id stringlengths 16 16 | text stringlengths 151 2.3k | word_count int64 30 60 | source stringclasses 1
value |
|---|---|---|---|
twg_000000047200 | Sir Henry Havelock, and their troops, were fast shut up, around them a vast multitude of mutineers. But now near at hand was Sir Colin Campbell with the army of relief. It was difficult, nay, almost impossible, to get a trusty messenger through that multitude of fierce and bloodthirsty foes; and yet it was of the utmost importance that Sir | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047201 | Colin should have some one to tell him what was passing within the Residency, and show him the best route by which his troops could approach. If any man tried to get through and failed, death--or perhaps worse still, horrible torture--was his certain fate. But there was one man who determined to do it, or die in the attempt. His | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047202 | name was Kavanagh. It was so dangerous a matter that when Sir James Outram heard of his proposal he declared he would not have asked one of his officers to attempt the passage. But in the end he accepted the offer, and Kavanagh prepared for the journey. Dressing himself as a native soldier, and covering his face and hands with | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047203 | lampblack, he was so altered in appearance that even his friends failed to recognise him. Thus disguised, and accompanied by a native spy named Kunoujee Lal to guide him, he set out. The night, fortunately, was dark and favoured their design. The first thing they did was to ford the Goomtee, a river about a hundred yards wide, and four | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047204 | or five feet deep. Taking off their garments they waded across; but whilst in the water Kavanagh's courage reached a low ebb, and he wished himself back again. However, they got to the opposite bank in safety, and crouching up a ditch found a grove of trees, where they dressed. Kavanagh's confidence had now returned, and he felt so sure | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047205 | of his disguise that he even exchanged a few words with a matchlock-man whom they met. After going on for about half a mile they reached the iron bridge over the river, and here they were challenged by a native officer. Kavanagh kept judiciously in the shade whilst the guide advanced and answered the questions put to him satisfactorily, and | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047206 | they were allowed to proceed. A little further they passed through a number of Sepoys, but these let them go by without inquiry. Having had the good fortune to get unperceived past a sentry who was closely questioning a native, they came into the principal street of Lucknow, jostling against the armed rebels, who would have killed them in a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047207 | moment had their suspicion been aroused. But no mishap occurred, and after being challenged by a watchman they at last found themselves to their great relief out in the open country. They were now in the best of spirits, and went along for a few miles in a state of great gladness. Then came a rude shock. They had taken | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047208 | the wrong direction, and were returning into the midst of the rebels. It was an awful awakening for Kavanagh. Suppose the spy after all were playing him false. It seemed an extraordinary mistake to have made. Happily it was stupidity not treason that had caused the disastrous loss of time, and the guide was full of sorrow for his error. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047209 | There was nothing now to be done but to return as quickly as possible; but they were for a while in an awkward fix, as they could get no one to direct them. A man whom they asked declared he was too old to guide them, another on being commanded to lead them ran off shouting and alarmed the village. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047210 | It was now midnight, so there was no time to be lost. They made for the canal, into which Kavanagh fell several times, for his shoes were wet and slippery, and he was footsore and weary. By this time the shoes he wore had rubbed the skin off his toes and cut into the flesh above the heels. About two | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047211 | o'clock in the morning they came across a picket of Sepoys, and, thinking it safer not to try and avoid them, went up and asked the way. Having answered the inquiries put to them without exciting suspicion, they were directed aright. They now made for Sir Colin's camp, which the spy told him was situated at a village called Bunnee, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047212 | about eighteen miles from Lucknow. The moon had risen by this time, and they could now see their way clearly. About three o'clock a villager observing them approach called out a Sepoy guard of twenty-five men, who asked them all kinds of questions. Kunoujee Lal now got frightened, for the first time; and threw away the letter he had received, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047213 | for fear of being taken, but Kavanagh kept his in his turban. At last they satisfied the guard that they were poor men travelling to the village of Umroola to inform a friend of the death of his brother, and they were directed on their perilous road. Hardly had they got through one difficulty than they were into another. For | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047214 | now they found themselves in a swamp, where they waded for two hours up to their waists in water. This might have proved the worst accident of all, for in forcing his way through the weeds nearly all the black was washed off Kavanagh's hands. Had they after this been seen by the enemy there would have been little chance | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047215 | of either of them reaching the British lines alive. Much against the spy's advice, Kavanagh now insisted on a quarter of an hour's rest, for he was about worn out. After this they passed between two of the enemy's pickets who, happily for them, had no sentries thrown out, and reached a grove of trees. Here he asked Kunoujee Lal | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047216 | to see if there was any one who could tell them where they were. Before they had gone far, however, they heard with joy the English challenge, "Who goes there?" They had reached a British cavalry outpost, and Kavanagh's eyes filled with tears as he shook the officer's hand. They took him into a tent, gave him some dry clothes | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047217 | and refreshment; and he thanked God for having preserved him through the perils of that awful night. All through the British camp spread the tale of Kavanagh's brave deed; and the enthusiasm of officers and men alike knew no bounds. The information he was able to give proved of the greatest assistance; and a little later he had the honour | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047218 | of conducting Sir James Outram and Sir Henry Havelock into the presence of Sir Colin Campbell, and witnessed the meeting of these three great commanders. When the army of relief forced its way into Lucknow, Kavanagh was always near the commander-in-chief; and, when at length they drew near to the besieged, he was one of the first at the Residency, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047219 | and as he approached a loud cheer burst forth from his old associates. "It is Kavanagh!" they shouted. "He is the first to relieve us. Three cheers for him!" In consideration of his gallant services he received the Victoria Cross, and was afterwards made Assistant-Commissioner of Oude. THE MAN WHO BRAVED THE FLOOD. THE STORY ON CAPTAIN LENDY'S BRAVE DEED. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047220 | In the autumn of a police force of forty men, under the command of Captain E.A.W. Lendy, Inspector-General of Police, in Sierra Leone, was sent to open a road to Koinadugu, which, owing to the war with the Sofas, had been closed. It was no easy task to perform. The men had to cut their way through a dense jungle. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047221 | This was heavy and tiring work, and, owing to the fact that for a month past they had been obliged to exist on a small quantity of rice, they were not in the best condition to undertake such labour. However, so as to get the road finished as quickly as possible they worked from sunrise to sunset. Even the night | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047222 | slid not bring them rest and peace; for the rain descended in such a manner as to add to the discomfort of their situation. On the 4th of November the force arrived at the Sell or Roquelle river. The stream was eighty yards wide. There was no bridge over it, but only a creeper rope tied across from bank to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047223 | bank. The river was very full, and a swift current was running; two hundred yards below, the noise of falls sounded a warning note, and it was known that alligators infested the district. No wonder, then, that the natives were terrified at the idea of attempting to swim across. Yet the river lay between Captain Lendy's force and the food | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047224 | and rest it needed. So, though owing to the privations the men had endured their vital powers were at a low ebb, yet, with starvation staring them in the face they must make the passage--alligators and falls notwithstanding. The first to cross were two policemen, who, after a difficult journey, got safe to the other side. Then followed a scene | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047225 | of excitement and danger. Private Momo Bangura and Sergeant Smith were the next pair to start. Hardly had they reached midstream when Bangura's rifle band, slipping over his arms, pinned them to his side. Smith gallantly went to the rescue; but it was difficult enough for him to get along alone; and, with Bangura to support, he quickly became exhausted. | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047226 | After shouting for help, he and his companion disappeared from view beneath the waters. At once two other men went to Bangura's assistance, giving Smith an opportunity of looking to his own safety. But it seemed a hopeless struggle. Worn by their previous exertions, the men were unable to give any permanent help to Bangura, and were in their turn | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047227 | dragged under several times in their efforts to afford him assistance. Indeed, it now seemed that, in spite of all the bravery shown, Bangura's fate was sealed, if not that of his would-be rescuers also. It was a terrible predicament. Four men were struggling in the seething waters in deadly danger. Too brave and resolute to leave their comrade-in-arms, too | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047228 | feeble to procure his