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 The Wolves .Huric^uniriiig lli«' H"!.
 
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 ]T e to y i^ i( :
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTERS, 
 
 AND OTHER TALES. 
 
 BY 
 
 WILLIAM H. G. KINGSTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "PETER THE WHAIiEE," "MARK 6EA WORTH," ETC. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 PUBLISHED BY JAMES MILLER, 
 
 (SUCCESSOK TO C, S. FRANCIS & CO.,) 
 
 522 BROADWAY. 
 1865.
 
 ?R 
 
 
 K6lvo 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 FAOB 
 
 1. Foresters, 9 
 
 2. Tale of Rupert's Land, 77 
 
 3. Story of Nelson, 136 
 
 4. Our First Great Sea-fight, 196 
 
 5. The Miser and his Heir, 219 
 
 9' 
 
 I ty e — »,/^^ «r> f^
 
 \
 
 THE YOUNG FORESTERS. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 In one of the quietest and most respectable 
 outskirts of Hackney, where the ends of streets 
 stretch out into the country, and one gets out of 
 London noise and smoke, there stood in my youth 
 a pretty cottage, with a small garden in front and 
 a larger one in the rear, a grape-vine trained along 
 its walls and almost up to its chimneys, a large 
 sycamore-tree sheltering it from the northeast 
 winds, and green fields beyond its garden, from 
 which it was called Meadow Cottage. The family 
 who lived there were called the Foresters. There 
 was a father, three boys, an honest, kindly old 
 woman who did all the housekeeping, but no 
 mother, for she had died four years before the 
 time of my story, when her youngest boy was a 
 baby. The Forestei^ were not rich, but very com- 
 fortable. The father was manager in the ware- 
 house of a wealthy firm of fiir importers in the
 
 10 THE YOUNG F0KESTER6. 
 
 noifi^liborliood of the London Docks, and had a 
 respectable income. His three boys, Joscpli, Hen- 
 ry, and Herbert, were getting their education, tlie 
 two ehlest at Doctor Asliford's school, one of the 
 best in the neigliborhood, and the youngest at 
 Miss Green's seminary, for little girls and boys 
 under seven. His housekeeper, commonly called 
 Old Catherine, had come with him and his wife to 
 Meadow Cottage, and continued in the service 
 ever since. Nobody could exactly say how old 
 she was ; Catherine kept that a solemn secret, and 
 was yet a stranger to all her neighbors. Her face, 
 though brown and wrinkled, had a good-tempered, 
 honest look ; her tall figure, though stooping with 
 years, was yet strong and active. The cloth cap 
 trimmed with fur, and alloM'ing no hair to be seen, 
 and the numerous petticoats, all of bright coloi-s, 
 and one shorter than the other, which were her 
 constant attire, made Catherine rather a curiosity 
 to the people about. She had been born in Arch- 
 angel, her father w^as an English sailor, her mother 
 a Rur-jian peasant, and Catherine had lived till 
 middle age in her native northern town, being for 
 many years a housekeeper in the English factory 
 there, till she came over with one of its managei*s 
 to hold the same office in his fur warehouse, which 
 ha])pencd to be the very one where Mr, Forester
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 11 
 
 was employed. Thus tliey got acquainted, and 
 the old woman getting tired of keeping the great 
 warehouse, which was left so lonely and locked up 
 at night, took service with him when he got mar- 
 ried, and continued to be his housekeeper when 
 Mrs. Forester was gone. A faithful housekeeper 
 Catherine was, and rather like a relative to the 
 family with whom she had lived so long. Sin- 
 cerely attached to Mr. Forester, in whom she had 
 found a kind and considerate master, and still 
 more attached to his boys, they had grown up 
 under her care, and seemed like her own children. 
 The young Foresters were good boys, though 
 they had lost their mother so early. Then- names 
 were Joseph, Henry, and Herbert. There were 
 four years between each of their ages, for two 
 little sisters had gone to the churchyard before 
 their mother; so Joseph was almost thirteen, 
 Henry was almost nine, and Herbert — ^little Her- 
 by, as they called him — was almost five at the 
 time of my story. They were all handsome, brown- 
 haired boys, with fair open faces, strotig frames, 
 and active feet. It was their father's comfort that 
 they would be able to take their own part in the 
 world, and willing to keep out of its evils. Of 
 that he was sure, as regarded the three, but Jo- 
 seph was his particular trust, being the steadiest
 
 12 THE YOITNQ F0EESTEB8. 
 
 and most sensible, as became an eldest brother; 
 and Herbert and Henry trusted in liini too, were 
 guided by his advice, gut out of scrapes by his 
 wisdom, and comforted in all their troubles by his 
 brotherly kindness. 
 
 Kind and loving were the motherless boys to 
 one another, and happy was the little family as 
 those that dwell together in unity. Every eve- 
 ning found th6m gathered in the cottage parlor, 
 which Catherine kept so neat and comfortable. 
 Mr. Forester came home from his warehouse, Jo- 
 seph and Henry came home from Dr. Ashford's, 
 stopping by the way to fetch little Herby home 
 from Miss Green's. The father heard all his boys 
 had to tell of news, adventures, or it might be 
 troubles; gave them his advice or consolation, if 
 that were needed; told them whatever he had 
 seen or lieard that might interest them; helped 
 them with their lessons ; played with them some- 
 times ; heard them read by turns in some of his 
 own books while he sat resting himself by the fire, 
 and old Catherine worked at the other side and lis- 
 tened. She had never learned to read, yet Cathe- 
 rine spoke and understood English well, and having 
 travelled so far, had a good deal of knowledge for 
 her station. These were their winter Avays, but in 
 the fine evenmgs of spring and summer, they used
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEKS. * 13 
 
 to take hours of working in the garden, which their 
 own hands kept the neatest and fullest of flowers 
 in all the neighborhood. When there was no gar- 
 den work to do, they took long walks iiito the 
 country, where Mr, Forester told them what he 
 knew of the wild plants and flowers. Though a 
 man of business, he studied many things besides, 
 and had a particular fancy for botanizing ; and in 
 the long, warm twilights, they used to sit in the 
 summer-house, have a deal of talk, and sometimes 
 their supper there, and sing the Evening Hymn 
 together before they went in to bed. 
 
 The Foresters had little company, because they 
 did not feel the want of it. They had very few 
 relations, and those they had were very distant, 
 living in the north of England, and holding little 
 correspondence with them. So their summers and 
 winters passed, as I have said, till the time of my 
 story, when, as the spring was coming in and there 
 was a deal to do in the garden, the boys could not 
 help perceiving that, though Mr. Forester worked 
 and talked with them as usual, there was some sad 
 thought or trouble in his mind of which he did not 
 care to speak. 
 
 Day after day it grew upon him ; he took to 
 looking sadly on them all, and asking them would 
 they miss hun much if he went away. He said so
 
 14 THE TODNG F0EESTEE8. 
 
 one warm evening when they sat down in the 
 summer-liouse for the nrst time in that year, and 
 Joseph, after thinking a minute or two, said : 
 *' Father, dear, what makes you ask that ? you 
 know we would ; and you know you are not going 
 away." 
 
 " Indeed I ara, my boy," said Mr. Forester, 
 evidently taking courage to tell it. " I am going 
 (and must go about midsummer) far away, to 
 Archangel, to take charge of Mr. Benson's con- 
 cerns in the English factory there. You see, 
 Joseph," and he laid his hand on his thoughtful 
 boy's shoulder, "Mr. Benson, in whose employ 
 ment I have been these twenty years, is an old 
 man now, too old to go abroad to such a climate, 
 though he managed the firm's business in Ai'ch- 
 angel, I don't know how long, and brought Cath- 
 erine with him to London, when he succeeded his 
 uncle as chief of the house. The gentleman who 
 was his agent in the factory died about a month 
 ago, and as soon as the intelligence reached him, 
 Mr. Benson came to me, told me — it was very 
 good of him — I was the only person he could 
 think of trusting with such an important charge ; 
 he was pleased to say as a reward for my faithful 
 services, because the agent has a right to trade in 
 fui*s on his own account, and gets all the advan-
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEKS. 15 
 
 tages of a partner in the firm. It would make me 
 rich and able to provide well for my boys in some 
 years, Joseph — that is a weighty consideration ; 
 besides, I cannot refuse Mr. Benson, as he knows 
 of nobody else he would employ in my stead, so I 
 must go, and send you all to a boarding-school, for 
 it would not be safe to leave you here without me, 
 and my relations in the north would not be fit 
 guardians for you. I must send you to school, let 
 the cottage, and find a place for Catherine." 
 
 " Father, dear, couldn't you take us with you ?" 
 cried all the boys in a breath ; the idea of parting 
 from him, and being sent to live among strangers, 
 was more than they could bear, and Herbert began 
 to cry. 
 
 " My children, it is far away, and a terrible cli- 
 mate ; the winters there are eight months in the 
 year, no ships can come all that time over the 
 frozen sea or up the frozen river." 
 
 " But there are Englishmen there, and you ai'e 
 going," interrupted Joseph. 
 
 " Yes, there are Englishmen everywhere," said 
 liis father. 
 
 " And why should not English boys go ? Hen- 
 ry and Herbert are not afraid of the cold." 
 
 " No, that we are not," cried the two. 
 
 "I would take care of ihem and help you; I 
 
 -(.
 
 16 THE YOUNG F0KESTEK8. 
 
 am a great boy, nearly a man, now," continued 
 Jose])li. " You won't leave us behind, father, we 
 couldn't live without you. AV^e'll give you no 
 trouble, we'll learn just as well in Archangel ; I'll 
 warrant there is some sort of a school there. Cath- • 
 erine says it is such a fine town, and we will see 
 the world ; you always said that made men of 
 people. Oh, father, dear, let us go with you." 
 And Joseph clasped his hand, while the two 
 younger boys climg about Mr. Forester, with the 
 tears in Henry's eyes, and little Herbert crying 
 outright, as they all joined in the petition, " Far 
 ther, dear, let us go with you." 
 
 The father tried to reason them out of it, but 
 he couldn't manage that well, for his own mind 
 w^as set against parting with his boys. He had 
 lived so much with them, found such comfort in 
 them, and had such a special trust in Joseph's 
 sense and courage, that when his eldest and much- 
 valued son proved to him that it was making milk- 
 sops and girls of them not to take them to Ai-ch- 
 angel ; that English boys ought to be able to face 
 any climate, and get used to any strange ways ; 
 that they would, every one, learn his business and 
 be great helps to him ; that old Catherine would 
 go with them and keep house for them in the fac- 
 tory, as she used to do in Mr, Benson's time ; and
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTERS. 17 
 
 that they would all be as well off as in Meadow 
 Cottage, Mr. Forester gave his consent, after some 
 hesitation about taking little Herbert, who could 
 not, and would not, be left behind; and it was 
 agreed that the whole family, Catherine included, 
 should set out for Archangel, provided the old 
 woman was ready to go. She came with the sup- 
 per just as they had reached that conclusion, and 
 Catherine's eyes positively sparkled under her 
 furred cap, when the proposal was mentioned. 
 She would go with all her heart, nothing would 
 induce her to leave the master and the boys ; and, 
 as for going back to Archangel, hadn't she been 
 born there? there was no place like it in the 
 world. Many a time she had longed for the fine 
 frost that made the ground so dry and the sky so 
 clear — for the long winter nights and the long 
 summer days ; it was the only wish she had to see 
 them once again, and be laid beside her mother in 
 the burying-ground of the monastery beside the 
 forest, where they kept off the wolves with great 
 tires in winter nights.
 
 CH/VPTER II 
 
 THE WINTER LAND. 
 
 Having made up his mind, Mr. Forester lost no 
 time in executing liis plan. His employer, Mr. 
 Benson, thought it a great venture to take his 
 boys with him ; but since their father was im wil- 
 ling to leave them without a near relation in Eng- 
 land, and they would go, he said it might be for 
 the best. He would write to his people in the 
 factory to pay the family every attention, and they 
 should all have a passage out in the " Ice Queen," 
 one of the Russian Company's ships, always freight- 
 ed with his goods, and considered a safe and fast 
 sailer. 
 
 Tlien there was a providing of warm clothes, 
 BOcks, and flannels, enough to last them all their 
 lives, the boys tliought. But old Catherine could 
 tell them how much of the kind they should want
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEKS. 19 
 
 in Arcliangel, and Mr. Forester, thougli he liad 
 never been there himself, had so many acquaint- 
 ances in the way of business — Russian merchants, 
 and English agents who had resided in and knew 
 all about the place — that he was not at a loss how 
 to make his preparations. 
 
 They were all made at last. The warm clothes 
 packed in great chests, with books, stationery, and 
 all necessary things to be got cheap and easily in 
 England, but scarcely to be had in Archangel at 
 all. Then the cottage was given over to a house 
 asent, to be taken care of and let as well as he 
 could, till Mr. Forester returned to his own coun- 
 try, which would not be for many a year. Joseph 
 and Henry took leave of Dr. Ashford and their 
 schoolfellows, got some keepsakes and all sorts of 
 good wishes. Herbert bade farewell to Miss Green 
 and the little girls with a considerable cry, and the 
 present of a primer full of pictures. Old Catherine 
 had nobody to take farewell of, but she put her 
 cat in a basket, determined that it should go north- 
 ward too. Every one cut a bunch of flowers from 
 the little garden they were leaving in its summer 
 bloom — ^their father told them none of all those 
 flowers could grow where tliey were going — and 
 early one morning in the beginning of July, the 
 family that might well be called the exiles of com-
 
 20 THE YOUNG FOEE8TER8. 
 
 mercc, drove down to tlie London Docks and got 
 on board the " Ice Queen," a large merchant sliip 
 fitted up for the northern trade, with all her cargo 
 already stored Away and just about to lift her 
 anchor. Away the good ship steered down the 
 Thames, and out at the Nore, far over the German 
 Ocean day after day and night after night; hold- 
 ing due north past England, Scotland, and the 
 Shetland Isles, past Norway, Iceland, and the Isles 
 of Faroe, but keeping so far out to sea and out of 
 sight of any of them, that scarcely a coast or head- 
 land was visible, tiU sailing past Lapland they saw 
 the North Cape, a ridge of barren rock, running 
 out into the Northern Ocean, and known to 
 geographers as the uttermost point of Europe. 
 When she had doubled that cape, as sailors say, 
 otherwise, got fairly round it, the ship held on her 
 course by the east coast of Lapland ; for now she 
 took an easterly as well as a northerly direction, 
 till she entered that gulf or inlet of the Northern 
 Ocean which pierces deep into Russia, and is called 
 the White Sea, from the ice with which it is often 
 covered, and receives the great river Dwina, upon 
 which, about thirty miles from its mouth, stands 
 the town of Archangel. On that same track an 
 English ship had steered about the beginning of 
 Queen Elizabeth's long reign, the first that ever
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEES. 21 
 
 reached tlie then desert shore, where nothing but a 
 monastery belonging to the Greek chm-ch, dedi- 
 cated, after its manner, to the archangel Michael, 
 then stood ; and the land had no inhabitants but 
 the few solitary monks who lived there and the 
 wild tribes of Samoiedes or Russian Lapps, who 
 hunted the furry creatures -with which its pine- 
 forests and wintry wastes abounded, to live on 
 their flesh and keep themselves warm with their 
 skins. The ermine, the sable, the black and white 
 fox — in short, all animals that yield the most valu 
 able furs — were to be found there, and their skins 
 could be bought from the wild hunters for glass 
 beads, knives, and scissors. The Enghsh mer- 
 chantman brought home such a cargo as made 
 other ships venture on the same voyage. Their 
 profits induced English merchants with their clerks 
 and servants to go out and settle there for the jDur- 
 pose of buying up furs and sending them home to 
 England ; thus the English factory was founded, 
 and the town of Archangel grew about it, taking 
 its name from the old monastery, and gradually 
 increasing by the influx of Russian traders and 
 settlers till it became the first seaport of the north- 
 em empire, for, tiQ its foundation, Russia had no 
 trade by sea. What is called the Russian Com- 
 pany, that is to say, a number of Enghsh mer-
 
 22 THE YOUNG F0EESTER8. 
 
 chants engaged in the Hussian trade, took its rise 
 about the same time, and is now one of the richest 
 companies in London. It still imports its furs 
 from Archangel, keeps its factory and agents there 
 for collecting them, and its ships go and cunic^ 
 every summer, from July to September. 
 
 The Foresters' voyage was a prosperous one, 
 they had ^ir ^\'ind3 and cahn seas all the way, 
 and it was full of wonders for the boys. The wide 
 waste of waters seen for the first time, and sailed 
 over night and day, with the sun going down into 
 their depths and the moon rising out of them ; the 
 flocks of northern sea-birds that passed over, with 
 their strange cries and feathers ; the shoals of great 
 northern fishes that rose and showed themselves on 
 the surface of the sea; the wild coast of Lapland, 
 made up of ridgy rocks and pine forests ; the lone- 
 ly North Cape, so often mentioned in their school 
 geography ; and, above all, the lengthening of the 
 summer daylight as they sailed northward, was a 
 new and marvellous sight for the young travellers. 
 At length, they sailed up the AYhite Sea and 
 entered the Dwina, a mighty river, twice the 
 breadth of the Thames at Gravesend, and cast 
 anchor at Xowa, a Russian fortress built on an isle 
 at its mouth, with a little town of merchants' 
 storehouses built on its ramparts; for the rirer is
 
 i 
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEES. 23 
 
 SO shallow, notwithstanding its mighty breadth, 
 and so blocked np with sandbanks, that no large 
 ship can come nearer to Archangel, which lies ten 
 miles up. So all the heavily-laden merchantmen 
 finchor there, and store np their goods till they are 
 Bold, and the officers of the Russian Custom-house 
 look sharply after their government dues. The 
 :anchor was cast, the gangway was lowered, the 
 • unlading began, and the Foresters stood in a safe 
 corner of the deck ; the elder boys holding little 
 Herbert fast by the hands, while they all gazed oA 
 the strange scene around them, and their father 
 stood hard by watching the unlading and answer- 
 ing their curious questions. As far as their eyes 
 could reach up and down the river there was noth- 
 ing but ships to be seen, some taking in, some get- 
 ting out cargoes, with a Babel of all the tongues of 
 the North, and thousands of boats movino; amono; 
 them, of every size and shape, with men in all 
 manner of strange dresses. Far off, on either side, 
 lay the low flat lands, mostly rough pasture or wild 
 moss, as their father told them, for no cornfields or 
 orchards ripen there ; the country lies too far 
 north, and must get its bread from more southern 
 quarters ; but he pointed to a dim outline like a 
 great shadow to the southward, and said it was the 
 mighty forest of fir, larch, and pine, which covered
 
 24: THE YOUNG FORE8TEE8. 
 
 most of the province, afforded tiniLer for the ship 
 and boat building, the chief manufacture in Arch- 
 angel, and sent millions of deals to their own Eng- 
 land. ' 
 
 While he was yet speaking one of the boats-^ 
 came close alongside the " Ice Queen," and out of 
 it stepped first a tall man, dressed in a long 
 straight coat, or rather gown, of dark blue cloth, 
 ornamented with very large and briglit brass but- 
 tons, fastened round his waist with a belt of pol- 
 ished black leather, from which a large pocket of 
 the same material hung on either side, and there 
 were no other garments to be seen, except a pair 
 of rough boots and a cloth cap trimmed with fur, 
 like old Catherine's. After him came another man 
 still taller, but he had a more stooping gait, and 
 his gow^n, though of the very same shape, was 
 made of tanned sheepskin. Neither of them 
 showed a morsel of linen, they had both bare 
 necks, long, red hair, and longer beards of the 
 same color, covering the whole of their faces ; yet 
 the one reckoned himself of the merchant-class, for 
 he had been clerk to Mr. Benson's agent, who died 
 at Archangel — would be clerk to Mr. Forester, 
 and his name was Nicholas Grimzotf; while the 
 other was Ivan Paulowitz, that is to say, in Eng- 
 lish, John, the son of Paul, a serf or peasant in his
 
 THE YOTHSTG FOEESTEES. 25 
 
 employment, for doing porter's work and the like, 
 and also a nepliew to old Catherine. Being so 
 long in English service they could both speak tlie 
 language, and made equally low bows to Mr. 
 Forester, wishing him a very good day, and thank- 
 ing God for his safe arrival. Then the clerk 
 entered into mattere of business, while Ivan kissed 
 his aunt, seemed right glad to see her, and fell to 
 talk in Kussiac, as the boys guessed, about them. 
 They had heard the language before from mer- 
 chants aiad seamen, who met their father in the 
 streets of London, and Mr. Forester understood it 
 well, as his business required. They also knew 
 enough of Russian customs to perceive that the 
 cloth gown denoted the man of trade and educa- 
 tion, and the sheepskin coat the poor peasant, 
 whom his lord sold with the estate and hired out 
 as he thought proper or profitable. The red beard 
 and the red hair, as well as that queer costume, 
 made both men look very much the same; but 
 Joseph thought, and Henry agreed with him, that 
 Ivan had a remarkably stupid look, and Mr. Grim- 
 zoff uncommonly cunning eyes. 
 
 They all got into the boat with their household 
 goods and chattels. Ivan and another sheepskin- 
 clad man rowed them up through the forest of 
 shipping to the town, and the boys saw that oldest
 
 2G THE TOUNO FOKESTEES. 
 
 port of tlie Russian empire, made up of narrow 
 but straggling streets of wooden houses, painted 
 all colore, but mostly red, blue and yellow, with 
 wooden churches equally painted, their sjnres 
 tojiped with large copper balls, and their bells 
 always ringing. Tiiey saw, too, the only stone 
 building in the place, a sort of fortress with a deep 
 ditch, and a wall surmounted by towere all round 
 it, called in the Russian tongue, " The Court of 
 Trading Strangers," The English factory was 
 first built there by early and adventurous mer- 
 chants, and the principal firms of the Russian 
 Company have still their warehouses and offices 
 within the walls ; but Germans and Dutch, Swedes 
 and Danes, have built there also, and the court 
 forms a little town of itself. Along the quays, 
 covered with stalls of all northern merchandise, 
 and crowded with people in all sorts of strange 
 costumes, buying, selling, and making a tremen- 
 dous noise, through the narrow streets and past 
 the wooden churches, the Forestere went to their 
 new home ; followed by half a score of Russian 
 porters, carrying their goods, and commanded by 
 Grimzoif, they got over a kind of drawbridge 
 thrown across the ditch, in at the principal gate, 
 and ibtmd themselves in an open square, paved 
 like the streets of the town with logs of wood, and
 
 THE YOima F0EESTEK8. 27 
 
 surrounded by tall houses, solidly built, but rather 
 dingy-looking, where the merchants kept their 
 stores and offices, and the clerks and agents of the 
 Russian Company lived. One of them belonged 
 to Mr. Benson, a good but old-fashioned house of 
 three stories; the lower one for his agent's resi- 
 dence, the two upper to serve as fur stores. It 
 was comfortably furnished, partly in the English, 
 partly in the Eussian style. The boys were aston- 
 ished at the great size of the stoves, which took up 
 so much space in every room; but Mr. Forester 
 told them they would find out their value before 
 Chi'istraas ; and when they wondered at the small 
 size of the windows, he said they would find out 
 the reason of that about the same time. Old 
 Catherine looked at tlie place as if she found her- 
 self at home again ; the good woman had been in 
 England nearly twenty years; but she remarked 
 how badly the furniture had been polished since 
 she left; that her grandmother's spinning-wheel, 
 which she had stowed away in the store-room, was , 
 rather dusty ; and that there was a new cow in its 
 appointed house, which opened conveniently fi'om 
 Catherine's kitchen. All the arrangements of that 
 northern home were made for the long season of 
 frost and snow, as little going out of doors as 
 people could help ; cellars, stores, outhouses, all
 
 28 THE TOUNO FOEE6TEK8. 
 
 opened from -witliin, and were under the same 
 roof. There was no yard, no garden ; but the late 
 agent had left a box of mould covered with glass, 
 in which two or three.dwarfea crocuses were bloom- 
 ing at a window, which looked southward, and 
 Ivan said, though he did not see the use of them, 
 he had watered them as his English master used to 
 do, just for his sake, because the agent had been 
 kind to him. 
 
 It was a place built for the winter, and far un- 
 like their Meadow Cottage ; but the Foresters 
 settled themselves there, unpacked their English 
 necessaries, laid up their mighty stock of warm 
 clothes against the cold that would come, and 
 made themselves at home in the strange country. 
 Mr. Forester had business to attend to, and his 
 boys had wonders to se'e, for every thing there was 
 new, and every place ftdl of busy life in the brief 
 bright summer of the north. Traders from all the 
 world's wildest comers were pouring into Arch- 
 angel day and night, or rather the time which is 
 night in England, for there is no such thing at 
 that season on the shores of the White Sea. They 
 saw the sun go round to the west, but instead of 
 setting there he moved away lower and redder 
 still to the extreme north, where they lost sight of 
 him about eleven o'clock, when he seemed to sink
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 29 
 
 into the frozen ocean. Those that happened to he 
 awake, saw him rise again out of the pine forest to 
 the eastward, a little after one, and the evening 
 twilight never melte'd away from the skj, but 
 brightened back into the dawn. Those long days 
 brought ships from all quarters to the river, and 
 traders from the most distant regions to the town. 
 Caravans came from Siberia, with all manner of 
 flirs, bought from the northern hunters, and Chi- 
 nese goods, purchased at the eastern fairs, packed 
 in rough, heavy wagons, drawn by shaggy horses, 
 or wild-looking oxen, with Tartar di'ivers, in can- 
 vas coat, and caps of lambskin. Corn-dealers 
 came from the banks of- the Wolga and the Don, 
 who had traversed in their low, flat-bottomed 
 barges that long chain of canals, lakes, and riv- 
 ers, which link the south of Russia to the north, 
 a distance of more than a thousand miles. There 
 were troops of tall fair Fins, from the Swe- 
 dish frontier, who brought their bundles of dried 
 fish, bales of hides, and bags of salt, to sell on the 
 crowded quays. There were seamen and mer- 
 chants from all the ports of the Baltic, all the 
 Dutch towns, and chiefly from England. There 
 were multitudes of German traders and Polish 
 Jews, who came overland from far-ofi" cities with 
 every thing to sell, and it was said a good deal of
 
 30 THE YOUNG F0RESTEE8. 
 
 clieating among tlicm. But the strangest sight of 
 all to the young Foresters, were those wild people 
 whom the first English merchantman found hunt- 
 ing and fishing on that lonely shore, before a town 
 was built or a ship cast anchor there. The dwarf- 
 ish, swarthy, uncivilized Samoiedes, still clothed in 
 the skins of wild animals, armed with the bow and 
 quiver, living in tents of half-tanned leather, and 
 owning no j)roperty but their herds of reindeer, 
 and the furs they collect in hunting the trackless 
 wastes and forests which lie between Archangel 
 and Siberia. With these spoils of the chase tied 
 in bundles on their own backs, or packed in larger 
 bales on the reindeer, they came, men, women, and 
 children, all dreadfully dirty, and with such flat 
 faces, small eyes, and dark complexions, that one 
 M'ould scarcely think they belonged to the humtin 
 family. They pitched their tents on a rising 
 ground outside the town, for the Russians would 
 not let them into it, set the reindeer to graze on 
 the coarse mossy grass that grew there in summer- 
 time, and made as stilf bargains as they could with 
 the agents of the Russian Company ; for, wild and 
 dirty as they were, the richest sable and the most 
 beautiful ermine were to be had fi-om the Sa- 
 moides. 
 
 The Court of the Trading Strangers was as busy
 
 THE YOUNG F®EESTEES. 31 
 
 as tlie town. Mr. Forester and Grimzoff were 
 overworked with inspecting fui's wliicli tlie traders 
 brought, making English goods pass for money in 
 buying them (the wild people had no use for gold 
 or silver coin), and getting their purchases prop- 
 erly put away in the store. That was partly 
 Ivan's work; he was a good honest fellow, as 
 Catherine's nephew should have been; but Ivan 
 had an unfortunate inclination, too common 
 among Eussian peasants — he was fond of corn 
 brandy, the strong liquor of the north. His last 
 coppic, a Russian coin something less than a half- 
 penny, went to procure it, and when Ivan had got 
 sufficient of his favorite beverage, he was fit for 
 nothing but sleeping under the outside stair. 
 Often had the unlucky man been admonished, 
 often threatened with dismissal ; but he was trusty, 
 honest, and • Catherine's nephew, always ready to 
 promise reformation, and particularly grateful to 
 Mr. Forester for saving him from Grimzoff 's cane ; 
 a discipline to which Ivan had been pretty well 
 accustomed before his coming, as everybody in 
 Russia beats his inferior. 
 
 The boys helped to save him, too. They and 
 Ivan grew great friends, they assisted him in put- 
 ting away the furs after helping their father and 
 the clerk to count and sort them. Every hand
 
 32 THE YOUNG F0EESTEE8. 
 
 •svas wanted in tliat busy summer time ; and it was 
 tlieir pride to sliow how useful they could be in 
 the far north. When business permitted, they 
 rambled about under Ivan's guidance through the 
 strange and crowded town, saw all its wondrous 
 sights of men and merchandise, picked up Russian 
 and Tartar words, and looked particularly at the 
 ships in the river that came from or sailed away to 
 England. Sometimes they went far into the sur- 
 rounding country, gathered juniper and cranber- 
 ries in the wide, rough pasture lands, where the 
 small black cows and hairy sheep of that northern 
 land were grazing, and saw the peasant people 
 with their ways of work and life ; pitch-gatherers 
 on the edge of the forest with tlieir great fires to 
 burn the fir-trees, and pots to catch the pitch in ; 
 woodmen who lived and worked among the tall 
 pines, cutting them down and hewing them into 
 logs, to warm the stoves in winter, or dragging 
 them away to the saw-mills, where they were 
 sawn into deals, which were shipped by thousands 
 to England. It was a great temptation to go far 
 into the forest, in searcli of the bright-colored 
 mushrooms and the Lapland rose, abounding in 
 the warm and sheltered hollows, not to speak of 
 the wild birds, with cries and plumage unknown 
 to our Enijhsh woods. But Ivan knew there
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTERS. 33 
 
 were wolves and bears to be met with, even in the 
 long summer days, and Mr. Forester laid strict 
 commands on them not to go out of sight and 
 hearing of the woodmen. So the -deep thickets 
 and long mossy paths, which stretched away 
 through the pines and firs, had to be left unex- 
 plored. Ivan said there was no end to them. 
 The forest stretched all the way to Siberia, and 
 their father promised that they should travel 
 through part of it with him on a journey he 
 intended taking to the town of Mezen early in the 
 following year. 
 
 " We'll see the forest, then," Joseph would say, 
 when his brothers looked wistfully along the glades 
 and dingles from which they had to turn back. 
 " Papa says, the way lies right through it, and no 
 stopping place but the hunters' house, where trav- 
 ellers never come. He will take us out of the 
 way to see it, because it is a curious place, and 
 was built by a relative of Mr. Benson's. We'll 
 see the forest, then ;" and the boys would go home 
 
 rejoicing over that expectation. 
 
 2*
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 TnE WILD MEKCnANT. 
 
 In the mean time the busy summer was wearing 
 away. Ships left the river, and did not come 
 back again ; the few that remained made great 
 haste to get in their cargoes before the frost set in. 
 The caravans, with the rongh wagons and shaggy 
 oxen, left the town, on their way home to Siberia ; 
 the Tartar corn-dealers moved away up the river 
 in their empty barges ; the fur-traders became few, 
 and business slackened in the Court. The days 
 were shortening ; they could see the sun setting in 
 the west now. Cold winds began to blow from 
 tlie north and east ; floods of rain and sleet began 
 to fall. The quays grew silent; in the houses and 
 through all the streets where people had slept and 
 traded in the open air for the last three months, 
 there were sounds of carpenters and hammei*s at 
 
 ^
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 35 
 
 work closing np crevices in the wooden roofs and 
 walls, fitting the windows with double sashes, cov- 
 ering the doors with baize, and the floors with 
 thick Dutch carpets. 
 
 The winter was coming ; half the merchants of 
 the Court went home to their respective countries ; 
 those tliat remained, made preparations as actively 
 as the townspeople. Mr. Forester was not behind- 
 hand ; he had been warned of the winters in Arch- 
 angel ; his stoves, his double windows, and all the 
 other requisites were got ready; every chink in 
 the house was closed; a stoi*e of provender was 
 laid in for the cow. Old Catherine got out her 
 grandmother's spinning-wheel, prepared a stock of 
 fine flax, and said she would now have a comforta- 
 ble winter, like what she used to have in her 
 young days with the old master. 
 ■ About the middle of September there was not a 
 ship in the river, scarcely a boat to be seen, and 
 very few people in the streets ; the wind blew par- 
 ticularly cold one night about bed-time ; it rose to 
 a storm before morning ; and when they looked 
 out with the first daylight, which now came late 
 and dim, all the town was white with snow. It 
 continued falling the whole day, swept into high 
 white drifts before the blasts till the streets were 
 impassable, and nothing but the upper windows of
 
 36 THE YOUNG FORESTEES. 
 
 many lionses to be seen. Tlie Ptorm Buhsided ; 
 they cleared the snow away from the roofs and 
 windows, but it lay deep and solid in the open 
 streets and over all the country round. Next 
 night the frost set in ; the snow became firm and 
 hard; the river got a coat of ice, which began 
 npland, and gradually grew down to the sea, get- 
 ting thicker and harder as the shortening days 
 and lengthening nights went on, with long hours 
 of heavy fogs and occasional snow-storms, the 
 dreary beginning of the northern winter, which 
 comes when the com is yet in English fields, and 
 the red apples on the boughs of English orchards. 
 Mr. Forester and his boys, like all the Court and 
 all the townspeople, were shut fast within doors, 
 there was no going out in those thick fogs and 
 fierce storms. There was no more business to be 
 done, the fur-stores were closed, the dealers and 
 traders gone, and the few clerks and agents who 
 remained in the place had nothing to do but 
 amuse and keep themselves warm for eight or nine 
 months at the least. Tliat was the usual course of 
 things, and the men of business had reason to be 
 satisfied with the clpse of that summer, for a better 
 market had not been known within the memory of 
 man. The furs had been particularly cheap and 
 abundant ; and Mr. Forester, besides doing well
 
 ■ THE YOUNG FOEESTERS. 37 
 
 for his employer, had made a profitable investment 
 on his own account, which he hoped to ship for 
 sale to England after his winter journey to Mezen, 
 where he intended to make further purchases fi'om 
 the northern hunters, with whom the house had 
 always been on such friendly terms, that they 
 were in the habit of keeping the best of their furs 
 for its agents. 
 
 Being kind and considerate to everybody, Mr. 
 Forester had shown himself the same to their kin- 
 dred tribe, the Samoiedes, with whom he had done 
 a good deal of business, and concluded most of his 
 bargains with additional presents of knives, scis- 
 sors, and looking-glasses, greatly to the displeasure 
 of Grimzoif, who warned him that there would be 
 neither peace nor profit got out of those greedy 
 heathens, if he did not give them less than they 
 asked. 
 
 The small hardy people had not yet moved 
 homeward ; they were waiting till the frost made 
 land and water hard enough for their laden sledges 
 and reindeer. Their fii-es and tents could still be 
 seen glimmering through the thick fogs and high 
 snow-drifts. They strayed occasionally into the 
 town to make their last purchases ; but none of 
 them had any more business in the Com-t, and the 
 Foresters were rather astonished, as they sat at
 
 38 TUE YOUNG FORESTESS, 
 
 breakfast one morning, to hear something very 
 like scolding below, and see old Catherine enter 
 the room in a towering passion, with — 
 
 " For mercy's sake, master, come down with 
 yonr whip, and wallop this Samoiede from the 
 door ; he'll break it in with his fist," and her fears 
 seemed confirmed by a continuous powerful knock- 
 ins: like mufiied hammers at the outer door. 
 
 "No, no, Catherine," said Mr. Forester, "no- 
 body shall be walloped from my house. AVhat 
 does the Samoiede want ?" 
 
 " He has broken the big looking-glass he got 
 into the bargain for his marten-skins, and he is 
 begging another one to take home to his mother- 
 in-law that is to be. She is a great woman among 
 them, it seems, and won't let her daughter have 
 him if she is not satisfied with the presents he 
 brings back from Archangel. I told him you had 
 not another glass in the house, but he won't take 
 *No' for an answer. Do, master, let Grimzofi' or 
 Ivan wallop him away, since you won't do it your- 
 self." 
 
 " They shall not do any such thing," said Mr. 
 Forester, getting up ; " the man can speak Russiac, 
 I suppose." 
 
 " Oh, yes, and English too," said Catherine. 
 " He is the man that made such a hard bargain
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEES. 39 
 
 about the marten-skins that day I was up in the 
 store dusting out the chests. He calls himself the 
 chief of the tribe ; I don't know his heathenish 
 name, but master Joseph will remember him, I'll 
 warrant, he had such a talk with him about bows 
 and arrows." 
 
 " It is Sorinsk, father," said Joseph, recollecting 
 the Samoiede chief, who had been in Mr. Forester's 
 store at least twice a week all the summer time. 
 He was the man of business for his whole tribe, 
 and spoke English tolerably well, having learned 
 it in his frequent dealings with the agents of the 
 Russian Company. He was also keener and more 
 intelligent than the generality of Samoiedes, and 
 though given to make hard bargains, and get the 
 most he could, was known to be faithful to all his 
 contracts, and honester than many a civilized 
 trader. 
 
 " I will go down and speak to him," said Mr. 
 Forester ; and down he went, followed by all the 
 boys, to get another look of their northern ac- 
 quahitance, whose bow and arrows had special 
 interest for them all. When the outer door was 
 opened — for Catherine had talked and scolded 
 from the window — the small, squat figure of the 
 Samoiede chief looked very like a moving snow- 
 ball; but snow was no trouble to Sorinsk, he
 
 40 THE YOUNG FOKESTEES. ^ 
 
 dashed a peck of it off tlie front of his fur cap with 
 his liands, wliich never saw water except on Hko 
 occasions, looked up with liis small narrow eyes, 
 and said in his hest English, " My honorable mas- 
 ter, and all my honorable young masters, how you 
 do this very fine morning? Sorinsk has broken 
 his glass, and will break his heart too, if he don't 
 get one other all the same good and big, for Slam- 
 wa, him wife's mother : she very proud, great 
 chief's wife ; proud and high as the Englishman's 
 house," said Sorinsk, looking up at the fabric, 
 Mhich seemed so magnificent compared with his 
 own leathern tent. Forthwith he entered on the 
 woes which should come upon himself and his 
 promised bride, who dwelt somewhere far north of 
 Mezen, if her mother's goodwill w^ere not secured 
 by the presentation of a looking-glass, good and 
 big as the one he had broken. In vain Mr. Fores- 
 ter assured him he had no glass to give ; there was 
 no getting done with Sorinsk and his tale. The 
 Samoiede returned to it from every denial. Time 
 was of no value witli his people, and Catherine, 
 Ivan, and Grimzotf, who had gatliered to the spot, 
 began to insist on Malloping as the only means of 
 getting rid of him, when Joseph recollected that 
 there was a glass in his own and his brother's bed- 
 room. " I am sure we could dress very well with-
 
 THE YOUNG- FORESTEES. 41 
 
 out it," he said ; " and it is a pity of the chief. 
 
 These wild people have their own ways and their 
 
 own troubles; do let us give it to him." 
 
 " Well, if you can spare it," said Mr. Torester, 
 
 " give it to him by all means." 
 
 " Oh, do, honorable master," cried Sorinsk, 
 catching part of their whisper, " find me a glass, 
 and Sorinsk will pay for it honorably in good 
 skins when you come to Mezen ; and if you don't 
 come this winter, Sorinsk will drive to the hunter's 
 house, and leave the skins safe and dry, and one 
 fox-skin besides for the honorable young master — 
 oh, do find me a glass ;" and he began his tale of 
 woe for the seventh time. 
 
 Joseph ran for the glass, to the utter disgust of 
 Catherine, her nephew, and Grimzofi". The Sa- 
 moiede received it, looked it all over, surveyed his 
 own flat face in it, measured it with his dirty hand, 
 said, "He is as good and big ; I will bring the 
 furs, honorable master;" and, without another 
 acknowledgment, he thrust his prize under his 
 arm, and ran away thi-ough the snow.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THE SEPARATION. 
 
 The Foresters saw no more of Sorinsk or his 
 tribe. The stormy weather continued for some 
 weeks, shutting all civilized men within doors ; 
 but when the first heavy snowfall of the northern 
 winter was over, the wind fell to a dead calm ; the 
 hard, stern fi'ost set in, making the snowy ground 
 like iron, and turning the rivers to stone. The 
 sky was heavily laden with thick gray fogs all day, 
 but they cleared away at nightfall, letting the 
 bright moon and thousands of stars shine out on 
 the white wintry landscape below. Then they 
 saw the Samoiedes rise up one evening when the 
 fogs were floating away, strike their tents, harness 
 the reindeer to their sledges, pack in all their goods 
 and purchases, and speed away over the frozen 
 plain to their country in the north, a journey of
 
 THE YOUNG FORESTEES. 43 
 
 fully seven hundred miles, wliicli nobody would 
 think of taking in that climate except in winter. 
 Away they went, and all the town and all the 
 coimtry round, came out too with sledges drawn by 
 reindeer or hardy northern horses shod for ice- 
 travelling. Distant friends went to visit each 
 other, men of business took journeys to remote 
 towns, young men set out on hunting parties far 
 into the forest, or down to the White Sea. It was 
 curious to see the winter life of the town and coun- 
 try, everybody wrapped up, the rich in fine furs, 
 the poor in warm shee]3-skms, but all out in the 
 broad moonlight, or the short faint gleams of sun- 
 shine. Some in richly lined and decorated sledges, 
 some in rough common ones, but all with jingling 
 bells, merry talk and laughter ; while thousands of 
 joung people, men and women, boys and gu-ls, 
 went skating along over street and river, as their 
 business or pleasure took them. It was the lively, 
 leisure, pleasant time of their northern year, 
 making up to many for the hard work, the con- 
 tinued bustle, and overcrowding of summer. Mr. 
 Forester and his boys enjoyed it as well as the 
 rest; the warm clothes they had packed up in 
 Englard, under old Catherine's direction, were of 
 use to them now. The good woman gloried in the 
 fact. " Didn't I tell you what Archangel was ?"
 
 44 THE YOUNG FORESTERS. 
 
 slie would say ; " there is no winter in all Russia 
 like ours. It is the healthiest climate on the face 
 of- the earth. I have heard that some learned men 
 think the Garden of Eden was planted here." The 
 short days and the long nights went quickly. De- 
 cember had come, and Mr. Forester was talking of 
 keeping Christmas as they used to do in England, 
 when all his plans were broken up by the arrival 
 of a letter, which came up the Dwina by the 
 Petersburg mail, a light sledge drawTi by reindeer, 
 and getting over four hundred miles, the distance 
 between the two cities, in less than threo days. 
 Tlie letter was from a partner of Mr. Benson's 
 firm, which, being one of the oldest in the Russian 
 Company, had a house in St. Petersburg too, ever 
 since the great Czar Peter built his new capital on 
 the banks of the Neva, and commanded all foreign 
 merchants to set up factories there, on pain of 
 being expelled from trade in his dominions. The 
 house in Petersburg did the same sort of business 
 as that at Archangel, but the agent there was not 
 so high in the owner's confidence ; he and his clerk 
 had got into a dispute with an officer of the Rus- 
 sian Custom-house about some dues which they 
 thought had been paid. As Mr. Forester was the 
 nearest authority, they referred to him for advice, 
 and he found the business of a kind which could
 
 THE TOmfG FOKESTEKS. 45 
 
 be best settled in Petersburg. People tboiigbt 
 nothing of travelling between it and Archangel, 
 now that the^winter had really set in, and made 
 all roads equally good for their warm and well- 
 appointed sledges ; merchants and men of business 
 were going and coming every day, and experienced 
 drivers were to be got at every post-house. " I 
 would take you with me, boys," he said, '' to let 
 you see the city your geography speaks so much 
 of, but I should not have time to let you see any 
 thing, because I want to come back and keep 
 Christmas in our own house here, and I can't spare 
 the expense till my next remittance comes from 
 England. Besides, we are going to Mezen, yon 
 know, to meet your friend of the looking-glass, see 
 the tribute paid, and buy up the last of my venture 
 of furs. I hope it will pay me well, and help me 
 to provide for my boys. Joseph, you'll take care 
 of your brothers, especially little Herbert, for 
 Henry can look after himself; and keep good 
 friends with Catherine and Grimzoff. I can leave 
 my goods and you to him safely, though he is a 
 stranger." 
 
 So Mr. Forester thought, and so thought his 
 boys. The. clerk had always been very civil and 
 accommodating to them ; he had the best of char- 
 acters from the former agent. Mr. Forester had
 
 46 THE YOUNG FOEKSTEES. 
 
 kept none of his affaire from him ; Grimzoff knew 
 the amount of furs he liud in store on his own ac- 
 count, knew what he liad agreed to purchase from 
 the northern tribes at Mezen, and if he liap])ened 
 to be detained in Petersburg beyond the appointed 
 time, the clerk was empowered to take his boys 
 with him and make the purchase in his name. 
 
