1. Daring rescues are countless. Do you know of any in your community—by police, firemen, or civilians?
2. What about the rescue described here is unusual?
One of the most daring voyages in the history of
American exploration was Major John Wesley Powell's
descent through the Grand Cañon of the Colorado River,
in 1869. The river had been discovered three hundred
years before his memorable journey, but Major Powell was 5
the first to explore the magnificent gorge through which it
flows and to report his findings to the world.
Major Powell was a scientist. The lack of knowledge
about the Grand Cañon was a challenge too strong for him
to resist. With a party of ten picked men he started on 10
the perilous voyage, on May 24, 1869. He did not know
that ahead of them was a seething stretch of water, two
hundred miles in length, broken by rapids and waterfalls,
teethed with jagged stones, and walled in by solid rock a
mile high in places. 15
Into the cañon shot the frail boats. Oars were soon
broken on rocks, and new ones had to be made from drift
logs. The constant hammering of the boats made them
leaky. To calk the seams, the men had to climb thousands
of feet to get resin from some stunted pine tree. 20
More than once a boat filled with water in a turbulent
passage, but the swiftness of the current carried it to more
placid waters below, where it could be bailed out.
The difficulties of the explorers were increased by the
lack of daylight hours. The sun shines each day for only 25
a short time in the gorge, and twilight follows twilight in
close succession. Moreover, the winding passage prevented
a view ahead. Falls were guessed at by the roaring of
waters reverberating against the walls of rock. Upon
such a warning the boats were landed, and if there was
ledge room to walk, the men carried and dragged their
vessels around the danger spot. If there was no shelving 5
rock wide enough to permit a portage, the men climbed to a
higher ledge and eased the boats over the falls with ropes.
Sometimes nothing was left to do but to "shoot" the falls
and trust to luck to get over without capsizing.
The food supply of the crew soon ran low. The flour 10
was water-soaked, the bacon became tainted, and much of
the supply was lost by going overboard.
Short rations, scant sleep on damp ledges, and the hard
labor of navigation soon told on the men. But most of
them were of tried courage and endurance. One day they 15
came to a little patch of earth by the side of the river. On
this some corn and squashes were growing—probably
planted by Indian tribes living at the top of the gorge.
The corn was too immature to be eaten; but the men enjoyed
a feast of baked squash, even though the squashes 20
were green.
At the end of fifteen days all of their provisions were
gone, excepting some heavy flour and dried apples. They
had arrived at a place where they could climb out of the
cañon and the question arose as to seeing the voyage finished 25
or giving it up. Three men decided to give up; so they
took their share of provisions and guns and climbed out,
only to be killed shortly afterwards by the Indians. The
remainder pursued their awful way, not knowing how much
longer they must endure the terrible hardships. 30
Suddenly, on the sixteenth day, they emerged into an
open space. The Grand Cañon had been traversed!
Down the river they floated till the following day, when
they found some settlers drawing in a fish net. These
settlers had heard that Major Powell had been lost in the
cañon and were keeping a lookout for pieces of boats.
Instead, a worn but victorious party confronted them. 5
Food in plenty was soon forthcoming, and the members of
the party were feasted as heroes.
1. Give a two-minute talk on the Grand Cañon, touching on location, general character, etc. Consult your geographies and reference books for material. Make your talk interesting.
2. Why did Major Powell undertake this dangerous trip? How many men went with him? How many deserted him? What were some of the troubles they encountered? How did the venture turn out?
3. Name some other famous explorers. Who discovered the north pole? The south pole? The Mississippi River? The Pacific Ocean?
Mr. O'Brien spent some time among the South Sea Islands, and had many interesting adventures there. One of the most exciting was this encounter with a swordfish, which he relates in a delightful manner.
Red Chicken became my special friend and guide,
and on one occasion it was our being together, perhaps,
saved his life, and afforded me one of the most thrilling
moments of my own.
