Produced by Chris Curnow, Lindy Walsh, Emmy and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net
[Illustration: BY CANDLE-LIGHT.
_Frontispiece._]
STORIES OF THE SAINTS BY CANDLE-LIGHT
BY
VERA C. BARCLAY
1922
THE FAITH PRESS, LTD.
LONDON: THE FAITH HOUSE, 22, BUCKINGHAM ST.,
CHARING CROSS, W.C. 2
=TO=
THE MEMORY OF
SIXER FRANK SPARKS
AND
SECOND BOB SMITH
TWO FAITHFUL CUBS OF THE "CARDINAL'S OWN" PACK
THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED BY THEIR OLD WOLF.
R.I.P.
CONTENTS
NINE DAYS IN CAMP, AND NINE STORIES BY CANDLE-LIGHT
ABOUT THIS BOOK 1
THE FIRST DAY: GETTING THERE. THE STORY OF ST. BENEDICT 2
THE SECOND DAY: THE STORY OF ST. GUTHLAC 17
THE THIRD DAY: THE STORY OF ST. MARTIN 27
THE FOURTH DAY: THE STORY OF ST. EDMUND, KING AND MARTYR 42
THE FIFTH DAY (SUNDAY): THE STORY OF ST. FRANCIS (I.) 56
THE SIXTH DAY: THE STORY OF ST. FRANCIS (II.) 67
THE SEVENTH DAY: THE STORY OF ST. ANTONY 83
THE EIGHTH DAY: THE STORY OF ST. PATRICK 96
THE NINTH DAY: THE STORY OF ST. GEORGE 107
GOOD-BYE 118
STORIES OF THE SAINTS BY CANDLE-LIGHT
NINE DAYS IN CAMP, AND NINE STORIES BY CANDLE-LIGHT
ABOUT THIS BOOK
Once upon a time there were fifteen Cubs who spent nine wonderful days
in camp. They were London Cubs, and the camp was on a beautiful little
green island whose rocky shore ran down in green, tree-covered points
into the bluest sea you ever saw. These nine days were the most splendid
days in those Cubs' lives. And so they often think of them, and dream
about them, and live them over again in memory.
So that they may more easily go over those days their Old Wolf has
written down all about them in this book. Perhaps other Cubs will like
to come away, in imagination, to that fair, green island, and so have a
share in the nine days.
Now, one of the very "special things" about those days in camp were the
candle-light stories which the Cubs listened to every night, seated in a
big, happy pile, pyjama-clad, on their palliasses. All day they used to
look forward to those stories, and sometimes, in the middle of a
shrimping expedition, or a paddling party, one or another would remark,
"Story to-night, boys!" and turn his thumbs up to show he was pleased at
the thought. And so you will find the candle-light stories, too, in this
book; and remember that all the stories in this book are _true_--both
those about the Cubs and those about the Saints.
THE FIRST DAY
The train steamed slowly out of Victoria Station. "Now we're off!"
shouted a Cub, and he and all the others began to jump for joy, which
was not easy in a railway compartment packed like a sardine-tin. Then
someone began to sing the Pack chorus, and everyone joined in with all
their strength:
Let the great big world keep turning,
Now I've joined a Wolf Cub Pack;
And I only know
That I want to go
To camp--to _camp_--to CAMP!
Oh, I long to set off marching
With my kit-bag on my back.
Let the great big world keep on turning round,
Now I've joined a Wolf Cub Pack!
Then someone yelled "Are we down-hearted?" and the Cubs yelled "No!" so
loudly that Akela thought she would be deafened for life.
Presently the train ran out into the country, and plodded along between
woods and fields. And the early morning sun shone brightly, and the sky
was very blue. The country, the country! And, very soon, the sea! There
were some of them who had never been to the country, and "Spongey," the
youngest of the party, had never even been in a real train.
"Talk about _hot_!" said someone, panting, when the train had thundered
on for about an hour. And, my word, it _was_ hot! Besides, there were
blacks and dust, and everyone began to get very grimy--specially the
people who were eating bread-and-jam and sticky fruit, and the people
who had to crawl under the seat to pick up things that had got lost.
"Never mind," said Akela, "we shall be in the sea this evening, and then
we shall be cool."
That started everyone jumping for joy again, of course.
Presently the train passed Arundel Castle--its white towers and turrets
and battlements rising up amidst the dark green woods like an enchanted
castle in the days of knights and fairies--and the Cubs learnt that
there are castles in real life as well as in story-books.
After that they began looking out of the window to see who would be the
first one to catch sight of the sea. "Bunny" was the first to, and his
friend Bert, the Senior Sixer, came a close second.
At last the train got to Portsmouth Harbour, and, shouldering their
kit-bags, the Cubs ran down on to the steamer.
The harbour was thrilling: battleships, cruisers, torpedo-boats, the
Royal yacht, the Admiralty yacht, and, most interesting of all, Nelson's
ship, the _Victory_. As if the steamer knew that a crowd of eager Cubs
were longing to see all round the _Victory_, it went out of its way to
steam right round it, slowly and quite near, and the Cubs had a splendid
view.
The boys all wanted to be the first to _touch_ the sea, but Bunny, who
had _seen_ it first, forestalled them again, by letting down a ball of
string over the edge of the boat and pulling it up all wet.
