The Courage of Sarah Noble

by Alice Dalgliesh

  Newbery Honor Book

  Lewis Carroll Shelf Award

  THE COURAGE

  OF SARAH NOBLE

  by ALICE DALGLIESH

  author of

  The Bears on Hemlock Mountain

  Illustrated by Leonard Weisgard

  When Sarah Noble was eight years old she had her great adventure—going with her father into the wilds of Connecticut to cook for him while he built a house.

  There were Indians—would they be friendly? There were many times when Sarah had to say to herself, as her mother had said when she left home, Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. Keep up your courage.

  This charming story is true. Tales of faith and courage and friendship are told over and over again and so kept alive. Here Sarah's adventure is told simply, with feeling and without unnecessary detail.

  Praise for

  THE COURAGE

  OF SARAH NOBLE

  “Based on fact, this unusual story of a remarkable pioneer child carries a heartwarming message of love and faith. Beautifully and simply told for beginning readers, it is charmingly illustrated by Leonard Weisgard.”

  —Chicago Sunday Tribune

  “This is a book unmarred by preachment, piety, or sentimentality—a book without flaw, it seems to me, which must become an American classic.”

  —Christian Science Monitor

  “. . . this story is one to be long remembered for its beautiful simplicity and dignity . . .”

  —The New York Times Book Review

  VISIT US ON THE WORLD WIDE WEB

  kids.simonandschuster.com

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers

  Simon & Schuster

  New York

  For the children of New Milford

  who are proud of Sarah Noble

  Atheneum Books for Young Readers

  An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s

  Publishing Division

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, New York 10020

  www.SimonandSchuster.com

  Copyright © 1954 by Alice Dalgliesh

  Illustrations copyright © 1954 by Leonard Weisgard

  All rights reserved including the right of reproduction

  in whole or in part in any form.

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Dalgliesh, Alice, 1893- The courage of Sarah Noble.

  Summary: Remembering her mother’s words, an eight

  -year-old girl finds courage to go alone with her father to

  build a new home in the Connecticut wilderness and to

  stay with the Indians when her father goes back to bring

  the rest of the family.

  [1. Frontier and pioneer life—Fiction. 2. Indians of

  North America—Fiction. 3. Fear—Fiction]

  I. Weisgard, Leonard, 1916- ill. II. Title.

  PZ7.D153Co 1986 [Fic] 86-26191

  ISBN 978-0-684-18830-0

  0610 SCP

  ISBN-13: 978-1-4424-6589-3 (ebook)

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1: Night in the Forest

  Chapter 2: Night in the Settlement

  Chapter 3: Down the Long Hill

  Chapter 4: Night in the Cave

  Chapter 5: Indians!

  Chapter 6: Friends

  Chapter 7: Keep up Your Courage

  Chapter 8: In the Indian House

  Chapter 9: Night of Fear

  Chapter 10: Sarah goes Home

  Chapter 11: Night in the Log House

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  This is a true story, though I have had to imagine many of the details. Sarah Noble was a real little girl who came, in 1707, to cook for her father while he built the first house in New Milford. Most of the New Milford settlers came from Milford, Connecticut, but John Noble came from Westfield, Massachusetts—having bought a share of land from one of the Milford men. The story happened in Connecticut but it might have happened in many other places in America.

  Stories like this, of faith and courage and friendship, live a long time and are told and retold. The settlers of New Milford dealt fairly with the Indians, according to the standards of their time, and were always friendly with them.

  Sometimes the story is told that John Noble left Sarah with the Indians while he went to guide some men to Albany. I have preferred to suppose that he went to bring—or at least to meet—the rest of the family. This seems more possible.

  When Sarah grew up, she taught what was probably the first school in the town. She also married, as in the story she says she will. The records say, too, that Sarah continued to be friendly with the tall Indian who “loved her as he did his own children.”

  THE COURAGE OF SARAH NOBLE

  “Romance has never painted a picture more perfectly true to the heart of a father, or to the charming bravery of a young daughter only eight years, than is found in the history of the settlement of the first family in the beautiful township of New Milford.”

  History of the Towns of New Milford and Bridgewater, Connecticut, 1703-1882—SAMUEL ORCUTT

  CHAPTER ONE

  Night in the Forest

  ARAH lay on a quilt under a tree. The darkness was all around her, but through the branches she could see one bright star. It was comfortable to look at.

  The spring night was cold, and Sarah drew her warm cloak close. That was comfortable, too. She thought of how her mother had put it around her the day she and her father started out on this long, hard journey.

  “Keep up your courage,” her mother had said, fastening the cloak under Sarah’s chin. “Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble!”

  And, indeed, Sarah needed to keep up her courage, for she and her father were going all the way into the wilderness of Connecticut to build a house.

  This was the first night they had spent in the forest — the other nights they had come to a settlement. Thomas, the brown horse, was tied nearby. He was asleep on his feet. Against a tree Sarah’s father sat, his musket across his knees. Sometimes he nodded, but Sarah knew that if she called to him he would wake. Suddenly she had a great need to hear his voice, even though she could not see his face.

