined with peculiar\nrigour.\n\nThe news of the taking of Kildrummie, the captivity of his wife, and\nthe execution of his brother, reached Bruce while he was residing in\na miserable dwelling at Rachrin, and reduced him to the point of\ndespair. After receiving the intelligence from Scotland, Bruce was\nlying one morning on his wretched bed, and deliberating with himself\nwhether he had not better resign all thoughts of again attempting to\nmake good his right to the Scottish crown, and, dismissing his\nfollowers, transport himself and his brothers to the Holy Land, and\nspend the rest of his life in fighting against the Saracens. But\nthen, on the other hand, he thought it would be both criminal and\ncowardly to give up his attempts to restore freedom to Scotland\nwhile there yet remained the least chance of his being successful in\nan undertaking, which, rightly considered, was much more his duty\nthan to drive the infidels out of Palestine.\n\nWhile he was divided betwixt these reflections, and doubtful of what\nhe should do, Bruce was looking upward to the roof of the cabin in\nwhich he lay; and his eye was attracted by a spider, which, hanging\nat the end of a long thread of its own spinning, was endeavouring to\nswing itself from one beam in the roof to another, for the purpose\nof fixing the line on which it meant to stretch its web. The insect\nmade the attempt again and again without success; at length Bruce\ncounted that it had tried to carry its point six times, and been as\noften unable to do so. It came into his head that he had himself\nfought just six battles against the English and their allies, and\nthat the poor persevering spider was exactly in the same situation\nwith himself, having made as many trials and been as often\ndisappointed in what it aimed at. \"Now,\" thought Bruce, \"as I have\nno means of knowing what is best to be done, I will be guided by the\nluck which shall attend this spider. If the insect shall make\nanother effort to fix its thread, and shall be successful, I will\nventure a seventh time to try my fortune in Scotland; but if the\nspider shall fail, I will go to the wars in Palestine, and never\nreturn to my native country more.\"\n\nWhile Bruce was forming this resolution the spider made another\nexertion with all the force it could muster, and fairly succeeded in\nfastening its thread to the beam which it had so often in vain\nattempted to reach. Bruce seeing the success of the spider, resolved\nto try his own fortune; and as he had never before gained a victory,\nso he never afterward sustained any considerable or decisive check\nor defeat. I have often met with people of the name of Bruce, so\ncompletely persuaded of the truth of this story, that they would not\non any account kill a spider, because it was that insect which had\nshown the example of perseverance, and given a signal of good luck\nto their great namesake. Having determined to renew his efforts to\nobtain possession of Scotland, the Bruce removed himself and his\nfollowers from Rachrin to the island of Arran, which lies in the\nmouth of the Clyde. The King landed, and inquired of the first woman\nhe met what armed men were in the island. She returned for answer\nthat there had arrived there very lately a body of armed strangers,\nwho had defeated an English governor of the castle, and were now\namusing themselves with hunting about the island. The King, having\ncaused himself to be guided to the woods which these strangers most\nfrequented, there blew his horn repeatedly. Now, the chief of the\nstrangers who had taken the castle was James Douglas, one of the\nbest of Bruce's friends, and he was accompanied by some of the\nbravest of that patriotic band. When he heard Robert Bruce's horn,\nhe knew the sound well, and cried out, that yonder was the King, he\nknew by his manner of blowing. So he and his companions hastened to\nmeet King Robert. They could not help weeping when they considered\ntheir own forlorn condition, but they were stout-hearted men, and\nyet looked forward to freeing their country.\n\nThe Bruce was now where the people were most likely to be attached\nto him. He continued to keep himself concealed in his own earldom of\nCarrick, and in the neighboring country of Galloway, until he should\nhave matters ready for a general attack upon the English. He was\nobliged, in the meantime, to keep very few men with him, both for\nthe sake of secrecy, and from the difficulty of finding provisions.\n\nNow, many of the people of Galloway were unfriendly to Bruce. They\nlived under the government of one MacDougal, related to the Lord of\nLorn, who had defeated Bruce. These Galloway men had heard that\nBruce was in their country, having no more than sixty men with him;\nso they resolved to attack him by surprise, and for this purpose\nthey got together and brought with them two or three bloodhounds. At\nthat time bloodhounds, or sleuthhounds, were used for the purpose of\npursuing great criminals. The men of Galloway thought that if they\nmissed taking Bruce, or killing him at the first onset, and if he\nshould escape into the woods, they would find him out by means of\nthese bloodhounds.\n\nThe good King Robert Bruce, who was always watchful and vigilant,\nreceived some information of the intention of the party to come upon\nhim suddenly and by night. Accordingly, he quartered his little\ntroop of sixty men on the side of a deep and swift-running river,\nthat had very steep and rocky banks. There was but one ford by which\nthis river could be crossed in that neighbourhood, and that ford was\ndeep and narrow, so that two men could scarcely get through abreast;\nthe ground on which they were to land, on the side where the King\nwas, was steep, and the path which led upward from the water's edge\nto the top of the bank, extremely narrow and difficult.\n\nBruce caused his men to lie down to take some sleep, at a place\nabout half a mile distant from the river, while he himself, with two\nattendants, went down to watch the ford. He stood looking at the\nford, and thinking how easily the enemy might be kept from passing\nthere, provided it was bravely defended, when he heard, always\ncoming nearer and nearer, the baying of a hound. This was the\nbloodhound which was tracing the King's steps to the ford where he\nhad crossed, and two hundred Galloway men were along with the\nanimal, and guided by it. Bruce at first thought of going back to\nawaken his men; but then he reflected that it might be only some\nshepherd's dog. \"My men,\" said he, \"are sorely tired; I will not\ndisturb their sleep for the yelping of a cur, till I know something\nmore of the matter.\" So he stood and listened; and by and by, as the\ncry of the hound came nearer, he began to hear a trampling of\nhorses, and the voices of men, and the ringing and clattering of\narmour, and then he was sure the enemy were coming to the river\nside. Then the King thought, \"If I go back to give my men the alarm,\nthese Galloway men will get through the ford without opposition; and\nthat would be a pity, since it is a place so advantageous to make\ndefence against them.\" So he looked again at the steep path, and the\ndeep river, and he thought that they gave him so much advantage,\nthat he himself could defend the passage with his own hand, until\nhis men came to assist him. He therefore sent his followers to waken\nhis men, and remained alone by the river.\n\nThe noise and trampling of the horses increased, and the moon being\nbright, Bruce beheld the glancing arms of two hundred men, on the\nopposite bank. The men of Galloway, on their part, saw but one\nsolitary figure guarding the ford, and the foremost of them plunged\ninto the river without minding him. But as they could only pass the\nford one by one, the Bruce, who stood high above them on the bank\nwhere they were to land, killed the foremost man with a thrust of\nhis long spear, and with a second thrust stabbed the horse, which\nfell down, kicking and plunging in his agonies, on the narrow path,\nand so prevented the others who were following from getting out of\nthe river. Bruce had thus an opportunity of dealing his blows among\nthem, while they could not strike at him. In the confusion, five or\nsix of the enemy were slain, or, having been borne down with the\ncurrent, were drowned. The rest were terrified, and drew back.\n\nBut when the Galloway men looked again, and saw they were opposed by\nonly one man, they themselves being so many, they cried out, that\ntheir honour would be lost forever if they did not force their way;\nand encouraged each other, with loud cries, to plunge through and\nassault him. But by this time the King's soldiers came up to his\nassistance, and the Galloway men gave up their enterprise.\n\nAbout the time when the Bruce was yet at the head of but few men,\nSir Aymer de Valence, who was Earl of Pembroke, together with Sir\nJohn of Lorn, came into Galloway, each of them being at the head of\na large body of men. John of Lorn had a bloodhound with him, which\nit was said had formerly belonged to Robert Bruce himself; and\nhaving been fed by the King with his own hands, it became attached\nto him, and would follow his footsteps anywhere, as dogs are well\nknown to trace their master's steps, whether they be bloodhounds or\nnot. By means of this hound, John of Lorn thought he should\ncertainly find out Bruce, and take revenge on him for the death of\nhis relation Comyn.\n\nThe King saw that he was followed by a large body, and being\ndetermined to escape from them, he made all the people who were with\nhim disperse themselves different ways, thinking thus that the enemy\nmust needs lose trace of him. He kept only one man along with him,\nand that was his own foster-brother, or the son of his nurse. When\nJohn of Lorn came to the place where Bruce's companions had\ndispersed themselves, the bloodhound, after it had sniffed up and\ndown for a little, quitted the footsteps of all the other fugitives,\nand ran barking upon the track of two men out of the whole number.\nThen John of Lorn knew that one of these two must needs be King\nRobert. Accordingly, he commanded five of his men that were speedy\nof foot to chase after him, and either make him prisoner or slay\nhim. The Highlanders started off accordingly, and ran so fast, that\nthey gained sight of Robert and his foster-brother. The King asked\nhis companion what help he could give him, and his foster-brother\nanswered he was ready to do his best. So these two turned on the\nfive men of John of Lorn, and killed them all.\n\nBut by this time Bruce very much fatigued, and yet they dared not\nsit down to take any rest; for whenever they stopped for an instant,\nthey heard the cry of the bloodhound behind them, and knew by that,\nthat their enemies were coming up fast after them. At length, they\ncame to a wood, through which ran a small river. Then Bruce said to\nhis foster-brother, \"Let us wade down this stream for a great way,\ninstead of going straight across, and so this unhappy hound will\nlose the scent; for if we were once clear of him, I should not be\nafraid of getting away from the pursuers.\" Accordingly, the King and\nhis attendant walked a great way down the stream, taking care to\nkeep their feet in the water, which could not retain any scent where\nthey had stepped. Then they came ashore on the further side from the\nenemy, and went deep into the wood before they stopped to rest\nthemselves. In the meanwhile, the hound led John of Lorn straight to\nthe place where the King went into the water, but there the dog\nbegan to be puzzled, not knowing where to go next. So, John of Lorn,\nseeing the dog had lost track, gave up the chase, and returned to\njoin with Aymer de Valence.\n\nBut King Robert's adventures were not yet ended. It was now near\nnight, and he went boldy into a farmhouse, where he found the\nmistress, an old, true-hearted Scotswoman, sitting alone. Upon\nseeing a stranger enter she asked him who and what he was. The King\nanswered that he was a traveller, who was journeying through the\ncountry.\n\n\"All travellers,\" answered the good woman, \"are welcome here, for\nthe sake of one.\"\n\n\"And who is that one,\" said the King, \"for whose sake you make all\nwelcome?\"\n\n\"It is our rightful King, Robert the Bruce,\" answered the mistress,\n\"and although he is now pursued and hunted after with hounds and\nhorns, I hope to live to see him King over all Scotland.\"\n\n\"Since you love him so well, madame,\" said the King, \"know that you\nsee him before you. I am Robert the Bruce.\"\n\n\"You!\" said the good woman, in great surprise; \"and wherefore are\nyou thus alone? where are all your men?\"\n\n\"I have none with me at this moment,\" answered Bruce, \"and therefore\nI must travel alone.\"\n\n\"But that shall not be,\" said the brave old dame, \"for I have two\nstout sons, gallant and trusty men, who shall be your servants for\nlife and death.\"\n\nSo she brought her two sons, and though she well knew the dangers to\nwhich she exposed them, she made them swear fidelity to the King.\n\nNow, the loyal woman was getting everything ready for the King's\nsupper, when suddenly there was a great trampling of horses heard\nround the house. They thought it must be some of the English, or\nJohn of Lorn's men, and the good wife called upon her sons to fight\nto the last for King Robert. But shortly after, they heard the voice\nof the good Lord James of Douglas, and of Edward Bruce, the King's\nbrother, who had come with a hundred and fifty horsemen, according\nto the instructions that the King had left with them at parting.\n\nRobert the Bruce was right joyful to meet his brother, and his\nfaithful friend Lord James; and had no sooner found himself once\nmore at the head of such a considerable body of followers, than he\nforgot hunger and weariness. There was nothing but mount and ride;\nand as the Scots rushed suddenly into the village where the English\nwere quartered, they easily dispersed and cut them to pieces.\n\nThe consequence of these successes of King Robert was that soldiers\ncame to join him on all sides, and that he obtained several\nvictories over English commanders; until at length the English were\nafraid to venture into the open country, as formerly, unless when\nthey could assemble themselves in considerable bodies. They thought\nit safer to lie still in the towns and castles which they had\ngarrisoned.\n\nEdward I would have entered Scotland at the head of a large army,\nbefore he had left Bruce time to conquer back the country. But very\nfortunately for the Scots, that wise and skilful, though ambitious\nKing, died when he was on the point of marching into Scotland. His\nson Edward II neglected the Scottish war, and thus lost the\nopportunity of defeating Bruce, when his force was small. But when\nSir Philip Mowbray, the governor of Stirling, came to London, to\ntell the King, that Stirling, the last Scottish town of importance\nwhich remained in possession of the English, was to be surrendered\nif it were not relieved by force of arms before midsummer, then all\nthe English nobles called out, it would be a sin and shame to permit\nthe fair conquest which Edward I had made, to be forfeited to the\nScots for want of fighting.\n\nKing Edward II, therefore, assembled one of the greatest armies\nwhich a King of England ever commanded. There were troops brought\nfrom all his dominions, many brave soldiers from the French\nprovinces, many Irish, many Welsh, and all the great English nobles\nand barons, with their followers. The number was not less than one\nhundred thousand men.