was the son of a Roman soldier, a Christian, stationed in Palestine,
which was a Roman colony. St. George was one of those brave,
straightforward boys who are afraid of nothing--neither of themselves
and their weakness, nor of other people and their unkindness. He
practised "not giving in to himself," like a good Cub; and he thought a
great deal of his _honour_, like a good Scout. And he knew that
everything brave or good that he ever did was by the grace of his
Captain, Christ, and not because he was any better himself than anybody
else. He could ride well, shoot an arrow straight, and use a spear or a
broadsword as well as any Roman boy. But it was not so much this as his
way of obeying quickly, and keeping his word, and never giving in to
himself, which made him rise from promotion to promotion when he joined
the Roman army.
He was still very young when he was made what we should now call a
Colonel, and given a great deal of responsibility. In fact, the Emperor
thought no end of him, and people whispered that some day he would be
head of the army and one of the most important men in the Roman Empire.
This was rather wonderful, because the Emperor, Diocletian, was a
heathen and hated Christians, and, as I told you, St. George was a very
good Christian.
In those days the Christian Church was no longer hiding in the
Catacombs, but had come out into the open, and nearly half Diocletian's
Empire was Christian. But something--probably pride--made Diocletian
hate the Christians, and he decided to do all he could to destroy the
Church of Christ, and force the people back into the old religion, and
worship a god that was really not very different from Cæsar, the
Emperor, himself.
So he first tried burning down the churches, and then imprisoning the
priests and bishops. But one day he suddenly got mad, and gave an order
that if the people would not worship the Roman gods and offer incense to
them, and swear that they no longer believed in Christ, his soldiers
would kill them like beasts and leave them in the streets, as a ghastly
warning to any other fools who refused to obey.
So the soldiers went forth, sword in hand, and every man, woman, and
child who refused to give up Christ was killed, or wounded and left to
bleed to death.
Now, no one had thought that Diocletian would ever go as far as this,
and when the horrible news was brought to St. George he was filled with
rage. The Emperor was, of course, his master, but there and then he
vowed that he would not stay in the service of a vile murderer, a coward
who could stain his sword with the blood of women and little children;
and he prepared at once to go to the Emperor, and say straight out all
that was burning in his heart.
Now, his friends knew that nothing would more enrage the Emperor than
this, because he thought a lot of St. George, and yet he was proud and
obstinate, and nothing would make him stop persecuting the Christians.
If St. George spoke as he said he would, it would certainly mean _no
chance of promotion_, no becoming head of the army; perhaps, even, it
would mean imprisonment; possibly death. So they simply _begged_ St.
George not to go. But do you think he was that sort? Not much! The last
thing he wanted was promotion in the army of a man who was the cruel
enemy of Christ and the murderer of his fellow-Christians. So he set
spurs to his horse, and rode off for the Emperor's Court.
Diocletian was surprised to see him arrive suddenly, travel-stained and
apparently in a great hurry; and still more was he surprised when,
instead of speaking with reverence and respect, he let the words almost
burst forth from his full heart, and told the Emperor that it would be
better if he paid honour to the God from Whom he had received his
sceptre, instead of murdering the faithful servants of that God.
Diocletian was first surprised and then angry. But he tried to laugh it
off, because he was really fond of St. George. Then he tried reasoning
with the young soldier, and explaining that he had to keep the
Christians in good discipline in case they might revolt or get proud and
rebellious. But St. George would listen to no reasons or excuses, and,
unbuckling his sword, he laid it down, resigning his commission in the
army of a man who could act so dishonourably.
Then Diocletian got very angry indeed. He gave orders that St. George
should be put in a dark dungeon, and loaded with chains until his pride
should be broken, and he should be willing to humble himself before the
Emperor. So angry was he that he made up his cruel mind that now he
would even force St. George to give up the Christian religion himself,
and that no pains should be spared to make him do this.
Alone in the dark, dank, icy-cold dungeon, St. George lay in his heavy
chains, and wondered what was going to happen next. It was very
horrible, down there, and he ached in every limb, and he was very
hungry; but somehow he felt kind of glad inside, because he knew he was
suffering all this for Christ's sake.
One day, when his gaoler brought him his ration of hard bread, he told
him that he had heard a rumour that the executioner was coming to the
dungeon, and that if St. George did not give a satisfactory answer he
would be put to torture. The gaoler said it would, he thought, be a very
painful kind of torture, and St. George had better be reasonable.
When he had gone St. George sat in the darkness with his heart beating
rather fast. He wondered what sort of torture it would be, and if he
would be able to stick it. Then he remembered that Our Lord had suffered
awful tortures, and had foretold that His friends would have to, as
well. So he asked Our Lord to give him grace to be able to stick
_anything_ the Emperor should do, and then he felt quite happy again.
Well, the hours dragged by, and at last St. George heard the tramp of
feet on the stone stairs. Then there was a creak as the great key was
turned in the lock, and bolts were shot back. The door opened, and there
stood the executioner and two soldiers, one carrying a lantern.
The executioner, who had known St. George as a Colonel in the army,
spoke respectfully. He gave St. George a message from the Emperor,
saying that if he would come back and offer incense to the gods, and
apologize for his proud words, he would get his liberty and be given
back his commission. St. George laughed, and said he certainly wouldn't.
Then the executioner said that in that case the Emperor had commanded
that he should be tortured till he agreed to do all he was told.
The soldiers loosened his chains, and he was led out and up the stairs.
