STICK TO THE RAFT.

BY

MRS. GEORGE GLADSTONE

Author of

"WAITING FOR SAILING ORDERS," "NORWEGIAN STORIES," ETC.

London: THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY

56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD; AND 164, PICCADILLY. MANCHESTER: CORPORATION STREET. BRIGHTON: WESTERN ROAD.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER.

I. THE RAFT

II. KÖSEN

III. KARL SCHMIDT

IV. THE MILLER'S SON

V. THE MARTYR SPIRIT

VI. THE PROMISED HOLIDAY

VII. THE SECRET

VIII. THE SCHUTZEN FEST

IX. WRONG SET RIGHT

X. THE INTERVIEW

XI. THE POOL OF BETHESDA

XII. SAVED BY THE RAFT

STICK TO THE RAFT.

CHAPTER I.

THE RAFT.

THE Fichtel-Gebirge, or Fir Mountains, in Bavaria, have been compared to the garden of Eden, because four rivers rise in their midst, which were once supposed to be rich in gold, and to abound in precious stones. Some of the poor people in this region have been known to search diligently, hoping to find treasures concealed in the beds of the Maine, Eger, Saale, or Naab, which would enrich them, so that they might dispense with hard labour and dwell in luxury for the remainder of their days. But only a few peasants indulged in such dreams. For the most part, the people were, and are, employed in felling the forest trees, laying out new plantations, and burning charcoal.

Hans Richter was a wood-cutter and charcoal-burner; he was but a poor man, as far as this world's goods were concerned, but he was rich towards God, for he had a large store of faith and earnest trust in his Heavenly Father. In fact, in his simple way, he scarcely knew what care meant, just because he realised these words in their full meaning, and not in a halfhearted manner—"Casting all your care upon Him, for He careth for you." He had but little book knowledge, and could with difficulty spell out the words of his Bible, but he could pray: he could talk to his God as he went about his daily work, or as he watched the charcoal smouldering. And he learnt so easily, and had such a good memory that he made many of the rich promises contained in God's Word his own.

Richter was a widower with one son, a lad of fifteen, who was a great solace to him. Young Hans was a tolerable scholar, for during the winter months the forest life was exchanged for a cottage in a little village, and then he went to school, and applied himself to study so eagerly that he acquired more information in the five winter months than his fellow-companions who attended the classes regularly all the year round.

When our story opens, Hans Richter was suffering from a severe cold. The winter had been a trying one, and money so scarce that very often he could not afford to heat his stove. The long illness of his wife, and her subsequent death, exhausted his resources, and incurred some debts which he had only just paid off. In spite of these trials, he did not lose his faith in God, but hoped that the spring and summer work would be plentiful, and that the united efforts of himself and son would enable him once more to accumulate a little hoard for future needs.

The snow had disappeared, and the firs looked green and fresh when Richter and his son gave up their room in the village, removed to the forest, and erected their hut. It did not take them long to build up their summer dwelling-house, it was so simply constructed. The shape of it was conical, and the poles with which it was made were covered with the bark of the fir-tree. This rude hut served to shelter them from storm and wind. It stood about two miles from the village to which they had to go in order to buy bread and other necessaries.

Richter did not remove all his household goods, though they were few enough, to his hut. He left some of his furniture in the care of the poor woman with whom he lodged during the cold weather, and only carried to the forest such articles as were absolutely needed.

"Father," said young Hans, some three weeks after the hut was completed, "you look very tired this afternoon, and seem so weak; lie down and rest, while I go to work. Carl and Wilhelm will come when they have finished their dinners, and we can get along quite well without your help."

"I am very tired, my boy," answered Richter. "I cannot tell you exactly why, but I have never been the same since your mother died, and I think the cold of last winter injured me. Your young bones are not so tender as mine, for you can run about and warm yourself; my cough prevents me from taking sharp exercise, and lately it has hurt my chest. But don't look so sad, Hans; if my Heavenly Father wants me home, I am ready to go. And I am not afraid of leaving you alone, for He will not forsake the orphan, but care for you as He has cared for me. I'll have a sleep while you cut down the branches of your fir; you'll manage to do that easily when Carl and Wilhelm come. But wait for me before you set to work on the trunk."

