straightway constructed a wonderful, speaking statue, and placed it in
the public square of the capital city. By its magic power this statue
could discern all that went on in the empire on the birthday of the
eldest prince, and it could tell the name of each laborer who worked in
secret on that day. Thus things continued for some years, and many men
were put to death.
Now, there was in the capital city a carpenter named Focus. He was a
diligent workman, laboring at his trade from early morning till late at
night. One year, when the prince's birthday came round, he continued to
work all that day.
The next morning he arose, dressed himself, and, before any one was
astir in the streets, went to the magic statue and said:--
“O statue, statue! because you have denounced so many of our citizens,
causing them to be put to death, I vow, if you accuse me, I will break
your head!”
Shortly after this the emperor dispatched messengers to the statue to
inquire if the law had been broken the day before. When the statue saw
them, it exclaimed:--
“Friends, look up! What see ye written on my forehead?”
They looked up and beheld three sentences that ran thus:--
“Times are altered!
“Men grow worse!
“He who speaks the truth will have his head broken!”
“Go,” said the statue, “declare to His Majesty what ye have seen and
read.”
The messenger accordingly departed and returned in haste to the emperor,
and related to him all that had occurred.
The emperor ordered his guard to arm and to march instantly to the
public square, where the statue was, and commanded that if any one had
attempted to injure it, he should be seized, bound hand and foot, and
dragged to the judgment hall.
The guard hastened to do the emperor's bidding. They approached the
statue and said:--
“Our emperor commands you to tell who it is that threatened you.”
The statue answered: “Seize Focus the carpenter. Yesterday he defied the
emperor's edict; this morning he threatened to break my head.”
The soldiers immediately arrested Focus, and dragged him to the judgment
hall.
“Friend,” said the emperor, “what do I hear of you? Why do you work on
my son's birthday?”
“Your Majesty,” answered Focus, “it is impossible for me to keep your
law. I am obliged to earn eight pennies every day, therefore was I
forced to work yesterday.”
“And why eight pennies?” asked the emperor.
“Every day through the year,” answered Focus, “I am bound to repay
two pennies I borrowed in my youth; two I lend; two I lose; and two I
spend.”
“How is this?” said the emperor; “explain yourself further.”
“Your Majesty,” replied Focus, “listen to me. I am bound each day to
repay two pennies to my old father, for when I was a boy he expended
upon me daily the like sum. Now he is poor and needs my assistance, and
I return what I formerly borrowed. Two other pennies I lend my son, who
is pursuing his studies, in order that, if by chance I should fall into
poverty, he may restore the loan to me, just as I am now doing to his
grandfather. Again, I lose two pennies on my wife, who is a scold
and has an evil temper. On account of her bad disposition I consider
whatever I give her entirely lost. Lastly, two other pennies I spend on
myself for meat and drink. I cannot do all this without working
every day. You now know the truth, and, I pray you, give a righteous
judgment.”
“Friend,” said the emperor, “you have answered well. Go and work
diligently at your calling.”
That same day the emperor annulled the law forbidding labor on his
son's birthday. Not long after this he died, and Focus the carpenter,
on account of his singular wisdom, was elected emperor in his stead. He
governed wisely, and after his death there was deposited in the royal
archives a portrait of Focus wearing a crown adorned with eight pennies.
THE CHAMPION STONE-CUTTER
BY HUGH MILLER
David Fraser was a famous Scotch hewer. On hearing that it had been
remarked among a party of Edinburgh masons that, though regarded as the
first of Glasgow stone-cutters, he would find in the eastern capital
at least his equals, he attired himself most uncouthly in a long-tailed
coat of tartan, and, looking to the life the untamed, untaught,
conceited little Celt, he presented himself on Monday morning, armed
with a letter of introduction from a Glasgow builder, before the foreman
of an Edinburgh squad of masons engaged upon one of the finer buildings
at that time in the course of erection.
The letter specified neither his qualifications nor his name. It had
been written merely to secure for him the necessary employment, and the
necessary employment it did secure.
The better workmen of the party were engaged, on his arrival, in hewing
columns, each of which was deemed sufficient work for a week; and David
was asked somewhat incredulously, by the foreman, if he could hew.
