Ye mariners of EnglandThat guard our native seas,Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,The battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe:And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave—For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o'er the mountain waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below—As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn,Till danger's troubled night departAnd the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.
Ye mariners of EnglandThat guard our native seas,Whose flag has braved, a thousand years,The battle and the breeze!Your glorious standard launch againTo match another foe:And sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
The spirits of your fathersShall start from every wave—For the deck it was their field of fame,And Ocean was their grave:Where Blake and mighty Nelson fellYour manly hearts shall glow,As ye sweep through the deep,While the stormy winds do blow;While the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
Britannia needs no bulwarks,No towers along the steep;Her march is o'er the mountain waves,Her home is on the deep.With thunders from her native oakShe quells the floods below—As they roar on the shore,When the stormy winds do blow;When the battle rages loud and long,And the stormy winds do blow.
The meteor flag of EnglandShall yet terrific burn,Till danger's troubled night departAnd the star of peace return.Then, then, ye ocean-warriors!Our song and feast shall flowTo the fame of your name,When the storm has ceased to blow;When the fiery fight is heard no more,And the storm has ceased to blow.
Thomas Campbell
It is the land that freemen till;That sober-suited Freedom chose,The Land, where girt with friends or foesA man may speak the thing he will;A land of settled government,A land of old and just renown,Where freedom broadens slowly downFrom precedent to precedent.
It is the land that freemen till;That sober-suited Freedom chose,The Land, where girt with friends or foesA man may speak the thing he will;A land of settled government,A land of old and just renown,Where freedom broadens slowly downFrom precedent to precedent.
Tennyson
Hear, ye children, the instruction of a father, and attend to know understanding. Get wisdom, get understanding: forget it not; neither decline from the words of my mouth. Forsake her not, and she shall preserve thee: love her, and she shall keep thee. Wisdom is the principal thing; therefore get wisdom: and with all thy getting get understanding. Exalt her, and she shall promote thee: she shall bring thee to honour, when thou dost embrace her. She shall give to thine head an ornament of grace: a crown of glory shall she deliver to thee.
My son, attend to my words; incline thine ear unto my sayings. Let them not depart from thine eyes; keep them in the midst of thine heart. For they are life unto those that find them and health to all their flesh. Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life. Put away from thee a froward mouth, and perverse lips put far from thee. Let thine eyes look right on, and let thine eyelids look straight before thee. Ponder the path of thy feet, and let all thy ways be established. Turn not to the right hand nor to the left: remove thy foot from evil.
Proverbs, IV.
Oh, to be in EnglandNow that April's there,And whoever wakes in EnglandSees, some morning, unaware,That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheafRound the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,While the chaffinch sings on the orchard boughIn England—now!And after April, when May follows,And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the cloverBlossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,Lest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children's dower,—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
Oh, to be in EnglandNow that April's there,And whoever wakes in EnglandSees, some morning, unaware,That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheafRound the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,While the chaffinch sings on the orchard boughIn England—now!
And after April, when May follows,And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows!Hark! where my blossomed pear-tree in the hedgeLeans to the field and scatters on the cloverBlossoms and dewdrops—at the bent spray's edge—That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,Lest you should think he never could recaptureThe first fine careless rapture!And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,All will be gay when noontide wakes anewThe buttercups, the little children's dower,—Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
Browning
With deep affection and recollectionI often think of those Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood,Fling round my cradle their magic spells.On this I ponder where'er I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in,Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate;—But all their music spoke naught like thine.For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole in,Their thunder rolling from the Vatican;And cymbals glorious swinging uproariousIn the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of PeterFlings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly;O, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.There's a bell in Moscow; while on tower and kiosk O!In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets,And loud in air calls men to prayerFrom the tapering summits of tall minarets.Such empty phantom I freely grant them;But there's an anthem more dear to me;'Tis the bells of Shandon that sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.
With deep affection and recollectionI often think of those Shandon bells,Whose sounds so wild would, in the days of childhood,Fling round my cradle their magic spells.On this I ponder where'er I wander,And thus grow fonder, sweet Cork, of thee;With thy bells of Shandon that sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I've heard bells chiming full many a clime in,Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine;While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate;—But all their music spoke naught like thine.For memory dwelling on each proud swellingOf thy belfry knelling its bold notes free,Made the bells of Shandon sound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.