He and I had gone in a canoe after nightfall to spear fish5
outside the Bay of Virgins. Night fishing has its attractions
in these tropics, if only for the freedom from severe
heat, the glory of the moonlight or starlight, and the waking
dreams that come to one upon the sea, when the canoe rests
tranquil, the torch blazes, and the fish swim to meet the10
harpoon. The night was moonless, but the sea was covered
with phosphorescence, sometimes a glittering expanse of
light, and again black as velvet except where our canoe
moved gently through a soft and glamorous surface of
sparkling jewels. A night for a lover, a lady, and a lute.
Our torch of coconut husks and reeds, seven feet high, 5
was fixed at the prow, so that it could be lifted up when
needed to attract the fish or better to light the canoe.
Red Chicken, in a scarlet pareu fastened tightly about
his loins, stood at the prow when we had reached his
favorite spot off a point of land, while I, with a paddle, 10
noiselessly kept the canoe as stationary as possible.
Light is a lure for many creatures of land and sea and
sky. The moth and the bat whirl about a flame; the sea
bird dashes its body against the bright glass of the lonely
tower; wild deer come to see what has disturbed the dark 15
of the forest; and fish of different kinds leap at a torch.
Red Chicken put a match to ours when we were all in readiness.
The brilliant gleam cleft the darkness and sent
across the blackness of the water a beam that was a challenge
to the curiosity of the dozing fish. They hastened 20
towards us, and Red Chicken made meat of those that came
within the radius of his harpoon, so that within an hour or
two our canoe was heaped with half a dozen kinds.
Far off in the path of the flambeau rays I saw the swordfish
leaping as they pursued small fish or gamboled for 25
sheer joy in the luminous air. They seemed to be in pairs.
I watched them lazily, with academic interest in their
movements, until suddenly one rose a hundred feet away,
and in his idle caper in the air I saw a bulk so immense, and
a sword of such amazing size, that the thought of danger 30
struck me dumb.
He was twenty-five feet in length, and had a dorsal fin
that stood up like the sail of a small boat. But even these
dimensions cannot convey the feeling of alarm his presence
gave me. His next leap brought him within forty feet of
us. I recalled a score of accidents I had seen, read, and
heard of; fishermen stabbed, boats rent, steel-clad ships 5
pierced through and through.
Red Chicken held the torch to observe him better, and
shouted: "Apau! Look out! Paddle fast away!"
I needed no urging. I dug into the glowing water
madly, and the sound of my paddle on the side of the canoe 10
might have been heard half a mile away. It served no
purpose. Suddenly half a dozen of the swordfish began
jumping about us, as if stirred to anger by our torch. I
called to Red Chicken to extinguish it.
He had seized it to obey when I heard a splash and the 15
canoe received a terrific shock. A tremendous bulk fell
upon it. With a sudden swing I was hurled into the air
and fell twenty feet away. In the water I heard a swish,
and glimpsed the giant espadon as he leaped again.
I was unhurt, but feared for Red Chicken. He had 20
cried out as the canoe went under, but I found him by the
outrigger, trying to right the craft. Together we succeeded,
and when I had ousted some of the water, Red Chicken
crawled in.
"Papaoufaa! I am wounded slightly," he said, as I 25
assisted him. "The Spear of the Sea has thrust me
through."
The torch was lost, but I felt a big hole in the calf of his
right leg. Blood was pouring from the wound. I made a
tourniquet of a strip of my pareu and, with a small harpoon, 30
twisted it until the flow of blood was stopped. Then,
guided by him, I paddled as fast as I could to the beach,
on which there was little trouble in landing as the bay was
smooth.
Red Chicken did not utter a complaint from the moment
of his first outcry, and when I roused others and he was
carried to his house, he took the pipe handed him and 5
smoked quietly.
"The Aavehie was against him," said an old man.
