cried the Cub, cramming the last bit of bread-and-cheese into his mouth.
The trampers were quite ready to lie down on their beds that night.
"It's been the best day we've had yet," they said; "and now, please,
tell the story."
So Akela curled up on someone's palliasse, and silence fell.
THE STORY OF ST. MARTIN.
A little more than three hundred years after Our Lord formed the
Christian Church and then went back to Heaven, having promised always to
be in spirit with His people, a boy called Martin was born in Hungary.
This boy God chose to be a very great leader among His people, the
Christians, and so He began to arrange Martin's life in such a way that
he should be led, little by little, to the fulfilment of God's plans.
Now, part of God's plan was that Martin should be given the chance of
_conquering himself_, and, with the addition of a lot of God's grace, be
made strong and able to bear bravely the terrible dangers and hardships
that were bound to go with a high position in the Church of Christ in
those days of persecution. This story I am going to tell you is the
story of all the hard things and disappointments and adventures God sent
to the boy Martin, in order to prepare him well, and bring him, at last,
to the position he was to fill in the Church.
Well, the first thing that happened was that the Holy Spirit put into
the little boy's heart the idea of praying to a wonderful, unknown
being, Whom he called "the God of the Christians." You see, his father
was a pagan, and Martin had never been taught anything about God, and
must have picked up this idea all on his own. He had no church to go to,
or anything, so he set to and built himself a little chapel on the top
of a hill near his home, and there he often ran off and prayed to the
God he knew so little about, but Who, he felt sure, was a kind and
loving friend of little boys.
Well, God was pleased to see that Martin had answered so well to the
idea He had sent into his heart, so He rewarded him by making something
happen, which was the next bit of His plan, so to speak.
Martin's father was a soldier, and had risen from the ranks to the
position of Colonel in the Roman Army. To repay him for his good
services he was given a farm in Italy. And so, when Martin was ten years
old, his father and mother moved to this farm, and Martin found himself
living in a country where the Christian Faith was openly practised and
people loved and served "the God of the Christians," Whom Martin had so
much longed to know more about.
You can imagine how pleased the boy was; and before long he had
discovered the house of the priests who taught young pagans all about
the Christian faith, and had begun to go to them regularly to learn. His
father did not take much notice of this, and thought his small son would
soon forget all about it when he got old enough to enter the life his
father had decided he should follow--the exciting life of a soldier.
But Martin was not dreaming of battles and the adventures of a soldier's
life, for he had discovered that among Christians there was such a thing
as specially giving yourself to God, and bravely breaking away from all
the things you love by nature--like riches and fine clothes, and nice
food, and friends, and adventures in the world, so as to love Christ
only, and follow the adventures of the spirit to which He will lead His
loyal soldiers. While still a boy Martin decided that this was the life
for him, and he began to long to leave his comfortable home and go and
join the hermits who lived in caves. So you can imagine that when his
father began to talk about his starting his military training he was
very much dismayed. Being a frank and honest kind of boy, he looked his
father bravely in the face, and told him straight out that he wanted to
be a Christian and give up his whole life to it.
Martin's father was very angry indeed. He stormed at the boy, and when
he found that was no good, he thrashed him. But nothing could make
Martin change his mind, and at last he decided the only way was to run
away from home.
But I told you God meant Martin to become a leader. To have run away and
lived with the hermits would not have given him just the kind of
training he needed, and the chance of showing he could stick to God
through real difficulties. So God let the next bit of His plan happen.
Martin's father told the Roman officials that his son had come to the
age at which all boys had to undergo their military training (though he
hadn't, really). And as Martin would not go and "join up," a kind of
press-gang lay in ambush one day and captured him, and he was led away
in chains and forced to take the oath of military allegiance.
