ltd 
 
 m 
 
TALES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 GARDEN OF KOSCIUSZKO 
 
 BY 
 
 SAMUEL L. KNAPP 
 
 Her secret stores let Mem ry tell ; 
 .Bid Fancy qnit her airy cell, 
 In all her colors dreat, 
 M hile, prompt her sallies to control, 
 Reason, the judge, recalls the soul 
 To Truth s severest test." 
 
 Then onward lake thy flight again, 
 Mix with the policies of men, 
 And social Nature s ties; 
 The plan, the genius of each state, 
 I:* iiu rest and its pow rs relate, 
 Its fortunes, and its rise." 
 
 NEW-YORK: 
 PRINTED BY WEST & TROW. 
 
 SOLD BV THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE 
 UNITED STATES. 
 
 1834. 
 
Entered according to the Act of Congress, in the year 1834, by 
 SAMUEL L. KNAPP, in the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the 
 Southern District of New- York. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 THE PROVOST PRISON 9 
 
 THE MAJUAC 23 
 
 THE BLACKSMITH, OR THE INFLUENCE OF LETTERS UPON MORALS... 35 
 
 ACLLAHUA 51 
 
 THE TROGLODYTES S5 
 
 THE TENSONS 99 
 
 THE LOOT CHILD 105 
 
 MY Doc 175 
 
 THE EXILE... ..189 
 
 3113 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 A FEW months since, when exhausted by hard 
 labor, I visited West Point to breathe a little fresh 
 air among the hospitable inhabitants of that delight 
 ful spot. After a fatiguing walk to Fort Putnam, a 
 ruin examined by every visitor at the Point, I sought 
 the retreat called KOSCIUSZKO S GARDEN. I had 
 seen it in former years, when it was nearly inaccessi 
 ble to all but clambering youths. It was now a 
 different sort of place. It had been touched by the 
 hand of taste, and afforded a pleasant nook for read 
 ing and contemplation. The garden is situated in 
 the shelvy rocks which form the right bank of the 
 Hudson, about fifty or sixty rods southerly from the 
 point on which the monument erected by the Cadets 
 to the memory of Kosciuszko now stands. You 
 descend by a well gravelled path- way, about eighty 
 feet, not uncomfortably steep, then by flights of steps 
 forty feet more, when you reach the garden which 
 is a surface of rock, through the fissures of which 
 spring a scanty and stunted vegetation. The garden 
 is about thirty feet in length, and in width, in its 
 utmost extent, not more than twenty feet, and in 
 some parts much less. Near the centre of the garden 
 there is a beautiful marble basin, from whose bottom 
 through a small perforation, flows upward a spring 
 of sweet water, which is carried off by overflowing 
 on the east side of the basin towards the river, the 
 surface of which is about eighty feet below the gar- 
 
6 PREFACE, 
 
 den. In the afternoon, and in fact for a greater part 
 of the day, the retreat is sunless, and if the wind 
 is southerly, a breeze comes up the river to make the 
 spot delightfully cool. It was here, when in its rude 
 state, that the Polish soldier and patriot sat in deep 
 contemplation on the loves of his youth, and the ills 
 his country had to suffer. It would be a grateful 
 sight to him if he could visit it now, and find that a 
 band of youthful soldiers had, as it were, consecrated 
 the whole military grounds to his fame. His martial 
 spirit would take fire in beholding such exact mili 
 tary maneuvers, as are exhibited by the scientific 
 corps ; and in the pride of his soul he would declare 
 that a country who gave her sons such an education 
 could never be conquered or enslaved. In a moody 
 frame of mind I spent several hours, occasionally 
 glancing on the pages of an old magazine I had 
 taken to amuse myself in this retreat. As I pored 
 over it, my eye caught a page containing some 
 sketches of the genius and peculiarities of^Raphael. 
 Among other things, it was stated that when that 
 great artist was engaged in embellishing with his 
 pencil the three apartments of the Vatican, which 
 are now the glory of Rome, that he sought relaxation 
 and found relief by changing the subjects of his art. 
 After having labored on his great Scripture piece, 
 which he was unable to finish without penetrating 
 the empyrean to catch a sight of celestial beings, or 
 entering deep into the infernal regions to portray some 
 friend, stretched " on the burning marie of hell," he 
 threw aside all the sublime agonies of composition, 
 and came down to light and playful subjects. He 
 would often sketch a likeness of some singular looking 
 person on his thumb nail, as the traveller passed his 
 window ; or call up to his mind the features of some 
 loved maid, and leave her image on the margin of 
 
PREFACE. 7 
 
 a favorite book ; then, perhaps, he threw down his 
 pencil, to catch up his pen, to write a sonnet to the\ 
 eye-brow he had painted. By this course he acquired \ 
 mental vigor to again reach " the heaven of inven- / 
 tion" exhibited in his "TRANSFIGURATION," and/ 
 other mighty works. In this moment of dreamy 
 Iassitnde 3 the thought struck me forcibly, that this 
 was true philosophy, and should be pursued by all 
 who felt enfeebled by exertion, whether corporal or 
 mental. The example indeed was a lofty one, but if 
 in morals we are bound. to take infinite perfection as a 
 standard, and to imitate all the imitable portions of the 
 character of the Author of the Christian religion, is 
 there a want of modesty in following an illustrious 
 example of manners and habits among men ? The 
 thought no sooner entered my mind, than I resolved 
 to try the experiment of recruiting myself by writing 
 a series of short tales, and brief sketches, and before 
 I left the garden, my subjects were all noted down. 
 
 These" tales are mostly founded on incidents 
 in real life, and several of them are not as singular 
 or romantic as the facts or the chronicles from which 
 they were drawn would warrant. A part of one of 
 these tales, "The Lost Child," was written several 
 years since, but circumstances prevented me from 
 finishing it until now. The rest of them are as 
 fresh as the blossoms of June were when I conceived 
 the thought of writing them, whatever may be their 
 beauty or perfume. 
 
 In a quotation I have made in " The Acllahua," 
 from an article on the " Last of the Incas," it will be 
 perceived that the spelling of several names is diifer- 
 ent from the one I have adopted, but I did not feel 
 at liberty to alter any thing coming from the pen of 
 such an accurate and classical scholar as Caleb 
 dishing. 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 It is a maxim that every man should be devoted to 
 
 some duty, as life is short ; but most assuredly these 
 
 duties ought not all to be severe exertions of mind. 
 
 \ There should be some indulgence given to the imagi- 
 
 A nation ; some revelling in creations of our own : or 
 
 why should God have given us the power of creating 
 
 in the manner he has ? Nor is it always the labor 
 
 . which most exhausts the body and mind, that is the 
 
 most beneficial to society. 
 
 The botanist who discovers some new plant for 
 food or medicine, does his duty as well as the sturdy 
 artisan who fells the august pine destined for " the 
 mast of some great amiral." 
 
 It is not the heaviest work that requires the most 
 mind to execute; the elegantly little often requires 
 more skill than the vast and magnificent. It is 
 unnecessary to say any thing more upon these little 
 efforts of my leisure, as^ they contain no equivocal 
 morals, nor advocate any strange doctrines. 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 " The miserable have no other medicine. 
 But only hope !" 
 
 ; I have hope to live, and am prepar d to die." 
 
 THERE is no spot on earth, it is said, but has supplied 
 a grave ; and it may be added, there is no acre of ground 
 we tread upon, but has, if we knew all about it, some 
 epic tale that would consecrate its memory, and excite 
 our lasting wonder. This doctrine was forcibly impressed 
 upon my mind a few days since, as I was admiring the 
 lights and shadows as they fell upon and between the 
 Ionic columns of the finely proportioned Grecian build 
 ing, on the east side of the Park, near the City Hall. 
 As I stood gazing on the classic edifice, admiring its 
 symmetry and beauty, a friend joined me, and on my 
 informing him of the subject of my contemplation, 
 he observed, I suppose you are acquainted with the 
 fact that this building now turned to a Grecian Temple, 
 was the old jail which was built many years before the 
 revolutionary war, and was used as a provost prison, after 
 the British took possession of the city of New- York, 
 until the war closed. If these walls had a tongue, said 
 he, how many tales of horror could they relate of suffer 
 ing and death. Among the sad stories of the place, 
 
 of the old Sugar-house, and the Jersey prison-ship, there 
 2 
 
10 THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 is orie which was- related to me by a brave officer of the 
 re*pl?itioriary: army, lately deceased, and which has fixed 
 itself* on my m ihd more distinctly than any other. The 
 officer belonged to the American army, which in the 
 autumn of 1776 was at West Chester. He was acting 
 as commissary to the troops of the Massachusetts line, 
 and when the stock of provisions grew scarce, he took a 
 party of light infantry, and went out to collect some grain 
 in the neighborhood. Some delay occurring by the break 
 ing down of a wagon, the Americans were overtaken by 
 a large body of the enemy, both infantry and cavalry, 
 and after a sharp conflict the Americans retreated to a 
 wood near them, and made their escape. The commis 
 sary was an accomplished swordsman, and being well 
 mounted, he did not attempt to reach the wood, but making 
 a desperate struggle for life and liberty, he rushed upon the 
 cavalry, and cutting right and left, while his horse was in 
 full speed, passed them with only a slight wound ; but he 
 had not galloped but a few rods, when another party of 
 horsemen, coming from a cross road, made it impossible for 
 him to escape, and he yielded himself a prisoner, which 
 he did not consider much preferable to death, as all who 
 were captured then were held as rebels, and liable to 
 suffer death at the caprice of their captors ; but that 
 they might not proceed to extremities was all the conso 
 lation his case admitted of. British officers, among whom 
 were many humane men, justified the severity then 
 practised towards prisoners, on the plea that severity to a 
 few would, in the end, be mercy to many, and stop the 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 11 
 
 effusion of human blood by bringing about a speedy 
 reconciliation between the two countries ; but those who 
 reasoned in this way, knew nothing of the people they 
 had to contend with. They were born in oppression, and 
 grew by it ; they had known no indulgence, and they 
 expected no protection. In the constitution of every 
 man was incorporated an indomitable opposition to usurpa 
 tion, and the united forces of the world could not have 
 cured them of their republican feelings. 
 