"Is it to go to Kösen, father?"

"Yes; it is the last one we have to fell to complete the order sent by the Burgomaster. I shall take you with me to Kösen so soon as the raft is ready. When your mother was living, I did not like to leave her alone for so many days, but now I shall be glad of your help. One pair of hands cannot guide a large raft through the twists and turns of the Saale. You've had good practice in your time, my boy, and I think are as clever as your father."

"I want to see Kösen," answered Hans. "I've never been so far; and I've heard it's such a pretty little village."

"It is a town, lad; the people were anxious enough to have it made into one, thinking they would have more privileges, but all they seem to have gained is having to pay heavier taxes and support a Burgomaster, to whom they give a regular annual income."

"There is more to be seen and learnt in a town than in our tiny village, or among these fir-trees," said Hans.

"Perhaps for you, but not for me. I spent some of my early years at Leipzie, yet I was glad when my father accepted the post of head forester, and we came to our quiet little village for the winter, and lived in the forest during the fine weather."

"But then, father, you had good reason to be glad; you have often told me about your early life."

"Yes, lad; I never grow weary of telling you how I learnt to know the Lord. I was a stranger to Him before, and so was your grandfather. Your mother first taught us there was a better world to live for than this. But I needed sorrow to make me think. It was on the day that your darling sister died I prayed my first prayer, and promised to give myself to my Master's service. Ah, lad, such a world of care has been moved off my shoulders since then!

"How well I remember starting on a raft down the Saale some few days after that blessed hour when I cried, 'I am not my own, Lord, for Thou hast redeemed me with Thy precious blood, and I give myself to Thee.'

"Your mother came to see me off, holding you, who were a baby about a year old, in her arms. Before I unchained the raft, I kissed her and said, 'Good-bye! Take care of yourself, and our only little one.'

"'Good-bye, my dear husband,' she replied; 'stick to the raft, and mind how you pass the weir at Kösen. How glad I am to think that there's another Raft you'll stick to besides this one; a Raft which cannot come to any harm, but which will support you in the deepest waters and amid the fiercest storms, when the sun shines, and when the rain falls.'

"I looked at her in astonishment, for I didn't catch her meaning.

"But she soon cleared up the mystery, for she added, 'I mean the Lord Jesus Christ; stick to that Raft, and pray for His Spirit to guide you.'

"It was a good saying of hers, Hans; I've never forgotten it, and I have ever called out to any one who was guiding a raft, 'Stick to it.' And what's more, if I have an opportunity, I tell them there is a heavenly Raft to stick to as well as fir-stems, and I say, 'Hold on to the Saviour, forget self, and cling to God's promises in Christ.'

"Hans, lad, as a sinking man would hug his raft if any accident upset him in the river, so I beseech you cling to Jesus. Don't forget my words. Now go to your work, and I will rest."

Richter closed his eyes wearily when his son left him. "Some day soon I shall fall into the sleep that knows no waking. But when my summons comes, I shall go gladly, and without fear," he murmured. "O Father, for Christ's sake, make my boy true to Thee."

The sun set, and yet the sick man slept heavily, nor did he rouse up to take his supper.

After young Hans had finished his day's work, he watched his father for some time, and then he too fell into a sound slumber. The morning was breaking when the lad was awakened by hearing his name called. He was in time to catch his father's last words.

"I am dying," gasped Richter; "the end has been coming for some time, but I have fast hold of the Raft, Hans; I am not afraid of crossing the river; I hold my Saviour's hand, and He holds mine. I can say truly, 'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for Thou art with me; Thy rod and Thy staff they comfort me.' Stick to the Raft, my boy; stick to the Raft."

————————

CHAPTER II.

KÖSEN.

KÖSEN is a charming little city on the Saale. It lies in a valley surrounded by hills which are well-cultivated and finely wooded. During the summer, the river is thickly studded with rafts made of the trunks of fir-trees, principally cut from the forests about the Fichtel-Gebirge. These rafts are formed by boring holes at the top and bottom of each stem, and fastening them together with twigs. When completed, they are launched on to the river, and the stream carries them down to their destination.