Aavehie is the god of fishermen, who was always propitiated
by intending anglers in the polytheistic days and who still
has power. 10
There was no white doctor on the island, nor had there
been one for many years. There was nothing to do but
call the tatihi, or native doctor, an aged and shriveled
man whose whole body was an intricate pattern of tattooing
and wrinkles. He came at once, and with his clawlike 15
hands cleverly drew together the edges of Red Chicken's
wound and gummed them in place with the juice of the ape,
a bulbous plant like the edible taro. Red Chicken must
have suffered keenly, for the ape juice is exceedingly caustic,
but he made no protest, continuing to puff the pipe. Over20
the wound the tatihi applied a leaf, and bound the whole
very carefully with a bandage of tapa cloth, folded in surgical
fashion.
—White Shadows in the South Seas.
1. What were the author and Red Chicken doing at the outset? Read the lines where the adventure begins.
2. Like most real adventures this one was all over in a moment. What happened? Why did it occur?
3. Spell, pronounce,and explain: phosphorescence, lure, stationary, propitiated, polytheistic, tattooing, caustic.
(Taken from O'Brien's White Shadows in the South Seas by permission of the publishers, The Century Co.)
No man has written more stirring tales, in prose or verse, in recent times than Rudyard Kipling. Born (1865) in Bombay, India, the son of an Englishman in the civil service, he became steeped in the ways of the men of the East. Consequently his first writings were sketches of Anglo-Indian life, written for Indian newspapers with which he was connected. Then followed a series of books on Eastern themes, some in prose and others in verse. Among these was Departmental Ditties from which the following narrative poem is taken. Read it through first to get the story and the atmosphere in mind.
—Departmental Ditties.
1. What do you think Kipling means by "East is East, and West is West"? Who in the poem represented the East? Who the West? Where is the scene of the poem laid?
2. What incident gave rise to the ride? Interpret the advice given by Mahommed Khan. What did he mean in lines 14-15, page 168, and lines 12-13, page 169?
3. What happened in the first lap of the ride? In the second? How was Mahommed Khan's advice shown to be true? What was the climax of the chase?
4. What happened when the two chief characters met face to face? What kind of man was Kamal? Prove your comments from the poem.
5. How did the whole affair turn out?
6. You doubtless have read Kipling's Jungle Books, and you will wish to read Captains Courageous, and some of his short stories like "Wee Willie Winkie."
Kipling married an American woman and lived for a time at Brattleboro, Vt. He now resides in England.
This is an account of one night's camping-out experience in the mountains of southeastern France. Stevenson's only companion was Modestine, a donkey "not much bigger than a dog, the color of a mouse, with a kindly eye and a determined jaw." The selection is especially fine in its interpretation of night out of doors. Read it to gather the impressions that the sights and sounds made upon the author. Then read it to discover what you would have listened for (and probably heard) had you been in the same position.
From Bleymard after dinner, although it was already
late, I set out to scale a portion of the Lozère. An
ill-marked stony droveroad guided me forward; and I met
nearly half a dozen bullock carts descending from the woods,
each laden with a whole pine tree for the winter's firing.5
At the top of the woods, which do not climb very high upon
this cold ridge, I struck leftward by a path among the
pines, until I hit on a dell of green turf, where a streamlet
made a little spout over some stones to serve me for a water
tap. "In a more sacred or sequestered bower . . . nor 10
nymph, nor faunus, haunted." The trees were not old,
but they grew thickly round the glade; there was no outlook,
except northeastward upon distant hilltops or straight
upward to the sky; and the encampment felt secure and
private like a room. By the time I had made my arrangements 15
and fed Modestine, the day was already beginning
to decline. I buckled myself to the knees into my sack and
made a hearty meal; and as soon as the sun went down, I
pulled my cap over my eyes and fell asleep.
Night is a dead monotonous period under a roof; but
in the open world it passes lightly, with its stars and dews
and perfumes, and the hours are marked by changes in the
face of Nature. What seems a kind of temporal death to
people choked between walls and curtains, is only a light 5
and living slumber to the man who sleeps afield. All night
long he can hear Nature breathing deeply and freely; even
as she takes her rest, she turns and smiles; and there is
one stirring hour unknown to those who dwell in houses,
when a wakeful influence goes abroad over the sleeping 10
hemisphere, and all the outdoor world are on their feet.
