German children did, and in an incredibly short time its ranks lost all
discipline and authority, and at last each one of his band of followers
became keen only to outwit the others in a search for food, and in
endeavours to hide it, they struggled on--a loose, undisciplined mass,
until finally Stephen's authority was entirely lost and the march
became only a race for the sea. All original enthusiasm of the army had
vanished, and the courage which for a while had been kept up by
Stephen's zeal, and by spirited songs and stories, died away, and
Stephen was obliged to make use of constant deceptions in answer to
questions as to when the weary march would be over, saying that a few
more days or hours would bring them to the sea, and so ignorant of
geography were the youths that the falsehoods were not detected. Day by
day they awoke with fresh hope which was fed by the sight of a castle
or walled town which they thought might be Jerusalem, and night after
night they lay down victims of a cruel deception--poor deluded, wilful,
little pilgrims! On and on they marched through central France, through
Burgundy, and beautiful Provence, and finally from the last range of
hills they had to climb, there burst on them a view of the cool, blue
sea, and from their ranks there came a mighty cheer! With renewed hope
they hurried down to the walls of the city of Marseilles which they saw
lying below the hills, an enchanting vision of cool green beauty to
their untravelled eyes. Their shouts announced their arrival to the
people of the city, who hurried to street corners and to market places,
and saw with curious and astonished eyes the strangest of all armies
which had ever visited their city before, and young and old listened
with wide-eyed astonishment to the tale they told. Three hundred miles
they had come, those children, in about a month, and the sea was now to
divide that they might pass over in safety to accomplish their holy
object!
Unlike the German army, their numbers were scarcely lessened, as many
new recruits had joined the ranks and replaced those few who had
deserted or fallen by the way-side. So it was not a small and tattered
or worn-out band who made their appeal to the Marseillian authorities,
but an imposing band of twenty thousand youths, still flushed with
health and hope.
Having no political reason to refuse them entrance to the city, and
possibly rejoicing to have such an influx of pilgrims, permission to
stay was given to the host of youths, who with their leader and the
older companions who had followed the army, accepted the hospitality of
Marseilles and were housed in various places for the one night which
was to be the preface to that miracle which would prove their Divine
mission.
After a night of fitful sleep and vivid dreams, Stephen at dawn crept
out alone, and hastened to the shore of the sea, where he feasted his
hungry eyes on its surging depths, crying, "How long, oh, Lord, how
long, before thou wilt show thy power?" For hours he remained there, by
the sea, and yet there came no pathway for their pilgrim feet to tread.
Soon his army had clustered around him, and there they watched, and
waited, asking eager questions, and Stephen's hour for victory or
defeat had come.
Standing on a rocky height, he spoke, with flashing eyes and ringing
voice, yes, and with an honest conviction of the truth of what he said,
spoke words of hope and cheer that allowed of no backsliding or
complaint, among his followers; and still the weary band kept up their
watch by the shore of that surging sea. The afternoon light deepened,
the sunset came, night spread its glamour over the scene, and yet the
waves rolled on, showing no sign of marvel or of miracle. Over-strained
and broken by discouragement, yet still hopeful, the army waited
through three long days and nights, and still the sea surged on
unchanged, undivided!
Stephen's followers knew the truth at last,--they had been deceived by
a false hope, led by a false leader. Crying out against him who had
brought them to such a plight, so far from home, they vanished one by
one, until of the army that had entered the city, only five thousand
remained.
Bewildered, discouraged, frightened, Stephen knew not where to turn for
help. Dropping on his knees he prayed earnestly for a voice to tell him
of his duty and of God's desire.
Then suddenly his disheartened band of followers saw an unexpected
sight. Stephen, the Prophet, marching alone through the streets of
Marseilles, waving the Oriflamme, singing a song of triumph, shouting
in clear and ringing tones, "God wills it--God wills it!"
They surrounded him, when at last he halted, and he spoke first in
denunciation of their unbelief, and then he told of two Marseillian
merchants who had come to him even as he was on his knees praying for
guidance, and offered him vessels to carry his army to Palestine.
These merchants said they asked no passage money of Christ's soldiers
for the trip, the only reward they wished was the consciousness of duty
done to pilgrims in a holy cause, the prayers of the children, and the
honour of having helped the young Crusaders.
Great was the rejoicing now, and great the shame at having for one
moment doubted God's help and the good faith of his servant, Stephen.
