Chapter 21

Though the night was dark and dismal, yet the form of the unknown might now, in some degree, be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of large dimensions and mounted on a black horse of powerful frame. He made no offer of molestation or sociability, but kept aloof on one side of the road. Ichabod, who had no relish for this 5 strange midnight companion, now quickened his steed in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod pulled up and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind. The other did the same. His heart began to sink within him. He endeavored 10 to resume his psalm tune, but his parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth, and he could not utter a stave.

There was something in the moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully accounted for. On 15 mounting a rising ground, which brought the figure of his fellow traveler in relief against the sky, gigantic in height and muffled in a cloak, Ichabod was horror-struck on perceiving that he was headless! But his horror was still more increased on observing that the head which should have 20 rested on his shoulders was carried before him on the pommel of his saddle! His terror rose to desperation. He rained a shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping by a sudden movement to give his companion the slip. But the specter started full jump with him. Away 25 then they dashed, through thick and thin, stones flying and sparks flashing at every bound.

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The wavering reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook told him that 30 he was not mistaken. "If I can but reach that bridge," thought Ichabod, "I am safe." Just then he heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. Another convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding planks; he gained the opposite side; and now Ichabod 5 cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encountered 10 his cranium with a tremendous crash. He was tumbled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black steed, and the goblin rider passed by like a whirlwind.

The next morning the old horse was found without his saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping 15 the grass at his master's gate, while near the bridge, on the bank of a broad part of the brook where the water ran deep and black, was found the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it--_a shattered pumpkin_!

--_A Legend of Sleepy Hollow._

1. You should read the entire "Legend" (see Irving's _Sketch Book_) and enjoy the detailed incidents leading up to this climax. Of course Ichabod leaves Sleepy Hollow, never to return. What evidence is there that Brom Bones was the ghost?

2. A ghost was supposed not to be able to cross running water. What evidence of this do you find in the story?

3. Why was Ichabod "heavy-hearted and crestfallen"? Give two reasons.

4. Pick out the elements of the first two paragraphs that make the situation appear lonely.

5. Who was Major André? Why should Ichabod have especially feared the André tree?

6. What is there in this selection that is humorous?

SIGNING PETITIONS

"Another petition!" exclaimed the banker. "No, I never sign them offhand--not any more. I used to do so--once to my sorrow and to the amusement of my friends. Leave yours with me till day after to-morrow and I'll consider it. I have at least four more now on the waiting 5 list, ranging in subject from the Removal of a Soap Factory to a Bridge Across the Pacific. Every business man is hounded week in and week out with petitions."

I reluctantly surrendered my long scroll with its formidable list of signatures. "But _the_ one that you once signed--what 10 of that?"

"Oh, that one? Well, there was a bright newsboy down on the square whose booth had been removed from a street corner because of a petition to the Police Commissioner. Of course everybody had signed the petition; for signing 15 petitions was considered the proper thing if certain names headed the list. It came to be a roster of the best families in town. This newsboy retaliated--in kind. He drafted and circulated a petition that was in due form. Everybody, including myself, signed it. Next day it was published in 20 full with the names of its signers, by all our city papers, and by night everybody in the state was laughing at us.

"The petition recited that a sundial in Central Park, the gift of a wealthy citizen, was weathering badly. It should be protected. That sounded reasonable, so everybody 25 signed just below the name of everybody else. And what had we petitioned for? _A roof to cover that sundial!_

"You'll get no hasty signatures to a petition in this city--we remember the sundial!"

_IN TIME OF WAR_

_Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Sleep the sleep that knows not breaking; Dream of battled fields no more, Days of danger, nights of waking. . . ._

_Soldier, rest! thy warfare o'er, Dream of fighting fields no more; Sleep the sleep that knows no breaking, Morn of toil, nor night of waking._

--SIR WALTER SCOTT.

GREAT LITTLE RIVERS

BY FRAZIER HUNT

The armies of the world were contending on the battlefields of France in a death struggle, known in history as the World War. It was a mighty clash of ideas and ideals. Frazier Hunt, a war correspondent and journalist, selected the Little Rivers of France as a subject to carry his theme: that little things sometimes set apart great differences, and that littleness and greatness are not matters of physical size.

