A Treasury of Heroes and Heroines
by Clayton Edwards · English · Gutenberg #25652 · 664,341 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: A Treasury of Heroes and Heroines
Author: Clayton Edwards
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Language: English
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A TREASURY OF HEROES AND HEROINES
A Record of High Endeavour and Strange Adventure
from 500 B.C. to 1920 A.D.
by
CLAYTON EDWARDS
Author of "The Story of Evangeline"
Illustrated in Colour by Florence Choate and Elizabeth Curtis
[Illustration: JEANNE D'ARC DREW THE ARROW FROM HER BREAST WITH THE
COURAGE OF A VETERAN--_See page 100_]
Cupples and Leon Company
New York
Copyright, 1920, by Frederick A. Stokes Company
All rights reserved. No part of this
work may be reproduced without the
written permission of the publishers
Printed in the United States of America
PREFACE
It would be pleasant indeed to gather the characters of this book
together and listen to the conversation of wholly different but
interested couples--for this is a book of contrasts and has been
written as such. Lives of the most dramatic and adventurous quality
have been gathered from all corners of the earth, and from every age in
history, in such a way that they may cover the widest possible variety
of human experience.
The publishers believe that such a book would not be complete without
some characters that are no less real because they have lived only in
the minds of men. No explanation is needed for semi-historical
characters like King Arthur, Robin Hood and William Tell, while Don
Quixote, the Prince of Madness, and Rip Van Winkle, the Prince of
Laziness, have been included, not because they were essentially heroic
in themselves (although Don Quixote might well have claimed the laurel)
but because they became heroes in the opinion of others through the
very qualities that brought about their downfall. As involuntary
heroes, they furnish a pleasant contrast to the more serious, actual
and transcendental figures of saints, martyrs, warriors, discoverers
and statesmen with which these pages are filled; they enrich the
"Treasury," widen its range of colors and perform the necessary
function of court jesters in the Hall of Fame.
CONTENTS
HEROES OF REALITY
CHAPTER PAGE
I BUDDHA 1
II JULIUS CAESAR 12
III SAINT PATRICK 26
IV KING ARTHUR OF BRITAIN 33
V MOHAMMED 42
VI ALFRED THE GREAT 52
VII ROBIN HOOD 65
VIII SAINT ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY 72
IX DANTE 80
X ROBERT BRUCE 89
XI JEANNE D'ARC 100
XII CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS 114
XIII WILLIAM THE SILENT 127
XIV QUEEN ELIZABETH OF ENGLAND 137
XV SIR FRANCIS DRAKE 146
XVI HENRY HUDSON 156
XVII PETER THE GREAT 165
XVIII GEORGE WASHINGTON 172
XIX JOHN PAUL JONES 187
XX MOLLY PITCHER 196
XXI NAPOLEON BONAPARTE 201
XXII GIUSEPPE GARIBALDI 216
XXIII ABRAHAM LINCOLN 223
XXIV GRACE DARLING 236
XXV FLORENCE NIGHTINGALE 241
XXVI FATHER DAMIEN 248
XXVII CATHERINE BRESHKOVSKY 254
XXVIII THEODORE ROOSEVELT 262
XXIX EDITH CAVELL 272
XXX KING ALBERT OF BELGIUM 278
XXXI MARIA BOTCHKAREVA 286
HEROES OF FICTION
XXXII WILLIAM TELL 297
XXXIII DON QUIXOTE 304
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"Jeanne d'Arc drew the arrow from her breast with the
courage of a veteran" _Frontispiece_
FACING PAGE
"King Arthur grasped the magic sword that none but the bravest
might hold" 36
"Robin Hood's band made merry by killing the King's deer" 68
"'I have not yet begun to fight,' shouted Paul Jones" 188
"The cannon balls fired by Molly Pitcher fell squarely in the
British lines" 196
"Don Quixote suffered nobody to draw water from the well" 276
A TREASURY OF HEROES AND HEROINES
CHAPTER I
BUDDHA
About five hundred years before the birth of Christ a mighty king
reigned in India over the land of the Sakyas, from which the snowy tops
of the Himalaya Mountains could be seen. His name was Suddhodana and he
had two wives called Maya and Pajapati; but for a long time they bore
him no children, and the King despaired of having an heir to his
throne. Then Queen Maya bore a son and after he was born, the legends
tell us, she had a dream in which she saw a great multitude of people
bowing to her in worship. Wise men were summoned to interpret the
dream, and they told her that the King's son, so golden in color and so
well formed, was destined for greatness as surely as rivers ran to the
sea--that he would become either a mighty conqueror who would subdue
all the people of the earth, or a holy saint, a "Buddha" (the word for
one enlightened) who would have more power over the minds of men than
the mightiest conqueror could gain over their bodies.
All this was confirmed in the minds of the wise men on account of the
wonderful portents that took place at the birth of the child: flowers
bloomed in barren places and springs gushed from dry rock on the day
when the Prince was born. He was named by the King, "Siddartha,"--a
word meaning one who always succeeds in what he undertakes--and because
of the portents at his birth the King himself bowed down to his own son
and did him homage.
Now the King desired greatly that the first of the two prophecies
should come to pass. He wished the Prince to be a conqueror, not a
Buddha, and extend the power of the Sakyas by the sword through every
part of the world. And he did everything in his power to bring this end
about and to weaken the possibility that his son should ever be a holy
man.
When the child was still very young a further prophecy was made to the
King--namely that the Prince would only become a Buddha after he had
seen four common sights which for him would be four omens--an old man,
a sick man, a dead man and a holy man in the yellow robe of a beggar.
Then and then only, said the prophecy, the Prince would leave his
country; furthermore, if he remained at home for a certain length of
time he would never leave at all, but would turn all his attention to
the art of war, and his armies would sweep over the face of the earth
like a devouring flame.
The King summoned his counsellors. He commanded them to make sure that
no sick men or old men, no funeral escorts or beggars should ever be
allowed on the streets of the city when the Prince was passing. All
ugly sights were to be kept from him; he was to be surrounded with such
pleasures and such beauties that he would never desire to leave his
home; he was to know nothing of the meaning of death; poverty was to be
hidden; suffering and sorrow of all sorts were to be concealed in his
presence. In these ways, thought the King, any desire to be a priest
would be stifled in the Prince, and he would at last become a mighty
conqueror as the prophecy had foretold.
In pleasure and luxury, surrounded by beautiful attendants, fed on the
most delicious viands, hearing no sounds save music, laughter and the
voices of delight, Prince Siddartha passed his boyhood. The King
allowed him to study under wise men (who taught him only the most
carefully prepared lessons), and it was notable that he easily learned
all that was imparted to him and in a short time appeared to be wiser
than his instructors. It was notable too that he possessed
extraordinary skill at arms, for the King sent to him also the keenest
archers and the mightiest swordsmen in his dominions, to teach him the
art of war. These men whispered to each other that no more terrible
warrior had ever been born than Siddartha, who soon was more than a
match for the best of them and whose strength in comparison with theirs
was as three to one.
When a young man the Prince was married to his cousin Yasodhara. His
mother had died in his earliest childhood, but that sad event took
place too early for him to remember. Now he was happy in the possession
of the most beautiful wife in all his father's dominions, for Yasodhara
had been chosen for him on account of her great loveliness as well as
for her sunny and gracious nature. Truly in all the history of the
world no son of fortune had more in the way of love, treasure, beauty,
and all things that make for happiness than the blessed Prince
Siddartha!
Up to his twenty-ninth year no sorrowful sight had come before his
eyes, and he knew nothing of Death, Sickness or Old Age. Then, however,
he stepped into his chariot one day to visit the pleasure grounds of
the city, and on his way thither an old man ran across the street and
fell in front of the horses and barely escaped death. Siddartha was
startled at the sunken eyes, the wrinkled yellow cheeks and the gray
locks of an old man, and turning to his attendant asked him what
terrible misfortune had brought such a fate upon a fellow creature. And
the attendant, inspired, we are told, by Heavenly spirits, said to the
Prince that what he had seen was nothing but old age and the lot of all
men--a lot to which he himself and the Prince with him must surely come
in time.
Sadly the Prince rode back to the Palace with his appetite for pleasure
spoiled for the day, and when his father heard what had taken place he
was greatly alarmed, for the first of the omens had now been fulfilled.
It was not long before Siddartha looked also on Sickness. Try as he
might the King could not keep sorrowful sights from the eyes of his son
any longer. One day as the Prince went out behind his splendid horses,
a man, writhing in the agony of disease, lay by the roadside, and the
Prince was told that he suffered from some complaint of the body such
as all men are heir to. And again he returned to the Palace more sad at
heart than on the occasion when he had seen Old Age.
When the Prince next went to drive in his chariot another terrible
sight met his eyes. He beheld a still form carried upon a bier and
asked his companion what it might be. He was told that he was now in
the presence of Death, who came at last for all men, cutting them off
from their friends and relatives and bearing them away, none knew
whither. And the Prince returned to the Palace in deeper sadness than
ever. Of what worth were all the joys that surrounded him if they were
to be taken from him after he had learned to love them, and how might a
man take pleasure in Love and Life if these were to be snatched away as
soon as he had grown to realize their full value? The Prince could no
longer take delight in the pleasures that surrounded him, or even in
the love of his wife, who was about to bear him a child. And he was
sick at heart with the fear that he would lose the things that he
loved.
When the King heard that three of the four omens had been fulfilled, he
trembled with apprehension and stationed guards at all the city gates
to intercept the Prince should he fly from home; for now that the
prophecy had so far been fulfilled the King was sure it would soon be
completed. Nevertheless he sent his soldiers to scour the streets for
beggars and holy men and drive them away from the city.
Only a few days afterward, the Prince again went forth in his chariot
just as a beggar in yellow robes approached the walls. There was an
expression of great peace upon the beggar's countenance, and he seemed
far happier than the Prince himself. Siddartha asked the attendant who
the man might be and what he did, and he received the reply that the
stranger was a priest and sought happiness through giving up all the
joys of the earth and begging his bread from door to door--and it
seemed to the Prince as though a great light had suddenly burst through
the clouds of his unhappiness, and he knew that he too must give up his
palace and his pleasures, his wife and his future child and fare forth
as a priest. Surely, thought the Prince, all the things that he enjoyed
were no better than wraiths of mist that rose from the river in the
morning, since like the mist they were forever changing, and must
surely be terminated in sickness, old age or death itself; and he
resolved to search for things more lasting than the happiness and
pleasure of his youth.
He also resolved to leave his kingdom and become a beggar in a foreign
land, attempting to find through fasting and contemplation the truth
that must lie behind the changing forms of life, for he knew well that
there must be some deep cause for all the things that he had witnessed
and some impelling force behind the universe. Otherwise the whole earth
and all that was in it and all things that breathed upon its bosom
would be idle and wicked delusions. And the Prince knew too that in him
lay the power to discover the truth if he should search for it
diligently and give his whole heart and mind to this one purpose.
Just then a messenger came to him telling him that his wife had borne
him a son. On hearing this the Prince cried out that he wished it were
otherwise, for his new-born son would be a hindrance to his design and
an added bond that he must tear from his heart before he could go away.
That night, however, when all lay sleeping the Prince and one faithful
servant made their way secretly from the Palace. It had strangely come
to pass, perchance through the work of spirits, that all the guards at
the Palace and the city gates were asleep, and the two went forth
unhindered, riding on horse-back; and they spurred their horses to the
utmost so when the morning came they would be far away. Then the Prince
gave his attendant, who was named Channa, all the money and jewels that
he possessed and told him to return to the Palace and tell the King
that he, the Prince, had gone forth in search of enlightenment and
would some day become a Buddha.
When Channa departed, the Prince gave his fine clothes to a beggar who
was passing and took in return the beggar's faded yellow robe, and he,
who had been used to all the luxuries of the Court, went from door to
door begging his food and eating the bitter bread of poverty.
He crossed the river called the Ganges and came at last to a city named
Rajagha. And here he soon attracted attention because his appearance
and mien were so noble that even his coarse clothes and his new way of
life could not disguise him. He called himself a prince no longer, but
instead took the name of Gotama, this being one of the names of the
family from which he sprang.
In course of time the King of the new country where the Prince was
begging his bread and meditating on Life and Death desired to see the
holy man of whom he had heard much talk, and he offered the Prince
lands and riches. But the Prince told him that he had already laid
aside far greater riches than these, and that nothing in life mattered
to him except his quest for the truth, which one day he would surely
find. And the King, whose name was Bimbasara, asked him when he had
found the truth to return and teach it to the people of his
country--and this the Prince promised to do.
For a long time the Prince lived in a cave not far from Rajagha and
studied the faith of India as it was then taught, but his studies
brought him no nearer to gaining the truth. So he went into the
wilderness, where, he believed, fasting and meditation might bring him
the things he sought.
He traveled southward for many miles and entered the very heart of the
great Indian jungle, teeming with poisonous snakes and filled with
savage beasts. Here he prayed and fasted, seeking enlightenment; and he
carried out his fasts with such severity that he nearly died as a
result of them.
While in the jungle the Prince met five other holy men who were so much
impressed with his fasts and his thoughtful demeanor that they became
his disciples. But when he ceased to fast because he did not come any
nearer the truth by going hungry, these disciples left him, believing
that he had strayed from the path of the truth and never would gain the
enlightenment he sought.
After several years the Prince left the jungle and commenced traveling
through the country, begging his food wherever he happened to be. And
now he was close to gaining the vision that he so greatly desired, for
without his knowledge his years of thought and of self-denial had borne
their fruit.
One day, bitterly discouraged, and heartsick with his many failures and
temptations, he seated himself beneath a peepul tree with the firm
resolve that he would not stir from the spot until he gained the truth
that he sought. And while he sat there, the legends tell us, he was
assailed by all the powers of darkness and evil, and devils crowded
upon him so thickly that they darkened the sky and threw all Nature
into convulsions in which the earth shook and the air was filled with
thunder. All night the Prince sat motionless and all through the night
the evil forces strove to turn him from the truth that they knew he was
about to achieve. In the morning they departed, and the Prince as he
sat, saw flowers spring up and blossom all around him with miraculous
swiftness. The air seemed purer than ever before, the sun was
wonderfully bright and a peaceful serenity seemed to enfold the entire
earth. And when night came and the stars awoke, the truth for which the
Prince had been seeking flowed into his soul. He had indeed become a
Buddha.
Gone were the temptations and the sorrows in a divine peace--a peace
that became the reward of all disciples of the religion that he
founded. This peace was called by him Nirvana and his disciples say he
is the only man who attained it in his lifetime, for Nirvana is
supposed to come only to the spirits of the dead, who have purified
themselves not in one life, but in many. In Buddha's belief (for as
Buddha we shall now know him), human beings live many times and receive
the reward or the punishment of past existences in those that follow.
This belief is known as "the transmigration of souls." It is the
foundation of the faith of Buddha which is believed in to-day by
millions of persons in India and China, as well as in other countries.
In the truth that Buddha had acquired he learned many things. Chief of
them, as he believed, are four great facts of life and nature from
which the soul cannot escape--that there will always be sorrow and
suffering in the world; that these are caused by clinging to things
that are always changing or dying; that the only way to obtain peace is
to renounce these things and care for them no longer; and that the only
way to live is to walk in the paths of righteousness, honesty, virtue,
and to believe in the Buddhist faith.
Buddha also believed that animals have souls just as men do, and that
by some good action these animal souls become the souls of men. Then
the souls go through many existences. If they are righteous they
approach the peace of Nirvana, which is attainable only when they are
entirely purified; if they are unrighteous they are cast down again
into lower forms of life and once more have to struggle upward toward
the truth. There is no escape from the consequences of sin in the
Buddhist faith. Just so certainly as a man sins he will be punished for
it--if not in this life in the next one--and if his sin is sufficiently
deadly he will lose again the form of a man and return to the shape of
a snake or a lizard to expiate his wickedness through countless
generations.
Heaven and Hell have a place in the belief of Buddha also. They are
different from the Heaven and Hell that Christians know because in the
Buddhist religion they are only temporary abodes for the spirit between
its many existences on earth.
When his new faith had come to him, Buddha left the jungle to preach it
to mankind. On his way he met the five disciples that had deserted him
and he told them that the truth had indeed come to him and that he was
now a Buddha. After they heard him preach they were converted, and
after three months the number of Buddha's disciples had increased to
sixty, who, like himself, gave all their worldly possessions to assume
the garments of beggars and ask for their bread from door to door.
Buddha then told his disciples that they must go in different
directions and teach all that desired to learn. He himself went back to
Rajagha where King Bimbasara, who desired to know the truth, was
living. And he preached to King Bimbasara and converted him, and the
King presented Buddha with a bamboo grove in which he might hold his
assemblies and preach to the many thousands that now came to hear his
sermons.
The fame of Buddha's teachings soon reached his native city and his
father, the old King Suddhodana, yearned to see the son who might have
been a great conqueror but who had chosen to be one of the most
enlightened teachers that the world has ever seen. So he sent a retinue
to greet Buddha and ask him to return to his native city. One thousand
men went forth upon this errand, but none returned, for all were
converted by Buddha and remained to listen to his teachings and then to
spread the faith themselves. Then King Suddhodana sent another
thousand, and these too remained with Buddha. At last, however, he sent
one messenger, the same Channa who had accompanied the Prince when he
left the city, and the faithful Channa bore the message to Buddha.
Buddha decided to visit his father and see his family once more, for he
desired to bring the faith to the land of the Sakyas. With thousands of
his followers accompanying him he went to the royal city and met his
father without the walls. And the father's heart was heavy to see how
the son had changed, for Buddha was no longer young, strong and
handsome, but wrinkled and emaciated, with gray hair and a bent figure
from the hardships he had endured in many years of wandering and
preaching.
Buddha would not enter the city of his countrymen but preached in a
banyan grove without the walls. And when he preached he converted many
of his former friends and relatives. His wife whom he had deserted and
who had grieved for him ever since, gained happiness once more, for she
too, became converted to the Buddhist faith, and entered the Buddhist
sisterhood, becoming a nun. Even the King himself was finally converted
by Buddha's teaching, and we are told that he too entered the faith and
became a disciple. The son that Buddha had only seen once when a day
old became a disciple also, and, when he had mastered the teachings of
Buddhism, was made a monk in the Buddhist order.
Buddha lived to be eighty years old and all the rest of his life was
spent in traveling through the world and preaching the faith wherever
he went. The land that he visited most frequently lay on both sides of
the river Ganges and for thousands of years has been called the
Buddhist Holy Land. Wise men of all ages have believed in the faith as
he taught it, and even to-day and in modern European nations there are
those that profess to be of the Buddhist faith.
The order of monks that was founded by Buddha is the oldest existing
religious order in the world. For nearly two thousand five hundred
years these monks have practised renunciation and high thinking and
have worn the yellow robes of the holy man and the beggar.
Many tales and legends sprang up concerning Buddha even in his
lifetime. In fact it is only through legends that we know he was ever a
Prince at all. He had a marvelous faculty for controlling the anger of
wild beasts and once tamed an elephant that had killed many people,
simply by speaking to it in a quiet tone, at which the great animal,
which had been raging through the streets of Rajagha, followed him like
a dog. A tale of his great wisdom that is still told by his disciples,
is of a woman who had lost her child through Death and who came before
Buddha maddened with grief, begging him to bring the child back to life
or at least to provide some comfort from the sorrow that tortured her.
And Buddha told her to get mustard seed from a house that Death had
never visited and when she had done so to bring it to him and he would
bring the child back to life.
The poor woman went from door to door asking if Death had visited
there, and in every home the answer was "yes!" Nowhere could she find a
house that was free from the blight of Death. Then the woman saw that
the only happiness lay in renouncing the ties that bound her to other
human beings and in seeking the peace of Nirvana, for Buddha had taken
this way of teaching her that Death is the common lot of all; and she
entered the Buddhist sisterhood and found there the happiness that she
sought.
