Part 9

Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend, For the lesson thou hast taught! Thus, at the flaming forge of life, Our fortunes must be wrought; Thus, on its sounding anvil, shaped Each burning deed and thought!

--HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

THE SEARCH FOR A WESTERN SEA

Two hundred years ago the great country lying between Lake Superior and the Rocky Mountains was unknown to the people who lived in the little stockaded forts, where Quebec, Montreal, and Three Rivers now stand. Great explorers had followed Columbus to America, and had sailed down the mighty St. Lawrence and its tributaries. They all longed to find the Great Western Sea, which Columbus had hoped would lead to Asia; but over two hundred years had passed since his voyage, and no one had yet reached the great water of the West.

When Pierre de la Vérendrye was a boy, living at Three Rivers, he heard many wonderful stories of adventure told by fur traders and explorers as they returned from expeditions to the North and West, and he longed for the time to come when he would be old enough to join such a party. When he was twenty-seven years old, he had charge of a trading-post on Lake Nepigon, and heard from the neighboring Indians of great lakes and rivers, and immense tracts of treeless country where herds of cattle roamed. He had not forgotten the dream of his boyhood, and when these tales of a land far west reached him, he made up his mind that he would be the one to explore the country and find a way to the Western Sea.

Years passed by, and it was not until 1731 that his dream was realized. He had spent years in preparing for the expedition. The governor at Quebec had given him a license to trade with the Indians, and Montreal merchants promised to supply him with money and goods. On the eighth day of June the company set out from Montreal. It consisted of Vérendrye, his three tall sons, Jean, Pierre and François, and fifty followers. There were the priests, the hardy voyageurs, the wood runners, and the Indian interpreters. They embarked in birch canoes measuring from eighty to ninety feet in length. In the bottom of the canoes were strongly wrapped packages of merchandise which were to be exchanged on the way for furs.

In seventy-eight days they reached Kaministiquia, a fur post on Lake Superior, where Fort William now stands. This was the last Western post. All the country beyond this would be new to the eager voyageurs. Sailing down the Pigeon River, they entered Rainy Lake and built Fort St. Pierre on its left bank. Winter was approaching and their supply of provisions was getting low, so it was necessary for some of the party to return to the nearest trading-post to obtain provisions and goods in exchange for valuable furs. The Cree Indians who inhabited this district had gazed in wonder at the presents of ammunition offered to them by the white men, and had gladly given generous supplies of furs in exchange for these new possessions.

When spring came, the voyageurs accepted the friendly offer of the Indians to guide them west to the Lake of the Woods. It was several months before the next long stop was made. They had reached the head of the lake when it was again necessary to stop and build a fort for their winter stay. This fort, built of logs, chinked up with clay and moss, and roofed with branches of trees, was called St. Charles.

The next year they reached Lake Winnipeg by way of the Winnipeg River, and near its mouth they built Fort Maurepas, now known as Fort Alexander. In 1738, after travelling over many miles of the surrounding country, Vérendrye left this fort, crossed the southern end of Lake Winnipeg, and entered the Red River, which he followed until he came to its junction with the Assiniboine, and to the place where the city of Winnipeg now stands. The land around the river was dotted with the tepees of the Assiniboine Indians, who probably now looked upon a white man for the first time. A rude fort called Fort Rouge was built, and leaving his sons to trade with the Indians, Vérendrye pushed on up the Assiniboine and in one week came to the “Portage of the Prairie.” This was called by the explorer, Fort De La Reine.

Vérendrye had now spent seven years in his search for the Western Sea. He had suffered many hardships. His men had often mutinied and deserted him. Winter had overtaken him when supplies were low, and in these times of famine he and his men had lived on roots and bark, coarse parchment, and often on the flesh of the sleigh dogs. His eldest son, Jean, had been cruelly murdered by the Indians, while he was journeying to one of the eastern forts for supplies. Still the brave explorer’s courage did not fail, and he pressed on hoping to find some sign, or hear some word that would tell him his quest had not been in vain.

The merchants at Montreal upon whom Vérendrye depended for aid were not interested in his work of exploration, but cared only for the loads of valuable furs which he sent to them. Fur traders were jealous of his success, and charged him with trading for his own profit, and deceiving his partners. Leaving his sons to continue their explorations, he returned to Quebec in 1746 to defend himself against these false charges.

Nothing could be proved against him, but this was small comfort to the worn-out traveller. His life had been one of suffering and disappointment, and his countrymen did not realize the noble work he had done, yet he was eager to return to his sons and continue the work he had begun. In 1749 he was preparing for the journey back to the West, when he was taken ill, and died suddenly at Montreal. Though his work was not appreciated during his lifetime, he is now honored as the pioneer explorer of the Great West.