\n\nKing Robert the Brace summoned all his nobles and barons to join\nhim, when he heard of the great preparations which the King of\nEngland was making. They were not so numerous as the English by many\nthousand men. In fact, his whole army did not very much exceed\nthirty thousand, and they were much worse armed than the wealthy\nEnglishmen; but then, Robert was one of the most expert generals of\nthe time; and the officers he had under him, were his brother\nEdward, his faithful follower the Douglas, and other brave and\nexperienced leaders. His men had been accustomed to fight and gain\nvictories under every disadvantage of situation and numbers.\n\nThe King, on his part, studied how he might supply, by address and\nstratagem, what he wanted in numbers and strength. He knew the\nsuperiority of the English in their heavy-armed cavalry, and in\ntheir archers. Both these advantages he resolved to provide against.\nWith this purpose, he led his army down into a plain near Stirling.\nThe English army must needs pass through a boggy country, broken\nwith water-courses, while the Scots occupied hard dry ground. He\nthen caused all the ground upon the front of his line of battle, to\nbe dug full of holes, about as deep as a man's knee. They were\nfilled with light brushwood, and the turf was laid on the top, so\nthat it appeared a plain field, while in reality it was as full of\nthese pits as a honeycomb is of holes. He also, it is said, caused\nsteel spikes, called calthrops, to be scattered up and down in the\nplain, where the English cavalry were most likely to advance,\ntrusting in that manner to lame and destroy their horses.\n\nWhen the Scottish army was drawn up, the line stretched north and\nsouth. On the south, it was terminated by the banks of the brook\ncalled Bannockburn, which are so rocky, that no troops could attack\nthem there. On the left, the Scottish line extended near to the town\nof Stirling. Bruce reviewed his troops very carefully. He then spoke\nto the soldiers, and expressed his determination to gain the\nvictory, or to lose his life on the field of battle. He desired that\nall those who did not propose to fight to the last, should leave the\nfield before the battle began, and that none should remain except\nthose who were determined to take the issue of victory or death, as\nGod should send it. When the main body of his army was thus placed\nin order, the King dispatched James of Douglas, and Sir Robert\nKeith, the Mareschal of the Scottish army, in order that they might\nsurvey the English force. They returned with information, that the\napproach of that vast host was one of the most beautiful and\nterrible sights which could be seen--that the whole country seemed\ncovered with men-at-arms on horse and foot.\n\nIt was upon the twenty-third of June, 1314, the King of Scotland\nheard the news, that the English army was approaching Stirling. The\nvan now came in sight, and a number of their bravest knights drew\nnear to see what the Scots were doing. They saw King Robert dressed\nin his armour, and distinguished by a gold crown, which he wore over\nhis helmet. He was not mounted on his great war-horse, because he\ndid not expect to fight that evening. But he rode on a little pony\nup and down the ranks of his army, putting his men in order, and\ncarried in his hand a sort of battle-axe made of steel. When the\nKing saw the English horsemen draw near, he advanced a little before\nhis own men, that he might look at them more nearly.\n\nThere was a knight among the English, called Sir Henry de Bohun, who\nthought this would be a good opportunity to gain great fame to\nhimself, and put an end to the war, by killing King Robert. The King\nbeing poorly mounted, and having no lance, Bohun galloped on him\nsuddenly and furiously, thinking, with his long spear, and his tall,\npowerful horse, easily to bear him down to the ground. King Robert\nsaw him, and permitted him to come very near, then suddenly turned\nhis pony a little to one side, so that Sir Henry missed him with the\nlance-point, and was in the act of being carried past him by the\ncareer of his horse. But as he passed, King Robert rose up in his\nstirrups, and struck Sir Henry on the head with his battle-axe so\nterrible a blow, that it broke to pieces his iron helmet as if it\nhad been a nut-shell, and hurled him from his saddle. He was dead\nbefore he reached the ground. This gallant action was blamed by the\nScottish leaders, who thought Bruce ought not to have exposed\nhimself to so much danger, when the safety of the whole army\ndepended on him. The King only kept looking at his weapon, which was\ninjured by the force of the blow, and said, \"I have broken my good\nbattle-axe.\"\n\nThe next morning the English King ordered his men to begin the\nbattle. The archers then bent their bows, and began to shoot so\nclosely together, that the arrows fell like flakes of snow on a\nChristmas day. They killed many of the Scots, and might have decided\nthe victory; but Bruce was prepared for them. A body of men-at-arms,\nwell mounted, rode at full gallop among them, and as the archers had\nno weapons save their bows and arrows, which they could not use when\nthey were attacked hand to hand, they were cut down in great numbers\nby the Scottish horsemen, and thrown into total confusion. The fine\nEnglish cavalry then advanced to support their archers. But coming\nover the ground which was dug full of pits the horses fell into\nthese holes and the riders lay tumbling about, without any means of\ndefence, and unable to rise, from the weight of their armour.\n\nWhile the battle was obstinately maintained on both sides, an event\nhappened which decided the victory. The servants and attendants on\nthe Scottish camp had been sent behind the army to a place afterward\ncalled the Gillies' hill. But when they saw that their masters were\nlikely to gain the day, they rushed from their place of concealment\nwith such weapons as they could get, that they might have their\nshare in the victory and in the spoil. The English, seeing them come\nsuddenly over the hill, mistook this disorderly rabble for a new\narmy coming up to sustain the Scots, and, losing all heart, began to\nshift every man for himself. Edward himself left the field as fast\nas he could ride.\n\nThe English, after this great defeat, were no longer in a condition\nto support their pretensions to be masters of Scotland, or to\ncontinue to send armies into that country to overcome it. On the\ncontrary, they became for a time scarce able to defend their own\nfrontiers against King Robert and his soldiers.\n\nThus did Robert Bruce arise from the condition of an exile, hunted\nwith bloodhounds like a stag or beast of prey, to the rank of an\nindependent sovereign, universally acknowledged to be one of the\nwisest and bravest Kings who then lived. The nation of Scotland was\nalso raised once more from the situation of a distressed and\nconquered province to that of a free and independent state, governed\nby its own laws.\n\nRobert Bruce continued to reign gloriously for several years, and\nthe Scots seemed, during his government, to have acquired a complete\nsuperiority over their neighbours. But then we must remember, that\nEdward II who then reigned in England, was a foolish prince, and\nlistened to bad counsels; so that it is no wonder that he was beaten\nby so wise and experienced a general as Robert Bruce, who had fought\nhis way to the crown through so many disasters, and acquired in\nconsequence so much renown.\n\nIn the last year of Robert the Bruce's reign, he became extremely\nsickly and infirm, chiefly owing to a disorder called the leprosy,\nwhich he had caught during the hardships and misfortunes of his\nyouth, when he was so frequently obliged to hide himself in woods\nand morasses, without a roof to shelter him. He lived at a castle\ncalled Cardross, on the beautiful banks of the river Clyde, near to\nwhere it joins the sea; and his chief amusement was to go upon the\nriver, and down to the sea in a ship, which he kept for his\npleasure. He was no longer able to sit upon his war-horse, or to\nlead his army to the field.\n\nWhile Bruce was in this feeble state, Edward II, King of England,\ndied, and was succeeded by his son Edward III. He turned out\nafterward to be one of the wisest and bravest Kings whom England\never had; but when he first mounted the throne he was very young.\nThe war between the English and the Scots still lasted at the time.\n\nBut finally a peace was concluded with Robert Bruce, on terms highly\nhonourable to Scotland; for the English King renounced all\npretensions to the sovereignty of the country.\n\nGood King Robert did not long survive this joyful event. He was not\naged more than four-and-fifty years, but his bad health was caused\nby the hardships which he sustained during his youth, and at length\nhe became very ill. Finding that he could not recover, he assembled\naround his bedside the nobles and counsellors in whom he most\ntrusted. He told them, that now, being on his death-bed, he sorely\nrepented all his misdeeds, and particularly, that he had, in his\npassion, killed Comyn with his own hand, in the church and before\nthe altar. He said that if he had lived, he had intended to go to\nJerusalem to make war upon the Saracens who held the Holy Land, as\nsome expiation for the evil deeds he had done. But since he was\nabout to die, he requested of his dearest friend and bravest\nwarrior, and that was the good Lord James Douglas, that he should\ncarry his heart to the Holy Land. Douglas wept bitterly as he\naccepted this office--the last mark of the Brace's confidence and\nfriendship.\n\nThe King soon afterward expired; and his heart was taken out from\nhis body and embalmed, that is, prepared with spices and perfumes,\nthat it might remain a long time fresh and uncorrupted. Then the\nDouglas caused a case of silver to be made, into which he put the\nBruce's heart, and wore it around his neck, by a string of silk and\ngold. And he set forward for the Holy Land, with a gallant train of\nthe bravest men in Scotland, who, to show their value of and sorrow\nfor their brave King Robert Bruce, resolved to attend his heart to\nthe city of Jerusalem. In going to Palestine Douglas landed in\nSpain, where the Saracen King, or Sultan of Granada, called Osmyn,\nwas invading the realms of Alphonso, the Spanish King of Castile.\nKing Alphonso received Douglas with great honour and distinction,\nand easily persuaded the Scottish Earl that he would do good service\nto the Christian cause, by assisting him to drive back the Saracens\nof Granada before proceeding on his voyage to Jerusalem. Lord\nDouglas and his followers went accordingly to a great battle against\nOsmyn, and had little difficulty in defeating the Saracens. But\nbeing ignorant of the mode of fighting among the cavalry of the\nEast, the Scots pursued the chase too far, and the Moors, when they\nsaw them scattered and separated from each other, turned suddenly\nback, with a loud cry of ALLAH ILLAH ALLAH, which is their shout of\nbattle, and surrounded such of the Scottish knights and squires as\nwere dispersed from each other.\n\nIn this new skirmish, Douglas saw Sir William St. Clair of Roslyn\nfighting desperately, surrounded by many Moors, who were having at\nhim with their sabres. \"Yonder worthy knight will be slain,\" Douglas\nsaid, \"unless he have instant help.\" With that he galloped to his\nrescue, but presently was himself also surrounded by many Moors.\nWhen he found the enemy press so thick round him, as to leave him no\nchance of escaping, the Earl took from his neck the Bruce's heart,\nand speaking to it, as he would have done to the King, had he been\nalive--\"Pass first in fight,\" he said, \"as thou wert wont to do, and\nDouglas will follow thee, or die.\"\n\nHe then threw the King's heart among the enemy, and rushing forward\nto the place where it fell, was there slain. His body was found\nlying above the silver case, as if it had been his last object to\ndefend the Bruce's heart.\n\nSuch of the Scottish knights as remained alive returned to their own\ncountry. They brought back the heart of the Bruce, and the bones of\nthe good Lord James. The Bruce's heart was buried below the high\naltar in Melrose Abbey. As for his body, it was laid in the\nsepulchre in the midst of the church of Dunfermline, under a marble\nstone. The church afterward becoming ruinous, and the roof falling\ndown with age, the monument was broken to pieces, and nobody could\ntell where it stood. But when they were repairing the church at\nDunfermline, and removing the rubbish, lo! they found fragments of\nthe marble tomb of Robert Bruce. Then they began to dig farther,\nthinking to discover the body of this celebrated monarch; and at\nlength they came to the skeleton of a tall man, and they knew it\nmust be that of King Robert, both as he was known to have been\nburied in a winding sheet of cloth of gold, of which many fragments\nwere found about this skeleton, and also because the breastbone\nappeared to have been sawed through, in order to take the heart. A\nnew tomb was prepared into which the bones were laid with profound\nrespect.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVII\n\nGEORGE WASHINGTON\n\n\nOn the 4th of March, 1797, Washington went to the inauguration of\nhis successor as President of the United States. The Federal\nGovernment was sitting in Philadelphia at that time and Congress\nheld sessions in the courthouse on the corner of Sixth and Chestnut\nStreets.\n\nAt the appointed hour Washington entered the hall followed by John\nAdams, who was to take the oath of office. When they were seated\nWashington arose and introduced Mr. Adams to the audience, and then\nproceeded to read in a firm clear voice his brief valedictory--not\nhis great \"Farewell Address,\" for that had already been published. A\nlady who sat on \"the front bench,\" \"immediately in front\" of\nWashington describes the scene in these words:\n\n\"There was a narrow passage from the door of entrance to the room.\nGeneral Washington stopped at the end to let Mr. Adams pass to the\nchair. The latter always wore a full suit of bright drab, with loose\ncuffs to his coat. General Washington's dress was a full suit of\nblack. His military hat had the black cockade. There stood the\n'Father of his Country' acknowledged by nations the first in war,\nfirst in peace, and first in the hearts of his countrymen. No\nmarshals with gold-coloured scarfs attended him; there was no\ncheering, no noise; the most profound silence greeted him as if the\ngreat assembly desired to hear him breathe. Mr. Adams covered his\nface with both his hands; the sleeves of his coat and his hands were\ncovered with tears. Every now and then there was a suppressed sob. I\ncannot describe Washington's appearance as I felt it--perfectly\ncomposed and self-possessed till the close of his address. Then when\nstrong, nervous sobs broke loose, when tears covered the faces, then\nthe great man was shaken. I never took my eyes from his face. Large\ndrops came from his eyes. He looked as if his heart was with them,\nand would be to the end.\"\n\nOn Washington's retirement from the Presidency one of his first\nemployments was to arrange his papers and letters. Then on returning\nto his home the venerable master found many things to repair. His\nlanded estate comprised eight thousand acres, and was divided into\nfarms, with enclosures and farm-buildings. And now with body and\nmind alike sound and vigorous, he bent his energies to directing the\nimprovements that marked his last days at Mount Vernon.\n\nIn his earlier as well as in later life, his tour of the farms would\naverage from eight to twelve or fourteen miles a day. He rode upon\nhis farms entirely unattended, opening his gates, pulling down and\nputting up his fences as he passed, visiting his labourers at their\nwork, inspecting all the operations of his extensive establishment\nwith a careful eye, directing useful improvements and superintending\nthem in their progress.