sitting on the floor of the bell-tent, a large bun in one hand and a mug
of tea in the other. He had tramped all the way over from Quarr to see
how far the whole camp had been drowned. In case there were any
survivors, he brought two enormous bags of sweets.
That night all the Cubs prayed very hard for a real, proper, hot day for
their last in camp. It certainly did not look possible. But Spongey put
the matter in a nutshell when he stood in his long night-shirt, one eye
shut as usual, and remarked: "I think it'll sunshine to-morrer, 'cos
I've prayed very hard it will."
The Cubs had turned in early, to get out of the wet world into their
dry, cosy beds. There was plenty of time for a good long story, and they
settled down with wriggles of satisfaction and waited for Akela to
begin.
THE STORY OF ST. PATRICK.
Nearly four hundred years after Our Lord had gone up to heaven, and left
His disciples and their followers to carry on, a boy was born who was
destined to be one of God's greatest Saints, and to bring thousands and
thousands of pagans into the Christian Faith. This boy was St. Patrick,
called the Apostle of Ireland, because he turned the whole of Ireland
Christian. For many hundreds of years after St. Patrick had died,
Ireland was like a fruitful garden in which sprang up hundreds of Saints
and holy and learned men, who helped to spread the knowledge and love of
Christ all over the world. So St. Patrick was truly an Apostle, and,
like St. John and St. Andrew and the others, one of the
foundation-stones of Christ's great Church.
But though he _ended_ in being so very important, and doing things that
made a great difference to the whole world, he _began_ as an ordinary
boy--and rather a naughty one, as he tells us himself. We know a great
deal about St. Patrick, and we know it is quite true, because when he
was over one hundred years old he wrote it all down himself. He called
the book his "Confession," and though he told us such a lot about
himself, beginning with the adventures of his boyhood, there is one
thing he did not put down in the book. Can you guess what? Well, he did
not put down how good he was. For, you see, the Saints never thought
themselves good, because, instead of comparing themselves with people
_less good than themselves_, as we are all so fond of doing, they kept
on comparing themselves with Our Blessed Lord, and of course, that made
them seem very, very far from perfect.
When St. Patrick was a boy he did not love God or believe all his
Christian teachers told him, nor was he obedient or ready to _do his
best_. One day some fierce pirates raided the land where he lived with
his father and mother, and carried him off captive with lots of other
boys. Sailing across the sea to Ireland, the pirates sold the boys as
slaves.
St. Patrick was bought by a great chief called Milcho, and sent out on
to the hill-sides to watch the sheep. Do you think he was lonely and
afraid? No. For, when torn away from his home, from the friends who
loved him, he had discovered that there is one Friend that you can't be
dragged away from, and Who can be with you even in the midst of the
tossing green sea, on a pirate ship. For, though Patrick had forgotten
God, God had not forgotten Patrick. "The Lord," he says, "showed me my
unbelief, and had pity on my youth and ignorance."
So when he trudged out on to the mountain-side, he was not sad and
alone, but glad in the knowledge that his unseen Friend was with him.
"Christ with me, Christ before me,
Christ behind me, Christ in me,
Christ above me, Christ beneath me,
Christ in the chariot, Christ in the fort, Christ in the ship."
That is a prayer St. Patrick made up himself. There, on the rough
mountain-side, the boy St. Patrick spent all his lonely days talking to
God, so that, he says, "more and more the love of God and His faith and
fear grew in me, and my spirit was stirred." He tells us that he would
recite one hundred prayers in one day, and nearly as many in the night.
He had to sleep out with the sheep in some rough cave or hut. "Before
the dawn," he says, "I was called to pray by the snow, the ice, and the
rain." But he did not mind this outward cold, because of the burning
heart within him.
St. Patrick had learnt his lesson--the lesson of where to find the only
comfort and friendship and help worth having. God wanted him, now, for
the great work he was to do. One night a mysterious voice told him that
if he went to a certain place he would find a ship ready to take him
home. The place was about two hundred miles away, and St. Patrick had
never been there. However, trusting in God's help, he started off. At
last, after a long tramp, he reached the town, and, sure enough, there
was a ship at the quay about to set sail. St. Patrick asked to be taken
on board, but when the sailors heard he had no money they refused him a
passage. St. Patrick went sadly away, but as he went he prayed. Before
long he heard someone coming after him. Turning round, he found it was
one of the sailors, who said after all they would take him.