“Oh, yes, HE THOUGHT he could hew.”
“Could he hew columns such as these?”
“Oh, yes, HE THOUGHT he could hew columns such as these.”
A mass of stone, in which a possible column lay hid, was accordingly
placed before David, not under cover of the shed, which was already
occupied by workmen, but, agreeably to David's own request, directly
in front of it, where he might be seen by all, and where he straightway
commenced a most extraordinary course of antics.
Buttoning his long tartan coat fast around him, he would first look
along the stone from the one end, anon from the other, and then examine
it in front and rear; or, quitting it altogether for the time, he would
take up his stand beside the other workmen, and, after looking at them
with great attention, return and give it a few taps with the mallet, in
a style evidently imitative of theirs, but monstrously a caricature.
The shed all that day resounded with roars of laughter; and the only
thoroughly grave man on the ground was he who occasioned the mirth of
all the others.
Next morning David again buttoned his coat; but he got on much better
this day than the former. He was less awkward and less idle, though not
less observant than before; and he succeeded ere evening in tracing,
in workmanlike fashion, a few draughts along the future column. He was
evidently greatly improving!
On the morning of Wednesday he threw off his coat; and it was seen that,
though by no means in a hurry, he was seriously at work. There were no
more jokes or laughter; and it was whispered in the evening that the
strange Highlander had made astonishing progress during the day.
By the middle of Thursday he had made up for his two days' trifling, and
was abreast of the other workmen. Before night he was far ahead of them;
and ere the evening of Friday, when they had still a full day's work
on each of their columns, David's was completed in a style that defied
criticism; and, his tartan coat again buttoned around him, he sat
resting himself beside it.
The foreman went out and greeted him.
“Well,” he said, “you have beaten us all. You certainly CAN hew!”
“Yes,” said David, “I THOUGHT I could hew columns. Did the other men
take much more than a week to learn?”
“Come, come, DAVID FRASER,” replied the foreman, “we all guess who you
are. You have had your week's joke out; and now, I suppose, we must give
you your week's wages, and let you go away!”
“Yes,” said David, “work waits for me in Glasgow; but I just thought it
might be well to know how you hewed on this east side of the country.”
BILL BROWN'S TEST
BY CLEVELAND MOFFETT
All firemen have courage, but it cannot be known until the test how many
have this particular kind,--Bill Brown's kind.
What happened was this: Engine 29, pumping and pounding her prettiest,
stood at the northwest corner of Greenwich and Warren streets, so close
to the blazing drug-house that Driver Marks thought it wasn't safe there
for the three horses, and led them away. That was fortunate, but it left
Brown alone, right against the cheek of the fire, watching his boiler,
stoking in coal, keeping his steam-gauge at 75. As the fire gained,
chunks of red-hot sandstone began to smash down on the engine. Brown ran
his pressure up to 80, and watched the door anxiously where the boys had
gone in.
Then the explosion came, and a blue flame, wide as a house, curled its
tongues halfway across the street, enwrapping engine and man, setting
fire to the elevated railway station overhead, or such wreck of it as
the shock had left.
Bill Brown stood by his engine, with a wall of fire before him and a
sheet of fire above him. He heard quick footsteps on the pavements, and
voices, that grew fainter and fainter, crying, “Run for your lives!”
He heard the hose-wagon horses somewhere back in the smoke go plunging
away, mad with fright and their burns. He was alone with the fire, and
the skin was hanging in shreds on his hands, face, and neck. Only a
fireman knows how one blast of flame can shrivel up a man, and the pain
over the bared surfaces was,--well, there is no pain worse than that of
fire scorching in upon the quick flesh seared by fire.
Here, I think, was a crisis to make a very brave man quail. Bill Brown
knew perfectly well why every one was running; there was going to be
another explosion in a couple of minutes, maybe sooner, out of this hell
in front of him. And the order had come for every man to save himself,
and every man had done it except the lads inside. And the question was,
Should he run or should he stay and die? It was tolerably certain that
he would die if he stayed. On the other hand, the boys of old 29 were
in there. Devanny and McArthur, and Gillon and Merron, his friends, his
chums. He'd seen them drag the hose in through that door,--there it was
now, a long, throbbing snake of it,--and they hadn't come out. Perhaps
they were dead. Yes, but perhaps they weren't. If they were alive, they
needed water now more than they ever needed anything before. And they
couldn't get water if he quit his engine.