I've heard bells tolling old Adrian's Mole in,Their thunder rolling from the Vatican;And cymbals glorious swinging uproariousIn the gorgeous turrets of Notre Dame.But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome of PeterFlings o'er the Tiber, pealing solemnly;O, the bells of Shandon sound far more grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.
There's a bell in Moscow; while on tower and kiosk O!In Saint Sophia the Turkman gets,And loud in air calls men to prayerFrom the tapering summits of tall minarets.Such empty phantom I freely grant them;But there's an anthem more dear to me;'Tis the bells of Shandon that sound so grand onThe pleasant waters of the River Lee.
Francis Mahony
The man whom I call worthy of the name, is one whose thoughts and exertions are for others rather than for himself; whose high purpose is adopted on just principles, and is never abandoned while heaven or earth affords means of accomplishing it. He is one who will neither seek an indirect advantage by a specious road, nor take an evil path to secure a really good purpose.
Scott
When I was at Grand Cairo, I picked up several Oriental manuscripts, which I have still by me. Among others, I met with one entitled, "The Visions of Mirzah," which I have read over with great pleasure. I intend to give it to the public when I have no other entertainment for them; and shall begin with the first Vision, which I have translated word for word, as follows:—
"On the fifth day of the moon, which, according to the custom of my forefathers, I always keep holy, after having washed myself, and offered up my morning devotions, I ascended the high hills of Bagdat, in order to pass the rest of the day in meditation and prayer. As I was here airing myself on the tops of the mountains, I fell into a profound contemplation on the vanity of human life; and passing from one thought to another, 'Surely,' said I, 'man is but a shadow, and life a dream.'
"Whilst I was thus musing, I cast my eyes towards the summit of a rock that was not far from me, where I discovered one in the habit of a shepherd, with a little musical instrument inhis hand. As I looked upon him, he applied it to his lips, and began to play upon it. The sound of it was exceeding sweet, and wrought into a variety of tunes that were inexpressibly melodious, and altogether different from anything I had ever heard. They put me in mind of those heavenly airs that are played to the departed souls of good men upon their first arrival in paradise, to wear out the impressions of the last agonies, and qualify them for the pleasures of that happy place. My heart melted away in secret raptures.
"I had been often told that the rock before me was the haunt of a genius; and that several had been entertained with music who had passed by it, but never heard that the musician had before made himself visible. When he had raised my thoughts by those transporting airs which he played, to taste the pleasures of his conversation, as I looked upon him like one astonished, thereupon he beckoned to me and, by the waving of his hand, directed me to approach the place where he sat.
"I drew near with that reverence which is due to a superior nature; and as my heart was entirely subdued by the captivating strains I had heard, I fell down at his feet and wept. TheGenius smiled upon me with a look of compassion and affability that familiarized him to my imagination, and at once dispelled all the fears and apprehensions with which I approached him. He lifted me from the ground, and taking me by the hand, 'Mirzah,' said he, 'I have heard thee in thy soliloquies; follow me.'
"He then led me to the highest pinnacle of the rock, and placing me on the top of it, 'Cast thy eyes eastward,' said he, 'and tell me what thou seest.' 'I see,' said I, 'a huge valley, and a prodigious tide of water rolling through it.' 'The valley that thou seest,' said he, 'is the Vale of Misery, and the Tide of Water that thou seest is part of the great Tide of Eternity,' 'What is the reason,' said I, 'that the tide I see rises out of a thick mist at one end, and again loses itself in a thick mist at the other?' 'What thou seest,' said he, 'is that portion of eternity which is called Time, measured out by the sun, and reaching from the beginning of the world to its consummation.'
"'Examine now,' said he, 'this sea that is bounded with darkness at both ends, and tell me what thou discoverest in it.' 'I see a bridge,' said I, 'standing in the midst of thetide.' 'The bridge thou seest,' said he, 'is Human Life; consider it attentively.' Upon a more leisurely survey of it, I found that it consisted of threescore and ten entire arches, with several broken arches, which, added to those that were entire, made up the number about an hundred. As I was counting the arches, the Genius told me that this bridge had consisted at first of a thousand arches; but that a great flood swept away the rest and left the bridge in the ruinous condition I now beheld it.
