OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Saved by the Bible

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SAVED BY THE BIBLE
IT was on the day after the battle of Germantown that Warner, who wore the blue, met his hated neighbor, the Tory Dabney, near that bloody field ​By a common impulse the men fell upon each other with their knives, and Warner soon had his enemy in a position to give him the death-stroke, but Dabney began to bellow for quarter. "My brother cried for quarter at Paoli," answered the other, "and you struck him to the heart."
"I have a wife and child. Spare me for their sakes."
"My brother had a wife and two children. Perhaps you would like to beg your life of them." Though made in mockery, this proposition was caught at so earnestly that Warner at length consented to take his adversary, firmly bound, to the house where the bereaved family was living. The widow was reading the Bible to her children, but her grief was too fresh to gather comfort from it. When Dabney was flung into the room he grovelled at her feet and begged piteously for mercy. Her face did not soften, but there was a kind of contempt in the settled sadness of her tone as she said, "It shall be as God directs. I will close this Bible, open it at chance, and when this boy shall put his finger at random on a line, by that you must live or die."
The book was opened, and the child put his finger on a line: "That man shall die."
Warner drew his knife and motioned his prisoner to the door. He was going to lead him into the wood to offer him as a sacrifice to his brother's spirit.
​"No, no!" shrieked the wretch, Give me one more chance; one more! Let the girl open the book."
The woman coldly consents, and when the book is opened for the second time she reads, "Love your enemies." There are no other words. The knife is used, but it is to cut the prisoner's bonds, and he walks away with head hung down, never more to take arms against his countrymen. And glad are they all at this, when the husband is brought home—not dead, though left among the corpses at Paoli, but alive and certain of recovery, with such nursing as his wife will give him. After tears of joy have been shed she tells him the story of the Bible judgment, and all the members of the family fall on their knees in thanksgiving that the blood of Dabney is not upon their heads.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Parricide of the Wissahickon

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PARRICIDE OF THE WISSAHICKON
FARMER DERWENT and his four sons set off on an autumn night for the meeting of patriots at a house on the Wissahickon,—a meeting that bodes no good to the British encamped in Philadelphia, let the red-coats laugh as they will at the rag-tag and bob-tail that are joining the army of Mr. Washington in the wilds of the Skippack. The farmer sighs as he thinks that his younger son alone should be missing from the company, and wonders for the thousandth time what has become of the ​boy. They sit by a rock that juts into the road to trim their lantern, and while they talk together they are startled by an exclamation. It is from Ellen, the adopted daughter of Derwent and the betrothed of his missing son. On the night that the boy stole away from his father's house he asked her to meet him in this place in a year's time, and the year is up to-night.
But it is not to meet him that she is hastening now: she has heard that the British have learned of the patriot gathering and will try to make prisoners of the company. Even as she tells of this there is a sound to the southward the column is on the march. The farmer's eye blazes with rage and hate. "Boys," he says, "yonder come those who intend to kill us. Let them taste of their own warfare. Stand here in the shadow and fire as they pass this rock."
The troopers ride on, chuckling over their sure success, when there is a report of rifles and four of the red-coats are in the dust. The survivors, though taken by surprise, prove their courage by halting to answer the volley, and one of them springs from his saddle, seizes Derwent, and plunges a knife into his throat. The rebel falls. His blood pools around him. The British are successful, for two of the young men are bound and two of them have fallen, and there is a cheer of victory, but the trooper with the knife in his hand does not raise his voice. He bends above the farmer as still as one dead, until his ​captain claps him on the shoulder. As he rises, the prisoners start in wonder, for the face they see in the lantern-light is that of their brother, yet strange in its haggardness and its smear of blood on the cheek. The girl runs from her hiding-place with a cry, but stands in horror when her foot touches the gory pool in the road. The trooper opens his coat and offers her a locket. It contains her picture, and he has worn it above his heart for a year, but she lets it fall and sinks down, moaning. The soldier tears off his red coat, tramples it in the dust, then vaulting to his saddle he plunges into the river, fords it, and crashes through the underbrush on the other side. In a few minutes he has reached the summit of a rock that rises nearly a hundred feet above the stream. The horse halts at the edge, but on a fierce stab of the spur into his flank he takes the leap. With a despairing yell the traitor and parricide goes into eternity.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Blacksmith at Brandywine