Bill Brown pondered this a long time, perhaps four seconds; then he fell
to stoking in coal, and he screwed her up another notch, and he eased
her running parts with the oiler. Explosion or not, pain or not, alone
or not, he was going to stay and make that engine hum. He had done the
greatest thing a man can do,--had offered his life for his friends.
It is pleasant to know that this sacrifice was averted. A quarter of a
minute or so before the second and terrible explosion, Devanny and his
men came staggering from the building. Then it was that Merron fell, and
McArthur checked his fight to save him. Then it was, but not until
then, that Bill Brown left Engine 29 to her fate (she was crushed by the
falling walls), and ran for his life with his comrades. He had waited
for them, he had stood the great test.
COLUMBUS DAY
(OCTOBER 12)
COLUMBUS AND THE EGG
BY JAMES BALDWIN (ADAPTED) [8]
[Footnote 8: From Thirty More Famous Stories Retold. Copyright, 1903, by
American Book Company.]
One day Columbus was at a dinner which a Spanish gentleman had given
in his honor, and several persons were present who were jealous of the
great admiral's success. They were proud, conceited fellows, and they
very soon began to try to make Columbus uncomfortable.
“You have discovered strange lands beyond the seas,” they said, “but
what of that? We do not see why there should be so much said about
it. Anybody can sail across the ocean; and anybody can coast along the
islands on the other side, just as you have done. It is the simplest
thing in the world.”
Columbus made no answer; but after a while he took an egg from a dish
and said to the company:--
“Who among you, gentlemen, can make this egg stand on end?”
One by one those at the table tried the experiment. When the egg had
gone entirely around and none had succeeded, all said that it could not
be done.
Then Columbus took the egg and struck its small end gently upon the
table so as to break the shell a little. After that there was no trouble
in making it stand upright.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “what is easier than to do this which you said
was impossible? It is the simplest thing in the world. Anybody can do
it,--AFTER HE HAS BEEN SHOWN HOW!”
COLUMBUS AT LA RABIDA
BY WASHINGTON IRVING (ADAPTED)
About half a league from the little seaport of Palos de Moguer, in
Andalusia, there stood, and continues to stand at the present day,
an ancient convent of Franciscan friars, dedicated to Santa Maria de
Rabida.
One day a stranger on foot, in humble guise, but of a distinguished air,
accompanied by a small boy, stopped at the gate of the convent and asked
of the porter a little bread and water for his child. While receiving
this humble refreshment, the prior of the convent, Juan Perez de
Marchena, happened to pass by, and was struck with the appearance of the
stranger. Observing from his air and accent that he was a foreigner, he
entered into conversation with him and soon learned the particulars of
his story.
That stranger was Columbus.
Accompanied by his little son Diego, he was on his way to the
neighboring town of Huelva, to seek a brother-in-law, who had married a
sister of his deceased wife.
The prior was a man of extensive information. His attention had been
turned in some measure to geographical and nautical science. He was
greatly interested by the conversation of Columbus, and struck with the
grandeur of his views. When he found, however, that the voyager was
on the point of abandoning Spain to seek the patronage of the court of
France, the good friar took the alarm.
He detained Columbus as his guest, and sent for a scientific friend
to converse with him. That friend was Garcia Fernandez, a physician of
Palos. He was equally struck with the appearance and conversation of
the stranger. Several conferences took place at the convent, at which
veteran mariners and pilots of Palos were present.
Facts were related by some of these navigators in support of the theory
of Columbus. In a word, his project was treated with a deference in the
quiet cloisters of La Rabida and among the seafaring men of Palos which
had been sought in vain among sages and philosophers.
Among the navigators of Palos was one Martin Alonzo Pinzon, the head
of a family of wealth, members of which were celebrated for their
adventurous expeditions. He was so convinced of the feasibility of
Columbus's plan that he offered to engage in it with purse and person,
and to bear the expenses of Columbus in an application to court.