"'But tell me further,' said he, 'what thou discoverest on it.' 'I see multitudes of people passing over it,' said I, 'and a black cloud hanging on each end of it.' As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it; and, upon further examination, perceived that there were innumerable trap-doors that lay concealed in the bridge, which the passengers no sooner trod upon, but they fell through them into the tide and immediately disappeared.
"These hidden pitfalls were set very thick at the entrance of the bridge, so that the throngs of people no sooner broke through the cloud, butmany of them fell into them. They grew thinner towards the middle, but multiplied and lay closer together towards the end of the arches that were entire.
"There were indeed some persons, but their numbers were very small, that continued a kind of hobbling march on the broken arches, but fell through one after another, being quite tired and spent with so long a walk.
"I passed some time in the contemplation of this wonderful structure, and the great variety of objects which it presented. My heart was filled with a deep melancholy to see several dropping unexpectedly in the midst of mirth and jollity, and catching at everything that stood by them to save themselves.
"Some were looking up towards the heavens in a thoughtful posture, and, in the midst of a speculation, stumbled and fell out of sight. Multitudes were very busy in the pursuit of bubbles that glittered in their eyes and danced before them; but often, when they thought themselves within reach of them, their footing failed and down they sunk.
"In this confusion of objects, I observed some with scymetars in their hands, who ran to and fro upon the bridge, thrusting several persons ontrap-doors which did not seem to lie in their way, and which they might have escaped had they not been thus forced upon them.
"The Genius, seeing me indulge myself on this melancholy prospect, told me that I had dwelt long enough upon it: 'Take thine eyes off the bridge,' said he, 'and tell me if thou yet seest anything thou dost not comprehend.' Upon looking up, 'What mean,' said I, 'those great flights of birds that are perpetually hovering about the bridge and settling upon it from time to time? I see vultures, harpies, ravens, cormorants, and, among many other feathered creatures, several little winged boys that perch in great numbers upon the middle arches.' 'These,' said the Genius, 'are envy, avarice, superstition, despair, love, with the like cares and passions that infest human life.'
"I here fetched a deep sigh, 'Alas,' said I, 'man was made in vain! How is he given away to misery and mortality! tortured in life, and swallowed up in death.'
"The Genius, being moved with compassion towards me, bid me quit so uncomfortable a prospect: 'Look no more,' said he, 'on man in the first stage of his existence, in his setting out for eternity; but cast thine eye on that thickmist into which the tide bears the several generations of mortals that fall into it.'
"I directed my sight as I was ordered, and (whether or no the good Genius strengthened it with any supernatural force, or dissipated part of the mist that was before too thick for the eye to penetrate) I saw the valley opening at the farther end and spreading forth into an immense ocean, that had a huge rock of adamant running through the midst of it and dividing it into two equal parts.
"The clouds still rested on one half of it, insomuch that I could discover nothing in it; but the other appeared to me a vast ocean, planted with innumerable islands that were covered with fruits and flowers and interwoven with a thousand little shining seas that ran among them. I could see persons dressed in glorious habits with garlands upon their heads, passing among the trees, lying down by the side of fountains, or resting on beds of flowers; and could hear a confused harmony of singing birds, falling waters, human voices, and musical instruments.
"Gladness grew in me upon the discovery of so delightful a scene. I wished for the wings of an eagle, that I might fly away to those happy seats; but the Genius told me there was no passage to them, except through the gates of Death, which I saw opening every moment upon the bridge.
"'The islands,' said he, 'that lie so fresh and green before thee, and with which the whole face of the ocean appears spotted as far as thou canst see, are more in number than the sands on the sea-shore: there are myriads of islands behind those which thou here discoverest, reaching farther than thine eye or even thine imagination can extend itself. These are the mansions of good men after death, who, according to the degree and kinds of virtue in which they excelled, are distributed among these several islands, which abound with pleasures of different kinds and degrees, suitable to the relishes and perfections of those who are settled in them: every island is a paradise accommodated to its respective inhabitants. Are not these, O Mirzah, habitations worth contending for? Does life appear miserable, that gives thee opportunities of earning such a reward? Is death to be feared, that will convey thee to so happy an existence? Think not man was made in vain, who has such an eternity reserved for him.'