--HELEN PALK.

THE MOSS ROSE

The angel of the flowers, one day, Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay,-- That spirit to whose charge ’tis given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the rose: “O fondest object of my care, Still fairest found, where all are fair; For the sweet shade thou giv’st me, Ask what thou wilt, ’tis granted thee.” “Then,” said the rose, with deepened glow, “On me another grace bestow.” The spirit paused, in silent thought,-- What grace was there the flower had not? ’Twas but a moment,--o’er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws, And robed in nature’s simplest weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed?

--F. A. KRUMMACHER.

WOODMAN, SPARE THAT TREE!

Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I’ll protect it now. ’Twas my forefather’s hand That placed it near his cot; There, woodman, let it stand, Thy axe shall harm it not!

That old familiar tree, Whose glory and renown Are spread o’er land and sea-- And would’st thou hew it down? Woodman, forbear thy stroke! Cut not its earth-bound ties; Oh, spare that aged oak Now towering to the skies!

When but an idle boy, I sought its grateful shade; In all their gushing joy Here, too, my sisters played. My mother kissed me here, My father pressed my hand-- Forgive this foolish tear, But let that old oak stand.

My heartstrings round thee cling, Close as thy bark, old friend! Here shall the wild bird sing, And still thy branches bend. Old tree! the storm still brave! And woodman, leave the spot; While I’ve a hand to save, Thy axe shall harm it not.

--GEORGE P. MORRIS.

DICK WHITTINGTON

Many years ago in an English village there lived a boy whose name was Dick Whittington. His father and mother died when he was so young that he did not remember them at all. He had no home, and was a ragged little fellow running about the streets of the little village.

Now the place where Dick lived was not very far from London, and the people liked to talk about the great city. None of them had ever been to London, but they seemed to know all about the wonderful things that were to be seen there. Dick listened to their stories and longed to see for himself. One day a large wagon drawn by eight fine horses with bells on their heads was driven into the little town. When Dick saw this wagon he thought that it must be going to the city, and he asked the driver to let him go with him. When the driver learned that Dick was very poor, and that he had neither father nor mother, he told the lad that he might walk by the side of the wagon if he wished.

It was a long walk for the little fellow, but at last they came to London. Dick was in a great hurry to see the wonderful sights of the city. He thanked the driver of the wagon and ran from one street to another. At last it began to grow dark, and in every street there was only dirt instead of gold. Nowhere could he find the golden pavements that he had heard so much about. He sat down in a dark corner and cried himself to sleep.

In the morning he woke up very hungry, but there was not even a crust of bread for him to eat. He thought now only of food, and asked every one he met to give him a penny to buy something to eat. Nobody stopped to speak to him, and the poor boy grew weak for want of food. At last he grew so faint and tired that he could go no farther. He sat down on the steps of a fine house to rest, and wished that he were back again in the little village where he was born.

Just at that time the owner of the house came home to dinner, and saw the ragged little fellow asleep on the steps.

“My lad, what are you doing here? Wake up, my boy. Why don’t you go to work?”

“I should like to work if I could find anything to do,” said Dick, “but I don’t know where to look for work. I have not had anything to eat for a long time.”

“Poor little fellow! Come with me, and I shall see what I can do for you.” The kind merchant took Dick into the house, where he was given a good dinner, and put to work in the kitchen.

Dick would have lived very happily in this new home if the old cook had not been so cross. She found fault with him, and scolded him from morning till night. But at last little Alice, his master’s daughter, heard how the poor little kitchen boy was treated, and she asked the cook to be kind to the lad.

From this time Dick was not treated so unkindly, and he would have been quite happy if it had not been for another trouble. His bed was in a garret at the top of the house, far away from other people. The floor was full of holes, and every night rats and mice kept him awake by running over his face. They tormented him so much that he tried to think of some way to get rid of them.

One day a gentleman gave him a penny for cleaning his shoes. Dick thought a long time about the best way to spend it. At last he made up his mind that he would buy a cat with the money. The very next day he went out into the street and saw a girl carrying a cat in her arms.

“I will give you a penny for your cat,” said Dick. “Will you take it?”

“Yes,” said the girl, “you may have her for a penny. She is worth more than that, for she knows how to catch rats and mice.”

So Dick bought the cat, and took her to the garret. Every day he carried a part of his dinner to her, and it was not long before she had driven all the rats and mice away. Then the little fellow could sleep soundly every night.