It is then that the cock first crows, not this time to announce
the dawn, but like a cheerful watchman speeding the course
of the night. Cattle awake on the meadows; sheep break
their fast on dewy hillsides, and change to a new lair among 15
the ferns; and houseless men, who have lain down with
the fowls, open their dim eyes and behold the beauty of
the night.
At what inaudible summons, at what gentle touch of
Nature, are all these sleepers thus recalled in the same hour 20
to life? Do the stars rain down an influence, or do we
share some thrill of mother earth below our resting bodies?
Even shepherds and old country folk, who are the deepest
read in these arcana, have not a guess as to the means or
purpose of this nightly resurrection. Towards two in the 25
morning, they declare the thing takes place; and neither
know nor inquire further. And at least it is a pleasant
incident. We are disturbed in our slumber only, like the
luxurious Montaigne, "that we may the better and more
sensibly relish it." We have a moment to look upon the 30
stars, and there is a special pleasure for some minds in
the reflection that we share the impulse with all outdoor
creatures in our neighborhood, that we have escaped out
of the Bastille of civilization, and are become, for the time
being, a mere kindly animal and a sheep of Nature's flock.
When that hour came to me among the pines, I wakened
thirsty. My tin was standing by me, half full of water. 5
I emptied it at a draft. The stars were clear, colored and
jewellike, but not frosty. A faint silvery vapor stood for
the Milky Way. All around me the black fir points stood
upright and stock-still. By the whiteness of the packsaddle,
I could see Modestine walking round and round at the 10
length of the tether; I could hear her steadily munching
at the sward; but there was not another sound, save the
indescribable quiet talk of the runnel over the stones. I
lay lazily smoking and studying the color of the sky, as
we call the void of space, from where it showed a reddish15
gray behind the pines to where it showed a glossy blue-black
between the stars.
A faint wind, more like a moving coolness than a stream
of air, passed down the glade from time to time; so that
even in my great chamber the air was being renewed all 20
night long. I have not often enjoyed a more serene possession
of myself, nor felt more independent of material aids.
The outer world, from which we cower into our houses, seemed
after all a gentle, habitable place; and night after night a
man's bed, it seemed, was laid and waiting for him in the25
fields, where God keeps an open house. I thought I had
rediscovered one of those truths which are revealed to
savages and hid from political economists: at the least, I
had discovered a new pleasure for myself. And yet even
while I was exulting in my solitude I became aware of a 30
strange lack. I wished a companion to lie near me in the
starlight, silent and not moving, but ever within touch.
For there is a fellowship more quiet even than solitude,
and which, rightly understood, is solitude made perfect.
As I thus lay, between content and longing, a faint
noise stole towards me through the pines. I thought, at
first, it was the crowing of cocks or the barking of dogs at 5
some very distant farm; but steadily and gradually it took
articulate shape in my ears, until I became aware that a
passenger was going by upon the highroad of the valley
and singing loudly as he went. There was more of good will
than grace in his performance; but he trolled with ample 10
lungs; and the sound of his voice took hold upon the hillside
and set the air shaking in the leafy glens. I have
heard people passing by night in sleeping cities; some of
them sang; one, I remember, played loudly on the bagpipes.
I have heard the rattle of a cart or carriage spring 15
up suddenly after hours of stillness and pass, for some
minutes, within the range of my hearing as I lay abed.
There is a romance about all who are abroad in the black
hours, and with something of a thrill we try to guess their
business. But here the romance was double: first, this 20
glad passenger, who sent up his voice in music through the
night; and then I, on the other hand, buckled into my
sack, and smoking alone in the pine woods between four
and five thousand feet towards the stars.
