An Island Story, H. E. Marshall [learn to read books txt] 📗
- Author: H. E. Marshall
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“Yes, dear one,” said Boadicea gently. “I too will drink, and we shall meet again.”
When the Roman soldiers burst in upon them, they found the great queen dead, with her daughters in her arms.
She had poisoned both herself and them, rather than that they should fall again into the hands of the Romans.
CARACTACUS was dead, Boadicea was dead, many other brave British leaders were dead, but the Britons still continued to give the Romans a great deal of trouble.
At last Vespasian, who was then Emperor of the Romans, sent a general called Julius Agricola to see if he could subdue the people and govern the island of Britain.
Julius Agricola was a very clever soldier and a wise man. When he had gained one or two victories over the Britons, he tried what kindness would do. This was something the Romans had never done before.
Julius Agricola tried to understand the people. He was just and fair. He not only took away many of the heavy taxes which the Romans had made the British pay, but he built schools and had the people taught to read and write. For up to this time the Britons had had no teachers and no schools. None of them could read or write, and perhaps there was not a single book in the whole island.
Of course, books in those days were quite different from what they are now. There was no paper, and printing was unknown, so when people wanted to make a book they wrote upon strips of parchment, which was made from the skins of animals. These strips were then rolled up, and looked very much like the maps we hang upon the wall, only they were smaller.
Besides building schools, Agricola built public halls and courts where the people might come and ask for justice, whenever they had been wronged. He taught the Britons what obedience, law and order meant, and in every way tried to make them live good lives.
Soon the Britons began to understand that the Romans could give them some things which were worth having. So there was much more peace in the land.
Julius Agricola also built a line of forts across the island from the Forth to the Clyde. He did this to keep back the wild Picts and Scots, or people of the north. For as they could not be brought under Roman rule nor tamed in any way, he thought it was better to try to shut them into their own country. Later on an emperor, called Antonine, built a great wall along the line of Agricola’s forts for the same purpose.
But while Julius Agricola was doing all this good work in Britain, the emperor who had sent him died, and another ruled instead.
This emperor was jealous of Agricola because he managed the people of Britain so well. He was so jealous that he told Agricola to come back to Rome, and sent another man to govern Britain instead of him.
It was very foolish of a great emperor to be angry with his general because he did his work well. He ought rather to have been glad.
The people of Britain soon showed him how foolish he had been, for they once more rebelled against Roman rule.
Later on another great emperor who was called Hadrian reigned, and he himself came to Britain. He found the wild people of the north very troublesome, so he built a wall across Britain from the Tyne to the Solway. He did not try to drive these wild people so far north as Agricola had done. The wall which Hadrian built is still called by his name, and is still to be seen to this day; so you can imagine what a very strong wall it was and what a fierce people they were who lived beyond it.
Hadrian was wise as Agricola had been. He taught the Britons many things which were good and useful to know. But very soon after he left the island, the people rebelled again.
And so it went on until, at last, nearly five hundred years after the first coming of Julius C�sar, the Romans gave up and left Britain altogether. That was about the year 410 A.D. The wonder is that they had stayed so long, for the Britons had certainly given them a great deal of trouble.
But after all, although the Britons always fought against the Romans, they had learned many things from them.
Before the Romans came, the Britons had been very ignorant and wild. In many parts of the country they wore no clothes at all. Instead, they stained their bodies blue with a dye called woad. Their houses were only little round huts, with a hole in the middle of the roof which let some light in and the smoke of the fire out. There were no schools, and little boys and girls were taught nothing except how to fish and hunt, and how to fight and kill people in battle.
There were hardly any roads and there were no churches.
The ancient Britons were heathen. They worshiped the oak-tree and the mistletoe.
The British priests were called Druids. It is said that they received their name from Druis, who was a very wise king of Albion in far-off times.
The Druids were the wisest people in the land. When any one was in doubt or difficulty he would go to them for advice. They were very solemn and grand old men with long white beards and beautiful robes. There were no churches, as I said, but the people worshiped in dark hollows in the woods and in open spaces surrounded by great oak-trees. Some of the teaching of the Druids was very beautiful, but some of it was very dreadful, and they even killed human beings in their sacrifices.
But the Romans taught the Britons many things. They taught them how to build better houses and how to make good roads, how to read and write, and much more that was good and useful. And presently priests came from Rome, bringing tidings of a new and beautiful religion.