Buddha was supposed to have lived many times and there are many tales
of his deeds in previous lives. Some of them tell of happenings when he
was an animal and how he finally acquired the human form. Others tell
of his good deeds when his spirit had entered the human body but was
not yet ennobled sufficiently to become a Buddha.
There are hundreds of such tales in the Buddhist faith. Some deal with
Buddha himself; some with his disciples. In all the stories, however,
the virtue of self-sacrifice and of renunciation is strongly painted.
It is the cornerstone of the Buddhist religion.
When Buddha grew very old he called his disciples around him and
enjoined them to preach the faith after he had passed away for he knew
that at last the hand of Death was near. He died in a little town in
the depths of the jungle, and heavenly music sounded and the trees
burst into blossom as his spirit passed away. He was given a funeral
with all the honor due to a mighty king and after his body was burned,
eight cities requested a share of his ashes. These were placed in eight
great tombs, and the ruins can be seen to the present day.
After the death of Buddha the religion that he preached rapidly spread
through Asia. To-day it is taught in very different forms in different
countries, and the Buddhism of Thibet in China has many elaborate
ceremonies attached to it that the Buddhism of India lacks completely.
Unlike most of the great religions of the world, Buddhism has never
been spread by the sword, but has crept into the minds of men through
its own power. And everywhere it is granted that Buddha was a great man
and a great teacher, and that many of the principles he taught are
second only to those included in the Christian faith.
CHAPTER II
JULIUS CAESAR
Once in a great while a man is born with such a temper of brain and
will that he seems like a bright star among other men and can do things
easily that are impossible for others to accomplish. One hundred years
before the birth of Christ such a man was born in the city of Rome. His
name was Julius Caesar and he came from a long line of Roman noblemen
which ran back so far into history that it not only reached beyond the
beginning of Rome itself, but was believed to have sprung from the
goddess, Venus. Caesar's father died when he was little more than a boy
and his mother was partly responsible for the greatness that he later
maintained, for she strove constantly to develop in him those qualities
of mind and character that were an inheritance from his family,
although they were brought to far greater light in Caesar himself.
Little is known of Caesar's boyhood. It is probable that it was not very
different from that of other young Romans who belonged to the nobility,
or, as it was then called, the patrician class. He had a tutor named
Gnipho who was not a Roman by birth, but a Gaul--that is a man who came
from one of the less civilized tribes that lived to the north of Italy
in the country that is now called modern France--and received from him
the usual education.
Apparently Caesar was not a prodigy when a young man, and there seemed
little to distinguish him from any other young nobleman who went about
the city in dandified apparel with hair oiled and perfumed,--but Caesar
had quietly made up his mind to be the first man in Rome and to surpass
all others in greatness. Occasionally he showed this resolution. And
once on his birthday, when passing the statue of the great conqueror,
Alexander, he wept because he had reached an age when Alexander had
conquered the entire world, while he, Caesar, as yet had done nothing.
Rome, in Caesar's boyhood, was embroiled in civil war, and the leaders
of the Roman armies were constantly fighting among themselves. There
had been a great public man named Marius who championed the rights of
the common people, or the plebeians, and who was greatly loved by the
more humble men of Rome, but Marius had been overthrown by a fierce,
cruel nobleman named Sulla, who made himself the head of the Roman
State and slew every one who stood in his way.
Here appeared the first sign that Caesar possessed the qualities of
greatness--for while still a young man, he dared to defy the terrible
Sulla. Caesar had just married Cornelia, the daughter of Cinna, and was
ordered by Sulla to divorce her. But he resolutely refused to allow the
word of the dictator to come between him and his wife, and was obliged
to leave Rome by night to escape Sulla's vengeance. He fled into
Samnium, but was followed there by Sulla's soldiers, taken prisoner and
brought back to Rome. And Sulla would certainly have put him to death
if some powerful men had not interceded for him and asked for his life.
"I will grant this boon," said Sulla, with a glance that made them
quail, "but take heed for this young man who wears his belt so
loosely," meaning that he saw in Caesar dangerous qualities that might
one day threaten the elaborate machine of Roman government.
As all young Romans were obliged to serve in the army, and as Caesar was
not safe in Rome where Sulla at any time might send assassins to murder
him, he went to the far east where a Roman army was waging war against
a king named Mithridates. At the siege of a town called Mytelene Caesar
so distinguished himself for bravery that he won the civic crown, for
saving the life of a fellow soldier in the face of the enemy.
When Sulla died, Caesar returned to Rome, and became one of the leaders
of the party that had been against Sulla and his government. And Caesar
did everything that he could think of to win power for himself and
damage Sulla's adherents. He became an orator and a lawyer and
prosecuted certain men who had misused the money of the people. But
although it was clearly proved by Caesar that these men were no better
than common thieves, the Roman senators and judges were so corrupt that
it was impossible for Caesar to have them punished as they deserved.
Caesar was not discouraged, however. He believed that if he had been a
better orator the men would have been brought to justice in spite of
all the obstacles that stood in his path; so, on the advice of a friend
named Cicero, who was the greatest orator in the world at that time, he
started on a journey to Rhodes to study rhetoric under a great teacher
of that art named Appollonius Molo.
Travel from Rome was as dangerous as going to war, for there were
bandits everywhere and the seas swarmed with pirates. And when Caesar
took ship to go to Rhodes, the pirates swarmed about his vessel and
took him prisoner. Because he was a nobleman and an important person
the pirates did not put him to death but demanded ransom for him. They
told Caesar the sum of money they had asked and he agreed to obtain it
for them, and haughtily told them that he was even greater than they
had supposed and worth three times the money they had demanded. So the
pirates trebled the amount called for, and told Caesar that if they did
not receive it he would be put to a cruel death, but he waited
unconcernedly; and while in the hands of the pirates he treated them
almost as companions and shared in their games and exercises.
At times he even read to them poems and compositions of his own. But
the pirates did not understand the highflown Roman phrases and did not
give Caesar the applause that he believed his work had merited.
"By the Gods," he said laughing, "you are ignorant barbarians, unfit to
live. When I am freed you had best look to yourselves, for I shall
return and nail you to the cross."
The pirates were angered by these words, but they did not slay their
bold-tongued captive on account of the money they expected, and when
Caesar's ransom came he was set free. But, true to his word, the first
thing he did when set ashore was to gather some men and ships and
pursue them. Setting upon them with the swiftness of lightning he
killed a great number and took many prisoners. And the pirates then
found to their cost that he was a man of his word, for Caesar had every
prisoner crucified, as he had warned them he would do.
He then continued his journey to Rhodes as if nothing had happened and
studied rhetoric under Molo; and so apt a pupil was he that in a very
short time he became an orator second only to Cicero himself.
Rome was in great turmoil and confusion at this time, and the vice of
the men that ruled had weakened her power. There was a great revolt of
slaves not only at Rome but throughout Italy, and the slaves formed
into an army strong enough to defeat the Roman legions.
The slaves barred the roads from Rome, captured their former masters
and made them fight as gladiators in the arena. They set towns afire,
killed women and children, plundered, murdered and cruelly ravaged the
country, until they were defeated in battle by two military leaders who
were sent against them--a rich man named Crassus, who was one of the
most powerful men in Rome, and a soldier named Pompey, who was
considered by the Romans to be one of the greatest generals that their
city had ever seen.
While these things were being accomplished Caesar had finished his
course in rhetoric and returned to Rome, and made his plans to win a
glory greater than that of Pompey and Crassus, who were high in public
favor through their victory over the slaves.
To succeed in Rome without money was impossible in those days, for
large sums had to be expended in bribery and in gaining the favor of
the idle and dissolute Roman people, who refused to work but demanded
to be amused at the expense of others, and would always follow the man
who treated them with the greatest display of liberality. So Caesar
borrowed huge sums of money which he planned to repay from the sums he
could gain when once he was elected to public offices. It is not to be
thought that Caesar always was honest and just, and it has already been
shown that sometimes he was heartless and cruel--but in his favor it
must be said that he never wantonly injured anybody, as so many others
did in the cruel times in which he lived--and that in all things,
except where his own power and future were concerned, he was merciful
and temperate.
Caesar became an official known as quaestor, going to Spain in charge of
certain affairs pertaining to Roman government, and later on he was
made a curule aedile.
In this office his generosity delighted the people. Caesar, with
borrowed riches, made a lavish display to ensure future political favor
at their hands, and was more magnificent than any of the aediles who had
preceded him. At one time he displayed in the arena three hundred and
twenty pairs of gladiators who fought with swords and spears and with
the net and trident,--and he would have brought in a greater number had
not the Senate feared to allow so many armed men in Rome at one time.
But Caesar did something else that delighted the people even more than
the show of the gladiators. One morning they beheld the statues of
Marius, that had been overthrown by Sulla, set up once more in their
old places, bright with gold and ornaments. Marius had been the
people's idol, and Caesar by this bold stroke gained much of the
popularity that had formerly been attached to that beloved leader.
Another office that Caesar attempted to win was that of Pontifex
Maximus--that is, the High Priest and leader in all of the religious
ceremonies of the Romans, an office with great power and prestige and
the stepping stone to greater things by far.
Caesar staked everything on winning this office and he increased his
debts, which were already enormous, amounting to hundreds of thousands
of dollars in our money, to bribe and flatter and make sure of enough
votes to win the election. He was so deeply in debt, he told his
mother, that in case he did not win the office he would be obliged to
leave Rome, never to return. But luck was on his side and he succeeded,
making his term as Pontifex Maximus notable by revising the Roman
calendar so thoroughly that, with only slight changes, it is used
to-day.
Later on he was made Praetor, and by means of these various offices he
succeeded in becoming one of the leading men in Rome--although his
greatness was not yet as bright as that of Pompey, who had, as he said,
only to stamp his foot to fill Italy with soldiers.
Then there befell in Rome what was known as the conspiracy of Catiline,
in which Caesar had a narrow escape from the intrigue and malice of the
noblemen who hated him because he was a foe of Sulla's and a champion
of the people. Catiline was a nobleman of violent temper and bad
reputation. With many companions he strove to win public office in
Rome, and plotted, if unsuccessful, to raise an army, set fire to the
city and place his party in power by rioting and violence. And under
Catiline's government Caesar, who probably knew nothing of the affair,
was to be elected to public office in the new government.
The conspiracy was discovered, chiefly through the vigilance of Cicero,
who was Consul at the time. Catiline had fled from Rome and was raising
an army, but a number of the other plotters were arrested. The noblemen
who hated Caesar did everything in their power to have his name included
in the list of the conspirators, but Cicero resolutely refused to
believe that Caesar had been in league with them and would not press the
charges against him. Through the gifted oratory of Cicero, however, a
sentence of death was brought against all the prisoners, who were
promptly put to death in Cicero's presence.
Caesar's wife, Cornelia, had died sometime before these events took
place, and Caesar had then married a relative of Pompey. At the festival
of Bona Dea, where only women were admitted, and which was held at
Caesar's house because he was Pontifex Maximus, a great scandal took
place owing to the fact that a young man, dressed in woman's clothes
was discovered hiding in the house while the festival was going on.
This bade fair to injure Caesar's name in the city, and partly on this
account he divorced his wife, Pompeia, saying that while nothing evil
had been proved against her, yet Caesar's wife must be above even the
breath of suspicion.
After this Caesar went to Spain to govern that land for the Romans.
While there he had much military experience that helped him to become
one of the mightiest generals the world has ever seen, and in his
struggles against the wild, hill tribes he laid the seeds of success
for his later wars in Gaul,--wars in which he was to carry the Roman
eagles into lands that had only been known by hearsay and legend.
When Caesar returned from Spain he did his utmost to cement the bonds of
friendship between himself and Pompey and Crassus--with Pompey, because
he was the greatest man in Rome and because Caesar hoped to rise through
his patronage,--with Crassus because he was possessed of fabulous
riches, that Caesar would have great need of in fulfilling his ambitious
designs. To strengthen his friendship with Pompey he forced his own
daughter to marry him. The alliance of these three men is called the
First Triumvirate.
Caesar was eager at this time to be elected Consul, an office that would
give him great power in the Roman state, and with his usual success and
some luck he succeeded in doing so. With him was elected another Consul
named Bibulus, who was put into office by the noblemen to check Caesar
and limit his ambitious designs, which included doing all that he could
to better the condition of the common people. But Caesar soon had the
upper hand in all the affairs of the consulship, so that the people
said jokingly that the two consuls for the year were Julius and Caesar,
instead of Caesar and Bibulus.
Among other things that Caesar accomplished was the passing of a land
law that provided land for all of Pompey's old soldiers, and was also
designed to give land to the people at Rome who were without occupation
and often on the verge of starvation. Naturally this law made Caesar
even more popular with Pompey, as for the people they cheered him
lustily and said among themselves that this Julius Caesar was certainly
a most noble and generous leader. Had he not been the follower of
Marius and replaced his statues which were overthrown by tyranny? Had
he not provided games the like of which the people had never seen
before? And now, by his land law, had he not shown that he was devoted
to the poor, ready at all times to fight their battles and to provide
generously for them?
Such were the means by which Caesar endeared himself to the Romans. And
now was to come the opportunity by which at a single leap he placed
himself above all others. The province of Gaul which lay to the
northwest of Italy, and included most of what is now modern France, was
an extremely rich and fertile country, occupied by wild tribes that
were hardly friendly to the Romans. Through his political power, and
much scheming, Caesar had himself made governor of all Gaul for five
years. It was the opportunity of a lifetime, for he could not only make
himself famous as a conqueror by subduing the Gaulish tribes, but could
raise an enormous army, devoted to his interests, by which he could
take by force the entire control of the Roman State as Sulla had done
before him.
Naturally Caesar did not voice these designs, but he entertained them
just the same, and began a series of wars in Gaul in which over a
million of his enemies are said to have perished on the battlefield.
When Caesar entered upon his duties in governing Gaul, certain tribes
came to him with complaints of a people called the Helvetii, who were
leaving their own country, or what is now Switzerland, to enter upon
the more fertile and less mountainous lands of their neighbors. Caesar
mustered his soldiers and marched against the Helvetii, meeting them at
a place called Bibracte. Here he showed how skilfully he could direct
the Roman legions, for in a comparatively short battle the Helvetii
were entirely overthrown, and a terrible slaughter followed. Caesar
himself, in writing of this battle, says that out of three hundred and
sixty-eight thousand men, women and children, who composed the tribe of
the Helvetii, only one hundred and ten thousand were left after the
battle. The poor beaten remnant of the tribe he ordered at once to
retrace their steps into Switzerland and to enter Gaul no more.
His success in dealing with the Helvetii turned the eyes of all Gaul
upon the conqueror. Many tribes then asked his aid against Ariovistus,
a German chief who came from across the river Rhine and with his yellow
haired followers, clad in the skins of animals, was plundering the
Gaulish province. Caesar, with the quickness that always won him success
in battle, advanced against Ariovistus and completely defeated him,
driving his men in confusion back across the Rhine to the lands they
had come from.
In the following spring there was great danger that all Gaul would
revolt to free itself from the control of the Romans. Of all the tribes
that were opposed to him, Caesar considered that the Belgae, the people
who lived in what is now Belgium, were the bravest and the most
dangerous enemies against whom he must fight. So he marched against
them and placed his legions behind strong fortifications until he could
gain a favorable moment to come forth and attack them. The Belgae tried
all sorts of tricks and ruses to draw Caesar from his position, but they
did not succeed in doing this. Then, perhaps because they had not
sufficient food, they commenced a retreat back to their own country,
from which they had issued to attack Caesar. On their heels rode the
Roman cavalry, who harassed them constantly, darting in and killing
stragglers and attacking the rear guard whenever the opportunity
offered.
One night, however, when the Romans were about to encamp in some wooded
country on the River Sambre, three tribes of the Belgae fell upon them
in a surprise attack that came so swiftly and so violently that the
Roman legions were almost routed. Caesar's force was not wholly composed
of Romans, and all the soldiers under his command except the Romans
fled pell mell from the field, but the Roman soldiers, in spite of
everything, stood firm, displaying the marvelous discipline that had
conquered the world, and soon had victory in their grasp. But the Roman
soldiers were seldom merciful and scarcely a foeman escaped the
slaughter that followed.
That winter Caesar returned to northern Italy, leaving his legions in
Gaul under the command of his lieutenants. In his winter retreat he
enjoyed himself and spent enormous sums of money, listening eagerly to
news of everything that had taken place in Rome since his departure.
In the following spring his friend and political partner, Crassus, was
killed while engaging in battle with the Parthians in the east, leaving
Pompey and Caesar the only two men of first importance in Roman affairs.
In that year also the Roman Senate prolonged Caesar's rule of Gaul for
five years more.
When spring came Caesar led his legions from their winter encampments to
battle against their enemies once more, and this time the victims of
his skill were two German tribes who had again crossed over the Rhine
to invade Gaul.
Caesar routed them and chased them back across the Rhine, building a
bridge to pursue them into Germany. Then he came back to Gaul,
destroying his bridge behind him; and made his plans to invade the
island of Britain, which is now England, Scotland and Wales. In Britain
there lived tribes that were considered to hold the last extremity of
the earth. Beyond them was nothing except mystery and darkness.
Boats were built by the Roman soldiers, who had been trained by Caesar
to turn their hand to any kind of labor, and the Roman army rowed
across the English channel to the island where the warlike Britons
awaited their coming. The Romans sprang from their boats into water up
to their necks and waded ashore to battle, killing and capturing a
large number of Britons, many of whom Caesar took back with him into
Gaul to adorn his triumphal entry into Rome when his term as governor
of Gaul had come to an end.
The Roman Senate was astonished at Caesar's success and all Rome rang
with his fame. The island of Britain was held to be the last extreme
that Roman arms could reach, and hitherto had been nothing but a place
of fables and wild sea tales, and the Senate declared a thanksgiving in
Caesar's honor that was to last twenty days.
That winter Caesar again returned to northern Italy, leaving his army
under the command of his lieutenants, for, possessed of a great
ambition to become the ruler of Rome, he desired to learn everything
that was taking place there. His absence was taken by the Gauls as a
sign that his power was weakening, and they considered that they had a
splendid chance to revolt successfully and throw off the Roman power.
And among them there sprang up a leader named Vercingetorix, who in his
way was almost as great a genius as Caesar himself, possessed of
boundless courage and hardihood.
A revolt in Gaul at that time would endanger all Caesar's chances for
success in Rome. Should his army be overcome he would have no means of
enforcing his power there, and a defeat would utterly destroy the
prestige that he had built up among the Romans at the cost of so much
money and labor. So Caesar hurried across the Alps and after maneuvering
his legions in a manner that showed to the world he was a genius in the
art of war, he succeeded in surrounding the greater part of the forces
of Vercingetorix.
To save his comrades Vercingetorix gave in to Caesar, and galloped out
of his stronghold to give up his sword. He laid his arms at Caesar's
feet and surrendered himself as a captive. Caesar kept him as a prisoner
for a number of years, after which time he was taken to Rome and forced
to walk in the triumph of the conqueror. Then he suffered the fate of
the captives of Rome. He was shut up in a dungeon and strangled, and
his body was thrown upon one of the refuse heaps of the mighty city.
Continued success in Gaul had by this time made Caesar's name so great
in Rome that the Senate had grown to fear him. Pompey too was jealous
of his growing power, and Caesar was finally ordered by the Senate to
disband his army. The two officers of the people, called the tribunes,
whose names were Antony and Cassius, vetoed this act on the part of the
Senate, and were hunted from Rome and fled to Caesar's camp for refuge.
