Chapter II: Part 2

Stephen's followers knew the truth at last,--they had been deceived by a false hope, led by a false leader. Crying out against him who had brought them to such a plight, so far from home, they vanished one by one, until of the army that had entered the city, only five thousand remained.

Bewildered, discouraged, frightened, Stephen knew not where to turn for help. Dropping on his knees he prayed earnestly for a voice to tell him of his duty and of God's desire.

Then suddenly his disheartened band of followers saw an unexpected sight. Stephen, the Prophet, marching alone through the streets of Marseilles, waving the Oriflamme, singing a song of triumph, shouting in clear and ringing tones, "God wills it--God wills it!"

They surrounded him, when at last he halted, and he spoke first in denunciation of their unbelief, and then he told of two Marseillian merchants who had come to him even as he was on his knees praying for guidance, and offered him vessels to carry his army to Palestine.

These merchants said they asked no passage money of Christ's soldiers for the trip, the only reward they wished was the consciousness of duty done to pilgrims in a holy cause, the prayers of the children, and the honour of having helped the young Crusaders.

Great was the rejoicing now, and great the shame at having for one moment doubted God's help and the good faith of his servant, Stephen.

Pressing around him as he told his thrilling tale, his followers begged forgiveness for their lack of faith, which Stephen graciously accorded and became once again the beloved leader, the honoured prophet.

Such vessels as were needed for the expedition were speedily made ready, and in Marseilles loud praises were heard on every side of the generous men who were helping the young Crusaders to fulfil their mission, then people began to gather to watch the little host embark.

It was a thrilling sight--there in that quiet bay, to see the Crusaders, trembling with excitement at this new experience--enter the vessels which were waiting to receive them, while on shore the citizens of Marseilles were crowding to the front to see the expedition start, and the gay colours of the flying banners, the bright costumes of the women, blended with the sunlight in which the fronts of the quaint old houses were bathed, together with the blue water and the bluer sky, made a picture both dazzling and beautiful.

When the little army had entered the ships provided for their use, the solemn ceremonies took place which in those days, when sea voyages were so perilous, always preceded such an expedition. Then, the religious exercises being over, all parts of the ships were examined to see that they were in proper order for such a dangerous voyage, the sailors were stationed at their respective posts, the anchor chains were loosened, ready to release the vessels, and the ropes held in hand. There was a brief silence, then upon the elevated "castle" or stern of each ship, the young army of Crusaders commenced to chant that dear old hymn "Veni Creator Spiritus" which the church in all ages has used on solemn occasions, and as its words floated from one vessel, they were taken up on another until the air was full of harmony which was wafted back to the hills and shore, where the seven vessels were being eagerly watched out of sight. With none of the noise of modern steamers, those seven vessels glided out of the quiet harbour, in stately procession and passed beneath the lofty rock of Notre Dame, and the little voyagers were at sea.

Soon their songs grow faint as they float over the water, then die away. After that the flags and banners still tell of joy and hope, until they too are invisible. The day draws to a close, darkness drops down and envelops the seven ships sailing towards the promised land with five thousand courageous little pilgrims on board.

But, alas, for hopes and plans, alas, for the holy ideals of that little band. Not one of them ever realised his ambition!

Two of those ships which sailed so gaily from the harbour of Marseilles, laden with the fair and hopeful youths of France, whose mission was to rescue the Holy Tomb from infidel hands, were wrecked in a wild storm off the Hermit's rock, lying beneath the cliffs of San Pietro.

There beneath the "unplumbed, salt estranging sea" lies Stephen, the boy Prophet--who even while the tempest was hurling his army to death on the open sea, proved the sincerity of his piety; for clinging to a spar, while drifting to a certain doom, he led his little flock in song and prayer, and even as wave after wave dashed over the deck, above the roar of the tempest could his clear triumphant young voice be heard--"In the name of Christ and His cross, be brave. We go to victory--to victory!"

Hideous indeed were the sufferings of the brave youths in the other ships, when they saw their comrades drifting to their death, and little did they dream that they had escaped that terrible storm only to meet still greater perils. Soon they found that they were victims of an infamous treachery, that the merchants who had been so praised in preparing vessels for their use, were simply slave-dealers who had contracted (and probably for an enormous amount of money)--to sell those unsuspecting children to the Mohammedans--the very nation whom the youthful Crusaders had gone forth to conquer, to whom such a consignment of fair young slaves would be of rare value.

Surrounded by vessels of the enemy, they were taken from the ships in which they embarked, and despite their agony of fright and pleading, were carried either to Brijeiah or to Alexandria by their captors, where among the fairest scenes, and the most wonderful and tropical beauty they had ever dreamed of, they were sold into hopeless slavery. Not one of all that army of Stephen's ever saw Europe again, and the Children's Crusade ended as all enterprises end, whether undertaken by young or old, layman or priest, warrior or statesman, when conceived and carried out in a spirit of rebellion and frenzy.