At last the ship reached the Isle of Wight, and the Cubs and their great
mountain of camp luggage went down the long pier. I forgot to tell you
that besides Akela there was the Senior Sixer's father and mother, who
were coming to help look after the camp--they became the "Father and
Mother of Camp"; and there was also a lady who was a very kind camp
Godmother. The grown-ups and the luggage were soon packed into a large
motor-car, and then, relieved of their kit-bags, the Cubs set out to
walk the two miles along the sea-front to the village called Sea View.
The way lay along a thing called a "sea-wall"--a high stone wall about
six feet broad running along above the shore, with the sea lapping up
against it at high tide. Along this the Cubs walked (or rather ran and
jumped), their eyes big with wonder at the great stretch of blue, blue
sea, with here and there a distant sailing-boat, and, above, the sky
even bluer than the sea. "I didn't know the sky _could_ be so blue!"
said a Cub; and that was just how they all felt.
It was very hot walking in the midday sun. There was no hurry--nine days
to do just as they liked in--so halfway along the sea-wall the Cubs and
Akela scrambled down some steep stone steps on to a tiny stretch of sand
not yet covered by the incoming tide. Boots and stockings were soon off,
sleeves and shorts tucked up, and everybody paddling deep in the cool
green water.
When they had all got thoroughly cool they went on their way, and at
last arrived at the Stable.
This was where they were to sleep. It consisted of a courtyard, a couple
of stalls, a coach-house, a shed, and two tiny rooms. Akela occupied one
of these, and the Cubs were divided into two groups. The Stable was in
charge of Bert, the Senior Sixer, and in his stall he had Bunny (a
Second), Dick (a big Cub very nearly ready to go up to the Scouts), and
Patsy, a small but lively Irishman. Sam, another Sixer, had in his stall
four young terrors--Terry, Wooler, Jack, and "Spongey" Ward. Then there
was the coach-house. This was in charge of Bill, the last Senior Sixer,
now a Cub Instructor. The other occupants were Jim, a Sixer (Bill's
young brother), "Mac," a Second, two brothers, "Big Andy" and "Little
Andy," and a rather new Cub called Bob.
It took a good while to stuff the palliasses with straw and unpack. But
when this was finished everyone had a good wash and changed into cool
old clothes--shorts and cotton shirts. Tea followed, in a jolly old
garden behind the bake-house. There was a seesaw in it, and the grass
was long and soft, and the shade of the apple-trees very cool. Then the
party ran up the hill to the camp field. Here there was a lot to do: the
bell tent to be pitched, the fireplace made, wood to be chopped, water
fetched, all the pots and pans unpacked, a swing and a couple of
hammocks to be put up, the two great sacks of loaves to be fetched, and,
oh! a hundred other things. But all the Cubs set to and did their best,
and at last all was ready.
"Now for the shore!" said Akela, and everyone cheered and ran for their
towels and bathing-drawers. It was only a few minutes' walk down to the
most lovely shore you can imagine--stretches and stretches of golden
sand and little, lapping waves. On one side you could see rocky points
running down into the greeny-blue sea, with trees growing right down to
the shore. An old, brown-sailed coal barge moved slowly past on the
gentle wind, the many browns of its patched sails forming a rich splash
of colour in the evening sun. The Cubs soon turned into "water babies."
Boots and stockings had been left behind at the Stable, and now they got
rid of clothes as well. How cool the sea was! That first bathe seemed to
wash away all the heat and smoke and grubbiness of dear old London.
After the bathe came a splendid paddle among brown, sea-weedy rocks, and
the Cubs caught their first baby crabs and found their first shells, and
got just as wet as they liked.
But the sun was sinking down behind the grey line of sea, and the clock
there is inside every Cub was telling supper-time. So, with hands full
of sea-weed and shells, they made their way back to camp.
The camp-fire was burning merrily. "Godmother," in a large blue overall,
was stirring a steaming dixie of cocoa, and "Mother and Father" were
cutting up bread and cheese.
After supper there was time for a little play in the field. Then, as it
began to get dusk, a whistle-blast called the Cubs in for night prayers.
It was still quite light enough to read, so each Cub had a little
homemade book of Morning and Night Camp Prayers. Kneeling in a quiet
corner of the field, with just the evening sky overhead, with a pale
star or two beginning to appear, it was easy to feel God near and to
pray. The camp prayers started with "A prayer that we may pray well." It
was a very old prayer, really, but it seemed just to fit the Cubs, and
help them to _do their best_ in their prayers as in all other things.
The prayer was this: "Open Thou, O Lord, my mouth to bless Thy Holy
Name; cleanse also my heart from wandering thoughts, so that I may
worthily, devoutly, and attentively recite these prayers, and deserve to
be heard in the sight of Thy Divine Majesty. Through Christ Our Lord.
Amen." Then followed the "Our Father" and some short prayers. And after
that the Cubs said altogether: "I confess to Almighty God that I have
sinned against Him in thought, word, and deed." Then Akela read out very
slowly the following questions, and each Cub answered them in his
heart--not out loud, but silently, for God only to hear:
"Have I done my best to pray well when saying my private prayers and at
camp prayers?
"Have I really meant to please God to-day?
"Have I done my best in my orderly duties, and in other things I have
had to do?
"Have I given in to other people quickly and cheerfully when given an
order?
"Have I spoken as I should not?
"Have I been disobedient?
