Chapter V: Tancred

patrolled cautiously finally renowned
endurance Antioch endeared approached

Tancred was known among his followers for his unselfishness. He seemed never to become weary. If a comrade complained of a duty, he himself would perform it. He patrolled walls at night, fought by day, and by his own endurance of labor and hard fare sought to set an example for his men.

One night, when he was standing guard with only his squire as companion, he was attacked by three armed Saracens on horseback. They came upon him quickly, thinking, of course, that they could easily overcome him. They did not know that the blade of this renowned warrior could cleave their heavy armor as if it were cloth.

On came the first horseman and down came Tancred’s sword. The Saracen fell. The next, who had seen the first one fall, waited for the third. Very cautiously they approached side by side, but they soon fared the same as their companion.

It was Tancred who took possession of Bethlehem. He was made ruler over that part of the Holy Land, but hearing that Antioch was threatened by the Saracens, he went to its relief. For three years he held it against the unbelievers.

Tancred’s cousin, Bohemond, who was the rightful ruler of Antioch, was held as prisoner by the Saracen commander; but finally Tancred succeeded in setting his cousin free. He at once gave up to his cousin the entire rule, although he had so endeared himself to the people that they besought him to remain.

A battle wound was the cause of Tancred’s death. He met his fate bravely, and died with the purpose of saving the Holy Land still uppermost in his heart.

* * * * *

Between the years 1095 and 1270 there were eight crusades, all undertaken for the purpose of delivering the Holy Land from the Saracens. While they failed to accomplish that object, they were still of great benefit to the Church and civilization. They made the people better acquainted with the geography and history of other lands, and led to an increase of trade and industry throughout the known world.

HOW THE ROBIN CAME

tortures genesis hovering myth
chieftain human wampum pity

Happy young friends, sit by me,
Under May’s blown apple tree,
While these home birds in and out
Through the blossoms flit about.
Hear a story strange and old,
By the wild red Indians told.
How the robin came to be:
Once a great chief left his son,--
Well-beloved, his only one,--
When the boy was well-nigh grown,
In the trial lodge alone.
Left for tortures long and slow
Youths like him must undergo,
Who their pride of manhood test,
Lacking water, food, and rest.

Seven days the fast he kept,
Seven nights he never slept.
Then the young boy, wrung with pain,
Weak from nature’s overstrain,
Faltering, moaned a low complaint,
“Spare me, father, for I faint!”
But the chieftain, haughty-eyed,
Hid his pity in his pride.
“You shall be a hunter good,
Knowing never lack of food;
You shall be a warrior great,
Wise as fox and strong as bear;
Many scalps your belt shall wear,
If with patient heart you wait
Bravely till your task is done.
Better you should starving die
Than that boy and squaw should cry
Shame upon your father’s son!”

When next morn the sun’s first rays
Glistened on the hemlock sprays,
Straight that lodge the old chief sought,
And boiled samp and moose meat brought.
“Rise and eat, my son!” he said.
Lo, he found the poor boy dead!
As with grief his grave they made,
And his bow beside him laid,
Pipe, and knife, and wampum braid,
On the lodge top overhead,
Preening smooth its breast of red
And the brown coat that it wore,
Sat a bird, unknown before.
And as if with human tongue,
“Mourn me not,” it said, or sung;
“I, a bird, am still your son,
Happier than if hunter fleet,
Or a brave, before your feet
Laying scalps in battle won.
Friend of man, my song shall cheer
Lodge and corn land; hovering near,
To each wigwam I shall bring
Tidings of the coming spring;
Every child my voice shall know
In the moon of melting snow,
When the maple’s red bud swells,
And the windflower lifts its bells.
As their fond companion
Men shall henceforth own your son,
And my song shall testify
That of human kin am I.”

Thus the Indian legend saith
How, at first, the robin came
With a sweeter life than death,
Bird for boy, and still the same.
If my young friends doubt that this
Is the robin’s genesis,
Not in vain is still the myth
If a truth be found therewith:
Unto gentleness belong
Gifts unknown to pride and wrong;
Happier far than hate is praise,--
He who sings than he who slays.

--JOHN G. WHITTIER.