Nicholas and Stephen--boy leaders of the Children's Crusade, one of the most pathetic and thrilling events in all history, one lived--one died. Which, think you, had the right to wear the emblem of the Holy Cross?

PETER OF HAARLEM:

The Boy Who Saved His Country

It was an April day, and Haarlem, an old Dutch town near Amsterdam was gay with tulips, for there in Haarlem are grown the most famous tulips in all the world, as well as hyacinths, and if you had driven through the country roads on that April day, you would have seen the meadows and roadsides overspread with a brilliant carpet of the vari-coloured flowers, while the air was full of the sweet perfume of the hyacinths, and you could have carried away with you as many flowers as you had time and patience to pick.

Holland and its provinces and towns are famous for many other things, as well as for tulips and hyacinths, for it is a country quite different from the others which we visit and study about more often, and although it is a small country in comparison to others which are so vast in territory, yet there has been none more celebrated for courage than brave little Holland, and its fight for independence has made it famous in the historical annals of the world. Sturdy and plucky are the Dutch, and quaint and curious are the customs and manners still prevailing in many of the country districts. Every district has its own costume peculiar to its inhabitants, and the many colours of these costumes, the curious caps worn with them, the heavy wooden shoes, or sabots, which all true Dutch people wear, and the clothes worn by the men, so different from the conventional dress of men of other nations, make a picturesque and interesting sight when the Dutch people are gathered together on the day of a "Pardon" or religious fete day.

Their homes, too, are quaint and strange in appearance to our conventional eyes, and it has been said that the Dutch people dressed up like quaint dolls, with their gay little homes and their little canals, which cut up their bright green fields into many sections, live in a country which is like a charming, attractive toy, it is so clean, so tidy and so bright, and it seems a natural thing that the gorgeous tulip should be their favourite flower. And that brings us back to the old town of Haarlem in whose roads we were wandering on an April day.

Now one of the greatest differences between Holland and other countries, is that it lies below the level of the sea, and so has to be very carefully guarded from the surging flood at its very door, or it would be either swept bare by the relentless sea, or entirely wiped out of existence. To prevent this calamity the patient Dutchmen have built wonderful dykes which guard their little country and keep the tyrant sea in check. These dykes are huge banks of earth which tower high above the lowlands and are the only safeguards of the country. Of course, these dykes could only be made gradually, as the sea was turned from one spot to another by dams and locks, and no greater proof of Dutch industry and patience is shown than the way they have protected their land from the sea.

When a dyke has been built, then on the edge of it, a windmill is erected, which works a pump, and as the windmill draws up the water from the sea, it is discharged into a canal. These canals which flow through all Holland in a network of winding ways, run to the sea, and where they meet the sea, in the dykes, great oaken gates, called sluices are placed across the entrance to the canals, to regulate the amount of water which shall flow into the canals, from the sea. These gates are in charge of men called _sluicers_ whose duty it is, when water is needed, to open the gates more or less, according to the amount of water required, and then to close them carefully at night, so that too much water may not flow into the canals, overflow them, and flood the whole country. Even the smallest child in Holland is brought up with a keen knowledge of the grave importance of a sluicer's duty and of the danger to the country if he should neglect it, and the men chosen for that position are always those whose reputation for faithful service is unchallenged.

Naturally, a country lying as Holland lies is very damp and misty, and its entire surface is covered with the network of canals running through the meadows to the sea. If you could stand on a hill and look down on it, it would look like an enormous puzzle, consisting of hundreds of small vivid green pieces cut apart by the canals and decorated by the quaint red-roofed houses of which we have spoken.

Through all the canals flows the same water, and all of them are connected with each other, and are so very wide in some places that there is much traffic on them. Then, too, through miles of the green fields flow the narrower canals, draining the pasturelands, and everywhere one feels the nearness and the menace of the everlasting sea, and the protection of the dykes rearing the huge bulwarks between the peaceful country and its treacherous enemy.

And that brings us back again to Haarlem on that April day when the quaint little town was gay with the red and yellow tulips and the air sweet with the scent of hyacinths.

On that bright spring day a little boy whose name is said to have been Peter, and whose father was a sluicer, had for his dinner some cakes of which he was very fond, and which his mother had baked because she knew how much Peter liked them.

Peter was a very unselfish boy, and whenever he had anything he liked, his first thought always was to share it with someone else. So, as soon as he had finished his meal, he jumped up from the table and begged his mother to let him go to see a poor blind man who lived not far away, and to let him carry with him those cakes which had not been eaten.

His mother was pleased with this thought of Peter's for the poor old man, and at once brought a basket and filled it with cakes for him to carry to the invalid, while Peter's father was making him promise not to stay out too late, and soon the boy was on his way to his friends, happy in the beauty of the day, and in the thought of the pleasure his present would give the blind man.