Pressing around him as he told his thrilling tale, his followers begged
forgiveness for their lack of faith, which Stephen graciously accorded
and became once again the beloved leader, the honoured prophet.
Such vessels as were needed for the expedition were speedily made
ready, and in Marseilles loud praises were heard on every side of the
generous men who were helping the young Crusaders to fulfil their
mission, then people began to gather to watch the little host embark.
It was a thrilling sight--there in that quiet bay, to see the
Crusaders, trembling with excitement at this new experience--enter the
vessels which were waiting to receive them, while on shore the citizens
of Marseilles were crowding to the front to see the expedition start,
and the gay colours of the flying banners, the bright costumes of the
women, blended with the sunlight in which the fronts of the quaint old
houses were bathed, together with the blue water and the bluer sky,
made a picture both dazzling and beautiful.
When the little army had entered the ships provided for their use, the
solemn ceremonies took place which in those days, when sea voyages were
so perilous, always preceded such an expedition. Then, the religious
exercises being over, all parts of the ships were examined to see that
they were in proper order for such a dangerous voyage, the sailors were
stationed at their respective posts, the anchor chains were loosened,
ready to release the vessels, and the ropes held in hand. There was a
brief silence, then upon the elevated "castle" or stern of each ship,
the young army of Crusaders commenced to chant that dear old hymn "Veni
Creator Spiritus" which the church in all ages has used on solemn
occasions, and as its words floated from one vessel, they were taken up
on another until the air was full of harmony which was wafted back to
the hills and shore, where the seven vessels were being eagerly watched
out of sight. With none of the noise of modern steamers, those seven
vessels glided out of the quiet harbour, in stately procession and
passed beneath the lofty rock of Notre Dame, and the little voyagers
were at sea.
Soon their songs grow faint as they float over the water, then die
away. After that the flags and banners still tell of joy and hope,
until they too are invisible. The day draws to a close, darkness drops
down and envelops the seven ships sailing towards the promised land
with five thousand courageous little pilgrims on board.
But, alas, for hopes and plans, alas, for the holy ideals of that
little band. Not one of them ever realised his ambition!
Two of those ships which sailed so gaily from the harbour of
Marseilles, laden with the fair and hopeful youths of France, whose
mission was to rescue the Holy Tomb from infidel hands, were wrecked in
a wild storm off the Hermit's rock, lying beneath the cliffs of San
Pietro.
There beneath the "unplumbed, salt estranging sea" lies Stephen, the
boy Prophet--who even while the tempest was hurling his army to death
on the open sea, proved the sincerity of his piety; for clinging to a
spar, while drifting to a certain doom, he led his little flock in song
and prayer, and even as wave after wave dashed over the deck, above the
roar of the tempest could his clear triumphant young voice be
heard--"In the name of Christ and His cross, be brave. We go to
victory--to victory!"
Hideous indeed were the sufferings of the brave youths in the other
ships, when they saw their comrades drifting to their death, and little
did they dream that they had escaped that terrible storm only to meet
still greater perils. Soon they found that they were victims of an
infamous treachery, that the merchants who had been so praised in
preparing vessels for their use, were simply slave-dealers who had
contracted (and probably for an enormous amount of money)--to sell
those unsuspecting children to the Mohammedans--the very nation whom
the youthful Crusaders had gone forth to conquer, to whom such a
consignment of fair young slaves would be of rare value.
Surrounded by vessels of the enemy, they were taken from the ships in
which they embarked, and despite their agony of fright and pleading,
were carried either to Brijeiah or to Alexandria by their captors,
where among the fairest scenes, and the most wonderful and tropical
beauty they had ever dreamed of, they were sold into hopeless slavery.
Not one of all that army of Stephen's ever saw Europe again, and the
Children's Crusade ended as all enterprises end, whether undertaken by
young or old, layman or priest, warrior or statesman, when conceived
and carried out in a spirit of rebellion and frenzy.
Nicholas and Stephen--boy leaders of the Children's Crusade, one of the
most pathetic and thrilling events in all history, one lived--one died.
Which, think you, had the right to wear the emblem of the Holy Cross?