His father being a Colonel, Martin was given a good position in the army
straight off, and had his own horse and his own servant. Of course,
nearly all his companions were pagans, and the life of the army was of a
pretty low standard. But Martin stuck faithfully to the kind of life he
knew was pleasing to God, and tried in his dealings with his fellow-men
to do things in the brave, kind, generous, unselfish way Christ would
have done them. Of course, this made all the soldiers and his
fellow-officers love him, and they must often have wondered why he never
got angry, or cheated, or grumbled and swore at unpleasant things; and
why he was so very kind to his servant, and always ready to give up his
place or any little privilege to other people. Though no one knew it,
even his pay he gave away to the poor. And yet he was not yet a baptized
Christian, for in those days people used to wait a long time and prepare
themselves very carefully for the great honour of being made one of the
children of God; and during this time of waiting they were called
catechumens.
It was at this time, while Martin's regiment was stationed in France,
that a very wonderful thing happened to him--for God was still planning
his life and giving him chances; and, if he took them, rewarding him
with special graces which should turn him gradually into a brave
"soldier of Jesus Christ."
One cold wintry day, as the wind whistled down the narrow streets of
Amiens, Martin's troop came clattering through the old gateway, the
soldiers wrapping their great military cloaks close round them, for the
bitter French winter seemed to freeze their Southern blood. By the gate
of the city they noticed, as they swung by, an old, ragged man. The wind
fluttered his tattered rags about, and he stretched out his thin hands,
all blue with cold, hoping for a few pence to buy himself some food. The
soldiers, however, passed him by and gave him nothing. But when Martin
reached the corner and saw the piteous sight his heart was touched, and
he reined in his horse. He felt in his pockets, but, alas! they were
empty, for he had given away all he had to some other poor person. He
was very sad, because he always felt the poor were a kind of _chance_
given him by God of showing his love for the Lord Christ, Who had said
that if you served the poor and naked and hungry and unhappy you really
served _Him_. Well, Martin felt he simply _couldn't_ pass on and give
the old man nothing. And suddenly the idea came to him that he was warm
in his big cloak, and the old man very cold. What if he gave his cloak?
But it was his uniform, and he knew that he must not ride out without it
altogether, so he took it off, drew his sword, slashed it in half, and
then, bending down with a smile, put the warm folds about the old man's
cowering shoulders.
Of course, the soldiers and other officers laughed; but Martin didn't
care--he was willing to be what St. Paul calls "a fool for Christ's
sake."
And now comes the wonderful thing. That night as Martin lay in bed,
asleep, a wonderful vision came to him. Suddenly his room seemed full of
angels, and in the midst of them was Christ. _And_--on His shoulders was
Martin's half-cloak! Then Our Lord spoke. "Martin," He said, "dost thou
know this mantle?" And then He turned to the angels, and He said:
"Martin, yet a catechumen, hath clothed Me with this garment."
You can imagine what St. Martin felt! But besides the joy in him, there
was a feeling that Our Lord was a little disappointed because he was
only a catechumen still, and not yet baptized and made a real part of
His Church, a real child of God. And so, feeling that God wished him to
have the great honour of Baptism, he went to the priests, and started on
the long, hard preparation that they used to have in those days. No meat
might he have, nor wine, and he must pray a lot, and often watch in the
church the whole night, and in many other ways practise not giving in to
himself. Only at Easter and Whitsun were the catechumens baptized; and
then they were clothed in white garments, which they wore for a week.
These were meant to show the perfect purity of their souls, from which
all stain of sin had been washed away by the waters of Baptism.
At last the great day came, and Martin received the wonderful Sacrament
with great love and humility. But now he felt that he simply couldn't
let his hands be stained with the blood of his fellow-men, and that the
soldier's life was not for him. And so, when the Emperor came one day
and inspected his regiment, which was shortly to go into battle, he
asked him if he might leave the army. "Until now I have fought for you,"
he said; "let me henceforth fight for God. . . . I am a soldier of
Christ, and it is not lawful for me to take part in a bloody battle."
The Emperor was very angry. "Coward!" he cried. "It is not religion that
causes you to refuse to fight--you are _afraid_."
So, to show them he was not afraid, Martin offered to go into battle in
the very front rank, but to go unarmed (since he would not shed human
blood). And, to show that he trusted in Christ as his protector, he said
he would go without armour or helmet.
His challenge was accepted, and he was put under arrest, lest he might
try to escape.
