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Dơnload The Goth House Experiment 1st Edition SJ Sindu Full Chapter
Dơnload The Goth House Experiment 1st Edition SJ Sindu Full Chapter
Sj Sindu
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again. Many who have at some time been numbered with the saints
have later, like Judas, turned out to be betrayers.
Benedict Arnold battled nobly for the American colonies, but he
blackened his fair name beyond the power of rehabilitation when he
plotted to secure and betray West Point. It is pathetic to read of his
last hours in London when he donned his old American uniform, put
on the insignia that Washington gave him after his victory at
Saratoga, and said: “Let me die in this old uniform in which I fought
my battles. May God forgive me for ever putting on any other.”
This reminds us of Esau’s remorse when he lost his chieftainship,
and the despair of Judas after selling his Master. Infidelity to trust is
an awful sin. Unfaithfulness is inexcusable and often brings with it
direst penalty. It is a gradually increasing sin. There is first a lack of
love to God. Then, like Peter on the sea and Elijah under the juniper
tree, disbelief creeps into the heart, earnestness is lost,
unwatchfulness results, joy vanishes and unholy living follows. In the
end, unless there is a returning to God like the prodigal son to his
father, death becomes sad and eternity awful.
It was about three hundred and fifty years ago that a martyrdom
took place, long considered legendary, but which was verified in
1853. An Arab baby was taken by Spanish soldiers and brought to
Oran to be sold as a slave. The good Vicar-general, Juan Caro,
bought him and named him Geronimo. When he was eight years of
age, some Arab slaves escaped from Oran, and, thinking to do the
boy a kindness, took him with them. For years he lived with his
people as a Mahometan, but the holy faith which through Juan Caro
had been planted in the boy’s heart had taken firm root and could
not be destroyed. For twenty-five years he remained with them and
then ran away and returned to the Vicar-general. “Because I wished
to live henceforth in the faith of the Divine Saviour,” he said, “I
returned to you.” Juan Caro was delighted. He received the young
Arab as a lost child.
Soon after he entered the Spanish Guard as a soldier and after
performing many brave acts received a high military position. He
married and for ten years nothing but happiness shone into his life.
He won the respect and confidence of all. He was Juan Caro’s right
hand man, and his wife was a daughter to his adopted father. One
bright May day in 1569 news came to Oran that a small Arab
encampment was a short distance away. The rumor did not seem
important. A handful of Spaniards could easily manage the Arabs, at
least so thought Geronimo. Taking nine soldiers he manned a little
boat and rowed out of the safe harbor and along the blue sea past the
coral fishery of Mers-el-Kebir. Suddenly two Moorish brigantines
which had been lying in wait chased and ran them down. The nine
soldiers escaped but Geronimo, who was a marked man, was seized
and carried to Euldij Ali, the Calabrian renegade. A great cry spread
among the Arabs through Algeria that the apostate was captured.
The Moors who knew his history made a solemn vow that they would
restore him to his old religion. For this they sent Marabouts to
convert him with arguments and fair promises, but they returned
discomfited to Euldij Ali. Another method was now tried. Geronimo
was loaded with chains, treated with the utmost cruelty and when
faint from torture and scarcely able to speak, the Marabouts stood
around him offering him liberty, power, honor and riches. No offer,
however, made him deny his faith, no longing for freedom made him
forswear for one single moment his religion. Once, after some most
horrible threats, he raised his poor suffering head, and with a voice
so weak it could scarcely be heard, he said, “They think they will
make me a Mahometan, but that they shall never do, even if they kill
me.”
For four months Euldij Ali gloated over the daily tortures he was
inflicting on Geronimo. At last the sameness of cruelty palled upon
him, and he was determined to invent a new and more hideous
revenge for the stubbornness of his captive. One morning the desired
idea came to him. Examining the works of a fort by the gate of Bab-
el-Oned, he saw a block of beton standing by the great stones. This
block was a mould in the shape of the immense stones, filled with a
kind of concrete. When the concrete was sufficiently hardened, the
wall was to be built with it.
Here was the height of torture. Here was the most exquisitely
painful death man might devise! The dog of a slave should be laid in
a similar mould, the liquid plaster poured over him, and the
renegade, built alive into the wall, should be converted into stone.
Calling a mason he said: “Michel, you see this empty mould of beton?
For the present leave it. I have a mind to make beton of that dog of
Oran who refuses to come back to the faith of Islam.”
The poor mason finished his day’s work with a sad heart. As soon
as he entered the prison where Geronimo was a captive he informed
him of Euldij Ali’s intention. Geronimo calmly answered, “God’s holy
will be done. Let not those miserable men think they will frighten me
out of the faith of Christ by the idea of this cruel death. May my
blessed Saviour only pardon my sins, and preserve my soul.”
The whole of that night the brave young Arab spent in prayer and
preparation for the tortures which he knew were awaiting him.
Between two and three o’clock the next morning a guard summoned
him to the Pasha’s presence, where stood a great multitude of Turks
and Arabs in their gorgeous robes. He was then dragged to the gate
of Bab-el-Oned, being beaten all the way. Euldij Ali addressed him
slowly and clearly. He pointed out every detail of the fearful death,
showed him the block of beton, and then said: “Do you still refuse to
return to the faith of Islam?” “I am a Christian, and as a Christian I
will die,” was Geronimo’s answer. “As you will,” replied the Pasha.
Pointing to the beton, he said, “Then here shall you be buried alive.”
“Do your will. Death shall not make me abandon my faith.” The
Pasha raised his hand. The soldiers stepped forward and removed
the chain from the prisoner’s leg. His hands were bound behind his
back, his legs crossed and tied together. Then, lifting the poor man,
they laid him face downward in the mould. A renegade Spaniard
named Tamango, desiring to show what a fervent Mahometan he
was, jumped on Geronimo’s body and broke his ribs. This act so
pleased Euldij Ali that others followed his example. The plaster was
then poured over him, and the brave Christian was suffocated.
Three hundred years later the noble Arab’s martyrdom was
brought to light and the story verified. In the museum of Algiers is
the cast. It shows a slight figure, a face with veins all swollen, a poor
mouth closed with a patient determined expression, hands tied, legs
swollen, even the broken ribs are distinguished. He was “faithful
unto death.”
REWARD OF FAITHFULNESS.
“My Pledge.”
I WILL
Keep to the right as the law directs,
Keep from the world my friends’ defects.
Keep all my thoughts on the purest themes,
Keep from my eyes the motes and beams.
Keep true my deeds, my honor bright,
Keep firm my faith in God and right.
Keep free from every sin and stain,
Keep from the ways that bring me pain.
Keep free my tongue from words of ill,
Keep right my aim, and good my will.
Keep all my acts from passion free,
Keep strong my hope, no envy see.
Keep watchful care o’er tongue and hand.
Keep firm my feet, by justice stand.
Keep true my word, a sacred thing,
Keep from the snares the tempters bring.
Keep faith with each I call a friend,
Keep full in view the final end.
Keep firm my courage, bold and strong,
Keep up the right and down the wrong.
Keep well the words of wisdom’s school,
Keep warm by night, by day keep cool.
My Symphony.
“To live content with small means, to seek elegance rather than
luxury, and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy, not
respectable, and wealthy, not rich; to study hard, think quietly, talk
gently, act frankly, to listen to stars and birds, to babes and sages,
with open heart; to bear all cheerfully, do all bravely, await
occasions, hurry never;—in a word, to let the spiritual, unbidden and
unconscious, grow up through the common. This is to be my
symphony.”
William Henry Channing.
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