 Having settled that question, though determined 
 to return in time to keep Christmas with his boys, 
 if possible, Mr. Forester hired a warm travelling 
 sledge, called a katbitka, in which one could sleep 
 on the journey and carry one's provisions, for 
 there are few inns in Russia ; engaged a driver 
 and post-boy experienced in travelling between 
 Archangel and Petersburg ; provided himself with 
 a store of wrappers ; advised everybody at home to 
 behave well till he came back ; and set forth one 
 evening when the moon was rising and the fogs 
 clearing away. Joseph, Henry, and little Herbert 
 went with him as far as the outskirts of the town. 
 It was the first time they had parted with papa for 
 60 long ; they promised him not to run too many 
 risks in learning to skate and sledge, not to ven- 
 ture into the woods without Ivan, and especially 
 to be guided by Grimzofl", and do whatever the 
 trusted clerk bade them till his return. So they 
 parted in good spirits, the three stood watching
 
 THE TOmSTG FOEESTEES. 47 
 
 the long, low, covered sledge, as it sped away 
 over the icy plain, taking their father from them, 
 and then walked back with a sad, lonely feeling 
 at their hearts, to the Com-t of Trading Stran- 
 gers. 
 
 The time passed more slowly and heavily in 
 their father's absence ; they missed him morning, 
 noon, and night ; but Grimzoff was kind to them, 
 Ivan had nothing to do but help in their amuse- 
 ments, when the corn brandy was not too con- 
 venient, and the winter sights and doings of the 
 town were as many and lively as ever. Mr. For- 
 ester's first letter told them of his safe arrival 
 within three days, of his regret at not being able 
 to bring them with him, Petersburg looked so 
 grand and gay in its winter dress, and his fear that 
 the business on which he had gone would detain 
 him longer than he expected. His next letter said 
 the dispute with the Custom-house ofiicer had gone 
 so far, and there were so many matters to settle, 
 that he could not return before the middle of Jan- 
 uary, but they were to keep Christmas in the Eng- 
 lish fashion without him, invite all their young 
 acquaintances in the Court, and drink his health in 
 the elder wine they had brought from England. 
 He also remmded them that they were to go to 
 Mezen with GrimzofiT, from whom he g-ot the most
 
 48 THE YOUNO FORE8TEE8. 
 
 Batisfactory accounts of tliein and every thing at- 
 home. 
 
 The boys followed their fatlier's counsel ; they 
 kept Christmas without him and found it a dull 
 one, the half-Russian boys of the Court did not 
 understand the business at all, old Catherine had 
 the rheumatism, and Ivan was fit for nothing but 
 sleeping on the stove. Grimzoff helped the fun 
 with all his power, but, being a Russian too, he 
 was not up to the thing, and just then making 
 his preparations for the journey to Mezen, which 
 seemed to occupy the clerk's mind uncommonly. 
 Every mail brought him letters from Petersburg, 
 and the boys thought from Mr. Forester. He got 
 one about the beginning of the new year, which 
 seemed to have a wonderful effect upon him. Jo- 
 seph saw him take it out of his pocket, read it over 
 to himself, and look keenly at them when he 
 thought nobody observed him. Once or twice 
 the boy was on the point of asking if all were well 
 with his father ; but Grimzoff looked so cheerful, 
 and made such lively preparations for his journey, 
 enlarging on the furs he should buy and the won- 
 ders they eVrild see, that Joseph thought things 
 must he right, and prepared for the journey too, 
 with gooa will and great expectations.
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 THE BOYS IN PERIL. 
 
 The town of Mezen stands on a river of the 
 same name, about twenty-eiglit miles from the Icy 
 Ocean, and consists of nearly a hundred huts and 
 houses, a church, a market-place, and a government 
 store. It is reckoned the chief town and grand 
 metropolis of the Samoiede country, but only Kus- 
 sians live there ; the northern tribes think it too 
 far south for them. Their chief men in trade 
 travel, and by authority come to Mezen once a year 
 in midwinter, with the tribute which those primi- 
 tive and peaceable people have paid time immemo- 
 rial to the Kussian government for leave to live and 
 hunt in the frozen wilderness, where nobody else 
 could exist ; namely, three fox-skins for every hunt- 
 er who carries bow and quiver. They generally 
 bring a good deal of furs besides, to sell to the
 
 50 THE TOUNO FORESTERS. 
 
 many tradei-s and merchants who repair to the 
 little town from all parts of Russia, especially 
 Archaiifjel, which is considered near, in those 
 extensive regions, being only a hundred and forty 
 miles southwest of Mezen. 
 
 " A nice little jpumey," said Grimzoff. " You 
 will travel with me in the light sledge, my young 
 masters. Ivan shall take charge of the goods I 
 have to pay the Samoiedes with, in the heavy one. 
 "We shall sleep and drive, by turns ; the horses are 
 easily managed in frost-time. You can do it as 
 well as myself, I know. "We shall only stop to 
 change at the post-house, and my friend, Kicholas 
 Kloskow will take us in, and make us comfortable, 
 at Mezen. 
 
 The boys got ready in high spirits on the day 
 he had appointed to set out. It was a week or so 
 earlier than the time their father had talked of; 
 but Grimzoff knew all about the business, and 
 doubtless had reasons for being in a huriy. 
 
 About two o'clock, p. m., on the twelfth of Jan- 
 uary, when the frost was at its hardest and keen- 
 est, the long night had fallen, and the moon and 
 stars were shining as bright as day, the large 
 heavy sledge, stored with goods to pay the Sa- 
 moiedes, and provisions for their jom'ney, under 
 Ivan's charge, and the light covered one for the
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEKS. 51 
 
 boys and the clerk, were at the door. They had 
 got on all the wraps, every one covered to the 
 nose, as people must be who travel in the north ; 
 and old Catherine came to the door to see them 
 off. 
 
 " Good-bye, good-bye !" said all the boys, rush- 
 ing out and scrambling in, for Grimzoff was there 
 cracking his whip, and away they went. 
 
 It was a glorious night ; all round them the soli- 
 tary plains lay like one wide extended min'or, 
 reflecting moon and stars, till they plunged into 
 the great forest. There was no underwood among 
 those mighty trees, great pines, that rose high 
 enough for the clouds to rest on them, now all 
 crusted and gemmed with frost, long icicles hang- 
 ing from every bough, and glistening like diamonds 
 in the moonlight. Every weaker plant had shrunk 
 into the earth, or died away before the fierce win- 
 ter, and there was clear room for horse and sledge 
 to pass between their great trunks in any direc- 
 tion. Regular road there was none that the boys 
 coidd see; every path on the frozen ground and 
 between the great trees looked the same to them. 
 But Grimzoff and Ivan knew the way to Mezen 
 by landmarks which their eyes could not discover, 
 for many a time had they travelled it in the same 
 fashion. Besides, the clerk kept them so amused
 
 62 THE YOUNG FOKE8TEE8. 
 
 with his lively chat and talcs of former joumcyB, 
 and wliat they might expect to see, that Joseph 
 fcjrgot to call his attention to what stnick him as a 
 rather unsafe arrangement. Tliere was a large 
 wooden bottle under Ivan's seat in the sledge, to 
 which the man inicharge of the goods and provis- 
 ions had such frequent recourse, that he wondered 
 Grinizoff did not perceive it, and expect the conse- 
 quences. The first of them was that just as the 
 party emerged on a wide clearing, made by wood- 
 men or by nature, in the heart of the great forest 
 whose dark outline could be seen bounding it on all 
 sides, Ivan's head began to droop considerably, the 
 whip fell from his hands, the reins followed it, and 
 the horses met with some rough ground, which 
 made them swerve away from the track. 
 
 Grimzoff at once awoke to the state of the case, 
 and exclaiming : " That rascal has got drunk ; 
 here. Master Joseph, take you my whip and reins, 
 these horses will go as quiet as cats with you," he 
 jum])ed out of the sledge, and took possession of 
 Ivan's seat, tumbling him unceremoniously down 
 among the bales and bundles at the bottom, till 
 nothing but his red head could be seen, and noth- 
 ing of Ivan heard but a long resounding snore. 
 The boys could not help laughing ; Grimzoff him- 
 self seemed in a better humor than usual, for
 
 THE YOUNG F0EESTEE3. 53 
 
 he only gave the prostrate serf a sly kick or two, 
 and they drove merrily on till once more at the 
 entrance of the forest. There two great paths led 
 through the mighty pines, — the one bearing to 
 the east, the other due north; and where they 
 branched off stood one of those great rocks or 
 boulder-stones scattered over all the countries of 
 the north, and used as sign-posts, as this evidently 
 was, for there were Russian characters rudely cut 
 upon it, and a Greek cross pointing to the differ- 
 ent roads. 
 
 " It's only telling you the way to Mezen," said 
 Grimzoff in reply to their questions. " There it 
 is," and he pointed to the track that led eastward. 
 At the same time something seemed to go wrong 
 with his horses; one of them stumbled and 
 plunged backward, as if suddenly pulled up ; and 
 Grimzoff cried in great vexation, " Here is a fine 
 business, his hind shoes are coming off; drive you 
 pn that way, master Joseph, there is a blacksmith 
 a mile or two from this who will fasten them on. 
 It's out of my way to go to his forge, but I can't 
 help it." 
 
 " Let us go with you," cried all the boys in a 
 breath ; " we never saw a Russian blacksmith at 
 work, and we don't know the way when you leave 
 us."
 
 54 THE YOUNG FORESTERS. 
 
 " No, I can't take you," cried Grimzoff, " the 
 blaeksmitli is a cross man, and does not like tlie 
 English ; in fact, it would not be safe for you, and 
 you can't miss the way. There, it lies straiglit 
 before you" — he pointed to the eastward track — 
 " drive on as fast as you like, master JoBcpli, I'll 
 be sure to overtake you — drive on, I say ; are Eng- 
 lish boys afraid to be left by themselves ?" 
 
 " We are not afraid !" cried the whole three, 
 and little Herbert was the loudest ; " but hadn't 
 we better wait for you ?" 
 
 " No, no ; drive on if you are not afraid ;" and 
 giving his foremost horse the whip, Grimzoff 
 scoured away along the northward road, while 
 Josei)h, to prove his own and his brothers' courage, 
 drove on as he had been directed. He did not like 
 the clerk leaving them in the midst of the wide 
 forest, and long, lonely night ; but their father had 
 told them to be guided by Grimzoff, and no doubt 
 he would overtake them. 
 
 They drove on in that hope for some time, first 
 at a rapid, and tl\en at a slower pace, as the clerk 
 did not make his appearance, and the path became 
 narrower and more winding among the trees. 
 Joseph slacked the reins, and they all looked 
 back, straining their eyes as far as they could see, 
 and holding theii- breath to catch the distant sound
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEES. 55 
 
 of the sledge-bell. But no sight, no sonnd of life 
 seemed in all the forest, no sign of Grimzoff's com- 
 ing, and they were alone in the frozen wilderness, 
 not knowing what turn of the intricate way was 
 the right one for Mezen. 
 
 " I am afraid to go on lest we miss our way," 
 said Joseph ; " I hope Grimzoff will soon come." 
 That was to keep his brother's spirits up, for the 
 boy's heart sunk with a strange dread that they 
 had missed their way already, and the clerk might 
 not find them. 
 
 " Is that him coming ?" said little Herbert, 
 bending forward to listen. His two brothers did 
 the same, and they could all three catch a sound 
 far off and strange, like mingled cries of some kind 
 which seemed coming nearer. In another minute 
 it was Hke a pack of hounds in full chase — ^perhaps 
 some northern hunters had roused a wild boar and 
 were coming that way. The sounds came nearer 
 stiU, the horses gave a terrified neigh and plunged 
 through the pines. It was beyond Joseph's power 
 to check them, and he did not try it, for a fearful 
 conviction flashed on his mind at the same instant ; 
 it was no northern hunt, no pack of hounds they 
 heard, but the hungry wolves howling for prey, 
 and now catching scent of them. They could see 
 them by this time scouring through the wood, a
 
 5G THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 
 
 gaunt, gray, countless troop, increasing every mo- 
 ment, till they seemed hundreds strong, and filling 
 the silent night with a chorus of the most hon-ible 
 howls. There was no safety but in flight, and on 
 the horses flew, dashing the sledge against the 
 trees, and plunging through every turn and open- 
 ing. The poor animals knew their danger as well 
 as the poor boys ; they wanted neither whip nor 
 rein, but scoured away neighing in mortal terror, 
 while the wolves came on howling behind, and his 
 two younger brothers clung to Joseph, crying out, 
 " What shall we do, they will eat us ?" 
 
 " Pray to God," said Joseph ; " He alone can 
 save us." The boy spoke with a gasp of fear, for 
 he saw no possibility of escape, and a thousand 
 chances against them ; the sledge might be broken 
 against the pines, or they might be thrown out, 
 the horses might break the harness and leave them 
 to their fate ; at any rate he knew that the Russian 
 wolves could tire out the strongest horses, and 
 already they were gaining fast upon them. 
 
 " Save us, Lord, save us !" cried the three for- 
 saken children in one wild prayer, and it seemed 
 to be answered at the moment, for as the sledge 
 turned sharply round, Joseph caught sight of an 
 opening among the thickest of the pines and a log- 
 house standing in it. If they could get refuge
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 57 
 
 there they might yet be saved; they had got a 
 slight start of the wolves, the pack had lost sight of 
 them by the sudden turn, and were expressing 
 their disappointment by louder howls. Joseph 
 strained, with all his strength, to tm*n the horses 
 that way, but his utmost efforts were in vain 
 against their headlong speed. Yet, as the terrified 
 creatures dashed by, the sledge was suddenly 
 caught by the projecting roots of a huge pine, hall 
 overturned in some fierce northern storm. The 
 traces were fortunately strong, and there the 
 horses stood, plunging, struggling, and making 
 the forest ring with their terrified neighs. The 
 wolves, in the meantune, had recovered the scent, 
 and were coming on. It was hard to leave the 
 poor horses to them, but Joseph saw there was no 
 other chance for life. 
 
 " Follow me," he cried to Hemy, clutching little 
 Herbert fast with one hand, while with the other 
 he grasped the overhanging pine roots, cleared the 
 tossing sledge with one jmnp, followed by his 
 brother, rushed to the door of the log-house, drove 
 it open with one vigorous push — there was no tune 
 for knocking — slammed it behind him, and the 
 three set then- backs to it by way of bar. They 
 were saved, but their hearts beat hard and loud, 
 and their breath came short and quick as they 
 
 3*
 
 58 THE YOUNG F0EESTEK8. 
 
 heard tlie poor horses \n*ench away the sledge at 
 last, and dash on through the forest, pursued by 
 the howling pack, and the howls rose louder in a 
 few minutes, mingled with wliat the boys knew to 
 be the dying shrieks of then- poor horses. 
 
 " They will come back to us when they have 
 finished them," said Henry, with chattering teeth. 
 
 " They can't get at us through this strong door," 
 said Joseph ; " stand fast against it till I strike a 
 light and see if there be either bolt or lock. What 
 a good thing it was I put a box of matches in my 
 pocket, and two of Catherine's pitched spills." 
 
 The light was struck, and then they saw that 
 the house had strong walls made of pine logs. It 
 contained but one room, with only one window, 
 not glazed but protected by a stout shutter, and 
 the single door against which they stood was some 
 three inches thick, of solid timber, and had equally 
 strong bars above and below, which the boys lost 
 no time in making fast, and Henry said they 
 would keep out all the wolves in Russia." There 
 was no furniture but one large stove, with some 
 straw on the top of it as if for a bed, for that is the 
 favorite sleeping-place of the Russian peasant, two 
 long rough stools, a table of the same make, and a 
 small heap of fii'ewood in the corner. Kobody 
 had been there for some time. There were very
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 69 
 
 old aslies in the stove, some wild bird's feathers, 
 and the tracks of wild animals on the floor, as if 
 they had come there in search of food and shelter, 
 and had no face of man to fear. Before they had 
 well made these discoveries, the wolves came howl- 
 ing round the house for the prey that had escaped 
 them. 
 
 " Oh, for our father's gun," said Hemy, " to let 
 fly at them from the window." 
 
 " I wish we had it," said Joseph ; " but I'll just 
 light this wood and throw a few firebrands out 
 among them. Nothing frightens wolves like 
 that." 
 
 The wood was lighted, and the firebrands 
 thrown out with great caution, not to set the pine 
 walls on fire or open the shutter too wide, lest the 
 enemy might leap in. The wolves fled as the 
 blazing chips hissed and flared among them, but 
 pame back in a few minutes, closer than ever, and 
 with louder howls. The boys could see them tear- 
 ing at the walls with their fore-feet, and trying to 
 tln-ust their noses under the door, till heavy clouds 
 began to come over the moon, and they knew that 
 the fog, which came with the winter day, was set- 
 tling down on the forest. Then the wolves drew 
 off, pausing, on their homeward march, to utter 
 long melancholy howls, that made the wide woods
 
 60 THE YOUNG FOEE8TEE8. 
 
 ring — but at length these fearful cries died away 
 in the distance. A gray glimmer of daylight 
 began to appear in the east, and Joseph and 
 Henry found little Herbert fast asleep between 
 them, with his head leant against the door, and 
 the teare of silent terror still undiied on his young 
 face.
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 THE EESCrE. 
 
 Thet lifted the child up, laid him on the straw 
 at the top of the stove, and covered him with Jo- 
 seph's great-coat. He was worn out, and so were 
 his brothers, and when they had kindled a little 
 fire of the wood left in the corner and crouched 
 close to it — for that deserted house in the forest 
 was deadly cold — poor Henry's heart, which had 
 held out so gallantly against the terrors of the 
 wolves, fairly gave way, and he began to cry and 
 wring his hands. 
 
 "What shaU we do, Joseph? What will be- 
 come of us in this fearful fi'ozen place ? We have 
 nothing to eat, it is all gone with Grimzoff, and he 
 will never find us here. The wolves have chased 
 us miles out of the way, and if they don't eat us at
 
 02 THE YOUNG FOEESTEKS. 
 
 last we must be starved. Oli, Joseph ! what shall 
 we do ?" 
 
 " Put our trust in God," said Joseph. 
 
 The boy spoke bravely, though every word his 
 brother said had gone to poor J oseph's heart like 
 a knife. It was only the echo of liis own thoughts. 
 He knew it all better than Ilenry did ; and, what 
 was worse, Joseph had now a stj^ng suspicion that 
 the clerk never intended to find them, that he had 
 allowed Ivan free recourse to the wooden bottle, 
 made out that the horse wanted shoeing, and left 
 them on the forest road for some end of his own. 
 But like a true elder brother Joseph kept that 
 fearful suspicion to himself, and tried to cheer up 
 Henry with the only cheer he could offer, remind- 
 ing him of all their father had told them, and of 
 all they had read about the wonderful works of 
 Providence, preserving people in the mMst of dan- 
 ger, and bringing them safe out of the very jaws of 
 death. " Daniel was worse off than we are when 
 he was cast into the lions' den, and Moses when he 
 was left in the ark of bulrushes on the river ; yet 
 they were both preserved, and so may we. The 
 same Eye that watched over us in our home in 
 England, on the wide sea, and in the strange city, 
 sees us here in the midst of these frozen woods, 
 and the same hand can send us help. If Grimzoff •
 
 THE TOTJNG FOEESTEKS. 63 
 
 don't find ns, some liunter or traveller may come 
 this way. It's a frequented place, you see ; houses 
 and stoves are not put up in the forest for no use. 
 There may be a road leading to some town which 
 we may find when the day gets clearer. 'Let us 
 not lose heart, Henry, but pray to God. You 
 know He is the hearer of prayer, and a present 
 help in times of trouble, as the Psalm says." 
 
 So Joseph and his brother knelt down beside 
 the half-heated stove, where wild forest birds had 
 dropped, their feathers in that forsaken house, and 
 prayed earnestly, as people in fear and danger are 
 apt to do ; there was nowhere else they could look 
 for help but that best and highest quarter, and 
 dreadfully as they were situated the poor boys 
 rose up with something like hope in their hearts. 
 Old Catherine had put a parcel of pepper cakes, 
 favorite tit-bits over aU the north, into Joseph's 
 pocket; he recollected them now, gave two to 
 Henry, ate one himself, kept the rest for a reserve, 
 and persuaded his younger brother at last to lie 
 down under his great-coat beside little Herbert, 
 and take a sleep till the fog cleared away, and 
 they could see their whereabout more clearly. He 
 laid down beside them himself, but Joseph could 
 not sleep. The thoughts of their situation pressed 
 on him : his father, far off in Petersburg, perhaps 
 
 y
 
 64 THE YOUNO FORESTERS. 
 
 never to see them more, never to find out what 
 had become of them. His two younger brothers, 
 must they perish with cold and hunger before his 
 eyes, and he liad been partly the cause of bring- 
 ing them to that frozen country ? It was through 
 his persuasion that their father brought them with 
 him fi-om England, and were they to be starved or 
 eaten by the wolves ? Joseph got up quietly, so 
 as not to wake his brothers, but determined to see 
 the place, and what chance of escape there might 
 be, for the red sun was now looking out through 
 the thick curtain of fog that hung above the pines. 
 He unbarred the door with as little noise as possi- 
 ble, closed it carefully behind him, and scrambled 
 up the half fallen trunk of an old and branchless 
 tree. From that elevation Joseph could see far 
 and wide, but all round lay the same hard white 
 wilderness, tall trees fringed with icicles, and 
 frozen ground — everywhere the same, without 
 beaten path or sign of life. There was no sound 
 to be heard in all the woods, the beasts of prey had 
 retired to their dens, and the smaller creatures and 
 wild birds had left the land at "the approach of 
 winter. Joseph came down from the tree, and 
 moved about here and there among the pines, 
 gathering dry sticks to help their fire, and looking 
 out for some track that might lead to human habi-
 
 THE YOTIN'G FOEESTEES. 65 
 
 tations, till lie heard the voices of his two brothers 
 wildly crying, " Joseph, Joseph, where are 'you? 
 have you gone away and left us ?" 
 
 " Ko ; here I am," said Joseph, running with 
 his bundle of sticks up to them, where they stood 
 hand in hand shivering in the doorway. " Don't 
 be afraid at every trifle ; don't cry, Herbert, here 
 is a pepper-cake for you. I have such a lot in my 
 pocket, and I'll give you another, but we can't eat 
 them all, you know, till Grimzoff or somebody 
 comes to us. Come in, we'll make a rousmg fire — 
 there are sticks to be got, anyway ; then we'll go 
 out, all together, gather as many as we can, and call 
 with all our might ; some one in the wood might 
 hear us, or we might fijid a way to some inhabited 
 place." 
 
 They made up their fij-e, wrapped themselves up 
 as well as they could, and went out, cold and 
 hungry, but in good heart. Joseph's cheerful 
 words and looks kept them from giving way. It 
 was hard for him to keep that face of cheer with 
 so little cause for it, and harder still to keep the 
 boys, especially little Herbert, from eating aU the 
 pepper-cakes. 
 
 Out they went, keeping close together, and 
 always in sight of the log-house, for Joseph had a 
 dread of losing their way back to it in the trackless
 
 66 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 
 
 forest. They gathered sticks, they shouted with 
 all their power, they searched for paths, and often 
 thought they had found them ; but one led them 
 to the root of a hollow tree, from which they got 
 the glimpse of a bristly head and white, gleaming 
 tusks, signs that a wild boar had fixed his head- 
 quarters there ; and in another their shouts were 
 answered by a long growl, which sounded like hol- 
 low thunder, and they knew it was a great broA^Ti 
 bear, waking up in some cavern of the forest. 
 Those sights and sounds made them fly back to 
 the log-house, and bar the door with all speed. 
 Then the twilight of the short day began to fall, 
 the long night came down, and they heard the 
 howl of the wolves gathering once more in search 
 of prey. They did not come about the house that 
 night, but went by in howling packs ; all night 
 long the boys could hear them in diiFerent direc- 
 tions, and if ever they looked into the clear cold 
 moonlight there was some gaunt gray back crouch- 
 ing at the root of the nearest pine, as if on the 
 watch for the door to be opened, or some of them 
 to come out. 
 
 The night passed, and another day came like 
 the one before it, only the cakes in Joseph's pocket 
 grew fewer, and the sticks were harder to get. 
 They made the same endeavors to be heard or to
 
 THE TOIOTG FOKESTEKS. 67 
 
 find a path, but with no better success, and were 
 trightened back by the glare of fiery eyes, and the 
 crash of withered boughs where the pines grew 
 thickest. Another night, with hopeless prayers, 
 and hearts sinking in despair, with heavy sleep 
 and terrible dreams, broken by the long howls of 
 the wolves — they came about the house now, and 
 pushed and scratched at the door. Another morn- 
 ing, but no going out to gather sticks and call for 
 help. A terrible snow-storm, one of those which 
 often come at mid-winter in the north, as if to 
 renew the white coat of nature, had set in ; the 
 sky was one mass of leaden gray, the wind came 
 in hollow moaning gusts, so strong that they made 
 the old pines bow and groan, driving before them 
 clouds of hardened snow, or rather hail, which rat- 
 tled against the door and window like a torrent ot 
 swan-shot. By degrees the wind ceased, and then 
 came the regular snowfall, onft continuous shower 
 of large heavy flakes, which covered the ground in 
 a few hours deep enough to drown people in the 
 hollow places, half darkened the window, and 
 raised a high barrier at the door. Before night 
 came their sticks were all burned, and their fire 
 went out ; they had eaten the last of the pepper- 
 cakes, they had exliausted every hope and every 
 source of comfort. Poor little Herbert cried him-
 
 C8 THE TOTING F0EESTEE8. 
 
 self to sleep, and Joseph and Henry having once 
 more said their prayers, and feeling fairly worn 
 out, crept up on the straw, laid the child between 
 them, covered themselves and him with all the 
 clotlies they had, stretched their arms over each 
 other — theii' brotherly love helped to keep them 
 warm to the last — and fell mto half sleep, half 
 stupor. 
 
 Joseph himself had lain down in despair that 
 night ; there seemed no chance of escape or relief. 
 He had been sleeping and dreaming of the Mea- 
 dow Cottage, and old happy days far away in 
 England, when a scratching, delving sound at the 
 door made him start up and listen. Were the 
 wolves actually getting in ? Joseph scrambled 
 down from the stove, the place was pitch dark, for 
 the fierce cold made them glad to keep the win- 
 dow shut. But he could hear the sounds going on 
 outside, there was something clearing and scraping 
 its way through the snow. Joseph had heard of 
 bears doing the like, and crept to the door to 
 make sure that its bars were safe ; but, as he 
 stretched to feel the upper one, his ear caught a 
 sound that no bear could make ; it was " humph," 
 uttered by human organs. Joseph's heart bounded 
 as if to a bugle blast. It bounded still higher 
 when a low continuous knocking began outside ;
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 69 
 
 the bolts were withdrawn in an instant, and there, 
 all one mass of snow, with a horn lanteni sus- 
 pended from his neck, and shining like a star, but 
 looking as undisturbed, and knocking away with 
 his fist, as hotly as he had done at Mr. Forester's 
 door, stood Sorinsk, the Samoiede chief. ^ 
 
 "Are you here, my young master?" said he, 
 stepping calmly in, and shaking off the snow. 
 
 "Hemy, Herbert, we are saved !" cried Joseph, 
 running to his brothers and shaking them up. 
 
 " Sorinsk !" cried both boys, darting down from 
 the stove as if new life had got into their hearts. 
 
 " Yes, my young masters, it's Sorinsk, come to 
 leave the furs he promised to your honorable father 
 for the looking-glass ; it was very good and big : 
 Slamwa was satisfied, and Sorinsk got his wife. 
 You'll take the furs to your honorable father;" 
 and, out of the capacious wallet which hung at his 
 back, the Samoiede produced two marten, two 
 ermine, and two sable skins, with the air of a man 
 redeeming his pledged honor. " Here, my young 
 master," he said, presenting them to Joseph, with 
 the addition of a very handsome white fox-skin : 
 " You will take them safe to him, and keep tliis, 
 Soiinsk promised it yourself for finding the glass." 
 
 " Is this the hunter's house, then ?" said all the 
 boys in a breath, recollecting how much they had
 
 70 TnE TOtJNO FORESTERS. 
 
 liearJ of the place ?s havinp; been built years be- 
 fore, by one of Mr. Benson's relations ; a young 
 man, who, as people say, would do no gO(jd in the 
 business he was brought up to, and when his 
 friends had settled him at Archano-el as a clerk, 
 got acquainted with northern hunters, took to 
 their way of life, became a notable hunter himself, 
 and chose to build his house in that desolate re- 
 gion. The man had been long ago lost in a snow- 
 storm, which came upon him while tracking a 
 bear in the forest, but his house remained in that 
 solitary spot, some way oiF the great road to 
 Mezen, held in high esteem by travellers and 
 hunters as a place of refuge from sudden storms, 
 And of rest when over-wearied, and kept safe and 
 sound on account of common necessity. Had the 
 boys known that, they might have had better 
 hopes; at the same time, but for the getting of 
 the looking-glass, and the Samoiede not finding 
 their father at Mezen, they might have perished 
 there with cold and hunger before anybody came. 
 The Providence which had guided them to the 
 spot, and saved them from the wolves, was with 
 them still. The poor children gave thanks with 
 tears of joy, which even Joseph could not restrain. 
 " Have you no bread, young masters ?" saidkSo- 
 rinsk. His flat face and narrow eyes did not look
 
 THE YOUNG FOEESTEES. 71 
 
 Ugly then, for there was honest feeling and kind- 
 ness in them, and out of his wallet he brought 
 what looked very like a lump of black earth, 
 another of a brownish color, and a rough wooden 
 bottle. The lump of black earth was a loaf of 
 Samoiede bread, made of rye-meal, reindeer's moss, 
 and pounded roots, the brownish lump was hard 
 salt cheese, made of reindeer's milk, and the bottle 
 contained a thick hot drink, which the northern 
 tribes make of honey and fermented mushrooms. 
 With his dirty hands Sorinsk divided this fare 
 among them. Nothing would have made the 
 poorest in England stand the smell, much less the 
 taste, of it ; but the hungry boys thought it the 
 best bread and cheese they had ever eaten, and a 
 draught from his wooden bottle warmed their very 
 hearts. 
 
 Then Sorinsk explained to them how he had 
 missed their father, but saw Grimzoff and Ivan at 
 Mezen ; that Ivan had told him they were lost on 
 the road, because Joseph would drive on, and had 
 either lost himself and his brothers in some forest 
 
 m 
 
 swamp, or been devoured by the wolves. That 
 story had been evidently told to Ivan when he 
 woke out of his sleep at the bottom of the sledge. 
 The clerk had repeated it to Sorinsk, but the 
 shrewd Samoiede's suspicions had been somehow
 
 72 THE YOUNG F0RESTEB8. 
 
 aroused. lie -woiiid not deal with Grimzoff, 
 though tlie hitter was buying furs at an unusu- 
 ally liberal rate, and had oifered to take charge of 
 tlie promised skins for Mr. Forester. "Without a 
 word of wliat ho tliought or meant, Sorinsk har- 
 nessed his reindeer, mounted his sledge, and drove 
 ofl' to the hunter's house, there to deposit the 
 promised skins, as few but Samoiedes came that 
 way, and Sorinsk knew that his tribe would not 
 steal them. The snow-storm had overtaken him 
 near the end of his jouniey, but he and his rein- 
 deer knew their way in light or darkness, and, 
 with a sort of rude snow-plough, which always 
 forms part of a Samoiede's travelling equipments, 
 the}" got through the drifts and reached the barred- 
 up door in time to save the starving children. 
 
 "When Sorinsk had heard their story, he merely 
 shook his head, as if nothing better was to be 
 cx|5ected ; then went out into the calm, starlight 
 night, which had succeeded tjie stormy day, un- 
 harnessed his reindeer, rubbed the snow oflf them, 
 led them into a corner of the house, brought in his 
 various goods*, including a basket of moss for them, 
 two bear-skin cloaks for himself, a leather bag full 
 of charcoal and pine chips dipped in pitch and 
 grease, and another wallet full of provisions like 
 those he had shared with the boys. They gave
 
 THE TOUlSrG FOEESTEKS. 73 
 
 him all the help they could in his settling arrange- 
 ments. Lastly, Sorinsk brought in to another 
 corner his own sledge, long, low, and light as a 
 fishing-skiff, and as he laid it down said — 
 
 " It will keep warm there till to-morrow makes 
 the snow hard ; then Sorinsk will take you home 
 to Archangel, among the great houses and the 
 Englandmen, for Grimzoff is a very big rogue." 
 
 The Foresters thanked him with all their hearts. 
 He made a fire for them of his charcoal and 
 pitched chips ; they got well warmed, went to sleep 
 on the top of the stove under one of his bear-skin 
 cloaks, while he slept under the other ; and with 
 the first glimmer of daylight the Samoiede woke 
 them up saying — 
 
 " Come, the snow is hard, the fog will be thin, 
 and we will go to your honorable father's house." 
 
 Eight gladly they helped to harness the rein- 
 deer, seated themselves in the sledge with all 
 Sorinsk's goods and chattels, and drove away over 
 the now frozen surface of the new-fallen snow, out 
 of the forest, by ways which they never could have 
 found, across the plain, and into the woods once 
 more. All the way Sorinsk entertained them 
 with Slamwa's admiration of the lookincr-fylass, 
 the beauty and accomplishments of his Samoiede 
 bride ; she had the flattest face in the whole tribe,
 
 74 THE YOUNG FORESTERS. 
 
 and could kill a wolf, it appeared; with the gran- 
 deur and magnificence of his wedding-feast, the 
 reindeer that had been slaughtered, and the bears 
 that had been killed for the occasion. At leuirth 
 they discerned, through the clear night which had 
 come again with all its stars, the distant spires of 
 the wooden churches, and the stone towers which 
 arose round the Court of the Trading Strangers. 
 In less than half an hour the sledge was in the 
 town, and at the Court gates; the principal one 
 stood open ; there was a sledge and horses at their 
 own door, and out of it was stepping their father, 
 just arrived from Petersburg. AVhat joy there 
 was in their hearts to see him ; what a telling of 
 their adventures and escape; what thanks and 
 presents were bestowed on the honest Samoiede ; 
 what a lifting up of old Catherine's hands there 
 was, when she heard their story ! 
 
 " And I knew the villain meant no good," said 
 the old woman : " he staid so long in the store, 
 and kept such a counting-up of something to him- 
 self." 
 
 " But what could make him do such a wicked 
 thing as to send us astray in the forest? We 
 might have been lost or eaten by the wolves," 
 said Joseph. 
 
 " I'U teU you, my boy," said Mr. Forester, " it
 
 THE YOUNG FOKESTEKS. 75 
 
 was that root of all evil, covetousness. Listen to 
 me. The very week before I left Petersburg, 
 there was an Englishman of the name of Forester, 
 engaged in the fm--trade like myself, but no rela- 
 tion of ours, drowned by the breaking of the ice 
 on which he was skating, somewhere up the Neva. 
 One of Grimzoff 's acquaintajaces in the town, be- 
 lieving that it was I that had met with such a fate, 
 sent him the intelligence, doubtless in the letter 
 which you saw him reading so often. He knew 
 what a valuable stock of furs I had in hand, how 
 much I had agreed to buy from the Samoiedes, at 
 Mezen ; and, thinking to get the whole bought 
 and sold for himself, before news of the agent's 
 death would reach England, he sent my poor chil- 
 dren astray in the forest to perish with cold, or be 
 devoured by wolves, that there might be no claim- 
 ants to my property. I heard the whole story 
 from a trader who travelled with me, for the very 
 purpose of buying the furs from Grimzoff, though 
 he did not know, nor did I at that time, what 
 means the wretch was taking to secure them to 
 himself. I guessed there was some foul play, and 
 have sent to the governor to put the poHce on his 
 track. And now, my children, there is some- 
 thing more that we have to be thankful for. Mr. 
 Benson wishes me to come back to England, as
 
 7G THE YOUNG FORESTEES. 
 
 soon as the summer thaw opens the river and a 
 ship can come up to take us. lie is pleased to say 
 he cannot do without me in the warehouse, and 
 the gentleman who got into the dispute with the 
 custom-house officers in Petersburg, would do bet- 
 ter here. So we will go back to our own mild 
 winters and oiu* Meadow Cottage. Catherine will 
 go with us, she says. You will have seen the far 
 north, and never forget it, I dare say. Neither 
 will any of us forget this truly noble chief of his 
 tribe, whose honor and honesty enabled him to 
 save and bring you back to me ; but for that 
 looking-glass, and his faitlifal keeping of his prom 
 ise, I should have lost my three boys. Never 
 forget that, my children, nor in all your after lives 
 forget to acknowledge and tnist in the Providence 
 that was with you in the desert, when there was 
 nothing around you but wolves and winter, and 
 you were deserted and doomed children."
 
 Mr. Franipton relating the Story to liis son Harry.
 
 A TALE OF RUPERT'S LAND. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "We cannot boast of many fine evenings in old 
 England — dear old England for all that! — and 
 when they do come they are truly lovely, and 
 worthy of being prized the more. It was on one 
 of the finest of a fine summer that Mr. Erampton, 
 the owner of a beautiful estate in Devonshire, was 
 seated on a rustic bench in his garden, his son 
 Harry, who stood at his knee, looking up inquir- 
 ingly into his face. 
 
 " Father," said Harry, " I have often heard you 
 speak about the North American Indians — the 
 Red-men of the deserts. Do teU me how it is that 
 you know so much about them — ^have you ever 
 been in their country ?" 
 
 Yes, my boy; I passed several of the earlier 
 years of my life in that part of North America 
 which may truly be said to belong as yet to tlie 
 Red-men, though, as there are but some fifty thou- 
 sand scattered over the whole central portion of it,
 
 78 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 it must be acknowledged that they do not make 
 the best possible use of the territory they inhabit. 
 A glance at the map of North America will show 
 you M'here the Red river is, with its settlement 
 founded by Lord Selkirk. I -was very young 
 when I went there with ray father, my elder 
 brother Malcolm, and Sam Daw^es, a faithful ser- 
 vant, who had been brought up in the family from 
 childhood. Sam was a great sportsman, a most 
 kind-hearted fellow, and could turn his hand to 
 any thing. TVe went through Canada to Lake 
 Superior, and from thence it took us, by a chain 
 of lakes and rivers, about twenty-five days to 
 reach the banks of the Red river. I need not de- 
 scribe how we selected our ground, built a cottage, 
 ploughed a field, and stocked our farm ; we will 
 suppose all these preliminaries over, and our party 
 permanently settled in our new home. I must tell 
 you, before I pi*oceed, a little about the Indians of 
 this region.
 
 CHAPTEE II. 
 
 There are different tribes. Some are called 
 Crees, others Ojibways or Salteux; and these are 
 constantly at war with the Sioux to the south, 
 chiefly found across the United States boundary. 
 There are also found on the prairies Assiniboines, 
 Blackfeet, Bloodies, and others with scarcely more 
 attractive names. All these people were at that 
 time sunk in the most abject state of heathenism, 
 and were constantly at war with each other. They 
 were clothed chiefly in skins made into leather, 
 ornamented with feathers and stained grass and 
 beads. The tents of the prairie Indians were of 
 skins, and those of the Indians who inhabit the 
 woods of birch-bark. Many had rifles, but others 
 were armed only with bows and spears, and the 
 dreadful scalping-knife. Of these people the 
 Sioux bore the worst character, and were the 
 great enemies of the half-breed population of the
 
 80 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 settlements. These half-breeds, as they are called, 
 are descended from white fathers and Indian 
 mothers. There are some thousands of them in 
 the settlements, and they live chiefly by himting 
 and fishing, and retain many Indian customs and 
 habits of life. Such was the strangely mixed com- 
 munity among whom we found ourselves. 
 
 The autumn was coming on, and the days were 
 shortening, but the weather was very fine — sharp 
 frosts at night, though warm enough, yet bracing, 
 with a bright sky and pure atmosphere during the 
 day. Sometimes a light silvery mist or haze hung 
 over the landscape. Such is the Indian summer, 
 the most delightful period of the year in North 
 America. 
 
 The day's work was over, and while my brother 
 and I were preparing the table, and Sam Dawes 
 was cooking the supper, we were startled by a 
 loud and peculiar shout, or rather shriek. Our 
 father, who had been sitting reading, started up, 
 and taking his rifle from the wall, turned to the 
 door. Sam, quitting his frying-pan, also took 
 down his rifle and followed with us. In the dis- 
 tance was an Indian, decked with war-paint and 
 feathers, bounding over the ground towards us, 
 while further ofi" were five or six more, as if in hot 
 pm'suit of the fii'st.
 
 A TALE OF EUPEET's LAJSTD. 81 
 
 " That first fellow is an Ojibway by his adorn- 
 ments, and a young man by the way he runs," 
 observed Sam. " He's seeking protection here, 
 that's poz." 
 
 " And he shall enjoy it, though we should have 
 to fight for him," observed my father warmly. 
 " We must teach the Red-men that we always pro- 
 tect those in distress." 
 
 The fugitive came on at great speed. He was 
 flying for his life. His pursuers, however, were 
 gaining on him. They had fii'e-arms in their 
 hands, but did not use them. 
 
 " They have exhausted their powder," observed 
 my father. " That is fortunate." 
 
 The young Indian was within fifty yards of us. 
 
 We could see the gleam of the scalping-knives 
 
 which his foes had drawn, thirsting for his blood. 
 
 He bounded on up to the door of the hut and fell 
 
 exhausted within. Then, for the first time, his 
 
 pursuers perceived that we stood armed at the 
 
 entrance. Guessing truly that we possessed plenty 
 
 of ammunition, and two or more of their number 
 
 might fall if they attempted to advance, they 
 
 paused, casting glances of disappointed vengeance 
 
 towards their victim, who lay unconscious behmd 
 
 us. Our father told Malcolm and me to take him 
 
 in and to try and revive him. We did so, and 
 
 4*
 
 82 A TALE OF Rupert's land. 
 
 ■when we had moistened his lips with water ho 
 quickly revived. Springing up, -he seized Mal- 
 cohn's gun and hurried to the door. The other 
 Indians had not moved. On seeing liira, however, 
 they instantly darted -behind some trunks of trees 
 for shelter, and then we saw them darting away 
 till they got beyond range of our fire-arms. The 
 young Indian would have followed, but my father 
 restrained him, and gave him to understand that 
 though he had saved his life he had no intention 
 of allowing him to take the lives of others. Dark- 
 ness was coming on, and we soon lost sight of the 
 band. Having closed our door with more than 
 usual care, we placed food before our guest, of 
 which he eagerly partook, and then told us that 
 his name was Sigenok ; that he, with others of his 
 tribe, had ijeen out hunting, and had been sur- 
 prised by a war-party of Sioux, who had taken the 
 scalps of all the rest. He had wandered away 
 unarmed from the camp when he saw all his com- 
 panions killed. To revenge them, which the 
 Indian thought was his first duty, was then im- 
 possible, so he took to flight, hoping to retaliate 
 on another occasion. His wary foes, however, dis- 
 covered his trail and followed. He had caught 
 sight of them when they were not aware of it, and 
 redoubled his speed, making for the settlements.
 
 A TAI.E OF KUPEKt's LAND. 83 
 
 He gave us to understand that lie could not have 
 continued his flight many more hours, and that he 
 was very grateful to us for preserving his life. 
 We had brought a dog from England, and we had 
 lately got another, both very sagacious animals, 
 and so we stationed them outside the hut at a little 
 distance to give us due notice should the Sioux re- 
 turn. 
 
 Sigenok, as soon as he had satisfied his hunger, 
 proving his confidence in us, laid himself down in 
 a corner of the room and was immediately fast 
 asleep. He spent two days with us to recover his 
 strength, which had been greatly tried, and then 
 set ofi:' to carry to his tribe the sad tidings of the 
 loss of their friends. For an Indian, he was a 
 good-looking young man, and decked with his war- 
 paint and feathers, he had a picturesquely savage 
 appearance.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The winter came — we did not feel the cold 
 BO much as we expected — it passed on, and spring 
 approached. We were looking forward to the 
 pleasures of summer and to a buffalo hunt, which 
 we had promised ourselves, when, after finding 
 the heat unusually great at night, on rising in the 
 morning, loud cracks in the ice were heard, and 
 we discovered that a thaw had commenced. "We 
 were sui-prised at the rapidity with which the 
 snow melted, and the low shrubs and the green 
 grass appeared, and long-dormant Nature seemed 
 to be waking up to life. " How jolly !" exclaimed 
 Malcolm ; " we shall soon be able to paddle about 
 in our canoe : we may as well have a look at her, 
 to see that she is in order." 
 
 We had a supply of gum with which to cover 
 up the seams as the Indians do, and our canoe was 
 soon fit for launching.
 
 A TALE OF KUPEEt's LAOTD. 85 
 
 " "We must look to the plougli and our spades," 
 remarked our fatlier : " we shall speedily be able 
 to get in our seeds." 
 
 Perhaps Sam Dawes thought more of his fishing- 
 lines and nets and guns. 
 
 The next day, an Indian coming up from the 
 lake told us that there was an extraordinary ac- 
 cumulation of ice at the mouth of the river, which 
 had begun to swell, with an impetuous torrent, 
 carrying vast masses along with it. Speedily it 
 rose higher and higher ; the waters came up the 
 bank, and theh filled the narrow gully which usu- 
 ally discharged water into it after the rain, but 
 now carried its waters backward into the ^^lain. 
 
 "It will soon subside," observed om- father: 
 " that current wiU soon carry away the barriers at 
 the mouth." So we aU went as usual to bed. 
 