I can't tell you now of the adventures St. Patrick had on his way home,
but after being shipwrecked and nearly starved, and each time
wonderfully saved by God, he reached his father's house. But though he
was home again with those he loved, he did not forget the Friend Who had
been his all in those cold, hard days in Ireland. He thought of Him all
day, and of how best to please Him. He had already begun studying for a
life in God's service, when he had a wonderful vision of the people of
Ireland calling him to come to their help, and he knew it was a sign
from God that this was the work he was to do. You can imagine how
impatient he must have been to get a ship and go sailing back to Ireland
to tell the people about the true God, and how Christ had died on the
Cross for them, and all the rest; but for such a difficult and dangerous
job he needed a lot of training--not only in learning, but in the
strength and holiness and obedience to God which should make him able to
face the task before him. How long do you think God kept him at his
training? Thirty-eight years!
At the end of this time a holy man who was his friend and guide was sent
to preach in Britain. St. Patrick went with him. This was the first
step, and it ended in his being made a Bishop and sent--at last--to the
lifework he had so long waited for, the conversion of Ireland.
When St. Patrick's ship came to shore, the wild men of Leinster would
not let him land. So, trusting as usual to God, he sailed out again to
sea, and landed a little farther to the south. There seemed to be nobody
about, to stop him; and, tired out, I suppose, with a day of exploring
in the strange land, St. Patrick lay down and fell asleep. A little
Irish boy chanced to come along, and, seeing a stranger asleep, crept up
on tip-toe to look at him. What a lovely, kind face he had! The boy
thought to himself that he had never before seen anybody who looked so
nice, and he longed to do him some good turn. He couldn't think of
anything to do for someone who was asleep, but at last he got an idea.
Picking all the best flowers he could find, he put them round St.
Patrick for a surprise for him.
When St. Patrick woke up you can imagine how pleased he was with the
flowers, and still more pleased to see a little Irish boy smiling at him
shyly from among the bushes. Before long St. Patrick and the boy had
become great friends, and the boy simply wouldn't go away, but stuck to
St. Patrick. Then God made known a secret of the future to St. Patrick,
and he said: "Some day he will be the heir to my kingdom." And, sure
enough, the boy, whose name was Benignus, succeeded St. Patrick as
Bishop of Armagh. Don't you wish you were that boy, always to stay with
St. Patrick?
After this the most wonderful adventures began to befall St. Patrick;
but even more wonderful than the adventures were the miracles by which
he managed to escape out of them, not only alive, but victorious.
Getting into his ship again, St. Patrick landed farther north. Once more
the fierce Irish set on him and his little band, and their chief, Dichu,
raised his sword to bring it crashing down on St. Patrick's head. But,
somehow, his arm stayed stiff in mid-air, and he could not strike the
blow. Dichu was an honest man, and soon understood that such a miracle
must be a sign from the true God. If once you believe in God--well, the
only possible thing is to serve Him. So Dichu became a Christian, and
humbly learned from St. Patrick how he should serve God.
Then St. Patrick went to the house of the very chief who had kept him as
a slave, and converted his children to the true Faith. But it was at
Easter that something very thrilling happened, and was the beginning of
St. Patrick's real triumphs.
The Chief-King of Erin (as Ireland was called) was just going to hold
his solemn festival at Tara. All the Irish princes and all the priests
of the pagan religion had collected together. One of their ceremonies
was the lighting of fire at dawn, with magic rites and ceremonies. It
happened to be Holy Saturday, and on that day the Christians used to
light a beacon. St. Patrick lit his holy fire, as usual. The King saw it
blazing on a hill-top, and was very angry. One of his priests (or
Druids, as they were called) said: "If that fire is not put out before
morning, it never will be put out," and he meant the Christian Faith. So
the King sent for St. Patrick.
