once the men on the "Hind" saw the lights on board of the "Squirrel"
go out. The little vessel, with brave Sir Humphrey and all his brave
men, was swal-lowed up by the waves.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
There once lived in England a brave and noble man whose name was
Walter Ra-leigh. He was not only brave and noble, but he was also
handsome and polite; and for that reason the queen made him a knight,
and called him Sir Walter Ra-leigh.
I will tell you about it.
When Raleigh was a young man, he was one day walking along a street in
London. At that time the streets were not paved, and there were no
sidewalks. Raleigh was dressed in very fine style, and he wore a
beau-ti-ful scar-let cloak thrown over his shoulders.
As he passed along, he found it hard work to keep from stepping in the
mud, and soiling his hand-some new shoes. Soon he came to a puddle of
muddy water which reached from one side of the street to the other. He
could not step across. Perhaps he could jump over it.
As he was thinking what he should do, he happened to look up. Who was
it coming down the street, on the other side of the puddle?
It was E-liz-a-beth, the Queen of England, with her train of
gen-tle-wom-en and waiting maids. She saw the dirty puddle in the
street. She saw the handsome young man with the scar-let cloak,
stand-ing by the side of it. How was she to get across?
Young Raleigh, when he saw who was coming, forgot about himself. He
thought only of helping the queen. There was only one thing that he
could do, and no other man would have thought of that.
He took off his scarlet cloak, and spread it across the puddle. The
queen could step on it now, as on a beautiful carpet.
She walked across. She was safely over the ugly puddle, and her feet
had not touched the mud. She paused a moment, and thanked the young
man.
As she walked onward with her train, she asked one of the
gen-tle-wom-en, "Who is that brave gen-tle-man who helped us so
handsomely?"
"His name is Walter Raleigh," said the gentle-woman.
"He shall have his reward," said the queen.
Not long after that, she sent for Raleigh to come to her pal-ace.
The young man went, but he had no scarlet cloak to wear. Then, while
all the great men and fine ladies of England stood around, the queen
made him a knight. And from that time he was known as Sir Walter
Raleigh, the queen's favorite.
Sir Walter Raleigh and Sir Humphrey Gilbert about whom I have already
told you, were half-broth-ers.
When Sir Humphrey made his first voy-age to America, Sir Walter was
with him. After that, Sir Walter tried sev-er-al times to send men to
this country to make a set-tle-ment.
But those whom he sent found only great forests, and wild beasts, and
sav-age In-di-ans. Some of them went back to England; some of them
died for want of food; and some of them were lost in the woods. At
last Sir Walter gave up trying to get people to come to America.
But he found two things in this country which the people of England
knew very little about. One was the po-ta-to, the other was to-bac-co.
If you should ever go to Ireland, you may be shown the place where Sir
Walter planted the few po-ta-toes which he carried over from America.
He told his friends how the Indians used them for food; and he proved
that they would grow in the Old World as well as in the New.
Sir Walter had seen the Indians smoking the leaves of the to-bac-co
plant. He thought that he would do the same, and he carried some of
the leaves to England. Englishmen had never used tobacco before that
time; and all who saw Sir Walter puff-ing away at a roll of leaves
thought that it was a strange sight.
One day as he was sitting in his chair and smoking, his servant came
into the room. The man saw the smoke curling over his master's head,
and he thought that he was on fire.
He ran out for some water. He found a pail that was quite full. He
hurried back, and threw the water into Sir Walter's face. Of course
the fire was all put out.
After that a great many men learned to smoke. And now tobacco is used
in all countries of the world. It would have been well if Sir Walter
Raleigh had let it alone.
POCAHONTAS.
There was once a very brave man whose name was John Smith. He came to
this country many years ago, when there were great woods everywhere,
and many wild beasts and Indians. Many tales are told of his
ad-ven-tures, some of them true and some of them untrue. The most
famous of all these is the fol-low-ing:--
One day when Smith was in the woods, some Indians came upon him, and
made him their pris-on-er. They led him to their king, and in a short
time they made ready to put him to death.
A large stone was brought in, and Smith was made to lie down with his
head on it. Then two tall Indians with big clubs in their hands came
forward. The king and all his great men stood around to see. The
Indians raised their clubs. In another moment they would fall on
Smith's head.