"Have I been unkind to another boy--selfish? quarrelsome? unfair?
"Have I told a lie?
"Have I done anything else I am sorry for?"
Then, after a pause, Akela said:
"Tell God you are truly sorry, on your honour as a Cub, that you have
grieved Him by the sins of to-day."
Then there was perfect silence for a moment, and after that, the Cubs
said, all together:
"May Almighty God have mercy upon us, and forgive us our sins, and bring
us to life everlasting."
Then they said a short psalm, and the following beautiful little hymn:
Now with the fast departing light,
Maker of all, we ask of Thee,
Of Thy great mercy, through the night
Our guardian and defence to be.
Far off let idle visions fly,
And dreams that might disturb our sleep;
Naught shall we fear if Thou art nigh,
Our souls and bodies safe to keep.
Father of mercies, hear our cry;
Hear us, O sole-begotten Son!
Who with the Holy Ghost most high
Reignest while endless ages run. Amen.
Then came "A prayer that we may be forgiven any wandering thoughts we
have had while reciting these prayers," and, to end up with, "Our
Father" once again, because it is the prayer that Christ Our Lord
specially told His friends to use.
The nine o'clock gun booms out across the Solent as the Cubs and Akela,
having bidden good-night to Father and Mother and Godmother, walk down
the hill to the Stable. The sea looks like a great piece of shimmering
grey silk. "Look at the little twinkle lights!" says a Cub. It is the
street lamps over on the mainland, but they look like so many winking
diamonds. There is quite a cluster of them on the grey ghost of a
battleship, and the old, round fort has a light which looks like the red
end of a cigar. "Please, _please_ let us go down to the front and look
at the little twinkling lights," beg the Cubs. So, on condition they get
undressed in five minutes, Akela says "Yes."
A few minutes later the Stable and the Coach-house are having an
undressing race. One of the two tiny rooms has been made into a little
chapel. In less than two minutes the first Cub ready whisks once round
the yard in his night-shirt, like a white moth in the dusk, and into the
chapel to say his prayers. The door stands open. In the red light of the
tiny lamp you can see the little white form kneeling on the floor, very
quiet and devout. Presently he is silently joined by another--there is
only room for two, it is such a wee chapel. Several impatient people in
pyjamas think it would be fun to start jazzing in the courtyard, till
Akela warns them, "No story if you start ragging."
Soon all prayers are said, and the people in the Coach-house are in bed,
and ready to "invite" the Stable. The Stable having been duly invited,
its eight occupants come in, and each finds a place on a palliasse. It
is a warm, still night. The great doors of the Coach-house stand wide
open. The stars are out thick by this time. Little black bats flit and
swoop about in the darkness. If you keep very still you can just hear
the gentle "hshshsh, hshshsh" of the sea. The candle flickers as the
night gives a little sigh. A few Cubs are rolling about on their straw
beds. "Shut up, all!" commands an imperious Sixer. "Now, miss, go
ahead."
Akela is sitting on a palliasse already occupied by two people. Silence
reigns, for these Cubs belong to a story-telling Pack, and it is almost
the only time they are ever quite quiet. "Well," begins Akela, "many
hundreds of years ago there lived a boy----"
THE STORY OF ST. BENEDICT.
Many hundreds of years ago there lived a boy called Benedict. He lived
in Italy. His father and mother were rich people, and lived in a
beautiful house on a beautiful estate. St. Benedict and his twin sister
must have been very happy playing among the olive-trees and vines of
sunny Italy, where the sky is nearly always blue, and where there are
all sorts of lovely wild-flowers and fruits we don't get in England, and
lizards and butterflies and all sorts of things.
St. Benedict was brought up a good Christian, though lots of the people
round were still pagans in those days. There were terrible wars and
troubles going on in Italy and in all the countries round, like there
have been in our days. But the boy Benedict in his happy home knew
little of these. Little did he know that the beautiful fields of Italy
were being left to be overgrown with weeds and over-run with wild
beasts; that the children had never heard of God; that the poor were
dying of starvation. To him the world was a happy place, where one
played and had a good time, and where people loved Christ and obeyed His
words. But some day he was to learn the truth. For God was going to use
the boy Benedict to do more than any _one_ man has ever done to
_civilize_ the world. This story I'm telling you is the story of how St.
Benedict discovered all God's great plan for him, and worked it out, bit
by bit.
When St. Benedict had learnt all that his tutors could teach him at home
his father sent him to the great city of Rome to learn there from the
scholars and learned men, and attend lectures and classes. St. Benedict
was a very clever boy, and he must have got on very quickly and pleased
his masters very much. He could probably have carried off all sorts of
prizes and won great fame and praise for himself, but there was
something which stopped him caring for things like that. In the great
city of Rome he saw two things--one of them was all sorts of wicked,
selfish, horrible, and ungodly pleasures in which men wasted their lives
and altogether forgot God; and the other was the beautiful, holy lives
of the Christians, many of whom could tell wonderful stories of the
martyrs who had been killed in Rome not so very long before, and whose
bodies lay in the Catacombs. There were some beautiful churches in the
city, and St. Benedict loved to go to the solemn services. As he knelt
there in the holy stillness, or listened to the chanting, he began to
_think_. And more and more he felt that all the glamour and selfish
pleasures and greediness of the people was stupid and wrong, and that
what was really worth having was a good conscience, and peace, and the
friendship of God. And as he thought, he began to care less and less for
his learning and his chances of glory, and he began to feel as if he
wanted to get right away from people and have the chance of thinking
about God.