 The commissary was brought to the city and thrown 
 into the provost prison. He had fought bravely, and this 
 with Britons is always a passport to esteem. Some of his 
 captors told the orderly who conducted him to prison, to 
 see that he had as good a room as the prison afforded. 
 But while they performed this order, they robbed him 
 of every thing valuable about his person. He was to 
 have the best room in the prison ; but bad indeed was the 
 best ! It was a room in the south-western corner of the 
 building, on the second floor not more than twenty feet 
 by sixteen in size. In this room were crowded eleven poor 
 wretches a selection of the best of the prisoners those 
 at least of the highest grades in society. All but one 
 of them were sick, although they had been there but a 
 few weeks. One prisoner in particular, attracted the 
 commissary s attention. The sick man made one deep 
 groan, hid his face, and was silent. At the time the 
 commissary entered the prison, the inmates were only 
 allowed one solitary tallow candle to assist them in their 
 whole operation in taking care of the sick and dying 
 
12 THE PROVOST PRISON, 
 
 The youth who was on the floor knew his neighbor and 
 his father s friend, but lie had made up his mind to die 
 without a murmur or sigh, and in fact, without a disclo 
 sure of his name; but in the afternoon of the next day. 
 as the rays of the sun fell through the grates into the 
 room there was no City Hall there at the time the 
 commissary thought the countenance of the youth familiar 
 to him, but when or where he had seen him he could not 
 recollect. This often happens to those whose lives are 
 spent in passing from one part of the world to another. 
 As the surgeon, a good jolly looking fellow, entered the 
 room on a visit of ceremony, merely to take an account 
 of those who had died the last twenty-four hours, the 
 commissary, a man whose appearance bore the spirit 
 of command, in a tone not altogether familiar to the ears 
 of the surgeon in a prison, directed him to attend to that 
 youth, and to have him removed to the hospital. Non 
 sense ! replied the leech, he was sent here to die. I 
 satisfy my conscience, that is enough. But looking on 
 the commissary with a slight degree of respect, he replied, 
 if you wish it, I will look at his case ; I think you were 
 the officer who was taken yesterday, and brought to the 
 city. I was taken yesterday, was the answer. Well, well, 
 said the surgeon, I have just been to visit three of the 
 number of those you wounded in the fight yesterday. 
 What a terrific cut and thrust fellow you must have been 
 to have given so many shocking wounds as you did in a 
 running fight for life; I must inform you, sir, that one 
 of the wounded officers ordered me to come and see you } 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 13 
 
 for he feared that you had received a sad wound in the 
 abdomen, and required attention. I should have been run 
 through the body, said the commissary, if the point 
 of his sword had not been stopped by striking my watch ; 
 this preserved my life. The surgeon, half propitiated, 
 called out to the young man, then apparently senseless 
 before him, Boy, open your eyes, and your mouth, let 
 me feel of your pulse. This was done in a mechanical 
 sort of manner by the surgeon. The patient obeyed. 
 When the former had been gone through with, the surgeon 
 turning to the officer, said, there is nothing the matter 
 with the lad, that does not arise from hunger and grief. 
 A bowl of broth, and the sight of his mother, would cure 
 him in a short time. I will try to do something for him. 
 The young man now raised himself from the floor, and in 
 the most courteous manner thanked the gentlemen for their 
 kindness, and at the same time acknowledged that he had 
 made up his mind to die in silence for he had joined the 
 army, he said, against his parents advice, having run away 
 from Harvard College for that purpose. The commissary 
 soon recognized the son of the clergyman of his own 
 parish, in the sick youth before him. The surgeon being 
 made acquainted with the standing of his patient, was still 
 more inclined to be his friend, as he himself was the son 
 of a good vicar in his own country. In a short time re 
 freshments arrived, and the youth was at once on a mend 
 ing hand, and continued so, taking courage from the 
 commissary s firmness. 
 
 On the evening of the eleventh day after his capture, 
 
 2* 
 
14 THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 the commissary was standing at the grates of his prison 
 window, catching the last rays of the setting sun, and 
 thinking of his family, his country, and running through 
 a long series of melancholy forebodings, such as fill the 
 visions of a father, a husband, and a patriot in such an 
 hour, when he was summoned to an audience with a 
 stranger in the jailer s room. Well, he exclaimed, perhaps 
 some new disaster ; God give me strength for the occasion ; 
 I will not distrust him. The summons was imperative, and 
 as he entered the room, a stranger in the garb of an 
 officer motioned the jailer to be gone. This was done 
 with the air of one having authority ; and the man 
 of bolts and bars, of chains and fetters, instantly retired. 
 The jailer having departed, the British officer addressed 
 the prisoner in the following categorical manner. Sir, 
 were you ever on the West India station ? I have often 
 been in the West Indies, was the reply ; for seven years 
 and more I was master of a brig in that trade, from this 
 country. The next question was, Do you recollect having 
 performed any act on that station in 1769, which you 
 remember with pleasure ? No sir, said the commissary, 
 I do not recollect any thing of an extraordinary nature in 
 the whole course of my life, in which I had any share, 
 although my life has been full of vicissitudes. The only 
 thing I ever thought worth mentioning in my life, is, that 
 during the whole time I was in the West India business, 
 I never lost a man by disease or accident. My crews 
 were carefully selected, fed well, kept cleanly and tem 
 perate, and under the strictest discipline. They would 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 15 
 
 me to the jeopardy of their lives, without a reluctant 
 look or a single murmur. This is very well, said the 
 stranger ; but do you not recollect leaping into the sea 
 when a young Englishman was amusing himself in the 
 water, and a cry was uttered from those in the boat that a 
 shark was near ; and of rescuing that young man from 
 the jaws of the monster ; the people of his own boat 
 fearing to save him ? The fact, sir, is within my recol 
 lection, if it is of any importance for you to know it, said 
 the commissary ; but I must add in justice, that it did not 
 require so much courage as you imagine, to have done 
 this ; my faithful black man was with me, and I ordered 
 him to leap into the water with a boat-hook, and attack the 
 shark, while I swam to the assistance of the gentleman ; 
 and Omar gave the monster a wound before I had 
 reached the sinking and exhausted swimmer. The black 
 run the greatest risk, as a shark is guided more by scent 
 than by sight, and would have attacked him first. Why, 
 said the inquirer, did you not seek out the gentleman 
 you saved, and at least have witnessed his gratitude after 
 his preservation ? I did not see him afterward, for a very 
 good reason, said the commissary; my vessel was then 
 ready for sea, the wind was fair, and I was taking out to 
 her the last article for our voyage, when we saw the 
 danger of the young officer you mention. Have you any 
 keep-sake from the gentleman? was the next inquiry. I 
 took the gentleman to my own boat rather than his, as mine 
 was low in the water, and I was certain of the assistance 
 of my men ; his clothes were brought on board of my 
 
16 THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 boat, and some days afterwards I found his military stock 
 in it. I saved it, and finding it had a valuable buckle, I 
 had it put into one of my stocks ; which I wore, hoping 
 one day to have an opportunity of returning it. I wore it 
 on my neck the day I was taken prisoner by your forces. 
 Should you know the buckle without the stock if you 
 could examine it, inquired the stranger ? I think so, 
 was the answer ; but I prefer not to be interrogated on 
 this subject, said the commissary. Yet I will examine 
 the buckle if you have it. The buckle was produced, 
 and at once recognized. The British officer then arose, 
 and with the greatest emotion grasped the hand of the 
 prisoner, and declared himself to be Sir John Castlehouse, 
 of his majesty s service, under Sir William Howe, com- 
 mander-in-chief in America ; and greeted the commis 
 sary as among the bravest and most philanthropic men 
 he had ever known, and added, this, sir, is the happiest 
 moment of my life. I have now, thank God, an opportu 
 nity of making some return to one who has ventured his 
 life to save mine. You are aware, my dear sir, said Sir 
 John, that you are all considered as rebels, and no 
 exchange of prisoners can be made, but I can effect your 
 escape. To this the commissary objected, as it might be 
 the means of bringing evil on a young officer ; but the 
 reply was, my friends and family connections are sufficient 
 to protect me in such a course. I know Sir William will 
 forgive me, when he is acquainted with my motives and 
 my obligations to you. The love of liberty in a prisoner 
 requires but few arguments to be brought to its aid to 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 17 
 
 overcome many scruples on the score of duty. Sir John 
 wrote a note, and calling his servant who was in waiting, 
 sent it off at once. It was arranged that at midnight a 
 horse should be found behind the fence at the next pas 
 ture, which was where Walker-street now is, and 
 a guard ready to conduct him to the American camp. 
 The prisoner was covered with the British officer s cloak 
 and hat, and directed, if stopped on the way, to give his 
 name as Sir John Castlehouse, and ride on. The coun 
 tersign also was communicated. All being in readiness, 
 Sir John inquired if Caesar was still a slave, and if he 
 was, what sum would liberate him? The commissary 
 answered that Caesar was a free man, and added, he was 
 with me just before I was taken. I had dispatched him 
 with a load of grain for the camp, when I was surrounded 
 by your forces. A purse of guineas was sent to Caesar. 
 At this moment the commissary took occasion to name 
 his fellow-prisoner, the parson s son, and the kindness 
 of the doctor. They shall not be forgotten, on my honor, 
 was the brief reply, and adding, as you have brought the 
 stock-buckle for me, I will keep it, but in exchange you 
 must take the one I now wear. After some hesitation it 
 was accepted. The commissary now started, and reached 
 in safety the head-quarters of the American commander- 
 in-chief. The officers were rejoiced to see him, but he 
 was silent on the mode of his escape, not knowing how 
 the event might affect Sir John. 
 
 The commissary finding that his health was impaired, 
 returned to his native state, and when recovered, accepted 
 
18 THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 the command of a large armed ship, then ready for sea. 
 He thought himself better qualified for sea service than 
 for the army. During the six years of the war which 
 remained, he followed the seas with various success, but 
 always supporting the character of a man who was as 
 humane as brave. His children have at the present day 
 many acknowledgments from his captives of his genero 
 sity and kindness. If for a moment he had the rough 
 ness of the sailor, it was only for a moment ; the better 
 qualities of his heart always predominated. The history 
 of his adventures during the war, written out, would make 
 a volume. He was once taken and carried to England, 
 and for a while confined in Mill Prison, from whence he 
 made his escape to France, and was sent from thence 
 with dispatches from Dr. Franklin. These were brought 
 and preserved in the crown of a tarpaulin hat, which was 
 not opened until he reached the floor of Congress. That 
 body passed him a vote of thanks for his important servi 
 ces, but forgot to think of any remuneration. Thinking, 
 perhaps, as they afterwards said, that Dr. Franklin must 
 have taken care of that ; but nothing was received from 
 Franklin, as the minister s certificate, obtained several 
 years afterwards, states. On the return from his first 
 cruise, which was successful, he saw the collegian, who 
 informed the commissary that he was soon taken from the 
 prison, and set to copying papers, as it was found he 
 wrote an excellent hand, and in a few months released 
 altogether, and suffered to depart for his home, and provi 
 ded with clothes and money ; and he also brought the 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 19 
 
 thanks of the doctor to his friend who introduced his 
 name to Sir John. The baronet instantly took him into 
 favor. The collegian then, is now a venerable clergyman, 
 and often recounts to the children of his benefactor the 
 horrors of his confinement, and the services their father 
 had rendered him, 
 
 Several years after the peace of 1783, the commissary, 
 as we shall continue to call him, for so did his acquaint 
 ances, although he had served but a short time in that 
 capacity, and many years as a mariner, sailed for St. 
 Petersburgh, for a cargo of hemp and iron, and has often, 
 in the pride of his heart, stated that the ship he com 
 manded was the first American vessel that gave the star- 
 spangled banner to the breeze in St. Petersburgh. The 
 event excited no small degree of attention in Russia ; but 
 what gave the commissary the most delight was, to find 
 Sir John Castlehouse there in a diplomatic character. 
 The minister treated his old friend with every mark 
 of attention and affection, and introduced him as his per 
 sonal benefactor to the Empress Catharine, to whom the 
 story of his fearless philanthropy was made known. She 
 received him graciously, and turning to Sir John, she 
 with some surprise remarked, " This native American 
 looks very much like an Englishman. Are all his seamen 
 of the same complexion ? Do they build their own ships, 
 or buy them from the English?" Sir John replied to 
 these questions with a suppressed smile, in a manner quite 
 satisfactory to his friend, and equally astonishing to the 
 Empress. In a few days the Empress sent for the com- 
 