safety, they were wearing out their strength in futile though heroic efforts, whilst the object of their solicitude was at his last gasp. At this moment their brave commander came to the rescue, and at once changed the aspect of affairs. Diving into the stream he soon reached the drowning man; and the others, released from | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047229 | their burden, were now able to give their undivided attention to self-preservation. The supreme moment had arrived. Would Captain Lendy's efforts end as the others had done? If so, it is probable that all would have found a watery grave in the Roquelle; for, exhausted though they were, the three other men were far too fond of their commander to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047230 | have left him to perish alone. It was for a time a stern fight with death. But Lendy was cool, calm, resourceful. Yard by yard the distance between the further shore was lessened, notwithstanding the race of the waters toward the falls. Foot by foot he drew nearer to safety, though the man lay like a log in the grasp | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047231 | of his rescuer, unable to assist in the struggle that was going on. At length the shadow of death was dissipated; for the gallant soldier managed to land his burden on the further shore, which the others had already reached. The end of the stern combat with the waters was particularly gratifying, as several men had previously lost their lives | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047232 | in crossing the same river. The silver medal of the Royal Geographical Society was awarded to Captain Lendy, and a bronze medal given to his brave followers. But, alas! Lendy did not live to receive his medal. Ere it could reach him he had fallen in a night attack which the French made by mistake upon our forces, supposing them | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047233 | to be natives whom they were seeking to punish. Ere the error was discovered the loss on both sides was serious, and in the conflict her Majesty was deprived of the services of a devoted and faithful servant by the death of heroic Captain E.A.W. Lendy. The little block in this page is a reproduction of Momo Bangura's statement forwarded | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047234 | to the Colonial Office, duly witnessed by his companions' signatures. Pte Momo. Bangurah's Statement. My name is Pte Momo Bangurah. I am a private in the Frontier Police Force. On the 4th instant I tried to cross over the Seli River. I slung my rifle across my shoulder half way across, the sling slipped and so I could not use | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047235 | my arms. I sank but Sergeant Smith caught me. I dragged him down twice and called out for help. Corporal Sambah and Parkins then kept me up but the stream was so strong, that we were taken under several times. I thought my last moment had come. I remember Captain Lendy seizing me and then I forgot everything till I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047236 | found myself being rubbed on shore. If it had not been for Captain Lendy Sergeant Smith Corporals Samba and Parkins, I know I should have been drowned and I thank them for their assistance. (sd) Momo Bangur his mark. Witnesses (sd) Benoni Johnson Sub Inspr. F.P. " R.W. Sawyer Sergt " S. Jenkins Coker Sergt " Emanuel R. Palmer Sergt | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047237 | A TEMPERANCE LEADER. THE STORY OF JOSEPH LIVESEY. The leader of the great temperance movement in England--Joseph Livesey, of Preston--had a very bad start in life. He was quite poor; he lost both father and mother from consumption when he reached his eighth year; he was frail and delicate; his brothers and sisters all died young; so that he seemed | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047238 | ill fitted to make any headway in the race of life. His grandfather, who adopted him, failed in business; and Joseph Livesey commenced his career by doing the work of a domestic servant, as well as toiling at the loom. "As we were too poor to keep a servant," he says, "and having no female help except to wash the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047239 | clothes and occasionally clean up, I may be said to have been the housekeeper." But, whilst he was weaving in the cellar where his grandfather and uncle also worked, he was at the same time gaining knowledge day by day. When his pocket money of a penny a week was increased to threepence, he felt himself on the high road | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047240 | to wealth, and ere long he was the possessor of a Bible and a grammar, which he set himself to study whenever he could get a spare moment. One can scarcely realise the difficulties that lay in the way of a studious boy in those days. A newspaper cost sevenpence; there were no national schools or Sunday schools, no penny | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047241 | publications, no penny postage, no railways, no gas, and no free libraries, and no free education! Yet so resolute was he in his desire for education that, though he was not even allowed a candle after the elders went to bed, he would sit up till late at night reading by the glow of the embers. It is sad enough | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047242 | to see the number of families that are ruined by drink at the present time; but in Livesey's early days people suffered even more from drunkenness than they