Soon after this a ship belonging to Dick’s master was about to start on a voyage across the sea. It was loaded with goods which were to be sold in other lands far away. The master called his servants together and asked if they had anything they would like to send out in the ship for trade. He wanted to give his servants a chance for a good fortune, too. Every one had something to send out in the ship--every one but Dick. As he had neither money nor goods, he did not meet with the others.

But Alice, the merchant’s daughter, guessed why Dick did not come in with the rest of the servants, and sent for him. When the boy came into the room the merchant said, “Well, Dick, what are you going to send out on the ship?”

“I have nothing in the world,” Dick answered, “but a cat which I bought some time ago for a penny. But I should not like to part with her.”

“Go, and get your cat, my lad. We shall send her out on the ship. She may bring you some profit,--who knows?”

With tears in his eyes poor Dick carried puss down to the ship and gave her to the captain. Everybody laughed at the boy for sending off a cat to be sold. But little Alice felt sorry for him and gave him some money to buy another cat.

After this the old cook used him more cruelly than ever. She was always either scolding him, or making fun of him for sending his cat to sea. At last Dick could not bear her abuse any longer, and made up his mind to go back to his old home. So he packed up his few possessions and very early one morning started off. After walking some distance he sat down on a stone which to this day is called “Whittington’s Stone.” While he sat there, wondering what it was best for him to do, the church bells began to ring. As he listened they seemed to say to him:--

“Turn again, Whittington, Thrice Lord Mayor of London.”

“Lord Mayor of London!” said Dick to himself. “Well, well, I would put up with almost anything to be Lord Mayor of London. I shall return and let the old cook scold and cuff me as much as she pleases.” He hurried back to the merchant’s house and was lucky to get into the kitchen before the old cook came downstairs. In fact, she never knew that he had been away.

The ship with the cat on board was a long time at sea. It was at last driven by the winds to a strange land where the people had never seen any white men before. They came in crowds to visit the ship, and to buy the fine things with which it was loaded.

It was not long before the king of the country invited the captain to visit him. When the captain reached the king’s palace he was shown into a beautiful room, and given a seat on rich carpets embroidered with gold and silver thread. The king and queen were seated not far away, and soon many fine dishes filled with good things to eat were set before them. They had hardly begun to eat when a great many rats and mice rushed into the room and ate everything that was in the dishes. The captain wondered greatly at this, and asked the king, “Why do you let the rats come into the palace in this way?”

“I cannot keep them out,” the king replied. “I would give half of my treasure if I could get rid of them.”

The captain jumped for joy, for he remembered Dick Whittington’s cat. “I have a wonderful animal on board the ship which will kill all your rats and mice,” he said.

“Bring the creature to me,” said the king. “If she will do what you say, I shall load your ship with gold.”

Away went the captain down to the ship to get the cat, while the king and queen had another dinner made ready. The captain with the cat in his arms reached the palace just as the guests were about to be served. In rushed the rats and mice. As soon as the cat saw them she jumped from the captain’s arms, and in a few minutes killed many of them. The rest scampered away in fright and did not dare to come back again.

The king and queen were delighted, and wished to own the wonderful creature that had done them so great a service. The king at once made a bargain with the captain for all the goods on board the ship, and then gave for the cat ten times as much money as he had given for everything else on the ship.

The captain then bade the king and queen good-by, and set sail for England. The good ship was soon safe at home, and the honest captain hastened to see its owner. He quickly told the story of the cat, and showed all the gold that the king and queen had sent to poor Dick in payment for her. As soon as the merchant heard this, he called to one of his servants and said, “Send for Dick. And pray call him Mr. Whittington.”

The servant found Dick scouring pots and kettles in the kitchen. When the lad came in, the merchant told him how the captain had sold his cat and brought in return great riches. Then he opened the box and showed Dick his treasure. “All this is yours,” said the merchant. “Your riches are now far greater than mine, and I wish you may long enjoy them.”

Poor Dick was so happy that he did not know what to say or do. He begged his master to take part of his treasure, but the good man refused. Dick then offered some of the jewels to his mistress, and he also asked Alice to accept a portion of them. They told him how happy they were because of his good fortune, and that he must keep it all for his own. But the boy was too kind-hearted to keep everything for himself. He made a present to the captain and the sailors, and to each of his master’s servants, even to the cross old cook.

After a few years had passed there was a fine wedding at one of the finest churches in London, and Miss Alice became the wife of Mr. Richard Whittington. They lived in great splendor and were very happy. Far and near they were known and loved for their kind deeds.

So it was not long before Richard Whittington became one of the foremost men in London, and in good time he was thrice Lord Mayor of the great city.

--SELECTED.

SOMEBODY’S MOTHER

The woman was poor, and old, and gray, And bent with the chill of the winter’s day;

The street was wet with a recent snow, And the woman’s feet were aged and slow.

