Fourth Reader

Had never couched a spear.
They knew so sad a messenger
Some ghastly news must bring,
And all of them were fathers,
And their sons were with the King.

And up then rose the Provost —
A brave old man was he,
Of ancient name, and knightly fame,
And chivalrous degree.
He ruled our city like a Lord
Who brooked no equal here.
And ever for the townsman’s rights
Stood up ’gainst prince and peer.
And he had seen the Scottish host
March from the Borough-muir,
With music-storm and clamorous shout,
And all the din that thunders out
When youth’s of victory sure.
But yet a dearer thought had he, —
For, with a father’s pride,
He saw his last remaining son
Go forth by Randolph’s side,
With casque on head and spur on heel
All keen to do and dare;
And proudly did that gallant boy
Dunedin’s banner bear.
Oh! woful now was the old man’s look,
And he spake right heavily —
“Now, Randolph, tell thy tidings,
However sharp they be!
Woe is written on thy visage,
Death is looking from thy face:
Speak! – though it be of overthrow,
It cannot be disgrace!”

Right bitter was the agony
That wrung that soldier proud:
Thrice did he strive to answer,
And thrice he groaned aloud.
Then he gave the riven banner
To the old man’s shaking hand,
Saying – “That is all I bring ye
From the bravest of the land!
Ay! ye may look upon it —
It was guarded well and long,
By your brothers and your children,
By the valiant and the strong.

One by one they fell around it,
As the archers laid them low,
Grimly dying, still unconquered,
With their faces to the foe.
Ay! ye may well look upon it —
There is more than honor there,
Else, be sure, I had not brought it
From the field of dark despair.
Never yet was royal banner
Steeped in such a costly dye;
It hath lain upon a bosom
Where no other shroud shall lie.
Sirs! I charge you, keep it holy,
Keep it as a sacred thing,
For the stain you see upon it
Was the life-blood of your King!”

Woe, and woe, and lamentation!
What a piteous cry was there!
Widows, maidens, mothers, children,
Shrieking, sobbing in despair!
“Oh, the blackest day for Scotland
That she ever knew before!
Oh, our king! the good, the noble,
Shall we see him never more?
Woe to us, and woe to Scotland!
Oh, our sons, our sons and men!
Surely some have ’scaped the Southron,
Surely some will come again!”
Till the oak that fell last winter
Shall uprear its shattered stem —
Wives and mothers of Dunedin —
Ye may look in vain for them!

    – William Edmondstoune Aytoun.

THE DISCOVERY OF THE MACKENZIE RIVER

Upon a bright June morning, in the year 1789, the gates of Fort Chipewyan, on the south shore of Lake Athabaska, opened to give passage to a party of gayly dressed fur-traders. At their head strode a handsome young Scotsman named Alexander Mackenzie. The love of adventure had brought him from the Highlands to Montreal, where he joined a company of merchants engaged in the western fur-trade. Bartering blankets and beads for beaver-skins soon grew wearisome, however, and Mackenzie looked around eagerly for a chance to win fame for himself and glory for his adopted country. He had heard of the wonderful journey of Samuel Hearne, from the shores of Hudson Bay to the far-off mouth of the Coppermine River, and determined that he too would explore the immense unknown country that lay to the northward.

Fort Chipewyan had been built only in 1788, by Mackenzie’s cousin Roderick, and although some of the fur-traders had pushed their way a few hundred miles farther north to the shores of Great Slave Lake, nothing was known of what lay beyond, except from the reports of roving Indians. These Indians were in the habit of bringing their furs to Fort Chipewyan to trade, and Mackenzie never lost a chance of questioning them as to the nature of the country through which they had travelled. They would draw rude maps for him on birch-bark, or in the sand, of rivers, lakes, and mountains. Finally they told him of a mighty river that ran out of the western end of Great Slave Lake. None of them had ever been to its mouth, but they had been told by Indians of a different tribe who lived upon the banks of this river, that it emptied into the sea at such an immense distance that one would have to journey for several years to reach the salt water. Mackenzie knew that this could not be true, but he made up his mind to explore this great river and discover whether it flowed into the Arctic Sea or into the Pacific.

All preparations having been made, therefore, he and his plucky little band of French-Canadian boatmen and Indian hunters got into their canoes. Amid shouts of farewell from the fort, the paddles dipped noiselessly into the water, and they were off on their long journey to the mouth of the Mackenzie. A few days’ paddling brought them to Great Slave Lake, which they had to cross very carefully in their frail birch-bark canoes, as great masses of ice were still floating about in spite of the warm June sun. Before the end of the month they had reached the western end of the lake, and entered the Mackenzie River.

Day by day and week by week they paddled steadily onwards, the days growing longer as they went farther north. It must have seemed strange to rise, as they did, at two o’clock in the morning, and find the sun already up before them. As they journeyed down the river they met many new tribes of Indians, who had never before seen white men. Sometimes the Indians would rush into the woods in terror; at other times they would brandish their spears and clubs threateningly, until Mackenzie made them understand by signs that the white men were friends, not enemies. Then they would come near and examine with wonder his strange clothes and weapons, and they were willing to offer him all that they owned for a handful of bright-colored beads.

Early in July, Mackenzie reached a point where another river emptied into the one he was exploring. The Indians told him that this river came from a very great lake, which they called Bear Lake, some distance off to the eastward. Two days later he came to what were afterwards known as the Ramparts of the Mackenzie River, where the rocky banks rise to a great height, as straight as the walls of a room. The river grew narrow at this point and rushed forward so violently that Mackenzie and his men feared every moment would be their last. With great care, however, they managed to keep the canoes afloat, and presently the river widened out again and the current became less rapid.

Mackenzie now knew, from the direction of the river, that it must empty into the Arctic Sea, and as the short summer would soon be over, he would have to turn back within a few days. He therefore urged his men forward at their utmost speed. On July 10th, he came to a place where the river divides into a number of channels. He chose what seemed the largest, and on they went, racing for the mouth of the great river. Finally the banks widened out into what seemed at first to be a lake. Weary and dispirited, the explorer landed upon an island and threw himself down upon the hard ground to sleep. A shout from one of his men aroused him a few hours later. The water had risen, he said, and was carrying away their provisions. There could no longer be any doubt. The rising water was the tide, and the long task was completed. They had reached the mouth of the Mackenzie, and stood upon the shores of the Arctic Sea. A post was driven into the frozen ground, upon which Mackenzie carved his own name and those of his men, with the date. Then he gave the word, and the canoes bounded away with renewed energy on the long journey back to Fort Chipewyan.

    – Lawrence J. Burpee.