Then the Senate, wildly afraid that Caesar would return at the head of
his troops and become a tyrant like Sulla, declared war against Caesar
and put in Pompey's hands the task of humbling his former friend. Caesar
had no intention of disbanding his troops. His soldiers loved him
deeply and would follow wherever he led them. And Caesar exhorted his
men to stand by him, promising them honor and riches if he should
succeed in overcoming his enemies at Rome, and the men with wild cheers
swore that they would follow him to the death.
At the head of a powerful and well disciplined army that was devoted to
him, Caesar advanced on Rome. When he came to a stream called the
Rubicon, which marked the limit of his power as governor of Gaul, he
hesitated for a brief time, as there was still time for him to draw
back from his tremendous venture had he seen fit to do so--but at
length he plunged into the stream with the remark, "The die is cast,"
and advanced upon the city that he intended to win for himself.
Pompey had been through an exceedingly hard time in getting soldiers to
follow his banner, for the reputation of Caesar was very formidable and
his army even more so. Finding that it was impossible to make a stand
against Caesar in Italy, Pompey fled across the Mediterranean Sea,
leaving Caesar the master of Rome and Italy as well. Caesar, however, was
not in the habit of leaving an enemy to fly unmolested. He pursued
Pompey to Thessaly and there fought a battle against him in which
Pompey was utterly defeated and his soldiers scattered and routed.
Pompey fled to Egypt, where Caesar followed him--and the first thing
that was brought to Caesar when he arrived was Pompey's head. The once
great Roman had been treacherously murdered by the Egyptians, who
believed that in so doing they would curry favor with Caesar.
In Egypt there was a beautiful queen named Cleopatra, who used all her
great art to force Caesar to fall in love with her. She believed that
when he loved her he would place her firmly on the Egyptian throne and
send the Roman soldiers against her enemies. So completely did she
succeed that Caesar, who never had been averse to the charms of
beautiful women, remained at her court for a considerable time and led
his armies against a king named Pharnaces at Cleopatra's bidding. After
this he returned to Rome, where he was made dictator, with absolute
power, and was as great as Sulla had ever been.
But there were still a number of Romans who refused to submit to his
power, and Caesar was compelled to go once more to Africa to vanquish
Pompey's friends, Scipio and Cato, who were raising a new army against
him. With his usual military genius, he overthrew them easily and
returned again to Rome.
Nothing in Roman history equalled his welcome there. He was received as
a returning king and the honors that were heaped upon him were greater
than had been given to any other Roman in all the long centuries that
Rome had been a city. He was called "Father of His Country" and had a
bodyguard of Roman noblemen to accompany him wherever he went. His
person was considered sacred, and the month of Quintilis was called
after his name, July, for Julius, the name it has borne from that far
time to the present day.
Now, in his hour of triumph and greatness, Caesar showed himself of far
different mettle from any Roman who had previously gained power over
the state. He did not mar his success by murdering his enemies as Sulla
had done, but rather sought to be the friend of all, and busied himself
with good deeds and public works that would benefit the people. And
while a royal crown was offered to him many times,--notably by the same
Marc Antony who had fled to his camp as a fugitive when the Senate rose
against his power--Caesar refused to accept it, believing that he could
govern wisely and temperately without the name of King, which was
bitter in the ears of all true Romans.
However, his kindness did not save him, and his glory was short lived.
Certain Romans considered that their state had fallen under the power
of a tyrant, and believed that Rome could be brought back to its former
freedom by Caesar's death. A conspiracy was hatched against him among
the senators, and one of its leaders was a man named Brutus, to whom
Caesar had shown every kindness. Brutus, with his comrade, Cassius, and
some sixty others held secret meetings at night in which they discussed
the best way to murder Caesar, and it was finally decided that they
would fall upon him with swords and daggers when he entered the Senate
House.
In connection with this evil plot a strange thing happened. Caesar was
approached by an old man who claimed to be a prophet or a soothsayer.
This man warned him that on a certain day, which began what was called
the Ides of March, he must not stir out of his house or evil would come
to him. Caesar laughed at this prediction, but on the night before this
very day, his wife, Calpurnia, had an evil dream in which she beheld
specters walking in the streets of Rome; and she begged Caesar as he
loved her to remain at home. Caesar was about to give in to her request
when Brutus called at his house to take him to the Senate, and, knowing
of the conspiracy, of which he was one of the leaders, Brutus ridiculed
Caesar for being frightened by the dream of his wife and persuaded him
to go, although Calpurnia wept bitterly when he departed, believing
that she would never see him again.
On the way to the Senate Caesar passed the soothsayer, and remembering
his prediction called out to him that the Ides of March were come.
"Aye, Caesar," replied the strange old man, "but not yet past." And
Caesar entered the Senate.
As he took his place he was surrounded by the conspirators who crowded
about him with their weapons ready to hand under their cloaks and
robes, and while one of their number presented a petition to Caesar, and
drew his cloak aside, Casca, another conspirator, stabbed him from
behind. Then, as Caesar turned and grasped Casca's arm, the whole
murderous pack of them set upon him, crowding and jostling each other
to drive their weapons into his body. And when Caesar saw the hand of
Brutus, his best friend, treacherously raised against him, he drew his
cloak over his face so that he might keep his dignity in the agony of
death, and exclaiming "You, too, Brutus?" fell at the base of Pompey's
statue, which was stained with the life blood of the man who had
conquered him.
So died Julius Caesar, whose name is even brighter after two thousand
years than it was in the time when he lived. As to the conspirators
they profited nothing by their deed, for the Romans, inspired by an
oration made at Caesar's bier by Marc Antony, set fire to their
dwellings and drove them from the city. Within three years not one of
them remained alive. Rome soon proved that she could not live without a
master, and the power that Caesar had won passed into other hands that
were not so great or worthy as his own.
CHAPTER III
SAINT PATRICK
No saint's name is more familiar than holy Saint Patrick's. Legends
have sprung up around it as thick as the grass of Ireland from which he
is believed to have chased the serpents into the sea--but in all the
calendar hardly a saint is known less about than this marvelous man,
who carried the Christian religion to every corner of the emerald
island.
Saint Patrick was not a native of Ireland--he was born, perhaps in 373
A.D., in the little town of Banavem Taberniae, a Roman town in ancient
Scotland not far from the modern city of Glasgow. Rome had ruled the
world for hundreds of years and the swords of her soldiers had been
uplifted in every known land. Hence it was that Saint Patrick came into
the world as a future citizen of Rome and the son of a wealthy and
respected Roman colonist. His father was named Calpornius and was a
deacon of the Christian church in the town where he lived, and the
mother of the future saint was also a devout Christian, the niece of
the renowned Bishop Martin of the city of Tours in France.
Calpornius and his wife were so ardent in religion that they spent day
and night in teaching their son the story of the gospel and the psalms.
They desired first of all that he should be a good Christian and a
bearer of the faith--but they wearied the growing boy with long hours
of study and monotonous recitals of religious hymns and proverbs when
he was eager to be ranging the hills or playing with his fellows. At
that time he had no particular desire to be a priest, and, like most
boys, was far more interested in the stories of heroes than the stories
of saints, preferring to hear of the wild Scottish chiefs and the Roman
Generals with whom they had engaged in bitter warfare.
He thirsted for adventure, and adventure was to come to him. Those were
wild days, and law only reached as far as it could be upheld by the
sword and the arrow. Pirates harried the seas and from the north the
galleys of the sea robbers were soon to range southward in search of
lands where plunder was to be found and men and women to be carried
into slavery.
One night, when a gale was blowing from the northeast, St. Patrick, we
are told, sat with some friends in the glowing light of a great peat
fire, where they warmed themselves at the same time that they told
stories of adventure and sang Scottish songs as wild and melancholy as
the wind that was scouring the hills. Saint Patrick was now a lad of
sixteen, with well knit limbs and a powerful body that made him appear
older than he really was, and at the same time gave promise of greater
strength to come. He listened keenly to the singing, but at the same
time gave ear to sounds that he heard without the hut, for the rough
voices of men speaking an unknown tongue seemed to be mingling with the
noise of the storm. At last he sprang up with a shout of warning, a
shout that was answered by a battle cry from without. A pirate galley
had made its way to the shore and the crew were engaged on a raid to
capture slaves. Some of Saint Patrick's companions were clubbed or cut
down where they sat, but he was thrown and strongly bound, dragged
roughly to the shore and tossed on board the robber craft that quickly
made its way to sea in spite of the tremendous surf that broke over the
backs of the oarsmen.
For several days they fought the sea and at last came to the coast of
northern Ireland, where Saint Patrick was sold as a slave to an Irish
chief named Miliuc. It is probable that the pirates gained a rich
reward for the clean-limbed boy, whose strength and ability were
evident to all who saw him. When the bargain was finished they boarded
their vessel and sailed away, leaving the luckless boy in the hands of
his new master.
And straightway there commenced for Saint Patrick a bitterly hard life,
for little kindness was wasted on those who were sold into bondage, and
slaves were compelled to labor terribly with aching muscles and empty
bellies, beaten and cuffed at the whim of their master--who had a
perfect right to slay them if he so desired Hunger, blows and fatigue
were Saint Patrick's portion and were added to the homesickness of a
young man torn from affectionate parents.
And then Saint Patrick found consolation in the religious teachings
that had been drummed into his unwilling ears, and in the midst of his
suffering he turned to his faith for comfort. He remembered the psalms
that had been taught by his father and mother and said them repeatedly,
and he even forbore at times to eat his meagre rations, thinking that
by fasting he might prove worthy in the eyes of the Lord.
And one night he had a dream in which he heard a voice, which said to
him: "Fast no more, but fly, for a vessel now awaits you to carry you
away from your bondage. Truly you shall behold your parents again and
once more be free and happy."
Saint Patrick woke in amazement after this dream, but he was so certain
that the voice which spoke to him was real that he did not hesitate to
obey it. Watching his opportunity he slipped away from the chief who
had held him for six years in bitter servitude, and walking and running
by turns he made his way southward in search of the vessel that he knew
must be awaiting him.
He did not concern himself about the path, for he felt that Heaven
would guide him; and indeed after he had marched for two hundred miles,
he came to the coast, and just as he had dreamed a vessel lay at anchor
near the shore and some of the sailors were standing on the beach.
Saint Patrick ran up to them and implored the captain to carry him away
from Ireland back to his own country. His wild appearance startled the
master of the vessel, but after considerable doubt the captain
consented, and Saint Patrick boarded the ship where he was to work his
passage across the channel.
They set sail at once and bent their backs to the oars, for in those
days ships were moved over the water by rowers as well as by sails; and
after three days they came not to Scotland, but the shore of France,
landing in a wild and desolate region where no human habitation was to
be seen. Their provision had run low and they were in danger of dying
of hunger, when the captain, who had closely watched Saint Patrick
during the voyage and observed his piety, asked him to pray to the
Christian god to bring them food, for the captain himself was not a
Christian and believed that his own prayers would be worthless on this
account. And Saint Patrick knelt and prayed, and before he had risen to
his feet again a wild boar ran from the thicket and then another and
still a third, all of which were promptly slain and the meat roasted on
sticks.
Then Saint Patrick bade farewell to his shipmates, and made his way to
the city of Tours, where to his joy he met Bishop Martin, who was his
own great uncle. And he stayed at the home of the Bishop for four
years.
After this time he tried again to reach Scotland, to which he was drawn
every hour by ties of blood and affection; and at last he embarked on a
vessel bound to a port very near his own native town. He found his
father and mother still living and they rejoiced mightily to see him,
for to them he was as one who had returned from the dead. In place of
the boy they had lost there appeared a tall and finely built man with a
face hardened by toil but made noble by thought and suffering. And they
had a feast to celebrate his return and wept for joy because they had
their son again.
But the dreams that Saint Patrick had experienced in Ireland once more
came to him, and in his sleep he heard the Heavenly voice telling him
that he had been rescued from slavery for no mean or ordinary purpose,
but must go again into Ireland as a priest, and teach the Christian
religion to the savage Irish clans. So Saint Patrick knew that he must
return to Ireland, and, bidding his parents farewell, he departed to
become a priest in preparation for the labor that lay before him.
He studied to such purpose that he became a Bishop, celebrated for his
learning and famous among the clergymen; and when this was accomplished
he set sail once more for Ireland with a retinue of priests and
clergymen accompanying him. But although he was going to a savage land
where he had already experienced much bitterness and sorrow, he went
unarmed, and among his entire company there was not so much as a single
sword or lance.
He came to a place called Strangford Lough and there landed with his
band of missionaries. The Irish fled at his approach, for they feared
that the tall man who bore the cross was the leader of an invading
army, and also that he possessed the arts of magic by which he would do
injury to them.
Many of the Irish believed in the religion of the Druids--a strange
faith that brought in the magic arts and endeavored to teach above all
other things that a man's soul when he dies enters another human body.
This belief was widely established throughout the world, and it is true
that many persons beside the Druids believed in it; but the Druids had
other beliefs that were cruel and dangerous. They were said to perform
human sacrifices and their priests to practise black magic. These
priests wore about their necks the "serpent's egg," a ball formed of
the spittle of many poisonous snakes; they knew many strange things
about animals and plants and held the oak tree to be sacred. For this
reason they worshipped in oaken groves, and considered the mistletoe
that grew around oak trees to have divine powers. It was cut by
white-robed priests with golden knives in an impressive ceremony.
It can readily be seen that such people, who believed in such a faith,
would not easily become Christians. Their priests were clever and knew
how to place the stamp of fear and wonder on their minds. And--in
company with all other people in those days--the Irish distrusted
outsiders and were far more ready to believe them coming in treachery
than in friendship.
When Saint Patrick and his followers set foot in Ireland it was the
time of a great religious festival in which no lights were allowed to
be lit or fires to be kindled for several days. Saint Patrick knew
this, for he was well versed in the religious customs of the Irish, and
he knew, too, that the penalty for disobeying the priestly order was a
terrible death.
None the less, and in spite of being unarmed, he ordered his followers
to build an enormous fire that could be seen for miles. When the great
logs and the faggots were piled together Saint Patrick kindled the pile
with his own hands and the flames shot high in the air, throwing
strange shadows on the trees and causing the Irish to cry out in fear
and astonishment. The Druid priests were greatly angered and perturbed
at what Saint Patrick had done, and they went at once to the King, who
was named Laoghaire MacNeill, telling him that the foreign band had
desecrated the Druid faith and must be punished with death. Then the
King told the priests to go and fetch Saint Patrick and bring him to
judgment, but the priests feared the fire that had been kindled,
thinking that it had magic powers. So they went as far as they dared
and called out to Saint Patrick, summoning him to appear before the
judges of the land.
Promptly and with fearless demeanor, Saint Patrick joined the priests
and was taken before the King. And when the King demanded of him how he
had dared to disobey the laws of the country and profane its religion,
Saint Patrick answered that he did so because the light of the
Christian faith was infinitely brighter than the light of any fire that
he or any one else had power to kindle; and that the fire he had built
was merely a sign to call the Irish to the worship of the true God.
Then he preached, and his words were so wise and spoken with such
weight of eloquence that many that heard him became Christians on the
spot, and the work of converting Ireland was soon well under way.
There were many of the Irish that loved Saint Patrick, but he had many
bitter enemies. On one occasion a powerful Irishman, who was enraged at
the Saint for having taken a stone sacred to the Druids for a Christian
altar, vowed that he must die. So he lay in wait in a patch of woods
near a road over which he knew Saint Patrick would pass, with a sharp
javelin to pierce his heart.
Saint Patrick had an Irish boy for his servant and this boy knew of the
threat and the place and was greatly afraid for the life of his beloved
master. But he knew, too, that it would be useless to ask Saint Patrick
to go by another road, for fear was unknown to him. So the boy
pretended to be weary and asked Saint Patrick to take the reins of the
horse that they were driving; and the brave lad seated himself in his
master's place. They came to the wood; there was a sudden stirring of
the bushes and the hiss of a javelin which imbedded itself in the boy's
heart, killing him instantly. The assassin had taken his master for the
ordinary driver and Saint Patrick's life was saved.
Ardently the Saint set to work to bring about the conversion of the
Irish, and he did his work so well that when he became an old man there
were no heathen left in Ireland, and his name was loved and venerated
from one end of the island to the other. And the legends grew up so
quickly about him that it is hard to separate the true from the false.
He had written a famous hymn which was called "the breastplate," being
as he said the best and strongest armor he or any other Christian could
bear, since it was a confession of his faith in the Christian religion.
On many occasions, when men sought his life, it is said he chanted this
hymn and they let him pass.
Saint Patrick is said to have driven all the snakes out of Ireland into
the sea--and it is notable that there are no snakes there to-day. And
the other marvelous things he is believed to have accomplished are
manifold. He died at a ripe old age and from the day of his death to
the present one no man has been more revered in the land where he
labored,--for the name of Saint Patrick is in every Irish heart and
Saint Patrick's Day is celebrated by Irishmen in every part of the
world.
CHAPTER IV
KING ARTHUR OF BRITAIN
More than fourteen centuries ago there lived in the Island of Britain a
very wise king named Uther Pendragon. And at his court there dwelt an
enchanter of great art whose name was Merlin. Now Merlin, among his
other arts, had the power of seeing into the future, and what he could
not prevent he could often foretell; and looking forward with this art
of his, Merlin saw that after the death of King Uther there would be
war and confusion in Britain; and the only one who could save the land
would be the King's son, Arthur. But Merlin knew that the King would
not live very long, and that Arthur was too weak to govern as a
child--nay more, that unless Arthur were concealed he would be murdered
by the noblemen that sought to obtain the kingdom. So he told this to
King Uther, and they agreed to hide the child and have him reared in
secret. And for this purpose they gave him to a nobleman named Sir
Hector de Bonmaison, who was possessed of a good heart, telling him
that the child, though of noble blood, was no better than a waif whose
parents were both dead.
Everything that Merlin foresaw then came to pass. King Uther Pendragon
died, and war and confusion seized Britain. For eighteen years there
was no peace or safety in the land, and at the end of this time the
people were weary of bloodshed and sought a King who should govern them
with a strong hand.
Merlin was known to be the wisest man in the entire land, if not in all
the world, and the Archbishop of Canterbury came to him and sought
advice concerning a worthy King for Britain. And Merlin, thinking of
Arthur, prepared by enchantment a test whereby the rightful King of
Britain should be known. In front of the cathedral there appeared a
great block of marble with an anvil upon it, and into the anvil was
thrust a great, bright sword that shone full as brilliantly as the
stars themselves; and on the handle of the sword was a legend saying
that whosoever could draw the sword from the anvil was the rightful
King of Britain.
A mighty tournament was then proclaimed, and after the tournament all
the nobles were to attempt to draw out the sword from the anvil. All
the great men in the land were to be present and the one who drew the
sword was to be proclaimed as King.
Sir Hector de Bonmaison went to the tournament, and with him went his
rightful son, Sir Kay, and the boy, Arthur. Sir Kay was a powerful
knight famous in war and he intended to win the tournament for the
credit of his house. And it seemed as if he would indeed succeed, for
with his sword he struck down all that were opposed to him--until the
sword snapped and left him without a weapon.
Then Sir Kay called Arthur to his side and bade the boy get him another
sword, and quickly. And Arthur, who knew nothing about the sword in
front of the cathedral, except that he had seen it there, ran to that
spot and sprang upon the marble block--and when he pulled upon the haft
of the sword it came forth from the iron block into his hand as easily
as though it had been thrust into a pat of butter, and with it he ran
to Sir Kay.
But Sir Kay when he saw it looked strangely upon Arthur and bade the
lad say straightway where he had obtained it; and when Sir Kay heard
how Arthur had pulled it from the anvil he fought no more, for an evil
scheme had come into his mind,--and going to his father, he said that
he himself had drawn the sword from the anvil and so must be the
rightful King of Britain.