But just then a little Indian girl rushed in. She was the daugh-ter of
the king, and her name was Po-ca-hon´tas. She ran and threw herself
between Smith and the up-lift-ed clubs. She clasped Smith's head with
her arms. She laid her own head upon his.
"O father!" she cried, "spare this man's life. I am sure he has done
you no harm, and we ought to be his friends."
The men with the clubs could not strike, for they did not want to hurt
the child. The king at first did not know what to do. Then he spoke to
some of his war-riors, and they lifted Smith from the ground. They
untied the cords from his wrists and feet, and set him free.
The next day the king sent Smith home; and several Indians went with
him to protect him from harm.
After that, as long as she lived, Po-ca-hon-tas was the friend of the
white men, and she did a great many things to help them.
GEORGE WASHINGTON AND HIS HATCHET.
When George Wash-ing-ton was quite a little boy, his father gave him a
hatchet. It was bright and new, and George took great delight in going
about and chopping things with it.
He ran into the garden, and there he saw a tree which seemed to say to
him, "Come and cut me down!"
George had often seen his father's men chop down the great trees in
the forest, and he thought that it would be fine sport to see this
tree fall with a crash to the ground. So he set to work with his
little hatchet, and, as the tree was a very small one, it did not take
long to lay it low.
[Illustration]
Soon after that, his father came home.
"Who has been cutting my fine young cherry tree?" he cried. "It was
the only tree of its kind in this country, and it cost me a great
deal of money."
He was very angry when he came into the house.
"If I only knew who killed that cherry tree," he cried, "I would--yes,
I would"--
"Father!" cried little George. "I will tell you the truth about it. I
chopped the tree down with my hatchet."
His father forgot his anger.
"George," he said, and he took the little fellow in his arms, "George,
I am glad that you told me about it. I would rather lose a dozen
cherry trees than that you should tell one false-hood."
GRACE DARLING.
It was a dark Sep-tem-ber morning. There was a storm at sea. A ship
had been driven on a low rock off the shores of the Farne Islands. It
had been broken in two by the waves, and half of it had been washed
away. The other half lay yet on the rock, and those of the crew who
were still alive were cling-ing to it. But the waves were dashing over
it, and in a little while it too would be carried to the bottom.
Could any one save the poor, half-drowned men who were there?
On one of the islands was a light-house; and there, all through that
stormy night, Grace Darling had listened to the storm.
Grace was the daughter of the light-house keeper, and she had lived by
the sea as long as she could re-mem-ber.
In the darkness of the night, above the noise of the winds and waves,
she heard screams and wild cries. When day-light came, she could see
the wreck, a mile away, with the angry waters all around it. She could
see the men clinging to the masts.
"We must try to save them!" she cried. "Let us go out in the boat at
once!"
"It is of no use, Grace," said her father. "We cannot reach them."
He was an old man, and he knew the force of the mighty waves.
"We cannot stay here and see them die," said Grace. "We must at least
try to save them."
Her father could not say, "No."
In a few minutes they were ready. They set off in the heavy lighthouse
boat. Grace pulled one oar, and her father the other, and they made
straight toward the wreck. But it was hard rowing against such a sea,
and it seemed as though they would never reach the place.
At last they were close to the rock, and now they were in greater
danger than before. The fierce waves broke against the boat, and it
would have been dashed in pieces, had it not been for the strength and
skill of the brave girl.
But after many trials, Grace's father climbed upon the wreck, while
Grace herself held the boat. Then one by one the worn-out crew were
helped on board. It was all that the girl could do to keep the frail
boat from being drifted away, or broken upon the sharp edges of the
rock.
Then her father clam-bered back into his place. Strong hands grasped
the oars, and by and by all were safe in the lighthouse. There Grace
proved to be no less tender as a nurse than she had been brave as a
sailor. She cared most kindly for the ship-wrecked men until the storm
had died away and they were strong enough to go to their own homes.
All this happened a long time ago, but the name of Grace Darling will
never be forgotten. She lies buried now in a little church-yard by the
sea, not far from her old home. Every year many people go there to see
her grave; and there a mon-u-ment has been placed in honor of the
brave girl. It is not a large mon-u-ment, but it is one that speaks of
the noble deed which made Grace Darling famous. It is a figure carved
in stone of a woman lying at rest, with a boat's oar held fast in her
right hand.