do now. The weavers used to keep Monday as a day of leisure; and the public-houses were crowded from morning till night with men and women, who drank away their earnings to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047243 | the last penny. In the church to which Joseph Livesey belonged the ringers and singers were hard drinkers, the gravedigger was a drunkard, and the parish clerk was often intoxicated! Living amidst so much sin and misery, this frail lad determined to strive his hardest to assist others. He found Sunday a day of rest and rejoicing to him "a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047244 | feast of good things," and became a Sunday-school teacher and preacher. So far as worldly matters went he was not at all successful in early life. Weaving was so badly paid that he tried several other trades, but only to meet with failure. At the age of twenty he received a legacy of a few pounds; and soon after, having | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047245 | saved a little money, married a good and true woman, who helped him much throughout life. "Our cottage," says Mr. Livesey in his autobiography, "though small, was like a palace; for none could excel my Jenny for cleanliness and order. I renovated the garden, and made it a pleasant place to walk in. On the loom I was most industrious, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047246 | working from early in the morning often till ten, and sometimes later, at night; and she not only did all the house work, but wound the bobbins for three weavers--myself, uncle, and grandfather; and yet, with all this apparently hard lot, these were happy days." But it was not all sunshine at first. He fell ill, and the doctor ordered | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047247 | him better living than he had been getting; and where the money was to come from to get more nourishing food Livesey knew not. He had been ordered to take some cheese in the forenoon, so he bought a piece at about eightpence a pound; and as he munched it came this thought: cheese wholesale cost but fivepence per pound; | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047248 | would it not be possible to buy a piece wholesale and sell it to his friends, so that he too might have the benefit of getting it at this low price? No sooner thought of than done. But, when he had finished weighing out the cheese to his friends, he found he had made, quite unexpectedly, a profit of eighteenpence, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047249 | and that it was more than he could have gained by a great deal of weaving. So he changed his trade: weaving gave place to cheese mongering; and, after some very hard work and persevering efforts, he placed himself beyond the reach of poverty. Now came the important moment of his life. One day in settling a bargain he drank | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047250 | a glass of whisky. It was, he said, the best he ever drank, because it was the last. For the sensation it produced made him resolve he would never again taste a drop of intoxicating liquor. Finding himself the better for this course, he soon tried to get others to join him. His first convert to _total abstinence_ was a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047251 | man named John King; Livesey and he signed together; and on 1st September, , at a meeting held at Preston, seven men--"the Seven Men of Preston," as they are called--signed the pledge, of which the following is a facsimile:-- [Handwritten: We agree to _abstain_ from all Liquors of an _Intoxicating Quality_, whether ale porter Wine, or Ardent Spirits, except as | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047252 | Medicine. John Gratix Edw'd Dickinson Jno: Broadbelt Jno: Smith Joseph Livesey David Anderson Jno: Ring.] It was a terrible struggle for these men at first. They were laughed at, they were abused, they were persecuted; but the more people tried to put them down the harder they fought; and soon hundreds and thousands had joined their ranks, and the movement | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047253 | spread throughout the kingdom. "There is more food in a pennyworth of bread," said Livesey, "than in a gallon of ale"; and he proved it. He lectured far and wide; and, though he met with much opposition, facts in the end prevailed. He was not only a temperance advocate, but an earnest worker for the good of others in various | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047254 | directions. He visited the sick, and helped them. When the railways came he started cheap trips to the seaside for working people, and was never happier than when he was helping the poor and unfortunate. Joseph Livesey is a striking example of the benefits to health derived from teetotalism, as he lived to the good old age of ninety. A | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047255 | GREAT MISSIONARY EXPLORER. THE STORY OF DAVID LIVINGSTONE. It is past ten o'clock at night. A little boy fond of going about the country in search of plants has returned home. Finding the door of his father's house locked, and fearing to awaken his parents, he settles down contentedly on the step to spend the night there. Then a woman's | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047256 | hand quietly unbolts the door and receives the little wanderer back. The boy is David Livingstone. Now-a-days we know him as one of the greatest missionary explorers of our times. A stern father, a loving mother, both godly and upright people--such