And he was not mistaken, the old man was delighted with the cakes, and at once broke and ate one, while he began to tell Peter one of the stories for which he was famous, and which he knew Peter loved to hear. But Peter suddenly remembered his promise not to stay out late, and finally became so uneasy that he told the old man he must not wait to hear the end of the story, and, hastily bidding him farewell, started towards home.

His path lay beside the dyke, and along its grassy banks grew beautiful wild flowers of many varieties, so numerous and attractive that Peter decided to pick a bunch of them to carry home to his mother, who was so much of an invalid that she was seldom out of the house. So he picked a few here and a few there--blue and yellow and pink, until he had a handful of those varieties of which he knew his mother was most fond, and as he walked on, to keep himself from feeling lonesome, he hummed a gay little song.

Presently, he stopped, and neither sang nor smiled, as he looked at a slender thread of water trickling through the grass. Where did it come from? Surely not from the canal, and there was nowhere else for it to come from unless it came from the dyke itself.

The thought was enough to make even a child turn pale and tremble. Only the dykes stood between the boundless sea and the safety of little Holland. He looked again, and to his imagination, the stream seemed greater already. What could he do? Night was coming on, the road was a solitary one. There was only the barest chance of anyone passing that way whom he might hail, or of whom he could ask advice.

Then came a quick recollection of his promise to his father, and he started homeward again, but a force as mighty as a giant's grasp, made him turn back again to watch that trickling stream of water.

He was near one of the great oaken sluices, and bounding up beside it he carefully examined the dyke. There, as small as his finger, was a hole--strange and unaccountable happening,--and through that little hole was flowing the stream of water at his feet.

Like lightning the flash of intuition came to Peter, if that hole were not stopped up instantly, the force of the flow through it would rapidly increase from the pounding of that mighty sea behind it. In a night the flood would break through the dyke and perhaps destroy all the homes in Holland.

What could he do? No stone would fit the hole, no amount of earth packed into the crevice could resist the pressure of the water. Peter was desperate. Forgotten now were his bunch of flowers which fell unheeded from his hand. He strained his eyes in a vain search for travellers on that lonely road, vainly he shouted out for help until his throat was hoarse. What could he do? It was no common instinct that came in that lightning flash to Peter. Climbing again up the steep bank, from stone to stone, he thrust his finger in the hole and, oh, joy, it fitted! It stopped the trickling water for the moment, but, oh, what would happen when he took it out?

Ah, it was as clear as daylight, what to do. He would not take it out until someone should come to relieve him. Forgetful of what this idea might bring to him, if carried out, he chuckled with a boyish delight in this real adventure.

"Ha, ha!" he said to himself. "The water _can't_ come down now. Haarlem shall not be drowned while I am here to keep the flood back."

For awhile excitement kept him warm and fearless. Then the chill darkness of the night surrounded him. All sorts of strange noises fell upon his unaccustomed ears, he seemed to see giants and demons lurking near, ready to pounce upon him and kill him. Although he was a sturdy lad, tears came at last, when he could no longer keep back thoughts of his comfortable bed at home, of the parents who might be even then worrying about his safety, although as he before remained over night with the old man, Jansen, he felt that his mother and father had probably gone to bed and to sleep, while he was out in the dark night alone and in such a misery of pain. The pain grew greater, the misery harder to bear every moment now, and still Peter kept his finger in that dangerous hole.

He tried to whistle, hoping to attract the attention of some straggling traveller, but his teeth chattered so much that he gave it up, and then he remembered what he had been taught at his mother's knee, and Peter prayed to the great God who could control the surging sea and protect a boy who was doing his best. Peter was only a child, but if he ever prayed with his whole heart, he prayed so that night in the darkness, with his numbed finger thrust through that hole in the dyke, and when his prayer was said he somehow felt braver, stronger and older than before, and in his heart he said:

"I will not take it out till someone comes. I will stay till morning."

Longer and longer grew the hours, the minutes, the seconds, and yet he never moved--there were strange noises in his head, his thoughts were confused, pictures of his playmates, of events long ago forgotten danced before his eyes. He was not sure he could draw his finger out of the hole even if he wished to do so, it felt so strangely numb. What did it mean that knives seemed to be cutting, and pins pricking him from head to foot? What would happen if no one ever found him--no one ever came to help?

At last the rose and silver of the dawn flushed the sky. Day had come and along that lonesome road came the first traveller in all the hours of Peter's vigil.

A clergyman whose night had been spent by the bedside of a sick parishioner, hurrying homeward on the path beside the dyke, heard a groan, a feeble sound of one in mortal agony. Turning, he glanced, first here and there, and looking up, at last, he saw beside the dyke, the figure of a child writhing in agony.

In a single bound, the clergyman stood beside him exclaiming:

"In the name of wonder, boy, what are you doing here?"