 The next morning, when we looked out, we 
 were on an island. The water covered our field 
 and the greater part of the garden round the 
 house. Between us and the house of the nearest 
 settler to the south was one sheet of water, while 
 to the north not a habitation was visible. We 
 made out, at the distance of a mile, our neighbor 
 and his family crossing in a large boat to the hills 
 on the east. " We may possibly have to follow 
 his example," observed our father; "but I hope
 
 86 A TALE OF BUPERt's LAJJD. 
 
 that tlie waters may decrease before that becomes 
 necessary." 
 
 Tho sheep and cows were now collecting of 
 then* own accord in the garden, and we had to 
 drive up the pigs, whose stye was threatened with 
 submersion. Tlic scene was truly one' of desola- 
 tion, as we looked beyond our own homestead ; 
 trunks of trees and palings, and now and then a 
 haystack, and barns, and parts of houses, and oc- 
 casionally whole dwellings came floating by, show- 
 ing what ravages the flood must have committed 
 above us. JMaloolm and I agreed that it was for- 
 tunate we had repaired our canoe. As the waters 
 extended, the current in the river was less strong. 
 Our father observed this. "My sons," he said, 
 " freight your canoe with the tent and some pro- 
 visions, and take this case of books, and go ofi" to 
 the hills. Should the waters increase, return for 
 Sam and me ; we must remain to look after the 
 cattle. Mounted on our horses, we shall be able 
 to drive them to yonder rising groimd on the 
 southwest." 
 
 He pointed to a slight elevation, between which 
 and us he considered that the water was not more 
 than one foot and a half deq^. Accustomed to 
 obey without question, Malcolm and I, having 
 loaded our canoe with as many valuables as she
 
 A TALE OF RUPEET's LAND. 87 
 
 could possibly cany, prepared to cross to the east- 
 em hills, hoping that our father and Sam would 
 start at once with the cattle towards the more re- 
 mote but seemingly more accessible ground to 
 the west. Just as we were shoving off, he re- 
 marked — 
 
 " The water has not risen lately ; we may still 
 avoid a remove. Heaven prosper you, my dear 
 boys." 
 
 We hoped that his words would prove true : the 
 sky was bright, the water smooth, and it was diffi- 
 cult to believe that there was any danger. Mal- 
 colm and I were expert with the use of the paddle, 
 but in crossing the river we were swept down some 
 way, and narrowly escaped staving in the canoe 
 against stumps of trees or palings and remnants of 
 buildings. We persevered, however, and at length 
 reached the eastern hills, or the mountains as they 
 were called. Here we found our neighbor and 
 several other families encamped. He told us that 
 he had driven his cattle off on the first day, and 
 wished that we had done the same. The waters 
 did not appear to be rising, though we looked with 
 anxiety towards our home ; but it was too small a 
 speck to be visible among the wide expanse of 
 waters at the distance we were from it. We had 
 put up our tent, and were intending to occupy it,
 
 8b A TALE OF Rupert's lant>. 
 
 when we recollected that there were several of the 
 other settlers' wives and daughters without so good 
 a covering, so we went and Legged them to occupy 
 it, while wc slept under our canoe.. 
 
 The night was bright and starlight, but we could 
 not sleep much for thinking of our father and Sam 
 Dawes. We resolved as early as we could see in 
 the morning to go back to them. We were awoke 
 early in the morning by a peculiar murmuring and 
 hollow sound. As soon as it was daylight we 
 looked out over the flooded country. We asked 
 others if they had heard tlie noise. They replied 
 that they had, and that it was caused by the 
 water rushing over the land. " Then the flood 
 must have increased," exclaimed Malcolm and I 
 with anxiety. 
 
 "No doubt about it, boys," was the unsatis- 
 factory reply. 
 
 AVe were for starting ofi" immediately, but one ol 
 the fanners' wives, to whom we had given up our 
 tent, insisted on preparing some breakftist for us, 
 and in putting a supply of food into our canoe. 
 
 " It is a long voyage, my boys, and you do not 
 know what you may require before you return," 
 she observed. 
 
 We paddled on very anxiously. We had only 
 the line of eastern hills we were leaving and some
 
 A TALE OF EUPEET's LAND. 89 
 
 high land to the south to guide us, but we thought 
 that we could not help hitting upon the spot where 
 our abode stood. For a long way we paddled on 
 easily enough, only taking care not to run against 
 stumps of trees', and as we got nearer the settle- 
 ment, stakes or ruined buildings were our chief 
 danger. Too many evidences met us on either 
 side that the water had increased considerably 
 since the previous day. In vain our eyes ranged 
 around, in no direction was our cottage visible. 
 "We must have mistaken the locality. The current 
 was here very strong, we thought that we might 
 have drifted down further than we had calculated 
 on doing. We went further west, and then steered 
 south, where the current was less strong. After 
 going some way, ]\Ialcolm stopped paddlmg sud- 
 denly, and exclaimed — 
 
 " Look, Harry ! look there ! Do you know that 
 tree?" 
 
 " Its head is very like one that grows close to 
 the house," I answered. 
 
 We had both mechanically turned the head of 
 the canoe in the direction in which he pointed. 
 We had been engaged in fastening a flag-staff to 
 the tree near our house. A minute would decide 
 whether this was it. Our hearts sank within us, 
 our paddles almost di'opped from our hands, when
 
 90 A TALE OF Rupert's land. 
 
 we perceived amoni; the bare branches the rope 
 and the pole which we liud been about to erect. 
 AVlicre was our cotta^ije ? where our kind father 
 and the faithfid Sam { Not a vestige of the cot- 
 tage remained, it liad too evidently been carried 
 away by the flood. 
 
 "■ Had they been able to escape with the cattle?" 
 was the question we asked each other. We hoped 
 they might ; but still it was too possible that our 
 father would have persisted in remaining in the 
 house, as a sailor will by his ship, to the last, and 
 Sam, we knew, would never have deserted him. 
 We could just distinguish the heads of some strong 
 palings above the water, marking the position of 
 our cottage. We made fast to the tree for a few 
 minutes to rest and recover ourselv&s, and to con- 
 sider what course to pursue. We naturally turned 
 our eyes towards the rising ground in the south- 
 west, to which our father intended to drive the 
 cattle. It seemed a lonjr;, lonj; wav off, still we 
 determined to attempt to reach it. We felt thank- 
 ful that the farmer's wife had sui^plied us with 
 proWsions, though we were too anxious just then 
 to -be hungry. We left the tree and paddled on, 
 but it was very hard work, for there was a current 
 against us setting towards Lake Winnipeg; but 
 the canoe was light, and as there was no wind we
 
 A TALE OF KUPEKt's LAND. 91 
 
 managed to stem it. Hitherto the sky had been 
 bright, and there had been a perfect calm, but as 
 we paddled on we saw clouds rising above the 
 high ground for which we were steering. They 
 rose, and rose, and then rushed across the sky 
 with fearful rapidity, and the water ahead of 
 us, hitherto bright and clear, seemed turned into a 
 mass of foam, which came sweeping up towards us. 
 
 " We cannot fiice it," exclaimed Malcolm. 
 " Quick, quick, about with the canoe, we must run 
 before it" 
 
 We were hardly in time. The blast very nearly 
 upset the canoe, and we had to throw our whole 
 weight over on the side the wind struck her, to 
 prevent this, as she spun round like a top, and 
 away we flew before it. All we could do was to 
 keep the canoe before the wind, and to steer her. 
 clear of logs of wood or stumps of trees, against 
 which she might have been cast and knocked to 
 pieces. 
 
 " But where are we going?" we asked ourselves. 
 ^' If we continue thus, we may be driven into Lake 
 Winnipeg, and hurled among the masses of ice 
 which are dashing about on its waters." 
 
 We thouo-ht still more about our father and 
 Sam. How disappointed they would be, should 
 they have reached the dry land when the storm
 
 92 A TALE OF UUrKBTS LAND. 
 
 came on, and tlicy knew that we could not get to 
 them. But our attention, I must own, was soon 
 concentrated on our own situation. The rain fell 
 in torrents, sufficient of itself almost tp swamp our 
 li^ht canoe, while the thunder roared and the 
 lightning darted from the sky, filling my heart, at 
 all events, with terror. I felt both awestruck and 
 alarmed, and could scarcely recover myself suffi- 
 ciently to help Malcolm. He was far less moved, 
 and continued guiding the canoe with his former 
 calmness. At last I could not help crying out — 
 
 " Oh, Malcolm, how is it that you cannot see 
 our danger ?" 
 
 " I do, Harry, clearly," he answered gravely ; 
 " but we are in the performance of our duty, and 
 God w' ill take care of us." 
 
 Ilis words and tone made an impression on me 
 which I have never forgotten. "When dangers 
 have surrounded me, I have asked myself, " Am 1 
 engaged in the performance of my duty? then 
 why need I fear, God will protect me. He always 
 has protected me." The grandest receipt for en- 
 abling a person to be truly brave, is that he must 
 ever walk on in the strict line of duty. 
 
 We were driving northward at a fearful rate, for 
 the rapidity of the current was greatly increased 
 by the wind. ^Ve wished that we could get back
 
 A TALE OF KUPEEt's LAND. 93 
 
 to OTir oal'-tree, as we might make fast to its 
 branches, but it was nowhere visible. To have 
 paddled against the gale would have only ex- 
 hausted our strength to no purpose. As Malcolm 
 found that he could guide the canoe without me, 
 he told me to bail out the water. As I turned 
 round to do so, I shouted with joy, for I thought I 
 saw a large boat under full sail coming down 
 towards us. On it came, much faster than we 
 were driving ; but as it drew near, it looked less 
 and less like a boat, till to my bitter disappoint- 
 ment I discovered that it was a large haystack 
 which had been floated bodily away. At length 
 just before us appeared a clump of .trees, and we 
 hoped that the ground on which they stood might 
 be out of water. Malcolm steered towards the 
 .spot. We might remain there till the storm was 
 over. The trees bent with the wind, and it ap- 
 peared as if they could not possibly stand. We 
 approached the spot perhaps with less caution than 
 we had before employed. Suddenly the canoe 
 spun round, a large rent appeared in her bows, 
 over she went, and we were thrown struo-o-lino; 
 into the water. Before we could regain the canoe 
 she had floated far away, and not without a severe 
 struggle did we succeed in reaching the land. We 
 climbed up by some bushes, and found ourselves
 
 94r A TALE OF KUPERt's LA>T). 
 
 on the summit of a little knoll rising out of the 
 water, and not eomprisinnj more than fifty square 
 yards. Our first impulse was to look out to sec 
 M'hat had become of our canoe, and we stood 
 watching it with a bewildered gaze as it floated 
 away half filled with water. It was not till it had 
 disajjpeared in the distance that we remembered 
 it had contained all our provisions. That was bad 
 enough, but we had never experienced hunger, and 
 did not know how long we might exist without 
 food. "What appeared then worse was, that the 
 waters were rising round our island, and we might 
 soon have no dry spot on which to rest our feet. 
 We might climb up into the trees, but we had 
 seen other trees washed away, and such might be 
 the fate of these our last refuge. The day wore 
 on, the storm ceased, and the weather again be- 
 came calm and beautiful. I now grew excessively 
 hungry, and cried very much, and felt more 
 wretched than I had ever done before. Malcolm, 
 who bore up wonderfully, tried to comfort me, and 
 suggested that we should hunt about for roots or 
 underground nuts such as we had seen the Indians 
 eat. We fortunately had our pocket-knives, and 
 with these we dug in all directions, till we came 
 upon some roots which looked tempting, but then 
 we remembered that we had no means of kindling
 
 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LANT). 95 
 
 a fire to cook them, nor could we tell whether they 
 were poisonous or not. The hunt had given us 
 occupation, and prevented us for a time from 
 dwelling on our misfortunes. 
 
 We then tried every device we could think of to 
 kindle a fire, for we wished to dry our clothes, if 
 we could not cook our roots. None of our at- 
 tempts succeeded, and Malcolm suggested that we 
 should run round and round our island to try and 
 warm ourselves before night came on. At last I 
 felt very sleepy, and so did Malcolm, but he said 
 that he would let me sleep fiii'st while he watched, 
 lest the waters should rise and carry us away be- 
 fore we had time to climb up a tree. 
 
 I lay down and was asleep in a minute, and 
 when I awoke the stars were shining out brightly 
 through the branches of the trees, the young grass 
 blades reflecting them on their shining surfaces, 
 while I saw my good brother still walking up and 
 down, keeping guard over me. The noise of the 
 rushing waters sounded in my ears and made me 
 desire to go to sleep again, but I aroused myself, 
 ashamed that I had slept so long, and m-ged my 
 brother to lie down. 
 
 " No, Harry," he answered, " I wished you to 
 get as much rest as possible ; but look there, we 
 shall soon be obhged to climb a tree for refuge."
 
 0(5 A TALE OF KUPEKT ti LAND. 
 
 AYalkiiif; a few paces, I found that the water 
 had greatly encroached on our island ; a southerly 
 wind hud begun to Idow, which sent large waves 
 rolling in on us. 
 
 " Should the wind increase, they will completely 
 sweep over where we stand," I exclaimed. " Oh, 
 Malcolm, what shall we do ?" 
 
 " Trust in God," he replied calmly. " From how 
 many dangers has lie not already preserved us ! 
 But remember, our father has often told us that 
 it is our business while praying to God for help, 
 to exert ourselves, and so let us at once try and 
 find a tree we can climb quickly in case of ne- 
 cessity, and whose boughs will afford us a resting- 
 place." 
 
 I loved Malcolm dearly. I admired him now 
 more than ever, and was ready to do whatever he 
 wished. We soon found a tree up which we could 
 helj) each other. The wind howled and whistled 
 through the trees, the weaves lashed the shore furi- 
 ously, and Malcolm had just time to shove me up 
 the tree, when one larger than the rest swept com- 
 pletely over the ground on which we had been 
 Btandijig, with a force sufficient to have carried us 
 off with it. AVe had seated ourselves among the 
 branches, which waved to and fro in the wind, 
 and as we looked down, we saw the water foam-
 
 A TALE OF KTJPEKt's LAND. 97 
 
 ing roisnd the trunk, and often it seemed as if it 
 must be uprooted and sent drifting down with the 
 current. 
 
 Malcolm said that he felt very sleepy, and told 
 me that if I would undertake to hold him on, he 
 would rest for a few minutes. I gladly promised 
 that I would do as he wished, but asked him how 
 he could think of sleeping while the tempest was 
 raging round us. 
 
 " Why, Harry, we are as safe up here as on the 
 ground," hie answered, in his usual sweet tone of 
 voice, " God is still watching over us !" 
 
 I need scarcely say how tightly I held on to his 
 clothes, trembling lest he should fall. I felt no in- 
 clination to go to sleep, indeed I soon found that 
 I must have slept the greater part of the night, for 
 before Malcolm again oj)ened his eyes, I observed 
 the bright streaks of da^Ti appearing over the dis- 
 tant hills in the east. Daylight quickly came on. 
 It was again perfectly calm, and on looking down 
 we could see the blades of grass rising above the 
 water. Malcolm woke up, saying that he felt 
 much better. Looking down below us, he said 
 that he thought the water had decreased since he 
 went to sleep. He might have been right, I could 
 not tell. At that moment there was only one 
 thing I thought of, the pain I was suffering from
 
 98 A TALE OF KUPEET's LAND. 
 
 hunger. " I sliall die ! I shall die !" I exclaimed. 
 Malcolm cheered me up. 
 
 "Help will come, though we cannot now see 
 how," he ohserved ; " God will protect us. Trust 
 in Ilim." 
 
 Still I felt that I should die. It is very diflBcult 
 to sustain gnawing hunger, such as I then felt for 
 the first time. I have no doubt that Malcolm felt 
 the same, but he was too brave to show it. Hour 
 after hour passed by ; the water did not appear to 
 be rising ; the blades of grass were still seen below 
 us round the tree. I, however, felt that I could 
 not endure many more hours of sufiering. " I must 
 fall, indeed I must," I cried out over and over 
 again. I should indeed have let go my hold, had 
 not my brave brotlier kept me up. Even he, at 
 last, showed signs of giving way, and spoke less 
 encouragingly than before. He was silent for 
 some time. I saw him looking out eagerly, when 
 he exclaimed — " Cheer up, Harry, there is a canoe 
 approaching ; it will bring us help." 
 
 I gazed in the direction towards which he 
 pointed. At first I could only see a speck on the 
 water. It grew larger and more distinct, till I 
 could see that it was certainly a canoe. Then we 
 discovered that there were two Indians in it. AVe 
 shouted, but oui* voices sounded shrill and weak.
 
 A TALE OF EUPEEt's IAOTD. 9.0 
 
 The Indians heard us, for they waved their pad- 
 dles and turned the head of the canoe towards the 
 clump of trees. The canoe could not get under 
 the tree, but one of the Indians jumped out, and 
 Malcolm told me to slide down. The Indian 
 caught me and carried me in his arms to the canoe, 
 for I was too weak to walk. Malcolm followed, 
 and the Indian helped him along also. It was not 
 till we had been placed in the canoe that we recog- 
 nized in our preserver the young Indian, Sigenok, 
 whose life we had saved. We pronounced his 
 name. He gave a well-satisfied smile. 
 
 "Ah, you have not forgotten me, nor I you," 
 he said, in his own language. " Favors conferred 
 bind generous hearts together. Sigenok guessed 
 that you were in distress. Your elder brother has 
 long been looking for you." 
 
 It appeared that Sigenok had been at a distance 
 hunting when the flood commenced ; that he had 
 hastened back, and soon perceiving from the height 
 the water had attained that our house was in dan- 
 ger, had embarked in his canoe and hastened 
 towards it, but on his nearing the spot found that 
 it had been swept away. Guessing that we had 
 escaped to the eastern hills, he paddled there, 
 when our friends told him that we had proceeded 
 in search of our father and servant. Having as-
 
 100 A TALE OF Rupert's land. 
 
 certained the exact time of our departure, with the 
 wonderful powers of calculation possessed by Ked- 
 men, he had decided the events which had occurred 
 mid the course we liad pursued, and was thus able 
 to look for us in the right direction. Had he not 
 found us there, he would have visited other places 
 which he mentioned, where we might have taken 
 refuge. As he was leaving the hills the farmer's 
 wife had given him a supply of food for us, and on 
 his producing it our hunger was soon satisfied. 
 We now told him of our anxiety about our father 
 and Sam Dawes. lie listened attentively, and 
 then shook his head. 
 
 " They and the cattle never reached the hills," 
 he observed. " We will search for them. There 
 are still some hours of daylight. If the house has 
 held together, they will be found much fm'ther 
 down than this." 
 
 I fancied by the Indian's manner that his hopes 
 were slight. We now shoved oti' from the little 
 island which had afforded us bo valuable a refuge, 
 and Sigenok and his companion paddled off at a 
 rapid rate to the north. Anxious as I was, I soon 
 fell asleep, and so I believe did Malcolm for a 
 short time. I was aroused by a shout from Sige- 
 nok. I lifted up my head and saw a dark object 
 in the distance, rising above th^^.water.
 
 A TALE OP EUPEKt's LAOT). 101 
 
 " It is our house !" exclaimed Malcolm, " Sige- 
 nok says so. Oh, that our father may be there !" 
 
 W.e kepFour eyes anxiously fixed on the distant 
 object. It was growing dusk. Malcolm said that 
 he saw something moving on it. 
 
 " Man there, alive !" observed Sigenok. 
 
 Our liopes were raised ; but he spoke only of one 
 man. How long the time appeared occupied in 
 reaching the spot ! Even through the gloom we 
 could now distinguish the outline of our log hut, 
 which had grounded on a bank among some strong 
 fences and brushwood, and was now fixed securely, 
 partly tilted over. 
 
 " Who is there ? who is there ?" we shouted. 
 " Father, father ! we are Malcolm and Harry !" 
 
 " Woe's me, young masters, your father is not 
 here," said a voice which, hollow and husky as it 
 was, we recognized as that of Sam Dawes. We 
 were soon up to our hut, to the roof of which Sam 
 was clinginfi;. The Indians lifted^ him into the 
 canoe, for he had scarcely strength to help him- 
 self. 
 
 " But our father, Sam ! our father !" we ex- 
 claimed. " AVhere is he ? what has happened ?" 
 
 " He no speak till he eat," observed Sigenok, 
 after he had secured the canoe to the hut. 
 
 We took the hint, and gave him some food. In
 
 102 A TALE OF KUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 a short time he rcNnved, and told us that our father, 
 after we went away, would not believe that the 
 water would rise higher, aiid that they#iad retired 
 to rest as usual, when they were awoke by the 
 sound of the water rushing round the house ; that 
 they botli ran out and mounted their horses to 
 drive off the cattle, as had been arranged. Our 
 father took the lead, urging on before him the 
 cows and horses, while he followed with the sheep, 
 when his horse fell and he was thrown into a deep 
 hole. As he scrambled out, the current took him 
 off his legs. lie was nearly drowned, but after 
 floundering about for some time, he found himself 
 carried up against the hut. He immediately 
 climbed to the roof, and shouted as loud as he 
 could in the hopes of recalling our ftither, but 
 there was no answer. Again and again he shout- 
 ed, lie tried to pierce the gloom which still hung 
 over the land, though it was nearly morning. He 
 felt a wish to leap off and try and follow his mas- 
 ter, but what had become of his horse he could not 
 ascertain. The waters were increasing round the 
 cottage. He felt it shake violently, when, to his 
 horror, it lifted and floated bodily away. The 
 logs had been put together in a peculiar manner, 
 dove-tailed into each other, which accounted for 
 this. He told us how forlorn and miserable he
 
 A TALE OF EUPEKt's LAOTD. 103 
 
 felt, without another human being in sight, believ- 
 ing that his master was lost, uncertain as to our 
 fate, and that he himself was hm^rying to destruc- 
 tion. More tlian once he felt inclined to drop off 
 the roof, but love of life, or rather a sense of the 
 wickedness of so doing, prevailed, and he clung on 
 till the hut grounded where we found it. 
 
 We were now in as secure a place as any we 
 could find in the neighborhood, and so Sigenok 
 proposed seeking some necessary rest before con- 
 tiauing our search. We proposed going into the 
 house to sleep, but we found that our bed-places 
 had been carried away, and so, of course, had 
 every particle of fm-niture, as the bottom of the 
 hut had literally come out. "We therefore returned 
 to the canoe to sleep. At early dawn we once 
 more paddled south. There was little current and 
 a perfect calm. The waters, too, were subsiding, 
 for several slight elevations, before submerged, 
 were now visible. After paddling for many hours, 
 we reached the southwestern hills I have before 
 described. Several settlers were there, but no one 
 had seen our father. We crossed back to the east- 
 ern hiQs before night-fall. There were no tidings 
 of him there. The flood subsided, and we, like 
 others, set off to return to the now desolate site of 
 our former abode. Sigenok conveyed us in his
 
 104 A TALE OF EUPEET's LAND, 
 
 canoe, and wo pitclied our tent on the very spot 
 our hut liad occupied. In vain we searched for 
 our father, in vain we made inquiries of other set- 
 tlers, no one had seen him. Day after day we 
 waited, flunking that he might have been swept 
 downward with the flood, clinging to a piece of 
 timber or some other floating body, and that he 
 miglit as yet be unable to return. Sam Dawes 
 looked more and more sad when we spoke of his 
 return. Sigenok, who had remained by us, shook 
 his head, " lie gone, no come back," he observed. 
 Our hearts sank within us as the sad truth forced 
 itself on our minds that we were orphans.
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 Long we continued to hope against hope. ISTei- 
 ther was our father's body, nor were any of the 
 cattle he was driving off, ever discovered. The 
 current must have swept them down into Lake 
 Winnipeg. 
 
 "I ain't much of a person for it, young mas- 
 ters," said Sam Dawes, taking a hand of each of 
 us and looking at us affectionately, " but I loves 
 ye as sons, and I'll be in the place of a father, that 
 I will." 
 
 Faithfully did Sam Dawes keep his word. 
 
 " Grief is right and does us good in the end, 
 
 depend on't, or it wouldn't be sent ; but it musn't 
 
 make us forget duty. 'Now you see it is our duty 
 
 to live, and we can't live without food, and we 
 
 can't get food without we work, so let's turn to 
 
 and plough and sow the ground." 
 
 5*
 
 106 A TALE OF ECPEEt's LAND. 
 
 This proposal may peem like mockery, but 
 among the valuables placed by our father in the 
 canoe was a good supply of seed-corn and other 
 seeds, and we had discovered our plough driven 
 deep into the ground. Sigenok disappeared the 
 moment he understood our intentions, and Sam 
 looked very blank, and said that he feared he did 
 not like work and had gone off. 
 
 " I think not," observed Malcolm ; and he was 
 right. In a few hours Sigenok returned with two 
 horses and several hides well tanned, and needles, 
 and fibre for thread. I thought Sam would have 
 hugged him, he was so delighted. Without loss 
 of time they set to work and cut out a set of har- 
 ness, and, lighting a lamp, seated at the entrance 
 to our tent, labored at it the greater part of the 
 night, Malcolm and I helping as far as we could. 
 Sam made us go to sleep, but as I looked up they 
 were still at work, and when I awoke in the morn- 
 ing it was finished. The horses were a little rest- 
 ive, evidently not being accustomed to ploughing, 
 but they obeyed Sigenok's voice in a wonderful 
 way, though it was necessary in the first place 
 to teach him what ought to be done. It is said by 
 some that Indians will not labor. I have reason 
 to know that they will when they have a suflicient 
 motive. Sigenok showed this. His motive was
 
 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 107 
 
 gratitude to us, and affection excited by compas- 
 sion. No white man would liave labored harder. 
 When the wheat and Indian corn were in the 
 ground, he with his horses helped Sam and us to 
 bring in stuff for fencing and to put it up. All this 
 time he slept outside our tent, under shelter of 
 a simple lean-to of birch-bark. Another day he 
 disappeared, and we saw him in the evening com- 
 ing up the river towing some timber. He brought 
 a heavy log upon his shoulders. " There is a part 
 of your house," he observed, " we can get the rest 
 in time." 
 
 So we did ; we borrowed a large boat, and tak- 
 ing advantage of a northerly wind, we brought up, 
 piece by piece, the whole of our hut, which had 
 grounded near the banks of the river. Our neigh- 
 bors, in spite of the value of their time to them- 
 selves, came and helped us, and we very soon had 
 our hut over om* heads, though, excepting the 
 articles we had saved in the canoe, we had no 
 furniture remaining. 
 
 " Sigenok live here with you," observed our In- 
 dian friend. 
 
 " Yes — of course ; very glad," we answered, 
 thinking that he intended to take up his abode in 
 our hut. 
 
 We had arranged that morning to go to the
 
 108 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 Fort* to obtain flour and other articles. "We were 
 not without money, for our fatlier had put his desk 
 in the canoe, and in it we found a sum of money, 
 considerable for our wants. On our return from 
 the Fort, we found that Sigenok had erected close 
 to om* door an Indian wigwam. It was very sim- 
 ple of construction. It consisted of about a dozen 
 long poles stuck in the ground in a circle, and fast- 
 ened together at the top so as to make the figure 
 'of a cone. Against these poles were placed large 
 slabs of birch-bark. It comes off the tree in 
 layers, which having a tendency to regain their 
 circular form, cling round the cone, and are further 
 secured with bands of fibre. In the centre is the 
 fire, while the smoke escapes through an opening 
 left in the top ; some mats on the ground, and 
 some lines stretched across on which clothes or 
 other articles can be hung up, form the chief furni- 
 ture of these wigwams. To these may be added 
 a bundle of hides or mats, and an iron pot. 
 
 "We had purchased some bedding at the Fort, 
 and Sam and Malcolm soon knocked up some 
 rough furniture, which served our purpose. We 
 should often have been on short commons had not 
 Sam and Sigenok been exj)ert fishermen, so that 
 
 * Fort Garry, belonging to the Hudson's Bay Company.
 
 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 109 
 
 we were never without an ample supply of white- 
 fish, or gold-eyes, or sturgeon. 
 
 "This very well," observed Sigenok. "Fish 
 very good, but in winter buflalo better." 
 
 " Will you help us to go and hunt the buffalo, 
 then?" we both exclaimed. 
 
 Sigenok nodded ; it was what he had proposed 
 to himself that we should do. Although a wood- 
 Indian, he liad connections among the prairie In- 
 dians, and from living with them had become a 
 good rider and expert hunter. Sam did not like 
 our going; he was afraid some accident might 
 hajDpen to us, but he had not the heart to tell us 
 so. He was to remain at home to take care of the 
 farm. Sigenok procm-ed two other horses, one for 
 himself, and another to drag a light cart which we 
 bought, made entirely of wood. It was laden with 
 our tent and provisions, and our rifles and powder 
 and shot. We felt in high spirits when we were 
 ready to start, and wishing Sam an affectionate 
 farewell, set off to join a large band of hunters 
 proceeding to the plains. Tliere were nearly three 
 hundred men, besides their wives and childi*eu. 
 The greater number were half-breeds, but there 
 was also a large body of Indians, among whom we 
 found Sigenok's relatives, who received us in the 
 most cordial manner, and told us that we should
 
 110 A TALE OF HUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 be their brothers, that our friends should be their 
 friends, and our foes their foes. The half-breeds 
 had nearly five hundred carts, each with a dis- 
 tinguishing flag ; and there must have been even a 
 larger number of hunters, all mounted. Their 
 tents, or lodges, arc formed of dressed buflfalo-skins. 
 Thej are pitched in a large circle, with the carts 
 outside — and when in a hostile country, with the 
 animals in the centre ; otherwise they feed outside 
 the circle. They have a captain and regular ofl&- 
 cers under him ; and a flag hoisted on a pole in 
 the centre serves as a signal. When hauled down, 
 it is a sign that the march is to be continued. 
 "When the whole body was on the move, it re- 
 minded us of a caravan in the East, with the long 
 line of carts winding along over the plain, and the 
 horsemen galloping about on either side. For 
 several days we travelled on without seeing any 
 buffalo, till one day, soon after we had camped, 
 notice was brought by the scouts that a large herd 
 were in the neighborhood. All was now excite- 
 ment and preparation in the camp. Sigenok called 
 us early in the morning, and, after a hasty break- 
 fast, in high spirits we mounted our horses, and 
 accompanied the band of hunters. We made a 
 wide circuit, so as to let the wind blow from the 
 buffaloes towards us. I should tell you that the
 
 A TALE OF KUPERT's LAJSTD.- Ill 
 
 animal denominated the buffalo by tbe North 
 Americans, is what is properly called the bison by 
 naturahsts. They roam in vast herds over the 
 interior of North America, from Mexico as far 
 north as the large river Saskatchewan and Lake 
 Winnipeg. We rode on, drawing nearer and nearer, 
 till, as we ascended a slight elevation, we saw over 
 it on the plain on the other side a vast herd of big- 
 headed, dark, hairy monsters, more buffaloes than 
 I supposed existed on the whole continent. They 
 were feeding quietly, as if not aware of the ap- 
 proach of foes. Om' captain, an experienced 
 hunter, rode along the ranks commanding silence, 
 directing every man to look to his arms, and ex- 
 horting the novices not to shoot each other, a dan- 
 ger which might be justly apprehended. Each 
 hunter now ascertained that his rifle was loaded, 
 and then filled his mouth with bullets — a ready-at- 
 hand pouch, that he might the more quickly drop 
 them into his piece. I was afraid of following this 
 e:*imple, for fear of the buUets dropping down my 
 throat or of my gun bursting. Malcolm and I 
 kept close to Sigenok. He told us to do what he 
 did, not to lose sight of him, assuring us that our 
 horses understood hunting perfectly. Our hearts 
 beat with eagerness. We had now got near enough, 
 in the opinion of our leader, to charge. The signal
 
 112 A TALE OF EUPEET 8 LAND. 
 
 was given, and at headlong speed the l>and ot 
 liuntsmen dashed in among the astonished animals. 
 The buffaloes fled in all directions, the horsemen 
 following, firing right and left, and loading again 
 with extraordinary rapidity, seldom missing ; and 
 as each animal fell, the hunter who had killed it 
 dropped some article of his dress, or other mark by 
 which he might distinguish it. It was the most 
 exciting scene in which I was ever engaged — the 
 hunters, so lately a dense and orderly body, were 
 now scattered far and wide over the plain, many 
 miles apart, in pursuit of the buflfaloes ; some 
 terror-stricken, others infuriated to madness. Sig- 
 enok had killed five or six, and Malcolm had also, 
 much to our gratification, killed one, though I had 
 not been so successful, from nervousness, I fancy; 
 when the Indian being at some distance, as we 
 were in full chase of another bufl'alo, a huge bull 
 started out from behind a knoll, and rushed towards 
 us. My brother's horse started at the unexpected 
 sight, and putting his foot into a badger-hole, stum- 
 bled and threw him over his head. The faithful 
 animal stood stock-still, but on came the bull. I 
 shrieked out to Malcolm to leap on his horse and 
 fly, but he was stunned, and did not hear me. 
 The bull was not twenty paces from him ; in an- 
 other instant he would have been gored to death.
 
 A TALE OF KUPEEt's LAND. 113 
 
 I felt thankful that I had not before fired. Rais- 
 ing my rifle to mj shoulder, 1 pulled the trigger — 
 the huge animal was within ten paces of him; 
 over it went, then rose on its knees, and struggled 
 forward. I galloped up to Malcolm, who was be- 
 ginning to recover his senses. With a strength I 
 did not fancy I possessed I dragged him up, and 
 helped him on his horse just before the monster 
 fell over the spot where he had lain, and would 
 have crushed him with his weight. By the time 
 Sigenok returned, the buffalo was dead. lie 
 highly praised me when he heard what had oc- 
 curred, but said that we had had hunting enough 
 that day, and that he would now summon his peo- 
 ple to take possession of the animals we had killed. 
 The skins are called robes, and are valued as arti- 
 cles of trade, being taken by the fur-traders and 
 sent to Canada, England, Russia, and other parts 
 of the world. Part of the flesh of the slain ani- 
 mals was carried into the camp for immediate 
 consumption, but the larger portion was prepared 
 forthwith in a cm'ious way for keeping. The meat 
 is first cut into thin slices and dried in the sun, and 
 these slices are then pounded between two stones 
 till the fibres separate. This pounded meat is then 
 mixed with melted fat, about fifty pounds of the 
 first to forty pounds of the latter, and while hot is
 
 114 A TALE OF KCPEKT's LAND. 
 
 pressed into Lufiulo-skin bags, when it forms a 
 hard, compact mass. It is now called peramikou, 
 from pemm% meat, and kon^ fat, in the Cree lan- 
 gnage. One j^ound of this mixture is considered 
 as nutritious as two of ordinary meat, and it has 
 the advantage of keeping for years through all 
 temperatm'es.
 
 CHAPTEE Y. 
 
 Soon after the grand hunting-day I have de- 
 scribed, our scout brought word that a party of 
 Sioux were in the neighborhood. Om- fighting- 
 men attacked them and killed several. A scalp- 
 dance took place, and other orgies which I will 
 not describe. I was so horrified with what I saw, 
 that I agreed with Malcolm that we would get 
 back to the settlements as soon as we could. We 
 expressed our wish to Sigenok, and he promised to 
 return with us on the following day. Malcolm's 
 great wish was to withdraw Sigenok from his sav- 
 age companions, and to induce him to settle down 
 as a civilized man and a Christian. We talked to 
 him on the subject, but he replied, that he had 
 been all his life accustomed to hunting and fight- 
 ing, and that he could not abandon them. The 
 next day we set out, leaving the larger body of 
 Indians still encamped.
 
 116 A TALE OF EUPEKt's LAND. 
 
 We had travelled on for two days, when the 
 belief being entertained that we had no enemies 
 to fear, tliere was less than the usual caution ob- 
 served by the natives in our march. We were 
 passing through a sparsely wooded country ; I was 
 in advance with Sigenok, while Malcolm and sev- 
 eral young Indians, whose interest he wished to 
 excite by descriptions of England and the won- 
 ders of the civilized world, brought up the rear, 
 at a considerable distance. Suddenly Sigenok 
 stopped ; the crack of a rifle was heard : several 
 others followed. " The Sioux !" he exclaimed, 
 turning round his horse. " Quick ! quick ! our 
 friends are attacked." No other order was required ; 
 keeping close to him, we all galloped back the way 
 we had come, getting our rifles ready for action as 
 we proceeded. A terrible anticipation of misfor- 
 tune seized me as I thought of Malcolm, and the 
 fate which might have overtaken him. Still he 
 and his companions might be defending them- 
 selves, and we should be in time to rescue them. 
 Mv heart sank when the fii-ing ceased. I knew 
 that the Sioux would not have attacked the party 
 unless greatly superior in numbers, and I dreaded 
 that all was over, and that having slaughtered 
 their victims they had retired victorious. Sigenok 
 might have thought the same, for he sent out
 
 A TALE OF KUPEKt's LAND. 117 
 
 scouts on either side, and advanced with greater 
 caution than before, though still at a rapid pace. 
 We pulled up at an open glade. Sad was the 
 sight which met our eyes. On eveiy side were 
 strewed the bodies of our companions, all denuded 
 of then* scalps. I almost fell fainting from my 
 horse. I dreaded to find the body of my dear 
 brother among them ; still I eagerly hurried on to 
 ascertain his fate. He was not to be found among 
 the slain. My hopes slightly revived. He might 
 have escaped and be concealed somewhere near, or 
 he might have been carried off as a prisoner. My 
 blood ran cold when I thought of this latter possi- 
 bility, for I had heard of the horrible mode in 
 which the Eed-men tortured their prisoners, and I 
 dreaded lest such should be the lot of my poor 
 brother. The rage and fmy of the Indians at 
 finding that their friends had'thus been cut off was 
 terrific, and their threats of vengeance terrible. I 
 had hitherto, till this expedition, seen the Red-men 
 only under more favorable aspects. I now perceived 
 what they could become when excited by passion. 
 Still the loss of my brother made me anxious that 
 they should immediately undertake an expedition 
 which might result in his recovery. I saw the 
 Indians examining the ground round on every 
 side, and they soon pronounced an opinion that
 
 lis A TALE OF RUPEKt's LAND, 
 
 the party who had attacked their friends did not 
 equal them in numbers, and would not have suc- 
 ceeded had they not lain in ambush and taken 
 them by surprise. We must have passed close to 
 the Sioux, but in consequence of the superiority 
 of our numbers they were afraid to attack us. A 
 council was immediately held ; the principal men 
 spoke, and various plans were suggested. The 
 result of them was, that it was detennined to form 
 a camp on the spot, while twenty well-mounted 
 warriors should go in pursuit of the Sioux. I 
 entreated Sigenok to allow me to accompany him. 
 " You are young for warfare, but your heart is 
 strong — you shall go," he answered. Ko time was 
 to be lost. It was of great consequence to follow 
 up the foe so rapidly that they might not be pre- 
 pared for our approach. A hurried meal was 
 taken, and each warrior furnishing himself with a 
 supply of pemmikon for several days, we immedi- 
 ately set off. Three men, on foot, always kept 
 ahead to act as scouts and to feel the way, while 
 their horses were led by the rest, and when the 
 fii'st were tired others took their places. The 
 Sioux must have retreated very i-apidly, for two 
 whole days passed, and though my friends assured 
 me we were on the right trail, we had not over- 
 taken them. I was almost in despair, and began
 
 A TALE OF EUPEET's LAND. 119 
 
 to doubt that, even if Malcolm was alive, he could 
 be with them, I had just expressed mj fears to 
 Sigenok when one of the scouts came hurrying 
 back and exhibited a tag — the end of a boot-lace, 
 such as my brother had worn. This Sigenok con- 
 sidered a sure sign that Malcolm was with them. 
 My eagerness, therefore, increased to overtake 
 them, but the Indians assured me that great cau- 
 tion was requisite, and that instead of going faster, 
 it might be necessary to go slower. This is often, 
 the case I have since found in other afl'airs of life. 
 More scouts were now sent out and still greater 
 caution used. It was the intention of my com- 
 panions, if possible, to make the onslaught on the 
 camp of their foes at night. All depended, how- 
 ever, on our approach not being suspected. The 
 Sioux, of course, would have scouts out, and the 
 difficulty was to avoid their meeting ours, or dis- 
 covering any traces. At last, just before dusk, 
 one of our scouts brought in word that they had 
 encamped, and that we were about two miles from 
 them. It was suspected, from the way in which 
 they had formed their camp, they must have 
 thought that they had distanced us. We had 
 now no longer any doubt about overtaking them, 
 but the question was as to the best means of mak- 
 ing the attack. The Indians' chief thought was
 
 120 A TALE OF KUPERt's LAND. 
 
 of revenging themselves for the loss of their rela- 
 tives, my only desire was to recover my brother, 
 should he still be al'ive. We continued to advance 
 till we got within about half a mile of the Sioux 
 camp — the hilly nature of the ground and the 
 woods concealing our approach. Beyond that we 
 dared not proceed, as the country was so open 
 that we might easily have been seen had we made 
 the attempt. The band, accordingly, here left 
 their horses, under charge of five of their number, 
 and as soon as it was dusk they commenced their 
 stealthy approach to the camp. Sigenok and an- 
 other young and active Indian undertook to look 
 after me. Not a word was spoken after we set out 
 — not a leaf was moved, scarcely a blade of grass 
 was uselessly pressed down. On they crept slowly, 
 and so gently that I could scarcely hear the foot- 
 falls even of my two companions. I imitated their 
 way of walking ; and as I had on moccasins, I also 
 was able to avoid making the slightest noise. We 
 had got within a thousand yards of the cainp, when 
 we all stopped to listen. The camp was still astir, 
 and there were sounds of feasting and revelry. 
 The Indians with me ground their teeth — their 
 enemies, fancying themselves secure, were about to 
 indulge in a scalp-dance over the scalps they had 
 taken in the morning. As yet the scouts had not
 
 A TALE OF BUPEKt's LAND. 121 
 
 got near enough to ascertain if my brother was 
 with them. I entreated Sigenok to let me go and 
 ascertain. "Not without me," was his answer. 
 "Bah, we will go." I eagerly and fearlessly 
 pressed on. We had to crawl along the gromid 
 lest our figures might be perceived, by the sharp 
 eyes of the Sioux, against the sky. "We reached a 
 small stream. The camp was formed a httle way 
 beyond it. We waded across it, and creeping up, 
 looked over the bank. In the centre was a fire 
 which, as it blazed up, threw a strange light on 
 the groujDs of fierce savages clustering round it. 
 At a little distance was a figm-e which attracted 
 all my attention — it was that of my brother. He 
 was seated on a log of wood, close to which a 
 stake was driven in, and to this his "wiists were 
 tightly secured, though his feet were free. His 
 head was bent down ; he sat perfectly quiet, as if 
 resigned to his fate. By the gestures of his cap- 
 tors I thought that they were talking about him, 
 and I feared that they were proposing forthwith to 
 put him to death. I dared not ask Sigenok what 
 he thought; the slightest sound might have be- 
 trayed us. Oh, how I longed to rush forward and 
 join his fate, whatever that might be ! I believe 
 that I should have done so, when I saw him lift 
 
 up his pale countenance, so expressive of grief and 
 
 G
 
 122 A TALE OF Rupert's land. 
 
 pain, had not Si2;enok held mc hack. lie was, I 
 was sure, thinking of me, and how raiserahle I 
 should be when he was taken from me, and I was 
 left alone in the world. Sigenok now made a sign 
 to me to retreat ; keeping close to him as before, I 
 unwillingly left the spot. We crawled on till we 
 rejoined our companions. It may seem sur]>rising 
 that the Sioux should have been so completely off 
 their guard ; but this arose from their despising 
 their foes, the fact being that the Ojibways are 
 generally very unwarlike, and they, therefore, 
 believed that they would not venture to follow 
 them. My companions' plans were soon foraaed. 
 It was arranged that the whole party should creep 
 forward as we had done, and that each man should 
 single out one of the enemy, according to his posi- 
 tion, and that at a signal from Sigenok, the low 
 croak of a frog, all should fire at the same moment. 
 "With the sound of the first shot the men with the 
 horses were to come galloping on, as if a fresh 
 party were approaching the scene of conflict. As, 
 undoubtedly, all the Sioux would not be killed, 
 some might, otherwise, attempt to rush on their 
 concealed foes, but, with the fear of falling into the 
 hands of their enemies, they would now take to 
 flight. My heart beat quick as we now moved on 
 towards the camp of our treacherous foes. The
 
 A TALE OF Rupert's land. 123 
 
 niglit was very dark, and so noiseless were tlie 
 movements of the Indians, that, till I actually 
 touched Sigenok's heel, I fancied at one time that 
 I must be alone. The shouting and shrieking of 
 the Sioux, as they sang their songs of triumph, yet 
 further assisted us to approach. In another mo- 
 ment the death-volley would be given, and most of 
 those fierce savages would be laid low. My only 
 wish all the time was to rush forward and to re- 
 lease my beloved brother. How breathlessly I 
 waited for the signal ! The warriors were moving 
 about, and Sigenok was not yet satisfied, apparent- 
 ly, with the positions which they had taken up. 
 Little did they dream of the danger which threat- 
 ened them. Sigenok's object was to wait tiU the 
 Sioux were separated as much as possible, so that 
 there should be no mistake as to which of them 
 should be aimed at by the warriors of our party. 
 After sitting down for some time, they all arose 
 with eager and violent gestures ; some went in the 
 direction of the temporary wigwams they had 
 formed, and others advanced towards Malcolm. 
 By then- looks and gesticulations I had little doubt 
 that it was with the intention of torturing him. 
 Poor Malcolm lifted up his coimtenance and 
 gazed with calm resignation at his approaching 
 tormentors. My knees trembled for very anxiety.
 