\n\nHe usually rode at a moderate pace in passing through his fields.\nBut when behind time this most punctual of men would display the\nhorsemanship of his earlier days, and a hard gallop would bring him\nup to time so that the sound of his horse's hoofs and the first\ndinner bell would be heard together at a quarter before three.\n\nA story is told that one day an elderly stranger meeting a\nRevolutionary worthy out hunting, a long-tried and valued friend of\nthe chief, accosted him, and asked whether Washington was to be\nfound at the mansion house, or whether he was off riding over his\nestate. The friend answered that he was visiting his farms, and\ndirected the stranger the road to take, adding, \"You will meet, sir,\nwith an old gentleman riding alone in plain drab clothes, a broad-\nbrimmed white hat, a hickory switch in his hand, and carrying an\numbrella with a long staff, which is attached to his saddle-bow--\nthat person, sir, is General Washington.\"\n\nPrecisely at a quarter before three the industrious farmer returned,\ndressed, and dined at three o'clock. At this meal he ate heartily,\nbut was not particular in his diet with the exception of fish, of\nwhich he was excessively fond. Touching his liking for fish, and\nillustrative of his practical economy and abhorrence of waste and\nextravagance, an anecdote is told of the time he was President and\nliving in Philadelphia. It happened that a single shad had been\ncaught in the Delaware, and brought to the city market. His steward,\nSam Fraunces, pounced upon the fish with the speed of an osprey,\ndelighted that he had secured a delicacy agreeable to the palate of\nhis chief, and careless of the expense, for which the President had\noften rebuked him.\n\nWhen the fish was served Washington suspected the steward had\nforgotten his order about expenditure for the table and said to\nFraunces, who stood at his post at the sideboard, \"What fish is\nthis?\" \"A shad, sir, a very fine shad,\" the steward answered. \"I\nknow your excellency is particularly fond of this kind of fish, and\nwas so fortunate as to procure this one--the only one in market,\nsir, the first of the season.\" \"The price, sir, the price?\" asked\nWashington sternly. \"Three--three dollars,\" stammered the\nconscience-stricken steward. \"Take it away,\" thundered the chief,\n\"take it away, sir! It shall never be said that my table set such an\nexample of luxury and extravagance.\" Poor Fraunces tremblingly did\nas he was told, and the first shad of the season was carried away\nuntouched to be speedily discussed in the servants' dining room.\n\nAlthough the Farmer of Mount Vernon was much retired from the\nbusiness world, he was by no means inattentive to the progress of\npublic affairs. When the post bag arrived, he would select his\nletters and lay them aside for reading in the seclusion of his\nlibrary. The newspapers he would peruse while taking his single cup\nof tea (his only supper) and read aloud passages of peculiar\ninterest, remarking the matter as he went along. He read with\ndistinctness and precision. These evenings with his family always\nended at precisely nine o'clock, when he bade everyone good night\nand retired to rest, to rise again at four and renew the same\nroutine of labour and enjoyment.\n\nWashington's last days, like those that preceded them in the course\nof a long and well-spent life, were devoted to constant and careful\nemployment. His correspondence both at home and abroad was immense.\nYet no letter was unanswered. One of the best-bred men of his time,\nWashington deemed it a grave offence against the rules of good\nmanners and propriety to leave letters unanswered. He wrote with\ngreat facility, and it would be a difficult matter to find another\nwho had written so much, who had written so well. General Harry Lee\nonce observed to him, \"We are amazed, sir, at the vast amount of\nwork you get through.\" Washington answered, \"Sir, I rise at four\no'clock, and a great deal of my work is done while others sleep.\"\n\nHe was the most punctual of men, as we said. To this admirable\nquality of rising at four and retiring to rest at nine at all\nseasons, this great man owed his ability to accomplish mighty\nlabours during his long and illustrious life. He was punctual in\neverything and made everyone about him punctual. So careful a man\ndelighted in always having about him a good timekeeper. In\nPhiladelphia, the first President regularly walked up to his\nwatchmaker's to compare his watch with the regulator. At Mount\nVernon the active yet punctual farmer invariably consulted the dial\nwhen returning from his morning ride, and before entering his house.\n\nThe affairs of the household took order from the master's accurate\nand methodical arrangement of time. Even the fisherman on the river\nwatched for the cook's signal when to pull in shore and deliver his\ncatch in time for dinner.\n\nAmong the picturesque objects on the Potomac, to be seen from the\neastern portion of the mansion house, was the light canoe of the\nhouse's fisher. Father Jack was an African, an hundred years of age,\nand although enfeebled in body by weight of years, his mind\npossessed uncommon vigour. And he would tell of days long past when,\nunder African suns, he was made captive, and of the terrible battle\nin which his royal sire was slain, the village burned, and himself\nsent to the slave ship.\n\nFather Jack had in a considerable degree a leading quality of his\nrace--somnolency. Many an hour could the family of Washington see\nthe canoe fastened to a stake, with the old fisherman bent nearly\ndouble enjoying a nap, which was only disturbed by the jerking of\nthe white perch caught on his hook. But, as we just said, the\ndomestic duties of Mount Vernon were governed by clock time, and the\nslumbers of fisher Jack might occasion inconvenience, for the cook\nrequired the fish at a certain hour, so that they might be served\nsmoking hot precisely at three. At times he would go to the river\nbank and make the accustomed signals, and meet with no response. The\nold fisherman would be quietly reposing in his canoe, rocked by the\ngentle undulations of the stream, and dreaming, no doubt, of events\n\"long time ago.\" The importunate master of the kitchen, grown\nferocious by delay, would now rush up and down the water's edge,\nand, by dint of loud shouting, cause the canoe to turn its prow to\nthe shore. Father Jack, indignant at its being supposed he was\nasleep at his post, would rate those present on his landing, \"What\nyou all meek such a debil of a noise for, hey? I wa'nt sleep, only\nnoddin'.\"\n\nThe establishment of Mount Vernon employed a perfect army of\ndomestics; yet to each one was assigned special duties, and from\neach one strict performance was required. There was no confusion\nwhere there was order, and the affairs of this estate, embracing\nthousands of acres and hundreds of dependents, were conducted with\nas much ease, method and regularity as the affairs of a homestead of\naverage size.\n\nMrs. Washington was an accomplished house-wife of the olden time,\nand she gave constant attention to all matters of her household, and\nby her skill and management greatly contributed to the comfort and\nentertainment of the guests who enjoyed the hospitality of her home.\n\nThe best charities of life were gathered round Washington in the\nlast days at Mount Vernon. The love and veneration of a whole people\nfor his illustrious services, his generous and untiring labours in\nthe cause of public utility; his kindly demeanour to his family\ncircle, his friends, and numerous dependents; his courteous and\ncordial hospitality to his guests, many of them strangers from far\ndistant lands; these charities, all of which sprang from the heart,\nwere the ornament of his declining years and granted the most\nsublime scene in nature, when human greatness reposes upon human\nhappiness.\n\nOn the morning of the 17th of December, 1799, the General was\nengaged in making some improvements in the front of Mount Vernon. As\nwas usual with him, he carried his own compass, noted his\nobservations, and marked out the ground. The day became rainy, with\nsleet, and the improver remained so long exposed to the inclemency\nof the weather as to be considerably wetted before his return to the\nhouse. About one o'clock he was seized with chilliness and nausea,\nbut having changed his clothes he sat down to his indoor work. At\nnight, on joining his family circle, he complained of a slight\nindisposition. Upon the night of the following day, having borne\nacute suffering with composure and fortitude, he died.\n\nIn person Washington was unique. He looked like no one else. To a\nstature lofty and commanding he united a form of the manliest\nproportions, and a dignifed, graceful, and imposing carriage. In the\nprime of life he stood six feet, two inches. From the period of the\nRevolution there was an evident bending in his frame so passing\nstraight before, but the stoop came from the cares and toils of that\narduous contest rather than from years. For his step was firm, his\nappearance noble and impressive long after the time when the\nphysical properties of men are supposed to wane.\n\nA majestic height was met by corresponding breadth and firmness. His\nwhole person was so cast in nature's finest mould as to resemble an\nancient statue, all of whose parts unite to the perfection of the\nwhole. But with all its development of muscular power, Washington's\nform had no look of bulkiness, and so harmonious were its\nproportions that he did not appear so tall as his portraits have\nrepresented. He was rather spare than full during his whole life.\n\nThe strength of Washington's arm was shown on several occasions. He\nthrew a stone from the bed of the stream to the top of the Natural\nBridge, Virginia, and another stone across the Rappahannock at\nFredericksburg. The stone was said to be a piece of slate about the\nsize of a dollar with which he spanned the bold river, and it took\nthe ground at least thirty yards on the other side. Many have since\ntried this feat, but none have cleared the water.\n\nIn 1772 some young men were contending at Mount Vernon in the\nexercise of pitching the bar. The Colonel looked on for a time, then\ngrasping the missile in his master hand he whirled the iron through\nthe air and it fell far beyond any of its former limits. \"You see,\nyoung gentlemen,\" said the chief with a smile, \"that my arm yet\nretains some portion of my early vigour.\" He was then in his\nfortieth year and probably in the fullness of his physical powers.\nThose powers became rather mellowed than decayed by time, for \"his\nage was like lusty winter, frosty yet kindly,\" and up to his sixty-\neighth year he mounted a horse with surprising agility and rode with\nease and grace. Rickets, the celebrated equestrian, used to say, \"I\ndelight to see the General ride and make it a point to fall in with\nhim when I hear he is out on horseback--his seat is so firm, his\nmanagement so easy and graceful that I who am an instructor in\nhorsemanship would go to him and learn to ride.\"\n\nIn his later days, the General, desirous of riding pleasantly,\nprocured from the North two horses of a breed for bearing the\nsaddle. They were well to look at, and pleasantly gaited under the\nsaddle, but also scary and therefore unfitted for the service of one\nwho liked to ride quietly on his farm, occasionally dismounting and\nwalking in his fields to inspect improvements. From one of these\nhorses the General sustained a fall--probably the only fall he ever\nhad from a horse in his life. It was upon a November evening, and he\nwas returning from Alexandria to Mount Vernon with three friends and\na groom. Having halted a few moments he dismounted, and upon rising\nin his stirrup again, the horse, alarmed at the glare from a fire\nnear the road-side, sprang from under his rider who came heavily to\nthe ground. His friends rushed to give him assistance, thinking him\nhurt. But the vigorous old man was upon his feet again, brushing the\ndust from his clothes, and after thanking those who came to his aid\nsaid that he had had a very complete tumble, and that it was owing\nto a cause no horseman could well avoid or control--that he was only\npoised in his stirrup, and had not yet gained his saddle when the\nscary animal sprang from under him.\n\nBred in the vigorous school of frontier warfare, \"the earth for his\nbed, his canopy the heavens,\" Washington excelled the hunter and\nwoodsman in their athletic habits and in those trials of manhood\nwhich filled the hardy days of his early life. He was amazingly\nswift of foot, and could climb steep mountains seemingly without\neffort. Indeed in all the tests of his great physical powers he\nappeared to make little effort. When he overthrew the strong man of\nVirginia in wrestling, upon a day when many of the finest athletes\nwere engaged in the contest, he had retired to the shade of a tree\nintent upon the reading of a book. It was only after the champion of\nthe games strode through the ring calling for nobler antagonists,\nand taunting the reader with the fear that he would be thrown, that\nWashington closed his book. Without taking off his coat he calmly\nobserved that fear did not enter his make-up; then grappling with\nthe champion he hurled him to the ground. \"In Washington's lion-like\ngrasp,\" said the vanquished wrestler, \"I became powerless, and went\ndown with a force that seemed to jar the very marrow in my bones.\"\nThe victor, regardless of shouts at his success, leisurely retired\nto his shade, and again took up his book.\n\nWashington's powers were chiefly in his limbs. His frame was of\nequal breadth from the shoulders to the hips. His chest was not\nprominent but rather hollowed in the centre. He never entirely\nrecovered from a pulmonary affection from which he suffered in early\nlife. His frame showed an extraordinary development of bone and\nmuscle; his joints were large, as were his feet; and could a cast of\nhis hand have been preserved, it would be ascribed to a being of a\nfabulous age. Lafayette said, \"I never saw any human being with so\nlarge a hand as the General's.\"\n\nOf the awe and reverence which the presence of Washington inspired\nwe have many records. \"I stood,\" says one writer, \"before the door\nof the Hall of Congress in Philadelphia when the carriage of the\nPresident drew up. It was a white coach, or rather of a light cream\ncolour, painted on the panels with beautiful groups representing the\nfour seasons. As Washington alighted and, ascending the steps,\npaused on the platform, he was preceded by two gentleman bearing\nlarge white wands, who kept back the eager crowd that pressed on\nevery side. At that moment I stood so near I might have touched his\nclothes; but I should as soon have thought of touching an electric\nbattery. I was penetrated with deepest awe. Nor was this the feeling\nof the school-boy I then was. It pervaded, I believe, every human\nbeing that approached Washington; and I have been told that even in\nhis social hours, this feeling in those who shared them never\nsuffered intermission. I saw him a hundred times afterward but never\nwith any other than the same feeling. The Almighty, who raised up\nfor our hour of need a man so peculiarly prepared for its whole\ndread responsibility, seems to have put a stamp of sacredness upon\nhis instrument. The first sight of the man struck the eye with\ninvoluntary homage and prepared everything around him to obey.