PETER OF HAARLEM:
The Boy Who Saved His Country
It was an April day, and Haarlem, an old Dutch town near Amsterdam was
gay with tulips, for there in Haarlem are grown the most famous tulips
in all the world, as well as hyacinths, and if you had driven through
the country roads on that April day, you would have seen the meadows
and roadsides overspread with a brilliant carpet of the vari-coloured
flowers, while the air was full of the sweet perfume of the hyacinths,
and you could have carried away with you as many flowers as you had
time and patience to pick.
Holland and its provinces and towns are famous for many other things,
as well as for tulips and hyacinths, for it is a country quite
different from the others which we visit and study about more often,
and although it is a small country in comparison to others which are so
vast in territory, yet there has been none more celebrated for courage
than brave little Holland, and its fight for independence has made it
famous in the historical annals of the world. Sturdy and plucky are the
Dutch, and quaint and curious are the customs and manners still
prevailing in many of the country districts. Every district has its own
costume peculiar to its inhabitants, and the many colours of these
costumes, the curious caps worn with them, the heavy wooden shoes, or
sabots, which all true Dutch people wear, and the clothes worn by the
men, so different from the conventional dress of men of other nations,
make a picturesque and interesting sight when the Dutch people are
gathered together on the day of a "Pardon" or religious fete day.
Their homes, too, are quaint and strange in appearance to our
conventional eyes, and it has been said that the Dutch people dressed
up like quaint dolls, with their gay little homes and their little
canals, which cut up their bright green fields into many sections, live
in a country which is like a charming, attractive toy, it is so clean,
so tidy and so bright, and it seems a natural thing that the gorgeous
tulip should be their favourite flower. And that brings us back to the
old town of Haarlem in whose roads we were wandering on an April day.
Now one of the greatest differences between Holland and other
countries, is that it lies below the level of the sea, and so has to be
very carefully guarded from the surging flood at its very door, or it
would be either swept bare by the relentless sea, or entirely wiped out
of existence. To prevent this calamity the patient Dutchmen have built
wonderful dykes which guard their little country and keep the tyrant
sea in check. These dykes are huge banks of earth which tower high
above the lowlands and are the only safeguards of the country. Of
course, these dykes could only be made gradually, as the sea was turned
from one spot to another by dams and locks, and no greater proof of
Dutch industry and patience is shown than the way they have protected
their land from the sea.
When a dyke has been built, then on the edge of it, a windmill is
erected, which works a pump, and as the windmill draws up the water
from the sea, it is discharged into a canal. These canals which flow
through all Holland in a network of winding ways, run to the sea, and
where they meet the sea, in the dykes, great oaken gates, called
sluices are placed across the entrance to the canals, to regulate the
amount of water which shall flow into the canals, from the sea. These
gates are in charge of men called _sluicers_ whose duty it is, when
water is needed, to open the gates more or less, according to the
amount of water required, and then to close them carefully at night, so
that too much water may not flow into the canals, overflow them, and
flood the whole country. Even the smallest child in Holland is brought
up with a keen knowledge of the grave importance of a sluicer's duty
and of the danger to the country if he should neglect it, and the men
chosen for that position are always those whose reputation for faithful
service is unchallenged.
Naturally, a country lying as Holland lies is very damp and misty, and
its entire surface is covered with the network of canals running
through the meadows to the sea. If you could stand on a hill and look
down on it, it would look like an enormous puzzle, consisting of
hundreds of small vivid green pieces cut apart by the canals and
decorated by the quaint red-roofed houses of which we have spoken.
Through all the canals flows the same water, and all of them are
connected with each other, and are so very wide in some places that
there is much traffic on them. Then, too, through miles of the green
fields flow the narrower canals, draining the pasturelands, and
everywhere one feels the nearness and the menace of the everlasting
sea, and the protection of the dykes rearing the huge bulwarks between
the peaceful country and its treacherous enemy.
And that brings us back again to Haarlem on that April day when the
quaint little town was gay with the red and yellow tulips and the air
sweet with the scent of hyacinths.
On that bright spring day a little boy whose name is said to have been
Peter, and whose father was a sluicer, had for his dinner some cakes of
which he was very fond, and which his mother had baked because she knew
how much Peter liked them.
Peter was a very unselfish boy, and whenever he had anything he liked,
his first thought always was to share it with someone else. So, as soon
as he had finished his meal, he jumped up from the table and begged his
mother to let him go to see a poor blind man who lived not far away,
and to let him carry with him those cakes which had not been eaten.