"I am keeping the water from running out," said Peter. "Oh, can't you ask them to come _quick_."

And they did. The town of Haarlem, even Holland itself, had been saved, through the courage of a little boy who did his duty, and from that day to this there has never been a child in Holland who has not heard the stirring story of Peter, whose pluck was worthy of a sluicer's son, and whose name will never be forgotten, or effaced from the page of historic legend.

DAVID:

The Shepherd Boy

A rare good fortune it is to have a friend so true and so faithful that it is as safe to tell him a secret as to whisper it to yourself, one to whom your interests are as important as his own, and who would do any sort of unselfish act to show his devotion to you. It was just such a comradeship as this which existed between two boys of long ago, the story of whose intimacy has come down to us from Bible times as a most wonderful example of what a friendship can be.

Those boys were David, the son of Jesse of Bethlehem, and Jonathan, the son of Saul, King of Israel, and when you hear two persons spoken of as "a David and a Jonathan" you may know that they are the closest kind of friends.

To appreciate thoroughly the friendship between David and Jonathan, and what it meant to both of them, let us go back a little into the history of the time in which the boys lived, and look at the circumstances which led up to their friendship, for that is very important to a clear understanding of the story of David and Jonathan.

At that time the kingdom of Israel was in a deplorable condition, for the Philistines, a war-like tribe who lived in a small territory on the coast, had over-run and conquered most of Israel, and Samuel who was the aged guide and advisor of the Israelites, as well as the last of the judges and the first of the prophets of Israel, saw that the only hope for his people lay in having a higher moral standard and a central government. To bring this about, Samuel established the schools of the prophets in Ramah and other cities, where men could be trained to teach their nation how to live wiser, purer lives--and Samuel also anointed Saul as King of Israel, and for a while Saul ruled wisely and well. Then he disobeyed the command of God, and began to care for conquest in war only when it brought him glory or the spoils of battles, and Samuel seeing this, was much troubled, and finally went to Saul and told him that he must repent and do differently or he would no longer be worthy to be the King of Israel, that God demanded more honest service than he was giving. Saul was considerably troubled at this plain speaking of Samuel and promised to do better in future, but when Samuel left him, it was with a heavy heart, for he felt sure that there would be need of a new king--that Saul would not keep his promises.

And so Samuel at once began to look for a man whom he could anoint as the future King, although no one knew of this purpose but himself, and the voice of God within him inspired him to go to Bethlehem and seek among the sons of Jesse for the King he wished to find. So Samuel went to Bethlehem, but in order that the real purpose of his visit might not be discovered, he took with him beside the horn of oil with which he would anoint the new King if he should find him, also a young calf to offer as a sacrifice, that he might have a suitable excuse to give to the people for his visit.

Of course the coming of Samuel created a great excitement in the little town of Bethlehem, for the people feared that he came to reprove them for some wrong-doing, until Samuel assured them that this was not so, that he came peaceably, and in proof of it invited them to the sacrifice which he was preparing to offer on a hill just outside the gate of the city. According to the rule of Oriental hospitality, it was customary that some prominent man from the village should invite Samuel to return to his home after offering the sacrifice, to break bread with him and to pass the night under his roof if Samuel desired to do so, and as Samuel had invited Jesse to the sacrifice, it came about quite naturally that, as Samuel desired, it was Jesse's home to which the aged Prophet went.

After they had arrived there, Samuel and Jesse sat and talked together alone, for although Jesse had eight sons and two daughters, and they were no longer children, the Eastern custom forbade a man's family to enter his presence unless he expressly asked them to do so. And so Samuel and Jesse were alone together, until Samuel asked Jesse if he had no sons. Jesse replied that he had, and Samuel then requested to see them. It was natural for a father to be pleased at such a request and Jesse at once sent for Eliab, his eldest son, who promptly came into the presence of his father and the aged Prophet, and Samuel looked earnestly at the tall, handsome fellow, but a voice within him told Samuel that Eliab was not the king-to-be, and after a brief talk with the young man, he was dismissed, and Jesse called another and then another of his sons, until Samuel had seen seven of them, but the prophet only shook his head as he saw each one of them, for the voice of inspiration or instinct said within him:

"Neither hath the Lord chosen this." Then Samuel turned once more to Jesse and asked:

"Are here all thy children?" And Jesse answered reluctantly:

"There remaineth yet the youngest, and behold he keepeth the sheep."

Then Samuel bade Jesse send for David, which he did, and David, who was as usual roaming with his flock in the Judean pasture-land, was greatly surprised to see a messenger coming to him in breathless haste, and still more was he surprised to receive his father's message that he was to come home at once, as the prophet Samuel had asked to see him before leaving. It was an unexpected command, but young David was always ready for any emergency, and so, simply taking up his shepherd's staff, which was a long stick with a handle crooked in such a way that by its aid David could examine the limbs of his flock, or roll a sheep over with it, when unruly and without further preparation, David accompanied the messenger, although filled with wonder as to the reason for being summoned to appear before the aged prophet Samuel.