Marveling greatly, Sir Hector with Arthur and Sir Kay went to the
cathedral and Sir Kay tried to thrust the sword back into the metal,
but could not do it. Then Arthur took the sword and thrust it in as
easily as though the iron were soft earth, and for all his efforts Sir
Kay could not draw it forth again. But Arthur drew it forth and thrust
it back--and then did so once more--and at this Sir Hector knew that
the child whom he had reared was no other than the son of King Uther
Pendragon, and kneeling at Arthur's feet, both he and Sir Kay offered
him their homage.
And then all the nobles and the kings and the great men in the land
gathered about the cathedral and tried one after one to draw the sword.
And none could stir it. But Arthur drew the sword so easily that he
needed but to lay one hand upon the hilt to have it come into his
grasp--and after much amazement and doubt and further trials the people
of Britain proclaimed Arthur as their King.
It was soon seen that this lad who had been reared in obscurity and was
hitherto unknown, was to be a greater King than even his father had
been before him. For Arthur quelled the wars that had been ravaging the
country and brought justice and peace to all the land; and those that
rose against him he punished with a hand of iron. But all the people
loved the young King, who was knightly and chivalrous, and the fame of
his deeds rang through his dominions. For in all Britain there was no
knight better than he with sword and lance,--no surer horseman or
bolder warrior than the King himself. And for a time he conducted
himself according to the fashion of noble knights and rode abroad
combatting evil and conquering all those who sought to oppose him.
Everywhere that Arthur went the enchanter Merlin watched over him, and
on more than one occasion Merlin saved his life. And the wise old man
with his enchanter's art looked into the future and saw where Arthur
would gain the strength and power that has made his name live down to
the present day,--aye, and that will make it shine long after those who
read this book are laid away in their own tombs and forgotten!
Merlin knew that in a certain lake that lay in a land of enchantment in
Arthur's dominions, there was a marvelous sword called "Excalibur,"
possessed of such great power that all those who fought against it must
fall,--while in the scabbard of the sword there rested the healing
virtue that nobody who wore it could ever be wounded or lose any blood
in battle.
Many knights had tried to gain this sword, but a terrible fate had
befallen them without exception,--for nobody could claim it who was not
true at heart, and who knew not the meaning of the word fear. The sword
itself was held in a mighty arm that uplifted itself from the center of
the lake, and this arm was clothed in the purest white, marvelous to
look upon.
Merlin took Arthur to the edge of the lake, and the King beheld the
great arm holding the sword above the water; and when he saw it he was
possessed of the desire to have it for his own, for the blade gleamed
like the sunlight, the handle was bright with the purest gold and
jewels, and there seemed to be a greater strength and a luster in it
than the work of mortal hands could bring about.
While the King with Merlin stood at the edge of the lake and wondered
how it would be possible to obtain the sword, all of a sudden a barge
appeared in the shape of a beautiful white swan. In it stood a radiant
lady, clad all in green with white pearls in her hair and pearls like
drops of weeping mist all over her garments--which themselves appeared
like woven and intermingled rushes. The boat made its way through the
water without motive power, until it grated gently on the sands where
Arthur and Merlin were standing. And the lady spoke to Arthur and told
him that she was no other than the Lady of the Lake and that the sword,
Excalibur, should be his own. And Arthur stepped into the boat, which
promptly left the shore and glided straight as an arrow to the place
where the sword appeared.
Although the King had never felt fear in his life, he felt a wonder
approaching to fear at the mystic, white hand that grasped the handle
of Excalibur so firmly; but leaning from the boat he took the sword,
and the hand at once disappeared in the waters of the lake. And due to
Merlin's gifts of magic, Arthur himself was able to look into the
future at that time and see one thing--namely, that when his reign was
over and he himself sore wounded and near to death, he must return
Excalibur to the hand that gave it to him, casting it back into the
lake before he died.
With Excalibur at his side, Arthur was invincible in war and he struck
down all that opposed him--but he was so chivalrous that he never used
the sword except against the wicked, and from that time on forbore to
do any battle in the way of sport, but fought only against his enemies.
[Illustration: KING ARTHUR GRASPED THE MAGIC SWORD THAT NONE BUT THE
BRAVEST MIGHT HOLD]
King Arthur had beheld a lady named Guinevere at Cameliard, and was
smitten with love for her and desired to make her his bride. But first
of all he wished to be near her, and he asked Merlin to furnish him
with some disguise by which he could accomplish this without her
knowledge.
Merlin agreed and gave Arthur a cap on which he had cast a spell. For
when Arthur put it on he appeared to be no longer a king, but a simple
gardener's boy. On pain of discovery, however, he must always wear the
cap, for when he took it off he showed himself once more as Arthur the
King.
So Arthur went to Cameliard disguised as a gardener's boy, and he
sought work in the castle grounds where he might often behold the Lady
Guinevere. And for some days he worked in the gardens while she walked
there and looked upon her to his heart's content--and every time he saw
her she seemed to be more beautiful than before.
One morning, however, while he was bathing at the fountain with his cap
laid aside, the Lady Guinevere looked out of the window and saw him.
She did not know he was the King, she only knew that a very handsome
knight was bathing at her fountain,--but in a trice the King put on his
cap again and became the gardener's boy, who said that none had been
there save himself.
At last, however, Arthur was discovered by Guinevere, although even
then she knew not that he was the King; and after this had happened he
went forth on a quest in her behalf and overcame four knights whom he
sent to her as his captives, with orders to serve her and do what she
desired.
These knights were well known to Arthur and were his friends; but like
Guinevere they had not known him, because he kept down the visor of his
helmet when he did battle with them. And they returned and told
Guinevere that they were conquered by an unknown knight who had ordered
them to come to her and do her bidding.
Guinevere was guarded in the castle of Cameliard by a knight named Sir
Mordaunt of North Umber who was greatly desirous of wedding her. And at
last he kept her a close prisoner and with six companions mounted guard
before the castle proclaiming that unless some champions came forward
in her behalf he would marry her against her will.
At this Guinevere was greatly distressed, for she had grown to love the
unknown knight that she had seen in the garden, and she asked the four
that were in her charge to go forth and do battle with the knights that
guarded her. But they would not, although they were bound to do her
word, because they were angered that she should demand this of them
when she knew that they were only four against seven. When Arthur
returned, however, he placed himself at their head and they charged the
seven knights so fiercely that three were slain in their onslaught and
the others fled. And shortly after this Guinevere was brought to Arthur
for marriage, and he disclosed his state as King, and their nuptials
were celebrated with gorgeous pomp and ceremony.
Merlin told Arthur to ask from Guinevere's father, whose name was
Leodegrance and who was himself a king, a marvelous round table that he
possessed. This table had magic powers, said Merlin, and Arthur would
add greatly to the strength of his kingdom by possessing it. The table
had many marvelous properties,--and the chairs that went with it were
equally marvelous. The names of those who should sit in them appeared
in letters of gold when such knights approached, and disappeared again
when they rose to depart. There was also a seat richer than the rest
for the King himself--and another chair, wonderfully carven and wrought
with gems, that was called the "Seat Perilous," where even Arthur might
not sit--for that chair was reserved for the knight who should look
upon the "Holy Grail," a vessel containing the blood of Christ that had
been taken to Heaven on his death. It could only be beheld by the
purest knight that went in quest of it, which Arthur could not do,
because he must rule his kingdom.
Then Arthur gathered all the best knights in the realm about him and
they were called "the Knights of the Round Table" and they bound
themselves by vows to noble deeds and gallant conduct, to redress
wrongs, to think no evil or allow it to appear in any guise at the
Round Table. And through the deeds of his knights of the Round Table
Arthur's name became even greater in his kingdom than it had ever been
before.
But little by little doubt and suspicion began to appear among Arthur's
knights, and these were fostered by the evil plots of Arthur's nephew,
Modred. Above all, Modred hated a knight named Sir Lancelot, who, with
the exception of the King, was the bravest knight in Britain. Sir
Lancelot was loved by Queen Guinevere, and loved her in return. And
through Modred's schemes it befell that fighting commenced between
Lancelot and other knights of the Round Table, in which many were
slain. And then the whole kingdom of Britain was torn apart and
Arthur's former glory was lost; and at last the unhappy King even found
himself at war with his former friend, Sir Lancelot himself, who had
stolen the love of the Queen.
After bitter fighting Sir Lancelot went back to his own country of
Brittany, taking Queen Guinevere with him, beyond the sea, and Arthur
pursued him there. And while Arthur was laying siege to Sir Lancelot's
castle, the false knight Modred rose against Arthur in his own country,
hatching a rebellion against the King, so Arthur had to give up the
siege of Lancelot's castle and return to Britain to fight against the
traitors that had risen from the ranks of his own subjects.
This was the last war that Arthur ever engaged in. Merlin had foretold
that when the seats at the Round Table had all been filled, Arthur's
kingdom must gradually decline. The seats had been filled long since,
and the decline had come about through the distrust and the evil deeds
of Arthur's own knights. And now he must fight a number of them both in
the ranks of Lancelot and under the banner of Modred.
In a battle with Modred's forces King Arthur's army fought so fiercely
that when dusk fell almost all the men on both sides who had engaged in
that fight were slain, and none were left but the leaders of the
opposing forces. And Arthur engaged in personal combat with Modred just
as the sun was going down. Now Arthur had long since lost the scabbard
of his sword, Excalibur, so it was possible to wound or slay him in
battle, although he that stood up against the stroke of that sword must
also be slain. And this very thing came to pass in Arthur's battle with
Modred. For as Arthur ran him through, Modred struck him so terrible a
blow on the head that his helmet was cut in two and the sword sank deep
in his skull.
Grievously wounded, Arthur was carried from the field by one of his few
remaining knights, named Sir Bedivere; and Arthur, seeing that he must
die, gave to Sir Bedivere the sword, Excalibur, telling him to throw it
in the lake.
When Sir Bedivere approached the shore of the mysterious lake, which
lay not far from the spot where Arthur had been wounded, his heart
misgave him at throwing away so beautiful and magical a sword.
Therefore he hid the sword in the rushes and returned to the dying
King, telling him that he had done as was commanded. But Arthur did not
believe him, and asked him what he had seen when Excalibur sank beneath
the waves. And Bedivere told him that he had seen nothing except the
rippling of the water under the wind and the rustle of the reeds at the
margin of the lake. And Arthur told Sir Bedivere to return and do as he
had been commanded, for the King knew well that he had been deceived.
Once again Sir Bedivere returned to the lake and once again he came
back to Arthur with a lying tale that he had obeyed the King's
commands. Then Arthur in high anger commanded him to deceive a dying
man no longer and Sir Bedivere at last went back and threw Excalibur
into the lake.
As Excalibur hurtled through the air and approached the water a great
hand arose from the depths and caught it by the hilt, waved it thrice
in the air and vanished beneath the waves, and Sir Bedivere returned to
Arthur and told him what he had seen.
Then Arthur knew that Sir Bedivere had indeed spoken the truth, and the
dying King put one more command upon him--namely to bear him to the
shore of the lake where he had thrown Excalibur.
As they approached the shore a barge was seen cleaving the water
without visible motive power, and on the barge which was draped all in
black were four damsels who wept bitterly. When the prow of the barge
reached the shore, Arthur commanded Sir Bedivere to lay him on it--and
at once it moved out into the mists of the lake with the black robed
figures bending over the King. And Arthur called out to Sir Bedivere in
farewell, telling him that he was going to Avalon either to die or to
be healed of his grievous wound, and he asked Sir Bedivere to pray for
his immortal soul.
From that day Arthur was not seen again, although many believed that he
would come back and rescue his countrymen when dangers beset them; and
to-day the legends of Arthur leave it doubtful if he will return or
not. But the great King as well as the realm that he ruled over have
been lost forever in the mists of time. And the story of Arthur is
ended.
CHAPTER V
MOHAMMED
The Arabs are a dark skinned people that live near or on the great
deserts of Arabia, one of the hottest and most desolate regions of the
world. They have lived there for thousands of years in roving tribes
and many of their traits and manners have come from their association
with the desert, and the hardships that they have been obliged to
undergo in making their journeys upon its fiery sands.
Thousands of years ago the Arabs had a religion that was not entirely
different from that of the Jews. As the years passed, however, they
began to turn away from the old beliefs and to worship stone idols.
These idols were set up in their principal cities and villages, notably
in the city of Mecca, where there also remained a temple, built in the
time of the older religion, that the Arabs still held to be sacred.
As the Arabian tribes were very different from each other in many ways,
it was only natural that their religion should grow different also.
Some men worshipped the fire and some worshipped the stars. Some became
Jews or Christians. For the most part, however, they worshipped stone
images and many wise men preached and labored among them in vain to
bring back the old religion of their fathers.
Such was the state of affairs when a child was born in the city of
Mecca who was destined to become one of the greatest prophets of the
world, and draw all the Arabs into a single religion that would spread
as far as Spain and India. This child was named Mohammed, and he was
born five hundred and seventy years after the death of Christ. His
father, Abdallah, died soon after he was born, and Mohammed's mother,
according to custom, gave the baby into the charge of a nurse who might
rear him in the free, open air of the desert where Arabs believed that
children became strong and vigorous.
Mohammed was strong in many ways, but had one great physical failing:
he was often seized with fits of a kind that nowadays would be ascribed
to the disease called epilepsy. In those days, however, these fits were
thought to be the work of devils who entered into and possessed the
body. When he was six years old his mother died and he was brought up
by his grandfather, Abd al-Muttalib, a poor man, but one who was
greatly respected by everybody that knew him.
Abd al-Muttalib put him to work. When he grew old enough, he watched
the flocks of the people of Mecca, and gained a meager livelihood by
doing this. He had no schooling, but once or twice had the opportunity
to travel, when he went with his uncle to southern Arabia and to Syria,
where he saw people different from those of Mecca and learned of many
different forms of religion.
When Mohammed was twenty-five years old there befell a change in his
fortunes. In this year he entered the service of a rich widow, whose
name was Kadijah, and went with her to the great fairs and bazaars on
which journeys, perhaps, he acted as her camel driver. Kadijah soon
fell in love with the young man of bright, piercing eyes and thoughtful
demeanor, and one day she drew Mohammed aside and told him that she
loved him, offering to become his wife and to give him her hand in
marriage. By marrying Kadijah Mohammed became rich. He managed his
wife's affairs at Mecca with great success, and became greatly
respected there as a man of business. He and Kadijah had six children,
four girls and two boys, but both of the boys died in their infancy.
But Mohammed was soon marked as being different from other men. He
spent a great deal of his time in religious contemplation and would go
off by himself into the solitude of the mountains, to think and ponder
without interruption.
When he was forty years old he went one day to a mountain called Hira
which was not far from Mecca. And here a trance came upon him and in
the night he believed that he saw the angel Gabriel. The angel was
surrounded by a flaming aureole and in his hand he held a scroll of
fire from which he commanded Mohammed to read. Now Mohammed knew not
how to read or write, but to his amazement he found that the words on
the scroll were quite plain to him, and he read a wonderful message
that proclaimed the glory and the greatness of God, whom he called
Allah.
Mohammed was frightened by what he had seen; he thought that perhaps
the form of the angel had been taken by some evil spirit to lead him on
to his undoing. But at last he had another vision in which Gabriel came
to him again and called upon him to arise and preach the word of Allah
throughout the land and bring back to the Arabs the faith of their
fathers and the worship of a single god. And then for the first time
Mohammed believed his visions and thought himself God's Prophet, and he
called the new faith that he was to teach the faith of _Islam_, which
means righteousness.
Mohammed went back to Kadijah and told her what he had seen. He said he
was chosen by Allah to spread his faith over the land, and he himself
was a prophet greater than any other in the world. Kadijah was a true
and faithful wife and loved Mohammed better than herself. She believed
that he spoke the truth, and looked upon him as some one who through
God's means had become more than a man.
At first Mohammed did not try to preach his new faith to the people of
Mecca, but contented himself with teaching the word of Allah to his
nearest relatives. Most of them believed in him, but one of his uncles
called him a fool and would have nothing to do with the new religion.
After four years of teaching Mohammed had only converted to the new
belief forty people, who were mostly men of low degree or slaves. He
then thought that Allah called upon him to go forth publicly and preach
his new belief to the entire world. And soon afterward Mohammed could
have been seen in the market place preaching the word of Allah.
The faith that Mohammed taught was very much like the faith that we
ourselves believe in. That is, it was much more like the religion of
Christ than the worship of idols or the belief of the Romans and Greeks
in gods and goddesses, or the worship of fire or the stars. Mohammed
preached that there was one God only, and that this God was greater
than all things. If you died and had led a righteous life you went to
Paradise; if you had been wicked you went to the lower regions to
undergo eternal punishment. And there were a great many things in
Mohammed's religion that any one would do well to follow, for he
preached that God was merciful and his people on earth must be merciful
also, that cleanliness was next to Godliness and that all his followers
must wash themselves before they prayed.
In many ways, however, the Mohammedan faith was not so pure as the
Christian faith, for the Heaven that Mohammed believed in was a place
of feasting and merriment, but little else, and Mohammed also believed
that it was right to teach his religion by the sword. In this, however,
Mohammed's followers became more zealous than he had ever thought of
being, and we must remember also that Christians of those days did not
hesitate to use the sword, themselves.
To spread the faith Mohammed set about preparing a great book which was
to be the bible of those who believed in his religion. This book was
called the Koran. Because Mohammed could not write and still produced
this marvelous book, which contained the word of Allah, he claimed that
he was divinely inspired. It is thought, however, that he was helped in
preparing the Koran by one of his disciples who could read and write.
When Mohammed prepared the Koran there was no paper, and writing
materials were far removed from the Arabs who made little use of them.
So Mohammed was compelled, as we are told, to write the Koran on any
material that came to hand. He wrote it on pieces of stone and strips
of leather, and on dried palm leaves,--and some of the verses were even
written on the bleached shoulder blades of sheep. Anything that could
hold a mark was used by him as writing material, and the verses were
later collected and made into a book by his disciples.
When Mohammed commenced to preach before the people, the citizens of
Mecca looked on him as a madman. They did not molest him, however,
because they held him to be a worthless dreamer who could do no harm to
anybody. But as weeks went by, and the number of those who became
converted to his faith grew larger, the wise men who still believed in
the great stone idols named Hubal and Uzza began to grow afraid.
They were too cowardly to molest Mohammed, because he was a rich man
and was protected by his uncle who had much influence among them,--but
they vented their spite on the humbler people who followed him and who
were unable to protect themselves. So it came to pass that the poor men
who were Mohammedans, particularly the slaves, were made to suffer
dreadful tortures. They were scourged with whips and placed all day in
the burning sunshine without a drop of water for their thirst. At last,
however, the people of Mecca became bold enough to go to Mohammed's
uncle and tell him that Mohammed must cease preaching against their
idols. Mohammed, however, indignantly refused, and went on preaching,
and his uncle continued to protect him.
At last Mohammed's enemies became so afraid of the success he was
gaining that they decided they must have his life at all costs, and a
plot was hatched against him. He was saved by being warned of this and
hidden away, but at last he and all his relatives who believed in his
teachings, as most of them did, were driven from Mecca and were made
outlaws.
His uncle's influence was so strong, however, that after Mohammed had
lived in the mountains for three years, he and his relatives were
allowed to return to Mecca. But a great misfortune fell upon him, for
his faithful wife Kadijah, whom he had loved deeply, and who was the
first person to believe in him as a prophet, died, and left him
inconsolable. His uncle also died, and Mohammed lost his protection.
Without the influence of his uncle Mecca again became too dangerous for
Mohammed to remain in. When he tried to preach he was pelted with
stones and mud and mocked on every side. He was consoled, however, by a
dream in which he thought that he was preaching to certain spirits
whose bodies were made of fire and who were known to the Meccans as
_Djinns_. And these spirits listened attentively to what Mohammed said
and did him reverence.