THE STORY OF WILLIAM TELL.
The people of Swit-zer-land were not always free and happy as they are
to-day. Many years ago a proud tyrant, whose name was Gessler, ruled
over them, and made their lot a bitter one indeed.
One day this tyrant set up a tall pole in the public square, and put
his own cap on the top of it; and then he gave orders that every man
who came into the town should bow down before it. But there was one
man, named William Tell, who would not do this. He stood up straight
with folded arms, and laughed at the swinging cap. He would not bow
down to Gessler himself.
When Gessler heard of this, he was very angry. He was afraid that
other men would disobey, and that soon the whole country would rebel
against him. So he made up his mind to punish the bold man.
William Tell's home was among the mountains, and he was a famous
hunter. No one in all the land could shoot with bow and arrow so well
as he. Gessler knew this, and so he thought of a cruel plan to make
the hunter's own skill bring him to grief. He ordered that Tell's
little boy should be made to stand up in the public square with an
apple on his head; and then he bade Tell shoot the apple with one of
his arrows.
Tell begged the tyrant not to have him make this test of his skill.
What if the boy should move? What if the bow-man's hand should
tremble? What if the arrow should not carry true?
[Illustration]
"Will you make me kill my boy?" he said.
"Say no more," said Gessler. "You must hit the apple with your one
arrow. If you fail, my sol-diers shall kill the boy before your
eyes."
Then, without another word, Tell fitted the arrow to his bow. He took
aim, and let it fly. The boy stood firm and still. He was not afraid,
for he had all faith in his father's skill.
The arrow whistled through the air. It struck the apple fairly in the
center, and carried it away. The people who saw it shouted with joy.
As Tell was turning away from the place, an arrow which he had hidden
under his coat dropped to the ground.
"Fellow!" cried Gessler, "what mean you with this second arrow?"
"Tyrant!" was Tell's proud answer, "this arrow was for your heart if I
had hurt my child."
And there is an old story, that, not long after this, Tell did shoot
the tyrant with one of his arrows; and thus he set his country free.
ARNOLD WINKELRIED.
A great army was marching into Swit-zer-land. If it should go much
farther, there would be no driving it out again. The soldiers would
burn the towns, they would rob the farmers of their grain and sheep,
they would make slaves of the people.
The men of Switzerland knew all this. They knew that they must fight
for their homes and their lives. And so they came from the mountains
and valleys to try what they could do to save their land. Some came
with bows and arrows, some with scythes and pitch-forks, and some with
only sticks and clubs.
But their foes kept in line as they marched along the road. Every
soldier was fully armed. As they moved and kept close together,
nothing could be seen of them but their spears and shields and shining
armor. What could the poor country people do against such foes as
these?
"We must break their lines," cried their leader; "for we cannot harm
them while they keep together."
The bowmen shot their arrows, but they glanced off from the soldiers'
shields. Others tried clubs and stones, but with no better luck. The
lines were still un-bro-ken. The soldiers moved stead-i-ly onward;
their shields lapped over one another; their thousand spears looked
like so many long bris-tles in the sun-light. What cared they for
sticks and stones and hunts-men's arrows?
"If we cannot break their ranks," said the Swiss, "we have no chance
for fight, and our country will be lost!"
Then a poor man, whose name was Ar-nold Wink´el-ried, stepped out.
"On the side of yonder moun-tain," said he, "I have a happy home.
There my wife and chil-dren wait for my return. But they will not see
me again, for this day I will give my life for my country. And do you,
my friends, do your duty, and Switzerland shall be free."
With these words he ran forward. "Follow me!" he cried to his friends.
"I will break the lines, and then let every man fight as bravely as he
can."
He had nothing in his hands, neither club nor stone nor other weapon.
But he ran straight on-ward to the place where the spears were
thickest.
"Make way for lib-er-ty!" he cried, as he dashed right into the lines.
A hundred spears were turned to catch him upon their points. The
soldiers forgot to stay in their places. The lines were broken.
Arnold's friends rushed bravely after him. They fought with whatever
they had in hand. They snatched spears and shields from their foes.
They had no thought of fear. They only thought of their homes and
their dear native land. And they won at last.