20 THE PROVOST PRISON. 
 
 missary, and offered him a high command in her navy, 
 saying that she had heard from Sir John the history 
 of his naval exploits, which probably had been a little 
 colored by the warmth of friendship. The offer was met 
 with a flow of gratitude, but the purport of his answer 
 was, that having a family in America, he would consult 
 his wife upon the subject on his return home, and if she 
 approved of it, he would accept of her generous offer ; 
 and added also, we think so much of your sex in our 
 country, that it is a maxim with us, that " A man to prosper 
 in any undertaking, must consult his wife." The Em- 
 press smiled at the compliment to her sex, and observed, 
 " Then if your wife consents to visit Russia, I may expect 
 your services the place shall be reserved for you eighteen 
 months." The Empress issued an order to her revenue 
 officers to give the American captain every facility in 
 obtaining his cargo, and fitting his ship for sea, and he 
 found this of no small importance in securing dispatch 
 and in lessening expenses. He now took leave of Sir 
 John, with a presentiment that he should never see him 
 again " till earth and ocean render up their dead." No 
 class of men indulge these presentiments more than 
 sailors, and in this case it was a true one. Sir John died 
 of the liver complaint in the East Indies, in military 
 command there in 1799. The Calcutta Hucarrah speaks 
 of him in the highest terms as an officer and a gentleman. 
 It was understood that he had made a will, as he was a 
 bachelor ; but it was never found. 
 
 In October, 1826, the commissary made a visit to the 
 
THE PROVOST PRISON. 21 
 
 city of New- York to examine the old jail. It was on the 
 expiration of fifty years from his release. The building 
 was still standing, unchanged in the slightest degree. 
 On entering within the walls, it is true he did not see 
 prisoners dying with the small-pox, or with festering 
 wounds and mutilated limbs ; but, in their stead, there was 
 to be seen a miserable group of poor debtors, half naked, 
 many of them had to sleep on the bare floor, and to 
 depend on accidental charity for subsistence. One of 
 them, had been closely confined six months, because he 
 could not raise fees enough to take advantage of the poor 
 debtor s act. The old gentleman s heart bled to think 
 the wretched place should, after half a century, still be the 
 abode of misery, not by state power, but by individual 
 oppression ; but had he lived a few years longer than he 
 did, he would have seen an entire change ; the dark and 
 awful looking walls become bright and luminous, the iron 
 grates and bars removed, ponderous Ionic columns arise 
 on the front and rear of the building, exhibiting the finest 
 architectural light and shade that can have ever been ex 
 hibited in Athens, and the whole edifice devoted to the 
 transactions of Probate business, and the preservation of 
 official records of estates, testate and intestate ; and what 
 would have gladdened his heart the more, he would have 
 learnt, that the power of one individual to make a slave 
 of another for a trifling debt had been abolished; and 
 that the reign of those petty tyrants, hucksters and 
 pettifoggers, was nearly over throughout his whole 
 country. 
 
THE MANIAC 
 
 "There s a daisy; I would give you some violets; but they 
 
 withered all, when my Duncan died; They say he made a good end/ 
 
 " And will he not come again? 
 And will he not come again ? 
 No, no, he is dead. 
 Go to thy death-bed, 
 He never will come again." 
 
 LAST summer, I took a journey with an old friend, who 
 sometimes was silent and melancholy, and at other times 
 whose voice would flow with the copiousness and sweet 
 ness of St. Winifred s well. When melancholy, he might 
 say it was like Jaques s, " compounded of many simples, 
 extracted from many objects ; and, indeed, the sundry 
 contemplation of my travels, in which my after rumination 
 wraps me in a most humorous sadness ;" and one indeed 
 who sometimes felt the taunting retort of Rosalind : " I 
 fear you have sold your own lands, to see other men s." 
 But however much his experience may have cost him, he 
 was a charming companion ; one who had a story for 
 every place, and a moral for every tale. We travelled 
 northward, up the majestic Hudson, to Saratoga, viewed 
 the battle plain, sailed down lake George, and made 
 minute observations on the features of this classic ground ; 
 the scene both of success and defeat to England and 
 France : and in which the colonists bore a suffering, and 
 in the end a triumphant part. When we had reached old 
 
24 THE MANIAC. 
 
 Ticonderoga fort, now in ruins, but still the wonder 
 of North America, my friend proposed to leave me to 
 make my surveys alone ; as he wished, he said, to visit a 
 family in Vermont, about a dozen miles from the ruins, 
 whose acquaintance he had some time since formed. But 
 as it was rather a dreary place on a cloudy day, I would 
 not consent to the arrangement, so we went on together, 
 to a beautiful thrifty town, which showed marks of taste 
 and wealth. I engaged a room in the inn, and began to 
 Adonize myself for the dinner table, as I saw by the com 
 pany there, that I should probably dine with a bevy 
 of fair ladies. 
 
 My friend had been absent but a few minutes, when 
 he returned with a gentleman, who came to insist on my 
 company to dine that day with our mutual friend. At 
 the hour appointed, I went to the house alone ; my com 
 panion had returned previously with the gentleman, to 
 pass an hour or two with the family to whom he seemed 
 much attached. The house was a handsome building, in 
 an eligible situation, surrounded by the finest garden 
 I had ever seen in that new country ; indeed, the garden 
 seemed a spot of Fairy land. There was taste and 
 science exhibited in every labyrinth. I never had seen 
 such a profusion of fruits and flowers, and yet all seemed 
 to have been done with taste and care, rather than by any 
 extravagant expenses. I took several turns in the garden 
 before dinner was announced and on entering the house, 
 was introduced by the owner of the mansion to a lovely 
 wife and four healthy well-behaved children. The lady 
 
THE MANIAC. 25 
 
 was well informed, and presided at her table with great 
 dignity and ease. Her conversation was fluent and appro 
 priate, and she without effort made her guests feel at 
 home at once ; with delicacy anticipating their wants, 
 without hastily urging the supplies, in which some kind 
 hostesses think a cordial welcome consists. After dinner 
 I left my companion in conversation with the host, and 
 strolled into the garden with the children, who had been 
 delighted in hearing me praise it. I found they knew 
 the trivial and botanical names of every flower and plant 
 about them ; and on inquiring of the youngest girl, who 
 had instructed her in botany? she replied, Only my 
 mother ; she has taught us botany, history, astronomy as 
 far as we have gone. The professor of the college has 
 been engaged by father to give us two lessons a week in 
 natural philosophy and astronomy next winter ; and 
 mother is preparing us to profit by them. We spent the 
 day and evening with the family, and early the next morn 
 ing prepared to return to finish our examination of the 
 ruins of the old fort. On reaching them not a little 
 fatigued, we sat on a rock, to rest ourselves a while. My 
 companion asked me how I was pleased with my visit ; 
 and on expressing my delight at the garden, the family 
 and, in fact, on the whole of the little excursion into 
 one of the New-England states, where we had seen so 
 much gentility and received such a hospitable welcome ; 
 in my turn, I inquired by what chance he had become 
 acquainted with a family living so much out of the course 
 
 of his travels, when he proceeded to make the following 
 3* 
 
26 THE MANIAC. 
 
 statement : Eighteen years ago, this very month, I was 
 sitting on this identical rock, early in the morning, and 
 pondering upon the eventful history of these mighty ruins, 
 when I heard a faint moan issuing from among the subter 
 ranean passages, and, after a few minutes search, I dis 
 covered a girl of a most interesting appearance, fashiona 
 bly dressed, setting in a nook of them. She had a bunch 
 of flowers in her hand, and was talking to herself, and 
 uttering some incoherent sentences in plaintive accents, 
 but without paroxysm. She seemed to wish to shun me, 
 but as she passed by me, she uttered, " Duncan was 
 buried here, but they have hid his grave, so that I cannot 
 find it," and then lifting up her eyes filled with tears, 
 said, " Will you not tell me where it is ?" I endeavored 
 to soothe her, and made a show of attempting to find the 
 spot where Duncan was buried, and at the same time to 
 engage her in conversation, -to discover her place of resi 
 dence, that I might restore her to her friends ; but before 
 I could get any satisfactory answer on this score, several 
 gentlemen made their appearance, who had been in search 
 of her, and were rejoiced at finding her. On my stating 
 to a middle-aged gentleman, one of the number, all I 
 knew about her visit to the ruins, he announced himself to 
 be her father, and stated that he lived about twelve miles 
 distant from where we then were ; and without hesitation 
 gave me this narrative : " When General McComb, with 
 Commodore McDonough, was defending our state at 
 Plattsburgh, the militia organized themselves throughout 
 the state, and we were not backward in our town. Among 
 
THE MANIAC. 27 
 
 those who started with alacrity, were two young men 
 of my acquaintance, a lawyer and a merchant, who were 
 volunteers. The lawyer was elected a captain of a com 
 pany, and the merchant a lieutenant. The latter, when 
 he arrived at Plattsburgh, with the consent of his captain 
 and superior officers, volunteered to take command of a 
 corps of infantry to serve as men of all-work on board 
 of the fleet. He had been long acquainted with Commo 
 dore McDonough, who knew the sterling courage and 
 real moral worth of his friend. The fight, as you know, 
 was one both fierce and bloody. At the close of the 
 action, Lieutenant Duncan was killed, fighting by the 
 side of the gallant commander, while in the arduous dis 
 charge of his duty. Until the news of his death reached 
 us, I had not the slightest thought that my daughter s 
 affections were engaged to Duncan. Nor do I now 
 believe that there was any thing settled between them. 
 She had been viewed with partial eyes by both the 
 gentlemen; and perhaps in that playful, giggling age, she 
 might have been courteous to both, without, at that 
 time, having made a decision as to either ; and sure I 
 am that neither had made any direct advances. For such 
 was her openness and singleness of heart, that she would 
 have communicated the fact to me or her mother. They 
 were both excellent young men, and the preference 
 would have without hesitation met my decided approval, 
 although I should have preferred Captain Darlington, per 
 haps for no other reason than, as I had often consulted 
 him in my business, I knew him better than I did 
 
28 THE MANIAC. 
 
 Duncan. The body of Duncan was brought by the 
 request of the whole village, to be buried in my town, and 
 I offered my own tomb on the occasion. My own, I say 
 the one I built and expect to repose in. The body was 
 buried with military honors the scene was imposing. 
 The people turned out in a body to honor his memory. 
 The unmarried ladies walked two and two, at the funeral 
 dressed in white, with a black ribbon in their bonnets or 
 hair. On this day it was remembered, and which proved 
 true, that in Duncan s pocket-book a note was found, 
 addressed to my daughter. Suggestions of his being 
 engaged to her were made, as will always happen on 
 such occasions. It was affectionate, but made no direct 
 intimation of any engagement. The note was something 
 like this : 
 
 On Ship Board. 
 Dear Isabella, 
 
 The enemy are now bearing down upon us ; the 
 conflict will be severe. I hope you will not think me 
 influenced by any unmanly fears, but I have a presenti 
 ment that this day will be my last. Give your whole 
 heart to Darlington ; he deserves your affections ; he is a 
 noble fellow. I have this morning made my will, and 
 you and he are heirs of the little earnings I may die 
 possessed of. 
 