Because he had converted a number of men from the nearby town of
Yathrib, Mohammed decided that a better opportunity was given him to
teach his faith there than in Mecca itself, and in the year 622 A.D.,
he and his followers fled to Yathrib and were made welcome. This flight
was called the "Hegira," and the date of it is very important to the
Mohammedans, for their calendar dates from it, and for them is
practically the beginning of time.
In Yathrib the faith of Mohammed spread quickly and he received
attention and reverence wherever he went. And when he had a large
following he desired to put up a house of prayer, or a temple which he
called a mosque. This was done, but the first Mohammedan mosque was a
very simple affair indeed and the roof was supported by trees that were
not removed from the earth where they had been growing.
And then for the first time began to be heard the call that to-day
rings through so large a part of Asia and Africa, when the muezin, or
crier, summons Mohammed's followers to prayer five times a day. They
must all face toward Mecca as they pray, for that is the sacred city;
and Mohammed so considered it because of the mysterious temple or
Kaabah that was in it, and because, before the days of the idolaters,
this temple had been connected with the religion of Abraham. And every
morning since that time up to the present day, Mohammedans have been
summoned to prayer with the following words:
"God is great; there is no god but the Lord. Mohammed is the Apostle of
God. Come unto prayer! Come unto salvation! God is great. There is no
god but the Lord."
Another change was effected by Mohammed. Since Yathrib had been the
first place to take him in and receive his religion, its name was
changed to Medinat al Nahib, the city of the prophet, to do the place
honor. And in Medinah, as it was later called, Mohammed spent the rest
of his life.
It was not long before word came to Mecca that the man whom they had
driven out had become powerful and mighty in a city not far off and
that he was considered greater than a king among the disciples that
followed him. Then the Meccans were again afraid, for they feared that
some day Mohammed would appear with an army before their walls and
revenge himself for the injuries that they had worked upon him. So,
when a frightened messenger brought word to the Meccans that a number
of Mohammed's followers were plundering the Meccan caravans, the people
of Mecca raised an army to raze Medinah to the ground and put an end
for all time to the man that had so troubled their affairs.
Mohammed, however, had already designed to march against Mecca and had
raised an army for that purpose. And he came upon the Meccan soldiers
at a place called Badrh. There were a great many more Meccans than
Mohammedans, and should have won the day, for the odds against Mohammed
and his followers were huge, but Mohammed had the advantage that every
one of his soldiers was glad to die for his leader and his army had the
fierce, fanatical zeal which religion inspires in eastern people.
It was a wild fight, for the battle was fought in a furious storm of
rain and wind that beat like whips upon the faces of the soldiers as
they dashed against each other. It was desperate, too, and lasted
nearly all day--and it was one of the important battles of the world,
although the numbers engaged in it were not large. At first the fray
went badly for the Mohammedans, for the enemy with their superior
numbers forced them back. Everywhere Mohammed himself might have been
seen, encouraging his followers and urging them to greater efforts.
Then, when it seemed as if his forces were breaking and that nothing
could be done to hold them together any longer, he stooped to the
ground and picking up a handful of gravel, hurled it against his foes.
"May confusion seize them," he cried loudly, and at that the
Mohammedans in the vicinity who had seen the act, rushed so furiously
upon the Meccans that they recoiled. That was all that was needed. The
entire Mohammedan army charged, shouting the names of Allah and
Mohammed, and the battle was won. Many horses and camels and much
valuable plunder were captured, and word was sent back to Medinah that
a great victory had been gained.
The Meccans swore vengeance and in due time another army was advancing
against Mohammed. He was engaged in prayer when the word was brought to
him that the Meccans were coming and at once he summoned his followers
and exhorted them to do their utmost and to die in defense of the
faith.
With his army at his heels Mohammed went forth from Medinah and pitched
his camp near Mount Uhud, only a bowshot away from his enemies. As soon
as it was dawn both sides were drawn up ready for battle--and then the
Meccans saw a sight that had never before taken place on any
battlefield--for at the call of the Muezin, which took place as though
the Mohammedans were at home, the entire army bowed down in prayer.
At first the fight went well for the Mohammedans, but when a group of
archers left their post to engage in the pursuit of the defeated
Meccans this gave some of the enemy's cavalry a chance to surround or
outflank Mohammed's soldiers. The Meccans rallied and attacked him in
front and the rear at the same time, and the day was lost. However, the
Meccans were too exhausted to pursue his men for a time and they
believed that Mohammed himself had been slain, which was the first of
their desires. So they returned to Mecca.
For about two years there was little fighting, and then the Meccans
planned an attack against Medinah, and advanced upon it with a large
army. And now Mohammed showed great military skill, for he conceived a
plan that had never been known to the Arabians and that is still
employed in modern warfare,--namely that of fighting from the
protection of trenches. With the hostile army almost upon them the
Mohammedans worked furiously digging a deep ditch around the city, and
so well did the ditch answer their purpose that the Meccans could
accomplish nothing against them, but were obliged at last to turn tail
and retreat to their own city.
In this siege there was a Jewish tribe in Medinah that had been
treacherous to the Mohammedans, deserting them in their hour of need,
and going over to the enemy. This caused Mohammed great difficulty and
might easily have brought about his defeat. So, when the fight was
over, he took a large number of soldiers and advanced against this
tribe which had taken refuge in a stronghold in the mountains. When
they saw the numbers that were against them a great fear came upon them
and they surrendered to the Prophet without a fight, throwing
themselves upon his mercy. They found, however, that from that mercy
they could expect nothing, for all the men were put to death, and the
women and children were sold into slavery.
Warfare between the Mohammedans and the Meccans continued in scattered
outbursts until at last when both sides were weary of the struggle a
treaty was made, and the Mohammedans were to be allowed to make a three
day pilgrimage to Mecca to worship at the Kaabah or holy temple which
was a part of Mohammed's religion.
This was considered by Mohammed as a great triumph for his cause.
Determined now to spread his faith to the uttermost ends of the earth,
he sent messengers to the rulers of all the civilized kingdoms that he
knew. One went to Heraclius, Emperor of the Romans, who was in Syria at
the time; one to the Roman Governor of Egypt, one to the King of
Abyssinia and one to each of the provinces of Gassan and Yamam that
were also under Roman control.
Then a ten year peace was agreed upon between the Meccans and the
Mohammedans. This, however, was not kept long, for the Meccans killed
some of Mohammed's followers. In fear for what they had done, they sent
a deputation to request that he overlook what had taken place and allow
the peace to continue as before, but Mohammed would give them no
promises, and told his followers that the death of those who were slain
by the Meccans would be amply avenged. With great secrecy he prepared
an army and went forth once more against the city with which he had
been engaged in warfare for so many years.
So swift was Mohammed's advance and so secret had his plans been kept
that the Meccans knew nothing of his approach until they saw the
camp-fires of his mighty army shining about their walls. They had no
way of resisting his force for they had been surprised, and even if
they could have prepared against him, their numbers were now far
inferior to his own. And then came the greatest triumph of Mohammed's
entire life, for the Meccans surrendered without conditions and
promised to embrace the Mohammedan faith.
With ropes and axes Mohammed's followers tore the stone idols of Mecca
from their pedestals and hewed them to pieces, while the Meccans
sorrowfully beheld the destruction. And from that day to the present
there has resounded over the city of Mecca five times each day the cry
of "Allah Hu Akbar"--God is great, and the rest of the ritual calling
the people to prayer.
Soon after this one desert tribe after another came under Mohammed's
power, and finally all of Arabia had acknowledged him as God's prophet.
He was planning to extend his religion still farther when a misfortune
fell upon him that probably caused his death. With one of his followers
he had partaken of a dish that had been prepared for him by a Jewish
girl who hated him and all of his sect. The food was poisoned, and
while Mohammed discovered it at once and ate but a single mouthful, the
poison remained in his body.
Feeling that he was about to die he summoned his followers and preached
to them a last sermon in which he exhorted them to obey all the rules
of his religion, to treat their slaves and animals kindly and to beware
of the works of the devils that were leagued against them. Not a great
while after this the Prophet fell ill of a fever, and at last died, to
the great grief of those disciples who had known and loved him.
Although he had always given his wealth to the poor so that he lived as
meanly as the humblest of his followers--for this was one of the first
things that he preached,--he was worshipped as being divine and had
more than the homage of a mighty king. In the hands of his fanatical
followers the scimitar became the symbol of the Mohammedan faith and
hundreds of thousands were conquered and made to acknowledge its power.
To-day Mohammedanism is still one of the great religions of the world,
and the name of the Prophet still sounds from thousands of mosques,
when the muezin calls the people to prayer with the same words that
were used while Mohammed was living.
CHAPTER VI
ALFRED THE GREAT
More than a thousand years ago England was composed of a number of
small kingdoms, which were as separate and distinct as the nations of
the world are to-day. They were either making war upon each other, or
looking on at the wars of their neighbors; and it seemed impossible,
and nobody ever dreamed at that time, that England and Scotland and
Wales would be united into one great state.
Among these people were the yellow-haired Saxons, who had entered
England as invaders and driven the Celts to the westward. The Saxons
brought with them the ideas that they practised in the region north of
Gaul, whence they came. They refused to live in walled towns, and tore
down or abandoned the buildings left by the Romans, erecting their own
mud huts outside the ramparts. Their homes were rude indeed, and they
had few comforts and luxuries. Glass was unknown to them, and the cold
rain and wind swept through their dwellings. They had no books in their
own tongue, and got all their learning from a few scholars and priests.
But in spite of all these drawbacks they were a brave and hardy people,
lacking only a great leader to become a nation whose influence would be
felt throughout the world.
For a time, however, no such leader appeared; and it seemed as if they
must be swept away entirely by a new enemy that came upon them from the
north--a people called respectively the Danes, the Northmen and the
Vikings, who lived on the shores of the creeks and fiords of what is
now Denmark and the Scandinavian peninsula--a wild and hardy race of
sailors, who loved fighting and gained their livelihood by piracy,
sweeping forth in their open boats upon unprotected shores and burning
and plundering wherever they went.
The Northmen, who were great seamen, speedily found out that because
the British Isles were divided into numerous small nations, there would
be no concerted resistance when they came to plunder; and forthwith the
people in the English kingdoms of Wessex and Mercia beheld to their
dismay a number of strange, piratical craft upon the shores. The prows
of the boats were shaped like dragons' heads, and round shields ran
along the gunwales beside the rowers. From these boats came pouring out
a wild horde of gigantic and bloodthirsty men, heavily armed, ravens'
wings attached to their helmets and long hair streaming over their
armor. The Saxons quickly learned that it was well to flee when these
men appeared. Otherwise they would be mercilessly slain. Even the women
and little children were not spared, for the Northmen used to make a
sport of butchery. And when they fought with the English armies they
were nearly always victorious, for they were trained soldiers
accustomed constantly to war, with better weapons and better armor than
the English.
Such was the state of affairs in England when Ethelwulf reigned over
the kingdom of Wessex. Ethelwulf was an easy going king who loved
prayer better than fighting, but was forced again and again to defend
his kingdom from the Northmen. He had a wife named Osburgha, and five
sons who were called Ethelstane, Ethelbald, Ethelbert, Ethelred and
Alfred. The two oldest of these, Ethelstane and Ethelbald, aided their
father in defending the country, while the others were trained in
hunting and warlike exercises with the same purpose in view,--but
Alfred, when only five years old, was sent by King Ethelwulf upon a
pilgrimage to the holy city of Rome, to receive there the blessing of
Pope Leo the Fourth, who was head of the Christian Church and a ruler
far mightier than any other in the world.
It is not to be thought that so young a child was sent alone on such a
journey which would require months to finish and on which many dangers
would have to be encountered. With Alfred were many soldiers and
retainers, and also a famous churchman called Bishop Swithin who later
became a saint. The object of this journey was to have the Pope's
blessing brought back to England by Alfred, and to show the Pope by
sending a Royal Prince so far for such a purpose what devout Christians
the people of Wessex were.
Ethelwulf himself had desired to go to Rome, but the danger from the
Danes was too great and too near at hand. However, after some months he
believed he could safely join Alfred, who, although so young, could
never forget the marvels that he beheld in the Holy City. Ethelwulf
also desired to seek a wife in France, for Alfred's mother, Osburgha,
had died since her son departed for Rome.
In due time Ethelwulf and Alfred came back from Rome to Wessex where
great troubles awaited them. Ethelstane had died and, during
Ethelwulf's absence, Ethelbald had revolted and was trying to take the
kingdom away from his own father by force of arms. A number of nobles
had joined Ethelbald because they believed that he was the better
soldier and would protect them more sturdily against the Northmen. The
people were also enraged against Ethelwulf, because, when crossing
France, he had married a French Princess named Judith, who was only
fourteen years old; and had caused her to be proclaimed Queen, which
was against the laws of the Saxons.
True to his peaceful nature Ethelwulf refused to fight against
Ethelbald. He said that he would never draw sword against his own flesh
and blood no matter what wrong had been done to him--moreover that it
behooved the English to draw their swords against their common enemy,
the Northmen, rather than to wrangle among themselves when the invader
might appear upon their shores at any moment. And Ethelwulf agreed to
divide his kingdom with his son, to whom he gave the more important and
valuable part, and spent the rest of his life in following the church
and its doings--still a king in name to be sure, but with little of the
kingly power remaining in his hands.
The baseness of his son in turning against him, however, broke the
heart of the old king. And Ethelwulf soon died, leaving the small part
of his kingdom which he had continued to rule to his son, Ethelbert.
Like his father, this prince was of a peaceful disposition, and did
little to stop the raids of the Northmen, never appearing himself
against his enemies, but spending his time in prayer and divine
worship. Nor was his disposition changed when the base Ethelbald died
and the entire kingdom was reunited. The Danes once made a bold raid
against the city of Winchester, burning a large part of it and escaping
with much plunder--but before they were able to return to their boats
they were cut off by a force of English men-at-arms and archers led by
the aldermen of Hampshire and Berkshire, and almost all of the invaders
were slain. Even in this grave conflict, King Ethelbert was not
present, and the victory of the English was not due to their King.
Alfred, however, who was now eleven years old, gave signs that if ever
he gained the throne of Wessex his enemies would have good reason to
fear him. Although a young boy he used to love to go on foot in the
dark forest to hunt the fierce wild boars that lived there--a dangerous
sport even for a grown man. He also gave every promise that some day he
might be a great ruler and bring the people of England to peace and
safety, for not only was he bold and proficient in arms and manly
exercises, but a diligent scholar, who spent a great part of his time
in acquiring wisdom. And of all his brothers Alfred loved Prince
Ethelred best, and when he grew older the two brothers fought side by
side against the Danes.
When Alfred was nineteen the Danes raided England again, but did not
enter the kingdom of Wessex. And there was so weak a bond between the
small English kingdoms that none of the untroubled states felt it their
part to go and help their neighbors. After this the Danes invaded East
Anglia and captured the king of that country, whose name was Edmund.
They offered to spare his life if he would give up Christianity and
believe in their own gods whose names were Odin and Thor. He refused
and they beheaded him. Later the head was found watched over by a wolf
and all the people believed that it had been preserved by a miracle. So
Edmund became a Saint, and many churches throughout England were built
in his honor.
Then the Danes raided Wessex and terrible trouble began. Ethelred was
now king, and Alfred was old enough to go to the wars and take command
of an army. So he and his brother went forth against the Danes together
at the head of every available fighting man who could be mustered to
bear a spear. The Danes had rowed up the River Thames and captured the
town of Reading. Ethelred and Alfred attempted to recapture it from
them, but pouring out of the gates of the town they routed the English
forces. They then marched along the banks of the Thames where they had
an idea of settling and holding the land.
The King and Alfred worked desperately to collect their scattered
soldiers and lead them again to the combat. At last they gathered a
sufficient number and moved against the Danes on Berkshire Downs.
They were advancing to the attack when the Danes poured down the
hillside toward them. King Ethelred was at prayers and refused to fight
until he had finished--but Alfred, seeing that the English would be
defeated if they did not attack at once, took command of the entire
army and charged fiercely against the Danes, himself in the foremost
rank, a target for the arrows and spears of all his enemies. So fierce
was his onslaught and such was the enthusiasm of the soldiers whom he
led that, although the Danes outnumbered the English, the pirates were
put to flight with terrible slaughter. A Danish king and five earls
were killed in this fierce conflict, in memory of which the people of
Berkshire cut into the white chalk of the downs the giant figure of a
horse--a figure that can be seen at the present day in honor of the
victory of more than a thousand years ago.
The Danes, however, though checked, were not sufficiently weakened by
this fight to give up thoughts of capturing Wessex, and soon were
harrying and plundering again. In another battle with them King
Ethelred received his death blow, and upon his death, Alfred, who was
still a very young man, became king.
It was a sad entry into the powers of kingship. Practically all of
England except Wessex was at the mercy of the Danes, who came so fast
and in so many different directions, that when the King had started
against one hostile band he would get word of others who had landed and
perhaps were burning and plundering the very country he had just left.
Alfred was as shrewd as he was brave, and he knew that if his people
could not have a respite from wars and a chance to organize themselves,
they must end by submitting wholly to the Northmen, so he offered the
Danes a large sum of money to leave Wessex in peace for four years.
This was accepted by the sea-robbers. They believed that they could
find rich booty elsewhere and return to Wessex when they chose. And
with the English gold in their pouches they sailed from Alfred's
dominions.
Now the young King had not bought the Danes off because he was too
cowardly to fight with them further--rather did he plan to strengthen
his nation for future fighting, and the Danes were highly foolish to
accept his terms. No sooner were their sails out of sight than Alfred
commenced to build a navy so that he would be able to meet them equally
when they next came against him, and he studied the Danish craft to
serve as models for the English boats.
The galleys of the Northmen were pointed at both ends and could be
rowed in either direction. There were generally from fifteen to thirty
rowers on either side, and the boats also carried a number of extra
soldiers. They were provided also with square sails pitched about
amidships and were steered by a large paddle. These boats were
excellent in creeks and rivers, but owing to their low bulwarks were
somewhat unseaworthy, and it was necessary for the Danes to cross the
sea and the English Channel in fair weather.
For four years the Danes left Alfred alone, but after the time agreed
upon had expired they sent a powerful army into Wessex. Alfred at once
marched against them and came upon them in Wareham, where he was able
to surround them in their camp and starve them until they cried for
peace. He then made a treaty with them agreeing to allow them to pass
unmolested back to their ships in return for which they were to trouble
his kingdom no more.
The Danes, however, like most barbarians, were extremely treacherous.
They pretended to fall in with Alfred's plans but in the night, when
the English had relaxed their vigilance, they stole past his army and
fortified themselves in a strong position, preparing for a siege of
many months. At this all the English thanes and lords became
discouraged. They came to King Alfred and told him that they could not
fight any longer. It would be better, they declared, to submit to the
invaders rather than to undergo the ceaseless war and bloodshed that
tortured their land. And Alfred, as he listened to them, knew that
every word of what they said was the truth.
But the stout-hearted king had no intention of submitting to the Danes.
When his nobles were through speaking, Alfred cried: "As long as there
is a single man who can wield a sword, I will fight on. Nay, I will
fight alone with none to help me, sooner than surrender my kingdom to
the barbarians."
At this a lad who was at the gathering drew his sword and shouted: "And
I will follow you, my King, wherever you lead me." And the nobles
returned to Alfred's side, and took heart to continue the unequal war.
At the head of his army Alfred pursued the Danes to Exeter and laid
siege to it. And now it was manifest that he had shown great wisdom in
building a fleet, for the English ships prevented reenforcements from
joining the Danes, who finally were forced to surrender and were driven
from the country. And many pirate ships were sunk by Alfred's vessels.