When St. Benedict had these feelings he knew they came from God, and so,
instead of not listening and just letting himself get keen on his study
and his amusements, he made up his mind that he would always _do his
best_ to follow God's will, and would keep his heart _always listening_,
so that if God _did_ want to call him away to some special kind of life
he would be ready to hear and to obey.
Well, when anybody does this God does not fail to tell him what to do,
and so, when St. Benedict had been seven years in Rome, and was still
only a boy, God made known to him that he must leave Rome, and his
friends and his masters, and go right away into the mountains. His old
nurse, Cyrilla, had always stayed with him, faithfully; and now she
decided to go with him wherever it was that God was leading him.
So, one day, St. Benedict and Cyrilla set out secretly, and made their
way by hidden paths towards the mountains. At last they reached a
certain village, and St. Benedict went into the church to pray God to
make known His will. When he came out the peasants who lived near the
church pressed him to stay with them. St. Benedict took their kindness
as a sign that it was God's will, so he and his old nurse settled down
in the village.
It was while the boy was living here that (so the old books tell us) a
miracle happened which made people feel sure that God was specially
pleased with him. One day, as St. Benedict returned home from the church
where he had been praying, he found his old nurse very unhappy; in fact,
she was crying. This distressed him very much, because he hated to see
other people miserable. At first he wondered why Cyrilla was crying, and
then he saw the cause. She had accidentally broken an earthenware bowl
that one of the good villagers had lent her. Full of pity for his old
friend, St. Benedict took up the two pieces and went outside the house
with them, and knelt down. Then he prayed very hard that the bowl might
be mended. And, as he opened his eyes and looked at it, sure enough, it
was whole! Very pleased, and thinking how good God is to those who
really trust Him, he ran into the house and gave it to Cyrilla.
St. Benedict had not thought of himself, but only of God's wonderful
power and kindness. But Cyrilla and the village people to whom she told
the miracle all began to talk a lot about St. Benedict, and say he was a
young saint, since he could do miracles. People even came in from the
places round to stare at him. Do you think this pleased him? No; he
wasn't that sort of boy. If he had been, God would never have done
anything for him. He was very distressed at the way people went on; and
more and more he felt that God was calling him away, and had something
very important to say to him. And one day it came to him that he must
leave even his faithful old nurse and go away. You can imagine how
terribly sad he must have been at that thought, not only because he
loved her and had always had her near him since he could remember, but
because he knew how very, very much she loved him, and that if he left
her she would be sad and lonely, with no one to comfort her. But you
remember what I told you about how St. Benedict had made up his mind to
do his best always to carry out God's will, and not give in to himself
and pretend he had not heard; so, because he knew that it is more
important to be faithful to God than to any person on earth, he made up
his mind to go away. He did not tell his old nurse, but one day he set
out, alone.
He must have felt very strongly that it was God's will, otherwise he
would not have dared go out all alone and unarmed into the mountains,
and with no money or food. Don't you think it was very brave of him?
Perhaps you think it was foolish? Well, people have often been thought
fools for doing God's will faithfully, but in the end God proves that
really they were quite right. Anyway, something very soon happened to
St. Benedict to show that God was with him.
As he tramped on, along the mountain-sides, between the flower-covered
banks and thickets full of birds' songs, he prayed to God to guide him
in the right way. And so when, after some hours of solitary tramping, he
saw a man coming towards him out of a lonely mountain pass, he felt sure
this was someone sent by God to help him.
The man's clothes showed that he was a monk. As he drew near he looked
curiously at St. Benedict, wondering who this noble-looking boy could be
walking all alone among the wild mountains. He, himself, had come out
there to meditate and be alone with God and his thoughts. Stopping St.
Benedict, he asked him kindly who he was and where he was going. St.
Benedict quite simply told him the truth: that he had come out to seek
God's will, and didn't know where he was going, except that he was
seeking some place where he could live hidden from the whole world.
At first the monk Romanus tried to argue with him and show him that it
was foolish to come out like that alone. But St. Benedict spoke so
wonderfully about God's call that Romanus saw he was right, and made up
his mind to help him find somewhere where he could live alone for a
while. So he led him up a steep winding path, and showed him a cave
opening into the rugged mountain-side. The cave was about seven feet
deep and four feet broad, and there was just room on the rocky ledge
outside to make a little garden. St. Benedict stepped into the cave with
his heart full of joy, feeling sure that at last he had found the place
he was seeking. Before going away, Romanus gave him a long garment made
of sheep-skin, which was what the monks of those days used to wear. He
also promised to supply him with food. His monastery was far up, on the
top of the great rock in which the cave was. He said that every day he
would let down a basket with bread in it for St. Benedict, and he
promised faithfully to keep his secret. Then he went away.
What happened in the time that followed no one knows--it is a secret
between God and St. Benedict. But we can guess that God made known many
wonderful things to His faithful young servant--things that later he was
to teach to thousands of men; and that He filled him with grace and
strength to do what he would have to do, to make the world a better
place. Also, we can be sure that he was very, very happy, in spite of
the loneliness, and the dark, cold nights, and the hard ground he had
for his bed.