Of course, he spent the night praying, and the next day everyone was
astonished by some strange news. The enemy had sent a despatch to sue
for peace, and to say they would agree to the Emperor's terms. So there
was no battle; and not only was Martin's life saved, but the lives of
many other brave men. Probably the Emperor saw God's hand in the
unexpected action of his powerful enemy, for he at once gave Martin
leave to go free.
At last Martin found himself at liberty to follow the life he had always
felt called to; and once again God sent him where things should happen
to him which would finally lead to the accomplishment of God's great
plan.
After making a pilgrimage to Rome, which was now not only the head of
the worldwide Empire, but the kind of headquarters of the Christians, he
returned to France, so as to put himself under the guidance of a very
holy man, called St. Hilary, the Bishop of Poitiers.
St. Hilary soon saw that Martin was no ordinary young soldier, but was a
very promising "soldier of Jesus Christ," and that his services would
be very valuable. He saw, also, that he had received a special call from
God, so he proposed to ordain him deacon. But Martin was very humble,
and he refused the honour. In the end he let St. Hilary ordain him
exorcist. But directly after this he was ordered by God in a dream to go
back to his native land and visit his relations and bring them into the
Christian Faith. St. Hilary was disappointed, but he let him go, making
him promise, however, that he would return to the Diocese of Poitiers,
to which he now belonged.
After many adventures, including falling into the hands of robbers and
escaping in a marvellous way, which must have been through God's help,
Martin reached his old home, and had the joy of seeing his mother
received into the Church, as well as seven of his cousins and his two
great-uncles.
At this time the Church was being persecuted by a very strong party
called the Arians. They were heretics, who taught that Our Lord was only
a man and not God, and as the Church turned them out on account of their
false teaching, they did nothing but fight against her. Of course,
Martin, the brave soldier of Christ, stood up for what he believed, so
that one day he was seized by the Arians, beaten, and banished from his
own country. He began to make his way back to St. Hilary, but when he
reached Milan he learned that his friend had been banished from
Poitiers, and that an Arian Bishop ruled in his place. So Martin stayed
at Milan; and this, too, was a part of God's plan, because it was his
stay here which started him on an idea which in the end developed into
one of the most important things in his life.
This idea was to form a kind of little monastery outside the city, where
he and a handful of other young men lived, and tried to do good and to
live in a way specially pleasing to God, and more perfect than they
could do in the busy rush of the ordinary world. But after a while the
Arians got strong in Milan, and drove out Martin and his followers. For
a while Martin and a friend of his lived as hermits on a wild little
island off the coast of Spain. But, hearing that St. Hilary had been
restored to his see, Martin went to Poitiers so as to fulfil his solemn
promise. But once more St. Hilary was to be disappointed, for this time
Martin begged to be allowed to continue his hermit's life. St. Hilary
gave him leave, and Martin now withdrew to a forest about eight miles
from Poitiers. Here he built himself a hut, and was soon surrounded by
men who wished to lead the same kind of holy life. This was the
beginning of all the wonderful monasteries of France, which civilized
the whole country in time and taught it to be Christian.
That Martin's new life was really pleasing to God was soon shown, for
God gave him the gift of doing miracles, and twice he even raised the
dead to life. You will remember how Our Lord specially promised that His
faithful followers, in the years to come, should do miracles like He had
done, and even greater ones. Well, St. Martin was one of the men who
showed that Our Lord's promise was fulfilled. All the men to whom the
Church has given the title "Saint" have done wonderful miracles, that
God's name might be glorified and people see that "with God all things
are possible." St. Martin now lived in very close communion with God,
and his miracles showed that he was not just an _ordinary_ good man.
Besides training his monks, St. Martin was working very hard among the
heathen Gauls. He would press forward through the forests and preach in
the little villages, and do miracles, and, after instructing the people
in the true Faith, baptize them all, and leave a happy Christian village
where he had found a miserable, frightened, heathen one.