The blazing, blinding sun dazzled his eyes after the dimness of the
dungeon. The pavement of the courtyard seemed burning to his cold, bare
feet. Soldiers looked curiously at him as he passed, but of course
didn't salute, now. He was taken away to the horrible place of
execution, and there a new form of torture was applied to him--a great
wheel full of spikes into which he was thrust. When he was dragged out
his body was one mass of wounds, and his blood dripped down on to the
floor. He was carried on a stretcher back to the dungeon; and the
executioner felt quite sure that when he was well enough to answer he
would agree to do anything the Emperor wanted.
St. George was dazed with pain and loss of blood. His body seemed to
burn all over. The darkness made his eyes ache, and he lay hour after
hour, wondering how soon he would die. He had got to the point when he
thought he simply couldn't bear another moment, when he heard a Voice in
the darkness, and It said: "Fear not, George, for I am with thee."
His heart seemed to leap up, for he knew for certain that it was Our
Lord's Voice--he could not possibly mistake it. And suddenly all the
pain seemed a thousand times worth while, and he was glad he had had it;
and he didn't feel lonely any more; and he just lay in the darkness and
talked to Our Lord, knowing that He was near. And he forgot his pain.
Well, when a Roman officer came to receive his message to the Emperor
St. George was able to laugh--rather weakly this time--and say he had no
message for the Emperor, except that he had better stop murdering
Christians, and beg God's mercy before it was too late.
The officer thought St. George was rather a fool, and a very brave man,
and he went back to the Emperor.
A few days later the executioner arrived once more, and again led St.
George across the sunny courtyard. St. George remembered the Voice of
Christ saying, "I am with thee," and he was not afraid. This time they
rolled a great heavy stone over his body, so that his bones were crushed
and bruised, and then they carried him back to the dungeon.
When the officer came for his answer he could hardly believe that St.
George dared still to refuse. He told the Emperor what St. George had
said. The Emperor was surprised and sorry, for he saw that St. George
must be a very brave man. He also saw that it was no good waiting any
longer, or trying to force him, so he sent the executioner once again.
This time the executioner told St. George that his last chance had come.
Either he must give up Christ, or he must face death. The words sent a
kind of thrill through St. George--a thrill of horror at the thought of
death, which turned into a thrill of joy at the thought of going into
the presence of Christ, and hearing His wonderful Voice again, only this
time seeing Him, too. And he rejoiced, also, to think he would really be
a _martyr_. So he whispered faintly--for he could hardly speak now--that
nothing in all the world would make him give up Christ.
So the soldiers took off his chains and dragged him up to his feet, and
he walked slowly, with weak, swaying steps, into the sun.
"Fear not." He said the words over to himself. No, he wouldn't fear! "I
am with thee." How wonderful! "And soon," he said in his heart, "_I_
shall be with _Thee_!" And so he knelt down and waited.
And the executioner's great axe flashed in the sun as he swung it aloft,
and the next instant the blood of "the Great Martyr" was streaming
across the white pavement, as St. George's Cross streams scarlet across
the white ground of his flag.
The soul of "the Great Martyr" had entered Heaven, where the angels
rejoiced at his coming, when the Christians picked up his poor, broken
body and carried it away. It was buried in a beautiful tomb, and before
long a great church had been built over it. On every hand people talked
of "the Great Martyr," and the Christians rejoiced at his courage, and
cheered each other on to resist bravely. Many of the heathen, seeing
that St. George could suffer tortures and die for his faith, began to
believe in the Christ he loved, and were baptized. Diocletian himself
began to fear a little, and the butchering stopped.
And so it was that the maiden in distress, the persecuted Church of
Christ, was saved by her brave knight, St. George.
GOOD-BYE
A grey morning, but quite fine. Some of the Cubs went off to bathe after
breakfast, others to do final shopping and buying of presents to take
home, while some stayed in the field to help with the packing. The tent
was struck and rolled up, swings and hammocks taken down, palliasses
emptied and done up in bales, and by twelve o'clock all was finished,
and the time came to change out of the comfy old camp clothes into full
uniform. How tight and hot boots and stockings seemed!
After dinner the Cubs gathered round into the council circle. Everyone
was feeling rather quiet. Akela had a short pow-wow, and then the Cubs
squatted and let off a mighty Grand Howl, as a "thank you" to everyone
concerned for the glorious time they had had, and as a sign that they
were going back to London meaning to _do their best_ as never before.
Then they fell in, two deep, and, with a last look at the field, marched
away.
There was plenty of time before the boat was due to sail from Ryde, so,
after marching smartly through the village, they fell out and strolled
along the wall or the seashore. On reaching Ryde they fell in again, and
halted near the fountain, two at a time falling out for drinks. At
Smith's bookstall Akela bought a supply of "comics" to read in the
train.
On board the ship an adventure happened. Big Andy _of course_ dropped
his cap overboard. The sea was rather rough and it seemed as if the cap
must be lost, two stars and all. It was too far down to reach with the
ship's mop or any stick. But luckily some thoughtful Cub had brought a
long piece of string with an open safety-pin on the end, in hopes of
catching a fish on the crossing. With this the cap was fished for,
while the people on the pier and the first-class passengers on the upper
deck looked on with eager interest. Akela thought there was no hope of
ever seeing the cap again on Andy's head. She little knew that two pious
Cubs were busy _praying_! Presently the cap was triumphantly pulled up,
amidst cheers from the pier and the upper deck.
"I prayed he'd get it!" cried a Cub.
"And so did I!" exclaimed another.
At Portsmouth there was a terrible crush for the train, but, as usual,
the Cubs did well, for the kind guard gave them two first-class
compartments and locked them in.
And so they travelled back to dear, smoky old London, very much browner
and a good deal fatter than when they set out.
THE END
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY
BILLING AND SONS, LTD., GUILDFORD AND ESHER
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 42, "at" changed to "as" (important as Akela)