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THE BLACKSMITH AT BRANDYWINE
TERRIBLE in the field at Brandywine was the figure of a man armed only with a hammer, who plunged into the ranks of the enemy, heedless of his own life, yet seeming to escape their shots and sabre cuts by magic, and with Thor strokes beat them to the earth. But yesterday war had been to him a distant rumor, a thing as far from his cottage at Dilworth as if it had been in Europe, but ​he had revolted at a plot that he had overheard to capture Washington and had warned the general. In revenge the Tories had burned his cottage, and his wife and baby had perished in the flames. All day he had sat beside the smoking ruins, unable to weep, unable to think, unable almost to suffer, except dumbly, for as yet he could not understand it. But when the drums were heard they roused the tiger in him, and gaunt with sleeplessness and hunger he joined his countrymen and ranged like Ajax on the field. Every cry for quarter was in vain: to every such appeal he had but one reply,—his wife's name—Mary.
Near the end of the fight he lay beside the road, his leg broken, his flesh torn, his life ebbing from a dozen wounds. A wagoner, hasting to join the American retreat, paused to give him drink. "I've only five minutes more of life in me," said the smith. "Can you lift me into that tree and put a rifle in my hands?" The powerful teamster raised him to the crotch of an oak, and gave him the rifle and ammunition that a dying soldier had dropped there. A band of red-coats came running down the road, chasing some farmers. The blacksmith took careful aim; there was a report, and the leader of the band fell dead. A pause; again a report rang out, and a trooper sprawled upon the ground. The marksman had been seen, and a lieutenant was urging his men to hurry on and cut him down. There was a third report, and the lieutenant reeled forward into ​the road, bleeding and cursing. "That's for Mary," gasped the blacksmith. The rifle dropped from his hands, and he, too, sank lifeless against the boughs.
# The Times of San Mateo/1938/Mrs. Whitfield Dies in San Jose

Peter Robert Whitfield Jr. (1918-1987) in the The Times of San Mateo on January 20, 1938.
Mrs. Whitfield Dies in San Jose
Mrs. Theresa Whitfield, 74, member of an early California family, who spent much of her time visiting her daughter, Mrs. William Lane, in Burlingame, died yesterday at the home in Mission San Jose after a month's illness. She was a native of Mission San Jose. In addition to her daughter, who resides at 120G Cortez avenue. Mrs. Whitfield is survived by sons, Peter Whitfield of San Mateo, William T. Whitfield of San Francisco, and Matthew Whitfield of Mission San Jose; three daughters, Mrs. James Meagher and Mrs. John Cooney of San Francisco, and Mrs. W. Thorpe of Redwood City; and a brother, E. W. Steinmetz of Mission San Jose. Funeral services will be held Saturday morning from Mrs. Whitfield's residence with requiem high mass at 9:30 o'clock at St. Joseph's church, Mission San Jose, with interment in Hayward.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Bergen Record/1961/Mothers To Press Board On Shelters

Selma Louise Freudenberg (1921-2009) in the The Bergen Record on October 10, 1961
Mothers To Press Board On Shelters.
Mrs. Norton Vows Her C. D. Unit Will Write Trustees, Prod Homeowners.
Paramus, New Jersey. Mothers will march on the Board of Education to spur a Civil Defense preparedness drive. Mrs. Sally Norton said last night. Lots of Letters. "We'll also write them so much that they're bound to do something" said the Borough home-preparedness director. Purpose of the drive, she added, was to get the Board to erect fallout shelters in the schools. The drive was prompted after Borough C. D. Director Warren G. Hildenbrand Jr. told 25 persons at the Ridge Ranch School it was up to the mothers to bombard the School Board into action. He also explained a fallout from beginning to end. Mrs. Norton said her volunteer group would initiate a 5-week first-aid course Thursday at the school. Mrs. Rose D'Aiuto of the Volunteer Ambulance Corps will be the instructor. The first goal of the home-preparedness group, Mrs. Norton said, was to prod homeowners into storing 2-weeks food in case of an emergency. She said if something happens It will be too late to acquire food. Deputy C. D. Directors Archie Petronzio and Edward Sharkey last night installed 16 volunteer women. Mrs. Norton said she hopes to swell the ranks to 70 in less than 2 weeks. The unit is planning a home-preparedness day in the near future.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Bergen Record/1961/Women Prepare In Civil Defense