St. Martin's tender pity for all suffering things is shown by this
little story. One day, as he walked in the country, he saw a poor,
terrified hare dashing along with starting eyes, and nearly exhausted,
for a party of huntsmen and their hounds were close upon it. St. Martin
saw that in a few minutes it must be torn to bits by the hounds, for
there was no cover for it. His tender heart longed to help it to escape,
because it was weak and small and frightened. So he called out to the
hounds to stop! And, strange to say, they pulled up short in their mad
rush, and all stood still as if frozen to the ground, and the poor
little hare scurried away into safety.
Now, this kind of life was just what suited St. Martin, and he was very
happy. He lived apart with God, and yet had work to do in training his
monks in the way of perfection and teaching the Faith to the ignorant
pagans. But he had not yet arrived at the end of God's great plan for
him. And if God now called him away from the life he loved to a life he
did not want at all, we must not be surprised, for Christ said that
those who would be His disciples must _deny themselves_ and take up
their _cross_ and follow Him, and that is what all good Christians must
be ready to do--that is, live according to _the way God wants_ instead
of according to the way _they want_ themselves.
Well, the change came when St. Hilary died; for of course the people
wanted St. Martin to become Bishop in his place. To be Bishop was a very
great honour, and one that many men would have been glad to accept. But
St. Martin was humble, like all Saints; and he also felt that if he was
to remain pure of heart and close to God he must live in the quiet
solitude and silence of his monastery, so he refused to become Bishop.
But that he should be Bishop was God's will, and also the people were
quite determined to have him. They got him by making him think there was
a poor sick woman who wanted him to come to her. He came out of his
monastery, all unsuspecting, and the people carried him off by force to
Poitiers, and he had to consent to be consecrated Bishop.
He did not look very like a Bishop as he was brought into the city. He
was clad in a poor, thin old habit, and his head was closely shaved, as
the monks were accustomed to do, and he was thin and pale with fasting
and his hard life. But even his humble appearance made the people cheer
him all the more; and the church was absolutely packed at the solemn
service of his consecration as Bishop.
Now began a life in which his own will was altogether given up to that
of God. He lived in a poor little hut adjoining the church--the poorness
of it pleased him; but all day he was at it, doing things for
people--now visiting a sick man to pray over him, now making peace
between quarrelsome people, now blessing oils, that they might bring
healing to the sick; preaching sermons, talking to people, and
explaining Holy Scripture in the way he could do so wonderfully;
visiting his priests, or listening to the worries and troubles they came
to tell him; and when there was nothing else, there was always a crowd
of people waiting just to see their beloved Bishop's holy face and go
away cheered with a patient smile from him.
But just sometimes he slipped away for a little peace alone with God, at
a beautiful monastery called Marmontier, which he formed near the city,
and which later became very famous, and kept the Rule of St. Benedict I
told you about before.
There were many things that were serious worries and very bitter sorrows
and trials to St. Martin at this time, but I can't tell you all about
these now. But there were also joys; and one of these I will tell you
about, because it was the companionship of a little boy. He was nearly
ten when St. Martin baptized him and then adopted him. As they travelled
together soon after the boy's Baptism, and while he still had on the
beautiful white robe I told you about, which showed outwardly the new
purity of his soul, they came to the River Loire. A little way ahead of
them they saw a poor blind beggar waiting for someone to help him
across.
"Son," said St. Martin to the boy, Victorius, "go to that man; wash his
face and eyes with water from the river; then bring him to me."
So the boy went and did as St. Martin had told him; and as soon as he
had washed the poor man's eyes, the man opened them and found he could
see! With joy he looked about at the blue sky and the river; and when he
heard that it was the holy Bishop who had sent the white-robed boy to
him, he praised God for what had happened, and ran and fell down at St.
Martin's feet. The poor beggar was very excited about it all, and didn't
know how to thank St. Martin and the boy. So St. Martin said:
"Calm thyself, cease talking, and come; for with me in this boat thou
shalt cross the river."
So the beggar stayed with them three days, and Victorius was allowed to
look after him, and, as the old book says, "eagerly brought him
everything to eat that he liked best."