 124: A TALE OF EUPERt's LAND. 
 
 Just then I Leard a low " Croak ! croak !" Though 
 warned, I believed that it was really a frog close 
 to me. It was followed by a click, as if caused by 
 the cocking of the ritles. The Sioux one and all 
 started and looked round. Tlieir quick ears had 
 detected the sound. There was another low croak, 
 and at the same instant a rattling volley, and four- 
 teen savages lay stretched on the grass. The rest 
 rushed in all directions, seeking for shelter ; but in 
 their alarm, scarcely perceiving whence the volley 
 had proceeded, some darted towards the bank of 
 the stream where my friends still lay concealed 
 rapidly reloading their rifles. Scarcely had the 
 smoke cleared off than I saw through it a savage 
 darting towards Malcolm, with uplifted knife, re- 
 solved, apparently, before he died, to plunge it in 
 his bosom. I shrieked out, and sprang forward to 
 throw myself between them. The savage saw me, 
 and was about to vent his rage on my head, but at 
 the moment his gleaming knife was uplifted to 
 strike, a bullet stmck him, fired from Sigenok's 
 rifle, and he fell within a foot of me, in vain 
 endeavoring to reach me with his w'eapon. I 
 sprang to my brother's side : he was imhurt : my 
 knife was busily employed in cutting through the 
 thongs which bound him. More shots were heard 
 as my Ojibway friends caught sight of their Sioux
 
 A TALE OF KUPERt's LAND. 125 
 
 foes endeavoring to escape. A few of tlie latter 
 had, however, got to some distance and were try- 
 ing to catch their horses, on which theii* only hope 
 of safety now depended. The object of the Ojib- 
 ways was, of course, to prevent them, lest they 
 should carry the news of what had happened to 
 their tribe, who would, in their turn, send off an- 
 otlier war-party in pm'suit of us. 
 
 The approach of our horses was now heard. 
 Sigenok with a dozen other men threw themselves 
 on their backs almost without stopping them, and 
 galloped off in hot pursuit of their flying enemies. 
 I stood by the side of my brother, who was too much 
 bewildered to understand what had happened. His 
 first words were, " Harry, dear Harry, tell me, is it a 
 dream or a reahty. Am I really free ?" 
 
 " Free, Malcolm, I trust," I answered : " though I 
 might almost ask you the same question; I can 
 scarcely believe my happiness." 
 
 " JSTow I take your hand and hear yom- voice, I 
 know that it is true," he said, eagerly. " And that 
 poor savage who lies so helpless there, I thought 
 he was going to kill me ; but I have been merci- 
 fully protected ; I will tell you all about it by and 
 by. Oh, what a dreadful state of existence is this 
 wild hfe ! we will quit it, and return to om- quiet 
 home, and never leave that. I had often read
 
 126 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 
 
 about savages, and thought them very fine fellows, 
 l)ut little knew what they really are — how blood- 
 thirsty, cruel, murderous. Let us fly, Harry, let 
 us fly at once. Do not stay here." 
 
 1 pacified him after a little time, and persuaded 
 him to remain till Sigenok returned. " He, though 
 still a savage, is, at all events, faithful," I ob- 
 served ; " he will not desert us till he has seen us 
 home and safe again with Sam Dawes. I wish 
 that we could wean him altogether from his mode 
 of life, and induce him to become a civilized man." 
 
 "While Malcolm and I were talking, the rest of 
 the Ojibways had collected, with the exception of 
 those who had gone in pursuit of the Sioux. The 
 fire had sunk low, and I was thankful that the 
 darkness prevented us from watching the horrid 
 task in which they were engaged — that of scalping 
 their fallen foes. The exclamations they uttered 
 while thus employed, showed the delight they 
 took in the dreadful work. " Our brothers are 
 avenged ! our brothers are avenged !" they kept 
 shouting. " Their mothers, and wives^ and children 
 will not mourn alone ; there will be grief and wail- 
 ing also in the lodges of the Sioux. They will no 
 longer be able to boast that they are the great 
 warriors of the plains. We have conquered them ; 
 we have slain them ; we have their scalps to show."
 
 A TALE OF KTJPEEt's LAND. 127 
 
 iN'early an hour thus passed: so greatly excited 
 all the time were the savages, that they took but 
 little notice of us. 
 
 At last we heard shouts in the distance, which 
 became louder and louder, till, by the light of the 
 fire, which had been renewed, we saw Sigenok and 
 his companions ride into the camp flourishing 
 at the end of their spears the dreadful trophies of 
 their success. But I should not have described 
 those scenes at all, were it not to afford you a true 
 picture of savage life, not as it is painted by ro- 
 mance wi-iters, but as it really is, debased, and 
 wretched, and hopeless. "We soon reached the 
 camp, and recommenced our return to the settle- 
 ments as rapidly as we could push on. 
 
 Sigenok told us that the Sioux of whom they 
 had gone in chase had nearly effected their escape, 
 but that he had come up with them as they were 
 attempting to pass a broad river, and where, from 
 being in the water, not hearing the approach of 
 their foes, he and his companions had shot them all 
 down, so that he believed that not one of them had 
 got off". Still, had one escaped, he might prove as 
 dangerous as many, and therefore it might be safer 
 to proceed homeward at once. "We urged him to 
 do so, and accordingly, without even resting, we at 
 once set out to retm-n to the camp. "We reached
 
 12S A TALE OF EUPERt'b LAND. 
 
 it in safety ; but I will not attempt to describe the 
 scenes which took place, and the savage triumph 
 even of the women ; how they shrieked, and shout- 
 ed, and danced," and clapped their hands till they 
 appeared like so many fm-ies rather than human 
 beings. As a war-party of the Sioux would be 
 able to travel much faster than we could, the house- 
 hold goods were at once packed, and we set out on 
 our return homeward. We travelled rapidly, and 
 to guard against surprise we had scouts in the rear, 
 constantly on the watch for the approach of a foe. 
 The conversation of the men all the way related to 
 the events of the expedition, and they evidently 
 gloated over the way in which they had put their 
 enemies to death. 
 
 As we proceeded, I often turned my head when 
 I heard any noise behind me, expecting to see the 
 enemy darting out of a wood, or scouring over the 
 prairie in chase of us, and at night, M'hile we were 
 encamped, I frequently started up under the belief 
 that the Sioux were upon us. 
 
 " All our sufierings, and the dangers we have 
 gone through, and the horrors we have witnessed, 
 have been owing to our folly," observed Malcolm ; 
 " had we remained at home, steadily assisting Sam 
 Dawes to cultivate the farm, we should have 
 escaped them all. We will be wiser in future."
 
 CHAPTEE YI. 
 
 "With great satisfaction, and gratitude for the 
 dangers we had escaped, our eyes once more rested 
 on the silvery waters of the Red river, as it wound 
 its way through the rich plains of the settlement, 
 towards the lengthened expanse of Lake Winni- 
 peg. Malcolm and I, putting our spurs into our 
 mustangs' flanks, galloped on, eager to announce 
 our arrival to Sam Dawes. He was laboring by 
 himself, putting up a fence to a new field. He 
 saw us coming, and, throwing down his axe, hur- 
 ried forward to meet us. I^ever was there a more 
 happy meeting. He had a great deal to tell us, 
 as we had to tell him. Gathering up his tools, he 
 walked by om' side to the hut; a hut though it 
 was no longer, for by his persevering industry he 
 had converted it into a very comfortable residence ; 
 
 while he had replaced, though in a somewhat 
 
 6*
 
 130 A TALE OF KUPEEt's LAND. ^ 
 
 roufi^h fasliion, nearly all the furniture we had 
 lost. My brother and I felt ashamed at having 
 deserted him for so long, while he was laboring 
 for our benefit. 
 
 " Well, dear masters, I did ofttimes feel sad and 
 lonely like while you were away, but now I've got 
 you back safe, all that seems as light as a feather," 
 he exclaimed, pressing our hands and looking into 
 our faces with the affection of a parent. lie told 
 us that great changes had taken place in the set- 
 tlement during our absence, that a clergyman had 
 settled near us, that a church was built and a 
 school established, and that many new colonists 
 had bought land along the banks of the river, for 
 many miles towards the south as well as to the 
 north of us. The good clerg^nnan had also in- 
 duced several families of Indians to settle in the 
 neighborhood, and that they seemed to have ac- 
 cepted with joy the glad tidings of salvation which 
 he had been the means of offering them. 
 
 "I wish that Sigenok would come and join them 
 then," exclaimed Malcolm, warmly; "so brave and 
 energetic a man would bring many others over to 
 the truth." 
 
 The next day Sigenok himself came in to see us. 
 Malcolm opened the subject of which he had been 
 speaking. Sigenok listened attentively, and said
 
 A TALE OF KUPEKt's LAND. 131 
 
 that lie would go and hear what the missionary 
 had to say. He did so. 
 
 The winter set in, and the river and lake were 
 frozen over, and the ground was covered with 
 snow, and sleighs had taken the place of carts, and 
 thick buffalo-skin coats of light dress, and stoves 
 were hghted and windows closed, and the whole 
 face of nature seemed changed. Sigenok came to 
 us. "Ah!" he exclaimed, "when I knew you 
 first my heart was like the great praii'ie when 
 the fire has passed over it, all black and foul ; 
 now it is white, like that field of glittering snow 
 on which we gaze. I am a Christian ; I look with 
 horror on my past life, and things which I consid- 
 ered before praiseworthy and noble, I now see to 
 be abominable and vile." 
 
 Day after day, in spite of cold and wind and 
 snow, did Sigenok come up to the missionary's 
 house to receive instruction in the new faith which 
 had brought such joy to his heart. Many followed 
 in his footsteps, and there now exists a whole vil- 
 lage of Christian Indians in the settlement, who 
 have put away and forever their medicine-men 
 and their charms, and their false Manitou, and 
 their cruelties and bloodthirstiness, and are wor- 
 shippers of the true God in sincerity and simplicity 
 of faith. Several of the Indian boys brought up
 
 132 A TALE OF EUTEKt's LAND. 
 
 at the school have obtained a considerable amount 
 of learning, and some are ordained ministers of the 
 Gospel, and others catechists and schoolmasters at 
 various missionarj stations scattered throughout 
 the wide extent of Rupert's Land. 
 
 You may like to hear something more about 
 that wonderful land, that terra ignota of British 
 Central America. At the time of which I have 
 been speaking it was supposed that the only 
 fertile land was to be found on the banks of 
 the lied river, but it is now ascertained that 
 an extremely rich and fertile belt extends from 
 the Red river right across the continent, for 
 eight hundred miles or more, to the base of the 
 Rocky mountains, where it miites with the new 
 province of Colmnbia. This fertile belt is capa- 
 ble of supporting innumerable herds of cattle, 
 flocks of sheep, and droves of horses, and of giv- 
 ing employment and happy homes to millions of 
 the human race. It produces wheat, and barley, 
 and oats, and Indian corn, or maize, in great per- 
 fection, and potatoes and a variety of other roots 
 and vegetables of all sorts, and the finest grass for 
 hay, and hemp and tobacco, and many other 
 plants with difficulty grown in England. The 
 rivers are full of fish, and game of aU sorts 
 abound. The climate is very imiform thi'ough-
 
 A TALE OF EUPEEt's LAND. 133 
 
 out, like that of Upper Canada — warm in summer 
 and very cold in winter, but dry and healthy in 
 the extreme. 
 
 Wlien, as I hope the case may be before long, 
 those lakes and rivers along which we travelled 
 on our journey from Lake Superior to the Red 
 river are made navigable for steamers, this coun- 
 try will become the great highway to British 
 Columbia, to China, Japan, and the wide-spread- 
 ing shores and isles of the Pacific. "With a line of 
 settlements established across it, the journey may 
 easily be performed, and some day, Harry, you 
 and I will run over, and we will pay a visit 
 to the very scenes which I have been describing 
 to you; but instead of roving savages, mm-der- 
 ing and scalping in every direction, living by 
 hunting and fishing, I hope that we may find 
 the Indians settled down as Christian men, and 
 persevering cultivators of the soil which Provi- 
 dence will compel to yield a rich return for their 
 labor. You will wish to know more of your 
 uncle Malcolm's and my proceedings. We soon 
 became acquainted with the good clergyman I 
 have mentioned, and after a time he suggested 
 to us that, as our education was far from per- 
 fect, it would be wise if we recommenced our 
 studies. This we did, and though we continued
 
 13i A TALE OF Rupert's land. 
 
 to lielp Sam Dawes in liis farm labors even more 
 efficiently than before, so steady was our appli- 
 cation when engaged witli our books under our 
 kind tutor, that we made considerable progress in 
 our studies. For tlirce years or more we lived 
 on very hapi)ily, with notliing to change our 
 course of life, when we received notice from Eng- 
 land that a relation of our father's especially 
 wished us to return. On consulting our friend 
 the clergyman, he strongly recommended us to 
 accept the invitation offered us. As we expected 
 speedily to return, we left Sam Dawes in charge 
 of the farm, though he was almost heart-broken 
 at parting from us. He would, indeed, never 
 have consented to remain, had he not believed 
 that it was for our interest to do so. On reach- 
 ing England, great w'as our sur2:)rise to find that 
 our relative intended to leave us his property. 
 On ascertainiufj; our attainments in knowledge, 
 he insisted on our both going to the university. 
 Your uncle Malcolm took high honors, and en- 
 tered into holy orders. I became, as was our 
 relative, a merchant, and without allowing busi- 
 ness to absorb me, I have considerably increased 
 the small portion he left me. Your uncle Mal- 
 colm and I have constantly talked of going over 
 to visit Sam Dawes, but circumstances have pre-
 
 A TALE OF EUPEKt's LAND. 135 
 
 vented us. We long ago made over tlie farm to 
 liim, and he has greatly increased and improved 
 it. He is, we hear, a hale old man. And now, 
 Harry, I have told you a long story enough, for 
 to-day. Some other time I will tell you more 
 about the wonders of Rupert's Land.
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 CHAPTEE I. 
 
 My great ambition as a boy was to be a sailor ; 
 tlie idea of becoming one occupied my thoughts 
 by day and influenced my dreams by night. I de- 
 lighted in reading naval histories and exploits and 
 tales of the sea, and I looked upon Rodney, Howe, 
 Nelson, and St. Yincent, as well as Duncan, Col- 
 lingwood, Exmouth, and Sir Sidney Smith, as far 
 greater men, and more worthy of admiration, than 
 all the heroes of antiquity put together — an opinion 
 which I hold even to the present day, and which, 
 I hope, all my readers will maintain with me. 
 
 Once it happened during my summer holidays 
 that, most imwillingly, I was taken up to London. 
 During the time, a naval friend, having compas- 
 sion on me, suggested that I might find matter of 
 interest by a trip to Greenwich, and a visit to the 
 Hospital. I jumped at the proposal, I can never 
 forget the feelings with which I entered the wide 
 smooth space on which that beautiful collection
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSOxV. 137 
 
 of buildings stands, forming the Royal Hospital 
 for Seamen, with its broad terrace facing the river, 
 and found myself surrounded by many hundreds 
 of the o-allant veterans who had maintained not 
 only so nobly the honor of Old England on the 
 deep, but had contributed to preserve her from the 
 numberless foes who had threatened her with de- 
 struction. 
 
 The building is of itself interesting. On this 
 spot once stood the Royal Palace of Placentia, in 
 which no less than four successive sovereigns were 
 born — Henry YIH., Edward YI., Mary, and Eliz- 
 abeth. Charles II. had intended to rebuild it, but 
 left it unfinished ; and it was put into the heart of 
 good Queen Mary, the wife of William of Orange, 
 to establish that noble institution for the reception 
 of the disabled seamen of the Royal Navy, which, 
 much augmented in size, has ever since existed the 
 noblest monument to a sovereign's memory. 
 
 I visited the beautiful chapel and the painted 
 hall, where already were hung a number of fine 
 pictures, illustrative of England's naval victories , 
 and my friend then took me to see an old ship- 
 mate of his, who was one of the officers of the 
 Hospital. When he heard that I wished to go to 
 sea, and was so warm an admirer of Kelson, he ex- 
 claimed —
 
 138 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 " IIc'll just suit me. Let him stay liere for a 
 few days. We'll fish out some of our men who 
 long served with Nelson, and if he keeps his ears 
 turning right and left, he'll hear many a yam to 
 astonish him. Ife must have patience though. 
 The old fellows will not open out at once ; their 
 memories are like wells, you must throw a little 
 water down at first before you can get them to 
 di'aw." 
 
 I was delighted with the proposal. My friend, 
 however, began to make excuses, saying that he 
 ought to take me back, and that I had no clothes 
 with me. At this the Greenwich ofiicer, Lieuten- 
 ant E , laughed heartily. 
 
 " A shirt-collar and a pocket-comb ? What does 
 a midshipman want more?" he exclaimed. "But 
 I will find him all the luxuries he may require. 
 Let him stay, and tell his friends that he is in safe 
 keeping." 
 
 So it was an-anged, and I found myself an in- 
 mate of Greenwich Hospital. 
 
 After I had been seen walking up and down the 
 
 terrace a few times with Lieutenant R , the 
 
 pensioners, when I spoke to them, answered me 
 readily, though at first rather shy of talking of 
 themselves or their adventures. At length I 
 fell in with a fine old man, and sitting down on
 
 " Boj and man I sailed with liim all my life, from the day lie 
 got his first command till he Avas struck down in the hour of 
 victorv/'
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 139 
 
 one of the benches facing the river, I began to tell 
 him how much I honored and loved all sailors, 
 and how I longed myself to become one. 
 
 " Ay, boy, there are good and bad at sea as well 
 as on shore ; but as to the life, it's good enough ; 
 and if I had mine to begin again, I would choose 
 it before all others," he answered, and once more 
 relapsed into silence. 
 
 Just then Lieutenant E, passed ; he nodded 
 
 at me with a smile, saying, as he passed on, " My 
 old friend there will tell you more of Lord Nelson 
 than any man now in the Hospital." 
 
 The old man looked at me with a beaming ex- 
 pression on his countenance. 
 
 " Ay, that I can," he said ; " boy and man, I sailed 
 with him all my life, from the day he got his first 
 command till he was struck down in the hour of 
 victory. So to speak, sir, I may say I knew him 
 from the very day he first stepped on board a ship. 
 This is how it was : My father was a seaman, and 
 belonged to the ' Raisonable,' just fitted out by 
 Captain Suckling, and lying in the Medway. One 
 afternoon a little fellow was brought on board by 
 one of the officers, and it was said that he was the 
 captain's nephew ; but the captain was on shore, 
 and there was nobody to look after him. He 
 walked the deck up and down, looking very miser-
 
 140 THE STOEY OF NELSON. 
 
 able, but not crying, as some boys would liave 
 done — not he. That wasn't hiR way at any time. 
 "When the captain did come on board, and he saw 
 his nephew, he shrugged liis shoulders, as much as 
 to say that he didn't think he was fit for a sea-life. 
 No more he did look fit for it, for he was a sick, 
 weakly-looking little fellow. However, it wasn't 
 long before he showed what a great spirit there 
 was in him." 
 
 "Ay," said I, "tliere is a story I have heard 
 which proved that when he was merely a cliild. 
 lie and another little fellow had gone away 
 bird's-nesting from his grandmother's house, and 
 he not coming back, the servants were sent to 
 look for him. He was found seated by the side of 
 a brook, which he could not get over. ' I wonder, 
 child,' said the old lady, when she saw him, ' that 
 hunger and fear did not drive you home.' ' Fear, 
 grandmamma !' answered the boy, ' I never saw 
 fear! What is it?'" 
 
 " True, true !" exclaimed the old man. "Fear ! 
 I don't think he ever felt it either. Well, as I was 
 going to tell you, my father followed Captain Suck- 
 ling into the ' Triumph,' and young Xelson went 
 with him ; but as she was merely to do duty as 
 guard-ship in the Thames, the captain sent his 
 nephew out in a merchant-vessel to the West In-
 
 THE STOKT OF NELSO:^^. 141 
 
 dies, to pick up some knowledge of seamanship. 
 Wlien he came back he soon showed that he had 
 not lost his time, and that he was already a good 
 practical seaman. Soon after this an expedition 
 was fitted out for a voyage of discovery towards 
 the North Pole, under Captain Phipps and Cap- 
 tain Lutwidge, in the ' Eacehorse' and ' Carcass.' 
 My father volunteered, and so did Mr. Nelson, 
 who got a berth as captain's coxswain w^ith Cap- 
 tain Lutwidge. The ships, after entering the polar 
 seas, were quickly beset with ice. Mr. Nelson, 
 who had command of a boat, soon showed what 
 he was made of. My father was in another boat, 
 and as they were exploring a channel to try and 
 find a passage for the ships into the open sea, one 
 of the officers fired at a walrus. 'Ah, I've hit 
 him !' he exclaimed, — ' not a bad shot !' and he 
 thought no more about the matter. But the brute 
 gave a look up with a face like a human being, as 
 much as to say, ' We'll see if more than one can 
 play at that game,' and down he dived. Pres- 
 ently up again he came, with some twenty or more 
 companions, and with the greatest fury they set on 
 the boat with their tusks, and tried to capsize her. 
 My father and the rest of the crew fought desper- 
 ately with boat-hook and axes, but they were get- 
 ting the worst of it, and well-nigh gave themselves
 
 142 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 
 
 up as lost, when another hoat was seen coming 
 alonij the channel towards them. On she dashed : 
 a younj; officer, a very little fellow, with an axe in 
 his hand, sprang to the bows, and began dealing liis 
 blows right and left at the heads of the walruses 
 till several were killed, wlien the rest dived down 
 and took to flight. That young lad was Nelson. 
 Soon after this, one morning, he and another boy 
 were missed from the ship. It was reported that 
 they had gone away in pursuit of a bear which had 
 been seen prowling about. A thick fog had come 
 on, and they did not return. The captain began 
 to think that they were lost, and a party was sent 
 out to look for them. After wandering about for 
 some time, the fog cleared off, and there was Mr. 
 Nelson, with a ship's musket in his hand, close up 
 to a big white polar bear, who could have made 
 mincemeat of him in a moment. The party shout- 
 ed to hiiu to return, but he wouldn't listen to 
 them ; and they expected every moment to see the 
 bear turn and crush him. Still on he went, mov- 
 ing sideways with the bear. When they got up, 
 they found that there was a wide chasm which 
 had prevented him from getting closer to the ani- 
 mal. They led him back to the ship, and when 
 the captain asked him why he had gone, he an- 
 swered, with a pouting lip, that he had set his
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. 143 
 
 heart on getting a bear's skin for his father, and he 
 didn't think he should have a better opportunity. 
 
 " The captain reprimanded, but forg'ave him. 
 There were greater dangers in store for him and 
 all in the expedition ; and for a long time they 
 had little hope of getting the ships clear of the ice. 
 Mr. Nelson exerted himself to cut a channel to let 
 them escape ; and at length, a favorable wind get- 
 ting up, they stood clear of it just as it was ex- 
 pected that they would be frozen in. They found 
 themselves free, and reached England in safety. 
 Mr. Kelson had nearly been killed by the cold, 
 and now he was to be tried by the scorching cli- 
 mate of the Indian seas. Such are the rapid 
 changes we seamen have to undergo. He was ap- 
 pointed to the ' Seahorse,' and out she went to the 
 Indian station. The climate soon did what no 
 dangers or common hardships could do ; it took 
 away the use of his limbs, and almost overcame 
 his brave spirit. He returned home, feeling that 
 he should never succeed in the navy or in any 
 thing else. But then suddenly he thought, ' I was 
 not born to die unknown. I'll try what I can do. 
 I'll trust in Providence. I'll serve my king and 
 country — I will be a hero.' I heard him say this 
 long after, and I have often since thought if all 
 lads were to try to do their best, and trust in Provi-
 
 144 THE STOEY OF NELSON. 
 
 dence, we shouldn't liear of so many as we do 
 getting into poverty and disgrace. 
 
 " No officer, I have heard, ever passed a better 
 examination for seamanship and navigation than did 
 Mr. Nelson. His uncle was present, but did nut 
 Bay who the young man was till the examination 
 was over. Whatever he did, he tried to do as well 
 as he could ; that was the reason of his success. 
 Just about this time, young as I was, my father 
 took me to sea with him, and we went out to the 
 "West Indies. We were shortly turned over to the 
 ' Ilichinbrook,' a prize captured li'om the enemy, 
 and mounting twenty-eight guns. I was walking 
 the deck with my father when a thin, sallow, small 
 young man stepped up the side. I should have 
 taken him for a midshipman, but he had on a post- 
 captain's uniform. He nodded, as an old acquaint- 
 ance, to my father, who stood hat in hand with the 
 other men to receive him. ' That's Mr. Nelson, 
 our new captain,' said my father ; ' he'll not let the 
 grass grow under his feet.' That was the first time 
 I ever saw the great Lord Nelson. What my fa- 
 ther said was true. We soon sailed to convoy a 
 fleet of transports destined to attack St. Juan de 
 Nicaragua. Up a muddy river we pulled, led by 
 our captain, with a hot scorching sun striking 
 down on us. We arrived before a fort. Captain
 
 THE STOET OF NELSON. 145 
 
 Nelson leaped on shore, sword in liand, leaving 
 Ills shoes in the mnd, to attack it. The fort was 
 taken, and so was San Jnan itself; and thongh the 
 grass did not grow under our feet, it was soon 
 growing over the heads of numbers of the "fine fel- 
 lows who composed the expedition — both red-coats 
 and seamen; and though our captain, receiving 
 notice of his appointment to another ship, the 
 ' Janus,' sailed away immediately, we lost the 
 greater number of our people by sickness. The 
 captain was so knocked up that he had to go home 
 invalided, as did my father, who was never able 
 again to go to sea. I went with him, and we 
 lived for some time at Deal. 
 
 " I remember early in January, 1782, a tremen- 
 dous gale sprang up. My father and I were 
 standing on the shore, he with his glass in his 
 hand watching the ships driving here and there, 
 one running foul of another, when we observed a 
 heavy store-ship drive right down on a frigate. 
 
 " ' They'll grind each other down to the water's 
 edge,' observed my father. ' Does no one on 
 board know what to do ? I'd like to be off to lend 
 a hand ; but that's impossible : few boats could 
 live in such a sea.' 
 
 " "While we were talking, a lad came running 
 along the beach, saying that an officer was in a
 
 146 TUE STOKY OF NELSON. 
 
 great taking, wanting to get ofi' to his ship, and no 
 one would go. 
 
 " ' Who is he V asked my fatlier. 
 
 " ' A Captain Nelson,' answered the lad. 
 
 " ' I'll go, if any man will trust his boat,' ex 
 claimed my fother. ' Come along, Ned.' 
 
 " We ran along the beach, and there we found 
 our late captain walking up and down, fuming 
 away, and trying to persuade the boatmen to take 
 him off. 
 
 " ' I'll go, sir, if I had a boat,' said my father. 
 ' I've long sailed with you.' 
 
 " ' Ah ! Ned Freeman. Thank you — thank 
 you,' exclaimed the captain. ' I'm sure you'd go 
 with me anywhere.' 
 
 " ' We'll take the captain off if he'll give us 
 fifteen guineas,' observed several of the men, own- 
 ers of a fine boat. 
 
 " ' Done !' exclaimed the captain. ' Off we go 
 at once.' 
 
 " My father and I, with the other men, launched 
 the boat. Away we pulled with the white-topped 
 seas dancing up round us, and the dangerous Good- 
 win Sands to leeward, towards which the frigate 
 was driving fast. Captain Nelson, by word and 
 look, urged us on, though more than once I 
 thought the boat would have been swamped, and
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. 147 
 
 all hands lost. We did succeed in getting along- 
 side. The captain sprang on board, and soon had 
 got the ships clear, with only the loss of the fri- 
 gate's bowsprit and pennant. 
 
 " ' Well, Freeman, if you can't sail with me, 
 your boy must,' said the captain, as the boat was 
 about to shove off for the shore ; ' I'll look after 
 him.' 
 
 " ' Will you go, Ned V said my father to me. 
 
 " There was no time for consideration. I said, 
 ' Yes, father.' 
 
 " My kind father wrung my hand, and we part- 
 ed, never to meet again, 
 
 " The 'Albemarle' soon after sailed for Canada 
 and the West Indies. Our captain had a kind 
 heart. On our first cruise we captured a fishing 
 vessel belonging to Boston. The master wrung 
 his hands, declaring that he had no other property, 
 and a large family at home to support, who would 
 all be brought to beggary. The captain told him 
 not to be cast down ; that he would employ him 
 as a pilot, and give him back his vessel at the end 
 of the time. He was as good as his word., and I 
 never saw a poor fellow so happy and grateful as 
 the fisherman was when he was put on shore. 
 Some time after, when we were all suffering from 
 scurvy, not having had a fresh piece of meat or
 
 148 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 vegetables for many months, the same man came 
 off to us with a full supply for several days, which 
 I believe saved the lives of many poor fellows on 
 board. 
 
 " Soon after this, while cruising off Boston, a 
 squadron of four French line-of-battle ships and a 
 frigate were seen from the mast-head. They made 
 sail in chase, but the captain knew well all the 
 shoals and quicksands in those parts, and soon got 
 into channels where the big ships were afraid to 
 follow. The frigate, however, kept on her course, 
 and when we saw this we hove to, to wait for her. 
 We all looked forward with joy to a brush, but she 
 did not like our appearance, and much to our dis- 
 appointment, about she went and rejoined her 
 consorts. 
 
 " I can't tell you all the things we did in the 
 "West Indies. At last we went home, and were 
 paid off'; and I remained on shore with my wid- 
 owed mother till I heard that Captain Nelson liad 
 commissioned the 'Boreas.' I went and joined 
 him. He received me heartily, and away we 
 sailed for the West Indies. 
 
 " Young as w\is our captain, he found himself 
 senior officer on the station — that is to say, second 
 in command under the admiral ; for in those days 
 we had old heads on young shoulders ; so we
 
 THE STOEY OF NELSON". 149 
 
 Bhould now, if boys would try to imitate the exam- 
 ple of wise and noble men, not to ape the folly of 
 foolish ones. We were chiefly among the Leeward 
 islands. 
 
 " While visiting the island of Nevis, the captain 
 fell in love with a lady, a Mrs. Nisbet, and they 
 married : a very good, kind young lady she was, 
 that I remember ; but after we returned home I 
 saw no more of her. The ' Boreas' was paid off in 
 1T8Y. Thus I have told you most of what I re- 
 member about Nelson's early days. He was soon 
 to be known to the world as the greatest naval 
 captain of his time."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " You have heard speak of the ' Agamemnon' of 
 Bixty-four guns. I was one of the old Agamem- 
 nons, as we called ourselves. We, all her crew, 
 were proud of her, and good reason we had to be 
 so. Captain Nelson commissioned her on the 26th 
 of January, 1793, and it wasn't many days after 
 this that I joined her. You see I kept my eye on 
 him. When a man has found a good captain, if 
 he's wise he will follow him whenever he can. 
 
 " I can't now remember all the places we went 
 to. First, we were one of the channel fleet. Then 
 we were sent out to the MediteiTanean, where our 
 captain astonished the admirals, and made the sol- 
 dier-generals almost tear their eyes out by the way 
 he did things. He took care that the weeds should 
 not grow to the bottom of the ship he command- 
 ed. First we had to conquer the island of Cor-
 
 THE STOEY OF NELSON. 151 
 
 sica.* We drove the Frencli out of every place 
 but the strong fort of Bastia ; so we landed, and 
 hauled our guns up the heights, and kept up such 
 a hot fire on the place that it gave up, and then 
 the soldiers marched in and gained the glory. 
 Then we took a place called Calvi. Here it was 
 that a shot, striking the ground, threw up some 
 sand in the captain's eye, and though we thought 
 hut little of it at the time, he never saw again with 
 that eye. It was very hard work, and the country 
 was unhealthy, and many of us grew sick, so that 
 we were heartily glad when it was over. There 
 was something better in store for us too. News 
 was brought us that the French fleet, nearly twice 
 as strong as ours, was on the lookout for us. Our 
 fleet was under the command of Admiral Hotham. 
 You may be sure that we kept a bright lookout for 
 the enemy. At last they hove in sight, and one 
 of our frigates, the ' Inconstant,' got so close that 
 she brought to action the ' Ca Ira,' a French 
 eighty-four, which had carried away her main and 
 
 * Lord Hood was commander-in-chief. The object of the 
 attack was to co-operate with the patriot Corsicans, who, under 
 their well-known gallant General Paoli, desired to liberate 
 themselves from the yoke of France, then ruled by the tj'ran- 
 nical and cruel Convention. The story of the struggles of Cor- 
 sica to gain her independence is deeply interesting.
 
 152 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 foretop masts. The ' Inconstant,' liowever, was 
 obliged to bear away, and a Frencli frigate came 
 np and took the line-of-battle ship in tow, while 
 two other hne-of-battle ships guarded her on her 
 weatlier-bow. 
 
 Our captain had been watching all that took 
 place, and, though we had no line-of-battle ship to 
 support us, we made all sail in chase. There was 
 not a man on board whose heart didn't beat high 
 with pride at the way we went into action against 
 odds so great; but we Agamemnons knew well 
 enough what our captain could do and would do. 
 As soon as the enemy could bring their guns to 
 bear, they kept firing away their stern-chasers at 
 us. We stood on, without answering a shot, till 
 we were within a hundred yards of them. ' Star- 
 board the helm !' cried the captain. The after- 
 sails were brailed up, and the ship falling off, our 
 broadside was brought to bear on the retreating 
 enemy. Now we opened a tremendous fire on 
 them, every gun telling. Then the helm was put 
 a-port, the after-yards braced up, and again we 
 were after them. 
 
 " Again and again we practised the same ma- 
 noBuvre, never allowing the ' Ca Ira' to get a shot 
 at us with one of her broadside guns. The ene- 
 my, however, were not idle with their after-guns,
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 153 
 
 thougli it was not till we had torn her sails almost 
 to ribbons that the French frigates began to open 
 their fire upon us. Then down came more of the 
 enemy's ships towards us. The captain seemed 
 only the better pleased at seeing this, and it's my 
 opinion he would have hove to to meet them, and 
 still managed to come off victorious by some 
 means or other, even if the admiral had not made 
 the signal of recall. Though our sails and rigging 
 were much cut up, we had only seven men womid- 
 ed, while the ' Ca Ira' lost one hundred and ten 
 that day. 
 
 " The next day we were again at it, for we man- 
 aged to cut off the ' Ca Ira,' and the ' Censem*,' 
 which had her in tow. This time we got one on 
 each side of us, and both of them fought well ; but 
 we fought better, and at length both struck, and 
 our boats were sent on board to take possession. 
 I never before had witnessed such a scene as that I 
 saw on board the ' Ca Ira.' On her decks lay 
 three hundred brave fellows, dead or dying, or 
 badly wounded, besides those she had lost the day 
 before, while the ' Censeur' had lost three hundred 
 and fifty. Our captain wanted to follow up the 
 enemy, and it's my belief, if we had, we should 
 have taken every one of them ; but the admiral 
 
 would not let him, and said we had done very well 
 
 7*
 
 lol THE BTOEY OF NELSON. 
 
 as it was. So we had ; but, jou see, our captain 
 was the man who always wanted to do sometliing 
 better than welL Do well sits on the main-top : 
 Do letter chmbs to the truck. 
 
 "The 'Agamemnon' had been so knocked 
 about, that the caj^taiu now shifted his flag into 
 the 'Mhierva' frigate, and took me and many 
 other men witli him. One of our first duties was 
 to carry off the English garrison and privateers 
 and merchantmen from Corsica, which had de- 
 clared for the French. "\Ve soon afterwards fought 
 several actions with the enemy, and then war 
 broke out between England and Spain, and we 
 had a narrow escape from an overwhchning force 
 of Sj)anish ships. We had just sailed from Gib- 
 raltar, when two Spanish line-of-battle ships 
 followed us. We were keeping pretty well ahead, 
 when a man fell overboard. To let a man drown 
 without trying to help him was against our cap- 
 tain's nature. A jolly-boat, commanded by Lieu- 
 tenant Hardy, was lowered, and away she pulled 
 to try and pick up the poor fellow. The boat was 
 within range of the enemy's guns : the man was 
 not to be seen. The captain had been anxiously 
 watching all that took place. ' I'll not lose 
 Hardy,' he exclaimed, ' Back the main-top sail !' 
 No order was ever obeyed more readily, and soon
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 155 
 
 we were dropping back towards our boat, and 
 towards tlie enemy. "We fully expected to be 
 brought to action, but we did not care for that ; 
 we got back Mr. Hardy and our boat, when what 
 was our astonishment to see the headmost Span- 
 iard shorten sail to wait for his consort. There 
 can be no doubt he thought we had assistance not 
 far oif. The Spaniards were very timid of us in 
 those days — they had good reason to be so. With 
 flying colors we sailed out of the Straits, laughing 
 at our enemy. 
 
 " Both oflicers and men were constantly being 
 shifted from ship to ship in those days; and, as 
 soon as we reached Cadiz we found ourselves trans- 
 ferred to the ' Captain,' a fine seventy-four. Cap- 
 tain Nelson hoisted his pennant, as commodore, 
 on board of her, with Captain Miller under him. 
 You have heard speak of the battle of St. Yincent. 
 Sir John Jervis, who was made Earl St. Vincent, 
 was our admiral, and Commodore Nelson was sec- 
 ond in command. He was now going to show all 
 the world what he really was. The Spaniards had 
 twice as many ships as we had. They were much 
 bigger, and carried heavier guns; but what did 
 Nelson or we care for that ? It is the men who 
 fight the battles, and Nelson knew the stuff British 
 seamen are made of.
 
 156 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 "Early in the morning of the l-itli of February, 
 the Spanish fleet hove in sight, and we bore down 
 on them. They were in line ; that is, one follow- 
 ing the other. "We managed to break that line, 
 and cut ofi* one part from the other, just as you 
 would cut a snake in two. We followed the head, 
 the biggest part. That part bore away before the 
 wind to join the tail. The ' Captain' was instantly 
 wore round, instead of tacking, according to a sig- 
 nal just then made by the admiral, and away after 
 them we went, followed by the ' Culloden,' ' Blen- 
 heim,' and ' Diadem.' The ' Captain' was in the 
 rear of the British line; but by the man ceu\Te just 
 performed, we came up with the Spaniards, and in 
 a short time we and the ' Blenheim' were tooth 
 and nail with no less than seven Spanish line-of- 
 battle ships — one, the 'Santissima Trinidade,' of 
 one hundred and thirty guns, and the ' San Josef 
 and 'Salvador del Mundo' of one hundred and 
 twelve, the others being of eighty and seventy-four 
 guns, . For nearly an hour we pounded away at 
 them, till Captain Collingwood, in the ' Excellent,' 
 came up and gave us a helping liand by pouring a 
 tremendous broadside into the ' San Nicolas.' 
 
 " Our captain now let us fall close alongside 
 that ship, and then he called for boardci-s, and 
 away we dashed into her. Eight through her we
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 157 
 
 went ; Iter flag was hauled down, and then, more 
 boarders coming up, on we dashed aboard the big 
 ' San Josef,' and in a little time we had her also. 
 We followed our captain to the quarter-deck, and 
 then the Spanish officers assembled, and their cap- 
 tain and all of them presented their swords to 
 Commodore Kelson. As he received them he gave 
 them to one of his barge-men, "William Fearney, 
 who, with no little pleasm-e, tucked them under 
 his arm, just as you see in the pictm-e in the 
 Painted Hall ^^onder. All the seven ships were 
 taken, and if the Spaniards had had any pluck we 
 should have taken the remainder ; but they hadn't, 
 and made off while we were miable to follow. 
 That is the worst of fighting with cowards. If 
 they had been brave men they would have stopped 
 to fight, and we should have captured every one of 
 their ships. That was the battle of St. Vincent. 
 The commodore was made an admiral and a 
 knight, and now everybody in England, high and 
 low, rich and poor, had heard of him, and sung 
 his praises. 
 
 " You've seen a picture of Sir Horatio Nelson, 
 as he was then, in a boat attacked by Spaniards, 
 and his coxswain, John Sykes, defending him, and 
 receiving on his own head the blow made at him 
 by one of the enemy. I'll tell you how it was.
 
 158 THE 8T0EY OF NELSON. 
 
 "His flag was flying on board tlie 'Theseus,' 
 and he had command of the inner squadron block- 
 ading Cadiz. The Sjianish gunboats had annoyed 
 us, and he resolved to attack them wntli the boats at 
 night. In we pulled. In the admiral's barge there 
 were only his ten barge-men — I was one of them 
 — Captain Freemantle, and his coxswain, John 
 Sykes, when suddenly we found ourselves close up 
 with a Spanish launch carrying twenty-sLx men or 
 more. To run was not in our nature, so we 
 tackled to with the launch. It was desj^erate 
 work, and the Spaniards fought well. Sir Horatio 
 was foremost in the fight ; but the enemy seemed 
 to know who he was, and aimed many a blow at 
 his head. Sykes, not thinking of himself, de- 
 fended him as a bear does her whelps. Blow 
 after blow he warded off, till at last his own arm 
 was disabled. Still, instead of getting over to the 
 other side of the boat, he stood by the admiral. 
 Down came another Spaniard's sword which Sir 
 Horatio could not ward off, but Sykes sprang for- 
 ward and received the blow on his own head, 
 which it laid open. This did not make us less 
 determined to beat the enemy. One after the other 
 we cut them down till we killed eighteen, wounded 
 the rest, and towed their launch off in triumph. 
 It wiU just show you how the men who served
 
 THE STOEY OF NELSON. 159 
 
 with him loved tlie admiral. That was a desper- 
 ate fight in a small way, let me tell you; but 
 before long we had still worse work to go through. 
 " Many men are thought a great deal of if they 
 gain one victory. Nelson never but once suiFered 
 a defeat. It was at the island of Teneriffe. He 
 was sent there, by Sir John Jervis, with a squad- 
 ron to cut out a rich Manilla ship returning to 
 Spain, which lay in the harbor of Santa Cruz. 
 Our squadron consisted of four ships of the line, 
 three frigates, and the 'Fox' cutter. Our first 
 attempt at landing failed, and then the admiral, 
 who never would be beaten, against the orders of 
 Sir John himself, determined to take command of 
 the expedition on shore. Midnight was the time 
 chosen for the attack. The orders were, that all 
 the boats should land at a big mole which runs 
 out from the town. Away we pulled ; the night 
 was very dark, the boats got separated, and when 
 we reached the mole there were only four or five 
 boats there. A heavy fire was at once opened on 
 us, but the admiral would not be turned back. 
 Drawing his sword, he was springing on shore, but 
 the same moment he was struck by a musket-ball, 
 and fell back into the arms of his step-son. Lieu- 
 tenant Nisbet. The lieutenant aiid one of our 
 men bound up his arm, while all those who could
 
 IGO THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 be collected jumped into the boat to shove her oil". 
 It was ditiicult work, for she had grounded. We 
 pulled close under the battery, to avoid the heavy 
 lire from it. As we moved on, all we could see 
 was the bright flashes from the guns extending in 
 a long line in front of us. On again pulling out, 
 a fearful cry was raised. It came from the ' Fox' 
 cuttei". A shot had struck her between wind and 
 water, and down she went, leaving her crew strug- 
 gling in the waves. The admiral had just before 
 been lifted up in the stern-sheets by Mr. Nisbet, to 
 look about him. 
 
 " ' Give way, lads — give way,' he shouted, for- 
 getting his own desperate wound. ' We must save 
 them.' 
 
 " Soon we were in among the struggling men, 
 and hauling them into the boats as fast as we 
 could, the shot all the time rattling about us. 
 The admiral seemed to have recovered his 
 strength, and worked away with his left arm, 
 assisting in saving a great many. Eighty men 
 were saved, but more than half the crew were lost. 
 The first ship we came to was the ' Seahorse.' 
 Her captain's wife, Mrs. Freemantle, was on board, 
 but he was with the boats, and no one could tell 
 whether he was alive or dead. 
 
 " ' No, no,' exclaimed the admiral ; ' I can give
 
 THE STOKY OF JSTELSON. 161 
 
 the poor lady no tidings of her husband ; she shall 
 not see me in this state. Pull to another ship.*' 
 
 " We manao;ed to reach the ' Theseus.' Wlien 
 a rope was lowered, he sprang up the side, and 
 would have no help. We could scarcely believe 
 our eyes, for we thought he was half dead. His 
 was a wonderful spirit. Then he sent us off to 
 try and save a few more of the poor fellows from 
 the ' Fox.' When we got back we found that he 
 had made the surgeon at once cut off his arm. 
 We brought him the news that Captain Freeman- 
 tie, though badly wounded, had got off in safety 
 to his ship. You may be sure that both he and all 
 of us were very anxious to know what was going 
 forward on shore. At length we heard that Cap- 
 tain Troubridge had managed to collect two or 
 three hundred men — all who were not drowned or 
 killed by shot — and having marched into the 
 square, had taken the town. Of course, he could 
 do nothing against the citadel. Some eight thou- 
 sand Spanish troops were collecting about the 
 place, but he was not a man to be daunted ; tell- 
 ing them that he would burn the town if they 
 molested him, he was able to draw off all his men 
 in safety. During that business we lost two hun- 
 dred and fifty men and officers. It was a sad 
 affau', but though it was a failure, every man
 
 102 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 engaged in it did bis duty bravely, and no one 
 could blame tlie admiral for what had happened. 
 We heard that the Spaniards treated our wounded 
 men who were left on shore with the greatest 
 kindness and care. No one among the wounded 
 sufl'ered more than the admiral, and it was some 
 months, I' ve heard say, before the pain left his 
 arm. 
 