Fray Juan Perez, being now fully persuaded of the importance of the
proposed enterprise, advised Columbus to repair to the court, and make
his propositions to the Spanish sovereigns, offering to give him a
letter of recommendation to his friend, the Prior of the Convent
of Prado and confessor to the queen, and a man of great political
influence; through whose means he would, without doubt, immediately
obtain royal audience and favor. Martin Alonzo Pinzon, also, generously
furnished him with money for the journey, and the Friar took charge of
his youthful son, Diego, to maintain and educate him in the convent.
Thus aided and encouraged and elated with fresh hopes, Columbus took
leave of the little junto at La Rabida, and set out, in the spring of
1486, for the Castilian court, which had just assembled at Cordova,
where the sovereigns were fully occupied with their chivalrous
enterprise for the conquest of Granada. But alas! success was not yet!
for Columbus met with continued disappointments and discouragements,
while his projects were opposed by many eminent prelates and Spanish
scientists, as being against religion and unscientific. Yet in spite
of this opposition, by degrees the theory of Columbus began to obtain
proselytes. He appeared in the presence of the king with modesty,
yet self-possession, inspired by a consciousness of the dignity and
importance of his errand; for he felt himself, as he afterwards
declared in his letters, animated as if by a sacred fire from above, and
considered himself an instrument in the hand of Heaven to accomplish
its great designs. For nearly seven years of apparently fruitless
solicitation, Columbus followed the royal court from place to place, at
times encouraged by the sovereigns, and at others neglected.
At last he looked round in search of some other source of patronage, and
feeling averse to subjecting himself to further tantalizing delays
and disappointments of the court, determined to repair to Paris. He
departed, therefore, and went to the Convent of La Rabida to seek his
son Diego. When the worthy Friar Juan Perez de Marchena beheld Columbus
arrive once more at the gate of his convent after nearly seven years
of fruitless effort at court, and saw by the humility of his garb the
poverty he had experienced, he was greatly moved; but when he found that
he was about to carry his proposition to another country, his patriotism
took alarm.
The Friar had once been confessor to the queen, and knew that she was
always accessible to persons of his sacred calling. He therefore wrote a
letter to her, and at the same time entreated Columbus to remain at
the convent until an answer could be received. The latter was easily
persuaded, for he felt as if on leaving Spain he was again abandoning
his home.
The little council at La Rabida now cast round their eyes for an
ambassador to send on this momentous mission. They chose one Sebastian
Rodriguez, a pilot of Lepe, one of the most shrewd and important
personages in this maritime neighborhood. He so faithfully and
successfully conducted his embassy that he returned shortly with an
answer.
Isabella had always been favorably disposed to the proposition of
Columbus. She thanked Juan Perez for his timely services and requested
him to repair immediately to the court, leaving Columbus in confident
hope until he should hear further from her. This royal letter, brought
back by the pilot at the end of fourteen days, spread great joy in the
little junto at the convent.
No sooner did the warm-hearted friar receive it than he saddled
his mule, and departed, privately, before midnight to the court. He
journeyed through the countries of the Moors, and rode into the new city
of Santa Fe where Ferdinand and Isabella were engaged in besieging the
capital of Granada.
The sacred office of Juan Perez gained him a ready admission into the
presence of the queen. He pleaded the cause of Columbus with enthusiasm.
He told of his honorable motives, of his knowledge and experience, and
his perfect capacity to fulfill the undertaking. He showed the solid
principles upon which the enterprise was founded, and the advantage that
must attend its success, and the glory it must shed upon the Spanish
Crown.
Isabella, being warm and generous of nature and sanguine of disposition,
was moved by the representations of Juan Perez, and requested that
Columbus might be again sent to her. Bethinking herself of his poverty
and his humble plight, she ordered that money should be forwarded to
him, sufficient to bear his traveling expenses, and to furnish him with
decent raiment.
The worthy friar lost no time in communicating the result of his
mission. He transmitted the money, and a letter, by the hand of an
inhabitant of Palos, to the physician, Garcia Fernandez, who delivered
them to Columbus The latter immediately changed his threadbare garb for
one more suited to the sphere of a court, and purchasing a mule, set out
again, reanimated by hopes, for the camp before Granada.
This time, after some delay, his mission was attended with success.