\n\n\"At the time I speak of he stood in profound silence and had the\nstatue-like air which mental greatness alone can bestow. As he\nturned to enter the building, and was ascending the staircase to the\nCongressional hall, I glided along unseen, almost under the cover of\nthe skirts of his dress, and entered into the lobby of the House\nwhich was in session to receive him.\n\n\"At Washington's entrance there was a most profound silence. House,\nlobbies, gallery, all were wrapped in deepest attention. And the\nsouls of the entire assemblage seemed peering from their eyes as the\nnoble figure deliberately and unaffectedly advanced up the broad\naisle of the hall between ranks of standing senators and members,\nand slowly ascended the steps leading to the speaker's chair.\n\n\"The President having seated himself remained in silence, and the\nmembers took their seats, waiting for the speech. No house of\nworship was ever more profoundly still than that large and crowded\nchamber.\n\n\"Washington was dressed precisely as Stuart has painted him in full-\nlength portrait--in a full suit of the richest black velvet, with\ndiamond knee-buckles and square silver buckles set upon shoes\njapanned with most scrupulous neatness; black silk stockings, his\nshirt ruffled at the breast and waist, a light dress sword, his hair\nprofusely powdered, fully dressed, so as to project at the sides,\nand gathered behind in a silk bag ornamented with a large rose of\nblack ribbon. He held his cocked hat, which had a large black\ncockade on one side of it, in his hand, as he advanced toward the\nchair, and when seated, laid it on the table.\n\n\"At length thrusting his hand within the side of his coat, he drew\nforth a roll of manuscript which he opened, and rising read in a\nrich, deep, full, sonorous voice his opening address to Congress.\nHis enunciation was deliberate, justly emphasised, very distinct,\nand accompanied with an air of deep solemnity as being the utterance\nof a mind conscious of the whole responsibility of its position, but\nnot oppressed by it. There was ever about the man something which\nimpressed one with the conviction that he was exactly and fully\nequal to what he had to do. He was never hurried; never negligent;\nbut seemed ever prepared for the occasion, be it what it might. In\nhis study, in his parlour, at a levee, before Congress, at the head\nof the army, he seemed ever to be just what the situation required.\nHe possessed, in a degree never equalled by any human being I ever\nsaw, the strongest, most ever-present sense of propriety.\"\n\nIn the early part of Washington's administration, great complaints\nwere made by political opponents of the aristocratic and royal\ndemeanour of the President. Particularly, these complaints were\nabout the manner of his receiving visitors. In a letter Washington\ngave account of the origin of his levees: \"Before the custom was\nestablished,\" he wrote, \"which now accommodates foreign characters,\nstrangers and others, who, from motives of curiosity, respect for\nthe chief magistrate, or other cause, are induced to call upon me, I\nwas unable to attend to any business whatever; for gentlemen,\nconsulting their own convenience rather than mine, were calling\nafter the time I rose from breakfast, and often before, until I sat\ndown to dinner. This, as I resolved not to neglect my public duties,\nreduced me to the choice of one of these alternatives: either to\nrefuse visits altogether, or to appropriate a time for the reception\nof them. ... To please everybody was impossible. I therefore,\nadopted that line of conduct which combined public advantage with\nprivate convenience. ... These visits are optional, they are made\nwithout invitation; between the hours of three and four every\nTuesday I am prepared to receive them. Gentlemen, often in great\nnumbers, come and go, chat with each other, and act as they please.\nA porter shows them into the room, and they retire from it when they\nchoose, without ceremony. At their first entrance they salute me,\nand I them, and as many as I can I talk to.\"\n\nAn English gentleman after visiting President Washington wrote,\n\"There was a commanding air in his appearance which excited respect\nand forbade too great a freedom toward him, independently of that\nspecies of awe which is always felt in the moral influence of a\ngreat character. In every movement, too, there was a polite\ngracefulness equal to any met with in the most polished individuals\nof Europe, and his smile was extraordinarily attractive. ... It\nstruck me no man could be better formed for command. A stature of\nsix feet, a robust but well--proportioned frame calculated to stand\nfatigue, without that heaviness which generally attends great\nmuscular strength and abates active exertion, displayed bodily power\nof no mean standard. A light eye and full-the very eye of genius and\nreflection. His nose appeared thick, and though it befitted his\nother features was too coarsely and strongly formed to be the\nhandsomest of its class. His mouth was like no other I ever saw: the\nlips firm, and the under-jaw seeming to grasp the upper with force,\nas if its muscles were in full action when he sat still.\"\n\nSuch Washington appeared to those who saw and knew him. Such he\nremains to our vision. His memory is held by us in undying honour.\nNot only his memory alone but also the memory of his associates in\nthe struggle for American Independence. Homage we should have in our\nhearts for those patriots and heroes and sages who with humble means\nraised their native land-now our native land--from the depths of\ndependence, and made it a free nation. And especially for\nWashington, who presided over the nation's course at the beginning\nof the great experiment in self-government and, after an unexampled\ncareer in the service of freedom and our humankind, with no dimming\nof august fame, died calmly at Mount Vernon--the Father of his\nCountry.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XVIII\n\nROBERT E. LEE\n\nA BOY'S IMPRESSIONS\n\n\nThe first vivid recollection I have of my father is his arrival in\nArlington, after his return from the Mexican War. I can remember\nsome events of which he seemed a part, when we lived at Fort\nHamilton, New York, about 1846, but they are more like dreams, very\nindistinct and disconnected--naturally so, for I was at that time\nabout three years old. But the day of his return to Arlington, after\nan absence of more than two years, I have always remembered. I had a\nfrock or blouse of some light wash material, probably cotton, a blue\nground dotted over with white diamond figures. Of this I was very\nproud, and wanted to wear it on this important occasion. Eliza, my\n\"mammy,\" objecting, we had a contest and I won. Clothed in this, my\nvery best, and with my hair freshly curled in long golden ringlets,\nI went down into the large hall where the whole household was\nassembled, eagerly greeting my father, who had just arrived on\nhorseback from Washington, having missed in some way the carriage\nwhich had been sent for him.\n\nThere was visiting us at this time Mrs. Lippitt, a friend of my\nmother's, with her little boy, Armistead, about my age and size,\nalso with long curls. Whether he wore as handsome a suit as mine I\ncannot remember, but he and I were left together in the background,\nfeeling rather frightened and awed. After a moment's greeting to\nthose surrounding him, my father pushed through the crowd,\nexclaiming:\n\n\"Where is my little boy?\"\n\nHe then took up in his arms and kissed--not me his own child, in his\nbest frock with clean face and well-arranged curls--but my little\nplaymate, Armistead. I remember nothing more of any circumstances\nconnected with that time, save that I was shocked and humiliated. I\nhave no doubt that he was at once informed of his mistake and made\nample amends to me.\n\nA letter from my father to his brother, Captain S. S. Lee, United\nStates Navy, dated \"Arlington, June 30, 1848,\" tells of his coming\nhome:\n\n\"Here I am once again, my dear Smith, perfectly surrounded by Mary\nand her precious children, who seem to devote themselves to staring\nat the furrows in my face and the white hairs in my head. It is not\nsurprising that I am hardly recognisable to some of the young eyes\naround me and perfectly unknown to the youngest. But some of the\nolder ones gaze with astonishment and wonder at me, and seem at a\nloss to reconcile what they see and what was pictured in their\nimaginations. I find them, too, much grown, and all well, and I have\nmuch cause for thankfulness, and gratitude to that good God who has\nonce more united us.\"\n\nMy next recollection of my father is in Baltimore, while we were on\na visit to his sister, Mrs. Marshall, the wife of Judge Marshall. I\nremember being down on the wharves, where my father had taken me to\nsee the landing of a mustang pony which he had gotten for me in\nMexico, and which had been shipped from Vera Cruz to Baltimore in a\nsailing vessel. I was all eyes for the pony, and a very miserable,\nsad-looking object he was. From his long voyage, cramped quarters,\nand unavoidable lack of grooming, he was rather a disappointment to\nme, but I soon got over all that. As I grew older, and was able to\nride and appreciate him, he became the joy and pride of my life. I\nwas taught to ride on him by Jim Connally, the faithful Irish\nservant of my father, who had been with him in Mexico. Jim used\noften to tell me, in his quizzical way, that he and \"Santa Anna\"\n(the pony's name) were the first men on the walls of Chepultepec.\nThis pony was pure white, five years old, and about fourteen hands\nhigh. For his inches, he was as good a horse as I ever have seen.\nWhile we lived in Baltimore, he and \"Grace Darling,\" my father's\nfavorite mare, were members of our family.\n\nGrace Darling was a chestnut of fine size and of great power, which\nhe had bought in Texas on his way out to Mexico, her owner having\ndied on the march out. She was with him during the entire campaign,\nand was shot seven times; at least, as a little fellow I used to\nbrag about that number of bullets being in her, and since I could\npoint out the scars of each one, I presume it was so. My father was\nvery much attached to and proud of her, always petting her and\ntalking to her in a loving way, when he rode her or went to see her\nin her stall. Of her he wrote on his return home:\n\n\"I only arrived yesterday, after a long journey up the Mississippi,\nwhich route I was induced to take, for the better accommodation of\nmy horse, as I wished to spare her as much annoyance and fatigue as\npossible, she already having undergone so much suffering in my\nservice. I landed her at Wheeling and left her to come over with\nJim.\"\n\nSanta Anna was found lying cold and dead in the park of Arlington\none morning in the winter of '60-'61. Grace Darling was taken in the\nspring of '62 from the White House [Footnote: My brother's place on\nthe Pamtmkey River, where the mare had been sent for safe keeping.]\nby some Federal quartermaster, when McClellan occupied that place as\nhis base of supplies during his attack on Richmond. When we lived in\nBaltimore, I was greatly struck one day by hearing two ladies who\nwere visiting us saying:\n\n\"Everybody and everything--his family, his friends, his horse, and\nhis dog--loves Colonel Lee.\"\n\nThe dog referred to was a black-and-tan terrier named \"Spec,\" very\nbright and intelligent and really a member of the family, respected\nand beloved by ourselves and well known to all who knew us. My\nfather picked up its mother in the \"Narrows\" while crossing from\nFort Hamilton to the fortifications opposite on Staten Island. She\nhad doubtless fallen overboard from some passing vessel and had\ndrifted out of sight before her absence had been discovered. He\nrescued her and took her home, where she was welcomed by his\nchildren and made much of. She was a handsome little thing, with\ncropped ears and a short tail. My father named her \"Dart.\" She was a\nfine ratter, and with the assistance of a Maltese cat, also a member\nof the family, the many rats which infested the house and stables\nwere driven away or destroyed. She and the cat were fed out of the\nsame plate, but Dart was not allowed to begin the meal until the cat\nhad finished.\n\nSpec was born at Fort Hamilton, and was the joy of us children, our\npet and companion. My father would not allow his tail and ears to be\ncropped. When he grew up, he accompanied us everywhere and was in\nthe habit of going into church with the family. As some of the\nlittle ones allowed their devotions to be disturbed by Spec's\npresence, my father determined to leave him at home on those\noccasions. So the next Sunday morning he was sent up to the front\nroom of the second story. After the family had left for church he\ncontented himself for a while looking out of the window, which was\nopen, it being summer time. Presently impatience overcame his\njudgment and he jumped to the ground, landed safely notwithstanding\nthe distance, joined the family just as they reached the church, and\nwent in with them as usual, much to the joy of the children. After\nthat he was allowed to go to church whenever he wished. My father\nwas very fond of him, and loved to talk to him and about him as if\nhe were really one of us. In a letter to my mother, dated Fort\nHamilton, January 18, 1846, when she and her children were on a\nvisit to Arlington, he thus speaks of him:\n\n\"... I am very solitary, and my only company is my dog and cats. But\nSpec has become so jealous now that he will hardly let me look at\nthe cats. He seems to be afraid that I am going off from him, and\nnever lets me stir without him. Lies down in the office from eight\nto four without moving, and turns himself before the fire as the\nside from it becomes cold. I catch him sometimes sitting up looking\nat me so intently that I am for a moment startled....\"\n\nIn a letter from Mexico written a year later--December 25, 1846, to\nmy mother, he says:\n\n\"... Can't you cure poor Spec? Cheer him up--take him to walk with\nyou and tell the children to cheer him up. ...\"\n\nIn another letter from Mexico to his eldest boy, just after the\ncapture of Vera Cruz, he sends this message to Spec:\n\n\"... Tell him I wish he was here with me. He would have been of\ngreat service in telling me when I was coming upon the Mexicans.\nWhen I was reconnoitering around Vera Cruz, their dogs frequently\ntold me by barking when I was approaching them too nearly. ...\"\n\nWhen he returned to Arlington from Mexico, Spec was the first to\nrecognise him, and the extravagance of his demonstrations of delight\nleft no doubt that he knew at once his kind master and loving\nfriend, though he had been absent three years. Sometime during our\nresidence in Baltimore, Spec disappeared, and we never knew his\nfate.\n\nFrom that early time I began to be impressed with my father's\ncharacter, as compared with other men. Every member of the household\nrespected, revered, and loved him as a matter of course, but it\nbegan to dawn on me that every one else with whom I was thrown held\nhim high in their regard. At forty-five years of age he was active,\nstrong, and as handsome as he had ever been. I never remember his\nbeing ill. I presume he was indisposed at times; but no impressions\nof that kind remain. He was always bright and gay with us little\nfolk--romping, playing, and joking with us. With the older children,\nhe was just as companionable, and I have seen him join my elder\nbrothers and their friends when they would try their powers at a\nhigh jump put up in our yard. The two younger children he petted a\ngreat deal, and our greatest treat was to get into his bed in the\nmorning and lie close to him, listening while he talked to us in his\nbright, entertaining way. This custom we kept up until I was ten\nyears old and over. Although he was so joyous and familiar with us,\nhe was very firm on all proper occasions, never indulged us in\nanything that was not good for us, and exacted the most implicit\nobedience. I always knew that it was impossible to disobey my\nfather. I felt it in me, I never thought why, but was perfectly sure\nwhen he gave an order that it had to be obeyed. My mother I could\nsometimes circumvent, and at times took liberties with her orders,\nconstruing them to suit myself; but exact obedience to every mandate\nof my father was a part of my life and being at that time.