Stories of Courage and Heroism - Amazon S3

235 Pages·2013·1.26 MB·English

by  Sheila Carroll

Stories of
Courage and Heroism

The Junior Classics
Selected and Arranged By William Patten
Managing Editor of the Harvard Classics
Stories of Courage and Heroism Page 2

PREFACE
The stories in this volume are true stories, and have been arranged in chronological order, an
arrangement that will aid the reader to remember the times to which the stories relate.
Almost any encyclopedia can be consulted for general details of the life stories of the interesting people
whose names crowd the volume except perhaps in the cases of Peter Williamson and John Tanner, "The
True Story of a Kidnapped Boy," and "A White Boy Among the Indians." Peter Williamson was kidnapped
in Glasgow, Scotland, when he was eight years old, was captured by the Cherokee Indians in 1745, and
(though the story does not tell this) he returned to England and became a prominent citizen. He first
made the British Government pay damages for his kidnapping, gave the first exhibition in England of
Indian war dances, and was the first Englishman to publish a street directory. He was finally pensioned
by the Government for his services in establishing a penny post.
John Tanner, the son of a clergyman, was stolen by the Indians some years later. His mother died when
he was very young, his father treated him harshly, and so when the Indians kidnapped him he made no
effort to escape. John remained among them until he was an old man, and the story of his life, which he
was obliged to dictate to others as he could neither read nor write, was first published about 1830. The
stories of these boys are considered to be two of the most reliable early accounts we possess of life
among the Indians.
Acknowledgment for permission to include several stories included in this volume is made in Volume X.
WILLIAM PATTEN.

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

HOW PHIDIAS HELPED THE IMAGE-MAKER
By Beatrice Harraden --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 6
THE FIGHT AT THE PASS OF THERMOPYLÆ
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 9
THE BRAVERY OF REGULUS
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 13
HOW LIVIA WON THE BROOCH
By Beatrice Harraden -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 17
JULIUS CÆSAR CROSSING THE RUBICON
By Jacob Abbott -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 21
FEARLESS SAINT GENEVIEVE, PATRON SAINT OF PARIS
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 28
THE BOY VIKING—OLAF II OF NORWAY
By E. S. Brooks ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 31
THE BOY-HEROES OF CRECY AND POITIERS
By Treadwell Walden -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 41
THE NOBLE BURGHERS OF CALAIS
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 46
HOW CATHERINE DOUGLAS TRIED TO SAVE KING JAMES OF SCOTLAND
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 67
THE BRAVE QUEEN OF HUNGARY
By Charlotte M. Yonge ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 70
A STORY OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS FOR LITTLE CHILDREN
By Elizabeth Harrison -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 75
A SEA-FIGHT IN THE TIME OF QUEEN BESS 81
By Charles Kingsley ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 81
THE ADVENTURE OF GRIZEL COCHRANE
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By Arthur Quiller-Couch ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 97
THE SUNKEN TREASURE
By Nathaniel Hawthorne ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 104
THE LOST EXILES OF TEXAS
By Arthur Gilman ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 107
THE BOY CONQUEROR—CHARLES XII OF SWEDEN
By E. S. Brooks -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 111
THE TRUE STORY OF A KIDNAPPED BOY AS TOLD BY HIMSELF
By Peter Williamson ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 120
A WHITE BOY AMONG THE INDIANS, AS TOLD BY HIMSELF
John Tanner ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 132
EVANGELINE OF ACADIA
By Henry W. Longfellow -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 138
JABEZ ROCKWELL'S POWDER-HORN
By Ralph D. Paine ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 143
A MAN WHO COVETED WASHINGTON'S SHOES
By Frank E. Stockton ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 150
A FAMOUS FIGHT BETWEEN AN ENGLISH AND A FRENCH FRIGATE
By Rev. W. H. Fitchett, LL. D. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 155
THE TRICK OF AN INDIAN SPY
By Arthur Quiller-Couch -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 157
THE MAN IN THE "AUGER HOLE."
THE REMARKABLE VOYAGE OF THE BOUNTY
Anonymous ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 166
THE TWO BOY HOSTAGES AT THE SIEGE OF SERINGAPATAM
Anonymous ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 173
THE MAN WHO SPOILED NAPOLEON'S "DESTINY"
By Rev. W. H. Fitchett, LL.D. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 175
A FIRE-FIGHTER'S RESCUE FROM THE FLAMES
By Arthur Quiller-Couch -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 180
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HOW NAPOLEON REWARDED HIS MEN
By Lieutenant-General Baron de Marbot ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- 183
A RESCUE FROM SHIPWRECK
By Arthur Quiller-Couch -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 189
REBECCA THE DRUMMER
By Charles Barnard --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 193
THE MESSENGER
By M. E. M. Davis ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 197
HUMPHRY DAVY AND THE SAFETY-LAMP
By George C. Towle -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 205
KIT CARSON'S DUEL
By Emerson Hough --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 207
THE STORY OF GRACE DARLING
Anonymous ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 214
THE STRUGGLES OF CHARLES GOODYEAR
By George C. Towle -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 217
OLD JOHNNY APPLESEED
By Elizabeth Harrison ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 219
THE LITTLE POST-BOY
By Bayard Taylor------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ 221
HOW JUNE FOUND MASSA LINKUM
By Elizabeth Stuart Phelps ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 226
THE STORY OF A FOREST FIRE
By Raymond S. Spears----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 233