Three years St. Benedict lived like this, and then one sunny Easter
morning God made known St. Benedict's secret to a certain holy man who
lived in those parts, and told him to go to the cave and take St.
Benedict some of his Easter fare. St. Benedict was very pleased to see
him, but surprised to hear it was Easter, for he had lost all count of
time. So the priest laid out the good things he had brought, and they
said grace, and then they had a meal together, and then a talk. After
the priest had gone some shepherds and country-folk climbed up the steep
little path to see where he had been, and they found St. Benedict. He
welcomed them, and spoke so wonderfully to them that they saw he was a
man specially taught by God. They felt he was their true friend and
loved them for God's sake, and so they often climbed the steep path to
visit him and ask his help and advice. But very soon news of him spread
beyond the mountain shepherds, and people of all sorts from far and near
flocked to see the holy man and ask his prayers and his advice. Sad,
wicked people went away with sorrow for their sins, and became good.
Cowards went away full of strength and courage. And many people began to
learn a new way of serving God truly, always _doing their best_ for love
of Him, and never "giving in to themselves."
It was then that God allowed St. Benedict to have a terrible temptation,
to test him. Suddenly he felt within him a great desire to give up all
he was doing for God and return to the wicked city he had left and live
a life of ease and pleasure. It was the Devil who put this thought into
his mind, but God's grace in St. Benedict was stronger than the Devil.
With all his heart he vowed that he would _never_ give up doing God's
will, and, to punish himself for the thoughts that had entered his mind,
he threw himself into a mass of sharp, thorny briars and
stinging-nettles, so that his flesh was all torn and stung. After that
he was so strong that no temptation was ever able to conquer him, and he
was able to lead thousands of souls to victory.
The time had come when God wanted St. Benedict to leave his cave. He had
learnt what God had to tell him in secret, and now his great work was to
begin.
A large number of men who wished to serve God with all their hearts
began to collect round St. Benedict. Gradually they formed twelve
monasteries, all within about two miles, and got St. Benedict to rule
over them all. This was the beginning of St. Benedict's great work for
God. He drew up a Rule which showed men how they could live in the way
most pleasing to God. It was not so terribly hard as to be impossible
for ordinary men, like some of the holy hermits and Saints in the past
had taught. And so thousands and thousands of men began to promise to
keep this Rule and to live together in monasteries, doing good. St.
Benedict had many wonderful adventures during the rest of his life, but
I must keep those stories to tell you another time. The end of this one
is that after God had called St. Benedict to Heaven, his great work went
on. His followers began to travel all over the world as missionaries,
teaching the pagans about Christ, and bringing peace and goodness to the
poor, sad, wicked world. They cultivated the land and made it fruitful;
and built churches and hospitals and schools; and taught the children,
and looked after the poor, and _civilized_ the world. It was they who
brought the Christian Faith to England, for St. Augustine was one of St.
Benedict's monks, and did more than anybody else to make England the
great country which she became; for before St. Benedict's monks came the
country was all wild and the Saxons were heathen. So, you see, by
listening for God's voice, and doing his best to obey faithfully, the
boy Benedict became one of the men who have done very great things for
the world.
* * * * *
"Tell us some more," said the Cubs sleepily.
"Tell us all the adventures St. Benedict had."
"No, no," said Akela; "that was a long story. Now you must go to sleep
and dream about St. Benedict, and then you will be ready to get up and
have a glorious day to-morrow."
So the Stable boys stumbled sleepily back to their own quarters, and
Akela tucked each of them up in his blankets.
A quarter of an hour later everyone was asleep. As Akela crept softly
round she could only hear the regular breathing of sound sleepers. True,
at midnight Patsy made some loud conversation, and thought he could do
without any blankets at all, but he did not wake up even then, and was
soon tucked up quietly again.
So ended the First Day.
THE SECOND DAY
The sun has already been up some time when the first Cub wakes up and
wonders where he is. Finding he is in camp, he feels sure it would be a
good turn if he thumped the sleeping form next him and woke him up, that
he, too, may have the delight of remembering that "to-morrow" has
actually come--the first real day in camp! These two make conversation
to each other, and become so cheery that soon everybody else has woke
up. It is 6.30, so Akela gives leave for everyone to turn out.
There is a tap in the Stable-yard. Soon everyone is washing in a tin
basin. The two cooks have dressed quickly, said their prayers in the
little chapel, and are off up the hill to the camp field.
At the Stable it is some time before everyone is thoroughly washed and
dressed, beds are tidied, and everything spick and span. Then the crowd
of happy Cubs race off to the field.
The fire is burning merrily, and a big dixie of porridge bubbling for
all it is worth. Away, between the trees, you can see the blue sea
glinting and sparkling. Overhead the sea-gulls circle on silver wings,
and cry good-morning to each other as they pass with swoops and dips,
like so many tiny aeroplanes. The dew is thick on the grass, the
blackbirds sing, the sun shines, and the camp-fire sends a steady column
of blue smoke into the fresh morning air. How different to early morning
in London! With a howl of joy the Cubs scatter over the field.
Here comes Godmother in a big blue overall and a sun hat; and Father and
Mother appear at the same moment from the farther corner of the field.
They take over the cooking, and the two cooks run off for a bit of sport
after their labours.