 Yours truly, J. D. 
 
 " This note reached my daughter by some injudicious 
 friend, as she was suffering under a slow nervous fever, 
 and it made a sad impression on her mind, which all 
 our efforts could not counteract. She continually dwelt 
 upon the thought of his death, night and day ; she 
 
THE MANIAC. 29 
 
 declared that she was solemnly engaged to Duncan, 
 although it was not the fact ; and she blamed herself for 
 permitting him to go to the battle-field. She had a sound 
 mind, and a pure heart ; and if she had been in health, 
 would have mourned Duncan as a friend, but would not 
 have bewailed him as a lover. She was fully aware of the 
 superior talents of Darlington but there was something in 
 the chivalrous character of her friend who had fallen at 
 the post of honor, that took entire possession of her soul. 
 She fell at once into a delirium which was mild and 
 gentle. She amused herself with little cares, and never 
 until yesterday discovered the slightest disposition to 
 wander from home. She spends most of her time in 
 reading and making garments for the poor ; and of late 
 has been wonderfully calm." I found that the young 
 gentleman who was with the father was counsellor Dar 
 lington. He seemed depressed, and treated the maniac 
 with the greatest attention. I compassionated his situa 
 tion, and endeavored to draw him into a confidential 
 conversation. This was not a difficult task ; for a 
 wounded bosom pours out its griefs to all who search 
 it with the appearance of kindness. I stated to him that, 
 from having a brother bereft of reason, I had long been 
 in the habit of examining the diseases of the mind, and 
 was decidedly of opinion that this case belonged to a 
 curable class. He was impatient to be acquainted with 
 the course I should recommend ; but there was still a 
 look of incredulity on his countenance. I remarked to 
 him, that I had observed that she had a bunch of fresh 
 
30 THE MANIAC. 
 
 flowers in her hand, when I first saw her. Does her 
 father, said I, cultivate a garden ? His reply was, he has 
 a large kitchen and fruit garden, with some grounds 
 devoted to flowers, but these I believe she planted before 
 she was taken ill, after she had left school. It is a fine 
 piece of land, and capable of great improvement. Have 
 you a sister ? was my next inquiry. I have, he replied, 
 a fine, intelligent, sprightly girl ; one of the least selfish 
 ness I ever saw ; devoted to me and a friend to Isabella. 
 Enough, said I, she must be the principal agent in my 
 surgery. Make them constant companions, without any 
 third person to interfere with their amusements, or 
 friendships. Let her father employ a gardener, and put 
 the whole direction of his labors under the superintend- 
 ance of the two girls. Ransack the country for flower 
 seeds, and plants ; present them with singing birds ; 
 the note of the canary is cheerful, and the bird is hardy. 
 Encourage the neighbors to visit the garden for its 
 flowers, plants, and its aviary ; have some shrubs and 
 bushes and seeds to dispose of. The cheerful young girls 
 will come for such presents. Throw on her work-table 
 some splendid editions of such gentle poets as Thompson, 
 Goldsmith, and Cowper ; unite with them a port-folio 
 of fine engravings, and, if possible, get them to copy some 
 of the simplest, such as will rather amuse than fatigue 
 the artist. Make the employment as constant as their 
 constitutions will bear. Do not suffer them to hear 
 a gloomy word, from any one ; but, if possible, give 
 a perpetual sunshine to the soul. 
 
THE MANIAC. 31 
 
 Much other conversation ensued, and I took my leave 
 Y>f them. Ten years passed away ; principally in Europe, 
 and the incident had quite gone from my memory. On 
 my return to my native country, after a few weeks spent 
 among kindred and friends, at the East, I visited Wash, 
 ington, during a session of Congress, and the first evening 
 after my arrival attended the President s levee ; the 
 rooms were crowded to excess ; a gentleman passed me 
 several times, and gave me a very piercing glance, and at 
 length came up to me, and inquired if he had not the 
 pleasure once of seeing me at Ticonderoga. The address 
 brought to my mind the whole story of the maniac girl. 
 I am a member of Congress from Vermont, said he, the 
 gentleman you conversed with upon the subject of the 
 diseases of the mind, at Ticonderoga. In the case of the 
 young lady, I followed, with the aid of her father and my 
 sister, your directions to the very letter, and the experi 
 ment was successful in a very short time. Isabella is 
 now Mrs. Darlington, in possession of as sound a mind 
 as that of any one in this crowd. She is well aware 
 of your advice, and has long been desirous of seeing you. 
 Be so kind as to give me your name, and I will introduce 
 you to her now. I was so absorbed in your directions 
 during our interview at the fort, that I forgot to take your 
 address. I handed him my card, and he then presented me 
 to the most elegant woman in the room. She had caught 
 my attention early in the evening, and for some undefined 
 reason, I felt that she was nearer to me than the rest of the 
 females in the crowd. We were acquainted in an instant, 
 
32 THE MANIAC. 
 
 and entered into conversation as old friends. She took my 
 arm for a stroll through the apartments, and as though by 
 accident, although I surmised that there might be a little 
 design in it, led the way to the circular room, whose 
 windows were filled with flowers and plants ; and bending 
 over a Daphna Odora, then in full bloom and fragrance, 
 in a sweet undertone, said, I have a fine one in my 
 garden I call it the stranger. My husband has named 
 it, " the medicine of the mind." It was named for you 
 for it was while tending that flower, that I was first 
 conscious that times had passed over me, and that I was 
 now restored to reason. With its odor ascended my 
 thanksgiving hymn to Heaven for my recovery. The 
 plant has been cherished with fondness ever since. In 
 the midst of my mental aberrations, I had some vague 
 impression, that the gentle course my friends were pursu 
 ing in opposition to the advice of my physician, had 
 come from the recommendation of the stranger who 
 addressed me in such compassionate tones, in the ruins 
 of the old fort. I often go there to pour out my gratitude 
 for my restoration, which has been so perfect that not a 
 cloud has passed over my mind since. She continued, I 
 need not add, that it would give my husband and my 
 father great pleasure to see you in Vermont. I wish 
 to show my garden, and my library, which are after your 
 model. My female friend and dear sister-in-law is 
 a happy wife and mother ; we live together as affection 
 ately as your heart could wish." 
 
 I saw the happy couple every day I was in Washing- 
 
THE MANIAC. 33 
 
 ton, and parted with them, giving them a promise that if I 
 ever came within fifty miles of their residence on business 
 or pleasure, that I would travel that distance to be a witness 
 of their felicity. Yesterday, as we were examining these 
 ruins, my promise came forcibly to my mind, and I at 
 once decided on the visit. Do not say hereafter, that old 
 bachelors do no good as they wander about the world ; 
 for, at the very time I gave the advice for healing the 
 wounds of the mind, I took from my pocket a horse- 
 chestnut and planted it at my feet ; and the tree which 
 sprang from it is now shading your head, and shedding 
 its blossoms around you. 
 
THE BLACKSMITH; 
 
 OR, THE INFLUENCE OF LETTERS UPON MORALS, 
 
 A scrap of domestic history. 
 
 Break from thy body s grasp thy spirit s trance : 
 Give thy soul air, thy faculties expanse. 
 Knock off the shackles which thy spirit bind 
 To dust and sense, and set at large thy mind ! 
 Then move in sympathy with God s great whole, 
 Arid be, like man at first, " a living soul." DAK A. 
 
 SEVERAL years ago, before Lord Chancellor Brougham 
 was editor of a penny magazine, or ever we had heard of 
 the great efforts of learned men in England to diffuse in 
 formation among the humble classes in that country, a 
 young gentleman, who was a member of a literary society 
 in New-England, which had for its object mutual improve 
 ment, and the diffusion of letters among the rising genera 
 tion, took a bundle of children s books in his chaise-box, 
 as he was setting out on a journey into the country. His 
 intention was to hand them to a clergyman, or school 
 master, as he passed through some obscure town ; but 
 he soon forgot that he had them in his possession. Having 
 travelled two or three days, his horse cast a shoe ; and, on 
 inquiry, much to his annoyance, he learned that there was 
 no blacksmith to be found within a mile; the informant 
 assuring the traveller, " That if the smith was sober, he 
 would shoe his horse as well as any man in those parts," 
 When the traveller reached the blacksmith s shop, he 
 
36 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 found him quite sober; his eldest son, he said, had gone 
 to the store, four miles off, to get a jug of rum ; and as 
 he must work alone, it would take him some time to make 
 and set the shoe. The gentleman was requested to 
 walk into the house to rest himself, while the smith was 
 at work. The house, on the outside, presented every 
 appearance of poverty and wretchedness ; it had battens 
 on the roof for shingles, and the top of the chimney 
 ascended but a few inches above the ridge-pole. Yet 
 the outward aspect of the house was princely when com 
 pared with the interior. It had been intended for three 
 rooms on the floor, but there was neither lath, plaster, or 
 jointed boards, by way of partition, to be seen a few 
 rough boards marked, rather than made, a distinction in 
 the building. The garret, for the house was only one 
 story high, was ascended by a short ladder. The furniture 
 in this part of the premises consisted of two beds, if 
 such a mass of rags as were exhibited to view could be 
 so called, with some tattered blankets, which showed 
 that a portion of the family slept there. Three wooden 
 bottomed chairs, a table, a milk-pan, and a few tin 
 measures, made up a good part of the moveables in the 
 lower story. There was a large quantity of ashes in the 
 fire-place, covered with potato-skins, and a kettle standing 
 near, which bore evident marks of recent use in making 
 hasty-pudding. There was a window and two port-holes 
 in the main room ; several panes of glass had been broken 
 in the window, their places being supplied by bundles 
 of rags. A dirty singed cat slept close to the ashes ; 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 37 
 
 when her mistress attempted to drive her away, she 
 slowly arose, and stretching one leg after another, and 
 partially opening her eyes, leisurely moved off. She was 
 just such a grimalkin as a rat would like to see one too 
 indolent to do him any harm. Near one of the beds, a 
 short-legged big-headed, mongrel, surly dog reared him 
 self to eye the stranger, but on his growling several times, 
 the woman gave him a kick, and sent him yelping out 
 of doors. By way of treating her guest with great 
 civility, the mistress of the house took up the broom, and 
 began to sweep a spot for him to place his chair. " She 
 was sorry," she said, " that her house was so dirty, but 
 her child had been sick for several days, and had taken 
 up all her time. 3 The traveller had not before noticed a 
 child in one of the beds, of about three years old, pale, 
 emaciated, and listless. The mother observed " that within 
 two days it had been very sick, and that she had not had 
 a drop of rum to give her, but hoped her son Jim would 
 be along soon from the store, and then she should have 
 something to offer the gentleman to drink." In a short 
 time, the son made his appearance. He was a tall 
 athletic fellow, whose whole dress consisted of a tow-cloth 
 shirt and pantaloons ; he was bare-footed and bare 
 headed ; when he went to the store, he had borrowed his 
 father s hat to wear, but on entering the house he threw 
 it off. His hair was long and matted, looking defiance to 
 comb or brush, things which it had never known. His 
 brawny arms were naked, his shirt sleeves being rolled 
 
 up ; and his whole appearance was that of Caliban s, 
 
 4* 
 
38 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 | 
 
 before he had been taught human language by Prospero : 
 but there was a good nature in his face, unlike the 
 expression of Sycorax s son ; and after he had drank his 
 fill, he seemed ready to say, 
 
 "t pray thee, let me bring thee where crabs grow ; 
 And I, with my long nails, will dig thee pig-nuts ; 
 Show thee a jay s nest, and instruct thee how 
 To snare the nimble marmozet ; I ll bring thee 
 To clustering filberts, and sometimes I ll get thee 
 Young sea-mells from the rock." 
 