In the winter, however, the Danes came again in such numbers that the
English could not withstand them. The coast swarmed with the pirate
galleys and bands of marauders entered Wessex, plundering and burning
in every direction. Alfred knew that for the time being further
resistance against them was hopeless, and with his wife and only a
handful of faithful followers he fled into the marshes of Athelney
where he remained in the strictest hiding. To all intents and purposes
England had become a Danish country and even the English nobles did not
know what had become of their King.
While in hiding Alfred had numerous strange adventures which are told
in various old chronicles and legends. On one occasion, when caught in
a snowstorm, he sought shelter in the hut of a swineherd who knew him,
but who was so faithful to him that even his wife was not taken into
the secret. Alfred, who was poorly dressed, was given the task of
watching some loaves of bread which were baking at the hearth, but,
troubled with gloomy thoughts, did not give as strict an eye to them as
he should have done, but suffered them to burn. When the swineherd's
wife came back and found the burning bread, she rated the king soundly
for his carelessness.
"Idle lout," she cried, "thou couldst not keep an eye to the bread
although thou wouldst be glad to fill thy belly with it. Play another
trick of the kind and I will thwack thee on the snout."
The king said nothing, but in better days when he had regained his
kingdom, he is said to have presented the honest couple with a fine
house and land as a reward for their hospitality, if not for their
politeness.
While in hiding Alfred was constantly planning how it would be possible
to vanquish the Danes, and another story tells how he disguised himself
as a musician and boldly entered the Danish lines, to learn for himself
how great their numbers might be. Here he wandered from one camp-fire
to another, harping and singing, all the while keeping his eyes and
ears open and escaping at last with information that would ensure his
victory when the cold weather departed.
In the spring the King came forth from his hiding-place and sent forth
messengers with a proclamation to the Saxons that they were to join him
at a place he gave them word of, for once again they would fight to
free their country from the foreign yoke.
The place where he commanded them to meet him was by a rock in the
midst of a forest which was known as "Egbert's Stone." Here the thanes
assembled with their forces, and great was their rejoicing when they
beheld Alfred again, for they believed that he had been killed or had
fled to France or Italy. With drawn swords they swore undying devotion
and fealty to him and shouted for him to lead them as speedily as
possible against the Danes.
In spite of their patriotism, Alfred's army was far smaller than that
of the Danes, and he knew that to succeed he must surprise them. The
Danes were at a place called Ethandune, and Alfred came upon them by
night marches and by passing so far as possible through little
frequented paths. When the sea-robbers finally saw the army of the
Saxons they could hardly stir for amazement, for they had believed
themselves absolute masters of all England and were bringing their
women and children from the north. But here were the Saxons and their
King, fully armed, their banners flaming in the sunlight.
The battle raged all day, and in it lay the fate of England. If the
Danes won, the last chance of the Saxons under Alfred would have
departed and the country must necessarily become like the other
countries of the far north. At nightfall, however, the pirates gave way
and for protection fled into a fortress on Bratton Hill, where the
Saxons surrounded them and besieged them. The Northmen at last ran out
of food and were forced to surrender.
The result of this battle was a treaty between Alfred and the Danes.
The Danish king, Guthrum, desired to settle in England, where he had
lived for many months; and he sent messengers to Alfred, offering to be
baptized as a Christian, promising never again to bear arms against the
people of Wessex. Alfred accepted the Danish proposal gladly, for his
people were weary to death of war and hardship, and needed peace to
till their lands. So Alfred, while he probably could have conquered all
England, left the Danes in the part that had been most thoroughly
conquered by them, calling it the Danelaw, and gave the Danes
permission to live there unmolested, providing they promised to disturb
his kingdom no further. The pact held good, and although at times it
was broken, in general it was adhered to for many years. Saxons and
Danes intermingled and married into the families of their enemies, and
from them a new people gradually came into being.
As soon as peace was assured Alfred provided against future attacks on
the part of the Northmen by ordering all the forts and strongholds
throughout the kingdom of Wessex to be rebuilt and put into good order.
He knew that the Danes could not be trusted and feared that at any time
new galleys might be seen bearing down upon the English coast. So he
organized his army into several parts and thought out a system by means
of which soldiers might always be on guard duty to withstand an
invasion, while the rest of the people were peacefully tilling the
soil.
He also framed a code of laws. In the war and confusion into which his
country had been thrown, the laws had fallen into a sorry state and
were frequently disobeyed. In his code Alfred did not introduce new
laws, which his people disliked, but rather arranged and put in order
the laws then existing, and his dominions soon became so orderly and so
free from robbers that it is doubtful if all our police could do better
to-day. Also the King found that the law had been hindered and impeded
by many corrupt and worthless judges, some of whom knew nothing
whatever about the duties of their office--and these he warned to study
and acquaint themselves with what a judge must know or renounce their
positions in law altogether.
Then the Danes came again. They landed with a large army and tried to
take Rochester Castle. Alfred hastened to the relief of this fortress,
which was a most important one, and drove them away, pressing them so
hard that they scrambled on to their vessels and set sail for the open
sea.
However, the Danes did not go back to their native land, but landed in
Essex, where they were joined by their countrymen in the Danelaw, who
thus broke the word that they had pledged to Alfred. The new Danish
army was much larger than Alfred's and at first was victorious,--but
the entire navy of Wessex came to the rescue of the English and
vanquished sixteen Danish ships in a tremendous sea fight. The war then
raged with varying fortunes until Alfred signed another agreement with
Guthrum, and laid siege to London which had been taken by the Danes.
In due time London fell. Its capture gave Alfred a tremendous advantage
over his enemies. He had the city strongly fortified and it stood as a
barrier to Danish vessels that strove to work their way up the River
Thames. Moreover it became one of the world's great trading centers,
and merchants from all quarters of the earth visited it.
When the Danes were finally defeated, Alfred, according to his custom,
lost no time in building up his kingdom. First of all he commenced to
rebuild the monasteries and abbeys which had been destroyed by the
invaders. The first one that he founded was at Athelney in
Somersetshire, in the midst of the marshes where he had fled for refuge
when the Danes overran his country. He also founded a number of other
monasteries and abbeys, among them the abbey of Shaftesbury, making his
daughter, Ethelgeda, the abbess.
Alfred loved books and learning, and had made his chief aim in life to
acquire wisdom. He knew that if his people were to become really great
they must labor in the arts and letters and acquire knowledge from
books. Practically all the books of that time were written in Latin
which few could read, so Alfred set himself about the task of making
translations of the best and most valuable books of his day. The
translation was done either under his direct care, or by his own hand,
and the boon to his people was greater than can be told. Alfred ordered
the famous Anglo-Saxon Chronicle to be written, which was designed by
him to treasure up for future the historical happenings of his own
time.
To make the most of his time, the King divided the day into three
periods of eight hours each. In the first of these he labored for the
Church; in the second for his kingdom, and the third was devoted to
rest and recreation. But although he labored hard and gained much by
performing these good and wise deeds, Alfred had not yet heard the last
of his old enemies the Danes, who were to trouble him almost to the end
of his life. After the defeats they had suffered at his hands they had
turned toward Europe and followed there their usual course, killing and
plundering and bearing the women and children into slavery. At last,
however, they were defeated in battle by the Emperor of Germany and
they turned once more to England, where they hoped the heroic king had
relaxed his vigilance. Under the great viking, Hastings, a large force
of them landed in Kent, and prepared to ravage the country.
Alfred sent his eldest son, named Edward, to keep close watch upon
their movements, ordering him, however, not to engage them in battle
until he himself should arrive with the bulk of the army. When he was
on the march and when the Danes knew that a large force was advancing
against them, they tried once more their old trick of pretending
friendship in order to throw their enemies off their guard. Hastings
sent to Alfred professions of friendship, and to show his apparent good
faith sent with the messengers his two sons, requesting that they be
baptized as Christians. Alfred received the two Danish princes with
great joy. After they were baptized he welcomed them to a feast and
sent them to their father with many costly presents.
The Danish plan succeeded, for by their professions of friendship the
English relaxed their watchfulness and gave their enemies an
opportunity to plunder and ravage the country and maneuver themselves
into a position favorable to withstand either siege or battle. And
Prince Edward sent word to his father that the Danes were doing these
things and that he was unable to withstand them. Then Alfred at the
head of his army joined his son and came up with the Danes at a place
called Farnham in Surrey. There he met them in battle and the bravery
of Prince Edward was largely responsible for the victory that followed.
The Danes were utterly routed and many of their galleys fell into the
hands of the English, with many women and children. And among these
prisoners were the wife of Hastings and his two sons, who had so
recently been baptized. And when Alfred learned who they were he sent
them back to Hastings in spite of his treachery, and, not content with
doing this, loaded them down with more presents for the Danish king.
The work of defeating the Danes was not yet finished, for they were in
many different strongholds which must all be captured before the
country could be wholly rid of them. But after several campaigns Alfred
saw if he could obstruct the river Lea near London he would strand
their ships and be able to attack them at his pleasure.
The King accomplished his ingenious design by digging a number of
ditches that soon drained the water from the river into another
channel. And when the Danes beheld that their ships would soon be
useless to them, they took to flight, pursued by Alfred's soldiers.
Hastings then sought to go back to the Danish women and children on the
few boats that were left to him, and finally sailed away for good and
all with only a small part of the vast force with which he had
attempted to conquer England. And Alfred saw how mistaken he had been
to show any kindness to Hastings' force, and had some Danish prisoners
hanged as a lesson to the freebooters.
For four years thereafter Alfred was able to lead a peaceful life and
continue the good works that were to change history and make England a
nation in other things than mere force of arms. All his life, however,
the King had suffered from a disease that afflicted him sorely, and it
was only his great spirit that had enabled him to continue so arduously
in the wars and labors that had made him greater than all others. In
the year 901 or close to that time he died, and was succeeded by his
son, Edward, who bravely defended his country against any further
attacks by the Danes, becoming after his father, one of England's
greatest kings, known as Edward the Elder.
One thousand years after Alfred's death a great festival was held in
his honor in the city of Winchester which he had defended against the
Danes and where he was buried. His statue stands there to-day, watching
over and guarding the great nation that would not be in the world at
all if his hand and heart had failed it.
CHAPTER VII
ROBIN HOOD
When the wicked John tried to sway England many honest men turned
outlaws rather than obey or suffer his evil rule. For John and his
noblemen tortured and oppressed the poor, driving them from house and
hearth to make a hunting ground, and taxing them so heavily that they
frequently starved to death. Forests were plentiful in England in those
days, but John often tore down houses of his subjects to make the
forests even greater so that he might have more sport in hunting the
deer and the boar that ran wild there. And while he did not scruple to
take the peasants' lands for such a purpose, it was a terrible crime
for a peasant to shoot the deer that often fed upon his crops. Even
were he starving, he might not slay a deer in his own yard. And if he
so transgressed he was punished with the most inhuman cruelty.
Now, as has been said, many men were too high-spirited to suffer the
injustice that John laid upon them. They fled into the forests instead
and formed armed bands, setting upon travelers and robbing them of
their goods; and they lived by shooting the King's deer and whatever
game they could catch and kill.
Among these men was an outlaw called Robin Hood, whose fame was known
through the length and breadth of England. Although many men at-arms
had pursued him, they never could catch him, and his daring surpassed
belief. He surrounded himself with the bravest and boldest young men in
all England, and if he encountered any stout-hearted man among those
whom he robbed, or even among those that the Sheriff sent to pursue
him, that man was often added to his band of outlaws.
Robin Hood became an outlaw through no fault of his own, but through
the common injustice of the day. When he was a very young man he was
journeying to the town of Nottingham, where the Sheriff had prepared a
bout in archery and had promised a butt of ale to whatever man should
draw the best bow and shoot the most skilful arrow.
As Robin Hood was passing through the forest on his way to Nottingham,
he met a group of the King's foresters, who were there to see that
nobody transgressed the laws; and they made fun of his beardless face
and boyish figure--still more of the bow he carried, since they knew he
was on his way to shoot at Nottingham and they did not believe that
such a youth could ever hope to gain the prize.
After bearing their jests for a time Robin became angry, and challenged
any one of them to test his skill with the bow. They replied that he
did but boast, for they had no target. And then, looking down the
glade, Robin espied a herd of the King's deer a great distance away and
he cried:
"Look you, now, if you think that I am no archer, I shall slay the
noblest of that herd at a single shot, and I'll wager twenty marks upon
it into the bargain!"
"Done!" cried one of the foresters. Whereupon Robin laid an arrow to
his bow and shot so cleverly that the deer lay dead in its tracks.
The foresters were greatly angered that he had succeeded, and not only
refused to pay him, but when he set forth again one of them sprang to
his feet and sent an arrow after him. Whereupon Robin turned like a
flash and made even a better shot than his first one--for the fellow
who had loosed his bow upon him lay dead on the greensward with an
arrow in his heart.
The King's foresters could not be slain with impunity in those days and
Robin was made an outlaw--not only because he had slain his man, but
because he had killed the King's deer; and in such a way it came to
pass that he gathered a band of followers about him in Sherwood Forest
and his fame as an outlaw soon became known throughout the land.
But although Robin Hood was a robber, the common people soon learned to
love him, for no poor man was ever the poorer on account of his
outlawry--rather were the countryfolk in the neighborhood of Sherwood
Forest better off than before, because he made it a point of honor to
rob the rich only to bestow large gifts upon the poor--and many a
present of food and gold was brought by him to the starving serfs and
humble people in the neighborhood.
Now the Sheriff of Nottingham was eager for the King's favor and the
deeds of Robin Hood were soon brought to his notice. He sought more
than once to capture the bold outlaw, but always failed, and he was so
clumsy and so cowardly that Robin Hood became emboldened to defy him
openly, and enter the town of Nottingham under his very eyes. On one
occasion an outlaw who had been taken by the Sheriff was rescued by
Robin from a formidable array of men-at-arms just as the hangman was
about to string him up on the gallows.
There are so many tales about Robin Hood that it would be impossible to
tell them all here, and one or two will have to suffice, to show what
manner of life he led and what sort of men his followers were. One of
these was called "Little John," because he was seven feet tall and
broad to match, and in all England there could scarce be found his
equal with the cudgel. Another was a great, brawny priest or friar, who
loved his wine better than prayers, and believed a pasty made of the
King's deer was better for the heart than any amount of fasting. This
jovial priest was named Friar Tuck and took upon himself the task of
looking after the spiritual welfare of Robin's band--which he
accomplished more by a free use of his cudgel on the heads of the
offenders than by prayer or divine exhortation. But of all the men in
the band, Will Scarlet was the strongest.
[Illustration: ROBIN HOOD'S BAND MADE MERRY BY KILLING THE KING'S DEER]
Will Scarlet came among Robin's outlaws in a curious manner. One day
when Robin and Little John were strolling through the woods, they saw a
stranger sauntering down a road and he was clad in the most brilliant
manner imaginable in rosy scarlet from head to heel. He seemed a very
ladylike kind of person and carried in his hand a rose of which he
smelled now and then as he walked along, and he sang a little song that
sounded for all the world as though it were being sung by a girl in her
teens. And Robin's gorge rose at the sight of him for he hated
unmanliness and thought that this gaily clad ladylike fellow who seemed
to turn his nose up at the ground he walked upon must be a courtier or
some nobleman that had never done an honest day's work or robbery in
his life.
"When he comes nearer," said Robin to Little John, "I'll show him that
there be some honest folk abroad who are not afraid to earn their
living, for by my faith I'll take his purse and use the gold therein to
far better advantage than he could do." So, when the young man
approached, Robin stepped out into the path to meet him with his trusty
cudgel in his hand.
The young man, however, seemed in no way to be afraid of the bold and
resolute outlaw who stood in front of him, and when Robin demanded his
purse he smiled and said it would be better to fight for that article
and the better man should have it. Whereupon he went to the side of the
road, still humming his snatch of a tune, and to the amazement of Robin
and Little John, laid hold of a young oak tree and tore it up by the
roots, with apparently but little exertion of his strength. Then,
trimming off the branches, he stood on guard.
Robin was warned by this exhibition of power and approached him warily,
but the stranger struck with such force that nobody could stand up to
him, and although Robin put up a long and furious fight his guard was
at last beaten down and he was knocked senseless on the ground.
With an aching head, but with admiration of the strange young man in
his heart, Robin asked him to join his band, promising him food, booty
and good Lincoln green to wear; and the stranger, after learning who
Robin was, disclosed himself as no other than Robin's own nephew, Will
Scarlet, whom the outlaw had not seen since he was a baby. Delighted at
the meeting, Will Scarlet, Little John and Robin Hood made haste to
join the rest of the band beneath the greenwood tree, where a feast was
set forth and good brown ale poured out in honor of the newcomer.
On another occasion Robin and his band married two lovers who had been
forced to part because the maiden's father had determined that she was
to become the bride of a wicked but wealthy old nobleman. The outlaws
surrounded the chapel in which the wedding was to take place and when
the ceremony was begun Robin stepped between the bride and groom and
declared that the ceremony could not continue. When the wedding guests
learned that it was indeed Robin Hood that stood before them, they were
greatly frightened, and the outlaws with drawn weapons made their
appearance among them. Friar Tuck himself finished the wedding--only
this time a different groom was substituted and one more after the
maiden's heart, for they gave her the man she loved.
There are many tales about the English King Richard, the Lion Hearted,
and none is more interesting than that of his meeting with Robin Hood
in Sherwood Forest. King Richard was the brother of the base-hearted
John--who tried to steal the throne from him when he was imprisoned on
the continent after the Crusades. But Richard won back his kingdom and
pardoned his brother, and later on John regained the English throne.
Richard traveled a great deal in England, and in the course of his
journeying came to Nottingham, which was near the woodland retreat of
Robin Hood. Now although Robin Hood was an outlaw and had transgressed
the King's laws, Richard held something approaching admiration for him,
because Robin's adventures greatly resembled his own, when he had been
wandering as a knight errant, without a kingdom. So Richard told the
Sheriff of Nottingham that he himself would do what the Sheriff had so
often tried to do and always failed in--namely drive Robin Hood's band
away from the woods. And with some followers he disguised himself as a
monk and started across the forest, hoping that Robin Hood and his
outlaws would fall on him and attempt to rob him.
This is just what happened. The outlaws fell on Richard and took him
prisoner, and after taking his purse they led him to their secluded
hiding-place and set before him a feast of meat and wine, a custom of
theirs whenever they robbed a worthy monk or priest, to remove some of
the sting from the consciousness of his loss.
"I have heard," said the supposed monk, after he had eaten and drunk
his fill, "that you have good archers in your band. I fain would see
some of them at work."
In answer Robin Hood called for his men to set up a mark, telling them
that they must shoot to good purpose, for he that missed, were it only
by a hair, should be knocked down by Will Scarlet.
One after one of the outlaws shot, and they all struck the mark. But
when Robin himself shot something happened that his band had never
before seen, for a gust of wind blew his arrow aside, and he himself,
who was the finest bowman in England, had missed the target. With
shouts of delight the outlaws called upon their leader to pay the
penalty. Robin disliked to do this, for he was the leader of the others
and did not think it good for discipline that his men should behold
their leader undergo such an indignity; however, he ended the matter by
asking the monk, who was Richard, to administer his punishment himself,
since he could take from a member of the church what he could not take
from one of his own band. Richard consented gladly. He always had loved
such adventures,--and the strength of his arm was twice that of Will
Scarlet's,--for the English King was the strongest man in all
Christendom, if not in the entire world. Rising to his feet he drew
back his heavy fist and gave Robin so terrible a buffet that it hurled
him senseless on the ground, doubly stunned from the force with which
he had hit the earth.