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HOW PHIDIAS HELPED THE IMAGE-MAKER
By Beatrice Harraden
During the time when Pericles was at the head of the state at Athens he spared no pains and no money
to make the city beautiful. He himself was a lover and patron of the arts, and he was determined that
Athens should become the very centre of art and refinement, and that she should have splendid public
buildings and splendid sculptures and paintings. So he gathered round him all the great sculptors and
painters, and set them to work to carry out his ambitious plans; and some of you know that the "Age of
Pericles" is still spoken of as an age in which art advanced towards and attained to a marvellous
perfection.
On the Acropolis, or Citadel of Athens, rose the magnificent Temple of Athena, called the Parthenon,
built under the direction of Phidias, the most celebrated sculptor of that time, who adorned it with
many of his works, and especially with the huge statue of Athena in ivory, forty-seven feet in height. The
Acropolis was also enriched with another figure of Athena in bronze—also the work of Phidias.
The statue was called the "Athena Promachus"; that is "The Defender." If you turn to your Grecian
History you will find a full description of the Parthenon and the other temples of the gods and heroes
and guardian deities of the city. But I want to tell you something about Phidias himself, and little Iris, an
image-maker's daughter.
It was in the year 450 B.C., in the early summer, and Phidias, who had been working all the day, strolled
quietly along the streets of Athens.
As he passed by the Agora (or market-place), he chanced to look up, and he saw a young girl of about
thirteen years sitting near him. Her face was of the purest beauty; her head was gracefully poised on her
shoulders; her expression was sadness itself. She looked poor and in distress. She came forward and
begged for help; and there was something in her manner, as well as in her face, which made Phidias
pause and listen to her.
"My father lies ill," she said plaintively, "and he cannot do his work, and so we can get no food: nothing
to make him well and strong again. If I could only do his work for him I should not mind; and then I
should not beg. He does not know I came out to beg—he would never forgive me; but I could not bear
to see him lying there without food."
"And who is your father?" asked Phidias kindly.
"His name is Aristæus," she said, "and he is a maker of images—little clay figures of gods and goddesses
and heroes. Indeed, he is clever; and I am sure you would praise the 'Hercules' he finished before he was
taken ill."
"Take me to your home," Phidias said to the girl; as they passed on together he asked her many
questions about the image-maker. She was proud of her father; and Phidias smiled to himself when he
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heard her speak of this father as though he were the greatest sculptor in Athens. He liked to hear her
speak so enthusiastically.
"Is it not wonderful," she said, "to take the clay and work in into forms? Not everyone could do that—
could you do it?"
Phidias laughed.
"Perhaps not so well as your father," he answered kindly. "Still,
I can do it."
A sudden thought struck Iris.
"Perhaps you would help father?" she said eagerly. "Ah! but I ought not to have said that."
"Perhaps I can help him," replied Phidias good-naturedly. "Anyway, take me to him."
She led him through some side streets into the poorest parts of the city, and stopped before a little
window, where a few roughly-wrought images and vases were exposed to view. She beckoned to him to
follow her, and opening the door, crept gently into a room which served as their workshop and dwelling-
place. Phidias saw a man stretched out on a couch at the farther end of the room, near a bench where
many images and pots of all sorts lay unfinished.
"This is our home," whispered Iris proudly, "and that is my father yonder."
The image-maker looked up and called for Iris.
"I am so faint, child," he murmured. "If I could only become strong again I could get back to my work. It
is so hard to lie here and die."
Phidias bent over him.
"You shall not die," he said, "if money can do you any good. I met your little daughter, and she told me
that you were an image-maker; and that interested me, because I, too, can make images, though
perhaps not as well as you. Still, I thought I should like to come and see you and help you; and if you will
let me, I will try and make a few images for you, so that your daughter may go out and sell them, and
bring you home money. And meanwhile, she shall fetch you some food to nourish you."
Then he turned to Iris, and putting some coins into her hands bade her go out and bring what she
thought fit. She did not know how to thank him, but hurried away on her glad errand, and Phidias talked
kindly to his fellow-worker, and then, throwing aside his cloak, sat down at the bench and busied
himself with modelling the clay.
It was so different from his ordinary work that he could not help smiling.