were the parents of David; and he respected and loved them with a true and constant affection. The boy | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047257 | was fond of learning--so fond indeed that when he was at the factory he would keep his book open before him on the spinning machine. Most people think "one thing at a time" is a very good maxim--David thought two things at a time was even better. At home he was ever ready to lend a hand at house work | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047258 | to save his mother. "If you bar the door, mother," he would say, "I'll wash the floor;" and wash the floor he did, times without number! In later life he used to say he was glad he had thus toiled; and that, if it were possible to begin life again, he would like to go through just the same hard | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047259 | training. He got on quickly at lessons, and became, like his father, a total abstainer for life. He was fond of serious books; and, reading the lives of Christian missionaries, he began to wish to be one himself. Ere long he journeyed from Blantyre near Glasgow (where he had been working as a factory hand) to London, to prepare for | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047260 | going abroad as a missionary. His first address was not very promising. He gave out his text, and then was obliged to confess that his sermon had quite gone out of his mind. In the year David Livingstone, being then just over twenty-seven years old, went out to South Africa as a missionary. He made his way up country to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047261 | the furthest district in which the London Missionary Society then had a station. There he taught the Hottentots, and his heart was ere long rejoiced by the change which took place in them. Before leaving home he had studied medicine, and passed his examination satisfactorily; and this knowledge of healing he found most useful. His patients, the poor African blacks, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047262 | would walk a hundred miles to seek his advice, and his waggon was followed by a great crowd of sick folk anxious to be healed. He studied the language of the tribes amongst whom he was ministering; and soon the people were able to sing in their own tongue, "There is a fountain filled with blood," "Jesus shall reign where'er | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047263 | the sun," and other beautiful hymns which delight the hearts of those in our own land. Whilst he was gaining the affection of the natives, he did not forget his loved ones at home; and out of his scanty salary of about a year he sent to his parents. Before he had been long in Africa he had an adventure | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047264 | which nearly cost him his life. In the parts where he was teaching, the lions were very troublesome, and would come by night and seize cattle. Sometimes even they would venture into the gardens and carry off women and children. So the people got together an expedition to go and hunt the lions, and Livingstone joined them. After they had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047265 | been on the track for some time, and several lions had escaped owing to the fright of the natives, Livingstone saw one sitting on a rock about thirty yards off. He took careful aim and fired both barrels of his gun, wounding it badly. The people thought it was, dead, and were going towards it, but Livingstone made them keep | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047266 | back and began reloading. Before he had finished, the lion sprang upon him, caught him by the shoulder, and began shaking and tearing him so badly that he was utterly overcome. Two persons who tried to help him were bitten by the lion. But just when it looked as if the missionary's life had reached its last day, the lion | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047267 | suddenly fell down dead from the effect of the bullets which he had fired into it. Four years after he had been in Africa he married Mary Moffat, the missionary's daughter. She was a true helpmate, and in the trials and difficulties which beset him his way was made clearer and brighter by this good and loving woman. [Illustration: LIVINGSTONE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047268 | ATTACKED BY THE LION] He could not always take his wife with him, as the districts he explored were so wild and savage. He ran risks of death by thirst, by hostile tribes and disease, and went through terrible places where no woman could have lived. But on many a long and perilous journey she went with him. "When I | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047269 | took her," writes Livingstone, "on two occasions to Lake Ngami and far beyond, she endured more than some who have written large books of travel." One of Livingstone's first mission stations was Mabotsa, where he stayed a year, and in that short time gained the love of the people. When he thought it well to move on farther north the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047270 | natives offered to build him a new house, schools, anything he wished if he would only stay. But he had made up his mind that it was best to go to fresh districts rather than stay in places where there were already teachers, and therefore proceeded forty miles further on to Chonuane. Here he met with almost immediate success. The | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047271 | chief, Sechele by