HOW ST. FRANCIS PREACHED TO THE BIRDS

fervor abandon salvation penance
triple multitude substance raiment
refuge creator preserved element
marveled benefits ingratitude providence

One day when St. Francis was in a village of Italy, he began to preach; and first of all he commanded the swallows who were singing that they should keep silence until he had done preaching, and the swallows obeyed him. And he preached with so much fervor that all the men and women in that village were minded to go forth and abandon the village.

But St. Francis suffered them not, and said to them: “Do not be in haste, and do not go hence, and I will order that which you must do for the salvation of your souls;” and then he thought of his third order for the salvation of the whole world. And he left them much comforted and well disposed to penance; and he departed thence.

And passing along, in fervor of soul, he lifted up his eyes and saw many trees standing by the way, and filled with a countless multitude of little birds; at which St. Francis wondered, and said to his companions, “Wait a little for me in the road, and I will go and preach to my sisters the birds.”

And he entered into the field, and began to preach to the birds that were on the ground. And suddenly, those that were in the trees came around him, and together they all remained silent, so long as it pleased St. Francis to speak; and even after he had finished they would not depart until he had given them his blessing. And according as it was afterwards related, St. Francis went among them and touched them with his cloak, and none of them moved.

The substance of the sermon was this: “My little sisters, the birds, you are much beholden to God your creator, and in all places you ought to praise Him, because He has given you liberty to fly about in all places, and has given you double and triple raiment. Know also that He preserved your race in the ark of Noe that your species might not perish.

“And again you are beholden to Him for the element of air, which He has appointed for you; and for this also that you never sow nor reap, but God feeds you and gives you the brooks and fountains for your drink, the mountains and valleys also for your refuge, and the tall trees wherein to make your nests. And since you know neither how to sew nor how to spin, God clothes you, you and your young ones. Wherefore your creator loves you much, since He has bestowed on you so many benefits. And therefore beware, my little sisters, of the sin of ingratitude, and study always to please God.”

As St. Francis spoke thus to them, all the multitude of these birds opened their beaks, and stretched out their necks, and opened their wings; and reverently bowing their heads to the earth, by their acts and by their songs they showed that the words of the holy father gave them the greatest delight. And St. Francis rejoiced, and was glad with them, and marveled much at such a multitude of birds, and at their beautiful variety, and their attention and familiarity; for all which he devoutly praised their creator in them.

Finally, having finished his sermon, St. Francis made the sign of the cross over them, and gave them leave to depart. Thereupon, all those birds arose in the air, with wonderful singing; and after the fashion of the sign of the cross which St. Francis had made over them, they divided themselves into four parts; and one part flew toward the east, and another to the west, another to the south, and another to the north.

Then, all departing, they went their way singing wonderful songs, signifying by this that as St. Francis, standard bearer of the cross of Christ, had preached to them, made on them the sign of the cross, after which they had divided themselves, going to the four parts of the world, so the preaching of the cross of Christ, renewed by St. Francis, should be carried by him and by his brothers to the whole world, and that these brothers, after the fashion of the birds, should possess nothing of their own in this world, but commit their lives solely to the providence of God.

--From “LITTLE FLOWERS OF ST. FRANCIS.”

* * * * *

Teach me, O lark! with thee to gently rise,
To exalt my soul and lift it to the skies.

--EDMUND BURKE.

THE PETRIFIED FERN

petrified holiday avalanches design
delicate reveled mysteries haughty
mammoth veinings fissure holiday

In a valley, centuries ago,
Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibers tender;
Waving when the wind crept down so low;
Rushes tall, and moss, and grass grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in and found it,
Drops of dew stole in by night and crowned it,
But no foot of man e’er trod that way;
Earth was young and keeping holiday.

Monster fishes swam the silent main,
Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches,
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;
Nature reveled in grand mysteries;
But the little fern was not of these,
Did not number with the hills and trees,
Only grew and waved its wild sweet way,--
No one came to note it day by day.

Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood,
Heaved the rocks and changed the mighty motion
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean;
Moved the plain and shook the haughty wood,
Crushed the little fern in soft moist clay,
Covered it, and hid it safe away.
Oh, the long, long centuries since that day!
Oh, the agony, oh, life’s bitter cost,
Since that useless little fern was lost!