For miles along the hard white road that had helped save France a tiny river ran. But it was such a quiet race with life and time. It had no steep banks; only gentle, green, silent slopes that fell gracefully back from its edges. Here and there fragrant woods wandered almost to its 5 drowsy waters.

A cuckoo sounded its call, and far off its mate sent back the echo. On sun-splashed mornings the thrush came, and in the moonlight the nightingale sang to this little stream. 10

It was a tiny river, and if in great America, only the countryside that knew its winding ways could have told its name. It was a brook for poets to dream by. Little islands of willows, weeping for France, slept in its heart. One could almost whisper across it, and as a French schoolgirl 15 of fourteen wrote, "Birds could fly over it with one sweep of their wings. And on the two banks there were millions of men, the one turned towards the other, eye to eye. But the distance which separated them was greater than the stars in the sky; it was the distance which separates right from injustice."

It was a tiny river; it was the Yser.

* * * * *

Oxen drawing the cultivating plows that will help feed France and win the war almost splash into its shallow edges 5 as they turn the furrow. And on hot July days, the old man who prods them with his pointed stick and the sturdy woman who handles the plow let them drink their fill of its cooling waters--not plunging their noses deep like thirsty horses but gently drawing in the water with the lips, 10 after the manner of oxen.

It is a quiet stream that a child could ford without danger. It flows slowly and sweetly from the mother hills to the embracing sea. A few arched bridges leap from one low bank to another. It has not cut deep into the land of 15 France but it has cut deep into the heart of France. It is one of the ribbons of victory and glory that France will always wear across her breast. And it is a ribbon made red by the blood of the men of France who have died for France.

And yet we of America would call it a little stream, and 20 old men would fish all day in it from a shaded velvet point, and boys swimming would hunt some favorite Devil's Hole where they might dive.

It is the Marne.

* * * * *

For four years now it has flowed peacefully on while 25 men have fought to scar its banks with trenches--burrowing themselves into the earth as only the muskrat had done in the forgotten days of peace. Strong, unafraid men came from the ends of the world to die by its side. And it would have gladly sung them a sweet, low lullaby, crooning a song 30 with which mothers on the shores of all the seven seas had once rocked them to sleep--only now the sound of heavy firing, dull booms of the cannon, and the spit and nervous drum of the machine gun, made its song as futile and indistinguishable as the whisper of a child in the roar of a mob. 5

What a story its sweet waters had to tell to all the rivers of the world when they met in the broad sea: a tale of strange men who fought and died that it might still be a part of France; a tale of deeds of glory and of valor and of sacrifice. And some of these men had come from faraway 10 America to this little river, this stream so tiny and so modest that it might have forever remained unknown and unsung.

It was the Somme.

* * * * *

After all, what does size matter--except the size of the 15 heart and of the soul?

The great Mississippi, the mystic Amazon, the majestic Hudson, the wide Danube--all mighty in power and commerce!

The Yser, the Aisne, the Oise, the Somme, the Marne--little 20 streams of France; old brooks as precious as Thermopylæ or Bunker Hill!

Tiny are they--and so was Bethlehem!

--_Red Cross Magazine._

1. What three rivers are discussed? For what does each stand?

2. Explain the French schoolgirl's letter. Which party, to her, represented justice?

3. What great general is called the "Hero of the Marne"? Why?

4. Why are Thermopylæ and Bunker Hill "previous"? Name some other "precious" places in the world.

5. What lesson do you get from this selection?

(Used by permission of the _Red Cross Magazine_.)

THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE

BY CHARLES WOLFE

Sir John Moore (1761-1809) was a British general. His last engagement was at the head of the British forces in Spain, fighting against Napoleon. Upon word that Napoleon with an army of 70,000 was marching against him, he decided to make for the coast with his 25,000 men. They were obliged to march for 250 miles over slippery mountain roads, and were forced into battle before they could embark. The French were repulsed with heavy losses, but Moore was fatally wounded. This fine poem describes his burial on that foreign shore.

Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the ramparts we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried.