 Jim s arrival was a jubilee; the jug went round 
 briskly, and each one poured out what he wanted into a 
 tin dipper, or broken mug, and diluting the liquor a little 
 with some excellent water, took a hearty swig. The 
 mother sweetened some of the rum with maple-sugar, 
 and mixing with it a little milk and water, gave it to the 
 child as food and medicine. The little wretch raised her 
 head to take the dose, as familiarly as she would to have 
 drank a cup of pure milk. " There dear, it will do you 
 good," said the mother, " now go to sleep, and get well." 
 Turning to the stranger, she said, " she hoped the gentle 
 man would drink with them, if they were poor folks;" 
 but he politely declined, much to their disappointment 
 
 After the father and son had gone into the shop to 
 resume their labors, the traveller made some inquiries 
 of the woman about her family. He found she had five 
 children living. " Jim" was the first-born ; the two next 
 were boys, then gone a fishing ; the fourth was a daughter, 
 then about thirteen years old ; and the one in the bed 
 made up the number. " Lucy, the eldest daughter," she 
 said, " did not live at home, but with Deacon Thompson, 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 39 
 
 a very nice man, who had sent her to school, and she 
 could now read the Bible and the newspaper. No one of 
 the family but Lucy took to learning; in fact, they did not 
 know a letter of the alphabet." The traveller now recol 
 lected his bundle of books, and brought it from his chaise- 
 box into the house. On examining it he found that the 
 assortment was such, as to form a pretty little library for 
 Miss Lucy. Taking out his pencil, he wrote a note in 
 one of the books to Deacon Thompson, presenting the 
 whole of them to Miss Lucy Danforth, then under 
 his care, requesting him to see that she was not deprived 
 of them by any one. The horse being shod, Jim was 
 hired to set off to the Deacon s with the bundle the 
 poor fellow not knowing that he was carrying a present to 
 his sister. The traveller continued his journey, and the 
 incident soon passed from his mind, amid the pleasures 
 and cares of the world. 
 
 Some few years after this event, the traveller was called 
 to see his friends on the same route. As he passed 
 the site of old Danforth s blacksmith shop, he saw that 
 new buildings had been erected ; and he internally 
 exclaimed, thinking that the place had passed into the 
 hands of some new proprietor, " so pass away the wicked." 
 The traveller had proceeded but a mile or two, when he 
 saw that a thunder-cloud hung on his rear, and that it 
 was time for him to seek a shelter. As he was driving 
 by a good looking farm-house, he saw a venerable gentle 
 man standing at the door, apparently watching, with great 
 anxiety, the approaching tornado. Bowing to the traveller, 
 
40 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 he invited him to put his horse in the barn, or under the 
 shed, and to tarry with him until the storm should have 
 passed over. The invitation was gratefully accepted. 
 The shower was preceded by a " mighty wind." While 
 this was passing over, the good old man remained quiet ; 
 but so soon as the thunder began to roar, he seemed much 
 agitated. He was sitting in the middle of the room, at a 
 table, on which was placed an open Bible, from which he 
 read a few verses, as a sort of propitiatory offering to the 
 "God who speaketh in the thunder, and rideth upon 
 the wings of the wind." Seeing the traveller perfectly 
 unmoved, and even enjoying the sublimity of the scene, 
 the old man lifting up his pale face, inquired, " if he 
 did not feel terrified at such a demonstration of God s 
 wrath?" "No," was the reply; "I do not consider it 
 such a demonstration, but rather a proof of his goodness. 
 This phenomenon is resolved to causes as natural as the 
 flowing of the brook which bubbles by your door ; and 
 probably more have been drowned in its lovely waters, 
 than have ever been killed by lightning within fifty miles 
 of you." After a pause, the old man said, he believed that 
 was true ; and mentioned several who had been drowned 
 in his neighborhood, but could think of but one who 
 had been killed by lightning. The traveller remarked, 
 that God was never angry ; it was only a human phrase. 
 He sometimes punished, in justice, but not so often by 
 fire as by pestilence. The very thunder and lightning, he 
 added, was sent for our benefit, as it was a great purifier 
 of the air. " Well, that is true," said the old man. The 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 41 
 
 traveller continued, and explained the phenomena of the 
 lightning-flash and the thunder-clap, and before the storm 
 had subsided, the veteran seemed calm, and wrapt in a 
 course of reasoning with himself upon the subject. In 
 turning over the leaves of the Bible, the traveller saw on 
 the blank leaf between the Old and New Testaments, the 
 name of James Thompson, and his family record. The 
 thought of Lucy Danforth came across his mind, but he 
 was almost afraid to inquire after her. At length, how 
 ever, he asked, "Who now occupies the place where 
 Danforth, the blacksmith, was living some six or seven 
 years ago?" The reply was, " Danforth himself and his 
 family." " You must be a stranger in these parts," said 
 the Deacon, " if you have never heard of the great 
 change in the life of the blacksmith down there." The 
 traveller having assured the Deacon that he was indeed a 
 stranger, listened to the Deacon s recital with great 
 interest. 
 
 The old man commenced with the shoeing of the 
 noble horse (indeed he was truly so) and of the gift of 
 the stranger to the child. All was given with minuteness, 
 and the account brought to his recollection many remarks 
 he had made at the time, which had before escaped his 
 memory. The Deacon said, " I received the books, with 
 this pencil note," (which he had preserved,) " for Lucy 
 Danforth." The traveller recognised his own hand, and 
 faintly inquired if Lucy was yet living. " O, yes," was 
 the reply ; "she is to be married at my house, in a few 
 days, to Doctor Moore, a very likely man. She is a fine 
 
42 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 child, and has been the making of the whole family, 
 Soon after the stranger, as he signed himself, gave her 
 the books, she visited her father, and read some of the 
 tales to him ; he was a man of strong mind, notwithstand 
 ing his ignorance ; and from the pride he felt that his 
 daughter was able to read, and from his gratitude to the 
 stranger, for he had always said that he had treated his 
 family like a prince, he was induced to hear Lucy read 
 a story or two. He declared that he did, upon his soul 
 and honor, like the books. Jim/ and the other boys, 
 sat grinning by her side, as she was reading, and half 
 hinted, that they, too, should like to know how to read. 
 She caught the hint, and began to teach them. The 
 father also said that he should be glad to read, if nobody 
 should know that he was schooling of it in his old age. 
 Silently they all began and Lucy came once every day 
 to impart to them a portion of her little store of knowledge, 
 without, however, making it known to the neighbors, 
 whose laughs and sneers they feared. She continued in 
 this course until all could read the Bible, with a fair 
 understanding of its contents. She did not stop here ; 
 they were taught to write as well as to read. The first 
 development of this fact was on an occasion of the black 
 smith s buying a horse and wagon of one of his neighbors. 
 A part of the purchase-money was paid down, and a part 
 was to be paid in blacksmith s work ; the due-bill for the 
 
 work was written by squire K , of whom the purchase 
 
 was made ; and when he was about to call on Danforth to 
 make his mark, as formerly, the old man said, Squire^ 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 43 
 
 you need not trouble yourself to write my name ; and, 
 taking up the pen, wrote William Danforth in a bold and 
 fair hand. This was strange, and no one could explain 
 the mystery. The next winter, when the town school 
 was opened, Danforth s boys attended on the first day. 
 The teacher, on the usual examination, found them among 
 the first in his school. This was another miracle. Short 
 ly after this, the keeper of the store stated, that for a 
 whole year he had sold the Danforths but one jug of rum, 
 and that was in haying time ; and afterwards, when he 
 stopped to have his horse shod, he asked for something to 
 drink, and the jug was produced, with scarcely the dimi 
 nution of a gill from its original contents. A meeting 
 house was built in the parish, and old Danforth bid high 
 for a large pew ; this so delighted and wonder-struck all, 
 that no one bid over him. His whole family came to hear 
 the gospel preached, in neat and cleanly apparel, and were 
 attentive to the preacher. The little child, who had 
 received its dose of rum and sugar, djed ; and the clergy 
 man, who was only a transient preacher, attended the 
 funeral, and made some judicious observations to the 
 parents, and the brothers and sisters. Lucy was still the 
 guardian angel of the family ; she came every day, while 
 this feeling of bereavement was upon her kindred, and 
 read some appropriate story from the books she had, or 
 from such as she obtained from the library which had 
 been founded in the parish, to which she had access. 
 The temper of her father had been softened, and every 
 &eed now sown was on good ground. From an attendant 
 
** 
 
 y^ V 
 
 * 
 
 ^ 
 
 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 on public worship, he became a member of this church, 
 without a particle of fanaticism or bigotry in his composi 
 tion. His business increased every day ; his boys became 
 fine mechanics ; his shop was enlarged to meet the claims 
 of his customers ; and his wretched mansion was soon 
 removed, and another, of larger dimensions, and greater 
 conveniences, erected in its place. The daughter had 
 done all. If the Roman daughter, who gave her teeming 
 breast to preserve the life of her father, had temples 
 erected to her memory ought not she, who came silently 
 but perseveringly every day, to cherish the mind and 
 raise the morals of her father and kindred, and to give 
 religious instruction to those whom she saw sunk in vice 
 and ignorance ought not she to have a name and a praise 
 among the benefactors of mankind?" 
 
 The traveller listened to the tale with delight and 
 wonder. He exhibited a deep interest in the story, and 
 accepted an invitation from Deacon Thompson to attend 
 the marriage festival of Lucy Danforth the next week, on 
 his return from visiting his friends. As yet he had con 
 trived to conceal the fact that he was the early patron of 
 Miss Lucy it was the interest which he had manifested 
 in the narrative, that procured him an invitation to the 
 wedding. On his promising to return on the appointed 
 day, he left for Miss Lucy a new publication of Miss 
 Edgeworth s, that he had taken with him, for perusal on 
 his way ; and on the title-page he traced a few lines to 
 her. Miss Lucy at once saw, from the hand-writing, that 
 the person who had presented her with the library, and 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 45 
 
 the one who had promised to attend her wedding, were 
 one and the same; and this she communicated to Deacon 
 Thompson, who thought there was a resemblance in the 
 hand-writing, but seemed to doubt whether the philosopher 
 who had been discussing the lightning and the storm with 
 him, could be the young, sprucely dressed man, that Lucy 
 had described the stranger to have been. 
 