\n\nIn January, 1849, Captain Lee was one of a board of army officers\nappointed to examine the coasts of Florida and its defences, and to\nrecommend locations for new fortifications. In April he was assigned\nto the duty of the construction of Fort Carroll, in the Patapsco\nRiver, below Baltimore. He was there, I think, for three years, and\nlived in a house on Madison Street, three doors above Biddle. I used\nto go down with him to the Fort quite often. We went to the wharf in\na \"bus,\" and there we were met by a boat with two oarsmen, who rowed\nus down to Sellers Point, where I was generally left under the care\nof the people who lived there, while my father went over to the\nFort, a short distance out in the river. These days were very happy\nones for me. The wharves, the shipping, the river, the boat and\noarsmen, and the country dinner we had at the house at Sellers\nPoint, all made a strong impression on me, but above all I remember\nmy father; his gentle, loving care for me, his bright talk, his\nstories, his maxims and teachings. I was very proud of him and of\nthe evident respect for and trust in him every one showed. These\nimpressions, obtained at that time, have never left me. He was a\ngreat favourite in Baltimore, as he was everywhere, especially with\nladies and little children. When he and my mother went out in the\nevening to some entertainment, we were often allowed to sit up and\nsee them off; my father, as I remember, always in full uniform,\nalways ready and waiting for my mother, who was generally late. He\nwould then chide her gently, in a playful way and with a bright\nsmile. He would then bid us good-bye, and I would go to sleep with\nthis beautiful picture on my mind, the golden epaulets and all--\nchiefly the epaulets.\n\nIn Baltimore, I went to my first school, that of a Mr. Rollins on\nMulberry Street, and I remember how interested my father was in my\nstudies, my failures, and my little triumphs. Indeed, he was so\nalways, as long as I was at school and college, and I only wish that\nall of the kind, sensible, useful letters he wrote me had been\npreserved.\n\nMy memory as to the move from Baltimore, which occurred in 1852, is\nvery dim. I think the family went to Arlington to remain until my\nfather had arranged for our removal to the new home at West Point.\n\nMy recollection of my father as Superintendent of the West Point\nMilitary Academy is much more distinct. He lived in the house which\nis still occupied by the Superintendent. It was built of stone,\nlarge and roomy, with gardens, stables, and pasture lots. We, the\ntwo youngest children, enjoyed it all. Grace Darling and Santa Anna\nwere with us, and many a fine ride did I have with my father in the\nafternoons, when, released from his office, he would mount his old\nmare and, with Santa Anna carrying me by his side, take a five or\nten-mile trot. Though the pony cantered delightfully, he would make\nme keep him in a trot, saying playfully that the hammering I\nsustained was good for me. We rode the dragoonseat, no posting, and\nuntil I became accustomed to it I used to be very tired by the time\nI got back.\n\nMy father was the most punctual man I ever knew. He was always ready\nfor family prayers, for meals, and met every engagement, social or\nbusiness, at the moment. He expected all of us to be the same, and\ntaught us the use and necessity of forming such habits for the\nconvenience of all concerned. I never knew him late for Sunday\nservice at the Post Chapel. He used to appear some minutes before\nthe rest of us, in uniform, jokingly rallying my mother for being\nlate, and for forgetting something at the last moment. When he could\nwait no longer for her, he would say that he was off, and would\nmarch along to church by himself or with any of the children who\nwere ready. There he sat very straight--well up the middle aisle--\nand, as I remember, always became very sleepy, and sometimes even\ntook a little nap during the sermon. At that time, this drowsiness\nof my father's was something awful to me, inexplicable. I know it\nwas very hard for me to keep awake, and frequently I did not; but\nwhy he, who to my mind could do everything that was right without\nany effort, should sometimes be overcome, I could not understand,\nand did not try to do so.\n\nIt was against the rules that the cadets should go beyond certain\nlimits without permission. Of course they did go sometimes, and when\ncaught were given quite a number of \"demerits.\" My father was riding\none afternoon with me, and, while rounding a turn in the mountain\nroad with a deep woody ravine on one side, we came suddenly upon\nthree cadets far beyond the limits. They immediately leaped over a\nlow wall on the side of the road, and disappeared from our view. We\nrode on for a minute in silence; then my father said: \"Did you know\nthose young men? But no; if you did, don't say so. I wish boys would\ndo what is right, it would be so much easier for all parties!\"\n\nHe knew he would have to report them, but, not being sure of who\nthey were, I presume he wished to give them the benefit of the\ndoubt. At any rate, I never heard any more about it. One of the\nthree asked me next day if my father had recognised them, and I told\nhim what had occurred.\n\nBy this time I had become old enough to have a room to myself, and,\nto encourage me in being useful and practical, my father made me\nattend to it, just as the cadets had to do with their quarters in\nbarracks and in camp. He at first even went through the form of\ninspecting it, to see if I had performed my duty properly, and I\nthink I enjoyed this until the novelty wore off. However, I was kept\nat it, becoming in time very proficient, and the knowledge so\naccquired has been of great use to me all through life.\n\nMy father always encouraged me in every healthy outdoor exercise and\nsport. He taught me to ride, constantly giving me minute\ninstructions, with the reasons for them. He gave me my first sled,\nand sometimes used to come out where we boys were coasting to look\non. He gave me my first pair of skates, and placed me in the care of\na trustworthy person, inquiring regularly how I progressed. It was\nthe same with swimming, which he was very anxious I should learn in\na proper manner. Professor Bailey had a son about my age, now\nhimself a professor of Brown University, Providence, Rhode Island,\nwho became my great chum. I took my first lesson in the water with\nhim, under the direction and supervision of his father. My father\ninquired constantly how I was getting along, and made me describe\nexactly my method and stroke, explaining to me what he considered\nthe best way to swim, and the reasons therefor. I went to a day\nschool at West Point, and had always a sympathetic helper in my\nfather. Often he would come into my room where I studied at night,\nand, sitting down by me, would show me how to overcome a hard\nsentence in my Latin reader or a difficult sum in arithmetic, not by\ngiving me the translation of the troublesome sentence or the answer\nto the sum, but by showing me, step by step, the way to the right\nsolutions. He was very patient, very loving, very good to me, and I\nremember trying my best to please him in my studies. When I was able\nto bring home a good report from my teacher, he was greatly pleased,\nand showed it in his eye and voice, but he always insisted that I\nshould get the \"maximum,\" that he would never be perfectly satisfied\nwith less. That I did sometimes win it, deservedly, I know was due\nto his judicious and wise method of exciting my ambition and\nperseverance. I have endeavoured to show how fond my father was of\nhis children, and as the best picture I can offer of his loving,\ntender devotion to us all, I give here a letter from him written\nabout this time to one of his daughters who was staying with our\ngrandmother, Mrs. Custis, at Arlington:\n\n\"WestPoint, February 25, 1853.\n\n\"My precious Annie: I take advantage of your gracious permission to\nwrite to you, and there is no telling how far my feelings might\ncarry me were I not limited by the conveyance furnished by the Mim's\n[Footnote: His pet name for my mother.] letter, which lies before\nme, and which must, the Mim says so, go in this morning's mail. But\nmy limited time does not diminish my affection for you, Annie, nor\nprevent my thinking of you and wishing for you. I long to see you\nthrough the dilatory nights. At dawn when I rise, and all day, my\nthoughts revert to you in expressions that you cannot hear or I\nrepeat. I hope you will always appear to me as you are now painted\non my heart, and that you will endeavour to improve and so conduct\nyourself as to make you happy and me joyful all our lives. Diligent\nand earnest attention to all your duties can only accomplish this. I\nam told you are growing very tall, and I hope very straight. I do\nnot know what the cadets will say if the Superintendent's children\ndo not practice what he demands of them. They will naturally say he\nhad better attend to his own before he corrects other people's\nchildren, and as he permits his to stoop it is hard he will not\nallow them. You and Agnes [Footnote: His third daughter.] must not,\ntherefore, bring me into discredit with my young friends, or give\nthem reason to think that I require more of them than of my own. I\npresume your mother has told all about us, our neighbours and our\naffairs. And indeed she may have done that and not said much either,\nso far as I know. But we are all well and have much to be grateful\nfor. To-morrow we anticipate the pleasure of your brother's\n[Footnote: His son, Curtis.] company, which is always a source of\npleasure to us. It is the only time we see him, except when the\nCorps come under my view at some of their exercises, when my eye is\nsure to distinguish him among his comrades and follow him over the\nplain. Give much love to your dear grandmother, grandfather, Agnes,\nMiss Sue, Lucretia, and all friends, including the servants. Write\nsometimes, and think always of your\n\n\"Affectionate father,\n\n\"R. E. LEE.\"\n\nIn a letter to my mother, written many years previous to this, he\nsays:\n\n\"I pray God to watch over and direct our efforts in guarding our\ndear little son. ... Oh, what pleasure I lose in being separated\nfrom my children! Nothing can compensate me for that. ...\"\n\nIn another letter of about the same time:\n\n\"You do not know how much I have missed you and the children, my\ndear Mary. To be alone in a crowd is very solitary. In the woods, I\nfeel sympathy with the trees and birds, in whose company I take\ndelight, but experience no pleasure in a strange crowd. I hope you\nare all well and will continue so, and, therefore, must again urge\nyou to be very prudent and careful of those dear children. If I\ncould only get a squeeze at that little fellow, turning up his sweet\nmouth to 'keese baba!' You must not let him run wild in my absence,\nand will have to exercise firm authority over all of them. This will\nnot require severity or even strictness, but constant attention and\nan unwavering course. Mildness and forebearance will strengthen\ntheir affection for you, while it will maintain your control over\nthem.\"\n\nIn a letter to one of his sons he writes as follows:\n\n\"I cannot go to bed, my dear son, without writing you a few lines to\nthank you for your letter, which gave me great pleasure ... You and\nCustis must take great care of your kind mother and dear sisters\nwhen your father is dead. To do that you must learn to be good. Be\ntrue, kind and generous, and pray earnestly to God to enable you to\nkeep His Commandments 'and walk in the same all the days of your\nlife.' I hope to come on soon to see that little baby you have got\nto show me. You must give her a kiss for me, and one to all the\nchildren, to your mother, and grandmother.\"\n\nThe expression of such sentiments as these was common to my father\nall through his life, and to show that it was all children and not\nhis own little folk alone that charmed and fascinated him, I quote\nfrom a letter to my mother:\n\n\" ... I saw a number of little girls all dressed up in their white\nfrocks and pantalets, their hair plaited and tied up with ribbons,\nrunning and chasing each other in all directions. I counted twenty-\nthree nearly the same size. As I drew up my horse to admire the\nspectacle, a man appeared at the door with the twenty-fourth in his\narms.\n\n\"'My friend,' said I, 'are all these your children?'\n\n\"'Yes,' he said, 'and there are nine more in the house, and this is\nthe youngest.'\n\n\"Upon further inquiry, however, I found that they were only\ntemporarily his, and that they were invited to a party at his house.\nHe said, however, he had been admiring them before I came up, and\njust wished that he had a million of dollars, and that they were all\nhis in reality. I do not think the eldest exceeded seven or eight\nyears old. It was the prettiest sight I have seen in the west, and,\nperhaps, in my life. ...\"\n\nAs Superintendent of the Military Academy at West Point my father\nhad to entertain a good deal, and I remember well how handsome and\ngrand he looked in uniform, how genial and bright, how considerate\nof everybody's comfort of mind and body. He was always a great\nfavourite with the ladies, especially the young ones. His fine\npresence, his gentle, courteous manners and kindly smile put them at\nonce at ease with him.\n\nAmong the cadets at this time were my eldest brother, Custis, who\ngraduated first in his class in 1854, and my father's nephew, Fitz\nLee, a third classman, besides other relatives and friends. Saturday\nbeing a half--holiday for the cadets, it was the custom for all\nsocial events in which they were to take part to be placed on that\nafternoon or evening. Nearly every Saturday a number of these young\nmen were invited to our house to tea, or supper, for it was a good,\nsubstantial meal. The misery of some of these lads, owing to\nembarrassment, possibly from awe of the Superintendent, was pitiable\nand evident even to me, a boy of ten or twelve years old. But as\nsoon as my father got command, as it were, of the situation, one\ncould see how quickly most of them were put at their ease. He would\naddress himself to the task of making them feel comfortable and at\nhome, and his genial manner and pleasant ways at once succeeded.\n\nIn the spring of 1853 my grandmother, Mrs. Custis, died. This was\nthe first death in our immediate family. She was very dear to us,\nand was admired, esteemed, and loved by all who had ever known her.\nBishop Meade, of Virginia, writes of her:\n\n\"Mrs. Mary Custis, of Arlington, the wife of Mr. Washington Custis,\ngrandson of Mrs. General Washington, was the daughter of Mr. William\nFitzhugh, of Chatham. Scarcely is there a Christian lady in our land\nmore honoured than she was, and none more loved and esteemed. For\ngood sense, prudence, sincerity, benevolence, unaffected piety,\ndisinterested zeal in every good work, deep humanity and retiring\nmodesty--for all the virtues which adorn the wife, the mother, and\nthe friend--I never knew her superior.