Surrounded by his Druids and bards, and all the Irish princes, the King
sat, fierce and proud, and awaited the strangers. It was Easter morning,
so, as St. Patrick and his little band advanced, they chanted the Easter
litanies. So noble and holy did St. Patrick look that one of the bards
rose as he drew near. This little act of politeness on the part of the
bard brought him special grace from heaven, and he accepted the
Christian Faith.
Standing quietly in the midst of the circle of priests and princes, St.
Patrick looked around him. He met countless pairs of fierce eyes fixed
upon him, as the princes sat in silence, "with the rims of their shields
against their chins"; and as he looked at them he longed to win them all
for God, and he prayed for grace and power to do what was needed. Then
he told them why he had come to Ireland.
The King left his Druids to reply. They did so by doing all sorts of
horrible magic. And certainly they made things happen, much as people
called "spiritists" do nowadays; but it was not by God's power, so it
must have been the Devil who helped them. Whatever the Druids did, St.
Patrick undid, and then did something more wonderful. The Druids were
furious, and no one knows what might have happened had not St. Patrick
caused an earthquake to happen, by God's power. So terrified were the
Irish that they went half mad and began killing each other, and St.
Patrick and his men escaped.
But the next day St. Patrick boldly came back, though he knew the King
meant to kill him. He was given a cup of poisoned wine to drink. Well,
what of that? Did not Our Lord say to His disciples, when He sent them
out to convert the world, "If you drink any deadly thing it shall not
hurt you"? St. Patrick made the sign of the cross over the cup and
drank it, and nothing happened.
Then the Druids arranged a horrible test. They laid two great fires, one
of dry faggots and the other of wet, green wood. On the dry wood they
laid the boy Benignus, dressed in a Druid's white robe. On the green
they put a Druid, clad in St. Patrick's cloak. Then they said they would
set fire to both piles. St. Patrick accepted the challenge. (If you had
been the boy, would you have "got the wind up," do you think, or would
you have trusted St. Patrick?)
Well, they set fire to the two piles of wood. Strange to say, the green
wood blazed up, with many sizzlings and cracklings and much smoke, but
the dry wood simply wouldn't light. There was, however, a sudden flame,
and the Druid's robe on the boy flared up and was soon burnt to ashes,
leaving Benignus quite all right, and, I expect, very pleased with
himself! Meanwhile, horrible noises had been coming from the other pile,
and when the smoke and flames died down there were only charred cinders
where there had once been a Druid. But St. Patrick's cloak had not been
burnt at all.
As the King still would not believe, St. Patrick had to make another
earthquake happen, which swallowed up so many of the King's subjects
that he gave in, and said St. Patrick might preach, though he himself
never accepted the Faith.
So, on the green plains of Tara, St. Patrick preached a wonderful sermon
to the Irish, who by this time had come crowding round to see the
stranger who could beat the Druids at their own game. During this sermon
St. Patrick stooped down and picked a leaf of shamrock, and, holding it
up, showed the people how the little green leaf was _three_ and yet
_one_. He said that would help them to understand how the Blessed
Trinity is three--God the Father, God the Son, and God the Holy
Ghost--and yet is really only _one God_. That is why the Irish wear
shamrock on St. Patrick's Day (March 17th).
[Illustration: S. PATRICK AND THE LITTLE BOY BENIGNUS.
_See page 101._]
Many more miracles did St. Patrick which I can't tell you about now; and
he went from place to place, winning thousands of men for Christ, and
giving spiritual life to their souls by baptizing them.
One Shrove Tuesday St. Patrick went up on to the top of a lonely, rugged
mountain above the sea, and there he stayed without any food all through
Lent till Easter. And all the time he prayed and prayed and prayed for
the men of Ireland and their fate on the Judgment Day. At the end of his
long and painful time of prayer God sent an angel to tell him his
request was granted. So, with his heart full of joy, St. Patrick knelt
and blessed Ireland, and as he gave his blessing hundreds of poisonous
snakes came out of their holes and went slithering away into the sea,
where they were all drowned. (That is why you see pictures of St.
Patrick with snakes.) And now, every year, thousands of Irish people go
on pilgrimage up that mountain.