 When the wedding day arrived, many of the good 
 people had assembled, and the stranger was anxiously 
 expected ; but still there was an hour to elapse before the 
 time would arrive when he had stipulated to be on the 
 spot. At length he appeared, with his horse all in a 
 foam. He had been detained by some accident. As 
 soon as he entered the house, a grave and respectable 
 man arose, and took him by the hand. It was the old 
 blacksmith. The mutual recognition was instantaneous. 
 Jim also knew him, and gave him a hearty shake by the 
 hand. The traveller now announced his name. It had 
 been familiar to them all, through the medium of his con 
 nections. Lucy had taught a school in the district where 
 his friends lived, and had often heard his name mentioned. 
 She also came forward to greet him with modesty and 
 feeling. She was indeed a lovely girl, with a fine blue 
 eye, and open countenance, that beamed with intelligence ; 
 and her manners were frank and easy, the offspring 
 of great good sense, and mental dignity. She had 
 read much, and her selections had been excellent. She 
 had been extremely happy in improving her mind, and 
 witnessing the effects that, under Providence, she had 
 
46 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 been able to produce on her family. She had seen the 
 young man who was about to become her husband but a 
 year or two before. He had then, while she was yet 
 quite youthful, offered himself in marriage ; but she 
 declined his addresses, giving as a reason for her refusal, 
 that she had not as yet done enough for her family, and 
 that she could not think of matrimony, until she had seen 
 every thing prosperous with her parents. The hour came 
 sooner than she could have expected. When her parents 
 and her brothers were striving to learn to read, they gave 
 up the use of all ardent spirits were much more industri 
 ous than they ever had been laid up their earnings con 
 tracted for materials for building a new house and their 
 success not only made them appear better in their own 
 estimation, but also in that of their neighbors. Instead 
 of idling away their time, the boys rose with the lark, and 
 the ring of the anvil was heard all day long. One of the 
 boys had been a year with an eminent edge-tool maker 
 in a city, and had returned with the character of a first- 
 rate workman. So great was the change, that from being 
 outcasts and by-words, as idle, intemperate, and profligate, 
 it had now passed into a proverb, "as industrious as the 
 Danforths." Lucy s young lover, who had watched for 
 this change, ventured to hint to her, that her assistance 
 was no longer needed. Doctor Moore was himself a 
 fortunate man ; when quite a boy, ambitious to excel in 
 school, he had attracted the notice of a learned physician 
 from Scotland, who had, after the peace of 1783, settled 
 in New-England. The doctor saw that the lad was very 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 47 
 
 clever and good tempered, and took upon himself to call 
 forth his talents. After graduating at Dartmouth College, 
 he commenced his studies with his patron, and from his 
 assiduity, zeal, and courteous demeanor, became very 
 dear to his aged instructor. Having finished his appren 
 ticeship, the pupil was made a partner, and relieved 
 Doctor Peterson from some of the laborious parts of his 
 professional duties. The old physician had neither wife, 
 child, nor kindred, in this country, and of course made 
 his pupil his heir. Doctor Moore had obtained a full 
 practice when his patron died. The estate was not large, 
 but still a very pretty property in the country. A part of 
 it consisted of a neat house, with a large, well improved 
 garden, in which was collected all the plants of the 
 country, and many exotics, which the old gentleman was 
 acclimating. The new possessor viewed this garden as a 
 noble monument of his patron s knowledge and taste ; 
 but as professional duties would not allow him to give it 
 much attention, he was anxious that whoever he should 
 marry should have a taste for botany. Lucy Danforth 
 was a botanist by natural feeling and assiduous study, and 
 was made a bride and a priestess of Flora at the same 
 moment. She was to take the sole direction of the 
 garden, so beloved by her husband, as a remembrancer of 
 his patron and friend. Under her care, the 
 " Flowers a new returning season bring," 
 and attract the attention of every traveller that passes. 
 
 After the marriage ceremony had been performed, and 
 friends had indulged in the playful sallies of merriment 
 
48 THE BLACKSMITH. 
 
 common on such occasions, the old people prepared to 
 depart. Mr. Danforth senior, (for he was no longer 
 called "Old Danforth," but sometimes "Squire Dan- 
 forth," as that very year he was chosen one of the select 
 men of the town,) stepped up to the traveller, and with a 
 look and tone of affection and hospitality, invited him to 
 spend the night with him, as it was now growing late in 
 the evening. The invitation was accepted; and, on 
 entering the new house, he found every thing plain, neat, 
 and substantial. The supper table was spread with a 
 profusion of good things ; the cakes and butter were 
 excellent, but the trout were most to the taste of the 
 guest. After talking an hour or more, Mr. Danforth 
 inquired of his guest if he would attend family prayer 
 with him, which being readily assented to, a large Bible 
 was placed on the table, and the father of the family read 
 a chapter, in a clear, forcible, and correct manner ; his 
 emphasis was judicious, for he understood what he was 
 reading. He then arose, and leaning over his chair, 
 began in a mild and subdued tone, an extempore prayer, 
 in which he recounted all the wonders God had done for 
 himself and family, and poured out his whole soul in 
 gratitude to him for his abundant mercies. The daughter 
 was not forgotten ; for her and her husband a blessing 
 was invoked, and the guest shared the good man s benison. 
 The allusion to his instrumentality in their reform was 
 touched with the delicacy and power of a master. The 
 whole scene was solemn and affecting. What a change 
 had come over this house ! He who was now a patriarch, 
 
THE BLACKSMITH. 49 
 
 praising God rising in moral majesty in the traveller s 
 view at every sentence he uttered had stood in his 
 presence, only six years before, his eyes bloodshot with 
 intemperance, his throat choked with profanity, and his 
 lips parched with blasphemies. Without any cant, the 
 traveller called this a refreshing hour; he had been bred 
 among the learned, was familiar with the great, and had 
 witnessed the highest efforts of mighty mind but he has 
 often been heard to declare, that the blacksmith s prayer 
 had more influence on his affections, hopes, and faith, 
 than all the eloquence he had ever heard, in temples 
 of justice, halls of legislation, or from the sacred desk ; 
 and he has adopted it as a maxim ever since, that 
 on literature, well directed, mainly rests the happiness 
 of man here and hereafter. 
 
 5* 
 
ACLL AHU A. 
 
 The ancient Peruvian oracles foretold the advent of a Liberator, 
 who would break the iron hand of Spanish oppression ; scatter the 
 darkness of superstition before the light of reason, and plant the tree 
 of LIBERTY on both sides of the Andes ; and that he would fall before 
 the great work of political redemption was finished, by the poisonous 
 tooth of a serpent. The poison that curdled the thin and wholesome 
 blood of the mighty warrior, the sage lawgiver, and disinterested 
 patriot, was the ingratitude of his countrymen. 
 
 Laurentius Eulogy on Bolivar. 
 
 THERE are some spots on the earth more beautiful than 
 others, in which nature shows her power over the moun 
 tain, the vale, the wild wood and the water-fall. On 
 these we love to linger and mark the lights and shadows 
 of the landscape as they change with the course of the 
 sun ; so in the history of man, there are romantic inci 
 dents that are constant themes of admiration to each 
 succeeding generation. Among these is the history of 
 the Incas of Peru, who called themselves the children of 
 the sun. The first of the Incas was Mango Capac ; and 
 his wife was Coya Mama. It is now well settled that they 
 were Mongels, who, as they were sent from China to attack 
 the Japanese with large ships carrying elephants to assist 
 them in battle, were blown off, and after a long voyage 
 landed in South America. There can be no question but 
 that the Peruvians and the Mexicans were originally of 
 the same race. They had the same customs, laws, manners, 
 and habits, both in war and in peace. Mango Capac and 
 
52 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 his few followers arrived at that part of the continent now 
 called Peru. These strangers, the children of the sun, 
 taught the Indians the arts of civil life, and to cultivate the 
 ground with wheat and maize. Coya Mama instructed 
 the females in spinning cotton and wool. The Incas did 
 not disclose to the Indians whence they came, or what 
 was their true origin. Their first appearance was proba 
 bly about the middle of the thirteenth century. The 
 circle of their influence was continued from age to age 
 for nearly three centuries j first, by conquest, and then by 
 the wisdom of their institutions. The Peruvians were 
 originally small, independent tribes, like the other aborigi 
 nes of that country ; rude in their policy, but more 
 inoffensive and mild than those of North America. They 
 were in the state of nature, when, as their traditions 
 inform us, a man and woman, dressed in elegant garments, 
 made their appearance on the banks of the lake Titiaca. 
 They told the Indians that they were sent by the sun, 
 their father, and the moon their mother, to bring them 
 from savage lives, and to teach them to worship the sun, 
 and to make them good and happy. Mango bore in his 
 hand a rod of gold ; he said that his father told him 
 wherever he stopped to strike the rod into the ground, 
 and where it should at the first stroke go down to 
 the top, on that spot he should build a temple to 
 the sun, and fix the seat of his government. This 
 happened in the vale of Cuzo, where he founded a 
 city as the capital of his kingdom. Here he began 
 the primitive arts of civilization, by dividing the people 
 
ACLLAHUA. 53 
 
 into small families, and by putting rulers over them, 
 and superintended them himself. The most beautiful 
 upland cotton grew spontaneously around them, and the 
 use of it, under the instruction of Coya Mama, soon 
 became common. The females, who before wandered 
 almost in a state of nudity, now wore flowing robes of 
 shining whiteness, or those dyed by coloring vegetables or 
 by insects which grew or swarmed around them. Belong 
 ing to a warlike race, himself a warrior, he, by degrees, 
 organized an army powerful enough to carry his con 
 quests as far as he wished. After a long reign, Mango 
 Capac died beloved by his subjects as a father, and was 
 adored by them as a demigod, when dead. The next 
 Inca was Sinchi Roca. He, like the Roman Numa, was 
 brave and powerful, but preferred the arts of peace 
 to those of war. He extended the olive-branch with such 
 kindness and persuasion, that he never was under the 
 necessity of using his arms, which were always in readi 
 ness. He understood the maxim to keep peace, a nation 
 should be prepared for war. 
 
 LOQUI YUPANQUI was the first who made use of arms 
 against the natives. He added new provinces to the 
 empire, and spent his time and treasures in the internal 
 improvements, in the provinces he had conquered, ma 
 king canals, roads and public buildings; but his great 
 labor was erecting a temple of the sun, and a house 
 of consecrated virgins therein. This inner temple for 
 the vestal virgin was called ACLLAHUA. 
 
 MAYTA CAPAC added the province of Collao to his 
 
54 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 empire. The inhabitants made no resistance. The fame 
 of the Incas had reached them, and they were happy to \ 
 accept him as their sovereign. His next campaign was 
 in the end successful after much exertion. Then success 
 followed success until many provinces were added to his 
 dominions. He died at Cuzo full of prosperity and 
 glory. He examined the regions of the mountains more 
 accurately than any of his predecessors. He was a 
 warrior and a philosopher. 
 
 CAPAC YUPONQUI had a prosperous reign, and by his 
 decision of character settled many disputes between the 
 tribes, which are so common among aboriginals. 
 