 " Once more we returned to Old England, and 
 the admiral went up to London to try and get 
 cured of his wound. Since he left home he had 
 lost an eye and an arm, and had been terribly 
 knocked about besides ; but people thought of 
 what he had done, not of how he looked, and he 
 was received with honor wherever he went. 
 
 " I and a few others of his old hands lived on 
 shore, keeping a lookout for when he should get 
 another command. We were afraid of being 
 pressed, and made to serve somewhere away from 
 him. One and all of us were ready enough to 
 fight for our king and our country, provided we 
 could fight under him. We had not long to wait. 
 We soon got news that the ' Vanguard' was to be 
 commissioned to carry Sir Horatio Nelson's flag to 
 join the Mediterranean fleet under Earl St. Vin- 
 cent. That was in the year 1798. 
 
 " We sailed from Gibraltar on the 9th of May
 
 THE STOKT OF NELSOK. 163 
 
 with three line-of-battle ships, four frigates, and a 
 sloop-of-war, to look after the French fleet, which 
 consisted of thirteen ships of the line, seven frig- 
 ates, twentj-fonr smaller ships of war, and a fleet 
 of transports, bound, as we afterwards learned, for 
 Egypt, If the French had conquered that coun- 
 try, they would have gone on, there is no doubt of 
 it, to attack our possessions in India. The ad- 
 miral, I dare say, knew the importance of stopping 
 that French fleet. In spite of their numbers, we 
 did not fear them. Proud we were of our ship, 
 and prouder still was our admiral of her and her 
 crew and the fleet he commanded. While we 
 were in the Gulf of Lyons, after it had been blow- 
 ing hard all day, it came on one dark night to 
 blow harder still, and, without warning, first our 
 main and then our mizzen-topmast went over the 
 side, and lastly the foremast went altogether, so 
 that we no longer could carry sail on it. What a 
 crippled -wreck we looked in the morning ! There 
 was a thick fog : not one of the squadron could be 
 seen. We were boasting the day before that we 
 were ready to meet more than an equal number of 
 the finest ships the French could bring against us ; 
 and now we lay docked of our wings, and scarcely 
 able to contend with the smallest frigate. Provi- 
 dence was watching over us, and we had good
 
 164 THE 6T0KY OF NELSON. 
 
 reason to believe this when, some time afterwards, 
 we learned that that very day the French fleet 
 sailed from Toulon, and passed within a few miles 
 of us, while we were hid from them by the fog. 
 At last Captain Ball, in the ' Alexander,' came up, 
 and towed us into the harbor of San Pietro in Sar- 
 dinia, where in four days, with the aid of his and 
 other two ships' companies, we got completely 
 refitted and ready for sea. Away we went in 
 search of the French fleet, with General Bona- 
 parte himself on board. We heard of the French 
 at Gozo, and our admiral would have attacked 
 them there, but they had gone ; then on we sailed 
 for Egypt, hoping to find them oflf Alexandria, but 
 not a sign of them could we discover. If we had 
 had our frigates, we should have found them out 
 fast enough. Leaving Alexandria, we steered for 
 Syracuse, where we provisioned and watered ; we 
 visited the Morea; we hunted along the Greek 
 coast. At last we entered the Gulf of Coron, 
 where Captain Troubridge brought us the news 
 that the French fleet had been seen steering from 
 Candia fur Eg}^t four weeks before. Instantly all 
 sail was made for Alexandria. Still we scarcely 
 expected to find the French fleet there. Great 
 then was our joy when the signal was seen flying 
 from the mast-head of the ' Zealous,' Captain Hood,
 
 THE STOET OF NELSON. 165 
 
 that the enemy's fleet were moored in Abonkir 
 bay. Not a moment was lost in clearing the 
 ships for action. We all knew that we had hot 
 work before us. We found the French fleet 
 moored in a sort of curve in the bay, but far 
 enough fi'om the shore to let some of our ships get 
 inside of them; that is, between them and the 
 land. This the French little expected, and many 
 hadn't even then- guns loaded on that side. 
 
 " Oh ! it was a magnificent sight, as on we 
 sailed, receiving a hot fire from the shore batter- 
 ies, but not answering a shot, while silently we 
 furled our sails, and got ready for anchoring. I 
 believe that silence made the hearts of the French- 
 men qualvc more than our loudest hurrahs would 
 have done. It was evening; the sun was just 
 sinking into the ocean as we entered the bay. 
 The ' Goliath' led the way, followed by the ' Zeal- 
 ous,' and then came the 'Orion,' all anchoring 
 inside the enemy's line. The 'Vanguard' (our 
 ship) was the first which anchored outside, within 
 half pistol-shot of the ' Spartiate.' We had six 
 colors flying, just as a sign to the Frenchmen that 
 come what might we were not likely to strike to 
 them ; and now there was very little to be seen 
 but the flashes and thick smoke from the guns. 
 Other ships followed us outside the French line,
 
 166 THE STORY OF NIXSON. 
 
 but the greater number were inside. No sooner 
 were our anchors (h'o])i)cd than we opened lire, 
 our example being followed by the other ships as 
 they brouglit up. We blazed away in right 
 earnest ; there was no flinching from our guns. 
 AVhat the Frenchmen were about I cannot tell, 
 but we seemed to Are two shots to their one ; but 
 then their guns carried heavier metal than ours, 
 and they had maiiy more of them. It was so 
 dark that we had to get oui* fighting-lanterns hung 
 up along the decks. Just fancy us then stripped 
 to the waist, with handkerchiefs bound round our 
 heads, and straining every nerve as we ran in and 
 out, and cleaned and loaded our heavy giins, and 
 blazed away as fast as we could. We were cov- 
 ered, too, with smoke and powder, and before long 
 most of us were sprinkled pretty thickly with our 
 own or our shipmates' blood. Such was the sight 
 you would have seen between-decks on board 
 every ship in the action. 
 
 " I must tell you what happened in other parts. 
 There was a shoal we had to pass on our starboard 
 hand. The ' Culloden,' the ship of the brave Cap- 
 tain Troubridge, struck on it when standing in, 
 for bv that time the darkness of night had come 
 on. lie instantly made signals which prevented 
 the other ships, the ' Alexander,' ' Swiftsure,' and
 
 THE STOEY OF NELSON. 167 
 
 ' Leander,' following, and getting on shore. Thej 
 did their best to help off the ' Ciilloden,' but could 
 not get her off, so stood on into the battle. Be- 
 fore even they oj^ened their fire, five of the enemy's 
 ships had struck. On standing on, Captain Hol- 
 lowell fell in with the old ' Bill;)Tufiian' (' Bellero- 
 phon'), with already two hundred dead and wound- 
 ed, and almost a wreck from the tremendous fii-e 
 of 'L'Orient' of one hundred and twenty guns. 
 The ' Swiftsure' took her place, and soon made the 
 Frenchman pay dear for what she had done. I 
 heard of this afterwards. A seaman at his gun 
 can know little more of an action than what he 
 sees before his nose, and that is chiefly smoke and 
 fii'e, and part of the hull and rigging of one ship, 
 and men struck down, and timbers and splinters 
 flying about, and yards and blocks rattling down, 
 while he hears alone the roar of the guns, the 
 shouts, and shrieks, and groans of those around 
 him. This sort of terrible work Avas going on for 
 some time, when the word got about that the 
 admiral himself was desperately wounded in the 
 head. It made our hearts sink within us with 
 sorrow, but it did not cause us to fight less fiercely, 
 or be less determined to gain the victory. How 
 anxiously we waited to hear what the surgeons 
 would say about the wound of our noble chief 1
 
 IGS THE 8T0EY OF NELSON. 
 
 and wlien we were told that it was merely the skin 
 of hi:> head Mhich was hurt, and which had almost 
 blinded him, how hearty the cheer we gave ! It 
 must have astonished the Frenchmen, who could 
 not tell the cause. Then at it again we went, 
 blazing away like fury, the round-shot and chain- 
 shot and bullets whizzing and tearing along our 
 decks, making the white splinters fly, and sending 
 many a poor fellow out of the world, when sud- 
 denly the darkness, which had till now sm-rounded 
 us, was lighted up by the bright flames which 
 darted out of every port and twisted round the 
 masts of a burning ship. We soon learned that 
 she was a French ship, the big ' L'Orient,' with 
 which the ' Billyruffian' had been engaged. Never 
 did I see such a sight; in a few minutes she was 
 just one mass of flames, from her truck to the 
 water's edge. Her miserable crew, from one end 
 of her to the other, were leaping into the water to 
 avoid the scorching heat. ' Out boats !' was the 
 order, and each of our ships near at hand sent as 
 many boats as could be manned to the rescue of 
 our unfortunate enemies. Had they been our 
 own shipmates, we could not have exerted our- 
 selves more. Still the battle raged from one end 
 of the line to the other. Suddenly there was a 
 sound as if the earth were rent asunder. In one
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 169 
 
 pointed mass of flame up went the tall masts, and 
 spars, and the decks of the huge ' L'Orient.' Th^y 
 seemed, in one body of fire, to rise above our mast- 
 heads, and then down they came, spreading far 
 and wide, hissing into the water among the boats 
 and the hundreds of poor wretches struggling for 
 their lives. Among them was the French com- 
 modore. Captain Casablanca, I heard, was his 
 name. He was a brave man. He had his son 
 with him, a little fellow only ten years old, as gal- 
 lant, those we rescued told us, as his father. They 
 were blown up together. We saw the two, the 
 father holding on his son clinging to a spar. "We 
 pulled towards them, but just then a bit of the 
 bm'ning wreck must have struck them and carried 
 them down, for when we got up to the spot they 
 were nowhere to be seen. That's the worst of a 
 battle; there are so many young boys on board 
 who often get as cruelly hurt as the men, and 
 haven't the strength to bear up under their sufier- 
 ings. Well, as I was saying, we pulled about, 
 picking up the half-burnt struggling wretches 
 wherever we could find them among the bits ot 
 floating wreck. Only seventy were saved out 
 of many more than a thousand men on board. 
 That was about ten o'clock. For some time not a 
 
 shot was fired. Every man felt that something 
 
 8
 
 170 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 
 
 awful liad lin})pene(l, but still many of the Frencli- 
 iiien liadirt given in. So at it again we went, and 
 blazed away at each other till three in the morn- 
 ing. When daylight returned, only two of the 
 enemy's ships of the line had their colors flying, 
 and they had not been engaged. . They with two 
 frigates, cut their cables in the forenoon, and stood 
 out to sea, we having no ships in a fit state to 
 follow them. There were thirteen French line-of- 
 battle ships when the action began : we took nine, 
 two were burned, and two escaped; and of the 
 four frigates, one was sunk and another burned ; 
 while the enemy lost three thousand one hundred 
 and five men in killed and wounded. Captain 
 Westcott was the only captain killed, but we lost 
 in all nearly nine hundred other oflicers and men. 
 As soon as the battle was over, an order was issued 
 that all on board every ship should return thanks 
 to Almighty God, who had given us the victory. 
 Many a hearty thanksgiving was offered up that 
 day. It was a solemn ceremony ; not a word was 
 spoken fore and aft till the chaplain began the 
 prayers. A dead silence reigned throughout the 
 fleet. The Eg}'ptians and Arabs on shore could 
 not make it out, I've heard say ; and even the 
 French officers, prisoners on board, infidels as they 
 were, listened with respect, and could not help
 
 THE STOKT OF NELSON. ITi 
 
 believing tliat there must be a God who had given 
 us the victory. Hard work we had to get our 
 ships and prizes fit for sea again after the battering 
 thej had got ; as it was, we had to burn four of 
 our prizes, as it would have taken too long to refit 
 them ; and then at last away we sailed with the 
 larger part of the fleet for Naples. 
 
 " The battle I've been telling you about was 
 called the Battle of the Nile. It was, I've heard 
 say, one of the most glorious and important ever 
 fought on the sea."
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " After lying at Naples for a long time, Lord 
 Keitli came out and took the chief command, and 
 we sailed with a squadron for Malta. On our way 
 we fell in with a French fleet, the biggest ship of 
 which was the ' Gencreux,' one of the line-of-bat- 
 tle ships which had escaped from the Nile. We 
 captured her and a frigate, and not long after- 
 wards the ' Guillaume Tell,' the other line-of-battle 
 ship, after in vain attempting to escape trom 
 Valetta harbor, surrendered to us ; and thus every 
 ship of the fleet which had escorted Bonaparte to 
 Egypt was captured, except, I fancy, one frigate. 
 
 "At last we went into Leghorn Roads, and 
 after some time Lord Nelson and Sir William and 
 Lady Hamilton, and other people who had been on 
 board, landed, and travelled through Germany 
 towards England. I have heard say that he was
 
 THE STOKT OF NELSON. 173 
 
 more than once very nearly canglit by the Frencli 
 during the journey through Italy. What a prize 
 he would have been to them ! I remained in the 
 ' Foudroyant' for some time. We all missed the 
 admu-al, and hoped that he would come out again, 
 and hoist his flag on board his old ship. What- 
 ever ship he went to it was the same, the men 
 loved him, and would have done any thing for him. 
 At last I was sent home in a prize, and was paid 
 off. As the admiral was taking a spell on shore, I 
 thought I would take one too, and enjoy myself. I 
 spent some time with my old mother ; but one 
 night, going down to see an old shipmate who was 
 ill at a public-house near Deal, I found myself in 
 the hands of a press-gang, and carried aboard the 
 'Elephant,' Captain Foley. I had made up my 
 mind to belong to the flag-ship of Admiral Nelson, 
 whatever she might be. Still, it couldn't be helped, 
 and, of course, I determined to do my duty. I 
 there learned that Captain Hardy had commis- 
 sioned the 'Saint George,' of ninety-eight guns, 
 and that it was supposed Lord Nelson would hoist 
 his flag on board her. This he shortly afterwards 
 did, and it was some consolation, when we sailed 
 for Yarmouth Roads, off the Norfolk coast, to join 
 him. It was soon whispered about that there was 
 work for us to do, and we guessed that there was
 
 174. THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 tnitli in the report wlien the fleet was ordered 
 away up the Baltic. This was in 1801 ; a long 
 time ago it seems. You see that Russia, and Swe- 
 den, and Denmark were all going to join against 
 us to help the French ; and as the Danes had a 
 fine fleet, it was necessary to destroy or capture it, 
 to prevent it doing us mischief. We therefore sent 
 to tell the Danes that they must give it up and be 
 friends, or that we would knock their city about 
 their ears, and sink their ships. They dared us do 
 our worst. They ought to have known what Lord 
 Nelson was likely to do ; but you must understand 
 that Sir Hyde Parker was commander-in-chief — 
 he was only second in command. A great deal of 
 time was lost in diplomatizing,, and all that time 
 the Danes were preparing their ships and batteries 
 to receive us. If you take a look at a chart of the 
 mouth of the Baltic, you will see what numbers of 
 shoals, and small islands, and narrow channels 
 there are about Copenhagen. Fortunately, one of 
 our captains, Captain Dommet, knew the coast, 
 and he persuaded Sir Hyde Parker only to let 
 the lighter ships go up to the attack. The ' St. 
 George' drew too much water, and, fortunately for 
 us, Lord Nelson chose our ship to hoist his flag on 
 board. Didn't we cheer him as he came along- 
 side ! Copenhagen stands on a dead flat facing the 
 
 I
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON". 175 
 
 sea ; it is defended by a large fort and two lieavy 
 batteries, thrown up on rocks or sand-banks. Be- 
 sides these there was the Danish fleet drawn up in 
 a long line before the city, and eighteen floating 
 batteries, mounting no less than six hundred and 
 ninety guns. Some way oft', in front of the city, 
 is a shoal called the Middle Ground, and then 
 another channel, and tlien comes the long island 
 of Saltholm. On the last day of March we entered 
 the channel between the Swedish and Danish 
 coasts, having the castle of Helsingburg on one 
 side, and that of Elsinore on the other, and on we 
 sailed in front of the city till we came to an anchor 
 off" the island of Arnak. Sir Hyde Parker re- 
 mained near the mouth of the channel with the 
 hea\'ier ships, so that Lord Nelson had the lighter 
 ones all to himself, while the brave Captain Eiou 
 commanded the frigates. All the night was spent 
 in preparing for battle, and Captain Hardy was 
 employed in sounding the channel, through which 
 we were to pass to the attack. He even reached 
 in the darkness close up to one of the Danish 
 ships, and sounded round her. There was the 
 whole squadron anchored so close in with the Dan- 
 ish shore, that had our enemies known the range 
 they might have done us much mischief. Lord 
 ITelson spent the chief part of the night dictatmg
 
 ITG THE 8T0KY OF NELSON. 
 
 orders to liis clerks, to send round to his captains 
 to tell them what to do. At last the morninar 
 broke, and, with a fair wind, the 'Edgar' leading 
 under a press of sail, the fleet stood down the 
 Danish line, and took up their positions as ar- 
 ranged, the l)rave Captain Riou and his frigates 
 being opposed to the Crown Battery, at the further 
 end. With a groan, we who once belonged to 
 her saw the old ' Agamemnon' take the ground on 
 the shoal I have spoken of; the 'Bellona' and 
 * Eussel' touched also, but sufficiently within range 
 to take part in the battle. Soon after ten the 
 ' Edgar' began the action, and one by one, as the 
 other ships slipped from their anchors, and follow- 
 ing at intervals, took up their position, they also 
 commenced firing. The commander-in-chief. Sir 
 Hyde Parker, was away on our right, you'll 
 understand, with the bigger ships, and from the 
 way the wind was he could not have come up to 
 help us. Now along the whole line the action 
 became general. Opposed to us there were the 
 forts and the floating batteries, and the Danish 
 shi])S of war, all blazing away together ; and many 
 of them had fm-naces for heating red-hot shot, 
 which several times nearly set our ships on fire. 
 No men ever fought better than the Danes, and 
 several times when we had killed or woimded all
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. 177 
 
 the defenders of a "battery, their places were sup- 
 plied by fresh hands from the shore, who worked 
 away at their guns as bravely as the first, till they, 
 poor fellows, were shot down. More than once 
 the ships of the enemy had hauled down their 
 flags, and when we were going to take possession 
 again opened fire on us. This enraged us, as you 
 may suppose ; but we cut them up terribly, and 
 many of their ships and floating batteries were 
 sinking or on fire. For three hours or more we 
 were at it, pounding away without being able to 
 silence them. They were cutting us up too, let 
 me tell you, riddling our hull, and round-shot, and 
 red-hot shot, and chain-shot, and bar-shot flying 
 around, about, and through us. It seemed a won- 
 der that a man was left alive on our decks. Lord 
 Nelson kept pacing the quarter-deck, watching 
 every thing that was going on. A young Danish 
 officer had got a big raft, with a breastwork 
 mounting some twenty guns, and in spite of our 
 marines, who kej^t up a sharp fire on him, he held 
 his post till the battle was over. The admiral 
 praised him for his gallantry, and, I believe, 
 would have been very sorry if he had been killed, 
 much as he was annoying us. A shot now struck 
 our mainmast, sending the splinters flying on every 
 side. I saw the admiral smile. ' This is hot
 
 178 THE BTOKY OF NELSON. 
 
 work,' he observed to one of the officers ; ' in 
 another moment not one of us may be alive, but, 
 mark you, I would not be anywhere else for thou- 
 sands,' It's my opinion that most men would 
 have thought we were getting the worst of it ; and 
 if we hadn't had Lord Nelson for our chief, we 
 should have thought so likewise. 
 
 " Sir Hyde Parker's flag-ship was near enough 
 for us to make out his signals. It was reported 
 that the signal for discontinuing the action had 
 been made. 'Acknowledge it!' cried Lord Nel- 
 son. ' Is our signal for close action still hoisted V 
 ' Yes, sir,' was the answer. ' Then keep it so,' he 
 replied. Soon afterwards he put his glass up to 
 his blind eye, and turning to Captain Foley, he 
 exclaimed, ' I have a right to be blind sometimes, 
 and really I don't see the signal. Never mind it, 
 I say, nail mine to the mast.' Admiral Graves in 
 like manner disobeyed the order, and the rest of 
 the squadron, looking only to Lord Nelson, con- 
 tinued the action. 
 
 "I was telling you about the brave Captain 
 Iliou and his frigates. The 'Amazon,' his ship, 
 had sufi'ered much, and was so surrounded by 
 smoke that he could see nothing of the batteries 
 tu which he was opposed. He ordered, therefore, 
 his men to cease firing to let the smoke clear off,
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 179 
 
 that they might see what they were about. This 
 allowed the Danes to take better aim at them, and 
 so tremendous was the fire opened on them, that 
 there seemed every chance of the frigate's being 
 sent to the bottom. Just then, Sir Hyde Parker's 
 signal was seen flying. Captain Eiou judged that 
 he ought to obey it. He had been already badly 
 wounded in the head by a splinter. ' What will 
 ]Srelson think of us V he exclaimed, mournfully, as 
 the frigate wore round. Just then his clerk was 
 killed by his side, and directly afterwards another 
 shot struck down some marines who were haulino- 
 in the main-brace. It seemed as if not a man on 
 board could escape. ' Come, then, my boys,' ex- 
 claimed the brave Captain Eiou, ' let us all die to- 
 gether.' They were the last words he ever spoke. 
 The next moment a shot cut him in two. There 
 was not a more gallant oflScer, or one the men 
 loved better, in the service. 
 
 " Well, as I was saying, on we went at it for 
 four long hours. In spite of the shot, and bul- 
 lets, and splinters flying about on every side, I had 
 not had a scratch. Several poor fellows had been 
 struck down close to me. I cannot say that I 
 thought that I should not be hit, because the truth is 
 I did not think about the matter, I went on work- 
 ing at my gun like the rest, only just trying how
 
 180 THE BTORY OF NELSON. 
 
 fast we could fire, and liow we could do most dam- 
 age to the enemy. That's the way to gain the 
 victory ; it does not do to think of any thing else. 
 At last I felt a blow as if some one had struck me 
 on the side, and down I went. My trowsers and 
 belt were singed and torn, and the blood started 
 from my side ; but I bound my handkerchief over 
 the wound, and in a little time got up and went 
 back to my gun, and there I stayed till the fight- 
 ing was done, and then I let them carry me below 
 to the cockpit, for walk by myself I could not, 
 
 " Some of our ships suffered dreadfully : the 
 'Monarcli' lost two hundred and ten men; the 
 ' Isis,' a hundred and ten ; and the ' Bellona,' 
 seventy-five, and all the other ships great numbers. 
 At last, however, the Danes could stand it no 
 longer, and ship after ship struck ; but still the 
 shore batteries kept firing on, and killed great 
 numbers of men on board the prizes. One of 
 their ships, the 'Danbrog,' after she had struck 
 and was in flames, fired on our boats. Kotwith- 
 standing this, when she was seen drifting away 
 before the wind, the fire gaining on her, Captain 
 Bertie, of the ' Ardent,' sent his boats to the assist- 
 ance of the poor fellows as they leaped out of the 
 ports to escape the flames. At last Lord Nelson, 
 wishing to put a stop to the carnage, wrote to the
 
 THE STOEY OF NELSON. ISl 
 
 Crown Prince, tlie Danish commander, saying if 
 lie did not cease firing lie must bum the prizes. 
 A wafer was brought him. ' That will not do,' 
 said he, ' we must not appear to be in a huny ; 
 bring a candle and sealing-wax.' Captain Sir 
 Frederick Thesiger, with a flag of truce, took the 
 letter, and after some time the Danes sent one in 
 return to arrange what was to be done, and the 
 battle of Copenhagen, for so it was called, was 
 over. 
 
 "While negotiations were going on, Lord ISTel- 
 son ordered the ships to take advantage of a fair 
 wind, and to start out of the narrow channels. 
 As we ii* the 'Elephant' were going out we 
 grounded, as did the 'Defiance,' about a mile 
 from the Trekroner battery, and there we remained 
 for many hours. At last, however, we got off. 
 We had to burn all our prizes except one ship, 
 the 'Holstein,' sixty-four, which was sent home. 
 The next day iLord ]^elson went on shore to visit 
 the prince, and settle matters. He was received 
 with great respect, and he told the Danes that he 
 never had a braver enemy, or known men fight 
 better than they had done, and that now he hoped 
 that they would all be friends again forever after. 
 Lord Nelson now returned to the ' St. Georfre ' 
 and the fleet sailed to the eastward to look after
 
 182 THE STOUT OF NELSON. 
 
 the Swedes. We were off Bomholm, but the ' St. 
 George' could not get through a sliallow channel 
 which had to be passed, and was some twelve 
 leagues astern of us. Every minute we expected 
 to be engaged with the enemy. At midnight, 
 who should step on board the ' Elqjhant' but Lord 
 Nelson himself. The night was very cold, but he 
 had come all that distance in an open boat with- 
 out even a cloak, so eager was he to be present 
 at the expected battle. None took place, and 
 after a little time I was sent home invalided."
 
 CHAPTEE TV. 
 
 "When I came home from the Baltic, I and 
 others were landed at Yarmouth, and sent to the 
 hospital. I was some time in getting well. I'll 
 tell jou what set me on my legs again. One day 
 as I was lying on my bed in the crowded ward, 
 thinking if I should ever recover, and be fit for 
 sea again, the news came that a brig of war had 
 entered the harbor with Lord Nelson on board. 
 Would you believe it, I was thanking Heaven that 
 our brave admiral had come back safe, and was in 
 a half dreamy, dozing state, when I heard a cheer, 
 and opening my eyes, there he was himself going 
 round from bed to bed, and talking to each of the 
 men. He knew me at once, and told me that 
 I must maTvC haste and get well and join his ship, 
 as it wouldn't be long, probably, before he again 
 hoisted his flag.
 
 IS-i THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 " ' You shall have any rating you like, remem- 
 ber that," said he, taking my hand. ' We must 
 have medals and prize-money for you ; you have 
 gallantly won them, all of you." 
 
 " He passed on, for he had a kind word to say 
 to many hundred poor fellows that day. When I 
 got well I went home for a spell ; but before long 
 I heard that Lord Nekon had hoisted his flag as 
 commander-in-chief of the channel squadron on 
 board the ' Medusa' frigate. I went on board, and 
 the admiral instantly rated me as quartermaster. 
 We had plenty of work before us, for General 
 Bonaparte, who was now Emperor of France, 
 wanted to come and invade England. He had 
 got a flotilla of gunboats all ready to carry over 
 his army, and he had a large fleet besides. Many 
 people thought he would succeed. We knew that 
 the wooden walls of Old England were her best 
 defence ; and so we afloat never believed that a 
 French soldier would ever set foot on our shores. 
 
 " They had, however, a large flotilla in Boulogne 
 harbor, and it was determined to destroy it with 
 the boats of the squadron. I volunteered for one 
 of our boats. The boats were in three divisions. 
 We left the ships a little before midnight. It was 
 very dark, and the divisions got separated. We 
 knew that it was desperate work that we were on.
 
 THE STOET OF NELSON. 185 
 
 Ours was tlie only division whicli reached the har- 
 bor. There were batteries defending the place, 
 and troops on the shore, and soldiers on board the 
 flotilla, and the outer vessels were guarded with 
 iron spikes, and had boarding-nets triced up, and 
 were lashed together. In we darted. It was des- 
 perate work, and the fire of the great guns and 
 musketry soon showed our enemies to us, and us 
 to them. 
 
 " ' Just keep off, you brave Englishmen, you 
 can do nothing here,' sung out a French ofiicer, in 
 very plain English. 
 
 " ' "We'll try that !' was our reply, as we dashed 
 on board, in spite of iron spikes and boarding 
 nettings. On we went ; we cut out several of the 
 vessels, and were making off with them with loads 
 of Frenchmen on board, when, would you believe 
 it, if the enemy didn't open their fire on the boats, 
 killing their own people as well as us. To my mind, 
 those French, in war, are as bad as cannibals — 
 that's what Lord Nelson always said of them. It 
 it hadn't been for this we should have burned or 
 captured most of them. While I was just spring- 
 ing on board another vessel, among the flashes 
 from the guns, the flames and smoke, the hissing 
 and rattling shot, I got a knock on my head which 
 sent me back to the bottom of the boat. I knew
 
 1S6 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 notliing more till I found myself on board my own 
 ship, and heard that we had lost some hundred 
 and seventy poor fellows. I was sent to the hos- 
 pital, where one of our gallant leaders, Captain 
 Parker, died of his wounds. 
 
 " The next ship I found myself on board was 
 the ' Victory.' There wasn't a finer ship in the 
 navy, more weatherly or more handy — steered like 
 a duck, and worked like a top. Lord Nelson 
 himself got me appointed to her. Away we sailed 
 for the Mediterranean. While Admiral Cornwal- 
 lis watched the French fleet at Brest, we kept 
 a look-out over that at Toulon, under the com- 
 mand of Admiral La Touche Treville, who had 
 commanded at Boulogne, and boasted that he had 
 beat off Lord Nelson from that port. He could 
 not boast, though, that he beat him off from 
 Toulon : for, for eighteen long months, from the 
 1st of July, 1803, to the 11th of January, 1805, 
 did we keep watch off that harbor's mouth. If 
 such a gale sprung up as would prevent the French 
 getting out, we went away, only leaving a frigate 
 or so to watch what took place ; but we were soon 
 to be back again. Thus the time passed on. "We 
 saw the shore, but were not the better for it ; for 
 few of us, from the admiral downwards, ever set 
 foot on it. At last the French admiral, La Touche
 
 THE STOKY OF NELSON. 187 
 
 Treville, died, and a new one, Admiral Villeneuve, 
 was appointed. We now began to hope that the 
 French would come out and fight us ; for you see 
 Lord Nelson did not want to keep them in — only 
 to get at them when they came out. If it hadn't 
 been for the batteries on shore, we should have 
 gone in and brought them out. We had gone 
 away to the coast of Sardinia, when news was 
 brought that the French fleet was at sea. In- 
 stantly we got under weigh, passing at night 
 through a passage so narrow that only one ship 
 could pass at a time, and fully expecting the next 
 morning to be engaged with the enemy. First we 
 looked for them about Sicily ; then after them we 
 ran towards Egypt, and then back to Malta, where 
 we heard that they had put into Toulon. Now, 
 we kept stricter watch than ever, without a bulk- 
 head up, and all ready for battle. 
 
 " It was on the 4th of April, that the ' Phoebe' 
 brought us news that Admiral Yilleneuve, with 
 his squadron, had again slipped out of Toulon, and 
 was steering for the coast of Africa. Frigates 
 were sent out in every direction, to make sure that 
 he had not gone eastward ; and then after him we 
 stood, towards the Straits of Gibraltar, but the 
 wind was dead against us, and we had hard work 
 to get there. I had never seen the admiral in
 
 18S THE 8T0EY OF NELSON. 
 
 such a taking before. We beat backwards and 
 forwards against the head-wind, but all to no pur- 
 pose — out of the Gut we could not get without a 
 leading wind, and so we had to anchor off the 
 Barbarj coast : there we got supplies. 
 
 "At last, on the 5th of May, an easterly breeze 
 sprung up, and away we went, with a flowing 
 sheet through the Straits. We called off Cadiz, 
 and the coast of Portugal, and then bore away 
 for the AVest Indies, where we heard the French 
 had gone. We sighted Madeira, and made Barba- 
 does, then sailed for Tobago ; and next we were 
 off for the Gulf of Paria, all cleared for action, 
 making sure that we should find the enemy there. 
 Wc thought it would have killed the admiral, 
 when he found that he had been deceived. Back 
 we sailed, and lieard that the French had captured 
 the Diamond Kock. You've heard about it. It's 
 a curious place, and was commissioned like a man- 
 of-war. If it hadn't been for false infoi-mation, 
 and if Lord Nelson had stuck to his own in- 
 tentions, we should have caught the French up off 
 Port Royal, and thrashed them just at the spot 
 Lord Podney thrashed Admiral de Grasse — so I've 
 heard say. Well, at last, we found that tlic 
 French had left the West Indies for Europe, so 
 back across the Atlantic we steered ; but though
 
 THE STORY OF NELSON. 139 
 
 we knew we were close astern of them, they kept 
 ahead of us, and at last we sighted Cape Spartel, 
 and anchored the next day at Gibraltar, 
 
 " I know it for a fact, that it only wanted ten 
 days of two years since Lord Nelson himself had 
 last set his foot on shore. It was much longer 
 than that since I and most on board had trod dry 
 ground. That was serving our country, you'll 
 allow — most of the time, too, under weigh, battling 
 with tempests, and broiling under the sun of the 
 tropics. 
 
 " We victualled and watered at Tetiian, then 
 once more stood to the west'ard — then back to 
 Cadiz, and once more crossed the Bay of Biscay, 
 thinking the enemy were bound for Ireland. Foul 
 winds made the passage long. Once more the 
 enemy had baffled us, and at last, when off Ushant, 
 we received orders to return to Portsmouth to 
 relit. 
 
 " That very fleet Sir Ttobert Calder fell in with 
 on the 22d of July, just thirty leagues westward 
 of Cape Finisterre, and, although his force was 
 much smaller, he captured two of their line-of- 
 battle ships. It was a very gallant affair; but 
 people asked, ' What would Nelson have done V 
 While the admiral was on shore we were busily 
 employed in refitting the ' Yictory,' wliile a num-
 
 190 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 ber of other ships he had wished to have with him 
 were got ready for sea. On the 14th of Septem- 
 Ler he once more came aboard the ' Victory,' and 
 hoisted his flag. The next day we sailed for 
 Cadiz. We arrived ofl" that place on the 29th, 
 where we found the S(piadron of Admiral Colling- 
 wood blockading the French and Spanish fleets 
 under Admiral Villoneuve. 
 
 " What Lord Nelson wanted, you see, was to 
 get the enemy out to fight him. He wanted also, 
 not only to win a victory, but to knock the ene- 
 my's ships to pieces, so that they could do no 
 more harm. To get them out we had to cut off 
 their supplies ; so we had to capture all the neu- 
 tral vessels which were carrying them in. You 
 must understand we in the 'Victory' with the 
 fleet did not go close into Cadiz, but kept some 
 fifty or sixty miles ofi", so that the enemy might 
 not know our strength. We had some time to 
 wait, however. Lord Nelson had akeady given 
 the French and Spaniards such a taste of his 
 way 'of going to work, that they were in no hurry 
 to try it again. You'll understand that there was 
 a line of frigates, extending, like signal-posts, all 
 the way from the fleet to the frigate cruising just 
 off the mouth of the harbor — that is to say, near 
 enough to watch what was going on there.
 
 N THE STOET OF NELSON. 191 
 
 " Early in the morning on the 19th of October, 
 the ' Mars,' the ship nearest the chain of frigates, 
 repeated tlie signal that the enemy were leaving 
 port, and, at 2 p. m., that they were steering south- 
 east. On this, Lord Nelson gave orders for the 
 fleet to chase in that direction, bat to keep out of 
 sight of the enemy, fearful of frightening them 
 back into port. Still, you'U understand, the frig- 
 ates kept in sight of them, and gave notice to the 
 admiral of all their movements. The enemy had 
 thirtj^-three sail of the line, and seven frigates, 
 with above four thousand riflemen on board. Our 
 fleet numbered only twenty-seven sail of the line, 
 and four frigates. We were formed in two lines 
 Admiral Collingwood, in the 'Eoyal Sovereign,' 
 led fourteen ships, and Lord Nelson, in the ' Vic- 
 tory,' eleven. 
 
 " On the morning of the 21st of October, 1805 — 
 you'll not forget that day, it was a glorious one for 
 England, let me tell you — we sighted the French 
 and Spanish fleet from the deck of the ' Victory ' 
 off Cape Trafalgar. They were foinned in a 
 double line in a curve, one ship in the further line 
 filling up the space left between the ships of the 
 nearest line. They also were tryihg to keep the 
 port of Cadiz under their lee, that they might 
 escape to it. Lord Nelson determined to break
 
 102 THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 tlie line in two places. We led the northern line 
 with a light wind from the southwest. Admiral 
 CoUingwood led the southern, and got into action 
 first, just astern of the ' Santa Anna.' We steered 
 so as to pass between the 'Bucentaur' and the 
 ' Santissima Trinidade.' 
 
 " ' Well, there are a lot of the enemy,' exclaimed 
 Tom Collins to me, as I was standing near the 
 gun he served. 
 
 " ' Yes, mate,' said I ; ' and a pretty spectacle 
 they will make at Spithead when we carry them 
 there.' 
 
 " ' Ay, that they will," cried all who heard me, 
 and I believe every man in the fleet felt as we 
 did. 
 
 " We were watching all this time the magnifi- 
 cent way in whicli the brave and good Admiral 
 Collingwood stood into action and opened his fire. 
 That was about noon. There was a general cheer 
 on board our ship and all the ships of the fleet. At 
 our mast-head flew a signal. We soon knew what 
 it meant. It was — 'England expects that every 
 man will do his duty.' For nearly half an hour 
 the noble Collingwood was alone among the ships 
 of the enemy before any of liis followers could 
 come up. We, at the same time, had got within 
 long range of the enemy. On we floated slowly.
 
 THE STOET OF NELSON, 193 
 
 for the wind was very light, till at last our main- 
 yard-arm was touching the gaff of the ' Bucentaur,' 
 which ship bore the flag of Admiral Yilleneuve ; 
 and though our guns were raking her and tearing ' 
 her stem to pieces, we had ahead of us in the sec- 
 ond line the ' Neptune,' which poured a heavy fire 
 into our bows. Our helm was then put up, and 
 we fell aboard the ' Redoubtable,' while the 
 'Temeraire,' Captain Blackwood, ranged up on 
 the other side of her, and another French ship got 
 alongside tlie ' Temeraire.' There we were, all 
 four locked together, poimding away at each 
 other, while with our larboard guns we were 
 engaging the ' Bucentaur,' and now and then get- 
 ting a shot at the big Spaniard, the ' Santissima 
 Trinidade.' Meantime our other ships had each 
 picked out one or more of the enemy, and were 
 hotly engaged with them. At the tops of all the 
 enemy's ships marksmen were stationed. The 
 skylight of the admiral's cabin had been boarded 
 over. Here Lord I^elson and Captain Hardy were 
 walking. More than one man had fallen near 
 them. Mr. Scott, the admiral's secretary, had 
 been struck down after we had been in action lit- 
 tie more than an hour. Suddenly, as I turned my 
 head, I saw a sight which I would rather have 
 died than have seen. Lord Kelson was just falling.
 
 194: THE STORY OF NELSON. 
 
 He went on his knees, then rested on his arm for a 
 moment, and it, too, giving way, he rolled over on 
 his left side, before even Captain Hardy could run 
 to save him. Captain Hardy had to remain on 
 deck. I, with a sergeant of marines and another 
 seaman, carried him below, covering his face with 
 a handkerchief. We placed him in one of \he 
 midshipmen's berths. Then the surgeons came to 
 him. "VVe feared the worst, but it was not gener- 
 ally known what had happened. I can tell you I 
 was glad enough to get on deck again. It was 
 bad enough there to see poor fellows struck down 
 alongside one, but the sights and sounds in the 
 cock-pit were enough to overcome the stoutest 
 heart — to see fine strong fellows mangled and 
 torn, struggling in their agony — to watch limb 
 after limb cut off— to hear their groans and 
 shrieks, and often worse, the oaths and impreca- 
 tions of the poor fellows maddened by the terrible 
 pain ; and there lay our beloved chief, mortally 
 wounded in the spine, parched with thirst and 
 heat, crying out for air and di-ink to cool the fever 
 raging within. For two hours and a half there he 
 lay suffering dreadful pain, yet eagerly inquiring 
 how the battle was going. Twice Captain Hardy 
 went below to see him ; the first time, to tell him 
 that twelve of the enemy had struck ; the last time,
 
 THE 8T0KT OF NE^^SON. 195 
 
 tliat still more had given in, and that a few were 
 in full flight, after whom our guns were still send- 
 ing their shot. Thus Lord Nelson died at the 
 moment the ever-to-be-remembered battle of Traf- 
 algar was won. 
 
 •3fr * * * * 
 
 ^ It was a sad voyage we had home, and great 
 was the sorrow felt by all, from the highest to the . 
 lowest in the land, for the death of our beloved 
 leader. I will not describe his funeral. It was 
 very grand, that I know. Many of the old ' Yic- 
 torys' attended his cofiin to his grave in St. Paul's 
 Cathedral. ^Vhen they were lowering his flag 
 into the tomb — that flag which had truly so long 
 and so gloriously waved in the battle and the 
 breeze — we seized on it, and tearing it in pieces, 
 vowed to keep it as long as we lived, in remem- 
 brance of our noble chief Here is my bit — see, I 
 keep it safe in this case near my heart." 
 
 England's greatest military chief now lies by 
 the side of one who had no equal on the ocean, in 
 the heart of her metropolis. Witliin the walls of 
 her finest cathedral, what more appropriate mauso- 
 leum could be found for Britain's two most valiant 
 defenders. Heaven-sent surely in the time of her 
 greatest need to defend her from the hosts of her 
 vaunting foes.
 
 OUR FIRST GREAT SEA-FIGHT 
 
 AN INCIDENT IN THE BOYHOOD OF ADMIRAL BLAKE. 
 
 It was in the inonth of March, Anno Domini 
 1C17 — ^just two hundred and forty -five years ago, 
 when James the First was king — that a lad might 
 have been seen crouched down among some bales 
 of goods on one of the public quays of Plymouth, 
 reading so attentively as to be ahke unconscious of 
 the traffic going on around him, and of the bitter 
 blowing of the east wind. Sitting thus, with his 
 knees drawn up and his head resting on his hand, 
 he looked as though he might have been about 
 seventeen years of age. Ilis sober suit of black, 
 and gray, cut in the by-gone fashion of a former 
 reign, showed liim to be a scholar in some public 
 school ; whilst the silver medal, suspended round 
 his neck by a broad ribbon, gave proof of his 
 industry and of the approbation of his masters. 
 
 It was a cold brilliant morning, with the wind 
 blowing ofi" the sea, and the dust driving in great
 
 OUR FIRST GEEAT SEA-FIGHT. 197 
 
 clouds up the streets of tlie town. The ships out- 
 side the harbor were dancing merrily over the 
 crested waves, and even the anchored vessels close 
 against the quays swayed gently with the rising 
 and falling of the waters. Here were merchant- 
 men from Virginia and Guiana delivering their 
 cargoes ; great ships of war, with their officers 
 loitering up and down the decks ; fishing-smacksj 
 coming in with fresh-caught red mullet and 
 Devonshire pilchards ; and small boats, of all 
 sizes, darting about on swift oars among the larger 
 vessels, like sea-birds on the wing. 
 
 On shore the scene was still busier, for the quays 
 were crowded with wagons, trucks, porters, sailors 
 of all nations, government officials, merchants, 
 fishermen, beggars, and idlers of every description. 
 In the midst of all this commotion it seemed won- 
 derful that any one should be able to sit down 
 quietly, and forget it in the pages of a book. So, 
 at least, thought a grave-looking gentleman who 
 was pacing slowly up and down the landing-place, 
 superintending the lading of a good-sized trader. 
 Every now and then he made a business-like entry 
 in his tablets. Every now and then a sailor would 
 come to him for orders, or a porter for a gratuity ; 
 and still, in the intervals of thinking, walking, or 
 conversing, he occasionally paused to glance, with
 
 198 orn rmsT p.ukat rea-fioiit. 
 
 a kindly pmile, towards tlie student close bv. He 
 •was a tall niaji, between sixty and seventy years of 
 age, wcatlicr-bcaten, care-worn, but still handsome, 
 with high features and singularly bright small 
 eyes. In his manner of bearing himself there was 
 a dauntless freedom which combined somewhat of 
 the carelessness of the sailor with the uprightness 
 of the soldier ; but, wrapped as he was in an ample 
 cloak, and wearing a jilain hat, without even a 
 feather in it, he gave, in his dress, no token of 
 belonging either to the army or the nsLVj. Paus- 
 ing, by and by, he contemplated the youth for 
 some seconds ; then went np to him, and said — 
 
 " Why seek so bleak a spot for thy studies, my 
 young scholar ?" 
 
 His voice was higb and somewhat piercing ; but 
 the boy was lost in his book, and heard nothing of 
 the question. The stranger repeated it, and touched 
 him on the shoulder. 
 
 The boy looked up, impatiently. 
 
 " I am not cold," he replied ; and went on read- 
 ing. 
 
 But the gentleman was not to be so easily re- 
 pulsed. 
 
 " The book must needs be entertaining," said he, 
 " since it hath power to deafen thine ear against 
 all the traffic of the quays, and fence thy body
 
 OTJK FIE8T GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 199 
 
 against the sharp March winds. Who is thine 
 author ? Plutarch ?" 
 
 The scholar shook his head, without speaking. 
 He did not choose to be interrupted, and made no 
 effort to conceal his annoyance. He had to deal, 
 however, with one who, accustomed to command, 
 would take no denial. 
 