See him as he enters his home and stands before Samuel, red-cheeked, fair-skinned, glowing with health and happiness, with arms strong enough to break a bow of steel, and with limbs like a deer's in their swiftness to escape a foe or to scale a wall. Sturdy and fearless he stood before Samuel, the picture of youthful vigour and courage, and when Samuel had scarcely more than glanced at him, the voice of God spoke within the prophet saying:

"Arise, anoint him, for this is he."

Then Samuel rose with simple earnestness and laid a hand on David's shoulder, looking long and solemnly into the clear bright eyes which answered his glance, then more solemnly still, Samuel took up the horn of oil which he had brought with him, and with the customary ceremony, anointed David, the fair-haired young shepherd boy, to be the future King of Israel. As only kings were anointed and Samuel always performed this ceremony, Jesse could not have failed to understand the solemn rite, although he must have marvelled over it, wondering why it should be performed over this, his youngest and least important son. Doubtless, although the Bible narrative does not tell us so, the aged prophet later spoke to Jesse of the meaning of his act, and one can imagine Jesse's flutter of heart at the thought that one of his boys should have been chosen to fill such a great position. David also, young as he was, must have understood in some measure what the ceremony meant, although he must have been completely at a loss to understand how he, a mere child, could be the Lord's anointed. Probably, like any other boy of to-day, he wanted to ask questions, but there was not the freedom allowed young people in those days that there is now and David, looking from the awe-struck face of his father, to the solemn one of the prophet, doubtless kept silent. Then with an appropriately reverential farewell to the aged prophet he must have been sent from the presence of Jesse and Samuel, sent back again to his accustomed task and to await the fulfilling of that destiny which, from the moment when he thrilled at the touch of the prophet's hand on his head, and the sound of his solemn words, he felt sure was in some way to link his life in consecrated service to that of the people of Israel.

But that belief did not alter his conduct in his daily routine of duty, and with the faithfulness which was one of his marked characteristics, he continued to care for his sheep, tending them with increased watchfulness under the stimulus of his new day-dream.

And from that moment David had unconsciously taken the motto which was his through all his adventurous life:

"I shall not raise my hand against the Lord's anointed."

From that hour when he went back to tend his sheep, after Samuel's visit, to the time when his destiny was fulfilled, David, even under the stress of fierce temptation, never moved a finger to hasten events; never tried to force his way to the throne of Israel, but with buoyant courage, did his duty day by day, and the monotony of his early shepherd's life was varied only by an occasional unexpected adventure.

Look--listen--as he wanders over the hillside at dusk, he shows alarm--he hears a dreaded sound! Ah, yes, one he knew too well--the stealthy glide of a creeping foe coming to attack his flock.

Alone, with only his sling for weapon, in that wild unpeopled country, the shepherd boy stands, brave and alert, ready to protect his sheep. Ah, a lion! the stealthy beast creeps nearer, nearer.

Suddenly David draws his sling, the stone strikes the lion between the eyes, he falls by a single shot. But look--this is not the end of the battle. Even while David is encountering the lion, that most dreaded of all foes of the flock, a huge bear glides with stealthy steps, and seizes a lamb. Quick as an arrow David hurls himself upon the monstrous beast, who drops his prey and rises in angry power on his hind legs to hug and crush his enemy. But David is too quick for him, he grasps the bear by the jaw with iron force, grapples with him, the great creature snarls, moans, writhes and is no more, while David, hot with the joy of victory, turns back to quiet his frightened flock.

Does not this encounter give a hint of the fearless courage that made David such a famous warrior in later life?

Now let us note another side of his many-sided character while we listen to the melodies he so dearly loved to play on his harp as he wandered over the hills and plains with his flock. David had in him the making of a mighty warrior, a great king, but he had too, a dreamy, sensitive, poetic side to his nature, which made him deeply appreciate and enjoy all the beauty of nature which he tried to express in his music, and which long years later, came out more clearly in those wonderful psalms which he wrote, and which have comforted and helped so many generations of Christian people.

In those days Saul was becoming less and less of a dignified, self-controlled leader, as he began to realise that he was not powerful enough to hold his people, and he frequently gave way to fits of terrible anger or prolonged melancholy, from which no one could rouse him. At that time when the Philistines were gaining so many victories over the Israelites, it was most important that Saul should not give way to such attacks, as they unfitted him to perform his public or private duties, and every means of quieting him was tried, but in vain. Finally, it was suggested that music has a soothing effect on troubled spirits, and when the idea was mentioned to Saul it pleased him, and he at once commanded that a musician be found and brought to him. Then came the question of who that musician should be, and one of Saul's counsellors said:

"Behold, I have seen a son of Jesse, the Bethlehemite, that is cunning in playing and a comely person, and the Lord is with him."