Then everyone collects in the council circle for prayers. A short run
wild again, and then a series of whistle-blasts calls the Pack in for
breakfast. In come rushing the ravenous Cubs, and each squats down where
the cooks have placed their mugs in a circle. Caps off, and all stand
quiet for a moment, for grace, and then porridge and mountains of
bread-and-butter begin to disappear at a great rate.
Breakfast finished, the pots and the pans washed up, the Pack invades
the post office, and, armed with picture postcards and pencils, the Cubs
squat along the sea-wall and write to their mothers. That duty done, and
spades, pails, boats, and shrimping-nets bought, they lose no more time
in getting down on to the shore.
It is a happy and hungry crowd with wet and rumpled hair that turns up
again at camp, all ready for the splendid dinner Mother and Father have
cooked.
After dinner a rest, while Godmother reads aloud.
The day ends up with a wonderful shrimping-party. Besides shrimps, the
Cubs catch every kind of funny little sea-creature--star-fishes,
jelly-fishes, baby sea-anemones, tiny, tiny crabs, a devil-fish, baby
dabs, and everything else you can think of. The tide is right out, and
there are mysterious green pools under the pier, full of feathery red
sea-weed and little darting fishes. Of course, Sam falls into one in his
clothes, and comes out looking like a drowned rat. Akela wrings him out
and sends him home to get into dry clothes, for the sun is beginning to
sink.
Supper, night prayers, a race down the hill, a few minutes, to see the
little twinkling lights, and the happy family is getting undressed in
double quick time, for Akela has promised a good story to-night--a
"nexiting" one about a robber chief.
Soon everyone in the coach-house is settled on his palliasse, and has
invited a Stable Cub to share it with him. The candle has been lighted
and stuck with a dab of grease on the ledge.
"Fire ahead, miss," commands a Sixer. Silence reigns.
"The story I told you yesterday," said Akela, "was about a boy who
started good, and went on being good all his life. To-night I am going
to tell you about a boy who started good, but became bad, and was very
wicked until he grew up, when something happened which sent him on the
great adventure of serving God."
THE STORY OF ST. GUTHLAC.
Many hundreds of years ago, in the days when England was ruled over by
the Saxon Kings, there lived a boy called Guthlac. He was a very
intelligent boy, not dull, like some children; he was obedient to the
grown-ups, and, as the old book says, "blithe in countenance, pure and
clean and innocent in his ways; and in him was the lustre of Divine
brightness so shining that all men who saw him could perceive the
promise of what should hereafter happen to him."
But when he got to be about fifteen he forgot all the things he had been
taught as a child. When he felt a kind of restless longing for adventure
rising up inside him, and a desire to do wild things, and a cruel
feeling that he did not care what happened to other people so long as he
had a good time, he _gave in to himself_ and began the most wild and
reckless life you can imagine. He armed himself with a great ash-bow and
a sharp spear from his father's armoury. He slung a shield on his back,
and stuck his belt full of knives and daggers and arrows. Then he went
about and collected a gang of all the wildest boys he could find, and
put himself at their head. Then, going through all the country round,
these wild boys attacked anybody they thought was an enemy of theirs,
paid off old grudges, killed and wounded innocent people, set fire to
their houses, and did all the damage they could. Mad with excitement and
lust for blood, they soon became just a robber band, attacking friend
and foe alike, killing just for the pleasure of killing, or sacking
farms and houses to satisfy their greed. They knew all the woods and
by-ways so well that no one could catch them. After a time they began to
build themselves huts where they could sleep, and also hide the treasure
they had plundered from rich men. You can't imagine any wicked or
horrible thing they did not do. And, of course, they forgot God
entirely, though once they had been Christian children and had been
brought up to know and love God. Nine years passed like this, and then
something happened.
One night as Guthlac, the chief, lay on his bed of rushes and soft, warm
skins in the darkness of the wooden cabin, thinking over the excitements
of the day and planning all the wicked things he would do the next day,
a wonderful thought flashed into his mind, and it seemed to swallow up
all the other thoughts. He lay still, gazing into the darkness and
trying to understand what it was. Then, gradually, he found that it was
_God_ he was thinking about--God, Whom he had forgotten for nine long
years.
He did not turn away his mind, but went on thinking about God until his
heart was full of a kind of glow that was _love_. He was surprised, for
he knew he did not really love God; for he was spending all his days
fighting against Him by every wicked thing he could imagine. And then he
began to understand that this feeling inside him was sent by God--it was
God's love for him, and not his love for God. Could it really be that
God loved him? He was so very wicked and cruel, and God--God was so good
and just and merciful.
The robbers, sleeping on their rush beds, breathed heavily; they were
tired after a hard day. Guthlac listened to their breathing. They were
his men; they obeyed him as their chief. He remembered the day, nine
years ago, when he had thought of the bold robbers and sea-kings and
brave men of the past, and longed to show that he was as daring as they,
and could lead men to war. But as he lay, very wide awake, with the
strange feeling of God near, he began to think of other great men he had
heard of in his childhood--men just as brave and daring as the
sea-kings, just as good leaders of men, more famous and wonderful,
and--lovers of God.