name, became a convert and was able in a few weeks to read the Bible. Isaiah was his favourite book. "He was a fine man, that Isaiah," remarked Sechele; "he knew how to speak." This chief would have been willing to help Livingstone to convert his tribe at a great pace, only his method was not to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047272 | the missionary's liking. "Do you think," said Sechele, "you can make my people believe by talking to them? I can make them do nothing except by thrashing them, and if you like I shall call my headman, and with our whips of rhinoceros hide we will soon make them all believe together!" Like all missionaries, Livingstone was doomed to suffer | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047273 | disappointments. Thus after labouring at Kolobeng for ten years the Boers, annoyed with him for endeavouring to teach them that the natives should be treated with kindness and consideration, made an attack on his house when he was absent. They slaughtered a number of the men and women, carried away children into slavery, and burnt down the mission station. Livingstone | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047274 | was deeply grieved about the capture of the children, but as to his own loss he merely says: "The Boers by taking possession of all my goods have saved me the trouble of making a will". Still on, on into the dark continent went Livingstone. Not dark to him, for he loved the natives and possessed such powers of attraction | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047275 | that wherever he settled he won their affections. After taking leave of Sechele he travelled several hundred miles to the territory of Sebituane. On the road Livingstone and his family had a terribly anxious time. The water in the waggons was all but finished, they were passing through a desert land, their guide had left them. The children were suffering | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047276 | from thirst; his wife, though not uttering a word of reproach, was in an agony of anxiety for her little ones, and Livingstone was fearful lest they should perish in this desert country. When hope had nearly vanished some of the party who had gone out searching for water returned with a supply. They were soon after welcomed by Sebituane, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047277 | the greatest chief in Central Africa, who gave them food to eat, soft skins to lie upon, and made much of them. After the death of Sebituane his son Sekeletu was equally friendly, as may be gathered from this page of Livingstone's diary, which, by the kindness of his daughter, Mrs. Bruce, I am permitted to reproduce. [Illustration: REDUCED FACSIMILE | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047278 | OF A PAGE FROM LIVINGSTONE'S DIARY. THE ORIGINAL IS WRITTEN ON PAPER INCHES BY -/ INCHES.] This entry in his diary was written on the eve of Livingstone's great journey to the West Coast. Having sent his wife and family to England, he determined to find a way from the centre of Africa to the West Coast. It was a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047279 | forlorn hope; but, says Livingstone, "Cannot the love of Christ carry the missionary where the slave trade carries the trader? I shall open up a path to the interior or perish." On the 11th of November, , he left Linyante, having overcome Sekeletu's objection to let him go, and arrived at Loando, on the West Coast, on 31st May, , | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047280 | after a variety of adventures, and being reduced by fever to a mere skeleton. The sight of the sea, which gladdened Livingstone's heart, astonished his native escort beyond description. "We were marching along with our father," they said, "believing that what the ancients had told us was true--that the world had no end; but all at once the world said | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047281 | to us, 'I am finished, there is no more of me'." At Loando friends tried to persuade Livingstone to go to England by sea, but he had promised Sekeletu to return with the men who accompanied him on his great journey, and would not be turned from his purpose. And he arrived at Linyante on the return journey with every | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047282 | one of the men he had taken with him safe and sound! After this followed the journey to the East Coast ending at Quilemane. Besides discovering several large lakes, Livingstone was the first to see the Falls of the Zambesi, which he named the Victoria Falls, after her Majesty the Queen. The water at these falls dashes down in torrents, | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047283 | a sheer depth of feet, the spray rises mountains high and can be seen many miles away, whilst its sound is like the noise of thunder. Numerous were the expeditions he made. In the course of these he traversed thousands of miles of country before untrodden by the feet of Europeans. His fame had now spread to the four quarters | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047284 | of the globe, and he had published several volumes giving an account of his explorations. In January, , he started on his last journey. In April, after suffering intensely from constant illness, he got to a place near Lake Bemba; and here he told his followers to build a hut for him to die in. On the 27th April he | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047285 | wrote the last entry in his diary, viz., "Knocked up quite, and remain--recover--sent