The generous spirit of Isabella was enkindled, and it seemed as if
the subject, for the first time, broke upon her mind in all its real
grandeur. She declared her resolution to undertake the enterprise, but
paused for a moment, remembering that King Ferdinand looked coldly on
the affair, and that the royal treasury was absolutely drained by the
war.
Her suspense was but momentary. With an enthusiasm worthy of herself
and of the cause, she exclaimed: “I undertake the enterprise for my
own crown of Castile, and will pledge my jewels to raise the necessary
funds.” This was the proudest moment in the life of Isabella. It stamped
her renown forever as the patroness of the discovery of the New World.
THE MUTINY
BY A. DE LAMARTINE (ADAPTED)
When Columbus left the Canaries to pass with his three small ships into
the unknown seas, the eruptions of Teneriffe illuminated the heavens
and were reflected in the sea. This cast terror into the minds of his
seamen. They thought that it was the flaming sword of the angel who
expelled the first man from Eden, and who now was trying to drive
back in anger those presumptuous ones who were seeking entrance to the
forbidden and unknown seas and lands. But the admiral passed from ship
to ship explaining to his men, in a simple way, the action of volcanoes,
so that the sailors were no longer afraid.
But as the peak of Teneriffe sank below the horizon, a great sadness
fell upon the men. It was their last beacon, the farthest sea-mark of
the Old World. They were seized with a nameless terror and loneliness.
Then the admiral called them around him in his own ship, and told them
many stories of the things they might hope to find in the wonderful new
world to which they were going,--of the lands, the islands, the seas,
the kingdoms, the riches, the vegetation, the sunshine, the mines of
gold, the sands covered with pearls, the mountains shining with precious
stones, the plains loaded with spices. These stories, tinged with
the brilliant colors of their leader's rich imagination, filled the
discouraged sailors with hope and good spirits.
But as they passed over the trackless ocean, and saw day by day the
great billows rolling between them and the mysterious horizon, the
sailors were again filled with dread. They lacked the courage to sail
onward into the unknown distance. The compass began to vacillate, and
no longer pointed toward the north; this confused both Columbus and his
pilots. The men fell into a panic, but the resolute and patient admiral
encouraged them once more. So buoyed up by his faith and hope, they
continued to sail onwards over the pathless waters.
The next day a heron and a tropical bird flew about the masts of the
ships, and these seemed to the wondering sailors as two witnesses come
to confirm the reasoning of Columbus.
The weather was mild and serene, the sky clear, the waves transparent,
the dolphins played across the bows, the airs were warm, and the
perfumes, which the waves brought from afar, seemed to exhale from
their foam. The brilliancy of the stars and the deep beauty of the night
breathed a feeling of calm security that comforted and sustained the
sailors.
The sea also began to bring its messages. Unknown vegetations floated
upon its surface. Some were rock-plants, that had been swept off the
cliffs by the waves; some were fresh-water plants; and others, recently
torn from their roots, were still full of sap. One of them carried a
live crab,--a little sailor afloat on a tuft of grass. These plants
and living things could not have passed many days in the water without
fading and dying. And all encouraged the sailors to believe that they
were nearing land.
At eve and morning the distant waning clouds, like those that gather
round the mountain-tops, took the form of cliffs and hills skirting the
horizon. The cry of “land” was on the tip of every tongue. But Columbus
by his reckoning knew that they must still be far from any land, but
fearing to discourage his men he kept his thoughts to himself, for he
found no trustworthy friend among his companions whose heart was firm
enough to bear his secret.
During the long passage Columbus conversed with his own thoughts, and
with the stars, and with God whom he felt was his protector. He occupied
his days in making notes of what he observed. The nights he passed
on deck with his pilots, studying the stars and watching the seas.
He withdrew into himself, and his thoughtful gravity impressed his
companions sometimes with respect and sometimes with mistrust and awe.
Each morning the bows of the vessels plunged through the fantastic
horizon which the evening mist had made the sailors mistake for a
shore. They kept rolling on through the boundless and bottomless abyss.
Gradually terror and discontent once more took possession of the crews.
They began to imagine that the steadfast east wind that drove them
westward prevailed eternally in this region, and that when the time came
to sail homeward, the same wind would prevent their return. For surely
their provisions and water could not hold out long enough for them to
beat their way eastward over those wide waters!