Useless! Lost! There came a thoughtful man
Searching Nature’s secrets, far and deep;
From a fissure in a rocky steep
He withdrew a stone, o’er which there ran
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design,
Veinings, leafage, fibers clear and fine,
And the fern’s life lay in every line!
So, I think, God hides some souls away,
Sweetly to surprise us the last day.

--MARY L. BOLLES BRANCH.

* * * * *

The purest treasure mortal times afford
Is spotless reputation: that away,
Men are but gilded loam or painted clay.

--SHAKESPEARE.

BIRD ENEMIES

I

recognize honor innocent complimentary
assassin retorts bugaboo apparently
suspect thrush social intolerable

How surely the birds know their enemies! See how the wrens and robins and bluebirds pursue and scold the cat, while they take little or no notice of the dog! Even the swallow will fight the cat, and, relying too confidently upon its powers of flight, sometimes swoops down so near to its enemy that it is caught by a sudden stroke of the cat’s paw. The only case I know of in which our small birds fail to recognize their enemy is furnished by the shrike; apparently the little birds do not know that this modest-colored bird is an assassin. At least, I have never seen them scold or molest him, or utter any outcries at his presence, as they usually do at birds of prey.

But the birds have nearly all found out the trick of the jay, and when he comes sneaking through the trees in May and June in quest of eggs, he is quickly exposed and roundly abused. It is amusing to see the robins hustle him out of the tree which holds their nest. They cry, “Thief! thief!” to the top of their voices as they charge upon him, and the jay retorts in a voice scarcely less complimentary as he makes off.

The jays have their enemies also, and need to keep an eye on their own eggs. It would be interesting to know if jays ever rob jays, or crows plunder crows; or is there honor among thieves even in the feathered tribes? I suspect the jay is often punished by birds which are otherwise innocent of nest robbing.

One season I found a jay’s nest in a cedar on the side of a wooded ridge. It held five eggs, every one of which had been punctured. Apparently some bird had driven its sharp beak through their shells, with the sole intention of destroying them, for no part of the contents of the eggs had been removed. It looked like a case of revenge--as if some thrush or warbler, whose nest had suffered at the hands of the jays, had watched its opportunity, and had in this way retaliated upon its enemies. An egg for an egg. The jays were lingering near, very demure and silent, and probably ready to join a crusade against nest robbers.

The great bugaboo of the birds is the owl. The owl snatches them from off their roosts at night, and gobbles up their eggs and young in their nests. He is a veritable ogre to them, and his presence fills them with consternation and alarm.

One season, to protect my early cherries, I placed a large stuffed owl amid the branches of the tree. Such a racket as there instantly began about my grounds is not pleasant to think upon. The orioles and robins fairly “shrieked out their affright.” The news instantly spread in every direction, and apparently every bird in town came to see that owl in the cherry tree, and every bird took a cherry, so that I lost more fruit than if I had left the owl indoors. With craning necks and horrified looks the birds alighted upon the branches, and between their screams would snatch off a cherry, as if the act was some relief to their feelings.

The chirp and chatter of the young of birds which build in concealed or inclosed places, like the woodpeckers, the house wren, the high-hoe, the oriole, etc., is in marked contrast to the silence of the fledgelings of most birds that build open and exposed nests. The young of the sparrows, warblers, flycatchers, thrushes, etc., never allow a sound to escape them; and on the alarm note of their parents being heard, sit especially close and motionless, while the young of chimney swallows, woodpeckers, and orioles are very noisy.

The owl, I suspect, thrusts its leg into the cavities of woodpeckers and into the pocket-like nest of the oriole, and clutches and brings forth the birds in its talons. In one case, a screech owl had thrust its claw into a cavity in a tree, and grasped the head of a red-headed woodpecker; being apparently unable to draw its prey forth, it had thrust its own round head into the hole, and in some way became fixed there, and had thus died with the woodpecker in its talons.