The description pleased Saul and he at once sent a messenger to Jesse, saying:

"Send me David, thy son, which is with the sheep."

And so once again, there came to David a new experience for which he had had no preparation, and again, as before, he neither refused nor questioned the call to a different life, but while Jesse, his father, was preparing a present to send to Saul by David, according to the custom of the times, David was making hasty preparations to leave home. Soon he was ready to set off, and taking with him an ass laden with bread, a bottle of wine and a young kid, which were Jesse's present to Saul, on he journeyed over the hills and through the valleys until he reached the court of the King, and presently stood in the presence of Saul, who almost as soon as he had looked at the lad with his fair, bright face and sturdy figure, took a great fancy to him, and commanded him to become one of his household and to come and play to him whenever he should be summoned, and also sent this message back to Jesse:

"Let David, I pray thee, stand before me, for he hath found favour in my sight."

So David stayed at the King's court, and whenever Saul gave way to an attack of anger or depression, the young minstrel would hasten to him, and play melodies grave and gay, sweet and brilliant, playing with such skill that before he knew it, Saul would be in good humour again, or drop into a deep, refreshing sleep, and little did he dream that the lad who had such power to soothe and amuse him had been anointed by Samuel to rule over Israel in his place. That David thought often and earnestly about this, would be only natural to suppose, and we can but fancy that in those days amid surroundings such as he had never had before, the young lad learned much of the manners and customs of a king's life, and learned too, from the weakness that he saw in Saul's nature what a king ought to be and do. Probably much of David's tact in dealing with men and circumstances at a later day came from his observations in those early days when he was but a minstrel at the court of Saul.

How long he remained there, we do not know, but until Saul's attacks of passion and melancholy had been entirely overcome. Then, in the same spirit of unquestioning obedience as he showed before to the call of circumstances, as soon as he was no longer needed by Saul, David went back again to his home in Bethlehem and again tended his father's flocks in the Judean pasture-lands.

The Israelites and the Philistines were still at war, and the two armies were now encamped against each other on opposite ridges that overhung a valley, called the valley of the Terebinth, about sixteen miles from Bethlehem.

Battles in those days were sometimes merely encounters between two champions chosen by the opposing armies to fight for them; but the Philistines had given no hint to the Israelites that this was to be their plan of action, when suddenly, out from their camp there burst forth Goliath, the last and mightiest of the giants of Gath, and shouted out a challenge to the Israelites, saying:

"Why are ye come out to set your battles in array? Am not I a Philistine and ye servants to Saul? Choose you a man for you and let him come down to me. If he be able to fight with me and kill me, then will we be your servants, but if I prevail against him, then shall ye be our servants and serve us!" And he added in a mighty voice that rang through the valley:

"I defy the armies of Israel this day! Give me a man that we may fight together!"

Colossal and terrifying, the great monster stood, like a glittering mountain of power as the rays of the sun fell upon him, for he was over ten feet tall, and his coat of mail was as heavy as bags of gold would be, and shone like a mirror, and on his head was a huge helmet of brass, and even his mighty limbs were covered with shining metal. He carried a brass spear with a head heavier than that of ten ordinary spears, and the staff of it was as huge as a young birch tree, while before him walked the bearer of his shield, glittering too in the rays of the sun. A mighty monster, he, Goliath, the giant of Gath, as he faced the army of the Israelites and thundered forth his challenge to them to find a warrior bold enough to fight with him, and the Israelites were filled with fear as they saw him, and Saul's heart was heavy with terror, and he at once offered great riches and the hand of his daughter to any warrior who would accept Goliath's challenge. But for forty days not a man answered the challenge or attempted to win the reward offered by Saul.

Then David, who was still tending his father's flocks, but whose three elder brothers were with the army of the Israelites, was sent by his father to carry supplies of food to them. Of course, David had heard much at home that interested him deeply in the armies and their manoeuvres, and now he could scarcely restrain his joy at the thought of seeing the encampments for himself, and he got up early the next morning and leaving his sheep with a keeper, set out gleefully, even though what he had to carry was a heavy burden, for he was taking a large quantity of parched corn and ten loaves of bread to his brothers, as well as ten cheeses to the captain of their division of the army. But he was so happy at the change in his monotonous life that he did not mind the length of the journey nor the weight of his burden.

And when he saw the tents of the encampments lying before him, he thrilled with the courage and the desire of a born warrior, and quickly leaving his provisions with the keeper of supplies, he ran forward to the division of the camp where his brothers were, and eagerly greeted them, but they seemed not at all glad to see him, even though he had come to bring them sorely needed food.