 " ISlay," said he, gently, but authoritatively, " if 
 thou art dumb, as well as deaf, I must even judge 
 for myself !" 
 
 And with this he took the boy's wrist in his 
 strong gi-asp, turned the volume half round, and 
 read aloud : " A Discourse concerning the Spanish 
 Fleet invading England in the year 1588, and 
 overthrown by her Majesty's Navy : written in 
 Italian by Petruccio Ubaldino, Citizen of Florence, 
 and translated for A. Ryther, Leadenhall, Lon- 
 don." 
 
 The boy's eyes flashed with anger under this 
 cavalier treatment. 
 
 " Let my book alone," said he, struggling to free 
 his hand. "What right have you to importune 
 me with your questions ?" 
 
 " ]^one, save the right of an elder student," 
 replied the gentleman, smiling gravely. " A lover 
 of books myself, I am interested when I see others 
 love them also. I know this pamphlet well. 'Tis
 
 200 OUE FFRST GREAT SEA-FIG HT. 
 
 a faithful, and not an ill-written narrative ; though, 
 if I remember rightly, somewhat tainted with bom- 
 bast. But you do well to read it in sight of the 
 verv waters where our first encounter with the 
 Spaniard took place." 
 
 The boy looked up eagerly, and opened his lips 
 as if about to speak ; then checked himself abrupt- 
 ly. The stranger sighed, and drew his cloak more 
 closely round him. 
 
 " Twenty-nine years ago !" he muttered to him- 
 self. " Only twenty-nine years ago ! Oh, Time ! 
 Time !" 
 
 The boy's curiosity was strongly excited ; but 
 his pride controlled his curiosity, and he main- 
 tained an obstinate silence. 
 
 " So, my lad," said the stranger, meeting his 
 inquiring glance, and shaking off his reverie " art 
 thou for a sea-life ?" 
 
 " Perhaps." 
 
 " Perhaps is but a vague word. What is thy 
 name i 
 
 " Robert Blake." 
 
 " And thou art a scholar of this place ?" 
 
 " No ; I live at Tavistock." 
 
 " And would fain be a sailor, and fight the Span- 
 iard?" 
 
 " Ay, that wouhl I ; but—"
 
 OTJK rmST GKEAT SEA-FIGHT. 201 
 
 "But what?" 
 
 The boy knitted his brow, and looked down. 
 " My father will not have me go to sea," he said, 
 sullenly. 
 
 " For what life, then, art thou destined ?" 
 
 " T scarcely know. Perhaps for the Chui'ch. I 
 go to Oxford next Martinmas; but far sooner 
 would I go to the South Seas with one of our brave 
 Devon captains." 
 
 The stranger smiled, and sighed again, and sat 
 down beside the lad upon a canvas bale. 
 
 " The ocean hath its dangers and discomforts, 
 young friend," said he, " as well as its pleasures. 
 I have sailed all round the world in my time, and 
 I may speak confidently of both." 
 
 " All round the world !" exclaimed the bov. 
 
 " Ay, truly ; with the brave Su* Francis Drake 
 in his famous voyage." 
 
 " He was a great man," said young Robert, 
 eagerly. " I would give my silver medal to have 
 seen him." 
 
 " He was so great a man," replied the stranger, 
 
 " that I question if England wjU ever see his like 
 
 again. AVhat wouldst thou say, lad, if I told thee 
 
 that I fought one whole day by his side, on board 
 
 the ' Kevenge,' in that very sea-fight of which J 
 
 find thee reading ?" 
 
 9*
 
 202 OUK FIRST OREAT SEA-FIGHT. 
 
 Tlie boy sprang to his feet with excitement, 
 
 " You — you bore i)art in that brave work !" he 
 cried. " You saw the Armada !" 
 
 The stranger nodded good-humoredlj. 
 
 " Then you liuve seen Raleigh, and Frobisher, 
 and Hawkins ?" 
 
 " Ay, and Sir Humphrey Gilbert, and Lord 
 Howard of Efluigham, and the wild Earl of Cum- 
 berland, and all the gallant spirits of that time. I 
 well remember the morning when Lord jfloward's 
 squadrons came round from the narrow seas off the 
 coast of Flanders, and joined fleets with Sir Fran- 
 cis Drake, whose ships lay here in Plymouth har- 
 bor. It was on the 23d of May, in the glorious 
 year 1588. Eound they came, by yonder point, 
 fifty ships of the line, with all- sail set, and twenty 
 ships furnished forth by the loyal city of London. 
 A noble sight— yet not so noble as that of the 30th 
 of May, a week later, when the two fleets put out 
 together, ninety ships in all, bearing away with 
 them all the youth and valor and high blood of 
 the land, with Drake and Howard at their 
 head !" 
 
 " You were with Drake, then, noble sir ?" asked 
 the boy. 
 
 " No — not till some days after. Thy naiTative 
 there will tell thee how the Lord Admiral did
 
 OUE rmST GEEAT SEA-FIGHT. 203 
 
 twice sail out of Pl}Tnouth liarbor towards the 
 isle of Scillj, and even within forty leagues of the 
 coast of Spain, seeli;ing the Spanish forces ; and 
 how, fearful lest they should take advantage of the 
 good winds, and pass him unobserved, he twice 
 returned without the striking of a blow. It should 
 also tell thee how, the fleets being back again in 
 port, there came into Plymouth on the morning ol 
 the 19th of Jime, a little bark commanded by one 
 Thomas Fleming, who brought news of the enemy. 
 I w^as in the town at the time, making merry with 
 certain gentlemen of Devon. I well remember 
 how we started up at the first roar of the signal 
 s-uns, and left the flagons untasted on the table. 
 Going out, we found the townspeople thronging to 
 the quays ; officers hurrying down to their ships ; 
 women and children wringing their hands, and 
 crying aloud that the Spaniard was upon us. At 
 the landing-place, finding a wherry close against 
 the stairs, but no boatman, I jumped in with two 
 of my companions, seized the oars myself, and 
 rowed off to the vice-admiral's ship, which was 
 then just loosing anchor. There I learnt that the 
 Spanish fleet had been seen hovering off the Liz- 
 zard Point, the wind being south and by east ; 
 and, further, that, despite the difficulty of getting 
 our ships out in the very teeth of that wind, our
 
 204 
 
 OUE rmST GKEAT SEA-FIGHT. 
 
 commanders had resolved to go forth to the 
 encounter. This, by might of seamanship alone, 
 and by example of the officers, and perseverance of 
 tlie sailors, we did actually accomplish then and 
 there ; and so worked out of harbor, to the number 
 of fifty -four ships, under command of Admiral 
 Lord Ilowai'd and Vice-admiral Sir Francis 
 Drake, between the evening of the 19th and the 
 forenoon of the 20th of June." 
 
 " And that day you met the Spaniard ?" inter- 
 posed Blake, breathlessly. 
 
 " !N^ot so. That day, the wind being against us, 
 and we not desirous of leavinc; too wide a road be- 
 twixt us and the Englisli shore, we coasted at a 
 distance of about twenty or twenty-five miles from 
 land, in the direction of Fowey. Towards sunset, 
 having seen nothing of the enemy all the day 
 through, we beheld the Lord Admiral's pinnace, 
 the ' Disdain,' run up the signal, and then, to the 
 leeward, against the glowing of the western sky, 
 we beheld what seemed like a pine-forest rising 
 out of the ocean. That forest, lad, was a forest of 
 Spanish masts. There lay the huge Armada, and 
 we knew that the morrow must bring work with 
 it. That night we read prayers for our Sovereign 
 Lady Queen Elizabeth on board of every' ship 
 throughout the fleet, and implored Heaven for the
 
 OUR FIRST GEEAT SEA-FIGHT. 205 
 
 safety of these islands. Tims, in pious exercises, 
 and watcliing, and the burnishing of arms, the 
 brief summer night went slowly by. The morn- 
 ing da^^Tied gray and clear. We were now nearer 
 by some miles than when the sunset faded. Be- 
 fore us, in full battle array, advancing in the form 
 of a vast crescent, we beheld the Spanish fleet. 
 We counted one liundred and thirty-four great 
 ships, besides a vast number of galleys, galleasses, 
 and galleons. The two extremities, or horns, of 
 the crescent seemed to be about eight miles apart. 
 It was a brave, sight; but braver still was it to 
 witness the high courage of the great English 
 spirit mounting with the occasion ; to see the 
 eager faces of our young gallants ; the steady valor 
 of our seamen ; the composed gravity of our tried 
 commanders — to hear the shout that went up 
 when the ' Disdain ' fii'ed her first shot, and gave 
 defiance to the foe !" 
 
 " And all this time," said the boy, " you were 
 only fifty-four ships !" 
 
 " Only fifty-four against more than thrice that 
 number," replied the stronger ; " for we had left 
 forty vessels in haven at Plymouth, partly for 
 the better defence of the coast, and partly on 
 account of the difficulty of getting them out to 
 sea."
 
 206 OUK FIRST GREAT 6EA-FIGUT. 
 
 " I beseech you, sir, go on," said Blake. " Tlie 
 ' Disdain,' you say, fired the first shot ?" 
 
 " Ay, at nine of the clock, before noon, on the 
 21st of June ; and immediately the Lord Admiral, 
 in the ' Ark,' sailed forward before all the rest of 
 the fleet, and laid siege to a great ship, of which 
 we believed the Duke of Medina Sidonia to be 
 himself in command. At the same time the ' Vic- 
 tory,' under Master John Hawkins, another goodly 
 vessel under Master Martin Frobisher, and the 
 ' Revenge,' commanded by Sir Francis Drake, on 
 board of w^hich I had that day the honor of serving, 
 put forward to the attack of a huge Portuguese 
 fjralleon, belon<i;in<jc to Don Martin de Ricaldes, 
 vice-admiral of the Spanish fleet. And now, I 
 promise thee, my young scholar, we had thunder 
 and smoke to our hearts' content ; and though we 
 came to no hand-to-hand contest, we were near 
 enough to see the swarthy gunners at their work, 
 and the shaven priests going up and down the 
 decks, urging them on with prayers and exliorta- 
 tions. Not that their Aves and Paters served 
 them one jot against us, however, for our brave 
 fellows stood to their guns manfully, doing rare 
 damage at every shot ; and in the very heat of the 
 fight, as fair fortune would have it, a great shii) of 
 Biscay blew up with a terrible explosion, like the
 
 OUE FIEBT GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 207 
 
 firing of a mine, wliich threw all the enemy into 
 confusion. They then began drawing off to the 
 eastward, leaving one of their largest galleons in 
 our hands ; and with this prize we (being still 
 forty ships less than our total number), thought it 
 best to be content for that day. We then gathered 
 our own vessels together for the night, and having 
 held a consultation of war on board the Lord 
 Admiral's ship, retired each to our own quarters 
 and supped merrily. As for the captain of the 
 captured galleon, Don Pedro de Valdes, we re- 
 ceived him and his chief officers on board the 
 'Revenge,' where Sir Francis Drake entertained 
 them with all courtesy, and sent them, next morn- 
 ing, into Dartmouth, together with the prize and 
 the other prisoners. Well, lad, not to outwear thy 
 patience — " 
 
 " That, good sir, you cannot," interrupted the 
 boy. " I would thankfully stay here all the day 
 and night to listen to you !" 
 
 The stranger smiled, and shook his head good- 
 humoredly. 
 
 " ]S'ay," he said, " the sun declines abeady, and 
 I am bomid to sup with certain officers and mer- 
 chants this evening at six of the clock. Yet will I 
 sketch for thee some brief outline of the last acts of 
 this great drama. Well, then, the next day we
 
 208 OUR FIRST GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 
 
 had no more fighting, but occupied ourselves with 
 Bcai-chiug the ruins of the Biscayan ship, the decks 
 of which were quite shattered with the force of the 
 explosion, and tlie seamen, fifty in number, all 
 dying or dead — a lamentable sight, and one that 
 shook the nerves of the strongest amongst us ! 
 For my part, I wuuld have given half my sub- 
 stance at that moment for some surgical skill, 
 wherewith to help those poor Spaniards in theii 
 great agony ; but, being unable to succor them, 1 
 hurried away as I would have fled a plague-ship ; 
 and presently the Lord Admiral sent the vessel in 
 tow, as it was, to Weymouth harbor, imder the 
 care of Captain Fleming. On the following morn- 
 ing, the 23d of June, the Armada tacked about, 
 and came down again with the northeast wind, in 
 full array, as before. This time, being reinforced 
 by all the rest of our fleet, we sailed right into the 
 midst of them, and, taking advantage of the 
 superior swiftness and lightness of our vessels, 
 travelled round and round them within the dis- 
 tance of half a musket-shot, battering their un- 
 wieldy hulls with our heavy ordnance, and doing 
 them such deadly injury that their commanders 
 were fain to retreat towards evening, leaving the 
 victory with us. That night, as the wdnd set 
 towards us, we heard from time to time faint
 
 OUK FIEBT GEEAT SEA-FIGHT. 209 
 
 sounds of solemn chanting, and knew thereby that 
 the priests were performing a service for the dead. 
 Having by this time exhausted our stores of am- 
 munition, we were obliged to send ashore for a 
 fresh supply, and, with the exception of a few 
 skirmishes, fought no . more battles off this coast ; 
 but followed the enemy quietly through the Chan- 
 nel as far as Calais, where both fleets cast anchor, 
 about five miles from the clifl's. And now it be- 
 came evident to us that the Duke of Medina 
 Sidonia was working his way round to the coast 
 of Flanders, where great reinforcements, furnished 
 bv the Duke of Parma, would doubtless await him. 
 This we resolved, at all hazards, to prevent ; and 
 prevent it we did, in a manner never before seen 
 or heard of in the annals of naval war. We took 
 eight small ships and filled them with combusti- 
 bles. We covered the decks and masts with fresh 
 tar, and laid trains of gunpowder and slow match- 
 es in such a manner as to insure the rapid spread- 
 ing of the fire in every part. Then, iii the dead 
 silence of the night, when the Spaniards suspected 
 nothing, and were, with the exception of the 
 watch, all sleeping in their berths, we sent these 
 ships, like moving castles of flame, into the very 
 heart of their fleet. Startled from sleep, surround- 
 ed in the dark by an eager and experienced enemy,
 
 210 OUK FIK6T GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 
 
 and anchored oft" a strange coast, Avitli the dangerB 
 of which they were unacquainted, what coukl their 
 bravest captains do but slip their cables, put wildly 
 out to sea, and save their ships as best they might ? 
 In this extremity, like the Persian galleys at Sala- 
 mis, they came into collision with each other, 
 foundering some, disabling others, and leaving one 
 great galliass, laden with golden ducats, stranded 
 close against the mouth of Calais harbor. By this 
 time it was dawning day, and Sir Francis Drake 
 charged the enemy with one squadron, while Sir 
 John Hawkins, who liad been just knighted by the 
 Lord Admiral for his exceeding valor, set upon 
 them with another squadron, and broke right 
 through the main body of their fleet. Never was 
 victory more complete. Shattered, disabled, si- 
 lenced, with broken masts, and sails all shot to 
 rags, the great Armada retreated slowly north- 
 wards. One of her large shij^s went down in 
 sight of both the fleets ; two foundered off the 
 coast of Zealand, and were plundered by the na- 
 tives ; the rest held on their way, followed by the 
 Lord Admiral with several squadrons, and went 
 up by the coast of Scotland, designing to work 
 round by the north, and reach Spain by the outer 
 seas, without again venturing through the English 
 Channel. Within thirty leagues of Newcastle we
 
 OUK FIEST GKEAT SEA-FIGHT. 211 
 
 left tliem to pursue their perilous way, and re- 
 turned to England to protect oiu' southern shores 
 against any possible attack from the side of the 
 Low Countries. Here my experience as a personal 
 witness ends. You, my young hearer, know what 
 followed as well as I. You have read of the great 
 tempests which befell that unhappy fleet off the 
 Irish coast, and of the destruction which was there- 
 by wrought. For one whole month were they 
 driven hither and thither in helj)less wreck and 
 ruin. The shores of Donegal and Sligo were 
 strewn with timbers, and bodies of the drowned. 
 Thirty-two ships were cast away. Thirteen or 
 fourteen thousand human lives were lost. Two 
 thousand men were taken prisoners. So vast a 
 calamity never befell the great Spanish power be- 
 fore or since. So signal a deliverance following 
 such a series of victories, never occurred either to 
 England or any other land of which we read in 
 history," 
 
 " What a glory to our English seamen !" ex- 
 claimed Robert Blake, his cheeks flushed, and his 
 eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. 
 
 " Nay, the glory was Almighty God's," said the 
 stranger, reverently lifting his hat. " We but did 
 om' duty to Him, to our country, and to our Queen. 
 Fare thee well." And with this he rose up, laid
 
 '2\2 OUK FUtbT GREAT BEA-FIOIIT. 
 
 his hand khidly on the hoy's shoulder, and turned 
 awav. But Lluke ran after him. 
 
 " If you will not stay for my thanks, nohle sir," 
 he cried, '■'• you will at least tell me your name, 
 that I may rememher it while I live, as the name 
 of a brave sailor who fought against the Ar- 
 mada f 
 
 But the gentleman would not. 
 
 " Remember me, lad," said he, " as one who 
 hath known great prosperity and bitter advei*sity ; 
 to whom the camp, the cabin, and the dungeon, 
 are alike familiar. Some day, perhaps, I may seek 
 thee out at Oxford, and make thy better acquaint- 
 ance." 
 
 So, waving his hand, he strode rapidly away, 
 and Blake stood still and gazed after him till he 
 was out of sight. It was now four o'clock. The 
 traffic had long ceased, and the landing-place was 
 deserted. The trader, which was being laden in 
 the morning, had drawn off from the quay, and 
 anchored neaj* the mouth of the harbor. In vain 
 the boy looked round for some one who would give 
 him the information he so ardently desired. There 
 was not a living soul in sight, and so, with a sigh 
 of disappointment, he put his pamphlet in his 
 bosom, and took his way to the house where he 
 was staying.
 
 OUK rmST GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 213 
 
 " That man," said lie to himself, as he went 
 along, " is* a man of mark. AVoiild that I could 
 leam his name ! He breathed not a syllable of his 
 own prowess ; but, if ever I saw a brave man, he 
 is one ! And I was so churlish to him when he 
 first noted me ; shame on me ! The dungeon, 
 said he, and the camp, and the cabin ? Out on't ! 
 I could not guess, though I tried till Mid-summer 
 day ; yet I have a strange certainty upon me that 
 we shall meet again some day. Heigho ! — some 
 day!" 
 
 w vr w TV • tk '3p 
 
 A year and nearly seven months have gone by. 
 It is the morning of the 29th of October, 1618, 
 and Robert Blake, gazing from right to left with 
 the wonderino; deliiJ-ht of a stranger, is beino; 
 rowed up to AVestminster by a Thames waterman. 
 He is now an undergraduate of Oxford, and this is 
 his fii-st visit to London. He could not be out at 
 a gayer time ; for the new Lord Mayor has just 
 passed down the river in all the civic glory of his 
 gilded barges, and the stream is crowded with 
 boats, and the bridges are swarming with idlers, 
 and flags are flying at Whitehall, and all is sun- 
 shine and merriment. Having seen the pageant, 
 our scholar is now on his way to visit the hall and
 
 214 OUR FIRST GREAT SKA-FIG IIT. 
 
 abbey of AVest minster ; so, alighting at Westmin- 
 ster stairs, he emerges at tlie back of the Pai'lia- 
 ment houses, and finds himself suddenly in a dense 
 crowd, close against Old Palace Yai'd. Conchid- 
 ing that there is something to be seen, and sup- 
 posing, of course, that this something, whatever it 
 may be, is comiected with the show of which he 
 has just been a spectator, Robert Blake presses 
 eagerly forward, wins his way, inch by inch, 
 through the thickest of the throng, and, looking 
 up, sees a scafibld hung with black and guarded by 
 a double row of halberdiers, rising grimly before 
 his eyes. lioiTor-stricken, shuddering, the young 
 man would gladly escape the fearful sight ; but the 
 crowd has closed up behind him, and retreat is 
 impossible. Now, for the first time, he observes 
 the strange silence of the throng — that silence so 
 unlike the shouts which he so lately heard. lie 
 would fain ask whose death they have met to wit- 
 ness ; but he feels that his voice might tremble, 
 and, with boyish pride, he forbears to speak till he 
 has regained his self-command. 
 
 All at once, through the deep hush, there is 
 heard a muffled somid of drums, and a tramp of 
 many feet. The crowd, compact as it is, heaves 
 and falls back. More soldiers pour in, and rank 
 ■themselves closer about the scafibld. The sheriffs,
 
 OUE FIRST GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 215 
 
 a couple of clergymen, several gentlemen in ricli 
 dresses, and the condemned man between two 
 guards, mount tlie steps, and appear on the plat- 
 form. Behind all comes the headsman, with Ms 
 face masked, and the axe upon his shoulder. Sick 
 at heart, the student covers his eyes with his hand. 
 Be the culprit whom or what he may, it is terrible 
 to stand there, and see him die ! 
 
 Impelled, at last, by an agonizing curiosity, he 
 looks up. The condemned man has advanced to 
 the front of the scaffold, and is addressing those 
 nearest to him. From this distance his words 
 
 are inaudible ; but his face merciful 
 
 Heaven ! his face is the well-remembered face 
 of the stranger whom he met a year and seven 
 months since on the quay at Plymouth ! He looks 
 older, grayer, feebler ; but his eye has the same 
 brightness, and his expression the same serenity. 
 He shakes hands with his friends upon the scaffold 
 — he tries the edge of the axe with his finger — 
 he lays his hand upon the headsman's shoulder, 
 and seems to grant him his solemn pardon. Then 
 he flings his cloak aside — ^l^neels — prays for a 
 moment with folded hands — lays his head upon 
 the block 
 
 The student saw no more. Trembling from 
 head to foot, blinded with hot tears, and almost
 
 210 OUR FIRST GREAT SEA-FIGHT. 
 
 beside himself with pity and horror, he buried his 
 face in his cloak, and sobbed aloud. Presently a 
 deep groan and a shudder ran through the crowd, 
 and he knew that all was over, 
 
 " Who was he ?" cried Blake, turning to those 
 about him. " What was his name ? What crime 
 had he committed ?" 
 
 " None," replied one at his elbow. " Before 
 God, he is this day foully murdered." 
 
 " But his name ?" 
 
 " The brave, the learned, the great Sir Walter 
 Ealeigh." 
 
 Time went on ; and Robert Blake, still, in liis 
 heart of hearts, cherishing the sea-dreams of his 
 boyhood, complied with the wishes of his parents, 
 and embraced a parliamentary career. Having 
 adopted the religious and political opinions of the 
 Puritan body, he first served his party honestly in 
 the senate ; then in the field, as a colonel of dra- 
 goons ; and lastly on the sea, as admiral of the 
 British fleet. He was fifty years of age before he 
 entered on the career to which his genius and his 
 desires had pointed for so long ; but he redeemed 
 his lost time nobly. The sea was his true element. 
 One of the bravest of British sailors ; one of the 
 most judicious, calm, and skilful of commanders, 
 he succeeded, during the brief remainder of his
 
 OUE FIEST GEEAT SEA-FIGHT. 217 
 
 useful and glorious life, in reforming the system 
 
 of our naval warfare, protecting our commerce, 
 
 reducing our enemies to submission, and spreading 
 
 the terror of the great EngKsh name throughout 
 
 the civilized world. 
 
 10
 
 TEUE RICHES. 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 THE MISXR. 
 
 Daily experience teaches how little wealth, if 
 sought as an end, and not as a means, tends to 
 promote- real happiness. History records innume- 
 rable instances where the love of gold has brought 
 misery and distress on nations and individuals ; and 
 every day tells us some new story of life or health 
 sacrificed in the pursuit of wealth ; each new seeker 
 fancying that to him, at least, it will bring happi- 
 ness. 
 
 In the last few years, the pursuit of gold has 
 left numerous once happy homes desolate, and the 
 bones of many a loving father, idolized husband,
 
 220 THE MISER. 
 
 or affectionate brother, bleaching on the distant 
 sands of California ; his last moments, perhaps, 
 spent in heart-rending regrets for the home, how- 
 ever humble, Avhich he had left to seek for gold ; — 
 obtained, perhaps, but bringing no enjoyment to its. 
 possessor. 
 
 In all large cities, there are found many who 
 make the acquirement of money, for its own sake, 
 the sole object of this life ; some, of course, more 
 engrossed than others. They do not find ' True 
 Riches,' who work solely to fill their coffers, and 
 never permit the golden stream to flow out again, 
 to gladden the hearts of others. The best part of 
 many a man's nature, — the once loving heart ; the 
 kind, sympathetic feeling, which forms the only true 
 wealth, — is buried and riveted down to sordid gain, 
 by golden chains. 
 
 The prayer of Agar — " Give me neither poverty 
 rtbr riches" — should be the supplication of every 
 one who wishes to do good to his fellow-man ; for 
 while poverty cramps the energies, and arrests the 
 hand which would willingly be held out to relieve 
 the suffering, so do riches, if not worthily employed, 
 clog up and destroy, for want of use, the kindly 
 feelings which should prompt man to assist his 
 neighbor.
 
 THE MISER. 221 
 
 In speaking of poverty and wealth, Jean Paul 
 says : "In an age, all the better sinews of which 
 have been cut asunder, save only the universal one 
 of money, even the most exaggerated deprecia- 
 tion of riches is nobler and more useful than the 
 justest censure of poverty ; for pasquinades upon 
 gold-dust assure the rich man that his happiness is 
 not dependent on his possessions ; and to the poor 
 man, for bitter feelings they substitute the sweet- 
 ness of conquering them. As it is, everything mean 
 in us, — all the senses, the imagination, and all we 
 look up to as examples, — are united panegyrists 
 of gold." 
 
 It is certain that the miser's gold cannot be 
 called true riches ; for it affords him no enjoyment, 
 save in its accumulation, and spreads no blessings 
 on those around; it is coveted for itself alone, 
 and spreads no kindly atmosphere in its neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
 In a small town in Massachusetts, not far from 
 its capital, there stood, several, years since, on the 
 main road, a small, dingy-looking house, so dila- 
 pidated and desolate in appearance, that one would 
 hardly suppose it probable that a human being 
 would voluntarily seek its shelter. It was without
 
 222 THE MISER. 
 
 any appearance of comfort or care ; the roof was 
 covered with moss, the chimney broken down, and 
 old rags and rough boards supplied the place of 
 glass, which had been in the windows once, but had 
 never been replaced after being broken. The door 
 Bwung on bits of leather, for want of hinges ; and 
 all that remained of the fence was rotten with age 
 and neglect. No trees shaded it ; but all around 
 had a bare, comfortless look, which created a feel- 
 ing of pity for such extreme poverty as would be 
 obliged to seek shelter there. 
 
 In this miserable abode, hardly fit for a refuge 
 for the beast of the field, there lived, for some 
 years, an old man ; all alone, for he had no children 
 or relations. He was very seldom seen by any 
 one ; but if by accident a glimpse was caught 
 of the tenant of this cheerless abode, his ap- 
 pearance was such as to render it doubtful, for 
 a time, of what sex he was. An old, tattered 
 dressing-gown, often a woman's skirt, and an old 
 bonnet, in place of a hat, formed his usual costume. 
 He was, to all appearance, a miserably poor old 
 man ; he accepted the smallest piece of money with 
 all the greediness of a beggar, and many a charita- 
 ble person bestowed alms on him ; judging, from 
 his wretched appearance, that he must be sufi'ering
 
 "lllllii 
 
 
 The Old Miser.
 
 THE MISER. 223 
 
 from want. But that this was not the fact was 
 well known to all the neighborhood. The rumors 
 of his wealth had waxed louder and louder, until 
 he was looked upon as a walking gold-mine ; and 
 many greatly exaggerated stories of his enormous 
 riches were constantly in circulation. But how he 
 . first acquired his money was still a mystery ; for 
 he had left the Almshouse of his native village 
 when a very young lad, without friends or relatives 
 to care for him, or push him forward in his future 
 career. 
 
 Had those who knew Joseph Wilson, studied his 
 character at all, they would have seen even then, 
 in the boy, tlje dawning of that excessive avarice 
 which afterwards formed so conspicuous a trait in 
 his character. 
 
 If by chance, at this early period of his life, a 
 penny came into his possession, it was hoarded 
 carefully, and no temptation would induce him to 
 part with it. If an old garment was bestowed on 
 him, he would immediately endeavor to sell it, how- 
 ever great his need ; and an extra meal, offered by 
 the charitable, he would, if possible, try to trade 
 away for two or three copper coins. 
 
 Upon his leaving the Almshouse, he begged his 
 way to Boston, and arrived there, barefooted,
 
 224 THE MISER. 
 
 ragged, and hungry, without knowing where he 
 should pass the night, or being acquainted with a 
 single person in the city. For many weeks his 
 only place of rest was either in some lumber-yard, 
 or in unfinished dwellings ; and his food generally 
 consisted of what he begged during the day. 
 
 While in those parts of the city where the poorer 
 class usually dwelt, his attention was directed to 
 one mode in which their children occasionally ob- 
 tained a little money, and he resolved to try his 
 fortune in the same manner. A price, though a 
 trifling one, was paid for bits of iron and rags; 
 and, indeed, almost any article found a purchaser 
 in those abodes of want, if offered cheap. 
 
 He accordingly commenced wandering about, in 
 search of these treasures ; and as he brought to his 
 employment, poor though it was, a determined will, 
 his success was much greater than that of the 
 other children. 
 
 Every penny was carefully hoarded, and never 
 used, however great the necessity. He would 
 have starved, rather than touch his savings. On 
 some days his earnings would be very small, but at 
 other times he would be more fortunate ; and fre- 
 quently the charitable passer-by would bestow a 
 small sum on the miserable-looking boy. Had the
 
 THE MISER. 225 
 
 giver studied the countenance of the lad, he would 
 have read in it, not want, so much as avarice. He 
 usually procured his food by doing little services 
 for the neighbors, who were not able to give him 
 money, but could spare enough to feed him, after 
 providing for their own families. He was not par- 
 ticular in his tastes. A crust of dry bread would 
 keep him from starving ; and of dainties and luxu- 
 ries, such as money could buy, he knew nothing. 
 
 After some little time spent in this way, his daily 
 gains became so sure that he ventured to rent a 
 miserable little attic room, for which he was to pay 
 by rendering services, no matter how menial, to 
 the owner of the house, who carried on the business 
 of letting lodgings to the poorer classes, at a very 
 low rate. In this little room he gradually collected 
 large quantities of the most wretched articles of 
 clothing ; many of which he had obtained from the 
 open lots in the outskirts of the city, on which they 
 had been thrown with refuse articles and dirt ; and 
 it was amazing to see the manner in which he would 
 convert an old rag into something like a garment, 
 which would sell for a small sum. 
 
 In the Almshouse where his early years had been 
 passed, he had been taught to sew, and also how to 
 mend shoes ; and both of these acquirements he 
 
 10*
 
 220 THE MISER 
 
 now turned into active use. A blessing they might 
 have been, had their end been other than the grati- 
 fication of his inordinate thirst for money ! 
 
 Joseph "Wilson, or 'Poor Joe,' as he was usually 
 nicknamed, lived in this manner for several years, 
 — lonely and uncared for. lie never sought the 
 companionship of other lads of his own age, and 
 would not allow any one to enter his little room. 
 He never engaged in any of their innocent amuse- 
 ments — it was always work ; and for what ? To 
 add to his little store of money — the only happi- 
 ness he knew or cared for ! 
 
 As he grew older, his intense desire for money 
 increased ; and as his daily walks had made him 
 well known among the large stores on the wharves, 
 he ventured at last to seek employment from some 
 of their occupants. His appearance, save in his 
 look of poverty, was not disagreeable ; and he pos- 
 sessed a mind naturally acute and observing, toge- 
 ther with some acquired talents, which might have 
 made him happier, had they been rightly directed. 
 
 So far in his career, Joseph Wilson had never 
 been dishonest; that is, he had never actually 
 stolen. How honest he was, in always getting the 
 best of a bargain, and making the need of others 
 minister to his excessive avarice, might well be
 
 THE MISER. 2'JT 
 
 questioned. His industry was untiring ; his prompt- 
 ness in performing a job soon made him favorably 
 known among the merchants, and he gradually 
 obtained something like regular employment; al- 
 ways insisting on being paid 'cash down,' as he 
 termed it, however smalL the promised compensa- 
 tion. ^ 
 
 For one merchant, in particular, he did a great 
 many little offices ; and, from his faithfulness in 
 performing them, the benevolent old man became 
 gradually interested in the friendless boy, and 
 allowed him to go, at his expense, to a night-school, 
 where he would be taught the plainer branches of 
 education. Being naturally bright, the instruction 
 he here received might have made him a useful 
 man, could his energies have been aroused from 
 their gold-bound slumber. 
 
 Joseph soon learned to read and write tolerably 
 well, and showed great proficiency in arithmetic. 
 He had previously learned to count accurately; 
 as it was his practice, every night before retiring, 
 to open the box which contained his money, and 
 tell it over with the satisfaction known only to a 
 miser. 
 
 He was cleanly in his habits, so far as washing 
 his skin was concerned; and, indeed, his clothes,
 
 228 THE MISER. 
 
 miserable as they were, were free from dirt ; for 
 water could readily be obtained, and a piece of 
 soap borrowed or begged of a neighbor. 
 
 When at the night-school, Joseph liad been in 
 the habit of collecting every little piece of slate- 
 pencil, every scrap of paper, and all the ends of 
 candles Avhich he could lay his hands on ; and he 
 generally contrived to make some use of them. 
 He would exchange the bits of pencil with the poor 
 children, perhaps, for a piece of bread or meat ; 
 and the candle-ends were quite a source of profit, 
 as he melted them up, and then sold the tallow to 
 some of his neighbors. 
 
 Joseph very seldom spoke to any one, except 
 when necessity required; his thoughts were con- 
 tinually engaged in one way ; talking he considered 
 a waste of time, and amusements were totally dis- 
 regarded ; for he would not have parted with one 
 penny to have seen all the sights of a great metro- 
 polis. 
 
 When Joseph Wilson was about sixteen years 
 old, the same merchant who had already befriended 
 him, took him regularly into his employ, as a 
 porter ; and during the period in which he held the 
 situation, though receiving but a small salary, he 
 faithfully did his duty ; feeling sure that the know-
 
 THE MISER. 229 
 
 ledge he gained by accurate observation would soon 
 enable bim to obtain a higher post. 
 
 He remained with this gentleman until his death 
 caused the business to pass into other hands ; after 
 which the boy sought a clerkship, which he easily 
 obtained ; for his knowledge of business was well 
 understood. That the other clerks in the store 
 would not associate with him, because he was 
 meanly dressed, gave him no uneasiness ; for he 
 always consoled himself by the thought, — ' They 
 will gladly seek to know me at some future day ; 
 for I will be rich enough to buy and sell them all !' 
 
 Joseph's intelligence and perseverance soon raised 
 him very high in his master's estimation, and finally 
 induced him to send his young clerk on a voyage to 
 India, in charge of some business connected with 
 the firm. His negotiations proving very profitable, 
 obtained for him the ofiice of supercargo of one of 
 his employer's own vessels, and after several very 
 successful voyages, he left the merchant's service, 
 and remained in India for several years. He re- 
 turned with much wealth. How he acquired it, no 
 one knew but himself; and, perhaps, none cared to 
 know. That he was rich, would satisfy most of 
 those who had intercourse with him ; and they 
 thought — if they thought at all — that it was his
 
 230 THE MISER. 
 
 affair, not theirs, if the young nabob's money had 
 been gained by the severest extortion, or even by 
 literal robbery and murder ! 
 
 He commenced business for himself on the same 
 spot -where he had begun his mercantile career, a 
 wretched-looking, poorly-dressed boy ; and few, if 
 any, would have recognized, in the rich India mer- 
 chant, Joseph Wilson, the 'Poor Joe,' who had 
 once been the butt and laughing-stock of the whole 
 neighborhood. 
 
 Our young merchant's business, though very ex- 
 tensive, was conducted in the same parsimonious 
 manner, as regarded small things, which had always 
 characterized his dealings. His clerks were paid 
 the smallest possible salary, and every day's ab- 
 sence carefully deducted in the reckoning of their 
 wa^es, no matter wliat reason had occasioned the 
 neglect of duty. 
 
 Although everybody despised him, and would 
 gladly have avoided any intercourse with him, yet 
 unbounded wealth flowed into his coffers. Every- 
 thing he touched seemed to turn into gold ; and 
 where the best endeavors of many an upright man 
 of business utterly failed, he would double and treble 
 his gains. 
 
 His miserable home, if it deserved the name.
 
 THE MISER. 231 
 
 •was still in the wretched street where he had first 
 lived, after arriving in the city ; and although he 
 occupied a rather better apartment than that which 
 had afforded him shelter when a boy, yet it was 
 wholly without comfort. A hard pallet bed, a bare 
 floor, and windows without either curtain or shutter, 
 contented the sordid merchant. He never allowed 
 himself fire or light ; but would sit by those of his 
 landlord, until obliged to go to bed, which he gene- 
 rally did in the dark. Not a book or paper was to 
 be found in his cheerless abode ; and he would 
 have grudged the payment of a single cent for a 
 newspaper, even to obtain tidings of his richly- 
 freighted vessels. He read the papers by borrow- 
 ing of his business neighbors ; and often boasted 
 that his reading cost him nothing. 
 
 Had Joseph Wilson perused one Book, he might 
 have learned " how hardly shall they who have 
 riches enter into the kingdom of God." But to 
 him that Book had always been sealed, as he had 
 never been taught in early childhood, by the loving 
 voice of a tender mother or respected father, about 
 him who, when on earth, told his disciples that it 
 was " easier for a camel to go through the eye of a 
 needle, than for a rich man to enter the kingdom 
 of Heaven."
 
 232 THE MISER. 
 
 The miser's excessive avarice showed itself in his 
 always endeavoring to have all labor, performed 
 for him, done at the smallest expense, and the 
 payment delayed as long as possible. He ' ground 
 the faces of the poor.' If a piece of work was fin- 
 ished for him, particularly if done by a female, he 
 would argue for a long time, if possible, on the ex- 
 travagant price, and would generally manage to 
 make the poor laborers depart with a few cents less 
 than they had anticipated. 
 
 Jean Paul, from Avhom we have before quoted, 
 speaking of those who wish work to remain unpaid 
 for as long as possible, though not always from an 
 avaricious feeling, says justly; "But before you, 
 great and rich, who, helpless in the honeycombs 
 of your enjoyment, and with clammy wings swim- 
 ming in your fluid sugar of rose*, find it so difficult 
 to stretch forth your hands and take out of your 
 money-rolls the wages of those who helped to fill 
 your reservoirs of honey — before you an hour of 
 judgment will hereafter appear, and ask you whe- 
 ther ye were worthy to live^ not to speak of enjoy- 
 ing ; shunning, as you did, even the slight trouble 
 of imijiwj^ while the poor man submitted to the 
 heavy task of earning. But ye would be better,^ if 
 ye did but think of the misery occasioned among
 
 THE MISER. 233 
 
 the poor by your comfortable indolence, and unwill- 
 ingness to open a roll of coin, or read a short 
 account, if ye were to picture to yourselves the 
 start of inconsolable disappointment, when a wife 
 sees her husband return home without his wages, 
 and the want, and the blotting out of so many 
 hopes, and the sorrowful days of a whole family." 
 
 And many such scenes were occasioned by the 
 miser's refusal, mider all sorts of pretences, to pay 
 those who had labored hard for their poor reward. 
 Curses, 'not loud, but deep,' were uttered in many 
 a miserable abode ; while, perhaps, a sick wife or 
 famishing child pined in want, from his withholding 
 the hard-earned money due to the father of the 
 family. 
 
 But he, the "man of gold," never troubled him- 
 self about such masters. lie had done without all 
 comforts, and why not they ? They were no better 
 than he was. He was never sick ; what business 
 had poor people to be sick ? for his part, he be- 
 lieved their tales of distress were all lies, made up 
 to extort money from the industrious. 
 
 One means of increasing his wealth he had early 
 
 resorted to ; and disgraceful it is, that many a rich 
 
 man, besides Mr. Wilson, should resort to such 
 
 measures for amassing wealth. He bought up, at 
 
 11
 
 234: THE MISER. 
 
 low rates, every little shanty and poor dwelling- 
 house that came to his knowledge, and then rented 
 them out at exorbitant prices. He was constantly 
 dunning and dispossessing his poor tenants, and 
 often deprived them of their last fartliing. On one 
 occasion, and we hope, for the sake of humanity, the 
 only one, he actually turned into the. street, on a 
 bitter cold afternoon in mid-winter, a poor family, 
 who had no place of shelter. The father, who was 
 disabled by rheumatism, a delicate, ailing wife, with 
 three young children, and an aged grandmother, 
 w^ere all compelled to encounter the cold and snow 
 of a December night ! For what ? — Because they 
 could not add a dollar to the already abundant 
 store of the miser's wealth ! 
 
 When the unfortunate family reached the street, 
 without any knowledge of where they were to find 
 shelter for the night, and signs of great distress 
 were visible on their countenances, the aged grand 
 mother turned suddenly to Mr. AVilson, who was 
 standing near, and said to him, in a voice which 
 rang in his ears for many a day afterwards, " May 
 the curse of the widow cling to you through life*, 
 may you know the stings of poverty ; and may con- 
 science, which will not always be silent, make your 
 death-bed as miserable as you have made us ; may
 
 THE MISER. 235 
 
 your spirit seek in vain a resting-place, tortured 
 and harassed by despair, such as you make us now 
 to suffer ! Think of us, hardened and wretched 
 man, when about to enter the presence of your 
 God!" 
 
 The curse was never forgotten by the miser, 
 although he endeavored to disregard it ; but fear- 
 fully it came back to him in after years. 
 
 The miser had purchased, in the neighboring 
 villages, several miserable old hovels, such as we 
 have describ,ed in the beginning of our story, and 
 visited each of them at intervals, and always with- 
 out giving notice of his coming to the poor persons 
 having them in charge, thereby hoping to detect 
 some useless expenditure, which would warrant him 
 in discharging them at once. 
 
 In order to evade the payment of taxes on his 
 hoarded money, he would contrive to avoid the ap- 
 pearance of residing in any particular town, when 
 the first day of May, the time for assessing the tax 
 on personal estate, came round. The assessors 
 could not catch him in any of the houses which he 
 owned in different towns, and occasionally made his 
 residence. But on one of their visits, after being 
 many times disappointed, they thought they de- 
 tected a faint smoke issuing from one of his dilapi-
 
 230 THE MISER. 
 
 dated dwellings. The assessors knocked at the 
 door for some time, and at length the old woman 
 who usually resided there, in charge of the house, 
 partly opened it. "Is Mr. "Wilson here?'* they 
 enquired. " Oh, no sir ; he is not here," said the 
 old woman, trembling at the thought of her master's 
 anger. " But we think he is here, and we shall 
 certainly search the house, if you do not answer us 
 truly," returned the men. 
 
 After delaying her answer as long as she possibly 
 could, she finally confessed that he had been there 
 the night before. They proceeded up stairs, re- 
 solved to see for themselves whether he was then in 
 the house. The miserable old man was found 
 crouching in a corner of the attic, trembling with 
 terror at the thought of parting with any of his 
 idolized gold. Without waiting for them to speak, 
 the sordid wretch fell on his knees, exclaiming, 
 "Oh, gentlemen, dear, good gentlemen! do have 
 mercy on me, and do n't tax me for more than two 
 hundred thousand dollars !" 
 
 " We had never supposed you worth more than 
 one hundred thousand, Mr. Wilson," said one of 
 the assessors, " and we are much obliged to you for 
 the valuable information you have given us." 
 
 The rage and despair of the miser at thus over-
 
 THE MISER. 237 
 
 reaching himself, may be easily imagined. Still he 
 had made a false return ; for his personal property 
 at that time was double what he represented it to 
 to be. 
 
 In each of his miserable abodes were collected 
 quantities of just such garments as he used to accu- 
 mulate on his first starting in the world ; and, not 
 content with his own possessions, he actually 
 coveted, and had been known to take the hat and 
 coat from a scarecrow in a field of corn ! The old 
 man frequently boasted that he made a single pen 
 serve him for months, and that it never cost him 
 anything for ink, as he manufactured such as an- 
 swered his purpose, in a way only known to him- 
 self. 
 
 Some instances of his avarice are hardly credi- 
 ble ; but they are well known and remembered in 
 the neighborhood where he chiefly resided, and 
 were often related to wondering listeners, when the 
 fact of his great wealth became known, and enquiiy 
 was busy concerning his past life. 
 
 Mr. Wilson had never sought to know whether 
 he had any relatives ; being well aware that if any 
 were living they must be poor, and perhaps their 
 necessities might make them think that they had a 
 claim on him for assistance, and he would more 
 11*
 
 238 THE MISER. 
 
 willingly have known that they were starving, than 
 have given them a dollar. 
 
 As he advanced in years, however, and his in- 
 creasing infirmities warned him daily that he must 
 soon die, and his great wealth pass into other 
 hands, he became anxious to ascertain if there 
 were any members of his family still in existence. 
 He slightly remembered a sister, who was taken 
 from the poor-house when very young, and carried 
 into a neighboring State, to be brought up by some 
 friends, but of her after life he had no knowledge ; 
 his parents' death, soon after her depai'ture, leaving 
 him no home but the Almshouse, and his subsequent 
 miserly career never allowing him time or inclina- 
 tion to inquire if she still lived. 
 