to buy milch cows. We are on the banks of the Molilamo." When on the 1st May his followers went into the hut they found the great explorer kneeling by his bedside--dead. Great was their grief and great was the sorrow of all in this country when | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047286 | the news reached Britain of his decease. But the little factory boy had done such a great work that no place was good enough for his remains but Westminster Abbey. FROM FARM LAD TO MERCHANT PRINCE. THE STORY OF GEORGE MOORE. George Moore was born in Cumberland in . His father was a small farmer. He had the misfortune to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047287 | lose his mother when he was six years old; but his father was a good and pious man, whose example had a great effect upon him. The lad was shrewd and earnest, and showed a power of thinking and acting for himself. At one time he worked for his brother in return for his board and lodging; but wishing to | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047288 | make some money for himself he asked the neighbouring farmers to give him some extra work to do, for which he got wages. By the time he was ten years old he was able to earn as much as eighteenpence a day, and at twelve years old did the work and earned the wages of a full-grown man. He had | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047289 | had but little schooling, and his master was one of those persons who thought the best way to get learning implanted in a boy's mind was by forcing it into him at the point of the ruler. He beat his boys much, but taught them little. To finish his education his father sent George for one quarter to a better | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047290 | school. The cost was only eight shillings, but the boy then got an idea for the first time of the value of learning. He determined not to return to farm life, believing he could do better for himself in a town. So at about thirteen years of age George Moore began his business life as apprentice to a draper at | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047291 | Wigton. He did not make at all a pleasant or successful start. His work was very hard. He had to light fires, clean windows, groom horses, and make himself generally useful. His master was fond of drink, and George had to get his meals at a public-house. One of his duties was to serve out spirits to customers who made | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047292 | good purchases. All things considered, it is perhaps not surprising that he got into bad habits himself. He began to gamble at cards, sitting up often nearly all night, and losing or winning considerable sums of money. At last a change came in a rather unexpected manner. George lodged at his master's house, and when he went out to play | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047293 | was accustomed to leave a window unfastened so that he could let himself in without rousing the household. Somehow or other his master found out this plan, and determined to put a stop to it. So one night when George had gone out he nailed down the window, and when the apprentice returned home in the early hours of the | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047294 | morning he found himself locked out. Nothing daunted he climbed on to the roof and managed to get in through his bedroom window. But he narrowly escaped being discharged, and on thinking the matter over he saw how great was his folly. So he determined, with God's help, to give up his evil ways, and was enabled to lead a | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047295 | better life in future. As soon as his apprenticeship was up George Moore resolved to try his fortune in London. At first everything went against him. He tramped the streets of the city from morn till eve, calling here, there and everywhere, seeking for employment, and finding no one to give him a trial. At last he made up his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047296 | mind to go to America. One day, however, he received from a Cumberland man engaged in the drapery trade a request to call upon him. To his intense delight he was engaged, receiving a salary of thirty pounds a year. George had now got his foot on the first round of the ladder, and made up his mind to climb | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047297 | higher. So he at once took lessons at a night school, and worked hard at self-education. Then he got a better place; but, for a time, had to bear much abuse from his master, who declared that, although he had come across many blockheads from Cumberland, George was the stupidest one of all! Still he bore the reproaches of his | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047298 | employer good-naturedly, and before long made his mark. He was offered the position of town traveller, and soon proved himself to be one of the cleverest business men of the time. Before this, however, George had made up his mind about marriage. Seeing his master's little daughter come into the shop he was much struck by her appearance, and remarked | 60 | gutenberg |
twg_000000047299 | that, if he were ever able to marry, that girl should be his wife. His companions laughed at him heartily; but, as a matter of fact, he did marry that girl, though she refused him the first time he asked. From this it will be seen that George Moore was no ordinary youth; and before he had been travelling for | 60 | gutenberg |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.