\"\n\nIn a letter written to my mother soon after this sad event my father\nsays:\n\n\"May God give you strength to enable you to bear and say, 'His will\nbe done.' She has gone from all trouble, care and sorrow to a holy\nimmortality, there to rejoice and praise forever the God and Saviour\nshe so long and truly served. Let that be our comfort and that our\nconsolation. May our death be like hers, and may we meet in\nhappiness in Heaven.\"\n\nIn another letter about the same time he writes:\n\n\"She was to me all that a mother could be, and I yield to none in\nadmiration for her character, love for her virtues, and veneration\nfor her memory.\"\n\nAt this time, my father's family and friends persuaded him to allow\nR. S. Weir, Professor of Painting and Drawing at the Academy, to\npaint his portrait. As far as I remember, there was only one\nsitting, and the artist had to finish it from memory or from the\nglimpses he obtained of his subject in the regular course of their\ndaily lives at \"The Point.\" This picture shows my father in the\nundress uniform of a Colonel of Engineers, [Footnote: His\nappointment of Superintendent of the Military Academy earned with it\nthe temporary rank of Colonel of Engineers] and many think it a very\ngood likeness. To me, the expression of strength peculiar to his\nface is wanting, and the mouth fails to portray that sweetness of\ndisposition so characteristic of his countenance. Still, it was like\nhim at that time. My father never could bear to have his picture\ntaken, and there are no likenesses of him that really give his sweet\nexpression. Sitting for a picture was such a serious business with\nhim that he never could \"look pleasant.\"\n\nIn 1855 my father was appointed to the lieutenant-colonelcy of the\nSecond Cavalry, one of the two regiments just raised. He left West\nPoint to enter upon his new duties, and his family went to Arlington\nto live. During the fall and winter of 1855 and '56, the Second\nCavalry was recruited and organised at Jefferson Barracks, Missouri,\nunder the direction of Colonel Lee, and in the following spring was\nmarched to western Texas, where it was assigned the duty of\nprotecting the settlers in that wild country.\n\nI did not see my father again until he came to my mother at\nArlington after the death of her father, G. W. P. Custis, in\nOctober, 1857. He took charge of my mother's estate after her\nfather's death, and commenced at once to put it in order--not an\neasy task, as it consisted of several plantations and many negroes.\nI was at a boarding-school, after the family returned to Arlington,\nand saw my father only during the holidays, if he happened to be at\nhome. He was always fond of farming, and took great interest in the\nimprovements he immediately began at Arlington relating to the\ncultivation of the farm, to the buildings, roads, fences, fields,\nand stock, so that in a very short time the appearance of everything\non the estate was improved. He often said that he longed for the\ntime when he could have a farm of his own, where he could end his\ndays in quiet and peace, interested in the care and improvement of\nhis own land. This idea was always with him. In a letter to his son,\nwritten in July, 1865, referring to some proposed indictments of\nprominent Confederates, he says:\n\n\"... As soon as I can ascertain their intention toward me, if not\nprevented, I shall endeavour to procure some humble, but quiet abode\nfor your mother and sisters, where I hope they can be happy. As I\nbefore said, I want to get in some grass country where the natural\nproduct of the land will do much for my subsistence, ...\"\n\nAgain in a letter to his son, dated October, 1865, after he had\naccepted the presidency of Washington College, Lexington, Virginia:\n\n\"I should have selected a more quiet life and a more retired abode\nthan Lexington. I should have preferred a small farm, where I could\nhave earned my daily bread.\"\n\nAbout this time I was given a gun of my own, and was allowed to go\nshooting by myself. My father, to give me an incentive, offered a\nreward for every crow-scalp I could bring him, and, in order that I\nmight get to work at once, advanced a small sum with which to buy\npowder and shot, this sum to be returned to him out of the first\nscalps obtained. My industry and zeal were great, my hopes high, and\nby good luck I did succeed in bagging two crows about the second\ntime I went out. I showed them with great pride to my father,\nintimating that I should shortly be able to return him his loan, and\nthat he must be prepared to hand over to me very soon further\nrewards for my skill. His eyes twinkled, and his smile showed that\nhe had strong doubts of my making an income by killing crows, and he\nwas right, for I never killed another, though I tried hard and long.\n\nI saw but little of my father after we left West Point. He went to\nTexas, as I have stated, in '55 and remained until the fall of '57,\nthe time of my grandfather's death. He was then at Arlington about a\nyear. Returning to his regiment, he remained in Texas until the\nautumn of '59, when he came again to Arlington, having applied for\nleave in order to finish the settling of my grandfather's estate.\nDuring this visit he was selected by the Secretary of War to\nsuppress the famous \"John Brown Raid,\" and was sent to Harper's\nFerry in command of the United States troops.\n\nFrom his memorandum book the following entries are taken:\n\n\"October 17, 1859. Received orders from the Secretary of War, in\nperson, to repair in evening train to Harper's Ferry.\n\n\"Reached Harper's Ferry at 11 P. M. ... Posted marines in the United\nStates Armory. Waited until daylight, as a number of citizens were\nheld as hostages, whose lives were threatened. Tuesday about\nsunrise, with twelve marines, under Lieutenant Green, broke in the\ndoor of the engine-house, secured the insurgents and relieved the\nprisoners unhurt. All the insurgents killed or mortally wounded, but\nfour, John Brown, Stevens, Coppie, and Shields.\"\n\nBrown was tried and convicted, and sentenced to be hanged on\nDecember 2, 1859. Colonel Lee writes as follows to his wife:\n\n\"Harper's Ferry, December 1, 1859.\n\n\"I arrived here, dearest Mary, yesterday about noon, with four\ncompanies from Fort Monroe, and was busy all the evening and night\ngetting accommodation for the men, etc., and posting sentinels and\npickets to insure timely notice of the approach of the enemy. The\nnight has passed off quietly. The feelings of the community seemed\nto be calmed down, and I have been received with every kindness. Mr.\nFry is among the officers from Old Point. There are several young\nmen, former acquaintance of ours, as cadets, Mr. Bingham of Custis's\nclass, Sam Cooper, etc., but the senior officers I never met before,\nexcept Captain Howe, the friend of our Cousin Harriet R----.\n\n\"I presume we are fixed here till after the 16th. To-morrow will\nprobably be the last of Captain Brown. There will be less interest\nfor the others, but still I think the troops will not be withdrawn\ntill they are similarly disposed of.\n\n\"Custis will have informed you that I had to go to Baltimore the\nevening that I left you, to make arrangements for the transportation\nfor the troops. ... This morning I was introduced to Mrs. Brown,\nwho, with a Mrs. Tyndall and a Mr. and Mrs. McKim, all from\nPhiladelphia, had come on to have a last interview with her husband.\nAs it is a matter over which I have no control I referred them to\nGeneral Taliaferro. [Footnote: General William B. Taliaferro,\ncommanding Virginia troops at Harper's Ferry.]\n\n\"You must write to me at this place. I hope you are all well. Give\nlove to everybody. Tell Smith [Footnote: Sidney Smith Lee, of the\nUnited States Navy, his brother.] that no charming women have\ninsisted on taking care of me as they are always doing of him--I am\nleft to my own resources. I will write you again soon, and will\nalways be truly and affectionately yours, \"R. E. LEE.\n\n\"MRS. M. C. LEE.\"\n\nIn February, 1860, he was ordered to take command of the Department\nof Texas. There he remained a year. The first months after his\narrival were spent in the vain pursuit of the famous brigand,\nCortinez, who was continually stealing across the Rio Grande,\nburning the homes, driving off the stock of the ranchmen, and then\nretreating into Mexico. The summer months he spent in San Antonio,\nand while there interested himself with the good people of that town\nin building an Episcopal church, to which he contributed largely.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XIX\n\nTHE YOUTH OF LINCOLN\n\n\nHe was long; he was strong; he was wiry. He was never sick, was\nalways good-natured, never a bully, always a friend of the weak, the\nsmall and the unprotected. He must have been a funny-looking boy.\nHis skin was sallow, and his hair was black, He wore a linsey-\nwoolsey shirt, buckskin breeches, a coon-skin cap, and heavy\n\"clumps\" of shoes. He grew so fast that his breeches never came down\nto the tops of his shoes, and, instead of stockings, you could\nalways see \"twelve inches of shinbones,\" sharp, blue, and narrow. He\nlaughed much, was always ready to give and take jokes and hard\nknocks, had a squeaky, changing voice, a small head, big ears--and\nwas always what Thackeray called \"a gentle-man.\" Such was Abraham\nLincoln at fifteen.\n\nHe was never cruel, mean, or unkind. His first composition was on\ncruelty to animals, written because he had tried to make the other\nboys stop \"teasin' tarrypins\"--that is, catching turtles and putting\nhot coals on their backs just to make them move along lively. He had\nto work hard at home; for his father would not, and things needed to\nbe attended to if \"the place\" was to be kept from dropping to\npieces.\n\nHe became a great reader. He read every book and newspaper he could\nget hold of, and if he came across anything in his reading that he\nwished to remember he would copy it on a shingle, because writing\npaper was scarce, and either learn it by heart or hide the shingle\naway until he could get some paper to copy it on. His father thought\nhe read too much. \"It will spile him for work,\" he said. \"He don't\ndo half enough about the place, as it is, now, and books and papers\nain't no good.\" But Abraham, with all his reading, did more work\nthan his father any day; his stepmother, too, took his side and at\nlast got her husband to let the boy read and study at home. \"Abe was\na good son to me,\" she said, many many years after, \"and we took\nparticular care when he was reading not to disturb him. We would\njust let him read on and on till he quit of his own accord.\"\n\nThe boy kept a sort of shingle scrap-book; he kept a paper scrap-\nbook, too. Into these he would put whatever he cared to keep--\npoetry, history, funny sayings, fine passages. He had a scrap-book\nfor his arithmetic \"sums,\" too, and one of these is still in\nexistence with this boyish rhyme in a boyish scrawl, underneath one\nof his tables of weights and measures:\n\n   Abraham Lincoln\n   his hand and pen\n   he will be good but\n   god knows when.\n\nGod did know when; and that boy, all unconsciously, was working\ntoward the day when his hand and pen were to do more for humanity\nthan any other hand or pen of modern times.\n\nLamps and candle were almost unknown in his home, and Abraham, flat\non his stomach, would often do his reading, writing, and ciphering\nin the firelight, as it flashed and flickered on the big hearth of\nhis log-cabin home. An older cousin, John Hanks, who lived for a\nwhile with the Lincolns, says that when \"Abe,\" as he always called\nthe great President, would come home, as a boy, from his work, he\nwould go to the cupboard, take a piece of corn bread for his supper,\nsit down on a chair, stretch out his long legs until they were\nhigher than his head--and read, and read, and read. \"Abe and I,\"\nsaid John Hanks, \"worked barefoot; grubbed it, ploughed it, mowed\nand cradled it; ploughed corn, gathered corn, and shucked corn, and\nAbe read constantly whenever he could get a chance.\"\n\nOne day Abraham found that a man for whom he sometimes worked owned\na copy of Weems's \"Life of Washington.\" This was a famous book in\nits day. Abraham borrowed it at once. When he was not reading it, he\nput it away on a shelf--a clapboard resting on wooden pins. There\nwas a big crack between the logs, behind the shelf, and one rainy\nday the \"Life of Washington\" fell into the crack and was soaked\nalmost into pulp. Old Mr. Crawford, from whom Abraham borrowed the\nbook, was a cross, cranky, and sour old fellow, and when the boy\ntold him of the accident he said Abraham must \"work the book out.\"\n\nThe boy agreed, and the old farmer kept him so strictly to his\npromise that he made him \"pull fodder\" for the cattle three days, as\npayment for the book! And that is the way that Abraham Lincoln\nbought his first book. For he dried the copy of Weems's \"Life of\nWashington\" and put it in his \"library.\" But what boy or girl of\ntoday would like to buy books at such a price?\n\nThis was the boy-life of Abraham Lincoln. It was a life of poverty,\nprivation, hard work, little play, and less money. The boy did not\nlove work. But he worked. His father was rough and often harsh and\nhard to him, and what Abraham learned was by making the most of his\nspare time. He was inquisitive, active, and hardy, and, in his\ncomfortless boyhood, he was learning lessons of self-denial,\nindependence, pluck, shrewdness, kindness, and persistence.\n\nIn the spring of 1830, there was another \"moving time\" for the\nLincolns. The corn and the cattle, the farm and its hogs were all\nsold at public \"vandoo,\" or auction, at low figures; and with all\ntheir household goods on a big \"ironed\" wagon drawn by four oxen,\nthe three related families of Hanks, Hall and Lincoln, thirteen in\nall, pushed on through the mud and across rivers, high from the\nspring freshets, out of Indiana, into Illinois.\n\nAbraham held the \"gad\" and guided the oxen. He carried with him,\nalso, a little stock of pins, needles, thread, and buttons. These he\npeddled along the way; and, at last, after fifteen days of slow\ntravel, the emigrants came to the spot picked out for a home. This\ntime it was on a small bluff on the north fork of the Sangamon\nRiver, ten miles west of the town of Decatur. The usual log house\nwas built; the boys, with the oxen, \"broke up,\" or cleared, fifteen\nacres of land, and split enough rails to fence it in. Abraham could\nswing his broad-axe better than any man or boy in the West; at one\nstroke he could bury the axe-blade to the haft, in a log, and he was\nalready famous as an expert rail-splitter.\n\nBy this time his people were settled in their new home, Abraham\nLincoln was twenty-one. He was \"of age\"--he was a man! By the law of\nthe land he was freed from his father's control; he could shift for\nhimself, and he determined to do so. This did not mean that he\ndisliked his father. It simply meant that he had no intention of\nfollowing his father's example. Thomas Lincoln had demanded all the\nwork and all the wages his son could earn or do, and Abraham felt\nthat he could not have a fair chance to accomplish anything or get\nahead in the world if he continued living with this shiftless,\nnever-satisfied, do-nothing man.\n\nSo he struck out for himself. In the summer of 1830, Abraham left\nhome and hired out on his own account, wherever he could get a job\nin the new country into which he had come. In that region of big\nfarms and no fences, these latter were needed, and Abraham Lincoln's\nstalwart arm and well-swung axe came well into play, cutting up logs\nfor fences. He was what was called in that western country a \"rail-\nsplitter.