 But as the miser was well aware that death Avaa 
 slowly but steadily approaching, the necessity of 
 immediately finding an heir to his wealth induced 
 him to make very strenuous efibrts to ascertain if 
 he had any relatives then in existence ; and after 
 considerable difiiculty he ascertained that a nephew, 
 the son of his sister, was living in a neighboring 
 State ; he had a family, and was in very moderate 
 circumstances. 
 
 Charles Prescott, his nephew, owned a small 
 farm, which he had inherited from his father, and
 
 THE MISER. 239 
 
 which enabled him, with very strict economy, to 
 support his family. He well remembered hearing 
 his mother mention a brother whom she had left at 
 home, and of whose life, after leaving the Alms- 
 house, she had not been able to gain any know- 
 ledge. 
 
 The old man immediately wrote to Mr. Prescott, 
 desu'ing him to come to him as soon as possible 
 after the receipt of his letter ; but a week or more 
 elapsed before his nephew was able to leave home, 
 and in that time the miser had failed very rapidly ; 
 yet his increasing infirmities had not induced him 
 to make any alteration in his wretched way of life, 
 and, if possible, he had become more penurious 
 than ever ; grudging even the smallest sum spent 
 for himself. 
 
 It became very evident to all who saw him, and 
 to himself, that he must soon close his existence 
 here. He had said many times in his heart, " I 
 have laid up much goods for many years ;" but One 
 mightier than he had also said, " Thou fool ! this 
 night thy soul shall be required of thee !" 
 
 When Mr. Prescott arrived at his uncle's miser- 
 able dwelling, although accounts of his penurious - 
 habits had reached him, he was shocked and aston- 
 ished at the sight presented, and begged the old
 
 240 TUE MISER. 
 
 man to allow him to procure at least a suitable bed 
 for him. But the thought of parting with any of 
 his money threw him into such a state of excite- 
 ment, that his nephew feared the feeble spark of 
 life would wholly expire, if he insisted any further.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE miser's heir. 
 
 As soon as Mr. "Wilson had satisfied himself as 
 to the identity of his nephew, he had his will regu-' 
 larly drawn out, signed and sealed, leaving all his 
 wealth to Mr. Prescott ; but the amount was care- 
 fully concealed until his death should make it 
 knoAvn. 
 
 On the day succeeding Mr. Prescott's arrival, it 
 became very evident that the old man could not 
 live through the night ; and his nephew determined 
 to remain by his bedside. The miser seemed to be 
 dreaming of gold ; and he murmured in his sleep 
 of many things which made Mr. Prescott shudder 
 with horror. Just at midnight, he was startled at 
 seeing the old man, who had seemed too weak to 
 move, suddenly sit upright in bed, and with clasped
 
 242 THE ji I s E 11 ' s n E m . 
 
 hands appear to be imploring mercy. " Do not 
 curse me so terribly ! — I will give you the house ! 
 Take it I — Take wealth I — I will give you gold 
 beyond your wishes ; only, I beseech you, take 
 away that fearful curse — I cannot die with it 
 ringing in my ears ! Have mercy on a poor old 
 sinner ! You said I shmiM not die in peace ; but 
 leave me, and I will bless you !" 
 
 He continued, for more than half an hour, im- 
 ploring mercy from an imaginary being ; and then, 
 •with a howl of utter despair, he fell back and died. 
 Was not the old w^oman's curse fearfully fulfilled ? 
 The miser died as he had lived ; without a friend 
 to shed a tear over his grave, or a loving heart to 
 sigh for him and wish him back : — 
 
 "The hot curse of talents misapplied 
 
 Blistered his conscience with its burning smart; 
 And l)is soul must lie with Dives, spoiled of all its pride !" 
 
 After the funeral, the will was opened and read ; 
 and the astonished nephew found himself the sole 
 heir to more than half a million of dollars ! an 
 amount of money of which he had hardly ever 
 heard before. But at first the fact scarcely brought 
 with it a feeling of pleasure ; for the fearful image 
 of that dying old man, imploring mercy from those
 
 THE miser's heir. 2i3 
 
 he had wi'onged, was so deeply impressed on his 
 mind, that he longed to leave such painful recol- 
 lections, and return to his peaceful home and be- 
 loved family. 
 
 Upon returning to his little homestead, Mr. 
 Prescott immediately made arrangements for re- 
 moving to the city of Boston, the immense busi- 
 ness of his deceased uncle requiring his immediate 
 attention ; and in the course of a few days, he and 
 his family safely reached the city. 
 
 After procuring a suitable dwelling, and settling 
 his family comfortably in their new abode, Mr. 
 Prescott took charge of his uncle's business, with 
 the intention of winding up the concern, and retir- 
 ing to live quietly on his great wealth ; but the 
 many friends whom his sudden riches called around 
 him, earnestly advised him to continue the business, 
 and place his son Edward, now a young man, at 
 the head of the house, if he himself felt too old to 
 continue it. 
 
 Mr. Prescott at first strenuously objected ; as his 
 son had not the slightest knowledge of mercantile 
 affairs, having always been associated with his 
 father in the care of their small farm ; but he was 
 told that the clerks and book-keeper of Mr. Wilson 
 would be fully competent to do the real work, and
 
 214: THE miser's ueir. 
 
 that his son •would only Lave to sign his name, and 
 give his personal attendance to the business^ 
 
 After some consideration, Mr. Prescott at length 
 consented, though with many misgivings as to the 
 result ; for he had early noticed in his son an in- 
 decision of character, and a weakness of purpose, 
 which rendered him liable to be overcome by tempt- 
 ation and difficulties. 
 
 Edward Prescott was very amiable, loving, and 
 kind-hearted ; but without any strength of charac- 
 ter. His whole life had been passed within the 
 precincts of his native village ; and of a city life, 
 and its varied temptations and trials, he knew no- 
 thing from experience. The details of luxury and 
 crime, and the scenes of poverty and ruin, which 
 sometimes reached his ear, seemed to him more like 
 those of some distant land, than as passing within 
 a short distance of him. He had received a tole- 
 rable country education, and his father had early 
 made him a good reader, by providing him with 
 such books as would be likely to give him informa- 
 tion and also to interest him. 
 
 Edward was now nearly twenty-two years old, 
 and unmarried ; but had long been engaged and 
 ardently attached to a young girl in his native 
 village. Lucy Lee was poor in worldly wealth, but
 
 THE miser's heir. 245 
 
 rich beyond description in the wealth of a sweet, 
 loving disposition, and gentle, feeling heart, com- 
 bined with great energy and determination ; and 
 richer still was she in an unfailing trust in the 
 Creator of all ; endeavoring daily, by her life and 
 conversation, to honour Him who had placed her 
 here for usefulness. Here were 'true riches,' for 
 which the miser's gold could offer no equivalent, 
 and which enabled her to toil uncomplainingly, to 
 support herself and the last relative left her on 
 earth, an aged and helpless grandfather. 
 
 It was in order that this dear relative should 
 know no division in her affectionate feelings, that 
 she had so long resisted Edward's entreaties to 
 unite her fate with his, and share the humble home 
 his daily labour would provide. 
 
 "Dear Lucy," Edward would say, "why not 
 allow me to work for your grandfather, too ? 
 Surely I can love him as well as you." 
 
 "You think so now," Lucy would reply; "but 
 you would not be so well satisfied after a while. 
 You know you have to toil hard now for your own 
 support ; and two more would burden you too 
 severely. No, Edward; we will wait patiently 
 until my dear grandfather needs my help no more. 
 He will soon fall, like the aged tree, and we vaU
 
 246 THE miser's heir. 
 
 remain as ■we are until the time shall come "when ho 
 ■will no longer need my care." 
 
 Edward had submitted very reluctantly to ■what 
 he felt was right. But, a short time previous to his 
 father's unexpected change of fortune, the aged 
 man had passed away ; and Lucy was now free to 
 fulfil her promise. She was busily engaged in her 
 simple preparations, when Mr. Wilson's death made 
 such an astonishing change in her lover's fortunes. 
 She was now to prepare for a city life, to which 
 she had been wholly unaccustomed. 
 
 An early day was appointed for their marriage, 
 and Mr. Prescott forbore pressing too closely on 
 his son the burden of his business affairs, until his 
 union with Lucy should leave his mind more free 
 and composed. A small but handsome house was 
 beautifully fitted up for the young couple ; and the 
 kind and loving mother of Edward, with his amiable 
 sisters, spared no trouble in arranging everything 
 which they thought might give pleasure to the 
 gentle and well-beloved Lucy ; who, though simple 
 in her tastes, cherished an intense love for the beau- 
 tiful in any form ; and her kind friends sought to 
 please her, by bringing to her new home such 
 luxuries as they knew she loved, but which her 
 limited means had prevented her from enjoying.
 
 THE miser's heir. 247 
 
 A beautiful conservatory, filled with the choicest 
 plants, opened into her light and cheerful parlour, 
 which boasted no finery or expensive furniture, but 
 neatness and good taste reigned throughout ; and 
 the light came softened through simple muslin cur- 
 tains, which shaded all the windows, instead of the 
 heavy damask with which the fashionable uphol- 
 sterer would fain have furnished them. 
 
 Lucy had a love for white ; and her own simple 
 dress was usually of that color, when the season 
 and weather would permit her to wear it. When 
 does any young maiden look so lovely as in plain 
 white muslin ? no matter whether she is brunette or 
 blonde, it is always becoming. Some say 
 
 "Dust will soil, and thorns will tear; 
 Is it fit for this world's wear?" 
 
 We think so, and would always choose it for the 
 young. It is the first dress put on the feeble in- 
 fant — emblem of its perfect purity ; and the last 
 covering for the body from which the prisoned soul 
 has just escaped to join the white-robed dwellers in 
 the world of light ! For Lucy it was a very suit- 
 able dress ; for never was a purer spirit enshrined 
 in a more lovely form. She was far superior in 
 person as well as intellect to her intended husband ;
 
 2-i8 THE miser's heir. 
 
 but still she loved him with an intensity of affection. 
 Sometimes his indecision of character, and the 
 readiness with which he was impressed with the 
 opinions of those around him, caused her much 
 anxiety ; but the shadow soon passed away, and 
 his ardent, manly affection for her, dispelled all 
 doubts from her mind. 
 
 The wedding was to take place early in June, 
 that month of flowers, which Lucy loved so well. 
 The young couple, by Lucy's own desire, were to 
 be married in the village church, and after the 
 wedding to proceed on their bridal tour. They in- 
 tended to visit some of the beautiful parts of our 
 country, and enjoy the magnificent scenery and an 
 examination of the great natural curiosities with 
 which it abounds, of which they had often read, 
 but had never expected to see. 
 
 They were ^united early in June, and the aged 
 pastor joined together two loving beings, for weal 
 or for woe, to encounter the 'battle of life' toge- 
 ther. But lately, the same solemn voice had con- 
 signed Lucy's last and dearly-beloved relative to 
 the silent tomb, and sounded in her ear the words, 
 "Earth to earth, dust to dust." She had listened 
 then with a chastened sorrow, and with new and 
 holy thoughts, arising from recollections of his
 
 THE miser's heir. 249 
 
 well-spent life, who now slumbered so peacefully 
 beneath the green sod. The same deep voice now 
 Bent her forth no longer alone, but with a manly 
 arm on which to lean, to encounter a life of tempta- 
 tion and perhaps sorrow. But no cloud darkened 
 the prospect then. 
 
 After leaving the church and bidding adieu to 
 their friends, Edward Prescott and his bride started 
 for Niagara, where they passed a few weeks, read- 
 ing new lessons from its imposing grandeur. They 
 afterwards travelled for some time amid the wild 
 western scenery, and other parts of our country, 
 and after an absence of about three months gladly 
 returned to their home. 
 
 Lucy was delighted with all that had been done 
 for her comfort, and only wished that Edward's 
 parents and sisters' were under the same roof with 
 her ; but the good sense of her mother-in-law told 
 her that it was best to leave them to themselves. 
 
 Edward's two sisters, Mary and Anna, were very 
 much attached to Lucy, whom they had known 
 from childhood. They were much older than she 
 was, and many years the elders of their brother. 
 They were past the time of life when women gene- 
 rally marry ; and although their father's wealth 
 brought many a suitor, they had determined on a
 
 2^0 THE miser's ueir. 
 
 single life, and politely but firmly rejected all pre 
 suasions to the contrary. 
 
 Mary and Anna had never seen the old raiser 
 from whoni their father had received his wealth ; 
 but when the accounts of his parsimony, although 
 much softened before reaching their ears, were re- 
 lated to them, they would shrink Avith disgust from 
 the details, and often say one to another, " Can a 
 blessing go with wealth gained in this way?" 
 
 It seemed as if they were to be redeeming 
 almoners of that ill-gotten wealth, for they early 
 began to appropriate a part of their father's ample 
 allowance to deeds of charity ; and, Avinter and 
 summer, in heat and cold, these kind and benevo- 
 lent M'omen might be seen administering comfort 
 to the weary and heart-broken, and sending many 
 a mourning spirit on its way rejoicing. One means 
 of bestowing charity, Avhich the sisters early adopt- 
 ed, Avas to pay liberally for all work performed for 
 them ; not striving to get things done cheap, but 
 encouraging, by their liberal compensation, the 
 honest spirit of independence Avhich makes a laborer 
 of many a delicate and gently-nurtured female. 
 
 Lucy usually accompanied them on their errands 
 of charity, Avhen she could be spared from her 
 duties at home ; and she laughingly used to say,
 
 THE miser's heir. 251 
 
 that her sisters consigned to her all the ' babies ' 
 that thej found were in want of attention ; for they 
 well knew her love for children, and that there was 
 no surer way to call forth the best feelings of her 
 heart, than by showing her a little child either sick 
 or in want ; and in this way it happened that many 
 a little voice was taught to lisp its daily prayer, by 
 the gentle and good Mrs. Prescott. 
 
 The old man's wealth was becoming, In their 
 hands, the cause of their finding 'true riches.' It 
 had never blest him; but it seemed now that it 
 was to be a benefit to others. Was there no warn- 
 ing internal voice which whispered to the young 
 and happy Lucy that it might not be always so ? 
 
 Edward Prescott had been placed by his father, 
 with many misgivings, at the head of the extensive 
 commercial house of his deceased uncle. The father 
 had not himself any knowledge of mercantile trans- 
 actions ; but he had a clear head, much reflection, 
 and a stern, unbending integrity. He sought to 
 acquire, even at his advanced age, some knowledge 
 of business, in order to aid his son by his advice ; 
 and it was always well bestowed as long as Edward 
 consulted his father in his affairs. 
 
 For several years everything prospered with the 
 wealthy and happy family. The first shadow which
 
 252 THE miser's heir. 
 
 fell across their path was tlie death of Edward's 
 mother. She had been ailing for many years, and 
 all that wealth could procure failed to restore her 
 to health. She passed away, blessing her children 
 to the last. Hers had been an innocent and useful 
 life ; and she had looked forward to its close here, 
 •with a chastened and holy joy. She had never 
 
 "pictured Death, a fearful tyrant; 
 
 But as an angel, beautiful as light, 
 
 Who watches o'er the sorrowing spirit here; 
 
 And when its weary pilgrimage is done, 
 
 Unbars the gates of everlasting life, 
 
 And vanishes forever !" 
 
 She had sought from the Book of Life to find the 
 fountain of 'true riches;" and the blessings and 
 heartfelt regrets of her children, as of many a one 
 ■who ' had been ready to perish,' followed her to her 
 final resting-place here. 
 
 To Lucy, the loss of her afi'ectionate mother-in- 
 law was very great. Her experience, guilelessness, 
 and firmness, had supported her through many a 
 trying scene ; and particularly was her value felt 
 in aiding her to bear calmly the little sicknesses 
 and ailments of her infant children ; Avhich, when 
 unsupported and alone, bring such trouble to the 
 heart of the young mother.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 The death of Mrs. Prescott -was a severe blow to 
 her husband. For more than forty years she had 
 been his stay and support. In every sorrow, and 
 they had had many, her gentle influence had 
 enabled him to sustain himself with fortitude; 
 and in their poverty, her untiring industry, pa- 
 tience, and economy, had materially lightened his 
 otherwise heavy burden. And in their sudden and 
 unexpected accession to wealth, how much did he 
 owe to her sterling good sense and love of useful- 
 ness, to aid him to bear prosperity which his wildest 
 dreams had never conceived ! 
 
 Mrs. Prescott had felt all a mother's anxiety for 
 Edward, when placed at the head of so large an 
 establishment as the late Mr. Wilson's; and the
 
 254 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 weakness ami indecision of Lis character, which 
 Boraetimes alarmed even the loving Lucy, were 
 better known to her than any one else. She had 
 opposed, so far as she thought right, the intention 
 of placing Edward in so responsible a situation ; 
 but her objections had been overruled by those 
 whom, in her humility, she considered better judges 
 of the case than herself. 
 
 " Surely we have more than enough for even our 
 most extravagant wishes," she would say; "why 
 desire to increase our already large possessions? 
 All our wealth will be our children's at our death, 
 and there is sufficient to supply every reasonable 
 want." 
 
 But her husband's argument in opposition to 
 this was, "Edward must have employment. He 
 has always had occupation for every moment, and 
 time would hang heavily, and I fear unprofitably, 
 on his hands, if he did not engage in some busi- 
 ness." 
 
 So far, Mr. Prescott was right ; but had he 
 counselled Edward to remain in the country en- 
 tirely, he would not have been surrounded by such 
 powerful temptations. Mrs. Prescott acquiesced 
 in his decision reluctantly, at first; but as there 
 had not been anything yet to warrant her early
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 255 
 
 fears, she became reconciled to her son's new mode 
 of life, and rejoiced over every fresh instance of 
 his success. Well for her that the grave closed 
 from her view the fulfilment of her forebodings, and 
 that she did not live to see the overthrow of hei 
 best wishes in regard to this dearly-loved son ! 
 
 Mr. Prescott's health gradually failed under the 
 pressure of his loss. Life became wearisome to 
 him, comparatively, without her who had made his 
 life so contented and happy. He missed her daily 
 care, her undeviating good temper, the warm wel- 
 come which always greeted him, and the numberless 
 little attentions to his comfort, which make home 
 so sweet. 
 
 His daughters were unwearied in their eflforts for 
 his welfare, and he fully appreciated their kind- 
 ness and devotion ; but much as he loved them, 
 they were not to him what she had been. He 
 'sank by slow degrees away.' There did not seem 
 to be much bodily suffering ; but his mind had 
 gradually become weaker and weaker, and his last 
 hours were spent in imaginary conversation with 
 her who had preceded him to the world of spirits ; 
 and affecting it was to hear the aged man converse, 
 as in days gone by, with hjer who had been so long 
 to him the main-stay of his existence.
 
 256 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 His wealth seemed to have passed entirely from 
 the dying man's recollection, lie imagined him- 
 self still beneath the old elm-tree -where he had 
 wooed and won his gentle bride ; when they began 
 life with scarcely a spare dollar, but rich in love 
 and simple, confiding trust in the great Father of 
 all ; sure that He who sufiers not a sparrow to fall 
 unnoticed to the ground, would bless their endea- 
 vors to lead a good and useful life. 
 
 The old man died. His children mourned for 
 him sincerely. The death of her father-in-law was 
 to Lucy a sore trial ; for after Mrs. Prescott's de- 
 cease, his gradually-declining health had made him 
 an object of great anxiety to all his family, and 
 particularly to the loving Lucy, who seemed again 
 to be watching the last hours of her dear grand- 
 father. 
 
 This was the second shadow which passed over 
 the brilliant fortune of Lucy Prescott. It was 
 dark and gloomy at first, but gradually passed 
 away, leaving, for a time, a bright and glorious 
 sunshine. Her two children were daily growing 
 in loveliness ; and her daughter Ellen combined 
 great beauty with a very strong mind. She was 
 now about twelve years old. Charming, indeed, 
 was the fair-haired, blue-eyed little girl, whose
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 257 
 
 every movement was grace, and whose voice was 
 music ! She had all the best points of her mother's 
 character, with the firm energy of her grandfather, 
 and the gentle, loving heart of her grandmother. 
 She was idolized by them all ; and yet neither 
 flattery nor indulgence marred the beauty of her 
 character. You could readily fancy her intended 
 for a high destiny in life. The luxuries and elegan- 
 cies of her father's dwelling, which had so greatly 
 increased since her grandfather's death, seemed to 
 be hers of right ; and your imagination could 
 scarcely place the fair and delicate child in any 
 other station than the one she now occupied. 
 
 To her maiden aunts, now very infirm, but still 
 useful women, Ellen was the 'bright, particular 
 star.' She passed several hours daily, with the two 
 old ladies, listening with meekness and attention to 
 their sensible advice. Lovingly and gently they 
 counselled her how to use aright the wealth which 
 would one day be hers. 
 
 " You must count yourself but the steward of 
 the Lord's bounty," they would say; "and it is 
 your duty to endeavor to spend aright what we fear 
 has been amassed by so many acts of extortion and 
 oppression. Let your wealth go abroad, healing 
 sorrow and afiliction wherever it may be found.
 
 25S THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 Haply some may be cheered who liavo been wronged 
 by the old man from whom your wealth originally 
 came. Let the miser's gold, if possible, find a 
 blessing. It was gained at the expense of suffering, 
 no doubt, and we have often felt as if it must yet 
 bring sorrow." 
 
 Ellen always listened with the greatest respect 
 and attention to her kind aunts ; and no time passed 
 more pleasantly to her than with those two cheerful 
 and affectionate relatives. 
 
 Ellen's brother, William, was two years younger 
 than herself. He was a serious, delicate boy, and 
 passed most of his time in reading and in quiet 
 amusements. For the boisterous and roving sports 
 of robust boys he did not seem to have any taste. 
 He was gentle and yielding, — more like his father 
 than Ellen ; his health, moreover, had never been 
 strong. 
 
 WcU-belovcd were they both, those lovely chil- 
 dren ; and in one thing they were peculiarly united, 
 — both cherished and possessed a talent for music 
 very unusual at their early age. Already Ellen 
 performed with great skill on the piano and guitar ; 
 and AVilliam, young as he was, had conquered many 
 of the difficulties which occur to most children. 
 
 Both Edward and his wife were fond of music ;
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 259 
 
 thougli neither possessed any knowledge of it be- 
 yond that acquired at a village singing-school. As 
 they had early determined that their children's 
 great talent for music should be well cultivated, the 
 best masters had been procured to instruct them ; 
 and the rapidity with which they advanced in 
 their studies was a pleasure to both teachers and 
 scholars. 
 
 One beautiful summer afternoon, the whole 
 family were assembled, just before sunset, in the 
 piazza of Mr. Prescott's country residence, a few 
 miles from Boston. Ellen, as usual, sat between 
 her two aunts. She had been singing with William 
 several beautiful songs ; and gradually a feeling 
 somewhat approaching to melancholy spread over 
 the whole party. They were waiting tea for Mr. 
 Prescott, who had not yet arrived from town. To 
 divert the seriousness which came over them, it was 
 proposed to walk and meet him as he came up the 
 road. 
 
 Ellen gave an arm to each of her aunts, and 
 William walked with his mother. No time was 
 spent more pleasantly by the affectionate boy than 
 that passed with his mother ; and he always chose 
 her society in preference to that of any other per- 
 son — his darling sister not being excepted.
 
 260 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 On this particular evening they wandered slowly 
 along, out of hearing of the rest of the party. A 
 thoughtful expression was visible on each of their 
 countenances, and some moments passe«l in silence. 
 At last, "William said, — 
 
 ." Dear mother, will you forgive me, if I ask you 
 a question wliicli perhaps you may think wrong, 
 but which is dictated by no improper curiosity. 
 Answer it or not, as you think best." 
 
 ""What is it, my son?" enquired Mrs. Prescott, 
 observing that he paused as if unwilling to proceed 
 further. " I know not any secret that should be 
 between us." 
 
 "Dear mother," continued "William, "I fear that 
 something, I know not what, is troubling father 
 a great deal; and the question I would ask is, 
 whether you have observed any change in him 
 lately?" 
 
 "Now that you mention it," returned his mother, 
 "I recollect that he has appeared quite serious 
 for some time past ; but he has always answered 
 my enquiries by saying that he had a headache ; 
 and I have had no suspicion of any other cause for 
 his unusual seriousness." 
 
 "Perhaps it is so," said William; "but yet" — 
 and here he hesitated : — " No ; I will not repeat
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 261 
 
 what I heard — it is, after all, but idle gossip, and 
 not worthy of a thought." 
 
 "You have greatly excited my curiosity, my 
 son," said Mrs. Prescott; "and if it is nothing 
 disrespectful to your dear father, I should like you 
 to repeat it. Perhaps it might aid me in my de- 
 sii'e to ascertain the cause of his unusual serious- 
 ness." 
 
 "Well," returned William, "I will tell you, 
 mother ; and if my words should sound disrespect- 
 ful, remember that they are not mine, but an- 
 other's." 
 
 William then proceeded to tell his mother that 
 on the preceding day he had gone to the city with 
 his father, and after walking some distance in the 
 hot sun, became fatigued and warm, and proceeded 
 to his father's counting-house, to enjoy the cool 
 breeze from the bay, and rest himself previous to 
 returning home. As he passed through the ware- 
 house, the clerks and book-keeper were all busily 
 engaged, and did not notice his entrance. His 
 father was not there, as he had expected, and being 
 very tired, he lay down on the sofa and fell asleep. 
 The sofa stood in such a position that those in the 
 warehouse could not see it without entering the 
 apartment. William had slept some time, when
 
 2<12 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 the sound of voices near at liand awoke him, and 
 the first words he heard immediately arrested his 
 attention. It ^Yas the grey-headed hook-keeper 
 who was speaking, and who thus addressed the 
 chief clerk : — 
 
 " It is very sad that he neglects his business so 
 entirely ; I believe he has scarcely been in the 
 store this week, and there are numerous important 
 affairs which require his immediate attention. His 
 business is already beginning to suflfer, and his 
 credit is somewhat shaken." 
 
 "What is to be done?" replied the other; "If 
 the old gentleman were living, we might hint to 
 him our suspicions." 
 
 "I wonder," said the book-keeper, "if Mrs. 
 Prescott has noticed that her husband is becoming 
 intemperate ?" 
 
 After proceeding thus far in his recital, William 
 paused ; for his mother became deadly pale, and he 
 feared she Avould faint. He placed her upon a seat 
 near by, and ran to procure some water with which 
 to revive her. 
 
 When Mrs. Prescott had partially recovered, she 
 kissed William, whose eyes were streaming Avith 
 tears, and said : " We will not talk further on this 
 matter at present. Perhaps you may not have
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 263 
 
 heard aright ; and at all events, we should not 
 judge any one on such slight grounds." This sho 
 said, hoping that William might have misunderstood 
 or heard imperfectly what he had repeated ; but a 
 single glance at his sorrowful face assured her that 
 lie was not influenced by her argument. 
 
 Just then, Ellen's joyful voice reached their ears, 
 calling aloud, " Papa's coming ! papa's coming !" 
 and they both arose to meet him. Mrs. Prescott 
 was still pale and trembling, but hoped to escape 
 notice; Ellen, however, as soon as she saw her 
 mother, anxiously enquired, — 
 
 "What is the matter, mamma; are you not 
 well ?" 
 
 "ITot'very, Ellen," was the reply; "and I will 
 return to the house with your aunts, who, I am 
 sure, must be much fatigued, while you and Wil- 
 liam walk to meet your father." 
 
 They accordingly separated ; and Mrs. Prescott, 
 giving an arm to each of her sisters, who were very 
 infirm, the three proceeded to the house, and placed 
 themselves at the tea-table, to wait for Mr. Prescott 
 and the children. 
 
 Voices were soon heard approaching the house, 
 and Mrs. Prescott listened almost painfully for the 
 first tones of the voice which had? for years sounded
 
 264 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 
 
 SO pleasantly to her. It struck her ear now with 
 a very different sensation, and made her shudder 
 involuntarily ; for the first words she heard were 
 uttered in the thick and broken manner peculiar to 
 the intemperate ! Ellen was joyfully giving an 
 account of the delightful ride she had taken, ac- 
 companied by her brother, on her own dear little 
 pony. 
 
 " Do you know, papa, that he canters so fast 
 that I can actually beat William's horse ! We 
 quite ran races this morning, greatly to the scandal 
 of some of our neighbors." 
 
 Mrs. Prescott listened anxiously for her hus- 
 band's reply ; for she knew that he had always 
 been very careful of William, whose lungs were 
 delicate, and had forbidden him to ride fast. But 
 no sound reached her, except a sort of indistinct 
 murmur. 
 
 By this time they had reached the parlor, and 
 Mrs. Prescott's first glance at her husband con- 
 firmed the many fears which had been locked up in 
 her own bosom for some months, but which Wil- 
 liam's communication had roused into fearful cer- 
 tainty. 
 
 Mr. Prescott's face was flushed, and his gait 
 trembling and uncertain, and he took his accus-
 
 THE PRESCOTT FAMILY. 265 
 
 tomed seat at the tea-table with scarcely a "word of 
 greeting. His sisters were too old, and their sight 
 too much impaired, to notice his condition ; and 
 William studiously averted his gaze from his 
 mother's face, and the lively Ellen had to talk for 
 the whole. 
 
 13
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 
 
 For a short period after the scene just described, 
 Mrs. Prcscott's attention was drawn from her hus- 
 band to attend more particularly to her aged sisters, 
 who began to fail very rapidly, without any actual 
 disease. They were closing, peacefully and tran- 
 quilly, their well-spent years ; and their lamp of 
 life was gradually going out here, to be rekindled 
 in that home to which they had always looked with 
 the humble hope that theirs might be the welcome 
 of, — " Well done, good and faithful servants !" 
 
 The wealth of Edward's father had been equally 
 divided between his three children ; and conse- 
 quently the sisters had a large fortune at their own 
 disposal. Their wills had been drawn out long 
 before ; and Ellen was to receive the portion of one
 
 THE VOYAGi; TO EUROPE. 267 
 
 aunt, and William that of the other ; — each to be 
 the other's heir in case of one dying without any 
 children. The property was settled upon them in 
 such a manner as to be entirely subject to their 
 control when they should reach the proper age. 
 
 On a beautiful day in August, it became appa- 
 rent that neither of the sisters would remain many 
 hours longer in this world. Ellen attended each 
 alternately, weeping bitterly ; for it might be called 
 her first sorrow ; and all know how heavily it falls 
 on the young and buoyant spirit. 
 
 "Ellen, dear," said the feeble voice of her aunt 
 Anna ; " do not weep so. It is the greatest privi- 
 lege to die as we do. Our lives here have become 
 almost useless, and why wish to retain these worn- 
 out bodies here, when you know that in the world 
 of spirits we shall renew again our strength ? We 
 have done with earth forever ; but if the spirits of 
 the departed are permitted to watch over those they 
 loved on earth, be sure that we shall be often near 
 you ; and once more, dear Ellen, — when the wealth 
 which will one day be yours, is at your disposal, 
 remember to use it aright ; cleanse it, if possible, 
 from the curse which I fear it will yet bring." 
 
 The morning sun shone on the withered and 
 worn-out frames which had once contained two as
 
 2G8 THE VOYAGE TO EUROPE. 
 
 bright and loving souls as ever visited this earth ! 
 At their own request, their remains were removed 
 to the village where they were born, and deposited 
 in the churchyard where their young feet had often 
 trod. 
 
 Ellen's grief was at first overpowering. She 
 'refused to be comforted;' and at last her mother, 
 fearing for her health, gently reproved her ex- 
 cessive sorrow, and by giving her employment dif- 
 ferent from her usual course, in some degree kept 
 her mind from dwelling on her loss. 
 
 Ellen was at this time about seventeen years of 
 age. She had not yet entered general society, 
 and was looking forward with great pleasure, pre- 
 vious to her aunts' death, to the ensuing winter, 
 when her father had promised her the most brilliant 
 ball that could be desired. But now she cared no- 
 thing about it, and was very glad that the respect 
 due to her aunts' memory would prevent it from 
 taking place. 
 
 The first thing which effectually roused her from 
 her sorrow, was the gently-intimated fear of her 
 mother for William's health ; and when her atten- 
 tion was directed to that point, Ellen was shocked 
 to perceive how much a short time had altered him. 
 He no longer wished to join in her plaintive songa,
 
 THE VOYAGE TO LUROPE. 269 
 
 but -would listen with intense delight to her rich, 
 full voice. The short, quick cough would interrupt 
 him when conversing, and dailj he became weaker 
 and more languid. 
 
 Mr. Prescott was deeply distressed at the situa- 
 tion of his darling boy ; and every means which 
 his great wealth could command was brought to aid 
 his recovery ; and for a time the demon which was 
 destroying his own life and health, seemed banished. 
 
 A sea voyage having been recommended, the 
 whole family prepared Ito go to Europe; hoping 
 that the balmy air of the south of France, or the 
 sweet climate of Italy, might bring back health 
 to the sinking boy. 
 
 But William had no such hope. From childhood 
 he had always felt a presentiment that his life here 
 would be short; and in his many conversations 
 with his mother, had fully impressed her with his 
 views, and in some degree prepared her for the day 
 which she felt must soon come. But she communi- 
 cated to no one her fe'elings or thoughts. Every- 
 thing that the most assiduous care could devise for 
 her son's comfort, was done with the same unselfish 
 energy which had always characterized her ; and no 
 one could have read, in Mrs. Prescott's calm de- 
 portment, the sorrow and anguish which were buried
 
 270 THE VOYAQE TO EUROPE. 
 
 in her bosom. Her grief for the young and inno- 
 cent boy, whose soul was soon to flee to its eternal 
 home, was lost sight of in bitter regret that the 
 husband of her youth was sinking down into degra- 
 dation and misery. For though the situation of 
 his son had in some degree arrested his downward 
 course, she knew that, the barrier once removed, 
 he would sink still faster than before. 
 
 Of the effect which this bad habit had had on 
 her husband's business, Mrs. Prescott knew but 
 little ; yet she could not d#ibt that it was very bad. 
 Distant rumors of heavy losses came to her ear ; 
 and sometimes an impatient exclamation would 
 escape from the infatuated man, which made her 
 fear that all was not well with him. 
 
 When their preparations were completed, Mr. 
 Prescott and his family embarked for Havre ; and 
 being favored with delightful weather, the drooping 
 invalid appeared much revived, and they all began 
 again to hope that "William might yet be restored 
 to health. 
 
 After arriving at Ha\Te, they proceeded by easy 
 journeys to the south of France, only remaining 
 long enough in the capital to see some of its most 
 prominent features ; and arrived, before the begin- 
 ning of winter, in a lovely village, where they in-
 
 THE VOYAGE. TO EUROPE. 2T1 
 
 tended to remain for some time. At first, "William 
 was greatly benefited, and became strong enough to 
 take exercise on horseback ; and Ellen and he en- 
 joyed some delightful excursions through the beau- 
 tiful country around. 
 
 The party remained in this neighborhood for 
 some time. William seemed to be gradually re- 
 covering ; though the kind and attentive physician 
 •who accompanied them never spoke very encourag- 
 ingly to his parents, of any permanent restoration. 
 They afterwards proceeded to Italy — that beautiful 
 land, of which Ellen had so often dreamed in past 
 years. 
 
 William enjoyed their journey very much, as his 
 parents adapted it entirely to his state of health ; 
 going each day just so far as his strength permitted, 
 and often stopping for some time at difierent places, 
 to admire the lovely scenery, and enjoy the balmy 
 breezes. 
 
 During all this long journey, Mr. Prescott's con- 
 duct occasioned his wife and William great uneasi- 
 ness. Sometimes he was extravagantly gay, at 
 others so gloomy that he would scarcely speak a 
 word for days together; and letters from home 
 never failed to plunge him into a state of restless- 
 ness and irritation which seemed almost to deprive
 
 272 THE VOYAGE TO KUllOPE. 
 
 him of his senses. Often would poor William press 
 his mother's hand in silent sympathy, as the tears 
 ■would fill her eyes — tears which she made great ef- 
 forts to conceal from Ellen, Avho as yet had not tho 
 slightest suspicioh of anything wrong, though she 
 would sometimes look surprised at the short, angry 
 answers of her father ; but, naturally unsuspicious, 
 she would attribute all to fatigue, and to anxiety 
 respecting William ; and by numberless little atten- 
 tions endeavored to cheer him.
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 SORROWS. 
 
 One day a large packet was received, containing 
 letters from home. Each seized with avidity those 
 directed to them. Ellen read with delight those 
 which were sent by dearly-loved young friends in 
 her native land, and Mrs. Prescott was also much 
 interested in messages from old friends ; but Mr. 
 Prescott held his in his hand, as if unwilling to 
 open them. At last, finding that his hesitation was 
 attracting attention, he proceeded to break the 
 seals. As he was reading them, his family, who 
 had withdrawn, from motives of delicacy, from the 
 table where he was sitting, were startled by a deep 
 groan from Mr. Prescott. They flew to him in 
 time to prevent him from falling on the floor, in a 
 fitate of insensibility ! 
 
 ■(O*
 
 274 ■ SORROWS. 
 
 They were greatly alarmed ; and when the usual 
 restoratives had roused him, his family were still 
 more surprised to hear the incoherent language 
 which Mr. Prescott uttered. He exclaimed re- 
 peatedly, "A ruined man — the curse has followed 
 me!" Then clasping his hands, he would implore 
 his wife and childi-en to pardon him — "a wretched, 
 undone man !" 
 
 "What is the matter, dear father?" enquired 
 Ellen ; " tell us, that we may share in your sorrow, 
 and perhaps lighten it." 
 
 " Cannot you tell, poor child ? you are beggars ! 
 yes, beggars ! — every dollar that I could ever call 
 my own is gone, and we are beggars !" 
 
 Again a fearful paroxysm seemed to shake his 
 frame ; and the physician who travelled with them 
 found it necessary to administer a powerful opiate, 
 in order to quiet hica. 
 
 When at last the unfortunate man was tranquil- 
 lized and removed to his sleeping apartment, and 
 Mrs. Prescott had time to attend to her children, 
 she was startled and distressed to perceive that 
 William appeared to be suffering extremely. She 
 took his hand in hers — it was burning with fever ; 
 and the quick breathing, and short cough, told that 
 the scene had been a fearful trial to him.
 
 SORROWS. 275 
 
 " My dear boy," said Mrs. Prescott, " are you 
 suffering pain ? How negligent we have all been, 
 to allow you to remain so long without repose. 
 Will you lie down now ? See, here is the sofa, and 
 Ellen will sing to you, and I will fan you to sleep. 
 Will you not rest, my dear boy?" and his mothef 
 gently raised his head, which was reclining on her 
 breast. 
 
 William seemed to be making an effort to speak, 
 but ineffectually ; and his mother had but time to 
 place him gently on the sofa, when the crimson 
 stream gushed from his lips, and he fell back nearly 
 lifeless. 
 
 Their distress may be better imagined than de- 
 scribed. William's health had seemed so much 
 improved of late, that all fears of immediate danger 
 had passed away, and they had begun insensibly 
 to plan for him a life at least prolonged for years. 
 
 William's situation now, in addition to the fearful 
 state of his father, called forth from Mrs. Prescott 
 and Ellen new energies, to bear and combat with 
 these aggravated trials ; and Ellen's affectionate, 
 unselfish character already began to show itself. 
 Young as she was, and wholly unused to any kind 
 of care, still no childish lamentation broke from 
 her lips ; but, composed and firm, she stood by her
 
 276 SORROWS. 
 
 mother's side, assisting her to administer to William 
 the necessary restoratives, which finally produced 
 Bleep for the sufferer, although attended with great 
 exhaustion. 
 
 All night did the anxious mother and daughter 
 watch by the invalids ; turning with tearful eyes 
 from the almost death-like sleep of "William to the 
 incoherent ravings of Mr. Prescott, whom the phy- 
 sician pronounced on the verge of brain fever. 
 
 These distressing events had occurred within a 
 day's journey of Rome, whither they had deter- 
 mined to proceed, and remain a few Aveeks. Their 
 accommodations at the inn, where they had stopped 
 merely to enjoy the beautiful scenery and afford 
 rest to William, were very scanty and uncomfort- 
 able. 
 
 The morning sun rose on a scene of great trial 
 and suffering. It became very evident to the 
 tender mother and sister, that the beautiful life of 
 their dearly-loved son and brother w^as rapidly 
 drawing to a close. The dying boy made many 
 ineffectual efforts to speak ; and after a restorative 
 had partially relieved him, he drew his weeping 
 mother and sister close to him, and having kissed 
 them affectionately, said with great diflBculty : — 
 
 " Dear mother, why weep that I am going to
 
 SORROWS. 277 
 
 my home — that suffering and sorrow will soon be 
 ended for me here ? I could not aid you in my 
 present state of health ; and I thank the Lord that 
 he has pleased, in his goodness, to lighten your 
 burden, by removing one source of grief and 
 anxiety ; and that your minds will be at peace as 
 regards me, in the storm of suffering and trial 
 which I plainly foresee lies before you. You are 
 aware, dear mother, that I long ago told you that 
 I feared my Father was wandering sadly from the 
 true way ; and as all concealment must soon be at 
 an end, I will venture to advise what I think will 
 be the best course for you all." Here his extreme 
 exhaustion obliged the sufferer to pause ; and when 
 again able to speak, he directed his remarks to the 
 weeping Ellen : " My darling sister, — can you, 
 whose life has heretofore been like a summer sun- 
 shine, realize for a moment that winter's blasts are 
 around you, rooting up your most cherished plans, 
 and overthrowing all loved and dear associations ? 
 But, my dear sister, dark as is the prospect, I have 
 no fears for you. Young as I am, I have already 
 learned to study character well ; and I foresee that 
 the dark cloud which will soon overshadow you, will 
 bring out, in beautiful contrast, the strength and 
 brightness of your mind ; making sunshine yet for
 
 278 SORROWS. 
 
 those you love, by a life, on your part, of useful- 
 ness, such as prosperity, uninterrupted, would never 
 have developed. My breath is growing shorter, 
 and wains me that I must hasten what I wish to 
 Bay. Will you, my dear mother, leave us alone for 
 a moment?" 
 
 Mrs. Prescott left the room, in compliance with 
 her son's wish ; well knowing what communication 
 he Avas about to make to Ellen, and sorrowing as 
 only those can sorrow, who know that the loved ones 
 can no longer retain the high station which good 
 conduct entitled them to hold. The great faults 
 of her husband's character were daily making them- 
 selves more manifest ; and she knew it was best for 
 Ellen to be apprized, by William, of what she must 
 soon know, as sorrow for his approaching departure 
 would blunt the edge of any communication, apart 
 from that. 
 
 And she was right. William's information of 
 the downward course of their dearly-loved father 
 struck, it is true, with great force on Ellen's unsus- 
 picious mind ; but the anxiety for fear her brother 
 would overtask his strength, and life depart even 
 while he Vfus talking, made the intelligence less 
 engrossing than it -would otherwise have been. 
 
 William broke the news to his sister gently and
 
 SORROWS. 279 
 
 kindly: "Iknow, dear Ellen," said he, "that no 
 faults of our dear father will ever cause you to vary 
 for a moment in your feelings toward him, or lead 
 you to relax in your duty. And I fear a time will 
 come, when he will be dependent on your love en- 
 tirely—perhaps for his subsistence; for I think 
 his fortune is gone." 
 
 Ellen looked very much astonished at this in- 
 formation ; for she had so long been accustomed to 
 regard her father as a rich man, that she could not 
 at first comprehend that it was possible to be other- 
 wise; but her brother told her that, previous to 
 their leaving home, the old book-keeper, who was 
 much attached to him, had told him plainly, that 
 bad speculations, stock-gambling, and, he feared, 
 other species of gambling, had so far impaired his 
 father's fortune, that a few more losses would 
 plunge him into irredeemable ruin ; and it was the 
 news of these losses which had overcome Mr. Pres- 
 cott, on receiving their last package of letters from 
 home. 
 
 "And now, dear sister, promise me that when 
 you come into possession of your fortune and mine, 
 which will soon be yours, you will endeavor to 
 repair, with that money, some of the wrongs which 
 our father's conduct may have entailed on others.
 
 280 SORROWS. 
 
 It is no ordinary sacrifice which will be required, 
 dear Ellen ; for you have been reared in habits 
 which will make privation, perhaps want, very 
 severe ;to you ; and I wish you to consider well 
 before you make the promise, as it cannot be ex- 
 acted from you without your free-will. I have 
 always felt, like our dear aunts, that a blessing 
 would hardly follow that old man's gold ; and many 
 a time has the thought of that aged woman's curse 
 crossed my mind, in the lone hours of the night. 
 Relieve, if possible, some of the suffering caused 
 by his grasping avarice. It may be that your all 
 will be required ; but I have no fears, dear Ellen, 
 but that it will be cheerfully given." 
 