We buried him darkly at dead of night, 5 The sods with our bayonets turning, By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.

No useless coffin inclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him; 10 But he lay like a warrior taking his rest With his martial cloak around him.

Few and short were the prayers we said, And we spoke not a word of sorrow; But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 15 And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed And smoothed down his lonely pillow, That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head. And we far away on the billow.

Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 5 And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him; But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on, In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

But half of our heavy task was done When the bell tolled the hour for retiring; 10 And we heard the distant and random gun That the foe was sullenly firing.

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory; We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone, 15 But we left him alone with his glory!

1. Give synonyms for: corse, ramparts, martial, upbraid, tolled, reck, gory, random.

2. Describe this simple burial in your own words. What are the customary rites at a soldier's burial? Why did Sir John Moore not receive a military funeral?

3. Compare this burial with the one described on page 329.

4. Report briefly on Napoleon: who he was, what he did, and what finally became of him.

5. Memorize the poem. Time yourself to see how quickly you can do this.

LEXINGTON AND CONCORD

BY WILLIAM EMERSON

The Reverend William Emerson, grandfather of Ralph Waldo Emerson, was pastor of the Congregational Church at Concord. The battle of April 19, 1775, was fought near his residence. He was called the "patriot preacher" and died while serving in the Revolutionary army.

This morning between one and two o'clock we were alarmed by the ringing of the church bell, and upon examination found that the troops, to the number of eight hundred, had stolen their march from Boston in boats and barges from the bottom of the Common over to a point 5 in Cambridge near to Inman's farm, and were at Lexington meetinghouse half an hour before sunrise, where they had fired upon a body of our men, and as we afterward heard, had killed several. This intelligence was brought to us at first by Dr. Samuel Prescott, who narrowly escaped the 10 guard that were sent before on horses purposely to prevent all posts and messengers from giving us timely information. He, by the help of a very fleet horse, crossing several walls and fences, arrived at Concord at the time above mentioned, when several posts were immediately dispatched, 15 that, returning, confirmed the presence of the regular army at Lexington, and that they were on their way to Concord. Upon this a number of our minutemen belonging to this town and Acton and Lincoln, with several others that were in readiness, marched out to meet them. 20

While the alarm company were preparing to meet them in the town, Captain Minot, who commanded them, thought it proper to take possession of the hill above the meetinghouse as the most advantageous situation. No sooner had we gained it than we were met by the company that were sent out to meet the troops, who informed us 5 they were just upon us and that we must retreat, as their number was more than thribble to ours. We then retreated from the hill near Liberty Pole and took a new post back of the town upon a rising eminence, where we formed into two battalions and waited the arrival of the enemy. 10 Scarcely had we formed before we saw the British troops at the distance of a quarter of a mile, glittering in arms, advancing toward us with the greatest celerity.

Some were for making a stand notwithstanding the superiority of their numbers, but others more prudent 15 thought best to retreat till our strength should be equal to the enemy by recruits from neighboring towns who were continually coming in to our assistance. Accordingly we retreated over the bridge; when the troops came into the town, set fire to several carriages for the artillery, destroyed 20 sixty barrels of flour, rifled several houses, took possession of the Town House, destroyed five hundred pounds of ball, set a guard of a hundred men at the North Bridge, and sent up a party to the house of Colonel Barrett, where they were in expectation of finding a quantity of warlike 25 stores; but these were happily secured just before their arrival by transfer into the woods and other by-places. In the meantime, the guard set by the enemy to secure the pass at the North Bridge were alarmed by the approach of our people, who had retreated, as mentioned before, 30 and were now advancing with special orders not to fire upon the troops unless fired upon.

These orders were so punctually observed that we received the fire of the enemy in three several and separate discharges of their pieces before it was returned by our commanding officer. The firing then soon became general for several minutes, in which skirmish two were killed on 5 each side and several of the enemy wounded. It may here be observed, by the way, that we were the more careful to prevent beginning a rupture with the King's troops as we were then uncertain what had happened at Lexington and knew not that they had begun the quarrel there by 10 first firing upon our party and killing eight men upon the spot. The British troops soon quitted their post at the bridge and retreated in great disorder and confusion to the main body, who were soon upon the march to meet them. For half an hour the enemy, by their marches and countermarches, 15 discovered great fickleness and inconstancy of mind, sometimes advancing, sometimes returning to their former posts, till at length they quitted the town and retreated by the way they came. In the meantime a party of our men (one hundred and fifty) took the back way through 20 the great fields into the East Quarter and had placed themselves to advantage, lying in ambush behind walls, fences, and buildings, ready to fire upon the enemy on their retreat.

