Fifty Famous Stories Retold
she heard screams and wild cries. When day-light came, she could see
the wreck, a mile away, with the angry waters all around it. She could
see the men clinging to the masts.
"We must try to save them!" she cried. "Let us go out in the boat at
once!"
"It is of no use, Grace," said her father. "We cannot reach them."
He was an old man, and he knew the force of the mighty waves.
"We cannot stay here and see them die," said Grace. "We must at least
try to save them."
Her father could not say, "No."
In a few minutes they were ready. They set off in the heavy lighthouse
boat. Grace pulled one oar, and her father the other, and they made
straight toward the wreck. But it was hard rowing against such a sea,
and it seemed as though they would never reach the place.
At last they were close to the rock, and now they were in greater
danger than before. The fierce waves broke against the boat, and it
would have been dashed in pieces, had it not been for the strength and
skill of the brave girl.
But after many trials, Grace's father climbed upon the wreck, while
Grace herself held the boat. Then one by one the worn-out crew were
helped on board. It was all that the girl could do to keep the frail
boat from being drifted away, or broken upon the sharp edges of the
rock.
Then her father clam-bered back into his place. Strong hands grasped
the oars, and by and by all were safe in the lighthouse. There Grace
proved to be no less tender as a nurse than she had been brave as a
sailor. She cared most kindly for the ship-wrecked men until the storm
had died away and they were strong enough to go to their own homes.
All this happened a long time ago, but the name of Grace Darling will
never be forgotten. She lies buried now in a little church-yard by the
sea, not far from her old home. Every year many people go there to see
her grave; and there a mon-u-ment has been placed in honor of the
brave girl. It is not a large mon-u-ment, but it is one that speaks of
the noble deed which made Grace Darling famous. It is a figure carved
in stone of a woman lying at rest, with a boat's oar held fast in her
right hand.
THE STORY OF WILLIAM TELL.
The people of Swit-zer-land were not always free and happy as they are
to-day. Many years ago a proud tyrant, whose name was Gessler, ruled
over them, and made their lot a bitter one indeed.
One day this tyrant set up a tall pole in the public square, and put
his own cap on the top of it; and then he gave orders that every man
who came into the town should bow down before it. But there was one
man, named William Tell, who would not do this. He stood up straight
with folded arms, and laughed at the swinging cap. He would not bow
down to Gessler himself.
When Gessler heard of this, he was very angry. He was afraid that
other men would disobey, and that soon the whole country would rebel
against him. So he made up his mind to punish the bold man.
William Tell's home was among the mountains, and he was a famous
hunter. No one in all the land could shoot with bow and arrow so well
as he. Gessler knew this, and so he thought of a cruel plan to make
the hunter's own skill bring him to grief. He ordered that Tell's
little boy should be made to stand up in the public square with an
apple on his head; and then he bade Tell shoot the apple with one of
his arrows.
Tell begged the tyrant not to have him make this test of his skill.
What if the boy should move? What if the bow-man's hand should
tremble? What if the arrow should not carry true?
"Will you make me kill my boy?" he said.
"Say no more," said Gessler. "You must hit the apple with your one
arrow. If you fail, my sol-diers shall kill the boy before your
eyes."
Then, without another word, Tell fitted the arrow to his bow. He took
aim, and let it fly. The boy stood firm and still. He was not afraid,
for he had all faith in his father's skill.
The arrow whistled through the air. It struck the apple fairly in the
center, and carried it away. The people who saw it shouted with joy.
As Tell was turning away from the place, an arrow which he had hidden
under his coat dropped to the ground.
"Fellow!" cried Gessler, "what mean you with this second arrow?"
"Tyrant!" was Tell's proud answer, "this arrow was for your heart if I
had hurt my child."
And there is an old story, that, not long after this, Tell did shoot
the tyrant with one of his arrows; and thus he set his country free.
ARNOLD WINKELRIED.
A great army was marching into Swit-zer-land. If it should go much
farther, there would be no driving it out again. The soldiers would
burn the towns, they would rob the farmers of their grain and sheep,
they would make slaves of the people.
The men of Switzerland knew all this. They knew that they must fight
for their homes and their lives. And so they came from the mountains
and valleys to try what they could do to save their land. Some came
with bows and arrows, some with scythes and pitch-forks, and some with
only sticks and clubs.
But their foes kept in line as they marched along the road. Every
soldier was fully armed. As they moved and kept close together,
nothing could be seen of them but their spears and shields and shining
armor. What could the poor country people do against such foes as
these?
"We must break their lines," cried their leader; "for we cannot harm
them while they keep together."
The bowmen shot their arrows, but they glanced off from the soldiers'
shields. Others tried clubs and stones, but with no better luck. The
lines were still un-bro-ken. The soldiers moved stead-i-ly onward;
their shields lapped over one another; their thousand spears looked
like so many long bris-tles in the sun-light. What cared they for
sticks and stones and hunts-men's arrows?