"I gazed with inexpressible pleasure on these happy islands. At length, I said: 'Show menow, I beseech thee, the secrets that lie hid under those dark clouds which cover the ocean on the other side of the rock of adamant.'
"The Genius making me no answer, I turned about to address myself to him a second time, but found that he had left me; I then turned again to the Vision which I had been so long contemplating; but instead of the rolling tide, the arched bridge, and the happy islands, I saw nothing but the long, hollow valley of Bagdat, with oxen, sheep, and camels grazing upon the sides of it."
Addison: "The Spectator, No. 159."
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?And loved so well a high behaviour,In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,Nobility more nobly to repay?O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
Hast thou named all the birds without a gun?Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk?At rich men's tables eaten bread and pulse?Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust?And loved so well a high behaviour,In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained,Nobility more nobly to repay?O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine!
Emerson
I would not enter on my list of friends(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility) the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudesA visitor unwelcome into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die.A necessary act incurs no blame.The sum is this: if man's convenience, health,Or safety interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live, and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it, too.
I would not enter on my list of friends(Though graced with polished manners and fine sense,Yet wanting sensibility) the manWho needlessly sets foot upon a worm.An inadvertent step may crush the snailThat crawls at evening in the public path;But he that has humanity, forewarned,Will tread aside, and let the reptile live.The creeping vermin, loathsome to the sight,And charged perhaps with venom, that intrudesA visitor unwelcome into scenesSacred to neatness and repose, the alcove,The chamber, or refectory, may die.A necessary act incurs no blame.The sum is this: if man's convenience, health,Or safety interfere, his rights and claimsAre paramount, and must extinguish theirs.Else they are all—the meanest things that are—As free to live, and to enjoy that life,As God was free to form them at the first,Who in His sovereign wisdom made them all.Ye, therefore, who love mercy, teach your sonsTo love it, too.
Cowper
The Americans inaugurated their Declaration of Independence by enacting that all the United Empire Loyalists—that is the adherents to connection with the mother country—were rebels and traitors; they followed the recognition of Independence by England with an order exiling such adherents from their territories. But while this policy depleted the United States of some of their best blood, it laid the foundation of the settlement and the institutions of the country which has since become the great, free, and prosperous Dominion of Canada.
Upper Canada was then unknown, or known only as a region of dense wilderness and swamps; of venomous reptiles and beasts of prey; of numerous and fierce Indian tribes; of intense cold in winter; and with no redeeming feature except abundance of game and fish.
After the war of Independence, many Loyalists went to Nova Scotia and New Brunswick and settled there. The British Commander of New York, having found out that Upper Canada was capable of supporting a numerous population along the great river and the lakes, undertook to send colonies of Loyalists there.
Five vessels were procured and furnished to convey the first colony from New York. They sailed round the coasts of Nova Scotia and New Brunswick, and up the St. Lawrence to Sorel, where they arrived in October, 1783. Here they wintered, having built themselves huts, or shanties, and in May, 1784, they continued their voyage in boats, and reached their destination, Cataraqui, afterwards Kingston, in the month of July.
Other bands of Loyalists came by land over the military highway to Lower Canada, as far as Plattsburg, and then northward to Cornwall and up the St. Lawrence, along the north side of which many of them settled.
But the most common route was by way of the Hudson and the Mohawk Rivers, through Oneida Lake and down the Oswego River to Lake Ontario. Flat-bottomed boats, specially built or purchased for the purpose by the Loyalists, were used in this journey. The portages, over which the boats had to be hauled and all their contents carried, are said to have been thirty miles long.
On reaching Oswego, some of the Loyalists coasted along the eastern shore of Lake Ontario to Kingston, and thence up the Bay of Quinte;others went westward along the south shore of the lake to Niagara and Queenston. Some conveyed their boats over the portage of ten or twelve miles to Chippewa, thence up the river and into Lake Erie, settling chiefly in what was called "Long Point Country," now the County of Norfolk.
This journey of hardship, privation, and exposure occupied from two to three months. The obstacles encountered may readily be imagined in a country where the primeval forest covered the earth, and where the only path was the river or the lake. The parents and family of the writer of this history were from the middle of May to the middle of July making the journey in an open boat. Generally two or more families would unite in one company, and thus assist each other in carrying their boats and goods over the portages.