His mother was pleased with this thought of Peter's for the poor old
man, and at once brought a basket and filled it with cakes for him to
carry to the invalid, while Peter's father was making him promise not
to stay out too late, and soon the boy was on his way to his friends,
happy in the beauty of the day, and in the thought of the pleasure his
present would give the blind man.
And he was not mistaken, the old man was delighted with the cakes, and
at once broke and ate one, while he began to tell Peter one of the
stories for which he was famous, and which he knew Peter loved to hear.
But Peter suddenly remembered his promise not to stay out late, and
finally became so uneasy that he told the old man he must not wait to
hear the end of the story, and, hastily bidding him farewell, started
towards home.
His path lay beside the dyke, and along its grassy banks grew beautiful
wild flowers of many varieties, so numerous and attractive that Peter
decided to pick a bunch of them to carry home to his mother, who was so
much of an invalid that she was seldom out of the house. So he picked a
few here and a few there--blue and yellow and pink, until he had a
handful of those varieties of which he knew his mother was most fond,
and as he walked on, to keep himself from feeling lonesome, he hummed a
gay little song.
Presently, he stopped, and neither sang nor smiled, as he looked at a
slender thread of water trickling through the grass. Where did it come
from? Surely not from the canal, and there was nowhere else for it to
come from unless it came from the dyke itself.
The thought was enough to make even a child turn pale and tremble. Only
the dykes stood between the boundless sea and the safety of little
Holland. He looked again, and to his imagination, the stream seemed
greater already. What could he do? Night was coming on, the road was a
solitary one. There was only the barest chance of anyone passing that
way whom he might hail, or of whom he could ask advice.
Then came a quick recollection of his promise to his father, and he
started homeward again, but a force as mighty as a giant's grasp, made
him turn back again to watch that trickling stream of water.
He was near one of the great oaken sluices, and bounding up beside it
he carefully examined the dyke. There, as small as his finger, was a
hole--strange and unaccountable happening,--and through that little
hole was flowing the stream of water at his feet.
Like lightning the flash of intuition came to Peter, if that hole were
not stopped up instantly, the force of the flow through it would
rapidly increase from the pounding of that mighty sea behind it. In a
night the flood would break through the dyke and perhaps destroy all
the homes in Holland.
What could he do? No stone would fit the hole, no amount of earth
packed into the crevice could resist the pressure of the water. Peter
was desperate. Forgotten now were his bunch of flowers which fell
unheeded from his hand. He strained his eyes in a vain search for
travellers on that lonely road, vainly he shouted out for help until
his throat was hoarse. What could he do? It was no common instinct that
came in that lightning flash to Peter. Climbing again up the steep
bank, from stone to stone, he thrust his finger in the hole and, oh,
joy, it fitted! It stopped the trickling water for the moment, but, oh,
what would happen when he took it out?
Ah, it was as clear as daylight, what to do. He would not take it out
until someone should come to relieve him. Forgetful of what this idea
might bring to him, if carried out, he chuckled with a boyish delight
in this real adventure.
"Ha, ha!" he said to himself. "The water _can't_ come down now. Haarlem
shall not be drowned while I am here to keep the flood back."
For awhile excitement kept him warm and fearless. Then the chill
darkness of the night surrounded him. All sorts of strange noises fell
upon his unaccustomed ears, he seemed to see giants and demons lurking
near, ready to pounce upon him and kill him. Although he was a sturdy
lad, tears came at last, when he could no longer keep back thoughts of
his comfortable bed at home, of the parents who might be even then
worrying about his safety, although as he before remained over night
with the old man, Jansen, he felt that his mother and father had
probably gone to bed and to sleep, while he was out in the dark night
alone and in such a misery of pain. The pain grew greater, the misery
harder to bear every moment now, and still Peter kept his finger in
that dangerous hole.
He tried to whistle, hoping to attract the attention of some straggling
traveller, but his teeth chattered so much that he gave it up, and then
he remembered what he had been taught at his mother's knee, and Peter
prayed to the great God who could control the surging sea and protect a
boy who was doing his best. Peter was only a child, but if he ever
prayed with his whole heart, he prayed so that night in the darkness,
with his numbed finger thrust through that hole in the dyke, and when
his prayer was said he somehow felt braver, stronger and older than
before, and in his heart he said:
"I will not take it out till someone comes. I will stay till morning."