They came to tell the people of Britain how the Son of God came to earth to teach men not to hate and kill each other, but to love each other, and above all to love their enemies.
It is difficult to understand what a wonderful story this must have seemed to the wild island people. For they were a people who were born and who lived and died among wars and hatred. Yet many of them believed and followed this new religion. Gradually the Druids disappeared, and the priests of Christ took their place.
Although the religion of Christ came from Rome, the Romans themselves were nearly all pagans. And one of the last Roman emperors who tried to rule Britain hated the Christians very much. He forbade the worship of God and Christ, and killed and tortured those who disobeyed his orders.
But the people who had once become Christian would not again become heathen. They chose rather to die. A person who dies for his religion is called a martyr.
In the next chapter is the story of the first Christian martyr in Britain.
THE STORY OF ST. ALBAN
THE first Christian martyr in Britain was called Alban. He lived in the town called Verulamium. He was a Briton, but he was one of those who had learned many things from the Romans. When he was a boy he had even traveled to Rome, and had seen the beautiful city from which these conquerors took their name. And all that he had seen and learned had helped him to grow up a noble, generous man.
Alban had a great deal of money, and with it he used to help the poor people who lived around him. Every one loved and trusted him. Even the Christians loved and trusted him although he was a heathen. If any one was in trouble he would go for help to Alban the great, rich, kind man.
When the wicked Roman Emperor sent men to kill the Christians in Britain, a holy man called Amphibalus, who also lived in Verulamium, fled to the house of Alban for shelter.
“My lord,” said this old man, “the soldiers of the emperor seek me to take my life. Hide me, and God will reward you.”
“What evil have you done?” asked Alban.
“I have done no evil,” replied Amphibalus. “I am a Christian, that is all.”
“Then fear nothing,” said Alban kindly. “I have heard much of the Christians, but nothing that is bad.”
Then Alban took Amphibalus into his house and hid him. He seemed quite safe there, as the soldiers did not think of looking for him in the house of a man who was a heathen.
Alban talked every day with Amphibalus, who told him all the story of Christ. It seemed to Alban very beautiful and wonderful that any one should die to save others. He felt that this religion of love and gentleness was much better than the fierce teaching of the Druids.
For some days Amphibalus lived in peace. But one day while he sat talking with Alban, a frightened servant came to say that soldiers were at the gate. They had found out where Amphibalus was hiding.
“My son,” said the old man trembling, “I must say farewell, for I am about to die.”
“No,” replied Alban, “I will save you yet. Give me your robe.”
Then hastily taking off his own beautiful robe he threw it over the old man’s shoulders, and thrust a purse of gold into his hand. “Go,” he said, “go quickly; my servant will take you by secret ways. I will keep the soldiers from pursuing you. But bless me, father, before you go.”
Alban knelt, and Amphibalus gently laid his hand upon the bowed head.
“May God the Father reward you, and may the Holy Spirit lead you in the true way of Christ. Farewell, my son.” Then he made the sign of the cross over him, and was gone.
Alban wrapped himself in the robe which Amphibalus had taken off and, drawing the hood over his head, waited.
The soldiers, having at last forced a way into the house, rushed in upon him. Seeing a man in the robe of a priest, they seized and bound him, never doubting that it was Amphibalus the Christian.
Alban was then led before the Roman Governor. There his hands were unbound, and he threw off his long robe. Great was the astonishment of the soldiers when they discovered that their prisoner was not the Christian priest for whom they had been seeking, but the heathen lord, Alban.
The Governor happened to be offering up sacrifices to idols, when Alban was led before him. He was very angry with the soldiers for allowing Amphibalus to escape, and still more angry with Alban for helping him to do so.
“Who are you, and how dare you hide wicked and rebellious people in your house?” he asked. “You must tell me where this Christian is hiding, and offer sacrifices to the gods to show that you are sorry for what you have done.”
“I can do neither of these things,” replied Alban.
“Who are you, that you dare to defy me?” demanded the Governor.
“What does it matter to you who I am?” replied Alban.
“I asked for your name,” repeated the Governor in furious anger. “Tell it to me at once.”
“My parents call me Alban,” he then replied.
“Then, Alban, if you would have the gods forgive you, you must offer sacrifices to them, and repent of your wicked words and deeds.”
“I cannot,” replied
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