II

mishap tragedies desiccated vicinity
tragic vermin intolerable purgatory
comic couple cavity explosion

The life of birds is beset with dangers and mishaps of which we know little. One day, in my walk, I came upon a goldfinch with the tip of one wing securely fastened to the feathers of its back, by what appeared to be the silk of some caterpillar. The bird, though uninjured, was completely crippled, and could not fly a stroke. Its little body was hot and panting in my hands as I carefully broke the fetter. Then it darted swiftly away with a happy cry.

A record of all the accidents and tragedies of bird life for a single season would show many curious incidents. A friend of mine opened his box stove one fall to kindle a fire in it, when he beheld in the black interior the desiccated forms of two bluebirds. The birds had probably taken refuge in the chimney during some cold spring storm, and had come down the pipe to the stove, from whence they were unable to ascend.

A peculiarly touching little incident of bird life occurred to a caged canary. It laid some eggs, and was so carried away by its feelings that it would offer food to the eggs, and chatter and twitter, trying, as it seemed, to encourage them to eat. The incident is hardly tragic, neither is it comic.

Certain birds nest in the vicinity of our houses and outbuildings, or even in and upon them, for protection from their enemies, but they often thus expose themselves to plague of the most deadly character.

I refer to the vermin with which their nests often swarm, and which kill the young before they are fledged. In a state of nature this probably never happens; at least I have never seen or heard of it happening to nests placed in trees or under rocks. It is the curse of civilization falling upon the birds which come too near man. The vermin is probably conveyed to the nest in hen’s feathers, or in straws and hairs picked up about the barn or henhouse. A robin’s nest will occasionally become an intolerable nuisance from the swarms upon swarms of minute vermin with which it is filled. The parent birds stem the tide as long as they can, but are often compelled to leave the young to their terrible fate.

One season a phœbe bird built on a projecting stone under the eaves of the house, and all appeared to go well till the young were nearly fledged, when the nest suddenly became a bit of purgatory. The birds kept their places till they could hold out no longer, when they leaped forth and fell dead upon the ground.

After a delay of a week or more, during which I imagine the parent birds purified themselves by every means known to them, the couple built another nest a few yards from the first, and proceeded to rear a second brood; but the new nest developed into the same bed of torment that the first did, and the three young birds, nearly ready to fly, perished as they sat within it. The parent birds then left the place.

I imagine the smaller birds have an enemy in our native white-footed mouse, though I have not proof enough to convict him. But one season the nest of a chickadee which I was observing was broken up in a position where nothing but a mouse could have reached it. The bird had chosen a cavity in the limb of an apple tree which stood but a few yards from the house. The cavity was deep, and the entrance to it, which was ten feet from the ground, was small.

Barely light enough was admitted to enable one to make out the number of eggs, which was six, at the bottom of the dim interior. While one was peering in and trying to get his head out of his own light, the bird would startle him by a queer kind of puffing sound. She would not leave her nest like most birds, but really tried to blow, or scare, the intruder away; and after repeated experiments I could hardly refrain from jerking my head back when that little explosion of sound came up from the dark interior.

One night the nest was harried. A slight trace of hair or fur at the entrance led me to infer that some small animal was the robber.

A weasel might have done it, as they sometimes climb trees, but I doubt if either a squirrel or a rat could have passed the entrance.

A pair of the least flycatchers, the bird which is a small edition of the pewee, one season built their nest where I had them for many hours each day under my observation. The nest was a very snug and compact structure placed in the forks of a small maple about twelve feet from the ground. The season before a red squirrel had harried the nest of a wood thrush in this same tree, and I was apprehensive that he would serve the flycatchers the same trick; so, as I sat with my book in a summerhouse near by, I kept my loaded gun within easy reach.

One egg was laid, and the next morning, as I made my daily inspection of the nest, only a fragment of its empty shell was to be found. This I removed, mentally imprecating the rogue of a red squirrel. The birds were much disturbed by the event, but after much inspection of it and many consultations together, concluded, it seems, to try again.

Two more eggs were laid, when one day I heard the birds utter a sharp cry, and on looking up I saw a cat-bird perched upon the rim of the nest, hastily devouring the eggs. I soon regretted my precipitation in killing her, because such interference is generally unwise. It turned out that she had a nest of her own with five eggs in a spruce tree near my window.