The outlaws were amazed when they saw what had befallen their
leader--still more so when a band of the King's horsemen rode up and
surrounded them, and called the monk who had so lately been feasting
with them, "Your Majesty." Then Richard took off his monk's dress and
appeared in his own royal garments; he gave the outlaws a free pardon
on condition that they serve with him thenceforward and be archers in
his army, for he ever had liked brave men, and he knew that these would
lay down their lives to serve him, even if they did cut purses and rob
priests in the seclusion of the woods.
In Richard's service many adventures befell Robin Hood even greater
than what had befallen to him in Sherwood forest. He returned to his
old haunts, however, and again became an outlaw when King Richard died
and the wicked John came to the throne once more.
One day Robin Hood was stricken with a fever and he went to a woman who
lived nearby to be bled, which he believed would lessen his pain and
cure his sickness. But this woman was an enemy of Robin's, although he
knew it not; and she rejoiced at her chance to do him evil. So she
opened a vein in his arm and gave him a drink that threw him into a
deep slumber--and when he awoke he saw that he had lost so much blood
that he had not long to live.
With the last of his strength the dying outlaw blew his horn that
called his followers around him, and as they supported him he asked for
his bow and an arrow, saying that where the arrow fell he desired to be
buried. Bending the bow with the last of his power, he let loose the
arrow which flew out of the window and struck the ground beside a
little path at the edge of the greenwood. And here was laid to rest the
bravest heart that England had known for many a day, and one whose fame
has lived to the present time. For if we should tell you all of the
adventures of Robin, there would be no room left for any other tales,
so our counsel is to find the books about him and read these adventures
for yourselves.
CHAPTER VIII
SAINT ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY
More than seven hundred years ago there was born at Presburg in
Hungary, a royal princess, who became one of the most pious women that
the world has ever seen and whose good deeds have lived until the
present day. This woman was christened Elizabeth. She was the daughter
of King Andrew the Second of Hungary and of Gertrude, formerly a
princess in Dalmatia; and soothsayers and prophets at the time of her
birth foretold her coming greatness.
Elizabeth was born in 1207--a century when religion was more simple
than it is to-day and when people believed that miracles were still
being performed. It was a time, too, when a fiery passion for religion
ruled the world. Soldiers were intent on crusades into the Holy Land to
capture the city of Jerusalem and to rescue the tomb of the Savior from
the hands of the heathen, and fanatical bands called "flagellants" were
soon to appear throughout Europe--men and women who scourged each other
with whips in public places until they fell down fainting from pain and
exhaustion, believing that this practice was welcome in the eyes of the
Lord and would assure them a place in Paradise.
It was a time when unquestioning faith held the minds and beliefs of
men. Nothing seemed too marvelous to be accomplished through Divine
means. When a great poet of whom we shall tell you later, wrote about
Hell, Heaven and Purgatory, his neighbors all believed that he had
really visited those places and seen all the wonders that he described.
So when soothsayers and astrologers foretold that the infant Elizabeth
was to become one of the Saints of Heaven, as the legends tell us they
predicted, people marveled, but believed, for it did not seem strange
for Angels and Saints to appear to the eyes of mortal men.
It was customary in those days for children of high rank to be
betrothed almost before they had quitted the cradle, and when Elizabeth
was four years old she was engaged to be married to the eldest son of
the Landgrave of Thuringia--a boy named Herman who was about ten years
older than herself. And it was also customary at that time for the
future bride to be brought up in the house of her intended husband, so
a number of lords and ladies came from Thuringia to fetch the Princess
Elizabeth away.
She returned with them in great splendor, and many wagons and strong
horses were needed to carry back to Thuringia all the costly things
that went with her, for she was provided with every comfort and luxury
then known. We are told that her dresses were all of the most costly
silks adorned with precious stones, that her cradle, which was of
silver, accompanied her to the house of the future bridegroom, that
even her bath was of silver and so heavy that it was all that her
handmaidens could do to carry it, and a large sum of money was allotted
as her bridal portion or dowry.
Elizabeth was too young to remain homesick for any length of time after
she left her parents, and she was kindly received in her new family.
The Landgrave himself, Herman the First, was a kind-hearted man as well
as a noble and distinguished ruler, and his second son, Ludwig, had
qualities of greatness that gave every promise for the country if it
should ever come under his direction. But the other children of the
Landgrave, the princes named Conrad and Heinrich, were of different
calibre from their brother Ludwig, and so was the girl, Agnes, who was
about Elizabeth's own age. Herman, the eldest son, soon died, and
Elizabeth was then betrothed to Ludwig.
When she was little more than a baby Elizabeth began to show signs of
the religious fervor that was to shape her entire life. She prayed
frequently and always tried to bring the forms of religious worship
into the games that she played with her companions. She spent long
hours at prayer and frequently arose to pray at night, and whenever she
had the opportunity she practiced self-denial that was believed to be
acceptable in the eyes of Heaven by withdrawing herself from some
pleasure that she was taking part in, or abstaining when at table from
some dainty that she loved.
Three years after Elizabeth had gone to live in Thuringia something
happened that deepened her spiritual ardor, for her mother, Gertrude,
was murdered in the absence of the King, and Andrew himself had to
engage in war to put down the rebellion that had arisen in his country.
This was a great sorrow to the little girl, although she remembered her
mother only dimly, and it resulted in her saying more frequent prayers
and giving more thought to her religion than before.
Many stories are told us of Elizabeth's piety. On one occasion, when
she was dressed in her finest garments she beheld a crucifix supporting
a life-size image of the Savior, and with an outburst of tears she
threw herself on the ground at the foot of the crucifix, declaring that
she could not bear to wear fine raiment and jewels, while her Lord was
crowned with thorns. She did many other things of the same sort, and at
last reaped the displeasure of the Landgrave's wife, Sophia, and of the
courtiers and menials of the royal castle,--for Elizabeth's gentleness
and piety were a constant reproach to the more worldly persons that
surrounded her.
When Elizabeth was ten years old there took place another of the
crusades in which knights, nobles and common peasants set forth for the
Holy Land to make war against the heathen; and Elizabeth's father, the
King of Hungary, left his dominions to engage in the holy war. There
was grave doubt if he would ever return, and it seemed too as if his
throne might be wrested from him by rebellion in his absence; so many
of the noblemen and statesmen of Thuringia believed that the marriage
of Ludwig with Elizabeth would be unwise, since there might be no
benefit to be reaped from it on behalf of the State. The Landgravine
Sophia, we are told, was inclined to agree with them--all the more so
because the kind ruler, Herman, had lately died and Ludwig was now on
the throne of Thuringia, and could marry some great princess whose
country was not in the danger of civil war.
It is not known if the stories of the ill-treatment that was then
visited on the helpless little Elizabeth are true or not, but many
writers have told us that Sophia was determined by harshness and
unkindness to force Elizabeth to enter a convent so that her son would
be free to marry elsewhere. At all events, Ludwig heard of the plans to
break off his engagement, and angrily refused to listen to them,
declaring that he loved Elizabeth dearly and would marry her in spite
of every person and relative in his dominions. And when Elizabeth was
fourteen years old, she was married with great magnificence to Ludwig,
who was as handsome as he was honorable, and made a fitting husband for
the beautiful young girl who had already become famous for her great
piety and her charitable deeds.
The marriage was ideally happy, for the young couple was passionately
attached, and Ludwig encouraged his wife in her pious and kindly
undertakings. He understood her so well and gave her such hearty
support in her dealings with the poor and her gifts of food, money and
clothing, that after his death he was often referred to as Saint
Ludwig, just as his wife was called Saint Elizabeth.
Ludwig, however, did not like to see his wife go poorly dressed, and
she wore splendid raiment to please him. Moreover, he disapproved of
her giving so much time and effort to her charity and her prayers that
she taxed her strength. She had to desist from many of her
undertakings, or perform them without his knowledge, when he feared
that her severe fasts and her long prayers were wearing out her health;
and Elizabeth would steal from her chamber to pray when she thought him
asleep, and would wear a coarse sackcloth skirt beneath the silks that
pleased him.
One time, when Ludwig was climbing the steep path to the castle of the
Wartburg where he held his court, he met Elizabeth, who was carrying in
her dress loaves of bread for the poor people in the nearby village of
Marburg. Elizabeth always tried to perform her charity secretly, for
she believed that it would lose its value if it were widely known--and
moreover she feared that her husband would not approve of her taking a
heavy burden down the steep path into the village. When he stopped her
and gaily asked her what she had in her apron, she opened it shyly,
expecting him to blame her when he saw its contents--but how great was
her amazement as well as his when there tumbled forth upon the ground a
profusion of the sweetest smelling roses of all colors, which had
miraculously taken the place of the provisions that Elizabeth had
carried!
That was only the first of a series of miracles that those who
worshipped her memory have accredited to her lifetime, and Ludwig,
astonished and awed by what had taken place, is said to have erected a
monument at the spot where the beautiful roses appeared.
Elizabeth pitied the sick and tended them with the utmost kindness--and
she was particularly kind to the wretched sufferers from the dreadful
disease of leprosy. From earliest times the leper was an outcast from
his fellow men. They fled at his approach, and he was obliged to warn
them of his coming by outcry, or by use of a clapper or bell. But
Elizabeth went to the lepers without fear and fed and comforted them,
and even bathed their sores and bandaged them with her own hands.
At last her father, King Andrew, returned from the crusade, and on his
way back to his own dominions stopped in Thuringia to see his daughter.
By this time Elizabeth had refused to wear her splendid garments any
longer and had parted with all except her simplest dresses; and Ludwig
feared that her father the King might blame him for not maintaining
Elizabeth in the state that was her due as a royal princess, so he
inquired of Elizabeth if she had any fine dress to wear when greeting
her father. She replied that she had none, but that by grace of God
some way would be found out of the difficulty; and when she put on the
only dress that was left to her it suddenly changed by a miracle into a
gown so beautiful and lustrous that its like had never been seen
before, and King Andrew rejoiced in the appearance of his daughter when
she came before him.
By this time Elizabeth had two children, and the Landgrave was
rejoiced. He was a powerful and a wise ruler, and while he was
perfectly just, he punished evil-doers with a hand of iron. On one
occasion he was called away from home to give aid to the Emperor
Frederick the Second in putting down a revolt in his dominions; and
Elizabeth ruled over Thuringia until his return.
Famine and pestilence wasted the country, and the gentle lady was
sorely beset to give aid to her suffering people. She spent so much on
charity that she nearly emptied the treasury, and even sold the robes
of state and the official ornaments to feed the poor. When Ludwig
returned he found his coffers nearly empty--but the money had been
wisely used, for Elizabeth had saved the lives of many of his subjects.
Then another crusade took place and the brave Ludwig planned to join it
and do his share in driving the heathen Saracens away from the tomb of
Christ. With bitterness and sorrow he said farewell to his wife whom he
loved above all things, and kissed his children for the last time. For
when he was waiting at Otranto to embark for the far east, a terrible
pestilence broke out among the crusaders and Ludwig sickened and died.
Word of his death was brought to Elizabeth, who had just given birth to
her third child. And when she heard of it she wept bitterly, crying out
that now the world was dead to her indeed, and she never could know joy
again, since her dear lord was taken from her.
For a time she ruled over Thuringia, but she was hated in the court on
account of her piety, and according to many stories of her life, the
dead Landgrave's brothers, Conrad and Heinrich, conspired against her.
At all events, her life was most unhappy, and in the dead of winter she
quitted the court and went to live in the village, earning her daily
bread by spinning for her living, and eating barely enough to keep
alive. And all the villagers whom she had treated kindly, now that they
found her alone and poor and out of favor at court, would do nothing
for her, and she was laughed at and insulted on the streets.
But in this time she was sustained by divine means, for she began to
have visions of Heavenly things and beheld angels, and once, so she
declares, she saw the face of the Savior himself, who looked down on
her and comforted her.
At last Elizabeth went to live with her uncle, the Bishop of Bamberg,
who treated her with the utmost kindness. She had been obliged to send
her children away in the bitter winter that she had been through, and
soon she was obliged to leave the Bishop's protection, for he desired
her to marry again, and this she refused to do. She went to live in a
cottage and took with her two of her former waiting women who
accompanied her all through the hardships she had suffered, and she
busied herself with caring for the sick and giving alms from the small
amount of money that was allowed for her support.
At this time Elizabeth came under the influence of a priest and a
religious enthusiast called Master Conrad, previously known to her, who
was an ardent, though a narrow-minded believer in the Catholic faith;
and Conrad encouraged her in the severe rites of self-denial that she
practised. At times he punished her with the lash and at last he
brought her completely under the domination of his will. But she
yielded so readily to all penances and voluntary inflictions of
sufferings that even this fanatical zealot was compelled to restrain
her, for Elizabeth desired constantly to do more than he suggested or
wished. At last, with her two waiting women, Elizabeth became a member
of the Third Order of Saint Francis, renounced her family and children,
and spent all her time in caring for the sick and visiting the
afflicted.
She ate almost nothing, and her strength soon gave way under the
privations that she endured. Although she was only twenty-four years
old, she had suffered so greatly that her vitality was sapped and she
had not long to live. She died on November 19, 1231, and Master Conrad
himself soon followed her to the grave.
Elizabeth had not wasted herself in vain, in spite of the fanatical
zeal of her belief and the needless sufferings that she inflicted upon
herself. For years she had cared for nine hundred poor folk every day,
and she had founded a hospital of twenty-eight beds that she visited
daily. She had encouraged her husband in kindness and generous
government, and she saved countless lives in the winter when she
herself sat on the throne of Thuringia.
After her death the zealous Conrad set about collecting proofs of the
miracles that had happened in connection with her, to submit them to
the Pope, who might declare her to be a Saint. Further proofs were
forthcoming even after she had died, for when pilgrims visited her tomb
many of them were marvelously cured of the sicknesses from which they
had been suffering. Her brother-in-law, Conrad, repenting of his former
treatment of her, built a splendid church in her honor, and her bones
were laid in their last resting-place a few years after her death. In
the meantime the Pope examined all the proofs of her piety and
holiness, as well as of the cures that had been effected at her tomb,
and at last Elizabeth was made a Saint, and became known as Saint
Elizabeth of Hungary. For centuries pilgrims have worshipped at her
shrine, and the church that was built in her memory still stands as a
monument of the wonderful life of this holy woman who lived and died
the better part of a thousand years ago.
CHAPTER IX
DANTE
In the year 1265 there was born in the city of Florence in Italy a man
who was destined to become one of the four greatest poets that the
world has ever produced. This man was Dante, the son of Alighiero, a
Florentine who was popular and well known as a man of affairs.
When Dante was born Italy was very different from what it is to-day,
for instead of being formed of a single nation, or even of a number of
smaller ones, the cities themselves were nations and made their own
laws. These cities, moreover, were constantly at war with one another,
and fighting was the order of the day. Even within the cities there
were often bloody frays and brawls between the supporters of one or
another noble family. These brawls sometimes became so extensive that
they grew into civil war, and penetrated beyond the limits of the
cities in which they were hatched. Such was the state of affairs in
Dante's time, and it is important to remember this, because the
quarrels of these different factions had a great effect upon his life.
Particularly long and bloody in Florence and other cities had been the
strife between two families and factions who called themselves
respectively the Guelfs and the Ghibellines. Dante's father belonged to
the Guelf party and the boy was brought up with the idea that he must
always serve the Guelfs, and support them in all their quarrels. The
Guelfs, moreover, were high in the affairs of Florence and had overcome
their opponents there. And for this reason those who belonged to the
Guelf cause had the chance to rise in the affairs of the city.
So Dante's boyhood was not spent like that of some other poets, in the
midst of books alone, or in the quiet seclusion of school and college.
He was thrown neck and heels into the midst of the fiery Italian
politics of an age when one could poniard his enemy on the streets and
go unpunished, providing he had power or influence. And it is probable
that he saw many wild doings. He was, however, of studious habits and
loved reading more than the air he breathed. And while little is known
of his boyhood years, it is certain that he mastered then and in his
early manhood many of the best books that had been written since the
beginning of the world. Moreover, as Dante later said, he had taught
himself "the art of bringing words into verse"--an art that he mastered
so thoroughly that his name was to live forever.
When Dante was still a young boy there befell something that proved to
be the most wonderful happening in his entire life. This was nothing
else than meeting a little girl named Beatrice Portinari. Although
Beatrice was only a child, and Dante himself hardly ten years old, he
felt a love for her that lasted from that minute until the day of his
death and that inspired him to write the great poem that made his name
famous throughout the world.
A festival was given by the family of the Portinari which was a noble
one and possessed such wealth that its members afterward became bankers
for King Edward the Third of England. Among the guests was the boy,
Dante, and he beheld Beatrice there as a beautiful little girl. How
strangely he was affected by the sight of her he told in later years,
and his words have been translated and quoted as follows: "Her dress,
on that day," said Dante, "was of a most noble color,--a subdued and
goodly crimson, girdled and adorned in such sort as best suited her
very tender age. At that moment, I say most truly, that the spirit of
life, which hath its dwelling in the secretest chamber of the heart,
began to tremble so violently that the least pulses of my body shook
therewith. From that time Love ruled my soul."
Dante did not speak to Beatrice on that occasion,--in fact, he saw her,
or addressed her, only two or three times in his entire life. But from
the day when she first appeared to him in her crimson dress, he sought
to perform some deed that would make him worthy of her love, and the
result was the great poem in which he placed her name beside his own.
In spite of his love, Dante did not become an idle dreamer, but
developed into an active and studious young man, ready to take up the
sword to defend his city whenever it might call on him to do so. And
when he was twenty-four years old he put on his armor and went forth to
battle against the citizens of Arezzo, a town where the Ghibellines
were powerful and had been acting in a hostile manner toward the
Guelfs, who controlled Florence.
War was not so serious an affair then as it is now, and everyone
engaged in it. Moreover, the towns that warred against each other were
so near that it was sometimes an easy matter to go forth and fight on
one day and be back in your own home on the day following. Everyone was
expected to bear arms for his city, and going to war was held to be a
matter of course; but in spite of these things Dante gained great
praise for the way in which he conducted himself in the war with
Arezzo, perhaps because he was braver than the rest, or perhaps because
a poet is not generally considered to be as warlike as other men.
After the fighting had ended, Dante returned to Florence and prepared
to take his part in city politics. Before he could accomplish anything
it was necessary for him to go on record that he belonged to one of the
great guilds into which all the citizens at that time were divided, and
which controlled all the different branches of business and
manufacturing, and all the sciences. So Dante entered the guild of the
Doctors and Apothecaries--not because he knew anything about their
professions--that was not necessary--but to give himself an apparent
vocation when he came to assume some one of the city offices.
By this time Dante's great intellect and scholarly attainments had made
him well known in Florence, although he was only a young man. He was
high in the esteem of many learned men and had a great many poets and
artists for his friends. Among them were the artist named Giotto and
the poet called Guido Cavalcante. So well did he appear in their eyes
and to the men of the city of Florence who ran its affairs that in the
year 1300 Dante was made one of the Priors of Florence, that is, one of
the chief rulers of the city.
It was not to be thought that a man could gain such a position in those
turbulent times without making many enemies, and as Dante belonged to
the controlling faction, others who were not in power planned his
overthrow and that of his fellow rulers. Dante himself, however,
disliked this civil strife and did all in his power to bring the
opposing factions together. But his enemies got the upper hand, and he
was finally driven from the city in exile.
Another sorrow had befallen him. Beatrice, whom he still continued to
love ardently (although he had married a good woman named Gemma Donati
and had three children) had died some years before, leaving him nothing
but her memory. But Dante's love for Beatrice had not interfered in his
relations with his wife. It was not an earthly love. He had not wanted
Beatrice as his wife, but rather as an ideal that he could worship. And
after her death he became both gloomy and unhappy.