"This is rather easier," he thought to himself, "than carving from the marble a statue of Athena. What a
strange occupation!" Nevertheless, he was so interested in modelling the quaint little images that he did
not perceive that Iris had returned, until he looked up, and saw her standing near him, watching him
with wonder, which she could not conceal.
"Oh, how clever!" she cried. "Father, if you could only see what he is doing!"
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"Nay, child," said the sculptor, laughing; "get your father his food, and leave me to my work. I am going
to model a little image of the goddess Athena, for I think the folk will like to buy that, since that rogue
Phidias has set up his statue of her in the Parthenon."
"Phidias, the prince of sculptors!" said the image-maker. "May the gods preserve his life; for he is the
greatest glory of all Athens!"
"Ay," said Iris, as she prepared her father's food, "that is what we all call him—the greatest glory of all
Athens."
"We think of him," said Aristæus, feebly, "and that helps us in our work. Yes, it helps even us poor
image-makers. When I saw the beautiful Athena I came home cheered and encouraged. May Phidias be
watched over and blessed all his life!"
The tears came into the eyes of Phidias as he bent over his work; it was a pleasure to him to think that
his fame gained for him a resting-place of love and gratitude in the hearts of the poorest citizens of
Athens. He valued this tribute of the image-maker far more than the praises of the rich and great.
Before he left, he saw that both father and daughter were much refreshed by the food which his bounty
had given to them, and he bade Aristæus be of good cheer, because he would surely regain his health
and strength.
"And because you love your art," he said, "I shall be a friend to you and help you. And I shall come again
to-morrow and do some work for you—that is to say, if you approve of what I have already done, and
then Iris will be able to go out and sell the figures."
He hastened away before they were able to thank him, and he left them wondering who this new friend
could be. They talked of him for a long time, of his kindness and his skill; and Aristæus dreamt that night
about the stranger who had come to work for him.
The next day Phidias came again, and took his place at the image-maker's bench, just as if he were
always accustomed to sit there. Aristæus, who was better, watched him curiously, but asked no
questions.
But Iris said to him: "My father and I talk of you, and wonder who you are."
Phidias laughed.
"Perhaps I shall tell you some day," he answered. "There, child, what do you think of that little vase?
When it is baked it will be a pretty thing."
As the days went on, the image-maker recovered his strength; and meanwhile Phidias had filled the little
shop with dainty-wrought images and graceful vases, such as had never been seen there before.
One evening, when Aristæus was leaning against Iris, and admiring the stranger's work, the door opened
and Phidias came in.
"What, friend," he said cheerily, "you are better to-night I see!"
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"Last night," said Aristæus, "I dreamt that the friend who held out a brother's hand to me and helped
me in my trouble was the great Phidias himself. It did not seem wonderful to me, for only the great do
such things as you have done for me. You must be great."
"I do not know about that," said the sculptor, smiling, "and after all, I have not done so much for you. I
have only helped a brother-workman: for I am an image-maker too—and my name is Phidias."
Then Aristæus bent down and reverently kissed the great sculptor's hands.
"I cannot find words with which to thank you," he murmured, "but I shall pray to the gods night and day
that they will for ever bless Phidias, and keep his fame pure, and his hands strong to fashion forms of
beauty. And this I know well: that he will always have a resting-place of love and gratitude in the poor
image-maker's heart."
And Phidias went on his way, tenfold richer and happier for the image-maker's words. For there is
something lovelier than fame and wealth, my children; it is the opportunity of giving the best of one's
self and the best of one's powers to aid those of our fellow-workers who need our active help.
THE FIGHT AT THE PASS OF THERMOPYLÆ
By Charlotte M. Yonge
There was trembling in Greece. "The Great King," as the Greeks called Xerxes, the chief ruler of the East,
was marshaling his forces against the little free states that nestled amid the rocks and gulfs of the
Eastern Mediterranean—the whole of which together would hardly equal one province of the huge
Asiatic realm! Moreover, it was a war not only on the men but on their gods. The Persians were zealous
adorers of the sun and the fire, they abhorred the idol-worship of the Greeks, and defiled and plundered
every temple that fell in their way. Death and desolation were almost the best that could be looked for