Before I end I must just tell you one little story about a young Irish
Prince who _didn't give in to himself_. This Prince and his followers,
after hearing St. Patrick preach, decided to become followers of Christ
and be baptized. St. Patrick, being a Bishop, carried a thing called a
crozier--a kind of long staff, like a shepherd's crook, because _Bishop_
means _shepherd_. St. Patrick's crozier had rather a sharp point at the
end, and during the ceremony of Baptism, somehow, by accident, he
pierced the Prince's bare foot with it, but did not notice what he had
done. The Prince said nothing, and did not wince or seem surprised.
Afterwards, when St. Patrick found out what he had done, and asked the
Prince why he had said nothing, the Prince replied: "I thought it was
the rule of faith." A bit of poetry has been written about it, which
puts it rather nicely. The Prince says, in it:
"I thought, thus called to follow Him Whose Feet
Were pierced with nails, haply the blissful rite
Some little pain included."
Everywhere St. Patrick went he was loved, and soon the fame of him had
spread through the whole country. The superstitious religion of the
Druids altogether died down, and Ireland became a Christian country. St.
Patrick made a set of wise laws, and by these the Irish were governed
for a thousand years.
At last came the time when his great work was finished. The little boy,
Benignus, had grown up and taken over St. Patrick's work. St. Patrick
had written his "Confession." And now, at one hundred and twenty, he was
quite ready for the rest and the reward of heaven. He was very happy;
his great work had been accomplished. God had been very good to him. And
so, satisfied, he lay down to die, knowing that all the men of Ireland
were praying for their beloved father.
So, on March 17th, in the year 493, St. Patrick passed from this world
into the glory of Heaven.
THE NINTH DAY
As the Cubs one by one opened their eyes on the last day at camp, the
first thing they saw was that their prayers of last night had been
fully, _wonderfully_ answered. The sun shone with that clear golden
radiance of early morning sun. The sky was a misty blue, with just a few
small "flocks of sheep." The wind had dropped, and the world, washed
clean by the rain, was going to enjoy itself to-day.
Quickly the Cubs washed themselves and scrambled into their old clothes,
and were away up to the field in record time. The smell of wood smoke;
the cry of the sea-gulls; the _bigness_ of God's beautiful world--only
one more day of it all!
Porridge out in the sunshine, and lots and lots of bread-and-jam. Then
down to the shore.
On the way shorewards the Cubs met a kind lady who lived in the little
house at the end of the sea-wall. She had often seen them run past, and
now she stopped and asked Akela what they were. When she heard it was
their last day she said they might have her boat for the whole morning!
So the Cubs and Akela all got into their bathing things, and the boat
was rowed round from where it was anchored to the bit of the shore where
they always played. When everyone had been out and had learnt to row,
first with one oar and then with two; and when the tide had gone down,
down, down, as far as it could, Akela anchored the boat in shallow
water, and took away all the oars but one. Then the Cubs had a gorgeous
time, rowing by themselves, as far as the long rope would allow. I don't
know what that boat turned into--pirate vessels, the _Golden Hind_, and
everything else you can imagine, while the gallant crew had many an
adventure.
Meanwhile, _another_ kind lady had appeared on the scene. She lived in a
nice house, with a very sloping lawn in front, and her garden steps came
right down on to the bit of sand where the Cubs always played. She came
down and offered a prize for the best little house or model village or
garden the Cubs could make. Four couples set to work, and by dinner-time
there were some splendid models ready. Then "Big Andy and Little Andy,"
clad only in their bathing-drawers, walked demurely up to the front-door
of the house, and asked the lady to come and see. She came out carrying
two lovely spades, two splendid shrimping-nets, and two very nice rubber
balls.
She decided the "Andies" had got first prize; they had made a model of
Quarr Abbey; Sam and Dick were second, with a church; while Bert and
Bunny came in a good third, with a very nice house standing in a large
and luxurious garden. After giving the prizes, this fairy godmother
invited the whole Pack to tea in her garden, at four o'clock, after the
afternoon bathe!
So, after dinner, they went to the Stable and made themselves a little
bit respectable, and then down to the shore and bathed, and afterwards
went up the smooth, steep lawn to the fairy godmother's house.
Soon a maid brought out tea; and it was _some_ tea--cake of all sorts,
and real bread-and-butter (not "marg."), and little jam-sandwiches (but,
as one Cub remarked, "it didn't _fill you up_, like camp-tea").