 INCA ROCA was a philosopher and a moralist. He 
 erected schools for the education of the princes. His 
 maxims are often repeated at this hour by the inhabitants 
 of Peru. One of them that has reached us has all the 
 sentimental sweetness of the moral aphorisms of the son 
 of David, who ruled so gloriously over the Israelites. " If 
 there be any thing in this lower world which we might 
 adore, it is a wise and virtuous man, who surpasses all 
 other objects in dignity ; but how can we pay divine 
 honors to one who is born in tears, who is in a daily state 
 of change, who arrived but as yesterday, and who is 
 not exempt from death, perhaps to-morrow." It will be 
 for ever true, that the inevitable fate of the human race 
 " to die and go we know not where," sinks deep upon the 
 heart, and its effects are seen in all its outpourings." 
 
 YAHUA HUACAC, so named from having wept tears 
 of blood in his infancy, and which were deemed a presage 
 
ACLLAHUA. 55 
 
 of his early misfortunes. He was imbecile and unfortu 
 nate; and after having sent his son into exile, was 
 deposed by him, without any sympathy from his people. 
 
 VIRA COCHA was a bold, enterprising chief. He 
 caused gardens, fish ponds, and parks to be made 
 collected all the rare animals for his menagerie. His 
 greatest work was an aqueduct, which he caused to 
 be made, three hundred and sixty miles in length, and 
 twelve feet deep, to convey the famous mountain springs, 
 which are between Porcu and Picuy, to Rucana, for the 
 purpose of watering the pastures, which are about fifty 
 miles broad, but extend nearly the length of Peru. Vira 
 Cocha extended his conquests on the east to the Andes, 
 on the west to the sea, and on the south to the desert 
 of Chili ; on the north, all the rebels submitted. This is 
 an immense extent of country. His reign was long and 
 glorious. 
 
 PACHA CUTEC succeeded Vira Cocha, and was both a 
 warrior and a philosopher. He extended the conquests 
 his father began, and founded schools and erected palaces 
 and temples. He also made maxims for the guide of his 
 people ; some of them are finely magnanimous, others 
 severe upon pretenders. 
 
 "A noble and generous heart is known by the 
 patience with which it supports misfortune," is one of 
 them. Another is, " How ridiculous is he, who is not 
 able to count by quipois, (a simple mode of calculating 
 by strings of different colors and knots,) and yet pretends 
 to number the stars." 
 
56 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 YUPANQUI was the son of Pacha Cutec. He was 
 a warlike prince, but revered for his kindness and 
 clemency, was surnamed " The Charitable." 
 
 TUPA YUPANQUI passed a year in the ceremonies 
 observed on the death of his father, and then made 
 a journey through his dominions to see that the laws 
 were obeyed, which employed four years. He then raised 
 a large army, and performed prodigies of valor in con 
 quering the Cascayunca and Huancompa, the worst of 
 cannibals. He built fortresses, temples and houses for 
 the virgins. He governed his empire with wisdom and 
 mildness. His people called him Tupac Yaya, or 
 Resplendent Father. He also left maxims for his 
 people. 
 
 HUAYNA CAPAC, son of the above, after the usual 
 term of mourning had expired, commenced a tour through 
 his dominions ; and was every where received with trium 
 phal arches and ways strewed with flowers. The emperor, 
 wishing to signalize the day on which his first-born was 
 to receive his name, invented the famous golden chain, 
 seven hundred feet in length, and the links about eight 
 inches in circumference. It was finished in two years, 
 and used in the great fete given in honor of the occasion. 
 All the great personages of his court held this chain 
 instead of taking each other by the hand, as formerly on 
 such festivals. This chain has never been found, having 
 been secreted on the arrival of the Spaniards. Curiosity 
 and avarice have made diligent search for it for ages. 
 He embellished Quito with imperial munificence. At 
 
ACLLAHUA. 57 
 
 Tumbez he erected a fine fortress, a temple of the sun, 
 and a house for the chosen virgins. The Peruvians had 
 at this time, as the Athenians in the days of the apostle 
 Paul, a temple to the " Unknown God" and also oracles 
 like those of Delphi. The adventures of the emperor 
 with cacique Tumpulli tyrant of the fertile Islands of 
 Puna is full of romantic history, of deception on one 
 side, and vengeance on the other. The emperor became 
 master of Puna. Atahualpa was the son of Huayna 
 Capac, by the daughter of the king of Quito. He was 
 remarkable for his fine person, his bravery, and his good 
 sense, and was the idol of his father. He wished him to 
 be sole emperor, but this could not be fairly effected, as 
 Huasca Inca was the legitimate heir ; but the father 
 managed matters with them to divide the empire, showing 
 the greatest friendship for Atahualpa. In the latter part 
 of Huayna Capac s days, the Spaniards made their 
 appearance in Peru, in a vessel of uncommon size, and 
 were making inquiries about the country. The emperor 
 was alarmed : the ancient oracles had foretold the coming 
 of these strangers; and three years before this event, 
 during the celebration of the feast of the sun at Cuzo, a 
 large eagle had been pursued and harassed by five or six 
 small falcons and as many water-fowls, until they tore and 
 disabled him to such a degree, that he fell as if for 
 succor, in the great square in the midst of the Incas. 
 They endeavored to nourish the eagle, but he died in a 
 few days. The auguries declared unanimously, that was 
 a presage of the ruin of the state, and the extinction 
 
58 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 of their religion. This prodigy was succeeded by earth 
 quakes, which threw down high mountains ; the sea left 
 its ordinary bounds, and frightful comets appeared. 
 A layco, or magician, one day ran to the emperor in tears, 
 and so out of breath that he could hardly speak, to assure 
 him that his mother, the moon, was surrounded by three 
 circles, one of which was of the color of blood, the second 
 of dark green, and the outward one appeared like smoke; 
 and to explain to him, that Pachacamoc, by these signs, 
 indicated the extirpation of the royal family, and the ruin 
 of the whole empire. The emperor was not insensible to 
 these omens, but was too wise and brave to show a want 
 of fortitude on the occasion. He ordered the soothsayers 
 in all the provinces to consult the oracle of Rimac, 
 regarding the interpretations of these commotions of the 
 elements. Their replies, as might be expected, knowing 
 his fears, were ambiguous. Other omens foretold the 
 emperor of his fate. He ordered his friends to make his 
 favorite son, Atahualpa, their most sacred care. 
 
 HUASCA INCA was emperor over the hereditary do 
 minions of the Incas, while Atahualpa reigned in Quito. 
 Huasca was prevented from making conquests on the 
 north by his brother and became restless and jealous of 
 him, and required that Atahualpa should render him 
 homage and demanded that he should not add an inch 
 to his kingdom by any future conquests. This resulted 
 in a feigned, reconciliation, and, by the bitter jealousy 
 of the emperor of Quito, into an overthrow of Huasca 
 and his authority. The whole race of the Incas was 
 
ACLLAHUA. 59 
 
 nearly extirpated by Atahualpa, and not only them, but 
 most of the great men of the nation. After keeping 
 Huasca for a while in order that he might allay any 
 revolt, by offering to restore their emperor, at length the 
 atrocious Atahualpa inhumanly murdered Huasca with 
 many of his dearest friends. 
 
 The time was now at hand when Atahualpa was to 
 suffer in his turn. In the year 1526, Pizarro landed 
 at Tumbez ; and the Spaniards for the first time feasted 
 their eyes with the fine temples; the gold, silver, and all 
 the opulence and civilization of the Peruvians. They 
 were astonished to find such a race of men. Pizarro, 
 however, did not commence the conquest of Peru at this 
 time, but returning, he invaded the country in February, 
 1531. He landed in the bay of St. Matthews with a 
 hundred and forty-four infantry, and thirty-six cavalry, and 
 was reinforced with about an hundred and twenty under 
 Benalcazar and Soto. At this moment the civil wars 
 were raging between Huasca and Atahualpa. 
 
 Pizarro took advantage of this state of affairs. Post 
 ing himself securely in the temple of Caxamulca, he sent 
 his brother Ferdinand, and Hernand Soto to the camp of 
 Atahualpa, who received them with cordiality. The 
 Spaniards were astonished at the reverence paid to the 
 emperor, and at the order as well as splendor of the 
 court. Pizarro invited the Inca to pay him a visit ; he 
 accepted, and arrived sitting on a throne, attended with 
 more than eastern magnificence, in singers, dancers, and 
 every insignia of royal splendor. Father Vincent Val- 
 
60 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 verde, a bigot of the church, advanced with a crucifix and 
 a breviary. He explained the Christian doctrines and 
 stated that the Pope had made a donation of the new 
 world to the king of Castile and required Atahualpa to 
 embrace the new faith and submit to the king. This 
 was all incomprehensible to the Inca, who was indignant ; 
 he asked where these things had been learned? "In 
 this book" said Valverde. The Inca opened the volume 
 and put it to his ear. "It is silent," said he, " it tells me 
 no such thing," and threw it with disdain to the ground. 
 The enraged monk ran to his companions and cried, 
 " To arms, to arms, Christians ! your religion has been 
 insulted ; avenge it on these impious dogs." The martial 
 music struck up ; the cannon begun to roar ; the muskets 
 were fired in tremendous vollies ; the horse sallied out to 
 the charge, and the work of death was carried on in 
 earnest. Pizarro seized the Inca by the throat, and 
 dragged him to the ground. Tine carnage did not cease 
 until the close of the day. Four thousand Peruvians 
 were butchered, but not a Spaniard was killed. The 
 plunder was immense. Pizarro offered to give liberty to 
 the Inca for a ransom of so much gold as would fill 
 a room twenty-five feet long, and fifteen wide, and as high 
 as a line Soto scratched on the wall with his sword. 
 This was done in two months and a half, but did not save 
 the life of Atahualpa ; he was forced to go through a 
 mock trial, and was condemned to be burnt, and on 
 a promise of mitigation of his sentence, if he would 
 embrace the Christian religion, he consented : and 
 
ACLLAHUA. 61 
 
 instead of being consumed in the flames, was strangled at 
 the stake. This was in 1533. All the impious and cruel 
 wretches who planned this accursed deed, died an unna 
 tural death. A son of Atahualpa was mocked with the 
 investment of royalty, and Mango Capac, a brother of 
 Huasca, who had been put to death by Atahualpa, was 
 Inca of Cuzo ; but after making an unsuccessful attempt 
 to regain Cuzo, he retired to the mountains. 
 
 " Manco Capac, after his unsuccessful attempt to regain 
 his empire, retired into the mountains of Villca Pampa, 
 and lived there in voluntary exile until his death. This 
 event was accomplished by one of those unhappy accidents, 
 which now seemed destined to pursue the race. A num 
 ber of Spaniards, who were imprisoned at Cusco for their 
 participation in some of the civil broils which divided the 
 first conquerors, escaped from confinement, and sought 
 refuge with the Inca among the mountains. Manco Ca 
 pac received and entertained them with much cordiality: 
 and through them a negociation was set on foot for per 
 suading the Inca to quit the mountains, and live on friend 
 ly terms with the viceroy ; and a pardon was to be the 
 recompense of their success. The Spaniards, emboldened 
 by these means, were accustomed to play at balls with the 
 Inca very frequently ; and one of them, Gomez Perez by 
 name, even ventured to treat the Inca with insupportable 
 insolence. On a certain occasion of this kind, Manco 
 Capac was so much offended as to reprove Perez, and 
 strike him a slight blow in the side; whereupon Perez 
 
 flew into a violent passion, and making at the Inca, felled 
 6* 
 
62 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 him to the ground with the ball in his hand. The In- 
 dians, who witnessed the scene, enraged at the murder of 
 their prince, instantly attacked the Spaniards, overwhelm 
 ed them with a shower of arrows, and exposed their bodies 
 to be devoured by vultures and by beasts of prey. 
 