God loved them, and they loved God and gave all their strength and
courage to serve Him. They were His special friends. And now it seemed
to Guthlac that God was filling his heart with love and asking him to be
His special friend. A great feeling of shame came over him. How could
God forgive him and want him for a friend after all the terrible things
he had done? But suddenly a great longing filled him to be one of God's
special friends, and obey Him, and go on always loving Him. He longed
for Christ to become his Chief and Leader; and then he began to
understand that this would mean he must tell God from the bottom of his
heart that he was sorry for all the wicked things he had ever done, and
must promise on his honour that he would never again do a single one of
them.
Guthlac sat up in bed and thought hard. This would mean that he must
give up being a robber, give up his free life in the woods, give up
leading his daring followers, give up all the unlawful pleasures of
which his life was made up. It would be a terribly big giving up . . .
but then, what a big, big thing he would get in exchange! He would get
the friendship of God, and the knowledge that he had become very
pleasing to Him. Stretching wide his arms in the darkness, he told God
that he gave up _all_, _all_, _all_ that was wicked, and he begged to
be forgiven and made clean once more, like an innocent little child.
Then, very happy, he lay back on his bed of skins and fell asleep.
The sun was streaming into the long, low room when Guthlac awoke. It was
a glorious English spring morning. The sleeping robbers were stirring,
one by one, beneath their warm deer-skins. They little thought that
their chief, sitting up in bed with the morning sun in his eyes, was
thinking about God, and how wonderful it was that He had come to him in
the night and called him to become one of His friends. It was rather
difficult to believe, in the light of day, with the coarse laughter and
wild voices of the robbers ringing out on the morning air, and yet
Guthlac knew it was true, and _knew that he had made a great promise_.
He was too brave a man to go back on a promise, however hard to keep, so
he stood up with a strong purpose in his heart.
The first step would be to tell his men. That would be terribly hard. He
suddenly felt very lonely, and wished there was someone else there to
back him up. Then he remembered that the Lord Christ was his Chief.
Surely He would be near and help him in his first adventure?
So he stepped out into the dewy woods, where all the birds were singing
as if they, too, loved God with all their hearts. And he called his men
about him to hear the important thing he had to say. They all came
crowding round, expecting to hear some splendid new adventure that
Guthlac, their chief, had planned for them.
Then he stood up, taller than any of them and more splendid, and in his
clear, ringing voice he told them that a wonderful thing had
happened--God had called him to join the band of His brave friends. When
God calls there's no hanging back. And so he had given up for ever the
robber's life. He was no longer their chief. He had found a new Chief
for himself, and was off, at once, on the adventure of God's service.
And so he bade them--good-bye.
The robbers looked at each other in horror and surprise. What had
happened to their chief? Was he mad? What would happen to them without
their brave leader? Falling down on their knees about him, they begged
him to stay; but Guthlac's eyes were already looking away at the new
adventure he saw before him. The pleasures of his old life did not seem
worth anything now; he scarcely heard the voices of his friends as they
pleaded with him.
At last they gave up all hope of persuading him, and Guthlac walked away
through the woods, leaving his old life behind him for ever.
He did not know where to go at first, but he felt sure Christ, his new
Chief, would help him; and, sure enough, he presently remembered that
not very far away there was an abbey of St. Benedict's monks. He knew
those men were all Christ's friends, and he was quite sure they would
welcome him.
So he walked through the woods until he came to the abbey. There he
knocked loudly on the great door, and presently a brother opened it. He
must have been terrified when he saw the tall young chieftain standing
before him, for all the countryside feared Guthlac. But very soon the
brother saw the love of God shining in Guthlac's eyes, and the gentle
humility in his voice showed that he was no longer the cruel robber, but
a servant of Christ.
The monks took Guthlac in and made him welcome. Soon he found that
conquering himself and the Devil was a harder fight than he had ever
fought against his enemies in the world, but he threw himself into the
battle with all his heart. He did not do things by halves, but began to
serve God with all his might, because before he had fought so hard
against Him. Remembering how often he had got drunk with the wine he
had stolen, he now would not drink one single drop even of the wine the
monks were allowed to have. At first the brothers did not like this, but
soon they began to understand the strong resolve of the young robber,
and, seeing how very pure his heart was and how much he loved God, they
all loved him. The curious old book which tells all about him says: "He
was in figure tall, and pure in body, cheerful in mood, and in
countenance handsome; he was modest in his discourse, and he was patient
and humble, and ever in his heart was Divine love hot and burning."
For two years he lived in that monastery, and then he began to long to
live a harder life for Christ's sake. He heard about the hermits of old
days who used to live apart from other men in wild places, and he got
leave from the Abbot to follow their example. So one day he set out.
He did not choose the beautiful green woods that he had once roamed in,
but turned towards a most horrible place--a great marsh full of pools of
slimy black water, and reeds, and rough scrub and bushes. It was the
most lonely place you can imagine, and people feared to go there because
they said it was haunted by evil spirits.
On an island in this lonely fen St. Guthlac settled down with two
servants. It was a very hard life, and the Devil sent him all sorts of
horrible temptations and haunted him and gave him no rest; but St.
Guthlac rejoiced in the chance of fighting under his Captain, Christ,
against the evil spirits.
It would take too long now to tell you of all the wonderful things that
happened to St. Guthlac on this island--we must keep them for another
time. For God rewarded his love and his courage by giving him a
wonderful gift of miracles and of great wisdom, so that the news of him
gradually spread all over the country, and people began to understand
that the great robber had now become a great Saint. And so from far and
near, the people flocked to him. But one thing more about him I will
tell you.