His exile, moreover, was a bitter blow to Dante, for he had loved
Florence dearly and could not imagine making his home elsewhere. With
bitterness in his heart he wandered from city to city, and then he set
out in earnest to write the great poem which is called the _Divine
Comedy_. Dante had already written a number of beautiful poems, but
they were more in the style of other Italian and Latin poetry. What he
now planned was entirely new and so daring that it had never been
thought of since the beginning of the world.
He planned in this poem to describe a journey into the nethermost
regions of Hell, then into Purgatory and finally into Heaven, where
Beatrice should be his guide and conduct him to the throne of God
Himself.
Such a poem, as we have said, had never been written or even wildly
imagined, but Dante's imagination was so vivid that it seemed as if he
really had beheld the scenes that he described. And he told the story
of the poem as though the adventures in it were real and had happened
directly to himself.
Hell, according to Dante's belief, and that of the religion of his day,
was a gigantic funnel-shaped gulf directly beneath the city of
Jerusalem, shaped into nine vast circles or pits with a common center
that reached down to the center of the earth like a circular flight of
stairs. In the lowest pit of all Satan himself was to be found, ruling
his kingdom. On the other side of the earth was a wide sea, from which
arose a mighty mountain called the Mount of Purgatory--the place where
the souls of human beings did penance for their sins until they were
fit to enter Heaven. Heaven itself was composed of nine transparent and
revolving spheres that enclosed the earth, and in which were fastened
the sun, the moon and the stars. The motion of these heavenly bodies as
they rose and set above the earth's horizon was believed by Dante to be
due to the turning of the spheres, which were moved by the hand of God.
It was in accordance with this idea of Heaven and Hell that Dante began
his poem.
One day, he said, when he was lonely and sad in spirit, he found
himself standing in the midst of a deep forest that was so gloomy, wild
and savage that no mortal eyes had ever seen its equal--and even to
think of it afterward caused him a bitterness not far from that of
death itself.
As he stood there he was aware of a presence close by, the stately
figure of a man, who proved to be the great Roman poet, Vergil,--and
Vergil told him that Divine Will had ordered him to guide Dante through
Hell and as far as the gates of Paradise.
He made clear to Dante that this journey was the part of a Heavenly
order and had been decreed by Heaven itself, and Dante, in great fear
at what he was about to see, was led by Vergil through the forest until
he came to the mouth of a black cavern. Carven on the rock above it was
a verse that told Dante that here was the entrance to the lower
world,--the gateway to Hell. And the verse concluded with the grim
words--"_All Hope Abandon, Ye Who Enter Here_."
Sighs, groans, lamentations and terrible voices were heard from the
depths below as they passed through this evil doorway, and now they
were in a region of murky gloom, where no ray of sunlight ever had
entered. All around them were the spirits of the dead. They came
flocking to the Acheron or River of Death, where the ferryman named
Charon, with eyes like flaming wheels, bore them across. When Charon
saw a living man among the dead he sternly ordered Dante to return
whence he had come. Vergil interceded for him, and they passed on.
After they had crossed the River of Death they entered the first circle
of Hell, where those who had the misfortune to die without being
baptized, or who had believed in some other religion than Christianity,
must spend the rest of time. Here were a number of noble spirits from
the days of Rome and Greece, including many of the poets,
mathematicians and astronomers of olden days. Dante would gladly have
remained with them, for they were not unhappy and spent their time in
learned discourse and scholarly friendship, but Vergil urged him
onward.
Deeper and deeper they descended. They passed through great spaces
where mighty winds swept before them the souls of the dead, whirling
them around forever without rest; through regions of chill rain and
sleet, where the spirits of those who had been gluttonous in their
lifetime were perpetually torn into pieces by a three-headed dog called
Cerberus. And after many awful scenes that Dante could hardly bear to
witness, he saw in front of him the towers of the dreadful city of Dis,
or Satan, in which the spirits of the damned underwent punishments that
were worse than any he had witnessed thus far.
Guarding the walls were the three Furies of the Greek legends. When
they beheld Dante they howled for the Gorgon, Medusa, with the snaky
locks to come quickly and turn him into stone--a fate that must befall
all men that gazed upon her face. But Vergil bade Dante hide his eyes,
and to be sure that he might be saved he covered them with his own
hand.
They entered the city--and there and from that time on the punishments
became so fearful that we shall not describe them here.
In their journey they had constantly to be on their guard against the
monsters of Hell that strove to arrest their progress. And in passing
by a lake of burning pitch, in which tortured souls were burning, the
demons that guarded them rushed at Dante and pursued him, eager to hurl
him into the lake to lose his life and the hope of Heaven at one and
the same time.
Lower and lower they descended, passing from one horror to another
still more terrible, until they came to the nethermost pit of all,
where Vergil told Dante that now he would need all his courage to
sustain him, for he had come at last to the abode of Satan. This was a
region of eternal ice and a bitter wind blew on them, so cold and
dreadful that Dante was half dead from it and it seemed that his numbed
senses could not support life any longer. The wind, he saw, was caused
by the bat-like wings of Satan himself--a gigantic and hairy monster,
with only the upper half of his body protruding from the icy pit in
which he stood. He had three heads, one red, one green and one white
and yellow; and in his three mouths he munched the three greatest
traitors of all time--Judas Iscariot, Brutus and Cassius.
When Dante was about to swoon from the terrible sight, Vergil watched
his opportunity, and as the great wings of Satan rose he sprang beneath
them, with Dante following him. Grasping the hairy side of the monster,
they commenced to descend still lower. And soon, to Dante's amazement,
their downward path became an upward one, for Satan's waist was at the
center of the earth and after they had passed it they must climb
instead of descend.
Up and up they went, toiling with the greatest difficulty, passing
through a chimney-like passageway that led for an incredible distance
to the open air above; and when they arrived beneath the blue sky they
were at the base of the Mountain of Purgatory, where men's spirits that
were not doomed to Hell must purify themselves before they could hope
to enter the Heaven that lay above them.
After the soot of Hell was washed from Dante's countenance he began
with Vergil to ascend the mountain. They passed countless spirits all
engaged in severe tasks, to cleanse themselves of sin before they could
hope to attain the wonderful regions above; but these spirits were
almost happy, although many of them were undergoing pain and suffering,
for their trouble was not endless as was the case with the spirits of
Hell, and they would certainly find happiness at last.
When they came to the summit of the mountain a wall of fire lay between
them and Paradise. Through this they passed, and once on the other side
Dante lost sight of Vergil, who could accompany him no further.
Dante was then greeted by his long lost Beatrice, now a radiant spirit,
who had been chosen by divine will to show him the glories of Heaven.
And with Beatrice guiding him, Dante passed upward through the crystal
spheres, once getting a glimpse of the earth in his heavenly progress
as it lay beneath him shining in the light of the sun. At last Dante
had ascended to so great a height in Heaven that he beheld God
Himself--but what he saw was so wonderful that it was impossible for
him to write about it, and in this way his wonderful poem came to an
end.
After completing the Inferno Dante went to Paris, where he met a great
many scholars and wise men, who treated him with the utmost respect,
but all the time he desired to be in his native city of Florence. When
Henry of Luxembourg planned to lay siege to it, Dante encouraged him,
hoping that he might enter with the conquerors and that his enemies
might be overthrown. The siege took place, but it was unsuccessful, and
the poet was compelled to wander far and wide among strangers for the
rest of his life. As he lacked money, he had to take many humble
offices to earn his bread, and more than once had to undergo the
indignity of sitting among the jesters and buffoons at some great house
that had honored him with its favor.
At last, weary of life and sick at heart, Dante went to Ravenna, where
his genius was honored more worthily. His name had now penetrated
throughout the greater part of the civilized world and he was known as
one of the greatest geniuses that had ever lived. Many people believed
that Dante had actually beheld the scenes that he described. When they
met him on the streets they would draw aside to let him pass, thinking
him a man whose destiny was different from their own, and they would
whisper to each other that he was the man who had descended into Hell
and come forth again alive and had looked with his own eyes at the
horrors of the Infernal Regions.
No doubt the fame and the almost frightened homage that he received
were pleasing to the sad soul of Dante, but he always remembered that
he was still an outcast from his native city. Florence stubbornly
refused to remove her ban and when Dante died he was buried at Ravenna.
There his body still lies, with a Latin inscription on his tombstone
that tells the world of the ingratitude of the city of Florence to her
greatest son, who is also the greatest poet that Italy has ever seen.
CHAPTER X
ROBERT BRUCE
If you ask a Scot who is the greatest man that ever lived he will
probably say Robert Bruce. It does not matter that Robert Bruce died
six hundred years ago--his name is as bright in Scotland as though he
had lived yesterday. Songs and stories are told about him there and
every school boy hears of him as soon as he is old enough to listen to
the tales of his country.
The reason for this is that Robert Bruce made the Scots free from the
rule of England, which country they used to hate. Also because he was a
great warrior, so strong in body and with such courage that it was
almost impossible for any foe to stand against him.
When Edward the First ruled over England he extended his power over the
free land of Scotland, where the race and the speech were different
from those of the English. A dispute had arisen among the Scottish
chiefs as to who was to succeed to the Scottish throne. Many claimants
came forward, and as a result of this the chieftains were embroiled
among themselves, giving Edward a chance to seize their country which
he was not slow to take.
So great had been the jealousy among the Scots that many joined
Edward's army to fight against their fellow countrymen. Among them was
a young nobleman named Robert Bruce, whose grandfather had himself been
one of the claimants to the Scottish throne.
It was not a noble deed on the part of Robert Bruce to serve under the
English banner. Indeed, in his younger years he does not seem to have
been a hero at all. While the great Scottish chief, Wallace, was waging
bitter war against King Edward, Bruce was content to rest under
Edward's protection,--even after Wallace was captured and put to a
cruel death in Berwick castle, where he was beheaded at Edward's order.
At last, however, Bruce began to show that he intended to become a
champion of the Scottish cause. He did not do this all at once, and, in
fact, he acted treacherously both to the Scots and to the English--for
he renounced his fealty to Edward on two separate occasions, and each
time was won back to him and received gifts and forgiveness from him.
At last, however, Bruce was obliged to fly for his life from the
English court and trust his fortunes to the Scottish cause.
He had been betrayed to Edward by a nobleman called Lord Comyn, and he
now determined that Comyn must be slain. He sent his two brothers as
messengers to Comyn, asking this lord to accompany them to a church in
Dumfries, where Bruce was waiting for him at the altar. When Comyn
approached, Bruce told him that his treachery was discovered. "Be
assured you shall have your reward," he cried loudly, and drawing his
dagger he plunged it in Comyn's breast.
Murder was little thought of in those days, but murder in a church,
before the altar itself and under the very eyes of the priests who were
engaged in their religious offices, was a crime that made the whole
civilized world ring with horror. And it blackened the name of Robert
Bruce with a stain that has lasted to this day, in spite of his great
glory.
Bruce, however, had been greatly provoked to this bloody deed, and was
now to prove himself a true champion of the Scottish people. He sought
safety in flight for a time, and at last rallied the Scots about him at
Lochmaven Castle, from which place he told them that he would make
himself King over all Scotland and liberate the land from the English
yoke. With his vassals and retainers about him, he issued proclamations
for all who would fight against England to join his banner, and at
Scone he had placed on his head the Scottish crown.
When King Edward heard of what Bruce had done--how he had murdered
Comyn and been crowned king and was inciting all of Scotland to rise
against the English rule, he fell in such a rage that he could hardly
speak for anger, and swore a great oath that the rest of his life
should be devoted to punishing Bruce for his crimes. A strong English
army was promptly raised and sent against the new Scottish King.
The English soldiers under the Earl of Pembroke fell on the Scots at
night in the woods at a place called Methven, when the followers of
Bruce believed themselves to be safe from attack, and had taken off
their armor. As the English with shouts and battle cries attacked the
unguarded Scots, Bruce leaped to his horse and with his great
two-handed sword drove his enemies before him like chaff. But while the
English recoiled before the blows of his powerful arm, they succeeded
in routing his followers. A large number of Bruce's friends and
retainers were captured, and he himself only escaped by killing with
his own hand three men who laid hold of his equipment and were trying
to drag him from his horse. For the time being the Scots were
thoroughly defeated, and were obliged to take shelter wherever they
could find it.
With his army scattered and only about five hundred followers remaining
faithful to him, Bruce fled into the mountain forests of Athole. His
troubles had only begun, for many fierce Scottish noblemen themselves
were his bitter enemies on account of wars between the different
Scottish clans, and particularly because of the foul murder of Lord
Comyn.
Then began a period of wandering and suffering for Bruce and his
followers. They made their way across the mountains to Aberdeen, where
their wives joined them, preferring to be hunted outlaws with their
husbands rather than to remain in safety away from them. And finally
the little band of ragged highlanders came to Argyl, where they were
confronted in battle by a Scottish chief called John of Lorn.
Bruce's men were in poor condition on account of the hardships they had
undergone and were also outnumbered by their enemies. The result of the
battle was a second defeat for Bruce, who now must hide more closely
than ever, as his enemies were hunting for him everywhere.
Once more his wife had to part from him, for his state was now so
dangerous and the hardships he endured so great that no woman could
withstand them. And the lords who remained in his company had likewise
to say farewell to their wives and children. No spot in Scotland was
safe for them. Nowhere could Bruce rest his head and be sure that his
enemies would not attack him before morning. English soldiers and Scots
who had become their allies were looking for him everywhere. Moreover,
those Scots who fell into the hands of the enemy could not hope for
mercy. If they were men of low degree and with no title of nobility
they were hanged. If they were of noble birth, they suffered the more
aristocratic fate of beheading.
Still further misfortunes were to follow Bruce. The Pope could not
forget his desecration of the church and passed on him what is known to
all followers of the Catholic faith as the sentence of excommunication.
This was a terrible punishment, for it meant that so far as the power
of the Church went--and that power was absolute in those far
days--Bruce could never be received in Heaven or even have the
privilege of repenting for his sins. He was cast out of the Church into
the outer darkness, and the hands of every priest and of all righteous
men were turned against him.
He was obliged to flee to a little island off the coast of Ireland,
where with a few followers he had a comparatively safe hiding place,
although the ships of King Edward were hunting for him high and low. In
the meantime his Queen and her ladies, whom he believed he had sent to
a safe refuge in a stronghold called Kildrummy Castle, were captured by
the English and kept in close confinement, being made to undergo many
indignities because Bruce himself had succeeded in eluding vengeance.
But all the time he lay in concealment Bruce considered how he could go
back to Scotland, whose shores he could see from his hiding place, and
he and his followers were constantly making desperate plans to return.
Chief among them was one James Douglas, who was a brave and noble
warrior, second only to Bruce himself in the strength of his arm and no
way inferior to him in the quality of his courage. After many a talk
with Douglas and the rest of his followers as to what would be best for
them in their extremity, Bruce decided to send a trusty messenger in a
small boat to the Scottish shore to learn if there was any discontent
under the British rule, and if the time for a second uprising had not
perhaps arrived. For Bruce knew he had many friends, if he could only
reach them and gather them to his side.
The messenger who made this dangerous journey was to signal to Bruce if
it was safe for him to return by lighting a beacon fire on the headland
that was most visible from the Island of Arran where Bruce was then
hiding. If Bruce saw the fire on the following night he and his
followers were to embark at once for Scotland. There they would be met
by friends and their further course made clear to them.
How great was Bruce's joy when the night fell to see the beacon fire
spring up on the distant headland! With a high heart he and his
followers embarked and pulled strongly at the oars. They believed that
Scotland would be theirs again.
But when Bruce and his small band of followers arrived on the mainland
they found the messenger awaiting them. It seemed that some ill chance
had befallen, for the beacon had been kindled by accident and for some
other purpose than to call Bruce from his hiding place. So far from
being prepared for his invasion, Scotland seemed more dangerous than
ever for him. Two of his brothers had been captured by the English and
both had been beheaded. Bruce learned also that the Queen and her
ladies whom he believed to be safe in Kildrummy Castle had fallen into
English hands and were pent in dungeons like wild beasts.
Discretion told the little band of adventurers to return to their
island retreat, but after consulting together over their bitter
fortunes, they decided to make a bold stroke for success and die if it
did not succeed. An English garrison lay at Turnberry Castle not far
off, and had been divided in two parts, one being billeted in a nearby
village, while the other occupied the castle itself. It was decided to
attack the English soldiers who were in the village and not to leave a
man of them alive.
Silently Bruce and his men stole up to the little town. As the
frightened English came running half clad into the streets they were
met by the swords and axes of the Scots. Few escaped the grim vengeance
of that attack, and Bruce retaliated heavily for the injuries the
English had worked on his wife and his kinsmen in his absence.
The Scots, however, did not rally to Bruce's standard as quickly as he
hoped, and he was once more compelled to take shelter in the mountains.
To escape the enemies who fell on his little band in far superior
numbers and with better arms and equipment he was obliged to flee as
swiftly as possible. His enemies, however, had tracked Bruce himself by
a bloodhound, and it seemed impossible for him to escape the unerring
scent of this terrible animal, which picked up his trail from among
those of his followers. At last, with a few men, he separated entirely
from his soldiers, telling them of a rendezvous where they were to meet
him in case he should escape.
Bruce avoided the bloodhound by wading through a running stream, and
then had adventures which have become the subject of legends in his
country. At one time he was ambushed and attacked by three traitors of
his own force, who hoped to make their fortunes by bringing his head to
the English. Instead of this they dug their own graves, for Bruce slew
all three with his own hand. On another occasion he took refuge with a
single companion in a deserted house where three more enemies
endeavored to kill him as he slept. Bruce had a companion at his side,
but both were worn out by the hardships they had undergone and were
fast asleep as the ruffians with drawn swords and daggers stole upon
them.
The good angel of Scotland made one of them tread too heavily. All at
once Bruce awoke and leaped to his feet with his mighty two-handed
sword in his grasp. His companion was slain, but alone Bruce struck
down and killed the three murderers that had set upon him.
There are many stories about Bruce while he lay hiding in the mountain
fastnesses of Scotland. We are told that on the day following his
victory over the three would-be assassins he went to the house of an
old woman and asked for something to eat. And when he begged for food
she replied that she would give it to him willingly for the sake of one
wanderer that she loved; and Bruce inquired of her who that might be.
"No other than King Robert himself," she responded. "He is hunted now
and without friends, but the time will come when he shall rule all
Scotland." "Know, then, woman," said Bruce, overjoyed at this evidence
of devotion that had followed him in his trouble, "that I am he of whom
you speak and have returned for no other purpose than to resume my
crown and throne."
When the old woman recovered from her amazement she did him reverence
as the rightful King of Scotland and called in her three strong sons to
wait on him and join the ranks of his soldiers.
Bruce slowly collected the men that had remained faithful to him, and
at Loudon Hill in May he and his followers met an English army. The
English leader, whose name was De Valence, had done everything in his
power to make Bruce come forth from his mountain retreat and do battle
with the English, for he believed that on open ground he could defeat
the Scots decisively and do away with the long chase of Bruce that was
wearying himself and his followers. So De Valence sent Bruce a letter
in which he called him a base coward for refusing to meet him in
battle, and challenged Bruce to stand up to him as a soldier at Loudon
on the tenth of May. Stung with anger, Bruce accepted the challenge and
the crafty English leader rejoiced because his enemy had delivered
himself into his hands.
Bruce, however, had no intention of being defeated. He arrived on the
appointed spot several days before the English and studied his ground
with the eye of a trained general. He knew the route that must be taken
by the English and so arranged his forces that it would be impossible
for his enemies to outflank him, entrenching himself behind marshes and
ditches that the English could not pass.
On the appointed day he saw the gay banners and shining armor of his
enemies. They approached recklessly and hurled themselves against his
line in a headlong charge. But the
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