Selma Louise Freudenberg (1921-2009) in the The Bergen Record on October 24, 1961
Women Prepare In Civil Defense
23 Discuss Readiness. Will Give Out Booklets
Paramus, New Jersey. More than 25 women met at the Ridge Ranch School last night to discuss the Borough's home-preparedness Civil Defense program. The women heard an address on nuclear fallout by Deputy C.D.-D.C. Director Archie Petronzio. Mrs. Sally Norton, program chairman, gave out booklets which 71 volunteers will distribute in a C.D. preparedness drive set for Monday. The drive will center around the Ridge Ranch section, Mrs. Norton said.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was legally published within the United States (or the United Nations Headquarters in New York subject to Section 7 of the United States Headquarters Agreement) before 1964, and copyright was not renewed.
* For Class A renewal records (books only) published between 1923 and 1963, check the Stanford University Copyright Renewal Database.
* For other renewal records of publications between 1922–1950, see the University of Pennsylvania copyright records.
* For all records since 1978, search the U.S. Copyright Office records.
Works could have had their copyright renewed between January 1st of the 27th year after publication or registration and December 31st of the 28th year. As this work's copyright was not renewed, it entered the public domain on January 1st of the 29th year.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
It is imperative that contributors ascertain that there is no evidence of a copyright renewal before using this license. Failure to do so will result in the deletion of the work as a copyright violation.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Not Understood and Other Poems

Not Understood
———— AND ————
Other Poems
BY THOMAS BRACKEN.
FOURTH EDITION.
Published at Wellington, N.Z. 1908. By GORDON & GOTCH PROPRIETARY LIMITED, WELLINGTON, AUCKLAND, CHRISTCHURCH,DUNEDIN,MELBOURNE,SYDNEY, BRISBANE, PERTH, HOBART, LAUNCESTON, AND AT LONDON.
Not Understood
AND
OTHER POEMS
BY
THOMAS BRACKEN
FOURTH EDITION.
Published at Wellington, N.Z.: 1908. By GORDON & GOTCH PROPRIETARY LIMITED, WELLINGTON, AUCKLAND, CHRISTCHURCH,DUNEDIN,MELBOURNE,SYDNEY, BRISBANE, PERTH, HOBART, LAUNCESTON, AND AT LONDON.
PUBLISHER’S NOTE.
The great popularity of “Not Understood.” and the prominence given to it by the late Mel. B. Spurr in his very successful Recitals in the Colonies has created a demand for a pocket edition of Tom Bracken’s Poems.
This little volume, which is now in its fourth edition, will be found to contain all of Mr Bracken’s favourite poems, and the Publishers hope that this edition, like its predecessor, will find a ready sale.
Wellington, N.Z., 1908.
​Two or three days before the late Mel. B. Spurr passed away, he was interviewed concerning his work and intentions. Enumerating some of his most successful recitations, he came “finally,” to “Not Understood”—“that charming little bit of philosophy by the late Thomas Bracken, which I now give almost every evening. I am hoping to introduce it to an English public some time next year, and I predict for it an instantaneous and unprecedented success.” “Man proposes”—and the gifted and genial entertainer little thought, as he spoke those appreciative lines, that he was never again to see his native land.
INDEX.
Page.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/The Two Rings

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THE TWO RINGS
GABRIELLE DE ST. PIERRE, daughter of the commandant of Fort Le Bœuf, now Waterford, Pennsylvania, that the French had set up on the Ohio River, was Parisian by birth and training, but American by choice, for she had ​enjoyed on this lonesome frontier a freedom equal to that of the big-handed, red-faced half-breeds, and she was as wild as an Indian in her sports. Returning from a hunt, one day, she saw three men advancing along the trail, and, as it was easy to see that they were not Frenchmen, her guide slipped an arrow to the cord and discharged it; but Gabrielle was as quick as he, for she struck the missile as it was leaving the bow and it quivered harmlessly into a beech. The younger of the men who were advancing—he was Harry Fairfax, of Virginia—said to his chief, "Another escape for you, George. Heaven sent one of its angels to avert that stroke."
Washington, for it was he, answered lightly, and, as no other hostile demonstrations were made, the new-comers pressed on to the fort, where St. Pierre received them cordially, though he knew that their errand was to claim his land on behalf of the English and urge the French to retire to the southwest. The days that were spent in futile negotiation passed all too swiftly for Fairfax, for he had fallen in love with Gabrielle. She would not consent to a betrothal until time had tried his affection, but as a token of friendship she gave him a stone circlet of Indian manufacture, and received in exchange a ring that had been worn by the mother of Fairfax.
After the diplomats had returned the English resolved to enforce their demand with arms, and Fairfax was one of the first to be despatched to the front. Early in the campaign his company engaged the ​enemy near the Ohio River, and in the heat of battle he had time to note and wonder at the strange conduct of one of the French officers, a mere stripling, who seemed more concerned to check the fire of his men than to secure any advantage in the fight. Presently the French gave way, and with a cheer the English ran forward to claim the field, the ruder spirits among them at once beginning to plunder the wounded. A cry for quarter drew Fairfax with a bound to the place whence it came, and, dashing aside a pilfering soldier, he bent above a slight form that lay extended on the earth the young officer whose strange conduct had so surprised him. In another moment he recognized his mother's ring on one of the slender hands. It was Gabrielle. Her father had perished in the fight, but she had saved her lover.
In due time she went with her affianced to his home in Williamsburg, Virginia, and became mistress of the Fairfax mansion. But she never liked the English, as a people, and when, in later years, two sturdy sons of hers asked leave to join the Continental army, she readily consented.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Flame Scalps of the Chartiers