"So help me God, I will stick to the Raft," said Hans Richter, when he left the village cemetery about a month after his father's funeral. He had been there to plant forest-flowers on his parent's grave, and to pray. And with a firm step he took the road which led to his old landlady's house.

"I have called to bid you good-bye," he said as he entered her cottage and shook her warmly by the hand. "I expect not to return to this part again for at least some years to come."

"So I hear," she replied. "You must take a cup of coffee with me this afternoon, and tell me why you are so anxious to leave your old home. The last time I saw you I thought you were inclined to stay in these parts."

"I am so lonely without my father, and feel I had rather go to some place where I can learn more and see more. I mean to try and get some work to do at Kösen."

"That is a long way off, over seventy miles as the crow flies, and perhaps double the distance by the river. It's my native place; I was born there."

"I know it is a good distance, but I can't help that, for business takes me to Kösen; I am going to help Wilhelm Andrea. He is appointed to take the wood to the Burgomaster, now father's dead. The head forester has written to a friend of his who keeps the toll-house, and asked him to give me some employment. He says lads are often wanted to help the rafts over the weir."

"That's true enough, for the weir is full four feet high. I can tell you it needs a good rush of water to enable them to pass it at all."

"I can't quite understand how they get over," said Hans.

"You know what a weir is, I suppose?"

"Oh yes."

"Explain it to me."

"Wherever there's a great mill to be worked, there's a weir. It's only a dam in the river to collect enough water behind it so as to turn the mill wheel."

"Quite right. You'll soon see the old flour-mill; it is a very large one, and grinds nearly all the wheat needed in Kösen for bread. Now I will tell you how the rafts go over. Every raft, as you know, has a man and a boy on it who steer with a fir pole, to which is attached a boat-hook. So soon as the weir is reached, the master of the toll-house, or his assistant, wades through the water from the shore, and stands on the weir. He also holds a long fir pole in his hands, with which he pushes the raft, so as to prevent it from drifting out of the middle of the stream and missing the best point to shoot the fall. The two on the raft have to stand perfectly still, and balance themselves carefully while they glide down the rapid, and they very often get a good shower-bath. I have watched many hundred rafts over the weir at Kösen, and also under the bridge; for the little town boasts a long and very handsome old bridge over the Saale. The moment the raft crosses the weir, there is a deal of steering wanted, for the water is often very shallow under the archways, and it needs some skill

to escape the buttresses."

"I like to hear all this," said Hans, "but I thought the Saale had always plenty of water in it."

"Not always; I have known it almost dry in some places after a long drought. And I have sometimes seen the river so full in the early spring, and the current so rapid that it tore the rafts apart, and dashed the stems of the trees against the bridge."

"Father used to say the rafts made a noise when they passed over the weir."

"And he was right. I know that I often thought it thundered when several went over in succession."

"I must be leaving now; we start away early to-morrow morning."

"I only wish I had some friends at Kösen, for I would speak a good word for you, my dear," said the kind landlady. "But I've been away so long that all my acquaintances have forgotten me. I, like you, Hans, have no relations, for I was an only child."

"Thank you all the same," answered the lad. "I don't feel so lonely as I thought I should, for I have been so used to hear father talk to God that since he's been dead, I've begun to talk to Him myself much more than I used to do."

"That's well. Your father was a good man, Hans; do you follow in his footsteps. I am glad Wilhelm is to be your companion; though I hear he does not remain at Kösen, but is going on to Halle. You'll not be long without finding new friends; only choose those who will raise you higher, and not sink you lower, for we've plenty to pull us down here. We need to have the constant presence of God's Spirit in our hearts if we would live upright and noble lives. Farewell; may God go with you."

Hans Richter and his companion arrived at Kösen on a beautiful evening in June. The moon was at its full, and shone directly over the weir, giving the rapid a silvery appearance. So exquisite was the scene that many of the townspeople and visitors gathered on the old bridge to watch the effect of the moonlight on the water.

Kösen is one of the smallest towns in Germany; it is not thickly populated, save in the summer months when its saline waters attract many strangers, as they are considered to be especially beneficial for children.

"We will not go so far as the toll-house," said Wilhelm Andrea; "it is too late to pay duty to-night. We will just moor our raft to a stake."