Jealousy is one of the worst faults a person can have, and it is to be feared that David's family all felt it and showed it for this youngest brother, who though a mere boy of seventeen, had received honours, and shown ability far beyond their own, instead of rejoicing in his good fortune, as they should have done.

But David was evidently accustomed to their manner, and was unconscious then of everything but his keen desire to know what the plans of the two armies were, and poured out question after question, without heeding the impatience of his brothers' answers.

And as he stood talking, there suddenly stood before him the glittering monster Goliath, and again his challenge rang through the valley; and as always when Goliath was seen or heard, the men of Israel turned away and fled in terror. But not so David. He was thrilled at the sight of the mighty giant and asked the men who stood by him:

"What shall be done to the man that killeth this Philistine and taketh away the reproach of Israel? For who is this Philistine that he should defy the armies of the living God?"

And the men answered him that Saul had promised riches and honour and his daughter's hand in marriage to him who should kill Goliath.

And Eliab, David's oldest brother, listened while David questioned the men, and being very angry at David's presence, said bitterly:

"Why camest thou down hither, and with whom hast thou left those few sheep in the wilderness? I know thy pride and the naughtiness of thy heart, for thou art come down that thou mightest see the battle."

But David, instead of showing anger at such an unkind speech, merely answered:

"What have I _now_ done? Is there not a cause," and paying no further attention to Eliab, turned away, asking every man he met the same question he had asked before, until finally his persistency attracted so much attention, that Saul was told about this lad who was showing such unusual interest in the rewards to be given for facing Goliath in battle, and Saul at once sent for David, who by this time was flushed with excitement, and with the contagious enthusiasm of the battlefield, and he answered Saul like an old and mighty soldier.

"Let no man's heart fail because of him. Thy servant will go and fight with this Philistine."

Think of it, a slender inexperienced young shepherd lad taking up a challenge like that of Goliath!

Saul was astonished at David's words, and exclaimed, "Thou art not able to go against this Philistine and fight him, for thou art but a youth, and he a man of war from his youth."

Throwing his shoulders back, and standing with head held high and eyes bright with determination, David answered proudly:

"I kept my father's sheep, and there came a lion and a bear and took a lamb out of the flock, and I went out after him, and delivered it out of his mouth, and when he rose against me, I caught him by the beard and smote him and slew him. The Lord that delivered me out of the paw of the lion and the bear, he will deliver me out of the hand of this Philistine."

For a moment Saul looked in silent awe at this brave young warrior--then in a voice trembling with admiration and with emotion, he said with solemn emphasis:

"Go, and the Lord be with thee."

And then roused by the contagion of David's fearless enthusiasm, and by the excitement of trusting a mere boy to give battle to the great Goliath, Saul, with his own hand, dressed David in his own suit of armour for the encounter, giving him his heavy coat of mail, his glittering brass helmet, and even bound his own sword at David's side. At first David's delight was great that he was wearing the armour of a real warrior. But when he tried to walk or run, the heavy coat of mail hindered him and the weight of the sword and helmet made him feel like a captive in chains, and at last he cast them off, saying to Saul:

"I cannot go with these."

And although Saul showed his consternation at this young champion of the Israelites against Goliath, going to battle without armour or sword, he made no attempt to persuade David into doing other than as he desired. And David stood before him again, this time, wearing his simple shepherd's dress, and feeling both free and happy again. Then taking up his staff, he went to a near-by brook and from its bed picked out five smooth white stones,--notice how careful he was to choose smooth stones. These he put in a bag which hung at his side, and then with only his sling in his hand, he advanced towards the giant, who having heard that David had accepted his challenge, had advanced to meet him in all his power and show of glittering armour and weapons.

Now Goliath had not heard of David's youth, and when he saw that his adversary was only a fair strong boy, the giant grew scornful, and seeing David's staff and sling, he shouted contemptuously in a voice that rang from ridge to ridge, across the great valley:

"Am I a _dog_ that thou comest to me with stones?" adding:

"Come with me, and I will give thy flesh unto the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the fields."

But David paid no heed to the scorn, but sturdy and strong he stood and faced Goliath, answering:

"Thou comest to me with a sword and with a spear and with a shield, but _I_ come to thee in the name of the Lord of Hosts, the God of the armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied. This day will the Lord deliver thee with my hand and take thine head from thee, and I will give the carcasses of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air and the wild beasts of the earth, that all the earth may know that there is a God in Israel, and all this assembly shall know that the Lord saveth not with sword and spear, for the battle is the Lord's and he will give you into our hands."

A pretty long speech and a pretty decided statement to be made by a shepherd-boy--was it not? David's positive assurance that he could kill Goliath, and that God was with the army of Israel, showed the boy to be no ordinary boy, carried away by warlike enthusiasm.