After tea, during which the Cubs were wonderfully quiet and
well-behaved, they entertained their hostess with various kinds of
somersaults and cart-wheels, and then went through a large part of the
famous concert for her benefit. Before going they gave her a Grand Howl,
and then all shook hands with her.
After that they played on the shore, and then ended up with a last
bathe, about seven.
Back to supper. Camp prayers for the last time in the soft evening
light. Good-night to Father and Mother and Godmother; and then to the
Stable, for the last story.
But as they squatted round waiting for the story, someone made a remark
that was the beginning of quite a long pow-wow. "Miss," he said, "shall
we be Cubs in _Heaven_, and will you be our Cubmaster?"
Everyone had questions to ask about Heaven--more than Akela knew how to
answer! And then they grew serious as someone mentioned two Cubs who had
died a year before. "Do you think Frank and Bob have found each other in
heaven?" "Yes," said Akela, "I'm sure they have; and I expect they've
found those two Cubs from two other Westminster Packs, who died of 'flu,
last winter."
And that is why this book is dedicated to Frank and Bob, for they were
two of the most faithful Cubs who ever lived. They died brave and
unselfish--Bob after a long and very painful illness, in which he never
_gave in to himself_, but was always thinking of other people and his
"little 'uns." At last, as he lay delirious, he used to think he was in
camp again, and say: "Oh, mother, look at the green fields--aren't they
lovely?" And as Akela knelt by his bed, holding his poor little hot
hand, she felt sure that soon he would be playing in the green fields of
Heaven--the best camp of all, where the Good Shepherd was already
waiting to carry him in His strong, kind arms.
And now someone else had a splendid idea: "Perhaps they've talked to the
Saints!"
"_We_ shall know a lot of the Saints when _we_ go to Heaven," said
another Cub; "_I_ shall look out for St. Antony first."
And so they decided to try and get to know as many Saints as possible
before they died, _and to try and copy them_, so that some day they
would find lots of friends in Heaven, who would not be ashamed to
receive the salutes of their little brothers, and to return them with
kind smiles of welcome.
Then the Cubs settled down for a last story.
THE STORY OF ST. GEORGE.
"And now," said the Cubs, "a last story! Go on, Miss--make it an _extra_
good one, exciting and full of adventures, and the best of all, because
it's the last night."
"Very well," said Akela, "I'll tell you the story of the Patron Saint of
all Cubs and Scouts, and of England. Who's that?"
"St. George!" cried the Cubs in chorus. And although many of them knew
the story very well, they snuggled down in their blankets and prepared
to enjoy themselves.
Well (said Akela), I'm going to tell you the story of the Saint who was
more thought about and honoured in the old days than, perhaps, any other
Saint who ever lived. He was from the very earliest times--in fact, from
directly after his death--called "the Great Martyr." He became the
patron of many countries and orders of knighthood, but specially in
England was he loved, and his feast was kept as a great holiday, equal
to Christmas. Already, before William the Conqueror came to England, our
forefathers had begun to build churches in honour of St. George. But it
was King Richard Coeur de Lion who specially spread devotion to St.
George in England, because he took him as his own patron, and used his
name as his battle-cry. "For God and St. George!" he would shout, as he
swung his mighty battle-axe in the air and charged at the head of his
knights toward the Saracen lines.
St. George several times appeared on a white horse, and led the
Crusaders to victory when it seemed as if the enemy were going to put
them to flight and come off victorious.
Many people think of St. George as a knight on a prancing horse, who
killed a dragon and rescued a maiden in distress. But this is only a
kind of parable or picture of the real St. George and what he did. The
dragon is a picture of the wicked, heathen religion that tried to kill
the beautiful young Church that Our Lord had made. St. George fought
this dragon, and gave his life in the battle, but he rescued the maiden
(who represents the Church); for his death seems to have rallied the
Christians and filled them with new courage to fight bravely and stick
to it, until at last the heathen dragon was overcome, and the Church of
Christ was able to fill all the world with joy and truth and light.
Well, now I will tell you what the old books say about St. George; but
we have not many details about his life, as we have about St. Francis's.