The raft was soon securely fastened to one of the many stakes which are placed at intervals along the banks of the Saale. And then Hans and his companion went off in search of a night's lodging.

They slept soundly in the small double-bedded room which they secured at a little inn, nor did they awake until the sun was high in the heavens. Hans was the first to rouse up, but Wilhelm was too tired to think of the day's work which lay before him. So the lad determined to go at once to the forester's friend at the toll-house, and ask if he could find him any employment, for he did not wish to lose time; he had to win his bread by his own exertions. The bundle which lay on his bed contained his best suit of clothes, a pair of boots, two shirts, and his father's Bible; all besides he had disposed of, and after meeting outstanding expenses with the results of the sale he had one thaler, or three shillings, left.

Before the boy set out, he read the twenty-third Psalm, and thought of his father's dying words; then he knelt in prayer to God, and asked for a blessing to rest on him, and that he might find friends and employment, and be honest, and not afraid of holding on to the right in time of temptation. When he had ended his prayer, he rolled his Bible carefully up in his clothes, then tied the bundle in a large silk pocket-handkerchief, and went in search of the forester's friend, who was known in Kösen as Karl Schmidt the toll-master.

————————

CHAPTER III.

KARL SCHMIDT.

EVERY raft which passes through Kösen has to pay duty, and therefore the little four-roomed cottage built on the banks of the Saale just above the weir is inhabited by the toll-master.

Karl Schmidt had served in this capacity at Kösen for many years. He was a quaint, queer, strange-looking man, rough in his manners, but with a good honest heart beneath a rather unpleasing exterior. He had no wife, nor had he ever been married; his neighbours often wondered that he was a single man. He and his God, and one other, knew why he chose a bachelor's life, for Karl never talked about his own affairs. Many townspeople and strangers were admitted into the pretty parlour, which commanded a view of the river, where Schmidt transacted his business when the weather was too wet or the days too cold to admit of his taking his chair outside the door, but only a few of these were his friends.

He was known to some in Kösen as "Old Karl," and yet he was neither grey nor infirm. It is true he had stray white hairs mingling with his brown locks, but he was still in the prime of manhood, so perhaps he earned his name because he was quiet in manner and naturally grave in disposition. He was rarely found at a fête, and certainly never seen in the public-house. Yet he filled a great place in Kösen, for he was regarded by many as a friend in need, and his advice was sought after and given cheerfully. By a few he was thought proud, but they were among the prosperous people in his own class who had never asked for his sympathy.

On the morning when Hans Richter sought him, he was up betimes, and busy about household matters. First he lighted the stove and put the kettle on; then he swept out the little kitchen and dusted and arranged the parlour. Afterwards he went upstairs again and made his bed and set his room in order. This done, he tapped at the door which faced his own. A feeble voice answered, "Come in."

Karl entered. On a clean bed lay a sickly woman, his mother, who had been partially paralysed for some years. She was his great duty in life; for her sake he had never thought of marriage. She had always been an invalid, and needed many luxuries; and when she grew so ill as to be unable to move without assistance, he was doubly thankful to God that he could keep her in tolerable comfort. He loved her intensely; to her he showed the gentle nature which lay concealed beneath the rough exterior.

"How have you slept, mother dear?" he asked, coming to her side and kissing her.

"Much better than usual, Karl," she answered, smiling at him fondly. "I mean to get up when Maria comes."

Maria was an old woman employed by Karl for a few hours every day to attend upon his mother.

"I am so glad to hear this," he answered. "I'll make coffee at once, and then I must go to business, for I hear the Burgomaster's wood arrived late last night, and I know he is in a great hurry to begin building. Besides, that boy will come on the raft who has been recommended to me. I really think I shall try him, for I have been obliged to dismiss Robert."

"I am glad he is gone, for your sake, but sorry for his own. He has too indulgent a father, and a bad companion in Paul Ebhardt, so that he has no one to influence him for good. I did hope he would have turned over a new leaf. I like the boy, with all his faults, though I fear he will be a constant source of trouble to the miller. You'll read with me as usual, Karl, before you go out?"

"Certainly, mother. I shouldn't expect a blessing on my day's work if we neglected to read the Bible and pray together morning and night."