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FLAME SCALPS OF THE CHARTIERS
BEFORE Pittsburg had become worthy to be called a settlement, a white man rowed his boat to the mouth of Chartiers creek, near that present city. He was seeking a place in which to ​make his home, and a little way up-stream, where were timber, water, and a southern slope, he marked a "tomahawk claim," and set about clearing the land. Next year his wife, two children, and his brother came to occupy the cabin he had built, and for a long time all went happily, but on returning from a long hunt the brothers found the little house in ashes and the charred remains of its occupants in the ruins. Though nearly crazed by this catastrophe they knew that their own lives were in hourly peril, and they wished to live until they could punish the savages for this crime. After burying the bodies, they started east across the hills, leaving a letter on birch bark in a cleft stick at the mouth of Chartiers creek, in which the tragedy was recounted.
This letter was afterward found by trappers. The men themselves were never heard from, and it is believed that they, too, fell at the hands of the Indians. Old settlers used to affirm that on summer nights the cries of the murdered innocents could be heard in the little valley where the cabin stood, and when storms were coming up these cries were often blended with the yells of savages. More impressive are the death lights—the will-o'-the-wisps—that wander over the scene of the tragedy, and up and down the neighboring slopes. These apparitions are said to be the spirits of husband and wife seeking each other, or going together in search of their children; but some declare that in their upward streaming rays it can readily be seen that they are the scalps of the ​slain. Two of them have a golden hue, and these are the scalps of the children. From beneath them drops of red seem to distil on the grass and are found to have bedewed the flowers on the following morning.
# Myths and Legends of Our Own Land/Volume 1/Marion

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MARION
BLOOMING and maidenly, though she dressed and used a rifle like a man, was Marion, grand-daughter of old Abraham, who counted his years as ninety, and who for many of those years had lived with his books in the tidy cabin where the Youghiogheny and Monongahela came together. This place stood near the trail along which Braddock marched to his defeat, and it was one of the stragglers from this command, a bony half-breed with red hair, called Red Wolf, that knocked at the door and asked for water. Seeing no one but Marion he ventured in, and would have tried not only to make free with the contents of the little house but would have kissed the girl as well, only that she seized her rifle and held him at bay. Still, the fellow would have braved a shot, had not a young officer in a silver-laced uniform glanced through the open door in passing and discovered the situation. He doffed his chapeau to Marion, then said sternly to the rogue, "Retire. Your men are waiting for you." Red Wolf slunk away, and Washington, for it was he, ​begged that he might rest for a little time under the roof.
This request was gladly complied with, both by the girl and by her grandfather, who presently appeared, and the fever that threatened the young soldier was averted by a day of careful nursing. Marion's innate refinement, her gentleness, her vivacity, could not fail to interest Washington, and the vision of her face was with him for many a day. He promised to return, then he rode forward and caught up with the troops. He survived the battle in which seven hundred of his comrades were shot or tomahawked and scalped. One Indian fired at him eleven times, and five of the bullets scratched him; after that the savage forbore, believing that the officer was under Manitou's protection. When the retreating column approached the place where Marion lived he hastened on in advance to see her. The cabin was in ashes. He called, but there was no answer. When he turned away, with sad and thoughtful mien, a brown tress was wrapped around his finger, and in his cabinet he kept it until his death, folded in a paper marked "Marion, July 11, 1755."