"These excellent men," wrote Sir Richard Bonnycastle, "were willing to sacrifice life and fortune rather than forego the enviable distinction of being British subjects." The stern adherence of the Pilgrim Fathers to their principles was quite equalled by the stern adherence of the Loyalists to their principles; but the privations and hardships experienced by manyof the Loyalist patriots for years after the first settlement in Canada were much more severe than anything experienced by the Puritans during the first years of their settlement in Massachusetts.
Canada has, indeed, a noble parentage, the remembrance of which its inhabitants may well cherish with respect, affection, and pride.
Egerton Ryerson: "The Loyalists of America and their Times." (Adapted)
EGERTON RYERSONEGERTON RYERSON
Oft, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Fond Memory brings the lightOf other days around me;The smiles, the tears,Of boyhood's years,The words of love then spoken;The eyes that shone,Now dimmed and gone,The cheerful hearts now broken!Thus, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Sad Memory brings the lightOf other days around me.When I remember allThe friends, so linked together,I've seen around me fall,Like leaves in wintry weather;I feel like one,Who treads aloneSome banquet-hall deserted,Whose lights are fled,Whose garlands dead,And all but he departed!Thus, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Sad Memory brings the lightOf other days around me.
Oft, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Fond Memory brings the lightOf other days around me;The smiles, the tears,Of boyhood's years,The words of love then spoken;The eyes that shone,Now dimmed and gone,The cheerful hearts now broken!Thus, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Sad Memory brings the lightOf other days around me.
When I remember allThe friends, so linked together,I've seen around me fall,Like leaves in wintry weather;I feel like one,Who treads aloneSome banquet-hall deserted,Whose lights are fled,Whose garlands dead,And all but he departed!Thus, in the stilly night,Ere slumber's chain has bound me,Sad Memory brings the lightOf other days around me.
Moore
The harp that once through Tara's hallsThe soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Tara's wallsAs if that soul were fled.So sleeps the pride of former days,So glory's thrill is o'er,And hearts that once beat high for praise,Now feel that pulse no more.No more to chiefs and ladies brightThe harp of Tara swells;The chord alone, that breaks at night,Its tale of ruin tells.Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,The only throb she gives,Is when some heart indignant breaks,To show that still she lives.
The harp that once through Tara's hallsThe soul of music shed,Now hangs as mute on Tara's wallsAs if that soul were fled.So sleeps the pride of former days,So glory's thrill is o'er,And hearts that once beat high for praise,Now feel that pulse no more.
No more to chiefs and ladies brightThe harp of Tara swells;The chord alone, that breaks at night,Its tale of ruin tells.Thus Freedom now so seldom wakes,The only throb she gives,Is when some heart indignant breaks,To show that still she lives.
Moore
Hudson Strait opens from the Atlantic between Resolution Island on the north and the Button Islands on the south. From point to point, this end of the strait is forty-five miles wide. At the other end, the west side, between Digges' Island and Nottingham Island, is a distance of thirty-five miles. From east to west, the straits are four hundred and fifty miles long—wider at the east where the south side is known as Ungava Bay, contracting at the west, to the Upper Narrows. The south side of the strait is Labrador; the north, Baffin's Land. Both sides are lofty, rocky, cavernous shores lashed by a tide that rises in places as high as thirty-five feet andruns in calm weather ten miles an hour. Pink granite islands dot the north shore in groups that afford harbourage, but all shores present an adamant front, edges sharp as a knife or else rounded hard to have withstood and cut the tremendous ice jam of a floating world suddenly contracted to forty miles, which Davis Strait pours down at the east end and Fox Channel at the west.
Seven hundred feet is considered a good-sized hill; one thousand feet, a mountain. Both the north and the south sides of the straits rise two thousand feet in places. Through these rock walls ice has poured and torn and ripped a way since the ice age preceding history, cutting a great channel to the Atlantic. Here, the iron walls suddenly break to secluded silent valleys, moss-padded, snow-edged, lonely as the day Earth first saw light. Down these valleys pour the clear streams of the eternal snows, burnished as silver against the green, setting the silence echoing with the tinkle of cataracts over some rock wall, or filling the air with the voice of many waters at noontide thaw. One old navigator—Coates—describes the beat of the angry tide at the rock base and the silver voice of the mountain brooks, like the treble and bass of somegreat cathedral organ sounding its diapason to the glory of God in this peopleless wilderness.