 Ellen remained silent for some time ; and her 
 brother watched with anxiety the changes of her 
 countenance. Standing, as he did, on the verge 
 of eternal life, how trifling and unimportant seemed 
 all of this world's goods to him, in comparison with 
 the ' true riches,' which would enable Ellen, parti- 
 cularly, to find within herself treasures of untold 
 value, in self-sacrifice, and a determination to re- 
 pair, as far as possible, the wrongs which others 
 had committed ! And yet, light as they seemed 
 in comparison, William saw at a glance that Ellen 
 could not as yet feel as he did, who had so nearly
 
 SORROWS. 281 
 
 done "with time. Life yet spread out to her many 
 a brilliant prospect ; and he knew that the over- 
 throw of many loved and cherished plans would 
 follow, if she fulfilled his suggestion. 
 
 Anxiously did her brother watch for the good to 
 triumph over the evil, in the struggle which he saw 
 was taking place in Ellen's mind ; and the tears 
 flowed freely from his eyes, when he observed the 
 small hands clasped in prayer, and the slight frame, 
 quivering with emotion, bend humbly to implore 
 strength from above. He knew then that her 
 triumph was sure ; she had gone to the only source 
 from whence succour could come, in this her hour 
 of trial ; and he felt convinced that ' all was well ' 
 with her. 
 
 A pressure of the hand, and the ardent kiss 
 which Ellen bestowed on the dying boy, told him 
 that the promise was registered on high more 
 plainly than words, and that his dying request 
 would be fulfilled ; and he made a sign to Ellen to 
 recall his mother. 
 
 With a hand of each firmly clasped in his own, 
 William gently went into a slumber, which being 
 prolonged beyond the usual time, Mrs. Prescott 
 rose from her seat at his bedside, and anxiously 
 bent over him. The last struggle was over ! In
 
 283 SORROWS. 
 
 that quiet sleep the beautiful spirit of William 
 Prescott had passed to its future home ! 
 
 No violent grief was manifested, no loud shrieks 
 were heard, as the mother and daughter remained 
 gazing on the sweet, calm face of the dead. Emo- 
 tions very engrossing in their character, were filling 
 the mind of each ; and it would have seemed sinful 
 to the two, now doubly endeared to each other, to 
 have wished for a moment to recall to the suffering 
 which each felt was to come, the dear one, now 
 slumbering so peacefully. 
 
 Mr. Prescott's state was still such, that he would 
 not have understood, even if he had been told of 
 his son's death. A heavy stupor had succeeded the 
 violent paroxysms which he had experienced at 
 first ; and he had not appeared conscious of any 
 outward objects since then. His previous habits 
 of intemperance added still greater danger to the 
 fever which had attacked him ; and his physician 
 watched anxiously, lest life itself should depart. 
 
 After waiting a few days, and finding that her 
 husband's condition did not improve, Mrs. Prescott 
 concluded to have William's body removed to its 
 last resting-place, the English churchyard, which 
 was not many miles from the inn where they were 
 staying.
 
 SORROWS. 283 
 
 On a glorious day, when all was bright around 
 them, and nature smiling in the luxuriance of 
 summer, the small procession, which bore to its 
 mother earth all that remained here of as pure and 
 lovely a heart as ever beat within a frail body, 
 wound slowly through the beautiful valley, on its 
 way to the churchyard. 
 
 Calmly, but with a silent sorrow, stood Mrs. 
 Prescott and Ellen beneath the noble tree which 
 shadowed the simple grave of their dear son and 
 brother. Sorrow for their loss might surely be for- 
 given them ; as it was unmingled with a selfish 
 thought or wish that it might have been otherwise. 
 It was sorrow Avhich chastens and subdues, while it 
 enables the spirit to bear and suffer yet more firmly 
 what may be still to come. Such sorrow 
 
 " the good man bears. 
 
 As the archangel wears his wings, to elevate and glorify I" 
 
 After the service was over, Mrs. Prescott and 
 her daughter requested to be left alone for a while ; 
 and the rest of the small company having retired, ^ 
 both, with their hands clasped, knelt silently by the 
 grave. Into their hearts at that time, none but He 
 to whom their voiceless prayers ascended, could 
 look. But they rose, after an hour of silent com-
 
 284 SORROWS. 
 
 muning with their Father in Heaven, strengthened ; 
 — to go on their way, if not rejoicing, at least 
 without murmuring. 
 
 And here we may again quote the words of Jean 
 Paul : — " And let this one sorrow be forgiven 
 them, or made good to them — the sorrow for their 
 dead one ; for this sweet sorrow for the lost is itself 
 but another form of consolation. When the heart 
 is full of longing for them, it is but another mode 
 of continuing to love them ; and we shed tears 
 when we think of their departure, as well as when 
 we picture to ourselves our joyful reunion — and 
 the tears dc not diffsr much."
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 
 
 On the evening following "William's burial, Mrs. 
 Prescott and Ellen sat side by side in the apartment 
 of the unconscious father. Their hearts were full, 
 and each was struggling to support the other ; and 
 many a silent pressure of the hand told of sym- 
 pathy and love. Both knew and fully realized that 
 they were called upon to act — that they ' must be 
 up and doing, while the day lasted;' and after a 
 time passed silently, Mrs. Prescott said, in a low, 
 but firm voice : — 
 
 " Ellen, my child, let us counsel together what is 
 next to be done. Your father's last intelligible 
 words are still ringing in my ears, and I feel that 
 even in the hour of sorrow we must yet think of 
 how we are to proceed, in order to save more
 
 2SG THE RETURN HOME. 
 
 expense than wc have already incurred within a 
 short time." 
 
 "Let us return home, my dear mother," replied 
 Ellen, " as quickly as possible. In that dear land 
 of my cluldhfjod, I can think, and, I trust, act, 
 better and more wisely than here. Let us go home, 
 and then determine our plans for the future." 
 
 " But I fear your father's state forbids removal," 
 returned Mrs. Prescott. 
 
 " I have asked our kind doctor," said Ellen ; 
 " and he says that he may journey safely after a 
 few days. lie intimated, also, that his health 
 would not be materially better for some time — 
 perhaps months." 
 
 A slight shudder shook the frame of Mrs. Pres- 
 cott, as a glance at the vacant countenance of her 
 husband told how many hopes and affections were 
 buried there in that inanimate form. Visions of her 
 youth, Avhen the manly form of her lover, and his 
 earnest pleadings for her to bind her fate to his ; 
 hours of sweet communion J)eneath the old trees 
 of her native village, with no thought of wealth, 
 but what their own labor could realize ; and the 
 trembling which had sometimes seized her, when 
 she saw those traits of indecision and weakness 
 which she dreaded — all flashed across hor memory
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 287 
 
 at once. ' Would that the ohl man's gold had gone 
 with him to his grave !' she was ready to exclaim ; 
 * we should not then have had the burden of a curse 
 to carry witla us through life.' 
 
 In a few days, Mr. Prescott's bodily health began 
 perceptibly to mend, and something like reason to 
 return to his mind ; and taking advantage of this 
 favorable change, the Avhole family embarked from 
 the nearest sea-port, for home, to which Ellen, in 
 particular, looked forward with intense eagerness. 
 A small branch from a rose-bush which grew near 
 the grave of her deceased brother, was her most 
 cherished treasure ; and she never looked at it, but 
 new resolutions sprang up in her mind, to fulfil to 
 the utmost the dying charges he had given her. 
 'It shall be my talisman,' said Ellen. 'A glance 
 at it shall strengthen me, when my resolution is 
 likely to fail ; and it shall always be my companion, 
 serving me as a memorial of the dear one who is 
 now sleeping in a foreign land.' 
 
 Ellen had commui>icated to her mother the last 
 conversation held with her brother, and had re- 
 ceived from her a tearful but earnest injunction 
 to do as her own heart prompted. "A few short 
 months, dear Ellen, will put you in possession of a 
 noble fortune. You cannot be cnllod upon to sacri-
 
 2SS THE RETURX HOME. 
 
 fice one dollar of it, unless you choose. Your 
 aunts' will prevents any one from using it, except 
 yourself; and its future disposal rests in your own 
 hands." 
 
 " I could not enjoy it, dear mother, while a 
 stain rests on my father's name. If gold poured 
 out freely can wash it out, I will cheerfully give 
 all — yes, all — to do it. You know, dear mother," 
 continued Ellen, smiling sadly, " I used to laugh, 
 and say that it was a pity my voice should be of no 
 use ; perhaps its notes may yet bring something of 
 value to us all." A silent pressure of the hand 
 told Ellen how deeply her loving mother felt the 
 possibility of such an event. 
 
 A short and pleasant voyage soon brought the 
 wanderers home ; and Ellen could hardly realize, 
 as she stood again beneath the roof of her father's 
 costly mansion, that it was not a dream which 
 had passed over her ; and almost expected to see 
 the delicate form of her brother, reclining on the 
 sofa beneath the spreading ^urtain, as he used to 
 to do in former times. 
 
 The news of Mr. Prescott's heavy losses was not 
 generally known, as many of those interested had 
 waited for his return, trusting that matters might 
 be better than was conjectured. His miserable
 
 THE RETURN HOME. 289 
 
 state prevented him from taking any active part in 
 arranging his business affairs, as it was only at in- 
 tervals that reason seemed to break through the 
 heavy clouds which encompassed it ; and then it 
 was the moaning of a child over a lost plaything, 
 rather than the manly sorrow of a misguided man. 
 
 Mr. Prescott Avould weep and lament over the 
 prospect of leaving his beautiful house ; and almost 
 agonized his poor wife and daughter, by loud 
 lamentations for his grand dinners and costly wines. 
 "We shall starve — all starve, I know!" exclaimed 
 the poor, weak man ; " we cannot live unless we 
 have all just as it is now, and I shall have to eat 
 pooF things instead of my nice dinners !" and then 
 a violent fit of crying would render his utterance 
 stupid and imbecile. 
 
 Poor Ellen ! with her high and lofty aspirations 
 after 'true riches,' such as money could not buy, 
 how harshly his childish lamentations grated on her 
 ear ! She had nerved herself for great things ; but 
 this puerile sorrow almost broke her heart. 
 
 Their friends — and they possessed some sterling 
 
 ones, who were uninfluenced by their . golden days 
 
 of prosperity, and who clung to them just as firmly 
 
 now that adversity seemed coming upon them — 
 
 advised Mrs. Prescott to put her husband's affairs 
 
 13
 
 290 THE R L T U U N 11 M E . 
 
 at once into the hands of an experienced man of 
 business. It -was possible, by judicious manage- 
 ment, that something might yet be saved from the 
 ■wrreck ; and if not, why it was better to know the 
 worst. 
 
 Many a one said, ' How fortunate it was that 
 his daughter's aunts bound up their property in 
 such a manner that Mr. Prescott could not touch 
 it ! Ellen has now a very large fortune at her 
 command, and can still live as she does now, if she 
 chooses.' Little did they imagine that every dollar 
 of it was already appropriated, in Ellen's mind, to 
 the payment of her father's debts ; and that she was 
 merely waiting to ascertain the best way in which 
 to accomplish her purpose ! 
 
 Mrs. Prescott's first step was to leave their 
 stately mansion ; giving up all that it contained, 
 including great quantities of plate, and costly fur- 
 niture. Many things in the house, the creditors, 
 who respected the gentle and lady-like wife and 
 daughter, would willingly have pressed them to 
 retain ; but they firmly declined. The valuable 
 jewelry, which Mr. Prescott's pride and affection 
 had induced him to purchase for his wife and 
 daughter, was also left behind in the house, to be 
 sold for the benefit of the creditors. The family
 
 THE RETUPwN HOME. 291 
 
 removed to a small cottage, several miles from 
 the city, which had formerly belonged to Ellen's 
 aunts, and was still very comfortably and neatly 
 furnished. 
 
 Mrs. Prescott and her daughter left their beau- 
 tiful residence with scarcely a pang of regret ; but 
 the lamentations of Mr. Prescott over his hard 
 fortune, as he termed it, were very distressing. 
 
 " To think of going in a common stage ! — why, 
 Ellen, I won't go in that way ! — Where is Thomas 
 and the carriage ? I am sure you need not be so 
 miserly — you have got money enough ; then vhy 
 do you make your poor, unfortunate father so 
 miserable?" 
 
 These lamentations were constantly uttered by 
 the poor man, and added new pangs to the heart 
 of his already heavily burdened daughter. To 
 be accused of avarice, when she valued her wealth 
 only because it might save her father's name 
 from disgrace, and repair the wrong which his im- 
 prudence had occasioned, was indeed a bitter cup 
 to drink ; but when most unnerved by his com- 
 plainings, a look at the cherished rose-tree would 
 again strengthen her to bear and endure.
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 MORE SORROWS. 
 
 A IIEAYY misfortune, as some would term it, 
 seemed about to overtake Ellen ; and it was one 
 from which she shrunk with bitter tears. A blind- 
 ness seemed about to fall on her gentle and loving 
 mother. For years she had dreaded it ; and emi- 
 nent medical skill had been employed at various 
 times, in order to avert it, if possible. Mrs. Pres- 
 cott's sight had been somewhat better during tlicir 
 absence ; but now the disease seemed to increase 
 rapidly, and the almost heart-broken Ellen was told 
 that probably it would never be cured. Now, in- 
 deed, her cup of sorrow seemed full. To her 
 mother she had invariably looked for support and 
 comfort, in the trials through -which she knew she 
 must pass before anything like quiet could be again
 
 .''':■ liii 
 
 ''"' Ilia " 
 
 If^^M 
 
 Death of William Prescott.
 
 MORE SORROWS. 293 
 
 restored to them ; and to have to cheer and assist 
 her mother, instead of receiving the support she 
 herself needed, was indeed a great affliction ; and 
 but for the firm and fixed principle of right which 
 had been early instilled into her mind by her 
 mother and aunts, and which William's dying words 
 had strengthened and encouraged, Ellen would have 
 sunk under it. 
 
 In Mr. Stanton, an able lawyer, and esteemed 
 friend of the family, Ellen found a very judicious 
 adviser; and although he was surprised, and at 
 first disapproved of her intention to devote her 
 fortune to the payment of her father's debts, her 
 arguments, and right views of what respect to his 
 name demanded, finally silenced, if it did not con- 
 vince him. 
 
 " I tell you again, my kind friend," said Ellen, 
 that I cannot enjoy the wealth which you call mine. 
 It came, originally, laden with the tears and groans 
 of perhaps thousands of sufierers ; and I feel that 
 no blessing came with it. My dear aunts, and my 
 darling brother, advised me to sanctify it, if pos- 
 sible, by spending it aright ; and if but one heart 
 is cheered by its use, why this part of the curse is 
 removed. Nay, do not smile at my superstition, as 
 I suppose you think it 1"
 
 294 MORE SORROWS. 
 
 " If I were so disposed, my young friend, I 
 should certainly suppress all such feeling, and 
 bear my willing testimony, that the source ■whence 
 comes your present strength to perform so noble 
 an action, must be on high ;" and the speaker bowed 
 his head almost reverently before the blushing 
 Ellen. 
 
 " Do not praise me too much, Mr. Stanton," re- 
 plied Ellen. " But for my dear aunts and brother, 
 I fear I never should have had courage to under- 
 take so great a task ; but I feel that their blessing 
 goes with it." 
 
 "And what is your plan?" enquired Mr. Stan- 
 ton ; " I should like fully to understand your 
 views." 
 
 "First," replied Ellen, "to ascertain the amount 
 of my father's debts ; and if my own fortune will 
 cover them, in addition to what may be realized 
 from his houses and personal property, to give it 
 all up to the creditors, reserving merely enough to 
 make my father and mother comfortable during 
 the remainder of their life. Six or seven hundred 
 dollars a year will do that, with economy ; and at 
 their decease, that sum shall alsc go toward liquid- 
 ating any further claims." 
 
 "And for yourself, my dear young lady?" en-
 
 MORE SORROWS. 295 
 
 quired the wondering lawyer. "You havb> not 
 named any sum for yourself." 
 
 Ellen's answer was to open the grand piano, 
 which her loving aunts had provided for her use, in 
 the house in which they lived, and where so much 
 of her life was spent ; she struck a few chords 
 with a trembling hand at first, but which gradually 
 became stronger, and then a gush of melody flowed 
 from her lips, fairly startling the listener with its 
 sweetness and power. 
 
 "There is my fortune !" said Ellen, almost gaily, 
 though a tear was in her eye ; for it was the first 
 time she had sung since the death of her brother. 
 " There is my gold-mine ! What is the use of 
 having a voice to sing, if one cannot use it ? I 
 intend to teach other birds to carol like myself!" 
 
 " My dear young lady, I fear you little realize 
 what you are about to undertake. You cannot be 
 aware of the heavy task of teaching." 
 
 "Indeed you are mistaken. I have thought 
 much of it, and I think fully understand all the 
 difficulties in my way ; but with you to bear testi- 
 mony to my abilities, I do not doubt that I shall 
 succeed." 
 
 "Well, may God speed you," replied Mr. Stan- 
 ton ; " and I am sure he will ; for your conduct
 
 296 MOKE SORROWS. 
 
 deserves the blessing it ■will surely find. And now 
 farewell for a few days. When I see you again, it 
 will probably be to deprive you of that golden 
 charm which some would prize beyond that price- 
 less spirit which aids you now in your seeking after 
 *true riches !' " 
 
 Great were the outcries, and even remonstrances, 
 of Ellen's friends, when they became aware of her 
 determination to appropriate her wealth towards 
 paying her father's debts. " What nonsense !" 
 cried one. " She must be mad ! They are not her 
 debts — what business has she to be paying them ?" 
 "And," said another, "she might still live in that 
 beautiful house, and keep her carriage, just as her 
 parents formerly did. To think of throwing away 
 such a noble fortune, in order to pay other people's 
 debts ! — I have no patience with such folly !" 
 
 But all did not make such remarks as these ; for 
 young Mr. Stanton expressed his admiration in the 
 most ardent terms. He had long loved the gentle 
 Ellen, but unknown to her ; for her youth, previous 
 to her departure for Europe, had prevented him 
 from ever paying her any particular attention. 
 His feelings towards Ellen, however, were well 
 known to his father, and he liad his permission to 
 win her for his wife, if he could ; but now, when
 
 MORE SORROWS. 297 
 
 she was about to give up her noble fortune, and 
 seek a livelihood for herself, he somewhat feared 
 that his father might change his opinion. But he 
 soon found that his father looked with feelings of 
 admiration on the noble resolution of Ellen ; and 
 Mr. Stanton, when questioned on the subject by 
 his son, replied : " My dear boy, if my consent was 
 cheerfully given when you asked it before, be sure 
 that I will even aid you now to obtain such a trea- 
 sure as any man will possess in that self-denying, 
 excellent girl. I have ample means — honest, hard- 
 earned wealth — enough for you both, and which 
 will be yours at my decease ; you need not the 
 miser's gold to make your life, should you win her, 
 a happy and prosperous one." 
 
 The young man had been educated for the minis- 
 try; and with something of the same unselfish 
 energy exhibited by Ellen, he had not sought a 
 pulpit in the city, but wished to carry out into the 
 ' Far West ' his talents and desire to benefit man- 
 kind ; yet, being an only child, and his father ad- 
 vanced in years, he had remained at home, to give 
 to his parent the attention which he knew he needed 
 and would miss. 
 
 In the course of a few weeks, Ellen's large for- 
 tune passed into other hands, save the small sum 
 
 13*
 
 298 MORE SORROWS. 
 
 reserved for the support of her almost idiot father 
 and ailing mother. They were established in their 
 cottage home, which Ellen had also retained, and 
 from which every article of luxury was banished, 
 save Ellen's piano, which was to bring the means 
 of support to the ardent and energetic girl. 
 
 The knowledge of Ellen's history soon brought 
 many pupils to her residence, and she attended 
 a number of others at their homes. Curiosity, 
 no doubt, prompted some to patronise her, in order 
 to see how the wealthy heiress would appear in her 
 new station ; and perhaps similar ill feelings may 
 have prompted others ; but the majority looked 
 on her as a dearly-loved friend, and bestowed every 
 attention on her which delicate interest could 
 prompt.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 One day, just as Ellen was preparing to leave 
 home, a strange, rough-looking man entered the 
 little garden before the cottage, and enquired, in a 
 loud voice, for Mr. Prescott. Ellen, who was 
 standing near the door, asked him his business, 
 telling him that Mr. Prescott was ill. 
 
 " 111 ? I'm sorry for it ; for I wished to tell him 
 something that perhaps might please him ; and now 
 I think of it, you must be the one I ought to thank." 
 
 "And for what, my good friend?" asked Ellen, 
 mildly ; " I do not remember ever seeing you be 
 fore." 
 
 " I dare say not : but did you never hear of the 
 curse which Mr. Wilson received from the old wo- 
 man?"
 
 300 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 " Yes," replied Ellen ; " but why allude to what 
 passed so long since ? I do not like to think of it 
 at all." 
 
 "I dare say not ; for it was a heav'y curse," said 
 the man. " I heard it uttered, and in my childish 
 heart joined in ; for I was the little boy whose hand 
 my grandmother held when she pronounced those 
 dreadful words." 
 
 " Were you indeed ?" enquired Ellen, fearing 
 that the man sought to see her father, in order to 
 add a new insult to his already heavy load. But he 
 looked at her with almost tearful eyes, and told her 
 that he had sought employment from Mr. Prescott, 
 with the intention of injuring him in some way ; 
 and that his grandmother had charged him to 
 pursue the family with the hatred which she carried 
 to her grave. 
 
 For several years, the man had worked for Mr. 
 Prescott, without ever alluding to his relationship 
 to the old woman, but still cherishing an inward 
 dislike to his employer. Gradually, however, his 
 ill feeling had disappeared ; and a short time pre- 
 vious to Mr. Prescott's departure for Europe, he 
 had permitted quite a large sum of money, for a 
 poor man to have saved, to remain in his hands ; so 
 that when he received the news of his employer's
 
 ENCOUEAGEMENT. 301 
 
 failure, the thought of his own loss nearly drove 
 the man distracted. 
 
 " I was nearly mad, my dear young lady, and 
 thought that my grandmother's curse was visited 
 on me for trusting any one belonging to a man 
 whom she so bitterly hated. I scarcely know what 
 I should have done, for I was like a maniac ; when 
 one morning, a few weeks since, I was sent for to 
 Mr. Stanton s office, and there received every cent 
 due me; and," continued the hard-featured man, 
 evidently struggling with deep emotion, " I was 
 also told that to Mr. Prescott's daughter I owed it 
 that I was not a ruined and undone man. And 
 now take a poor man's blessing ; and may it drive 
 away the dreadful curse which still hangs around 
 the old miser's gold !" 
 
 So saying, the man turned and left the garden 
 as abruptly as he had entered ; but Ellen returned 
 into the house, to cheer her mother with the tale. 
 Ellen's arduous duties that day were lightened, and 
 she returned home that evenino; light-hearted and 
 encouraged. She found that a pKysician, for- 
 merly well known to their family, had visited her 
 mother during her absence, and proilounced her 
 eyes curable, if she would submit to a painful 
 operation, and some months of close confinement ;
 
 302 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 and suggested that it -would be much better for her 
 to become a resident of the Ilospital, during that 
 period. 
 
 "But how could I leave you, my dear Ellen, 
 alone -with your poor father ? You know how 
 wearisome are his complaints after his lost wealth, 
 and how bitterly he reproaches you for depriving 
 him of the use of your money. How could you 
 bear this trial alone ? and where should we find 
 means to pay the great expense?" and poor Mrs. 
 Prescott's countenance again became very sad, as 
 the difficulties which presented themselves dissipated 
 all the hopes which had at first inspired her. 
 
 " There 's nothing to prevent, dear mother," re- 
 plied Ellen. " You must go, and trust me for 
 removing all obstacles. You know my wand turns 
 all to gold!" continued she, gaily; "and I shall 
 have ample means to pay all expenses ; and as for 
 poor father, never fear, I will so amuse and pet 
 him, that he will forget past days and enjoy the 
 present !" 
 
 Ellen spoke cheerfully and gaily ; for the thought 
 of her mother's restoration gladdened everything 
 around her, and she felt as if all else was light in 
 comparison. 
 
 On her next visit to the city, Ellen sought out
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT. 303 
 
 the physician who had visited her mother, and re- 
 ceived from him so much encouragement that her 
 sight could be entirely restored, that she begged 
 the necessary arrangements might be made without 
 delay. In a short time, Mrs. Prescott was re- 
 moved to the city, and Ellen accompanied her ; with 
 tearful eyes, but a cheerful voice, encouraging the 
 failing strength of her mother, by bright pictures, 
 which she drew of scenes of future enjoyment, 
 when she should have recovered her sight. 
 
 "You will not know me, dear mother. I am 
 such a great, red-cheeked girl, that you will not 
 believe it is your delicate, often-drooping Ellen. 
 I am happier in the possession of health than all 
 the gold of the Indies could make me. I have 
 found riches of which the old miser, in his gold- 
 seeking, never dreamed. I have found within my- 
 self such riches as I never should have discovered, 
 had I continued to live in that hotbed of splendor 
 and indulgence in which my early days were passed. 
 Believe me, dear mother, I should not have found 
 ' true riches ' there ; for I should have considered 
 that it was impossible to work, or use those gifts 
 which I possess. 
 
 Mrs. Prescott was cheered and encouraged by 
 Ellen's conversation; and though the thought of
 
 304 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 parting "was a very hard one, yet each was com- 
 forted by the consciousness of doing her duty, and 
 the determination to support each other in this 
 added trial. 
 
 "When Ellen had seen her mother comfortably 
 fixed with their kind friend, Dr. Howard, and had 
 remained long enough to see that the tremor, which 
 at first was agitating her, had begun to subside, 
 she kissed her afiectionately, and bidding her good- 
 bye, said gently and cheerfully : " Do not have an 
 anxious fear, dear mother, for my father. I will 
 watch him very carefully and obediently, and strive 
 to divert him as much as I can. You know I have 
 two or three holidays this week." 
 
 Ellen spoke cheerfully to her mother ; for she 
 saw plainly that her naturally strong mind was 
 sinking gradually under the pressure of this great 
 affliction ; for to deprive Mrs. Prescott of the 
 power to act^ was indeed the greatest of all suifcr- 
 ing. She had borne unrepiningly the death of her 
 dear boy, and the loss of their fortune ; even the 
 degraded state of her husband had never caused 
 her to vary in her kind and gentle treatment to- 
 wards him ; but the prospect of passing many 
 long years, perhaps, in a state of inactivity, was 
 dreadful for her to contemplate. Dr. Howard
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT. 305 
 
 spoke encouragingly to his patient ; and though he 
 carefully avoided exciting hopes which might be 
 disappointed, still he said enough to cheer them 
 both. 
 
 The parting of mother and daughter was a very 
 great trial ; but as it was absolutely necessary, it 
 was submitted to without repining, and Ellen left 
 her mother, to return to a home cheerless, indeed, 
 now that that dear parent was not there to advise 
 and assist her to press onward in her duty; for 
 Ellen had many trials to encounter in her new 
 avocation ; and numerous mortifications, of which, 
 at a former period in her life, she had never sup- 
 posed it likely that she would be the subject, often 
 sent her home in tears. But never for a moment 
 had Ellen regretted the use to which her property 
 had been applied, or failed in one single duty to- 
 ward her erring father, whose state was daily be- 
 coming more and more pitiable. 
 
 When Ellen reached home, she found her father 
 sitting in the piazza ; and after speaking to him 
 pleasantly and afFectionately, she explained the 
 cause of her mother's absence. She had some 
 difficulty in making him comprehend Avhy it was 
 necessary for her to leave home. He shed tears, 
 as he always did now, when anything crossed him,
 
 306 ENCOURAGEMENT. 
 
 and complained bitterly that he was always the 
 sufferer. 
 
 •' But for you, Ellen, I might have still had my 
 nice house and plenty of attendants, and your 
 mother need not have had to go away like a pauper. 
 You gave away your money to strangers, and let 
 your parents want ; and that you call doing your 
 duty!" 
 
 Ellen bore his reproaches in silence ; the whole 
 ground had been so often gone over before, without 
 making her father conscious that it was Ms fault, 
 not hers, which had occasioned the change in their 
 manner of living, that she seldom replied now to 
 his remarks. 
 
 The poor man, aged in appearance, from ex- 
 cesses, not from years, wept and lamented for 
 some time over his hard fate ; and when he seemed 
 to become more calm, Ellen led him into the house, 
 and persuaded him to rest on a sofa ; then opening 
 her piano, though wearied with her day's work, 
 she poured out for him such beautiful melody, that 
 his restless and complaining spirit was gradually 
 soothed, and Ellen soon had the satisfaction of 
 finding him much more quiet and contented, and 
 even disposed to speak somewhat kindly to her. 
 Cheered by this good beginning, his affectionate
 
 ENCOURAGEMENT. 307 
 
 daughter related to him every little event which 
 she could recollect, that would be likely to amuse 
 and interest him ; and he finally retired for the 
 night, without resorting to his usual tumbler of 
 brandy and water.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 • NEW TRIALS FOR ELIEN. 
 
 Before her mother left home, Ellen had received 
 a very feeling and manly letter from young Mr. 
 Stanton, telling her of his hopes, and hegging her 
 to give a favorable answer. Ellen had always es- 
 teemed him greatly ; and, perhaps, under other 
 circumstances, would have willingly accepted his 
 suit ; but the promise, silently made at the bedside 
 of her dying brother, never to forsake her father 
 during his life, forbade her encouraging any atten- 
 tions, and she firmly but gently requested Mr. 
 Stanton never to mention the subject again. 
 
 " I shall never marry while my father lives. I 
 have bound mj'Self by a promise, never to leave 
 him, or suffer him to want for any personal atten- 
 tions, while he remains here ; and highly as 1
 
 . NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 309 
 
 esteem myself honored by your sentiments, so 
 kindly expressed, and by your respected father's 
 approval, I must again repeat, that all solicitations 
 to induce me to change my mind will be in vain." 
 
 When Ellen's answer reached Mr. Stanton, his 
 disappointment was at first severe, yet he respected 
 and even loved her more for her decision ; but 
 feeling it to be impossible for him to meet her 
 without painful feelings, he begged his father's 
 permission to travel for a while, to which he con- 
 sented ; and after an interview with Ellen, who told 
 him frankly, that under other circumstances she 
 might have decided differently, and promised to 
 retain for him a place in her memory, as among her 
 best friends, the young man bade her and his father 
 adieu, and departed for a tour in Europe ; resolved 
 to use all his energies to make himself a better 
 teacher and minister of God's word, by bringing to 
 his work a mind chastened and subdued by this, 
 his first severe trial. 
 
 • • Mr. Stanton had Ellen's permission to write to 
 her ; and his letters always interested her extremely, 
 especially when he wrote from such places as she 
 had visited; and tears of fond recollection stole 
 down her cheeks, when a large package reached 
 her, containing a minute account of his visit to her
 
 310 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 
 
 brother's grave, and kind messages from many who 
 remembered the sweet American girl, who so ten- 
 derly loved, and assiduously watched over her in- , 
 valid brother. A few leaves, carefully dried and 
 pressed, from the rose-bush which grew near her 
 brother's resting-place, were also enclosed. 
 
 Mr. Stanton often alluded delicately but feel- 
 ingly to the cause of his leaving his country, and 
 expressed his appreciation of her motives in de- 
 clining his suit, in such terms as made Ellen grate- 
 fully feel that at least she had gained a warm 
 friend, and one who would always be willing to aid 
 her in pursuing the right way. 
 
 Ellen's trials heretofore, though very severe for 
 80 young a person, had been of the kind which 
 admits most readily of consolation to those who 
 look for it froin the proper source. In the death 
 of her dear grandparents and aunts, the knowledge 
 that they had passed the period when a continued 
 stay here is not desirable, reconciled her, after the 
 first bitter pain of parting was over; and after 
 her brother's death she had also been consoled by 
 the conviction that a prolonged life would have 
 been one of physical suffering, from which she un- 
 selfishly rejoiced that he was delivered. But her 
 mother's blindness was an event which had never
 
 NEW TRIALS FOE, ELLEN. 311 
 
 occurred to Ellen as possible; for Mrs. Prescott 
 had carefully concealed from lier family the appre- 
 hensions which had filled her own mind ; and though 
 she was cheered somewhat by Dr. Howard's hopes 
 of a permanent cure, yet sadly and bitterly the 
 poor girl wept when she was first left alone to 
 watch over the other parent, whose ' living death ' 
 was a far greater trial than committing to their 
 mother earth the bodies alone of those she had so 
 loved. 
 
 Mr. Prescott's state was indeed a pitiable one. 
 Never strong in character, or able successfully to 
 combat with temptation, the sudden change from 
 his quiet life in the country to the thousand snares 
 and enticements of the city, had completely unset- 
 tled his mind; and he had gradually wandered 
 away from the straight path of right, and groped 
 in thick darkness, without the bright light of reli- 
 gious faith and trust to guide him through the be- 
 wildering vices which beset him on his sudden 
 accession to wealth. Designing men had early 
 singled him out for a prey ; and through them he 
 had entered into the most rash and daring specula- 
 tions ; contrary to the advice, and indeed sometimes 
 without the knoAvledge of the worthy and ifitelligent 
 men who had really conducted the prosperous busi-
 
 > 
 
 312 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 
 
 ness of Mr. "Wilson ; fur he, selfish and grasping 
 as he was, had seen enough to know that he must 
 have able men to take charge of his aflFairs. But 
 Mr. Prescott chose to trust to the representations 
 of men who flattered his self-love by an assumed 
 deference for his opinions, and who aided their 
 schemes by bringing him constantly into scenes 
 fraught with temptation, which they well knew 
 would gradually overthrow what little firmness he 
 possessed. 
 
 At first, Mr. Prescott's evenings only were passed 
 in the luxurious rooms which were fitted up by the 
 , men whose deep-laid plans were at last successful 
 in ruining his business; and different games of 
 cards were always in readiness whenever he chose 
 to join ; but it was to the demon of strong drink 
 that they finally owed their success. At first, it 
 was but the glass of wine, which was proffered to 
 their welcome guest, the rich merchant, Mr. Pres- 
 cott; and months elapsed before the wine was 
 exchanged for stronger liquids ; but the taste for 
 drink, and the necessity for stimulants, had been 
 firmly fixed, and it needed but little of a more 
 powerful spirit to disarrange his ideas and com- 
 pletely bewilder his memory. Then the largest 
 speculations, and not very honest proposals of these
 
 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 313 
 
 harpies, were met with but little opposition ; and 
 his money or his signatm-e was easily obtained in 
 order to carry out schemes which were rash and 
 oftentimes dishonorable. 
 
 Mr. Prescott's departure for Europe had left 
 them still further time to operate ; and the passion 
 for drink Avas by this time so firmly established, 
 that he could not, even if he had wished, untangle 
 the web which they had wound about him. 
 
 Drinking had aflFected his health, by making him 
 heavy, dull, and stupid; and most of the time, a 
 vacant stare took the place of intelligence in his 
 eye ; and mumbled, indistinct words were often the 
 only answer obtained of him when asked a ques- 
 tion. Childish repinings and wearying complaints 
 were much more common than violence ; but some- 
 times he would become quite ungovernable and 
 self-willed. And this miserable being Ellen at- 
 tended with assiduous care ; cheerfully resigning 
 the smallest gratification of herself, and never 
 leaving him, even for an hour, except when obliged 
 to attend to her pupils. They had secured the 
 services of an old and faithful servant, who had 
 lived with Mr. Prescott when he first brought to 
 his home his gentle Lucy, a bride, and who was 
 
 extremely attached to them both ; and in her care 
 
 ' t
 
 .TH NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 
 
 Ellen felt that her father was quite safe during her 
 necessary absences, provided he Avas not attacked 
 by one of those ungovernable fits of violence ; yet 
 every evening, Avhen returning home, how wildly 
 her heart would beat, until assured of his safety by 
 looking into his room, and seeing him in his usual 
 arm-chair, with a newspaper before him, which he 
 thought he was reading, but which was seldom 
 turned over. 
 
 A ray of something like pleasure would gleam 
 across his face, when his lovely and gentle child 
 would greet him with her sweet voice and pleasant 
 smile ; and he would listen to her melodious voice 
 as she sung to him, with apparent gratification. 
 Sometimes Ellen would gently coax him to take, a 
 walk with her into the village ; and not an un- 
 courteous or unkind remark ever reached her ear, 
 nor did a stare of vulgar curiosity ever cause her 
 to blush, as, giving him her arm, she carefully 
 guided her father's tottering and feeble steps along 
 the way. So well was her story known, and she 
 herself so much respected and loved, that her 
 sphere of purity and holy piety threw a halo even 
 around the poor, degraded and fallen man. 
 
 The most encouraging accounts continually reach- 
 ed Ellen, of her mother's gradual recovery of sight ;
 
 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 3l5 
 
 and after an anxious interval of four months, their 
 kind friend, Dr. Howard, came himself to tell the 
 tearful but happy Ellen, that her mother had again 
 recovered her sight, and that nothing now prevented 
 her return home, but the care necessary to recruit 
 her general health ; and he advised a still further 
 residence where she was, as he feared any excite- 
 ment would materially injure her. Hard as it was 
 to bear the continued separation, still Ellen at once 
 acquiesced in his advice that she should not attempt 
 to see her mother for at least a couple of weeks. 
 
 Ellen observed that Dr. Howard several times 
 looked earnestly and anxiously at her father ; and 
 she asked him, when they had left the apartment, 
 if he perceived any indication of sickness in his 
 appearance ; to which be candidly answered that 
 he did. 
 
 " He looks much more feeble than he did some 
 weeks since. Have you noticed any indications of 
 his not being well, within a few days past?" 
 
 Ellen replied, that he had appeared to be much 
 weaker than usual, and more inclined to sleep ; but 
 otherwise she had not observed any change. 
 
 Dr. Howard left her directions for some medicine 
 for her father, and told her what to do in case the 
 attack should prove such as he suspected ; he then
 
 310 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 
 
 took his leave, promising to visit her father again 
 on the morrow. 
 
 Ellen resolved not to leave her father during the 
 night, but to remain on the sofa in his room. He 
 retired to rest at his usual hour ; but Ellen observed 
 that he seemed to be weaker than usual, and fell 
 asleep almost as soon as he lay down. She had 
 administered the medicine, as directed, and leaving 
 him calmly sleeping, she went down stairs to com- 
 municate her fears to old Margaret, who she 
 found had also noticed a change in him. Ellen 
 reclined on the sofa, merely exchanging her dress 
 for a wrapper, and Margaret remained in an ad- 
 joining room, ready to be called, should she bo 
 needed. 
 
 Mr. Prescott seemed to be sleeping quietly, and 
 Ellen's fears being somewhat removed, she gra- 
 dually became drowsy, and soon fell asleep, and 
 dreamt of many a pleasant scene in her past life, 
 which suddenly, however, became mingled in her 
 fancy with dark and dismal pictures. She imagined 
 that she was standing by a beautiful waterfall, such 
 as she had often seen in their wanderings abroad, 
 — that heavy clouds were above her, and that sud- 
 denly the roar of the cataract became almost deaf- 
 ening, and a hand, which she had not seen, was
 
 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 317 
 
 pulling her forcibly towards it. She awoke with 
 a sudden start, and found old Margaret standing 
 by her, trying to arouse her, and an appalling 
 sound, as of heavy groans or sighs, issuing from 
 her father's bed. In an instant, Ellen was on her 
 feet, and found Dr. Howard's prediction verified, 
 that Mr. Prescott would shortly be attacked with 
 apoplexy. 
 
 Old Margaret instantly summoned the nearest 
 physician, whom Ellen had apprized of her father's 
 illness, before retiring to rest. He came to her 
 immediately ; but a glance satisfied him that all 
 remedies would be useless. Poor Ellen's fortitude 
 did not forsake her under these trying circum- 
 stances ; but how she longed for her dear mother's 
 support ! Yet she knew that her life perhaps de- 
 pended on her being kept free from excitement ; 
 and earnestly and humbly did the good and pious 
 daughter implore assistance from her Father in 
 Heaven, to enable her to fulfil perfectly her duties 
 to her earthly parents. 
 
 Mr. Prescott never recovered a moment's con- 
 sciousness. He lingered for twenty-four hours, 
 and then departed from this world, where he had 
 so little honored his Maker's greatest gift — that 
 of life !
 
 31 R NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 
 
 When Ellen became aware that her' father 
 was indeed no more, she was, for a time, wholly 
 overpowered by the bewildering thoughts which 
 crowded on her memory. Her imagination flew 
 rapidly back to the time of her childhood, passed 
 in her father's costly mansion, surrounded by every 
 luxury which wealth could provide ; and when that 
 father, whose bloated and disfigured corpse now 
 rested in its last sleep, was her idol, whose foot- 
 step, as he returned from his business, was watched 
 for, and on whose knee some of the happiest hours 
 of her youth were passed — when her slightest 
 wish expressed to him was instantly granted, and 
 who had never uttered a harsh word to her, until 
 he became no longer master of himself, and so 
 bitterly reproached her for depriving him of those 
 luxuries he so much prized. But these complaints 
 and his harshness were all forgotten. She mourned 
 now for the father she had so dearly loved ; and 
 sorrow gently threw a veil over his faults, leaving 
 freshly impressed on her mind the beautiful remem- 
 brance of her father's early love. 
 
 It was considered best to apprize Mrs. Prescott 
 of her husband's death, and also to counsel her to 
 remain quietly where she was, so as not to expose 
 her health to the excitement which would be the
 
 NEW TRIALS FOR ELLEN. 319 
 
 consequence if she attended the funeral ; to which 
 she consented reluctantly, at first ; but Ellen having 
 ■m'itten to her, and implored her to remain quiet, 
 saying again and again, " Dear mother, I have 
 none left now but you ! Oh, think how precious is 
 your life now to me, and do not risk it by exposing 
 yourself to this painful scene!" this strong argu- 
 ment, as Ellen well knew, operated more power- 
 fully with her unselfish and gentle mother than any 
 other ; and Mrs. Prescott remained, and Ellen en- 
 countered the sad trial of attending her father's 
 remains to their final resting-place, without any 
 relative to sustain her, or whisper words of comfort 
 — yet not alone — for her Heavenly Father was 
 breathing peace and comfort into her soul ; and the 
 consciousness that, as far as it was in her power, 
 she had saved her earthly father's memory from 
 reproach, cheered her, even amidst the dark and 
 trying scene.
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 The meeting of Ellen and her mother can be 
 more readily imagined than described. How closely 
 the bonds which united them together were tight- 
 ened by their lonely situation ! but they gave not 
 many hours to useless sorrow. 
 
 Ellen, true to her promise, insisted that the 
 creditors of her father should receive the sum 
 which she had reserved for his lifetime, and which 
 her mother absolutely refused to retain for her own 
 use. 
 
 " If my gentle Ellen can encounter the trials 
 necessary for our support, surely I can ; and I 
 could not enjoy living on that money, while the 
 thought that even one poor man might be suffering 
 from poverty and privation, in consequence of the
 
 CONCLUSION. 321 
 
 wrongs which others more than himself made my 
 unfortunate husband commit." 
 
 Finding these two gentle women firm in their 
 refusal to avail themselves of the small income 
 which remained, Mr. Stanton added to the amount 
 already received, the proceeds of the sale of the 
 pretty cottage which had belonged to Ellen, and 
 also the small sum retained by her for her father's 
 use ; and Ellen declared that she now felt free for 
 the first time since her father's misfortune. 
 
 " Thank Heaven !" exclaimed the enthusiastic 
 girl, " I have not now a dollar of the old miser's 
 gold ! All has gone, and cheerfully been relin- 
 quished, to wipe away, if possible, the guilt and 
 sorrow caused by its accumulation. Now, how 
 cheerfully will I work, and never dread to hear 
 the reproach that Ellen Prescott lives in luxury, 
 and the poor man, who trusted her father, is starv- 
 ing ! The curse which came with the miser's gold 
 will never haunt me again !" 
 
 And now, strong and hopeful in her sense of 
 right, Ellen went on her way rejoicing ; bringing 
 to her daily labor a cheerful, unbroken spirit, and 
 still spreading sunshine around her, by her uncom- 
 plaining submission to her present situation in life. 
 
 To be of use, was her great desire ; and the only 
 
 14^
 
 322 CONCLUSION. 
 
 •vrcaltli wliicli she coveted, was tluat winch should 
 make her rich, by enabling her to benefit mankind 
 in any way, however small ; and she daily realized 
 that, in order to do this, worldly wealth was not so 
 much needed as an unselfish disposition, and a 
 determination to make a good use of what had 
 been bestowed on her. Her ' mite ' often brought 
 more real joy and comfort than all the ' treasures ' 
 cast in by others ; for a blessing surely went along 
 with it. 
 
 Ellen became in a short time the beloved and 
 respected wife of Mr. Stanton; and in the 'Far 
 West,' Avhither he voluntarily turned his steps 
 after his father's death had left him free, she is 
 cherished as a gift from Heaven. She and her 
 dear mother are indeed 'ministering angels' to 
 many a sufierer ; and she follows in her husband's 
 steps, ' pouring in oil and wine ' to many an outcast, 
 left 'by the way, to perish.' 
 
 That Mrs. Stanton has found the source of ' true 
 riches,' her cheerful, happy life shows. She had 
 known what life was, burdened Avith unhallowed 
 gold; she had also knoAvn the precious feeling of 
 independence earned by her own endeavors ; and 
 she thanked God daily, that she was enabled, by 
 his assistance, to seek for the fountain of true
 
 CONCLUSION. 323 
 
 ■wealth — purer than gold, "and more to be desired 
 than fine gold." 
 
 " Oft the doud, which wraps the present hour. 
 Serves but to brighten all our future days!" 
 
 TBB END,
 
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