at such hands—slavery and torture from cruelly barbarous masters would only too surely be the lot of
numbers, should their land fall a prey to the conquerors.
The muster place was at Sardis, and there Greek spies had seen the multitudes assembling and the state
and magnificence of the king's attendants. Envoys had come from him to demand earth and water from
each state in Greece, as emblems that land and sea were his, but each state was resolved to be free, and
only Thessaly, that which lay first in his path, consented to yield the token of subjugation. A council was
held at the Isthmus of Corinth, and attended by deputies from all the states of Greece to consider of the
best means of defense. The ships of the enemy would coast round the shores of the Ægean Sea, the land
army would cross the Hellespont on a bridge of boats lashed together, and march southwards into
Greece. The only hope of averting the danger lay in defending such passages as, from the nature of the
ground, were so narrow that only a few persons could fight hand to hand at once, so that courage would
be of more avail than numbers.
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The first of these passes was called Tempe, and a body of troops was sent to guard it; but they found
that this was useless and impossible, and came back again. The next was at Thermopylæ. Look in your
map of the Archipelago, or Ægean Sea, as it was then called, for the great island of Negropont, or by its
old name, Euboea. It looks like a piece broken off from the coast, and to the north is shaped like the
head of a bird, with the beak running into a gulf, that would fit over it, upon the main land, and between
the island and the coast is an exceedingly narrow strait. The Persian army would have to march round
the edge of the gulf. They could not cut straight across the country, because the ridge of mountains
called Oeta rose up and barred their way. Indeed, the woods, rocks, and precipices came down so near
the seashore, that in two places there was only room for one single wheel track between the steeps and
the impassable morass that formed the border of the gulf on its south side. These two very narrow
places were called the gates of the pass, and were about a mile apart. There was a little more width left
in the intervening space; but in this there were a number of springs of warm mineral water, salt and
sulphurous, which were used for the sick to bathe in, and thus the place was called Thermopylæ, or the
Hot Gates. A wall had once been built across the westernmost of these narrow places, when the
Thessalians and Phocians, who lived on either side of it, had been at war with one another; but it had
been allowed to go to decay, since the Phocians had found out that there was a very steep narrow
mountain path along the bed of a torrent, by which it was possible to cross from one territory to the
other without going round this marshy coast road.
This was, therefore, an excellent place to defend. The Greek ships were all drawn up on the further side
of Euboea to prevent the Persian vessels from getting into the strait and landing men beyond the pass,
and a division of the army was sent off to guard the Hot Gates. The council at the Isthmus did not know
of the mountain pathway, and thought that all would be safe as long as the Persians were kept out of
the coast path.
The troops sent for this purpose were from different cities, and amounted to about 4,000 who were to
keep the pass against two millions. The leader of them was Leonidas, who had newly become one of the
two kings of Sparta, the city that above all in Greece trained its sons to be hardy soldiers, dreading death
infinitely less than shame. Leonidas had already made up his mind that the expedition would probably
be his death, perhaps because a prophecy had been given at the Temple at Delphi that Sparta should be
saved by the death of one of her kings of the race of Hercules. He was allowed by law to take with him
300 men, and these he chose most carefully, not merely for their strength and courage, but selecting
those who had sons, so that no family might be altogether destroyed. These Spartans, with their helots
or slaves, made up his own share of the numbers, but all the army was under his generalship. It is even
said that the 300 celebrated their own funeral rites before they set out lest they should be deprived of
them by the enemy, since, as we have already seen, it was the Greek belief that the spirits of the dead
found no rest till their obsequies had been performed. Such preparations did not daunt the spirits of
Leonidas and his men, and his wife, Gorgo, not a woman to be faint-hearted or hold him back. Long
before, when she was a very little girl, a word of hers had saved her father from listening to a traitorous
message from the King of Persia; and every Spartan lady was bred up to be able to say to those she best
loved that they must come home from battle "with the shield or on it"—either carrying it victoriously or
borne upon it as a corpse.
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