She stood at the crossing, and waited long, Alone, uncared for, amid the throng

Of human beings who passed her by, Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.

Down the street, with laughter and shout, Glad in the freedom of “school let out,”

Came the boys, like a flock of sheep, Hailing the snow, piled white and deep;

Past the woman so old and gray, Hastened the children on their way,

Nor offered a helping hand to her, So meek, so timid, afraid to stir

Lest the carriage wheels or the horses’ feet Should knock her down in the slippery street.

At last came one of the merry troop-- The gayest laddie of all the group;

He paused beside her and whispered low, “I’ll help you across if you wish to go.”

Her aged hand on his strong young arm She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,

He guided the trembling feet along, Proud that his own were firm and strong.

Then back to his friends again he went, His young heart happy and well content.

“She’s somebody’s mother, boys, you know, For all she’s aged, and poor and slow;

“And I hope some fellow will lend a hand To help my mother, if she should stand

“At a crossing, weary and old and gray, When her own dear boy is far away.”

And “somebody’s mother” bowed low her head In her home that night, and the prayer she said

Was “God, be kind to the noble boy, Who is somebody’s son, and pride, and joy.”

--ANONYMOUS.

THE LORD IS MY SHEPHERD

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul: He guideth me in the paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: For thou art with me; Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.

Thou preparest a table before me In the presence of mine enemies: Thou hast anointed my head with oil; My cup runneth over.

Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life: And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

--_From the Book of Psalms._

BLACK BEAUTY’S BREAKING IN

I was now beginning to grow handsome; my coat had grown fine and soft, and was bright black. I had one white foot, and a pretty white star on my forehead. I was thought very handsome. My master would not sell me until I was four years old; he said lads ought not to work like men, and colts ought not to work like horses, until they were grown up.

When I was four years old, Squire Gordon came to look at me. He examined my eyes, my mouth, and my legs; he felt them all down, and then I had to walk and trot and gallop before him. He seemed to like me, and said, “When he has been well broken in, he will do very well.” My master said he would break me in himself, as he should not like me to be frightened or hurt; and he lost no time about it, for the next day he began.

Every one may not know what breaking in is, therefore I shall describe it. It means to teach a horse to wear a saddle and bridle, and to carry on his back a man, woman, or child; to go just the way his rider wishes, and to go quietly. Besides this, he has to learn to wear a collar, a crupper, and a breeching, and to stand still whilst they are put on; then to have a cart or a wagon fixed behind him, so that he cannot walk or trot without dragging it after him; and he must go fast or slow, just as his driver wishes. He must never start at what he sees, nor speak to other horses, nor bite, nor kick, nor have any will of his own, but always do his master’s will, even though he may be very tired or hungry. But the worst of all is when his harness is once on, he may neither jump for joy nor lie down for weariness. So you see this breaking in is a great thing.

I had, of course, long been used to the halter and the headstall, and to be led about in the fields and lanes quietly; but now I was to have a bit and bridle. My master gave me some oats, as usual, and, after a great deal of coaxing, he got the bit into my mouth, and the bridle fixed; but it was a nasty thing!

Those who have never had a bit in their mouths cannot think how bad it feels--a great piece of cold, hard steel as thick as a man’s finger to be pushed into one’s mouth, between one’s teeth and over one’s tongue, with the ends coming out at the corner of one’s mouth, and held fast there by straps over one’s head, under one’s throat, round one’s nose, and under one’s chin, so that no way in the world can one get rid of the nasty, hard thing. It is very bad; yes, very bad! at least I thought so; but I knew my mother always wore one when she went out, and all horses did when they were grown up. And so, what with the nice oats, and what with my master’s pats, kind words, and gentle ways, I got to wear my bit and bridle.

Next came the saddle; but that was not half so bad. My master put it on my back very gently, whilst the old workman held my head. He then made the girths fast under my body, patting and talking to me all the time. Then I had a few oats, then a little leading about; and this he did every day, until I began to look for the oats and the saddle. At length, one morning, my master got on my back, and rode me round the meadow on the soft grass. It certainly did feel queer; but I must say I felt rather proud to carry my master, and, as he continued to ride me a little every day, I soon became accustomed to it.

The next unpleasant business was putting on the iron shoes. My master went with me to the smith’s forge to see that I was not hurt. The blacksmith took my feet in his hand, one after the other, and cut away some of the hoof. It did not pain me, and so I stood still on three legs until he had done them all. Then he took a piece of iron the shape of my foot and clapped it on, and drove some nails through the shoe quite into my hoof, so that the shoe was firmly on. My feet felt very stiff and heavy, but in time I became used to it.