Perhaps the kyacks of some solitary Eskimo, lashed abreast twos and threes to prevent capsizing, may shoot out from some of these bog-covered valleys like sea-birds; but it is only when the Eskimos happen to be hunting here, or the ships of the whalers and fur traders are passing up and down—that there is any sign of human habitation on the straits.
Walrus wallow on the pink granite islands in huge herds. Polar bears flounder from icepan to icepan. The arctic hare, white as snow but for the great bulging black eye, bounds over the boulders. Snow buntings, whistling swans, snow geese, ducks in myriads—flacker and clacker and hold solemn conclave on the adjoining rocks, as though this were their realm from the beginning and for all time.
Of a tremendous depth are the waters of the straits. Not for nothing has the ice world been grinding through this narrow channel for billions of years. No fear of shoals to the mariner. Fear is of another sort. When the ice is running in a whirlpool and the incoming tide meets the ice jam and the waters mount thirty-five feet high and a wind roars between the high shoreslike a bellows—then it is that the straits roll and pitch and funnel their waters into black troughs where the ships go down. "Undertow," the old Hudson's Bay captains called the suck of the tide against the ice wall; and that black hole, where the lumpy billows seemed to part like a passage between wall of ice and wall of water, was what the mariners feared. The other great danger was just a plain crush, getting nipped between two icepans rearing and plunging like fighting stallions, with the ice blocks going off like pistol shots or smashed glass. No child's play is such navigating either for the old sailing vessels of the fur traders or the modern ice-breakers propelled by steam! Yet, the old sailing vessels and the whaling fleets have navigated these straits for two hundred years.
Agnes C. Laut: "The Conquest of the Great Northwest."
Good name in man and woman,Is the immediate jewel of their souls:Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.
Good name in man and woman,Is the immediate jewel of their souls:Who steals my purse steals trash; 'tis something, nothing;'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands;But he that filches from me my good nameRobs me of that which not enriches him,And makes me poor indeed.
Shakespeare
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;Welcome to your gory bed,Or to victorie.Now's the day, and now's the hour;See the front o' battle lour:See approach proud Edward's power—Chains and slaverie!Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward's grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!Wha for Scotland's King and lawFreedom's sword will strongly draw,Free-man stand, or free-man fa',Let him follow me!By Oppression's woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains,We will drain our dearest veins,But they shall be free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty's in every blow!Let us do, or die!
Scots, wha hae wi' Wallace bled,Scots, wham Bruce has aften led;Welcome to your gory bed,Or to victorie.Now's the day, and now's the hour;See the front o' battle lour:See approach proud Edward's power—Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?Wha can fill a coward's grave?Wha sae base as be a slave?Let him turn and flee!Wha for Scotland's King and lawFreedom's sword will strongly draw,Free-man stand, or free-man fa',Let him follow me!
By Oppression's woes and pains!By your sons in servile chains,We will drain our dearest veins,But they shall be free!Lay the proud usurpers low!Tyrants fall in every foe!Liberty's in every blow!Let us do, or die!
Burns
(The chief characters in this sketch are Miller, the tyrannical little cockswain of the crew; old Jervis, the captain; Tom Brown, number two, who is rowing his first race; Hardy, a friend of Tom's and one of the best oarsmen in the college—also Jack, the college dog. Though there are several crews in the race the real struggle is between the boats from St. Ambrose and Exeter Colleges. If St. Ambrose can drive the nose of its boat against the Exeter boat—"bump it"—it wins.)
Hark!—the first gun. The report sent Tom's heart into his mouth again. Several of the boats pushed off at once into the stream; and the crowds of men on the bank began to be agitated, as it were, by the shadow of the coming excitement. The St. Ambrose fingered their oars, put a last dash of grease on their rowlocks, and settled their feet against the stretchers.
"Shall we push her off?" asked Bow.
"No; I can give you another minute," said Miller, who was sitting, watch in hand, in the stern; "only be smart when I give the word."