\" Indeed, one of the first things he did when he struck out\nfor himself was to split four hundred rails for every yard of \"blue\njeans\" necessary to make him a pair of trousers. From which it will\nbe seen that work was easier to get than clothes.\n\nHe soon became as much of a favourite in Illinois as he had been in\nIndiana. Other work came to him, and, in 1831, he \"hired out\" with a\nman named Offutt to help sail a flat-boat down the Mississippi to\nNew Orleans. Mr. Offutt had heard that \"Abe Lincoln\" was a good\nriver-hand, strong, steady, honest, reliable, accustomed to boating,\nand that he had already made one trip down the river. So he engaged\nyoung Lincoln at what seemed to the young rail-splitter princely\nwages--fifty cents a day, and a third share in the sixty dollars\nwhich was to be divided among the three boatmen at the end of the\ntrip.\n\nThey built the flat-boat at a saw mill near a place called Sangamon\ntown, \"Abe\" serving as cook of the camp while the boat was being\nbuilt. Then, loading the craft with barrel-pork, hogs, and corn,\nthey started on their voyage south. At a place called New Salem the\nflat-boat ran aground; but Lincoln's ingenuity got it off. He rigged\nup a queer contrivance of his own invention and lifted the boat off\nand over the obstruction, while all New Salem stood on the bank,\nfirst to criticise and then to applaud.\n\nJust what this invention was I cannot explain. But if you ever go\ninto the patent office at Washington, ask to see Abraham Lincoln's\npatent for transporting river boats over snags and shoals. The\nwooden model is there; for, so pleased was Lincoln with the success\nthat he thought seriously of becoming an inventor, and his first\ndesign was the patent granted to him in 1849, the idea for which\ngrew out of this successful floating of Offutt's flat-boat over the\nriver snags at New Salem nineteen years before.\n\nOnce again he visited New Orleans, returning home, as before, by\nsteamboat. That voyage is remarkable, because it first opened young\nLincoln's eyes to the enormity of African slavery. Of course, he had\nseen slaves before; but the sight of a slave sale in the old market\nplace of New Orleans seems to have aroused his anger and given him\nan intense hatred of slave-holding. He, himself, declared, years\nafter, that it was that visit to New Orleans, that had set him so\nstrongly against slavery.\n\nThere is a story told by one of his companions that Lincoln looked\nfor a while upon the dreadful scenes of the slave market and then,\nturning away, said excitedly, \"Come away, boys! If I ever get a\nchance, some day, to hit that thing\"--and he flung his long arm\ntoward the dreadful auction block--\"I'll hit it hard.\"\n\nSoon after he returned from his flat-boat trip to New Orleans he had\nan opportunity to show that he could not and would not stand what is\ntermed \"foul play.\" The same Mr. Offutt who had hired Lincoln to be\none of his flat-boat \"boys,\" gave him another opportunity for work.\nOffutt was what is called in the West a \"hustler\"; he had lots of\n\"great ideas\" and plans for making money; and, among his numerous\nenterprises, was one to open a country store and mill at New Salem--\nthe very same village on the Sangamon where, by his \"patent\ninvention,\" Lincoln had lifted the flat-boat off the snags.\n\nMr. Offutt had taken a great fancy to Lincoln, and offered him a\nplace as clerk in the New Salem store. The young fellow jumped at\nthe chance. It seemed to him quite an improvement on being a farm-\nhand, a flat-boatman, or a rail-splitter. It was, indeed, a step\nupward; for it gave him better opportunities for self-instruction\nand more chances for getting ahead.\n\nOffutt's store was a favourite \"loafing place\" for the New Salem\nboys and young men. Among these, were some of the roughest fellows\nin the settlement. They were known as the \"Clary Grove Boys,\" and\nthey were always ready for a fight, in which they would, sometimes,\nprove themselves to be bullies and tormentors. When, therefore,\nOffutt began to brag about his new clerk the Clary Grove Boys made\nfun at him; whereupon the storekeeper cried: \"What's that? You can\nthrow him? Well, I reckon not; Abe Lincoln can out-run, out-walk,\nout-rassle, knock out, and throw down any man in Sangamon County.\"\nThis was too much for the Clary Grove Boys. They took up Offutt's\nchallenge, and, against \"Abe,\" set up, as their champion and \"best\nman,\" one Jack Armstrong.\n\nAll this was done without Lincoln's knowledge. He had no desire to\nget into a row with anyone--least of all with the bullies who made\nup the Clary Grove Boys.\n\n\"I won't do it,\" he said, when Offutt told him of the proposed\nwrestling match. \"I never tussle and scuffle, and I will not. I\ndon't like this wooling and pulling.\"\n\n\"Don't let them call you a coward, Abe,\" said Offutt.\n\nOf course, you know what the end would be to such an affair. Nobody\nlikes to be called a coward--especially when he knows he is not one.\nSo, at last, Lincoln consented to \"rassle\" with Jack Armstrong. They\nmet, with all the boys as spectators. They wrestled, and tugged, and\nclenched, but without result. Both young fellows were equally\nmatched in strength. \"It's no use, Jack,\" Lincoln at last declared.\n\"Let's quit. You can't throw me, and I can't throw you. That's\nenough.\"\n\nWith that, all Jack's backers began to cry \"coward!\" and urged on\nthe champion to another tussle. Jack Armstrong was now determined to\nwin, by fair means or foul. He tried the latter, and, contrary to\nall rules of wrestling began to kick and trip, while his supporters\nstood ready to help, if need be, by breaking in with a regular free\nfight. This \"foul play\" roused the lion in Lincoln. He hated\nunfairness, and at once resented it. He suddenly put forth his\nSamson-like strength, grabbed the champion of the Clary Grove Boys\nby the throat, and, lifting him from the ground, held him at arm's\nlength and shook him as a dog shakes a rat. Then he flung him to the\nground, and, facing the amazed and yelling crowd, he cried: \"You\ncowards! You know I don't want to fight; but if you try any such\ngames, I'll tackle the whole lot of you. I've won the fight.\"\n\nHe had. From that day, no man in all that region dared to \"tackle\"\nyoung Lincoln, or to taunt him with cowardice. And Jack Armstrong\nwas his devoted friend and admirer.\n\nI have told you more, perhaps, of the famous fight than I ought--not\nbecause it was a fight, but because it gives you a glimpse of\nAbraham Lincoln's character. He disliked rows; he was too kind-\nhearted and good-natured to wish to quarrel with any one; but he\nhated unfairness, and was enraged at anything like persecution or\nbullying. If you will look up Shakespeare's play of \"Hamlet\" you\nwill see that Lincoln was ready to act upon the advice that old\nPolonius gave to his son Laertes:\n\n              \"Beware\n    Of entrance to a quarrel; but, being in,\n    Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee.\"\n\nHe became quite a man in that little community. As a clerk he was\nobliging and strictly honest. He was the judge and the settler of\nall disputes, and none thought of combating his decisions. He was\nthe village peacemaker. He hated profanity, drunkenness, and\nunkindness to women. He was feared and respected by all, and even\nthe Clary Grove Boys declared, at last, that he was \"the cleverest\nfeller that ever broke into the settlement.\"\n\nAll the time, too, he was trying to improve himself. He liked to sit\naround and talk and tell stories, just the same as ever; but he saw\nthis was not the way to get on in the world. He worked, whenever he\nhad the chance, outside of his store duties; and once, when trade\nwas dull and hands were short in the clearing, he \"turned to\" and\nsplit enough logs into rails to make a pen for a thousand hogs.\n\nWhen he was not at work he devoted himself to his books. He could\n\"read, write, and cipher\"--this was more education than most men\nabout him possessed; but he hoped, some day, to go before the\npublic; to do this, he knew he must speak and write correctly. He\ntalked to the village schoolmaster, who advised him to study English\ngrammar.\n\n\"Well, if I had a grammar,\" said Lincoln, \"I'd begin now. Have you\ngot one?\"\n\nThe schoolmaster had no grammar; but he told \"Abe\" of a man, six\nmiles off, who owned one. Thereupon, Lincoln started upon the run to\nborrow that grammar. He brought it back so quickly that the\nschoolmaster was astonished. Then he set to work to learn the \"rules\nand exceptions.\" He studied that grammar, stretched full length on\nthe store-counter, or under a tree outside the store, or at night\nbefore a blazing fire of shavings in the cooper's shop. And soon, he\nhad mastered it. He borrowed every book in New Salem; he made the\nschoolmaster give him lessons in the store; he button-holed every\nstranger that came into the place \"who looked as though he knew\nanything\"; until, at last, every one in New Salem was ready to echo\nOffutt's boast that \"Abe Lincoln\" knew more than any man \"in these\nUnited States.\" One day, in the bottom of an old barrel of trash, he\nmade a splendid \"find.\" It was two old law books. He read and re-\nread them, got all the sense and argument out of their dry pages,\nblossomed into a debater, began to dream of being a lawyer, and\nbecame so skilled in seeing through and settling knotty questions\nthat, once again, New Salem wondered at this clerk of Offutt's, who\nwas as long of head as of arms and legs, and declared that \"Abe\nLincoln could out-argue any ten men in the settlement.\"\n\nIn all the history of America there has been no man who started\nlower and climbed higher than Abraham Lincoln, the backwoods boy. He\nnever \"slipped back.\" He always kept going ahead. He broadened his\nmind, enlarged his outlook, and led his companions rather than let\nthem lead him. He was jolly company, good-natured, kind-hearted,\nfond of jokes and stories and a good time generally; but he was the\nchampion of the weak, the friend of the friendless, as true a knight\nand as full of chivalry as any one of the heroes in armour of whom\nyou read in \"Ivanhoe\" or \"The Talisman.\" He never cheated, never\nlied, never took an unfair advantage of anyone; but he was\nambitious, strong-willed, a bold fighter and a tough adversary--a\nfellow who would never \"say die\"; and who, therefore, succeeded.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XX\n\nFATHER DAMIEN\n\n\nAs we approached Molokai I found that the slow work of centuries had\nnearly covered its lava with verdure. At dawn we were opposite\nKalaupapa. Two little spired churches, looking precisely alike,\ncaught my eye first, and around them were dotted the white cottages\nof the lepers. But the sea was too rough for us to land. The waves\ndashed against the rocks, and the spray rose fifty feet into the\nair.\n\nWe went on to Kalawao, but were again disappointed; it was too\ndangerous to disembark. Finally it was decided to put off a boat for\na rocky point about a mile and a half distant from the town.\nClimbing down this point we saw about twenty lepers, and \"There is\nFather Damien!\" said our purser; and, slowly moving along the\nhillside, I saw a dark figure with a large straw hat. He came rather\npainfully down, and sat near the water-side, and we exchanged\nfriendly signals across the waves while my baggage was being got out\nof the hold--a long business, owing to the violence of the sea. At\nlast all was ready, and we went swinging across the waves, and\nfinally chose a fit moment for leaping on shore. Father Damien\ncaught me by the hand, and a hearty welcome shone from his kindly\nface as he helped me up the rock. He immediately called me by my\nname, \"Edward,\" and said it was \"like everything else, a\nprovidence,\" that he had met me at that irregular landing-place, for\nhe had expected the ship to stop at Kalaupapa.\n\nHe was now forty-nine years old--a thick-set, strongly built man,\nwith black curly hair and short beard, turning gray. His countenance\nmust have been handsome, with a full, well-curved mouth and a short,\nstraight nose; but he was now a good deal disfigured by leprosy,\nthough not so badly as to make it anything but a pleasure to look at\nhis bright, sensible face. His forehead was swollen and rigid, the\neyebrows gone, the nose somewhat sunk, and the ears greatly\nenlarged. His hands and face looked uneven with a sort of incipient\nboils, and his body also showed many signs of the disease, but he\nassured me that he had felt little or no pain since he had tried Dr.\nGoto's system of hot baths and Japanese medicine. The bathrooms that\nhave been provided by the Government are very nice.\n\nA large wooden box of presents from English friends, had been\nunshipped with the gurjun oil. It was, however, so large that Father\nDamien said it would be impossible for his lepers either to land it\nfrom the boat or to carry it to Kalawao, and that it must be\nreturned to the steamer and landed on some voyage when the sea was\nquieter. But I could not give up the pleasure of his enjoyment in\nits contents, so after some delay it was forced open in the boat,\nand the things were handed out one by one across the waves. The\nlepers all came round with their poor marred faces, and the presents\nwere carried home by them and our two selves.\n\nAs we ascended the hill on which the village is built Father Damien\nshowed me on our left the chicken farm. The lepers are justly proud\nof it, and before many days I had a fine fowl sent me for dinner,\nwhich, after a little natural timidity, I ate with thankfulness.\n\nOn arriving at Kalawao we speedily found ourselves inside the half-\nfinished church which was the darling of his heart. How he enjoyed\nplanning the places where the pictures which I had just brought him\nshould be placed! By the side of this church he showed me the palm-\ntree under which he lived for some weeks when he first arrived at\nthe settlement, in 1873. His own little four-roomed house almost\njoins the church.\n\nAfter dinner we went up the little flight of steps which led to\nFather Damien's balcony. This was shaded by a honeysuckle in\nblossom. Some of my happiest times at Molokai were spent in this\nlittle balcony, sketching him and listening to what he said. The\nlepers came up to watch my progress, and it was pleasant to see how\nhappy and at home they were. Their poor faces were often swelled and\ndrawn and distorted, with bloodshot goggle eyes.\n\nI offered to give a photograph of the picture to his brother in\nBelgium, but he said perhaps it would be better not to do so, as it\nmight pain him to see how he was disfigured. He looked mournfully at\nmy work. \"What an ugly face!\" he said; \"I did not know the disease\nhad made such progress.\" Looking-glasses are not in great request at\nMolokai!\n\nWhile I sketched him he often read his breviary. At other times we\ntalked on subjects that interested us both, especially about the\nwork of the Church Army, and sometimes I sang hymns to him--among\nothers, \"Brief life is here our portion,\" \"Art thou weary, art thou\nlanguid?\" and \"Safe home in port.\" At such times the expression of\nhis face was particularly sweet and tender. One day I asked him if\nhe would like to send a message to Cardinal Manning. He said that it\nwas not for such as he to send a message to so great a dignitary,\nbut after a moment's hesitation he added, \"I send my humble respects\nand thanks.\" I need scarcely say that he gave himself no airs of\nmartyr, saint, or hero--a humbler man I never saw. He smiled\nmodestly and deprecatingly when I gave him the Bishop of\nPeterborough's message--\"He won't accept the blessing of a heretic\nbishop, but tell him that he has my prayers, and ask him to give me\nhis.