  “Wooo—oooh!” Such a strange sound from a nearby tree.

  “Father?”

  “An owl, Sarah. He is telling you goodnight.”

  Another longer, louder sound, a stranger sound, as if someone were in pain.

  “Father?”

  “A fox, Sarah. He is no bigger than a dog. He is calling to his mate.”

  Sarah closed her eyes and tried to sleep. Then came a sound that made her open her eyes and sit right up.

  “FATHER!”

  “Yes, Sarah, it is a wolf. But I have my musket, and I am awake.”

  “I can’t sleep, Father. Tell me about home?”

  “What shall I tell you, Sarah?”

  “Anything—if it is about home.”

  Now the howl of the wolf was a little farther away.

  “You remember how it was, Sarah, the day I came home to tell of the land I had bought? You were rocking the baby in the cradle . . .”

  “And the baby would not sleep.”

  “And your mother said . . .”

  “You know I cannot take the baby on a long journey. She is so young and she is not strong.”

  Sarah could see her worried little mother, bending over the cradle, clucking and fussing like a mother hen.

  The wolf was farther away, but still one could hear it.

  “And you said . . .”

  “I said, ‘I will go and cook for you, Father.’”

  “It was a blessing the Lord gave me daughters, as well as sons,” said John Noble. “And one of them all of eight years old, and a bo
rn cook. For Mary would not come, nor Hannah.”

  “No,” said Sarah, her voice sounding a little sleepy. “Hannah—would—not—come—nor Mary. It is good—I—like—to cook.”

  But she felt suddenly and terribly lonely for her mother and for the big family of brothers and sisters. John . . . David . . . Stephen . . . Mary . . . Hannah . . . three-year old Margaret . . . the baby. . . And—could she really cook? She had never made a pie. But—maybe—you—don’t—need—pies—in—the—wilderness. Keep—up—your—courage—Sarah—Noble. Keep—up. . . . And holding tightly to a fold of the warm cloak, Sarah was asleep.

  Now the wolf was very far away. But Thomas, who had raised his head when he heard it, still stood with his ears lifted . . . listening.

  And Sarah’s father sat there, wondering if he should have brought this child into the wilderness. When the first light of morning came through the trees, he was still awake.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Night in the Settlement

  The next night was quite different. They came at sundown to a settlement. The houses were brown and homelike. In two of them the sticks of pine used instead of candles were already burning. They shone through the windows with a warm golden light that seemed to say, “Welcome, Sarah Noble!”

  Sarah, riding on Thomas, looked down at her father, walking beside her. It had been a long day, and the trail through the forest had not been easy.

  “We will spend the night here, Father?”

  “Yes,” said her father. “And you will sleep safely in a warm house.”

  Sarah sighed with pleasure. “Lift me down and let me walk, Father? Poor Thomas carries so much he should not carry me too far.”

  So they were walking, all three of them, when they came to the cabin where the candle wood was lighted early.

  They knocked. The latch was lifted and a woman stood in the doorway looking at them.

  She is not like my mother, Sarah thought. Her face is not like a mother’s face.

  Still the woman stood and looked at them.

  “Good evening,” Sarah’s father said. “I am John Noble from the Massachusetts colony, and this is my daughter, Sarah. We are on our way to New Milford where I have bought land to build a house. Can you tell us where we could put up for the night?”

  The woman looked at them, still without smiling.

  “We have not much room,” she said, “but you may share what we have. My husband, Andrew Robinson, is away . . . and I had thought it might be wandering Indians. If you do not mind sleeping by the fire . . .”

  “We slept in the forest last night,” John Noble said. “Anything under a roof will seem fine to us.”

  So they went in, and Sarah saw the children who were in the house. There were four of them, two boys and two girls, all staring at Sarah with big round eyes. She began to feel shy. And now she was alone, for her father had gone to see to Thomas, and to bring in Sarah’s quilt for her to sleep on.

  “Be seated,” said Mistress Robinson. “You are welcome to share what we have. Lemuel, Abigail, Robert, Mary, this is Sarah Noble.”

  Sarah smiled timidly at the children.

  “Take off your cloak, Sarah.”

  But Sarah held it closely. “If you do not mind,” she said, “I will keep it—I am—I am a little cold.”

  The children laughed. Sarah sat down at the table, and in a few minutes her father was with them. Now Sarah let the cloak fall back from her shoulders.

  “I will hang it up for you,” said Abigail. “It is a beautiful warm cloak.” Her fingers stroked the cloak lovingly as she hung it on a peg.

  “And it is a kind of red,” she said. “I would like to have a new cloak.”

  “You have no need of a new cloak,” said her mother, sharply.

  Now Mistress Robinson began to ask questions. And as John Noble answered, she began clucking and fussing just as Sarah’s mother might have done. But somehow Sarah’s mother fussed in a loving way.