The captain turned on his seat, and looked up the boat. His face was quiet, but full of confidence, which seemed to pass from him into the crew. Tom felt calmer and stronger, as he met his eye. "Now mind, boys, don't quicken," hesaid, cheerily; "four short strokes to get way on her, and then, steady. Here, pass up the lemon."
And he took a sliced lemon out of his pocket, put a small piece in his own mouth, and then handed it to Blake, who followed his example, and passed it on. Each man took a piece; and just as Bow had secured the end, Miller called out,—
"Now, jackets off, and get her head out steadily."
The jackets were thrown on shore, and gathered up by the boatman in attendance. The crew poised their oars, Number Two pushing out her head, and the captain doing the same for the stern. Miller took the starting-rope in his hand.
"How the wind catches her stern," he said; "here, pay out the rope one of you. No, not you—some fellow with a strong hand. Yes, you'll do," he went on, as Hardy stepped down the bank and took hold of the rope; "let me have it foot by foot as I want it. Not too quick; make the most of it—that'll do. Two and Three, just dip your oars in to give her way."
The rope paid out steadily, and the boat settled to her place. But now the wind rose again, and the stern drifted in towards the bank.
"Youmustback her a bit, Miller, and keep her a little further out or our oars on stroke side will catch the bank."
"So I see; curse the wind. Back her, one stroke all. Back her, I say!" shouted Miller.
It is no easy matter to get a crew to back her an inch just now, particularly as there are in her two men who have never rowed a race before, except in the torpids, and one who has never rowed a race in his life.
However, back she comes; the starting-rope slackens in Miller's left hand, and the stroke, unshipping his oar, pushes the stern gently out again.
There goes the second gun! one short minute more, and we are off. Short minute, indeed! you wouldn't say so if you were in the boat, with your heart in your mouth and trembling all over like a man with the palsy. Those sixty seconds before the starting-gun in your first race—why, they are a little lifetime.
"By Jove, we are drifting in again," said Miller, in horror. The captain looked grim but said nothing; it was too late now for him to be unshipping again. "Here, catch hold of the long boat-hook and fend her off."
Hardy, to whom this was addressed, seized theboat-hook, and, standing with one foot in the water, pressed the end of the boat-hook against the gunwale, at the full stretch of his arm, and so, by main force, kept the stern out. There was just room for stroke oars to dip, and that was all. The starting-rope was as taut as a harp-string; will Miller's left hand hold out?
It is an awful moment. But the coxswain, though almost dragged backwards off his seat, is equal to the occasion. He holds his watch in his right hand with the tiller rope. "Eight seconds more only. Look out for the flash. Remember, all eyes in the boat."
There it comes, at last—the flash of the starting-gun. Long before the sound of the report can roll up the river, the whole pent-up life and energy which has been held in leash, as it were, for the last six minutes, is loose, and breaks away with a bound and a dash which he who has felt it will remember for his life, but the like of which, will he ever feel again? The starting-ropes drop from the coxswains' hands, the oars flash into the water and gleam on the feather, the spray flies from them, and the boats leap forward.
The crowds on the bank scatter and rush along, each keeping as near as may be to its ownboat. Some of the men on the towing-path, some on the very edge of, often in, the water; some slightly in advance, as if they could help to drag their boat forward; some behind, where they can see the pulling better; but all at full speed, in wild excitement, and shouting at the top of their voices to those on whom the honour of the college is laid.
"Well pulled, all!" "Pick her up there, Five!" "You're gaining every stroke!" "Time in the bows!" "Bravo, St. Ambrose!"
On they rushed by the side of the boats, jostling one another, stumbling, struggling, and panting along.
For a quarter of a mile along the bank the glorious, maddening hurly-burly extends, and rolls up the side of the stream.