Though he had now no human companions, and chose to set all his love on
God, he had a wonderful friendship with the wild animals that shared the
island with him. In those days there were many wild beasts in England,
such as wolves. These would come to St. Guthlac and eat out of his hand.
Even the fishes would come to him; and as to the birds, they did not
fear him at all. The swallows, which are very timid birds, would come
and settle all about on him, and there were some ravens which were a
trouble because they were so tame and would come and steal things from
his house. Once a holy man called Wilfrith, who had come to see St.
Guthlac, was surprised to see the swallows settle on him, and (as the
old book says) asked him "wherefore the wild birds of the waste sat so
submissively upon him." St. Guthlac explained to him in these words:
"Hast thou never learnt, Brother Wilfrith, in Holy Writ, that he who
hath led his life after God's will, the wild beasts and wild birds have
become the more intimate with him? And the man who would pass his life
apart from worldly men, to him the angels approach nearer."
So it was that the wild place called Croyland became a place of God, and
St. Guthlac, through God's power, was able to do more good to his
fellow-men than ever he had done them harm in his wild days. But though
St. Guthlac was doing miracles as wonderful as those of the Old
Testament prophets, and preaching in his wilderness as wonderfully as
St. John the Baptist did in his, God did not mean to leave him there
very long, for He wished to have His brave and true friend in heaven.
After fifteen years St. Guthlac, who was still almost a young man, fell
ill. Knowing that God was calling him to Heaven, he gladly began to
prepare. His illness lasted only seven days, and he himself knew that he
would die on the eighth. But he had nothing to fear, for he had so
truly repented of his sins that night when God spoke to him first that
they had been all washed away. So he lay in his little house waiting.
And when one of his faithful servants, who was some way off, at his
prayers, chanced to look up, he saw the house with a kind of bright
cloud of glory round it. And this brightness stayed there till day
broke. And at dawn St. Guthlac called his servant and gave him last
messages for his friends. "And after that," says the old book, "he
raised his eyes to heaven and stretched out his arms, and then sent
forth his spirit with joy and bliss to the eternal happiness of the
heavenly kingdom."
* * * * *
"That was a good one," said the Cubs. But they were too sleepy to ask
for another story, as usual, and in less than five minutes every one was
asleep, sailing away through the dream-sea towards the golden, sunlit
country called "To-morrow."
THE THIRD DAY
Seven o'clock and no one awake yet! Akela crept softly out and roused
the cooks. Sam woke quickly, but Bill was just like a hermit crab--the
more you poked him, the more he drew back into his shell and hid his
head under his blanket. Presently, however, he began to uncurl, opened
his eyes very wide, sat up, and discovered it was not his mother calling
him, but that he was at camp. He got up quickly, and was the first
ready.
Gradually they all woke up, but no one was in such a hurry to turn out
this morning.
They put on uniform and boots and stockings, for it was not to be a
shore day.
Breakfast over, haversacks were packed with grub, and the whole party
tramped off along the sea-wall to Ryde. The first thing that happened
was a beautiful service in a very beautiful little church, for on this
day (August 15th) the Pack always goes to church. Then five of the
younger ones who didn't fancy a long tramp went home with Father and
Mother, and the rest set off on an adventure.
Along the roads and lanes they went, but the way did not seem long, for
they talked of so many interesting things. After about two miles, as
they were going along a narrow lane, they suddenly came on a man sitting
on the bank, who stood up and said, "Hullo!" The Cubs gave a yell and
fell upon him, for, you see, he was their Scoutmaster.
He led the way past an old ruin, under a ruined archway, and along a
little path, till they got to a great building called Quarr Abbey, where
he was staying. There, under the shade of the trees, the weary
travellers sat and had an enormous lunch. Three big jugs of cider had
been provided for them. It was the first time they had ever tasted
cider, and Akela began to be afraid they would never be able to walk
home straight if they drank any more; so it was decided to pour the
remainder into the water-bottles, and take it back for the five boys in
camp.
After dinner the Scoutmaster took the Cubs for a row in the creek, and
afterwards they bathed. Then they had a good tea, and were allowed to
see over the abbey and go down in the crypt under the church. It
interested them very much to see a wonderful library of eighty thousand
books! Some were hundreds and hundreds of years old, and all done in
writing and painting, because there was no printing in those days. Some
were books done in the very first days of printing. There was one
enormous book you could hardly carry, and by it a tiny wee little book
you could put in your waistcoat-pocket.
At last it was time to go home, and they set out once more to tramp
along the lanes. The evening sun shone down through the thick green
leaves, and the blackbirds sang as if they were saying all sorts of
important things to each other, if only you could understand. The grey,
broken arches of the ruined abbey seemed to tell sad tales of long
ago--seemed full of secrets nobody will ever hear.
"It's been a good adventure," said the Cubs, and they tramped home
contentedly, for their minds were full of things to think about.
Even at the end of a four-mile tramp they were ready to run up the
grassy hill into the camp, each keen to be the first one to tell Father
and Mother about the eighty thousand books, and the ruin, and the cider,
and the crypt. The five Cubs enjoyed the cider, and everyone talked at
the same time round the camp-fire that night, all telling different
things.
"Story to-night, miss?" said a Cub, suddenly.
"Yes," said Akela.
"Good one?"
"Yes--a very good one about a soldier-Saint."