\" \"Does he call himself a heretic bishop?\" he asked doubtfully,\nand I had to explain that the bishop had probably used the term\nplayfully.\n\nOne day he told me about his early history. He was born on the 3rd\nof January, 1841, near Louvain in Belgium. On his nineteenth\nbirthday his father took him to see his brother, who was then\npreparing for the priesthood, and he left him there to dine, while\nhe himself went on to the neighbouring town. Young Joseph (this was\nhis baptismal name) decided that there was the opportunity for\ntaking the step which he had long been desiring to take, and when\nhis father came back he told him that he wished to return home no\nmore, and that it would be better thus to miss the pain of\nfarewells. His father consented unwillingly, but, as he was obliged\nto hurry to the conveyance which was to take him home, there was no\ntime for demur, and they parted at the station. Afterward, when all\nwas settled, Joseph revisited his home, and received his mother's\napproval and blessing.\n\nHis brother was bent on going to the South Seas for mission work,\nand all was arranged accordingly; but at the last he was laid low\nwith fever, and, to his bitter disappointment, forbidden to go. The\nimpetuous Joseph asked if it would be a consolation to his brother\nif he were to go instead, and, receiving an affirmative answer, he\nwrote surreptitiously, offering himself, and begging that he might\nbe sent, though his education was not yet finished. The students\nwere not allowed to send out letters till they had been submitted to\nthe Superior, but Joseph ventured to disobey.\n\nOne day, as he sat at his studies, the Superior came in, and said,\nwith a tender reproach, \"Oh, you impatient boy! you have written\nthis letter, and you are to go.\"\n\nJoseph jumped up, and ran out, and leaped about like a young colt.\n\n\"Is he crazy?\" said the other students.\n\nHe worked for some years on other islands in the Pacific, but it\nhappened that he was one day in 1873 present at the dedication of a\nchapel in the island of Maui, when the bishop was lamenting that it\nwas impossible for him to send a missioner to the lepers at Molokai\nand still less to provide them with a pastor. He had only been able\nto send them occasional and temporary help. Some young priests had\njust arrived in Hawaii for mission work, and Father Damien instantly\nspoke.\n\n\"Monseigneur,\" said he, \"here are your new missioners; one of them\ncould take my district, and if you will be kind enough to allow it,\nI will go to Molokai and labour for the poor lepers whose wretched\nstate of bodily and spiritual misfortune has often made my heart\nbleed within me.\"\n\nHis offer was accepted, and that very day, without any farewells, he\nembarked on a boat that was taking some cattle to the leper\nsettlement. When he first put his foot on the island he said to\nhimself, \"Now Joseph, my boy, this is your life-work.\"\n\nI did not find one person in the Sandwich Islands who had the least\ndoubt as to leprosy being contagious, though it is possible to be\nexposed to the disease for years without contracting it. Father\nDamien told me that he had always expected that he should sooner or\nlater become a leper, though exactly how he caught it he does not\nknow. But it was not likely that he would escape, as he was\nconstantly living in a polluted atmosphere, dressing the sufferers'\nsores, washing their bodies, visiting their death-beds, and even\ndigging their graves. In his own words is a report of the state of\nthings at Molokai sixteen years ago, and I think a portion will be\ninteresting:\n\n\"By special providence of our Divine Lord, who during His public\nlife showed a particular sympathy for the lepers, my way was traced\ntoward Kalawao in May, 1873. I was then thirty-three years of age,\nenjoying a robust good health.\n\n\"About eighty of the lepers were in the hospital; the others, with a\nvery few Kokuas (helpers), had taken their abode farther up toward\nthe valley. They had cut down the old pandanus groves to build their\nhouses, though a great many had nothing but branches of castor-oil\ntrees with which to construct their small shelters. These frail\nframes were covered with ki leaves or with sugar-cane leaves, the\nbest ones with pili grass. I, myself, was sheltered during several\nweeks under the single pandanus-tree which is preserved up to the\npresent in the churchyard. Under such primitive roofs were living\nwithout distinction of age or sex, old or new cases, all more or\nless strangers one to another, those unfortunate outcasts of\nsociety. They passed their time with playing cards, hula (native\ndances), drinking fermented ki-root beer, home-made alcohol, and\nwith the sequels of all this. Their clothes were far from being\nclean and decent, on account of the scarcity of water, which had to\nbe brought at that time from a great distance. Many a time in\nfulfilling my priestly duty at their domiciles I have been compelled\nto run outside to breathe fresh air. To counteract the bad smell I\nmade myself accustomed to the use of tobacco, whereupon the smell of\nthe pipe preserved me somewhat from carrying in my clothes the\nnoxious odour of the lepers. At that time the progress of the\ndisease was fearful, and the rate of mortality very high. The\nmiserable condition of the settlement gave it the name of a living\ngraveyard, which name, I am happy to state, is to-day no longer\napplicable to our place.\"\n\nIn 1874 a \"cona\" (south) wind blew down most of the lepers'\nwretched, rotten abodes, and the poor sufferers lay shivering in the\nwind and rain, with clothes and blankets wet through. In a few days\nthe grass beneath their sleeping-mats began to emit a \"very\nunpleasant vapour.\" \"I at once,\" says Father Damien, \"called the\nattention of our sympathising agent to the fact, and very soon there\narrived several schooner-loads of scantling to build solid frames\nwith, and all lepers in distress received, on application, the\nnecessary material for the erection of decent houses.\" Friends sent\nthem rough boards and shingles and flooring. Some of the lepers had\na little money, and hired carpenters. For those without means the\npriest, with his leper boys, did the work of erecting a good many\nsmall houses.\n\n\"I remember well that when I arrived here,\" again says Father\nDamien, \"the poor people were without any medicines, with the\nexception of a few physics and their own native remedies. It was a\ncommon sight to see people going round with fearful ulcers, which,\nfor the want of a few rags or a piece of lint and a little salve,\nwere left exposed. Not only were their sores neglected but any one\ngetting a fever, or any of the numerous ailments that lepers are\nheir to, was carried off for want of some simple medicine.\n\n\"Previous to my arrival here it was acknowledged and spoken of in\nthe public papers as well as in private letters that the greatest\nwant at Kalawao was a spiritual leader. It was owing in a great\nmeasure to this want that vice as a general rule existed instead of\nvirtue, and degradation of the lowest type went ahead as a leader of\nthe community. ... When once the disease prostrated them women and\nchildren were often cast out, and had to find some other shelter.\nSometimes they were laid behind a stone wall, and left there to die,\nand at other times a hired hand would carry them to the hospital.\n\n\"As there were so many dying people, my priestly duty toward them\noften gave me the opportunity to visit them at their domiciles, and\nalthough my exhortations were especially addressed to the prostrated\noften they would fall upon the ears of public sinners, who little by\nlittle became conscious of the consequences of their wicked lives,\nand began to reform, and thus, with the hope in a merciful Saviour,\ngave up their bad habits.\n\n\"Kindness to all, charity to the needy, a sympathising hand to the\nsufferers and the dying, in conjunction with a solid religious\ninstruction to my listeners, have been my constant means to\nintroduce moral habits among the lepers. I am happy to say that,\nassisted by the local administration, my labours here, which seemed\nto be almost in vain at the beginning, have, thanks to a kind\nProvidence, been greatly crowned with success.\"\n\nThe water supply of Molokai was a pleasant subject with Father\nDamien. When he first arrived the lepers could only obtain water by\ncarrying it from the gulch on their poor shoulders; they had also to\ntake their clothes to some distance when they required washing, and\nit was no wonder that they lived in a very dirty state. He was much\nexercised about the matter, and one day, to his great joy, he was\ntold that at the end of a valley called Waihanau there was a natural\nreservoir. He set out with two white men and some of his boys, and\ntravelled up the valley till he came with delight to a nearly\ncircular basin of most delicious ice-cold water. Its diameter was\nseventy-two feet by fifty-five, and not far from the bank they\nfound, on sounding, that it was eighteen feet deep. There it lay at\nthe foot of a high cliff, and he was informed by the natives that\nthere had never been a drought in which this basin had dried up. He\ndid not rest till a supply of waterpipes had been sent them, which\nhe and all the able lepers went to work and laid. Henceforth clear\nsweet water has been available for all who desire to drink, to wash,\nor to bathe.\n\nIt was after living at the leper settlement for about ten years that\nFather Damien began to suspect that he was a leper. The doctors\nassured him that this was not the case. But he once scalded himself\nin his foot, and to his horror he felt no pain. Anaesthesia had\nbegun, and soon other fatal signs appeared. One day he asked Dr.\nArning, the great German doctor who was then resident in Molokai, to\nexamine him carefully.\n\n\"I cannot bear to tell you,\" said Dr. Arning, \"but what you say is\ntrue.\"\n\n\"It is no shock to me,\" said Damien, \"for I have felt sure of it.\"\n\nI may mention here that there are three kinds of leprosy. Father\nDamien suffered (as is often the case) both from the anaesthetic and\nthe tubercular forms of the disease. \"Whenever I preach to my\npeople,\" he said, \"I do not say 'my brethren,' as you do, but 'we\nlepers.' People pity me and think me unfortunate, but I think myself\nthe happiest of missionaries.\"\n\nHenceforth he came under the law of segregation, and journeys to the\nether parts of the islands were forbidden. But he worked on with the\nsame sturdy, cheerful fortitude, accepting the will of God with\ngladness, undaunted by the continual reminders of his coming fate,\nwhich met him in the poor creatures around him.\n\n\"I would not be cured,\" he said to me, \"if the price of my cure was\nthat I must leave the island and give up my work.\"\n\nA lady wrote to him, \"You have given up all earthly things to serve\nGod here and to help others, and I believe you must have NOW joy\nthat nothing can take from you and a great reward hereafter.\"\n\n\"Tell her,\" he said, with a quiet smile, \"that it is true. I DO have\nthat joy now.\"\n\nHe seldom talked of himself except in answer to questions, and he\nhad always about him the simplicity of a great man--\"clothed with\nhumility.\"\n\nMy last letter from him is dated:\n\n\"KALAWAO, 28th February, 1889.\n\n\"My DEAR EDWARD CLIFFORD--Your sympathising letter of 24th gives me\nsome relief in my rather distressed condition. I try my best to\ncarry, without much complaining and in a practical way, for my poor\nsoul's sanctification, the long-foreseen miseries of the disease,\nwhich, after all, is a providential agent to detach the heart from\nall earthly affection, and prompts much the desire of a Christian\nsoul to be united--the sooner the better--with Him who is her only\nlife.\n\n\"During your long travelling road homeward please do not forget the\nnarrow road. We both have to walk carefully, so as to meet together\nat the home of our common and eternal Father. My kind regards and\nprayers and good wishes for all sympathising friends. Bon voyage,\nmon cher ami, et au revoir au ceil--Votus tuus,\n\n\"J. Damien.\"\n\nAbout three weeks after writing this letter he felt sure that his\nend was near, and on the 28th March he took to his bed.\n\n\"You see my hands,\" he said. \"All the wounds are healing and the\ncrust is becoming black. You know that is a sign of death. Look at\nmy eyes too. I have seen so many lepers die that I cannot be\nmistaken. Death is not far off. I should have liked to see the\nBishop again, but le bon Dieu is calling me to keep Easter with\nHimself. God be blessed!\n\n\"How good He is to have preserved me long enough to have two priests\nby my side at my last moments, and also to have the good Sisters of\nCharity at the Leproserie. That has been my Nunc Dimittis. The work\nof the lepers is assured, and I am no longer necessary, and so will\ngo up yonder.\"\n\nFather Wendolen said, \"When you are up above, father, you will not\nforget those you leave orphans behind you?\"\n\n\"Oh no! If I have any credit with God, I will intercede for all in\nthe Leproserie.\"\n\n\"And will you, like Elijah, leave me your mantle, my father, in\norder that I may have your great heart?\"\n\n\"Why, what would you do with it?\" said the dying martyr, \"it is full\nof leprosy.\"\n\nHe rallied for a little while after this, and his watchers even had\na little hope that his days might be lengthened. Father Conradi,\nFather Wendolen, and Brother Joseph were much in his company.\nBrother James was his constant nurse. The Sisters from Kalaupapa\nvisited him often, and it is good to think that the sweet placid\nface and gentle voice of the Mother were near him in his last days.\nEverybody admired his wonderful patience. He who had been so ardent,\nso strong, and so playful, was now powerless on his couch. He lay on\nthe ground on a wretched mattress like the poorest leper. They had\nthe greatest difficulty in getting him to accept a bed. \"And how\npoorly off he was; he who had spent so much money to relieve the\nlepers had so forgotten himself that he had none of the comforts and\nscarcely the necessaries of life.\" Sometimes he suffered intensely;\nsometimes he was partly unconscious. He said that he was continually\nconscious of two persons being present with him. One was at the head\nof his bed and one at his feet. But who they were he did not say.\nThe terrible disease had concentrated itself in his mouth and\nthroat. As he lay there in his tiny domicile, with the roar of the\nsea getting fainter to his poor diseased ears, and the kind face of\nBrother James becoming gradually indistinct before his failing eyes,\ndid the thought come to him that after all his work was poor, and\nhis life half a failure? Many whom he had hoped much of had\ndisappointed him. Not much praise had reached him. The tide of\naffection and sympathy from England had cheered him, but England was\nso far off that it seemed almost like sympathy and affection from a\nstar. Churches were built, schools and hospitals were in working\norder, but there was still much to be done. He was only forty-nine,\nand he was dying.\n\n\"Well! God's will be done. He knows best. My work, with all its\nfaults and failures, is in His hands, and before Easter I shall see\nmy Saviour.\"\n\nThe breathing grew more laboured, the leprous eyes were clouded, the\nonce stalwart frame was fast becoming rigid. The sound of the\npassing bell was heard, and the wail of the wretched lepers pierced\nthe air. ... The last flickering breath was breathed, and the soul\nof Joseph Damien de Veuster arose like a lark to God.","title":"Heroes Every Child Should Know","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":102938}