Then this pair of little flycatchers did what I had never seen birds do before: they pulled the nest to pieces and rebuilt it in a peach tree not many rods away, where a brood was successfully reared. The nest was here exposed to the direct rays of the noonday sun, and to shield her young when the heat was greatest, the mother-bird would stand above them with wings slightly spread, as other birds have been known to do under like circumstances.

III

peculiar species expressive courage
curious dismay desperate assault
subtle rescue deranged enemy

Probably the darkest tragedy of the nest is enacted when a snake plunders it. All birds and animals, so far as I have observed, behave in a peculiar manner toward a snake. They seem to feel something of the same loathing toward it that the human species experience. The bark of a dog when he encounters a snake is different from that which he gives out on any other occasion; it is a mingled note of alarm, inquiry, and disgust.

One day a tragedy was enacted a few yards from where I was sitting with a book: two song sparrows were trying to defend their nest against a black snake. The curious, interrogating note of a chicken who had suddenly come upon the scene in his walk first caused me to look up from my reading. There were the sparrows, with wings raised in a way peculiarly expressive of horror and dismay, rushing about a low clump of grass and bushes.

Then, looking more closely, I saw the glistening form of the black snake, and the quick movement of his head as he tried to seize the birds. The sparrows darted about and through the grass and weeds, trying to beat the snake off. Their tails and wings were spread, and, panting with the heat and desperate struggle, they presented a most singular spectacle. They uttered no cry, not a sound escaped them; they were plainly speechless with horror and dismay. Not once did they drop their wings, and the peculiar expression of those uplifted palms, as it were, I shall never forget.

It occurred to me that perhaps here was a case of attempted bird charming on the part of the snake, so I looked on from behind the fence. The birds charged the snake and harassed him from every side, but were evidently under no spell save that of courage in defending their nest.

Every moment or two I could see the head and neck of the serpent make a sweep at the birds, when the one struck at would fall back, and the other would renew the assault. There appeared to be little danger that the snake could strike and hold one of the birds, though I trembled for them, they were so bold and approached so near to the snake’s head. Time and again he sprang at them but without success. How the poor things panted, and held up their wings appealingly!

Then the snake glided off, barely escaping the stone which I hurled at him. I found the nest rifled and deranged; whether it had contained eggs or young I know not. The male sparrow had cheered me many a day with his song, and I blamed myself for not having rushed at once to the rescue, when the arch enemy was upon him.

There is probably little truth in the popular notion that snakes charm birds. The black snake is the most subtle of our snakes, and I have never seen him have any but young, helpless birds in his mouth.

--JOHN BURROUGHS.

ST. JOSEPH’S MONTH

O, holy St. Joseph! in thee we confide,
Be thou our protector, our father, our guide;
The flowers of our innocent childhood we twine
In a fragrant white garland of love at thy shrine.
St. Joseph, who guided the Child on His way,
O, guide us and guard us and bless us, we pray!

Long ago didst thou teach the Lord Jesus to speak,
And thine arms were His strength when His footsteps, were weak;
So lend us thy help in the days of our youth
So teach us to walk in the pathway of truth!
St. Joseph, Christ’s early protector and stay,
Protect us and save us from evil, we pray!

When the years glowing o’er us shall smolder away,
When their ashes down-drifting, shall crown us with gray,
Still loyal and true may we keep to our vow
To honor our saint as we honor him now!
St. Joseph, who guided the Child on His way,
O, guide us at last to His presence, we pray!

--H. W.

A SONG OF SPRING

Hark, the spring! She calls
With a thousand voices
’Mid the echoing forest halls
One great heart rejoices.

Hills, where young lambs bound,
Whiten o’er with daisies;
Flag flowers light the lower ground,
Where the old steer grazes.

Meadows laugh, flower-gay;
Every breeze that passes
Waves the seed-cloud’s gleaming gray
O’er the greener grasses.

O thou spring! be strong,
Exquisite newcomer!
And the onset baffle long
Of advancing summer!

--AUBREY DE VERE.

ROBERT BRUCE