For the first ten strokes Tom was in too great fear of making a mistake to feel or hear or see. His whole soul was glued to the back of the man before him, his one thought to keep time and get his strength into the stroke. But, as the crew settled down into the well-known long sweep, what we may call consciousness returned; and, while every muscle in his body was straining, and his chest heaved, and his heart leaped, every nerve seemed to be gathering new life,and his senses to wake into unwonted acuteness. He caught the scent of wild thyme in the air, and found room in his brain to wonder how it could have got there, as he had never seen the plant near the river, or smelt it before. Though his eye never wandered from the back of Diogenes, he seemed to see all things at once. The boat behind, which seemed to be gaining;—it was all he could do to prevent himself from quickening on the stroke as he fancied that;—the eager face of Miller, with his compressed lips, and eyes fixed so earnestly ahead that Tom could almost feel the glance passing over his right shoulder; the flying banks and the shouting crowd; see them with his bodily eyes he could not, but he knew, nevertheless, that Grey had been upset and nearly rolled down the bank into the water in the first hundred yards, that Jack was bounding and scrambling and barking along by the very edge of the stream; above all, he was just as well aware as if he had been looking at it, of a stalwart form in cap and gown, bounding along, brandishing the long boat-hook, and always keeping just opposite the boat; and amid all the Babel of voices, and the dash and pulse of the stroke, and the labouring of his own breathing, he heard Hardy's voice coming tohim again and again, and clear as if there had been no other sound in the air, "Steady, Two! steady! well pulled! steady, steady." The voice seemed to give him strength and keep him to his work. And what work it was! he had had many a hard pull in the last six weeks, but never aught like this.
But it can't last forever; men's muscles are not steel, or their lungs bulls' hide, and hearts can't go on pumping a hundred miles an hour long, without bursting. The St. Ambrose boat is well away from the boat behind, there is a great gap between the accompanying crowds; and now, as they near the Gut, she hangs for a moment or two in hand, though the roar from the bank grows louder and louder, and Tom is already aware that the St. Ambrose crowd is melting into the one ahead of them.
"We must be close to Exeter!" The thought flashes into him, and, it would seem, into the rest of the crew at the same moment; for, all at once, the strain seems taken off their arms again; there is no more drag; she springs to the stroke as she did at the start; and Miller's face, which had darkened for a few seconds, lightens up again.
Miller's face and attitude are a study. Coiledup into the smallest possible space, his chin almost resting on his knees, his hands close to his sides, firmly but lightly feeling the rudder, as a good horseman handles the mouth of a free-going hunter; if a coxswain could make a bump by his own exertions, surely he will do it. No sudden jerks of the St. Ambrose rudder will you see, watch as you will from the bank; the boat never hangs through fault of his, but easily and gracefully rounds every point. "You're gaining! you're gaining!" he now and then mutters to the captain, who responds with a wink, keeping his breath for other matters. Isn't he grand, the captain, as he comes forward like lightning, stroke after stroke, his back flat, his teeth set, his whole frame working from the hips with the regularity of a machine? As the space still narrows, the eyes of the fiery little coxswain flash with excitement, but he is far too good a judge to hurry the final effort before the victory is safe in his grasp.
The two crowds are mingled now, and no mistake; and the shouts come all in a heap over the water. "Now, St. Ambrose, six strokes more." "Now, Exeter, you're gaining; pick her up." "Mind the Gut, Exeter." "Bravo, St. Ambrose!" The water rushes by, still eddying from the strokes of the boat ahead. Tom fancies now he can hear their oars and the workings of their rudder, and the voice of their coxswain. In another moment both boats are in the Gut, and a perfect storm of shouts reaches them from the crowd, as it rushes madly off to the left to the footbridge, amidst which "Oh, well steered, well steered, St. Ambrose!" is the prevailing cry. Then Miller, motionless as a statue till now, lifts his right hand and whirls the tassel round his head. "Give it her now, boys; six strokes and we're into them." Old Jervis lays down that great broad back and lashes his oar through the water with the might of a giant, the crew catch him up in another stroke, the tight new boat answers to the spurt, and Tom feels a little shock behind him, and then a grating sound, as Miller shouts, "Unship oars, Bow and Three!" and the nose of the St. Ambrose boat glides quietly up the side of the Exeter till it touches their stroke oar.
"Take care where you're coming to." It is the coxswain of the bumped boat who speaks.
Tom finds himself within a foot or two of him when he looks round; and, being utterly unable to contain his joy, and yet unwilling toexhibit it before the eyes of a gallant rival, turns away towards the shore, and begins telegraphing to Hardy.
"Now, then, what are you at there in the bows? Cast her off, quick. Come, look alive! Push across at once out of the way of the other boats."
"I congratulate you, Jervis," says the Exeter stroke, as the St. Ambrose boat shoots past him. "Do it again next race and I shan't care."
Thomas Hughes: "Tom Brown at Oxford."