  “Taking this dear child into the wilderness with those heathen savages. . . . And she not more than seven . . . .”

  “Eight,” said Sarah, “though my mother says I am not tall for my age.”

  “Eight then—what will you do there all alone?”

  “My father is with me,” Sarah said.

  The children’s eyes had grown wider and rounder. Now they began to laugh and the younger ones pointed at Sarah.

  “She is going to live away off in the woods.”

  “The Indians will eat you,” Lemuel said and smacked his lips loudly.

  “They will chop off your head,” little Robert added, with a wide innocent smile.

  “They will not hurt me,” Sarah said. “My father says the Indians are friendly.”

  “They will skin you alive . . . .” That was Lemuel.

  “I have heard that they are friendly,” Mistress Robinson put in quickly. “The men who bought the land gave them a fair price.”

  “And promised they might keep their right to fish in the Great River,” said John Noble.

  “They will chop off your head,” said Robert, and made chopping motions with his hand.

  Sarah felt a little sick. This was worse than wolves in the night. Her brothers were not like these boys—and she had heard about Indians. Perhaps . . . perhaps these Indians had changed their minds about being friendly.

  She was glad when the children went to bed—all except Abigail, who spoke gently.

  “Don’t mind the boys,” Abigail whispered. “They tease.”

  But Sarah did mind. If Stephen were with them these boys would not dare to tease her, she thought.

  At last it was quiet. The children were all in bed, and Sarah lay on her quilt by the fire. Mistress Robinson covered her up warmly, and for a moment she seemed a little like Sarah’s mother.

  Then: “So young, so young,” she said. “A great pity.”

  “I would like to have my cloak, if you please,” said Sarah.

  “But you are warm . . .”

  “I am a little cold . . . now.”

  Mistress Robinson put the cloak over Sarah. “Have it your way, child. But your blood must be thin.”

  Sarah caught a fold of the cloak in her hand and held it tightly. As she closed her eyes she could see pictures against the dark. They were not comfortable pictures. Before her were miles and miles of trees. Trees, dark and fearful, trees crowding against each other, trees on and on, more trees and more trees. Behind the trees there were men moving . . . were they Indians?

  She held the warm material of the cloak even more closely.

  “Keep up your courage, Sarah Noble. Keep up your courage!” she whispered to herself.

  But it was quite a long time before she slept.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Down the Long Hill

  Now they had come to the last day of the journey. The Indian trail had been narrow, the hills went up and down, up and down. Sarah and her father were tired, and even Thomas walked wearily.

  By late afternoon they would be home. Home? No, it wasn’t really home, just a place out in the wilderness. But after a while it would be home, John Noble told Sarah it would be. His voice kept leading her on.

  “Now we must be about two miles away.”

  “Now it is surely a mile . . . only a mile.”

  Sarah’s tired feet seemed to dance. She picked some wild flowers and stuck them in the harness behind Thomas’s ear.

  “You must be well dressed, Thomas,” she said. “We are coming home.”

  She put a pink flower on her own dress and her feet danced along again. Then suddenly she stopped.

  “Father, if there is no house where shall we live?”

  Her father smiled down at her. “I have told you . . .”

  “Then tell me again. I like to hear.”

  “I hope to find a cave in the side of a hill,” he said. “I will make a hut for us, and a fence around it. Then you and Thomas and I will live there until the house is built. Though Thomas will have
to help me with the building.”

  Sarah laughed. “Thomas cannot build a house!” She had a funny picture in her mind of solemn, long-faced Thomas carefully putting the logs in place.

  “He can drag logs,” her father said. “Soon we shall have a fine house like Mistress Robinson’s.”

  “No,” said Sarah. “Like our own.”

  “And why not like Mistress Robinson’s?”

  “Because there is no love in that house,” said Sarah.

  “You are too wise for your years,” her father told her.

  Now they had come to the top of a long, steep hill and they stopped at a place where there were not many trees, only bushes and coarse grass.

  “This is one of the bare places,” John Noble said. “The Indians have cleared it for a hunting ground.”

  Sarah looked around her fearfully. Behind the bushes something stirred . . .

  “A deer,” said her father, and raised his gun. But Sarah clung to him.

  “No, Father, no! Do not shoot it!”

  “But we must have meat . . .”

  “Not now, not now,” Sarah begged. “Its eyes are so gentle, Father.”

  “Well . . .” said John Noble. But he did not shoot.

  The deer rushed away, its white tail showing like a flag. Then Sarah drew a long breath and looked down.

  Below there was a valley. “And you would see the Great River if it were not for the trees,” her father said.

  Sarah looked and looked and filled her mind with the beauty of it. It was a beauty that would stay with her all her life. Beyond the valley there were green hills, and beyond . . . and beyond . . . and beyond . . . more hills of a strange, soft and misty blue.

  The trees were the dark green of firs and the light green of birches in springtime. And now they were friendly. They were not like the angry dark trees that had seemed to stand in their path as they came.

  “I do like it,” Sarah said. “And I do not see any Indians.”