--_Journal._

1. This entry in Mr. Emerson's journal was made on the day of the Lexington-Concord battle. Give the date of it.

2. What poem did the Reverend Mr. Emerson's grandson write about the battle of Concord? Bring it to class and read it.

3. What famous ride is connected with this battle?

4. Describe the fight. Was Mr. Emerson actually engaged in the battle? Give proof of your answer.

HERVÉ RIEL

BY ROBERT BROWNING

Robert Browning (1812-1889) is one of the great poets of England. The following incident of a simple French sailor performing a deed of heroism appealed to Browning's dramatic sense; hence this stirring ballad. The poem was written in 1871, when France was suffering defeat in the Franco-Prussian War. The proceeds from its sale (one hundred pounds) were contributed to French war sufferers.

On the sea and at the Hogue, sixteen hundred ninety-two, Did the English fight the French,--woe to France! And, the thirty-first of May, helter-skelter through the blue, Like a crowd of frightened porpoises a shoal of sharks 5 pursue, Came crowding ship on ship to Saint Malo on the Rance, With the English fleet in view.

'Twas the squadron that escaped, with the victor in full chase; 10 First and foremost of the drove, in his great ship, Damfreville; Close on him fled, great and small, Twenty-two good ships in all; And they signaled to the place-- 15 "Help the winners of a race! Get us guidance, give us harbor, take us quick--or, quicker still, Here's the English can and will!"

Then the pilots of the place put out brisk and leapt on board. "Why, what hope or chance have ships like these to pass?" laughed they. "Rocks to starboard, rocks to port, all the passage scarred 5 and scored, Shall the _Formidable_ here, with her twelve and eighty guns, Think to make the river mouth by the single narrow way, Trust to enter where 'tis ticklish for a craft of twenty tons, And with flow at full beside? 10 Now, 'tis slackest ebb of tide. Reach the mooring? Rather say, While rock stands or water runs, Not a ship will leave the bay!"

Then was called a council straight. 15 Brief and bitter the debate: "Here's the English at our heels; would you have them take in tow All that's left us of the fleet, linked together stern and bow, For a prize to Plymouth Sound? 20 Better run the ships aground!"-- (Ended Damfreville his speech)-- "Not a minute more to wait! Let the captains all and each Shove ashore, then blow up, burn the vessels on the 25 beach! France must undergo her fate.

"Give the word!" But no such word Was ever spoke or heard; For up stood, for out stepped, for in struck, amid all these-- 30 A captain? A lieutenant? A mate--first, second, third? No such man of mark, and meet With his betters to compete, But a simple Breton sailor pressed by Tourville for the fleet-- 5 A poor coasting pilot he, Hervé Riel the Croisickese. And "What mockery or malice have we here?" cries Hervé Riel. "Are you mad, you Malouins? Are you cowards, fools, or rogues? 10 Talk to me of rocks and shoals, me who took the soundings, tell On my fingers every bank, every shallow, every swell, 'Twixt the offing here and Grève where the river disembogues? 15 Are you bought by English gold? Is it love the lying's for? Morn and eve, night and day, Have I piloted your bay, Entered free and anchored fast at the foot of Solidor. 20 Burn the fleet and ruin France? That were worse than fifty Hogues! Sirs, they know I speak the truth! Sirs, believe me there's a way! Only let me lead the line, 25 Have the biggest ship to steer; Get this _Formidable_ clear, Make the others follow mine, And I lead them, most and least, by a passage I know well, Right to Solidor past Grève, 30 And there lay them safe and sound; And if one ship misbehave-- Keel so much as grate the ground-- Why, I've nothing but my life--here's my head!" cries Hervé Riel.