Victorius stayed always with St. Martin, and went about everywhere with
him, scarcely ever leaving his side. Even to the church he would go with
him for the night offices; or on his tours visiting the churches or
preaching to the heathen. St. Martin taught Victorius, and in return the
boy waited on him; also, I think, he must have cheered up the old
Bishop, and often made him feel a boy again. But don't you think
Victorius was a very lucky boy? He saw a great many wonderful miracles
of the Saint, and was even allowed to have a hand in the doing of some
of them, as in the case of the blind beggar. When Victorius was old
enough, St. Martin made him a priest, and _himself_ cut off the young
man's hair in the way priests used to have it cut.
There are a great many more wonderful stories about St. Martin which I
haven't time to tell you now; but gradually, gradually he was
establishing the Christian Faith very firmly in France. God's great plan
was being fully worked out, for, you see, St. Martin had never resisted
God's will in any point; always he had done just what he felt God was
gently leading him to do, never mind what it cost him at the time. And
so he took each step that God arranged for him, and each one led on to
the next, and all led on to the wonderful life of building up the Church
of Christ, and making it bigger, stronger, purer, more healthy; and the
great work, too, of turning a heathen land into a powerful Christian
country.
At last came the day when the tired old Bishop felt, with unspeakable
joy, that he was to go and receive his reward at the hands of Christ,
Whom he had loved so faithfully and so long, and was to enter into his
rest.
One day, after a long journey, St. Martin was thinking of returning to
his beloved Marmontier, when a great weakness came over him.
"The moment of my deliverance is at hand," he said.
His monks and other faithful companions were nearly broken-hearted.
"Oh, Father, will you then leave us?" they cried. "Ravening wolves will
fall on your flock, and who will protect it when the shepherd is struck?
We know your longing to depart and to be with Christ, but your reward is
assured and will be greater by delay. Have pity on us who must remain."
So St. Martin prayed a beautiful prayer, because he loved his children
more than himself, and he was even willing to put off his reward and his
longed-for rest for love of them.
"Lord," he said, "if indeed I still be necessary to Thy people, I refuse
not the labour. Let only Thy will be done."
[Illustration: S. MARTIN, VICTORIUS AND THE BLIND BEGGAR.
_See page 39._ ]
But it was not Our Lord's will that His faithful soldier should fight
any longer. Christ was waiting for him, all ready to say, "Well done,
good and faithful servant, enter thou into the joy of thy Lord."
And so, lying humbly upon a bed of sackcloth, St. Martin, Apostle of
France, finished the work that God had given him to do, and passed into
the glory and eternal rest of the Blessed.
THE FOURTH DAY
A gorgeous day of steady, hot sun that made the sea sparkle like a
million diamonds scattered on a great stretch of blue, blue satin. The
tide was very far out, leaving a golden stretch of sand that simply
asked to be tunnelled into and dug into holes and trenches and castles.
The Cubs all got into their bathing-costumes (the Cubs' "costumes" were
_mostly_ bare Cub!), and spent the whole morning burrowing like moles
into the sand, and getting cool in the sea when they felt like it. Akela
tried to write something "very important," but the Cubs didn't seem to
think it nearly as important as Akela did, and not much writing got
done.
After dinner and rest, when the tide had come up, like a great green
monster swallowing up the shore, and clutching with foamy fingers at the
rocks, Akela hired a boat and took half the Cubs at a time for a row,
while the other half ran along the shore ready to scramble in, when
their turn came.
The wind had got up, and out to sea there were no end of "white horses"
shaking their manes and galloping after each other. Do you know what
"white horses" are? They are the white crests of the waves that break
out all over the sea on windy days. Some of the "white horses" came
galloping close in to shore, and the Cubs had a very exciting time
landing to give the others a turn. This is how they did it. One large
Cub rolled up his shorts as far as they would go, and stood ready in the
bow. Akela then turned the boat shorewards suddenly, and pulled at the
oars for dear life, and all the Cubs helped by cheering.
"Crash--scrunch," the boat went ashore; the Cub in the bow leapt out,
and held her nose steady while everyone else scrambled out. A few
"white horses" jumped over the stern and made things a bit wet, but
nobody minded. In scrambled the next boatful of Cubs, and, with a good
shove, the boat was out again.