"If we cannot break their ranks," said the Swiss, "we have no chance
for fight, and our country will be lost!"
Then a poor man, whose name was Ar-nold Wink'el-ried, stepped out.
"On the side of yonder moun-tain," said he, "I have a happy home.
There my wife and chil-dren wait for my return. But they will not see
me again, for this day I will give my life for my country. And do you,
my friends, do your duty, and Switzerland shall be free."
With these words he ran forward. "Follow me!" he cried to his friends.
"I will break the lines, and then let every man fight as bravely as he
can."
He had nothing in his hands, neither club nor stone nor other weapon.
But he ran straight on-ward to the place where the spears were
thickest.
"Make way for lib-er-ty!" he cried, as he dashed right into the lines.
A hundred spears were turned to catch him upon their points. The
soldiers forgot to stay in their places. The lines were broken.
Arnold's friends rushed bravely after him. They fought with whatever
they had in hand. They snatched spears and shields from their foes.
They had no thought of fear. They only thought of their homes and
their dear native land. And they won at last.
Such a battle no one ever knew before. But Switzerland was saved, and
Arnold Wink-el-ried did not die in vain.
THE BELL OF ATRI.
A-tri is the name of a little town in It-a-ly. It is a very old town,
and is built half-way up the side of a steep hill.
A long time ago, the King of Atri bought a fine large bell, and had it
hung up in a tower in the market place. A long rope that reached
almost to the ground was fas-tened to the bell. The smallest child
could ring the bell by pulling upon this rope.
"It is the bell of justice," said the king.
When at last everything was ready, the people of Atri had a great
holiday. All the men and women and children came down to the market
place to look at the bell of justice. It was a very pretty bell, and
was, pol-ished until it looked almost as bright and yellow as the sun.
"How we should like to hear it ring!" they said.
Then the king came down the street.
"Perhaps he will ring it," said the people; and everybody stood very
still, and waited to see what he would do.
But he did not ring the bell. He did not even take the rope in his
hands. When he came to the foot of the tower, he stopped, and raised
his hand.
"My people," he said, "do you see this beautiful bell? It is your
bell; but it must never be rung except in case of need. If any one of
you is wronged at any time, he may come and ring the bell; and then
the judges shall come together at once, and hear his case, and give
him justice. Rich and poor, old and young, all alike may come; but no
one must touch the rope unless he knows that he has been wronged."
Many years passed by after this. Many times did the bell in the market
place ring out to call the judges together. Many wrongs were righted,
many ill-doers were punished. At last the hempen rope was almost worn
out. The lower part of it was un-twist-ed; some of the strands were
broken; it became so short that only a tall man could reach it.
"This will never do," said the judges one day. "What if a child should
be wronged? It could not ring the bell to let us know it."
They gave orders that a new rope should be put upon the bell at
once,--a rope that should hang down to the ground, so that the
smallest child could reach it. But there was not a rope to be found in
all Atri. They would have to send across the mountains for one, and it
would be many days before it could be brought. What if some great
wrong should be done before it came? How could the judges know about
it, if the in-jured one could not reach the old rope?
"Let me fix it for you," said a man who stood by.
He ran into his garden, which was not far away, and soon came back
with a long grape-vine in his hands.
"This will do for a rope," he said; and he climbed up, and fastened it
to the bell. The slender vine, with its leaves and ten-drils still
upon it, trailed to the ground.
"Yes," said the judges, "it is a very good rope. Let it be as it is."
Now, on the hill-side above the village, there lived a man who had
once been a brave knight. In his youth he had ridden through many
lands, and he had fought in many a battle. His best friend through all
that time had been his horse,--a strong, noble steed that had borne
him safe through many a danger.
But the knight, when he grew older, cared no more to ride into battle;
he cared no more to do brave deeds; he thought of nothing but gold; he
became a miser. At last he sold all that he had, except his horse, and
went to live in a little hut on the hill-side. Day after day he sat
among his money bags, and planned how he might get more gold; and day
after day his horse stood in his bare stall, half-starved, and
shiv-er-ing with cold.
"What is the use of keeping that lazy steed?" said the miser to
himself one morning. "Every week it costs me more to keep him than he
is worth. I might sell him; but there is not a man that wants him. I
cannot even give him away. I will turn him out to shift for himself,
and pick grass by the roadside. If he starves to death, so much the
better."
So the brave old horse was turned out to find what he could among the
rocks on the barren hill-side. Lame and sick, he strolled along the
dusty roads, glad to find a blade of grass or a thistle. The boys
threw stones at him, the dogs barked at him, and in all the world
there was no one to pity him.
One hot afternoon, when no one was upon the street, the horse chanced
to wander into the market place. Not a man nor child was there, for
the heat of the sun had driven them all indoors. The gates were wide
open; the poor beast could roam where he pleased. He saw the
grape-vine rope that hung from the bell of justice. The leaves and
tendrils upon it were still fresh and green, for it had not been there