When I awoke again (Sunday, 29th September) many of 25
the stars had disappeared, only the stronger companions
of the night still burned visibly overhead; and away
towards the east I saw a faint haze of light upon the horizon,
such as had been the Milky Way when I was last awake.
Day was at hand. I lit my lantern, and by its glowworm 30
light put on my boots and gaiters; then I broke up some
bread for Modestine, filled my can at the water tap, and
lit my spirit lamp to boil myself some chocolate. The blue
darkness lay long in the glade where I had so sweetly
slumbered; but soon there was a broad streak of orange
melting into gold along the mountain top of Vivarais.
A solemn glee possessed my mind at this gradual and lovely5
coming in of day. I heard the runnel with delight; I
looked round me for something beautiful and unexpected;
but the still black pine trees, the hollow glade, the munching
ass, remained unchanged in figure. Nothing had
altered but the light, and that, indeed, shed over all a 10
spirit of life and of breathing peace, and moved me to a
strange exhilaration.
I drank my water chocolate, which was hot if it was not
rich, and strolled here and there, and up and down about
the glade. While I was thus delaying, a gush of steady 15
wind, as long as a heavy sigh, poured direct out of the
quarter of the morning. It was cold and set me sneezing.
The trees near at hand tossed their black plumes in its
passage; and I could see the thin, distant spires of pines
along the edge of the hill, rock slightly to and fro against the 20
golden east. Ten minutes after, the sunlight spread at
a gallop along the hillside, scattering shadows and sparkles,
and the day had come completely.
I hastened to prepare my pack, and tackle the steep
ascent that lay before me; but I had something on my 25
mind. It was only a fancy; yet a fancy will sometimes be
importunate. I had been most hospitably received and
punctually served in my green caravansary. The room
was airy, the water excellent, and the dawn had called me
to a moment. I say nothing of the tapestries or the inimitable 30
ceiling, nor yet of the view which I commanded from
the windows; but I felt I was in some one's debt for all
this liberal entertainment. And so it pleased me, in a
half-laughing way, to leave pieces of money on the turf
as I went along, until I had left enough for my night's
lodging. I trust they did not fall to some rich and churlish
drover. 5
—Travels with a Donkey.
1. What did Stevenson see during the night? What did he hear? How did he feel? The details are not unlike those in Robinson Crusoe.
2. Re-read the first paragraph, page 178, and tell what its chief idea is. Select the paragraph in which the description is clearest to you. Read it aloud. Observe how the simple words are arranged to make pictures and to produce rhythm. Stevenson rewrote many times to get this easy clearness.
3. If you have ever slept out of doors what impressed you most? What sounds did Stevenson probably fail to hear? Was he a naturalist?
4. Stevenson was born in Edinburgh, Scotland, in 1850. He belonged to a family of civil engineers. His health was always poor, so he traveled a great deal. He went to France and to Switzerland. He came to America and spent some time in the Adirondacks. Finally he settled on an island far out in the Pacific Ocean, where he lived till his death, in 1894. In spite of his poor health, he was a busy writer of novels, essays, short stories, and verse.
This is a poetic description of an old-fashioned autumn scene on a England farm. The huskers in the field merely jerked the ear of corn from its stalk, leaving the husk on the ear. The husks were afterwards removed in the barn at a big husking bee or picnic, in which the neighbors took part. Read the poem for its pictures.
—The Huskers.
1. What is Indian summer? Is this a description of an Indian summer day? Sketch the field described, or the sunset. Observe the color words in the last stanza.
2. What was happening in the woods on that October day? In the fields? Describe the scene in each.
Most of our wild flowers that blossom in the fall are of brilliant colors. In September the fields and fence rows are a blaze of reds, yellows, buffs, and browns. Conspicuous among these is the stately yellow plume of the goldenrod, strikingly described in the following poem. Read this selection slowly. Every line adds to the picture—every word means one more idea. Try to sense the entire meaning of the author.
(Used by special permission of the author.)