Such a battle no one ever knew before. But Switzerland was saved, and
Arnold Wink-el-ried did not die in vain.
THE BELL OF ATRI.
A-tri is the name of a little town in It-a-ly. It is a very old town,
and is built half-way up the side of a steep hill.
A long time ago, the King of Atri bought a fine large bell, and had it
hung up in a tower in the market place. A long rope that reached
almost to the ground was fas-tened to the bell. The smallest child
could ring the bell by pulling upon this rope.
"It is the bell of justice," said the king.
When at last everything was ready, the people of Atri had a great
holiday. All the men and women and children came down to the market
place to look at the bell of justice. It was a very pretty bell, and
was, pol-ished until it looked almost as bright and yellow as the sun.
"How we should like to hear it ring!" they said.
Then the king came down the street.
"Perhaps he will ring it," said the people; and everybody stood very
still, and waited to see what he would do.
But he did not ring the bell. He did not even take the rope in his
hands. When he came to the foot of the tower, he stopped, and raised
his hand.
"My people," he said, "do you see this beautiful bell? It is your
bell; but it must never be rung except in case of need. If any one of
you is wronged at any time, he may come and ring the bell; and then
the judges shall come together at once, and hear his case, and give
him justice. Rich and poor, old and young, all alike may come; but no
one must touch the rope unless he knows that he has been wronged."
Many years passed by after this. Many times did the bell in the market
place ring out to call the judges together. Many wrongs were righted,
many ill-doers were punished. At last the hempen rope was almost worn
out. The lower part of it was un-twist-ed; some of the strands were
broken; it became so short that only a tall man could reach it.
"This will never do," said the judges one day. "What if a child should
be wronged? It could not ring the bell to let us know it."
They gave orders that a new rope should be put upon the bell at
once,--a rope that should hang down to the ground, so that the
smallest child could reach it. But there was not a rope to be found in
all Atri. They would have to send across the mountains for one, and it
would be many days before it could be brought. What if some great
wrong should be done before it came? How could the judges know about
it, if the in-jured one could not reach the old rope?
"Let me fix it for you," said a man who stood by.
He ran into his garden, which was not far away, and soon came back
with a long grape-vine in his hands.
"This will do for a rope," he said; and he climbed up, and fastened it
to the bell. The slender vine, with its leaves and ten-drils still
upon it, trailed to the ground.
"Yes," said the judges, "it is a very good rope. Let it be as it is."
Now, on the hill-side above the village, there lived a man who had
once been a brave knight. In his youth he had ridden through many
lands, and he had fought in many a battle. His best friend through all
that time had been his horse,--a strong, noble steed that had borne
him safe through many a danger.
But the knight, when he grew older, cared no more to ride into battle;
he cared no more to do brave deeds; he thought of nothing but gold; he
became a miser. At last he sold all that he had, except his horse, and
went to live in a little hut on the hill-side. Day after day he sat
among his money bags, and planned how he might get more gold; and day
after day his horse stood in his bare stall, half-starved, and
shiv-er-ing with cold.
"What is the use of keeping that lazy steed?" said the miser to
himself one morning. "Every week it costs me more to keep him than he
is worth. I might sell him; but there is not a man that wants him. I
cannot even give him away. I will turn him out to shift for himself,
and pick grass by the roadside. If he starves to death, so much the
better."
So the brave old horse was turned out to find what he could among the
rocks on the barren hill-side. Lame and sick, he strolled along the
dusty roads, glad to find a blade of grass or a thistle. The boys
threw stones at him, the dogs barked at him, and in all the world
there was no one to pity him.
One hot afternoon, when no one was upon the street, the horse chanced
to wander into the market place. Not a man nor child was there, for
the heat of the sun had driven them all indoors. The gates were wide
open; the poor beast could roam where he pleased. He saw the
grape-vine rope that hung from the bell of justice. The leaves and
tendrils upon it were still fresh and green, for it had not been there
long. What a fine dinner they would be for a starving horse!
He stretched his thin neck, and took one of the tempting morsels in
his mouth. It was hard to break it from the vine. He pulled at it, and
the great bell above him began to ring. All the people in Atri heard
it. It seemed to say,--
"Some one has done me wrong!
Some one has done me wrong!
Oh! come and judge my case!
Oh! come and judge my case!