Goliath heard with mighty contempt and anger, the retort of David and his taunt, and advanced in all his power and glory towards him, while David, never taking his eyes off the giant's face, quietly put his hand in his bag, slowly took out one of the stones he had so carefully selected, and slung it with the unerring aim for which he was famous.

With fatal accuracy it struck Goliath between the eyes. The mighty giant groaned, and fell--slain by the hand of David, who, as he had no sword of his own, hastily knelt on Goliath's body, drew his sword from its sheath, and with it cut off the giant's head, and stripped him of his valuable armour, to carry to Bethlehem as a trophy.

David, so young, so inexperienced in the art of war, had killed the champion of the enemy. It seemed incredible. Through the ranks of both armies the news spread like wildfire, and when the Philistines realised what had happened, they were so terrified for fear of what might follow, that they fled, with the victorious Israelites in hot pursuit, who with cheers and shouts and great slaughter pursued them to the nearest city, and then returned to despoil the tents of the vanquished enemy, singing loud songs of triumph.

And then David, flushed with victory, came before Saul carrying with him the head of the giant. It is easy to picture Saul's absolute astonishment when he realised that the conquering hero of his army was this mere youth, so unlike his other warriors.

But he talked long and eagerly with David, asking all sorts of questions about his manner of slaying Goliath, and while they talked, Jonathan, Saul's son, stood near them, listening and watching, and as he heard David's stirring tale of victory, he was filled with admiration for the boy who had done such a mighty deed; and, in that instant, as the Bible says, "the soul of Jonathan was knit with the soul of David," and the friendship of David and Jonathan was begun. David's eyes flashed back an answering glance of interest to the King's son, and there was a quick response of each to the other. And that being so, you can imagine the joy of both the youths when Saul told David that he was to go no more home to his father's house to tend his flocks, but was to be thereafter his armour-bearer, or the member of his household who came into the closest relation with the king. On hearing this great piece of news, David glanced proudly at Jonathan, and Jonathan at once led David away and took from him his shepherd's dress, and clothed him in his own garments, giving him even his girdle and his sword, which was the greatest honour he could have conferred on David, the sign that he felt David had, by his courageous act, proved himself more worthy to be the heir to a throne, than he, the king's own son, was. And, too, he felt such a thrill of affection for this new friend, David, that he could not help doing something to show it. And then and always, Jonathan's friendship for David was absolutely free from all taint of jealousy, and he always stood aside, that honours might be heaped upon his friend, even those which by the rights of inheritance, should have been his own.

And so David began his new life at the court of Saul, with Jonathan, his new friend, and the first happy days passed only too quickly. David went out wherever Saul sent him, doing the King's bidding so well and so wisely that Saul set him in command over his men of war, who all gladly obeyed David. Although he was so young, he ruled so tactfully that all the people, and even Saul's ministers grew more and more fond of the youth who had killed Goliath, while Jonathan rejoiced in every honour paid to his friend, and had not one bit of envy in his heart, that David was so popular and so powerful. But Saul was less noble in nature than Jonathan his son was, and when one day, not long after David had killed Goliath, the men, women and children from all the cities of Israel, trooped out to meet King Saul, singing and dancing and playing musical instruments in celebration of David's victory, and the women sang--

"Saul hath slain his thousands and David his ten thousands."

This made Saul very angry and very jealous, for it was a revelation of the strength of the national feeling against him, and as he heard the shrill chant he exclaimed with fierce jealousy:

"They have ascribed unto David his ten thousands and to me they have ascribed but thousands, and what can _he_ have more but the kingdom?"

From that moment, Saul was never fond of David, but always bitterly envious of him, and watched to see how and when he could do the lad an injury.

The violence of his rage and jealousy threw him into one of his old paroxysms, and as of old, David was called to soothe him by the music of his harp. But the sight of David threw Saul into a still worse fever of madness, and in anger he hurled his spear, the symbol of his royalty, at David, crying:

"I will smite David even to the wall with it," but David was quick enough to avoid it, and when at another time Saul attempted the same thing, David again slipped aside, and the spear simply struck the wall. This agility of David's made Saul even more angry than before, and increased his fear of the wonderful youth, whom Saul felt had the blessing of God, which had been taken from him. So strong was Saul's dislike of David now, that finally he sent him away from the house, giving him a position where he would have less influence than formerly, for he would be only captain over a thousand men, but the new position only increased David's popularity. He ruled those under him with such wisdom that all the people loved him, and Saul was, of course, more jealous and angry than before, and yet afraid of him too, and he began to think of another way to rid himself of the troublesome rival.

When David had fought Goliath, he was promised the hand of Saul's eldest daughter in marriage, if he should be victorious, which promise had not been kept as yet, and now Saul remembered this, and offered to redeem the promise by giving David his daughter, Merab, as wife, hoping that in this way, he would not only rouse David's gratitude, but make him feel in honour bound to fight the Philistines again, for his wife's sake, and Saul hoped that they might kill him.