Longer and longer grew the hours, the minutes, the seconds, and yet he
never moved--there were strange noises in his head, his thoughts were
confused, pictures of his playmates, of events long ago forgotten
danced before his eyes. He was not sure he could draw his finger out of
the hole even if he wished to do so, it felt so strangely numb. What
did it mean that knives seemed to be cutting, and pins pricking him
from head to foot? What would happen if no one ever found him--no one
ever came to help?
At last the rose and silver of the dawn flushed the sky. Day had come
and along that lonesome road came the first traveller in all the hours
of Peter's vigil.
A clergyman whose night had been spent by the bedside of a sick
parishioner, hurrying homeward on the path beside the dyke, heard a
groan, a feeble sound of one in mortal agony. Turning, he glanced,
first here and there, and looking up, at last, he saw beside the dyke,
the figure of a child writhing in agony.
In a single bound, the clergyman stood beside him exclaiming:
"In the name of wonder, boy, what are you doing here?"
"I am keeping the water from running out," said Peter. "Oh, can't you
ask them to come _quick_."
And they did. The town of Haarlem, even Holland itself, had been saved,
through the courage of a little boy who did his duty, and from that day
to this there has never been a child in Holland who has not heard the
stirring story of Peter, whose pluck was worthy of a sluicer's son, and
whose name will never be forgotten, or effaced from the page of
historic legend.
DAVID:
The Shepherd Boy
A rare good fortune it is to have a friend so true and so faithful that
it is as safe to tell him a secret as to whisper it to yourself, one to
whom your interests are as important as his own, and who would do any
sort of unselfish act to show his devotion to you. It was just such a
comradeship as this which existed between two boys of long ago, the
story of whose intimacy has come down to us from Bible times as a most
wonderful example of what a friendship can be.
Those boys were David, the son of Jesse of Bethlehem, and Jonathan, the
son of Saul, King of Israel, and when you hear two persons spoken of as
"a David and a Jonathan" you may know that they are the closest kind of
friends.
To appreciate thoroughly the friendship between David and Jonathan, and
what it meant to both of them, let us go back a little into the history
of the time in which the boys lived, and look at the circumstances
which led up to their friendship, for that is very important to a clear
understanding of the story of David and Jonathan.
At that time the kingdom of Israel was in a deplorable condition, for
the Philistines, a war-like tribe who lived in a small territory on the
coast, had over-run and conquered most of Israel, and Samuel who was
the aged guide and advisor of the Israelites, as well as the last of
the judges and the first of the prophets of Israel, saw that the only
hope for his people lay in having a higher moral standard and a central
government. To bring this about, Samuel established the schools of the
prophets in Ramah and other cities, where men could be trained to teach
their nation how to live wiser, purer lives--and Samuel also anointed
Saul as King of Israel, and for a while Saul ruled wisely and well.
Then he disobeyed the command of God, and began to care for conquest in
war only when it brought him glory or the spoils of battles, and Samuel
seeing this, was much troubled, and finally went to Saul and told him
that he must repent and do differently or he would no longer be worthy
to be the King of Israel, that God demanded more honest service than he
was giving. Saul was considerably troubled at this plain speaking of
Samuel and promised to do better in future, but when Samuel left him,
it was with a heavy heart, for he felt sure that there would be need of
a new king--that Saul would not keep his promises.
And so Samuel at once began to look for a man whom he could anoint as
the future King, although no one knew of this purpose but himself, and
the voice of God within him inspired him to go to Bethlehem and seek
among the sons of Jesse for the King he wished to find. So Samuel went
to Bethlehem, but in order that the real purpose of his visit might not
be discovered, he took with him beside the horn of oil with which he
would anoint the new King if he should find him, also a young calf to
offer as a sacrifice, that he might have a suitable excuse to give to
the people for his visit.
Of course the coming of Samuel created a great excitement in the little
town of Bethlehem, for the people feared that he came to reprove them
for some wrong-doing, until Samuel assured them that this was not so,
that he came peaceably, and in proof of it invited them to the
sacrifice which he was preparing to offer on a hill just outside the
gate of the city. According to the rule of Oriental hospitality, it was
customary that some prominent man from the village should invite Samuel
to return to his home after offering the sacrifice, to break bread with
him and to pass the night under his roof if Samuel desired to do so,
and as Samuel had invited Jesse to the sacrifice, it came about quite
naturally that, as Samuel desired, it was Jesse's home to which the
aged Prophet went.