For I've been wronged!"
The judges heard it. They put on their robes, and went out through the
hot streets to the market place. They wondered who it could be who
would ring the bell at such a time. When they passed through the gate,
they saw the old horse nibbling at the vine.
"Ha!" cried one, "it is the miser's steed. He has come to call for
justice; for his master, as everybody knows, has treated him most
shame-ful-ly."
"He pleads his cause as well as any dumb brute can," said another.
"And he shall have justice!" said the third.
Mean-while a crowd of men and women and children had come into the
market place, eager to learn what cause the judges were about to try.
When they saw the horse, all stood still in wonder. Then every one was
ready to tell how they had seen him wan-der-ing on the hills, unfed,
un-cared for, while his master sat at home counting his bags of gold.
"Go bring the miser before us," said the judges.
[Illustration: "Some one has done me wrong!"]
And when he came, they bade him stand and hear their judg-ment.
"This horse has served you well for many a year," they said. "He has
saved you from many a peril. He has helped you gain your wealth.
Therefore we order that one half of all your gold shall be set aside
to buy him shelter and food, a green pasture where he may graze, and a
warm stall to comfort him in his old age."
The miser hung his head, and grieved to lose his gold; but the people
shouted with joy, and the horse was led away to his new stall and a
dinner such as he had not had in many a day.
HOW NAPOLEON CROSSED THE ALPS.
About a hundred years ago there lived a great gen-er-al whose name was
Na-po´le-on Bo´na-parte. He was the leader of the French army; and
France was at war with nearly all the countries around. He wanted very
much to take his soldiers into It-a-ly; but between France and Italy
there are high mountains called the Alps, the tops of which are
covered with snow.
"Is it pos-si-ble to cross the Alps?" said Na-po-le-on.
The men who had been sent to look at the passes over the mountains
shook their heads. Then one of them said, "It may be possible, but"--
"Let me hear no more," said Napoleon. "Forward to Italy!"
People laughed at the thought of an army of sixty thousand men
crossing the Alps where there was no road. But Napoleon waited only to
see that everything was in good order, and then he gave the order to
march.
The long line of soldiers and horses and cannon stretched for twenty
miles. When they came to a steep place where there seemed to be no way
to go farther, the trum-pets sounded "Charge!" Then every man did his
best, and the whole army moved right onward.
Soon they were safe over the Alps. In four days they were marching on
the plains of Italy.
"The man who has made up his mind to win," said Napoleon, "will never
say 'Im-pos-si-ble.'"
THE STORY OF CINCINNATUS.
There was a man named Cin-cin-na´tus who lived on a little farm not
far from the city of Rome. He had once been rich, and had held the
highest office in the land; but in one way or another he had lost all
his wealth. He was now so poor that he had to do all the work on his
farm with his own hands. But in those days it was thought to be a
noble thing to till the soil.
Cin-cin-na-tus was so wise and just that every-body trusted him, and
asked his advice; and when any one was in trouble, and did not know
what to do, his neighbors would say,--
"Go and tell Cincinnatus. He will help you."
Now there lived among the mountains, not far away, a tribe of fierce,
half-wild men, who were at war with the Roman people. They per-suad-ed
another tribe of bold war-riors to help them, and then marched toward
the city, plun-der-ing and robbing as they came. They boasted that
they would tear down the walls of Rome, and burn the houses, and kill
all the men, and make slaves of the women and children.
At first the Romans, who were very proud and brave, did not think
there was much danger. Every man in Rome was a soldier, and the army
which went out to fight the robbers was the finest in the world. No
one staid at home with the women and children and boys but the
white-haired "Fathers," as they were called, who made the laws for the
city, and a small company of men who guarded the walls. Everybody
thought that it would be an easy thing to drive the men of the
mountains back to the place where they belonged.
But one morning five horsemen came riding down the road from the
mountains. They rode with great speed; and both men and horses were
covered with dust and blood. The watchman at the gate knew them, and
shouted to them as they gal-loped in. Why did they ride thus? and what
had happened to the Roman army?
They did not answer him, but rode into the city and along the quiet
streets; and everybody ran after them, eager to find out what was the
matter. Rome was not a large city at that time; and soon they reached
the market place where the white-haired Fathers were sitting. Then
they leaped from their horses, and told their story.