 " Manco Capac was succeeded by his son Sayri Tupac, 
 who continued in the mountains of Villca Pampa, until he 
 was induced by the viceroy, Don Andreas Hurtado de 
 Mendoza, marquis of Canete, to leave them, and reside 
 among the Spaniards. This object was effected by means 
 of the Coyas, or Children of the Sun, who had been mar- 
 ried to the conquerors, and of course felt a double interest, 
 in the Peruvians by birth, and in the Spaniards by alli 
 ance. Mendoza was accounted very fortunate in having 
 accomplished this without any bloodshed ; because so long 
 as the Inca lived among the Spaniards, he was wholly 
 within their power, and they were freed from all apprehen 
 sion of his attempting to regain the empire. He accepted 
 a grant of lands, and a yearly stipend from the viceroy, 
 for his support ; and after being baptized and banquetted 
 at Cusco by both nations, he retired to Yucay, where he 
 lived in obscurity, and died a natural death. 
 
 " Sayri Tupac left no son, and his dignity devolved upon 
 his brother, Tupac Amaru. His estate, however, de 
 scended to his daughter, who was afterwards married, on 
 account of her possessions, to Don Martin Garcia de Lo 
 yola, a Spaniard who acquired distinction by his success 
 in seizing upon the person of Tupac Amaru. This hap 
 pened under the government of Don Francisco de Toledo, 
 
ACLLAHUA. 63 
 
 appointed viceroy in 1569, who sullied an eminently hap 
 py administration, by his cruelty towards the Incas and the 
 rest of the Peruvians. Tupac Amaru, it seems, began his 
 reign, like his predecessor, in the mountains of Villca 
 Pampa. But Toledo, recollecting the credit and security 
 which Mendoza acquired by the conversion of Sayri Tu 
 pac, soon resolved to draw Tupac Amaru from the moun 
 tains, either by negociation or by violence. Tupac Ama 
 ru was deaf to all solicitation. He scorned the paltry sti 
 pend, which was doled out to his brother from the spoils 
 of his own empire. He preferred independence and a life 
 of hardship in the wilds of the Andes, to luxury and dis 
 honor at Cusco or Yucay. Toledo, therefore, commis 
 sioned Don Martin Garcia de Loyola to follow the Inca 
 into the mountains, and to bring him thence by force. 
 Tupac Amaru fled before him at first, but at length de 
 sisted, and suffered himself, with all the members of his 
 household, to be conducted in triumph to Cusco. 
 
 " Little could he anticipate the scene which there await 
 ed him, and the sufferings of which a relentless state policy 
 \vas to make him the victim. No sooner had he reached 
 Cusco, than a special commission was appointed for his 
 trial, and measures were vigorously undertaken to annihi 
 late the royal family of Peru. The Inca was accused of 
 employing his vassals to sally from the mountains and rob 
 the Spaniards ; and of conspiring with his relations of the 
 mixed blood, (the mestizos,) to rise in a mass, by concert, 
 and massacre all the Europeans. This accusation involved 
 in ruin a numerous body of men of the best Spanish Ameri- 
 
64 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 can families in Peru. The conquerors had frequently 
 married the daughters of Peruvian caciques and females 
 of the blood of the Incas, in order to disguise, under more 
 plausible pretexts, the plunder of the lands and vassals of 
 native princes. The fruit of these marriages inherited the 
 rank and pride of their fathers, with the Indian blood of 
 their mothers. All of these, who were capable of bearing 
 arms, the viceroy seized and imprisoned, and at first des 
 tined to death ; but the fear of insurrection induced him to 
 mitigate the sentence, and to banish them, some to various 
 parts of the New World, and some to Spain. 
 
 " The fate of the Peruvians of the royal family was still 
 more deplorable. All the males, to the number of thirty- 
 eight, including the two sons of Tupac Amaru, were ex 
 iled to Lima, and forbidden to quit the city. It is known 
 that the warm and humid air of Lima, and of the plains, 
 is often destructive to constitutions habituated to the dry 
 and bracing air of the mountains ; and in less than two 
 years, thirty-five of these youthful exiles, what with grief 
 at the misfortunes of the race, and affliction at their sepa 
 ration from their friends, and what with the deleterious 
 climate of Los Reyes, all sickened and died ; and the re 
 maining three did not long survive their fellow-sufferers. 
 Thus by cruel murder perished the males of the blood 
 royal of Peru. 
 
 " Tupac Amaru himself, the head of the family, and the 
 acknowledged emperor, was condemned to be publicly de 
 capitated in the sight of the whole Peruvian nation. When 
 the Inca was notified of his sentence, he strenuously pro- 
 
ACLLAHUA. 65 
 
 tested against its cruelty and injustice. He urged, that 
 the impossibility of his procuring any benefit by rebellion 
 was conclusive refutation of the charge that he was guilty 
 of plotting it. How should he imagine that he, with a 
 handful of vassals, could overturn the Spanish power now 
 that it was firmly established, when his father, Manco Ca- 
 pac had failed to do it with a host of two hundred thou 
 sand men of war against two hundred Spaniards? Be 
 sides, if he had been contemplating an insurrection, would 
 he have surrendered himself voluntarily to Loyola? He 
 concluded with the strongest asseverations of his inno 
 cence ; and appealing from Toledo to his master, he de 
 manded to be sent to Spain, to hear his sentence from 
 Philip himself, confiding that he should receive kingly 
 treatment at the hands of a king. 
 
 " But the viceroy was inexorable. His mind was fully 
 made up that the Inca should die. It is probable that he 
 was actuated by motives of devoted attachment to his coun 
 try, and fixed determination that the stability of her vast 
 possessions in America should be secured at all hazards. 
 And his elevated character would seem to countenance the 
 idea ; for he was confessedly one of the purest and ablest 
 of the Spanish viceroys ; and it is impossible to conceive 
 of any thing else of sufficient weight to cause him to per 
 severe against so much public odium, and so many obsta 
 cles of various kinds, which opposed his design. He was 
 unwilling even, it would appear, to trust to the mercy of 
 his master, Philip II., a man who was not liable to be de 
 terred from the pursuit of his interest by scruples of the 
 
66 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 nicest character. And learning that the principal Spa 
 niards in the country were coming to supplicate him to com 
 mute the punishment of death for exile or imprisonment, 
 he surrounded his house with guards, and peremptorily 
 refused admission to the applicants. 
 
 " In the mean time the preparations for the immediate 
 execution of the Inca were actively hastened. A scaffold 
 was erected in the large public square of Cusco, it being 
 the purpose of the viceroy to intimidate the whole Peru 
 vian people, by the most studied degradation of the repre 
 sentative of the sun. On the day appointed for the exe 
 cution, the Inca was led forth on a mule, with his hands 
 pinioned, a halter around his neck, and the crier going 
 before him proclaiming his approaching death, and the im 
 puted cause of it. While moving to the square, the pro 
 cession was met by a numerous band of Peruvian women, 
 exclaiming with passionate cries and loud lamentations 
 against the conduct of Toledo, and demanding that they 
 might be slaughtered in the company of their prince, ra 
 ther than to remain alive to be the slaves of his murderer. 
 Never, indeed, upon whatever occasion, was a movement 
 of popular grief communicated through a greater mass of 
 indignant and agonized beings. Entering the square, 
 where the scaffold stood, the eye gazed upon three hun 
 dred thousand souls, assembled to witness the last mourn 
 ful hour of him who was the object of profound veneration 
 to all, as the heir of their ancient sovereigns, and the de 
 scendant, not of a long line of kings only, but of the very 
 gods themselves whom the nation worshipped. In his 
 
ACLLAHUA. 67 
 
 death they were to behold, not merely the prostration of 
 the Incas, but the finishing stroke given to the glorious 
 empire of the Sun, and the sceptre of Peru passed into 
 hands of a foreign race, the despisers of the religion of the 
 land, the usurpers of its dominion, and the tyrannical op 
 pressors of its inhabitants. They seemed invited, as it 
 were, to attest the act of finally setting the seal to their 
 own perpetual servitude. The idea roused them to shouts 
 of vengeance. As the Inca ascended the fatal stage, and 
 stood environed by the priests in their sacerdotal vestments, 
 and near him the hateful executioner, with his drawn 
 sword displayed, their excitement and indignation broke 
 all bounds, and but for an incident as remarkable as it 
 was timeous, the Peruvians might even then, in the extre 
 mity of their just rage, have fallen upon the Spaniards, and 
 crushed them beneath the mere weight of the eager thou 
 sands, who seemed ready to rush upon death to rescue 
 their adored Inca. But just when the elements of discord 
 were on the point of being wrought up to fury, the Inca 
 raised his right hand till the open palm was on a line with 
 his right ear, and then slowly depressed it down to his 
 right thigh. At this familiar signal of silence, instantly, 
 as if the angel of destruction had swept over the assembled 
 crowds, the noisy and tumultuous multitude sunk into still 
 ness the most profound, and not less appalling than its pre 
 vious commotion. The Spaniards were struck with amaze 
 ment at the scene, which manifested so clearly the extra 
 ordinary authority still exercised by the Inca over the 
 minds of the Peruvians ; and justified in some degree the 
 
OS ACLLAHUA. 
 
 policy of Toledo. The execution now proceeded tran* 
 quilly to its conclusion, and the Inca met his end with that 
 unshrinking fortitude, dignity, and contempt of death, 
 which have universally marked the Indian in the last strug 
 gles of dissolving nature. 
 
 " Thus terminated the direct male lineage of the Chil 
 dren of the Sun. Don Jose Gabriel Candor Canqui, the 
 individual who revolutionized the Peruvians in 1781, and 
 filled the provinces of Upper Peru with bloodshed by his 
 noble and daring, but unfortunate, attempt to restore the 
 empire of the native princes, was, it is believed, a collate- 
 ral descendant of the Inca Tupac Amaru, whose name he 
 assumed to awaken the historical sympathies of the Peru 
 vians. The marquisate of Oropesa, which Candor Can- 
 qui claimed, was originally erected by the king of Spain 
 in favor of the daughter of Don Martin Garcia de Loyola, 
 by his wife, the child of Sayri Tupac. Loyola s daughter 
 was made marchioness of Oropesa in her own right, and 
 married to a Spanish gentleman of distinction, Don Martin 
 Henriquez de Borja. 
 
 " In connection with the death of Tupac Amaru it de 
 serves to be mentioned, that Toledo, on his return from 
 his government, did not meet with the favorable reception 
 which he anticipated. His long vice-regal rule had been 
 remarkably prosperous. He counted upon holding a rank 
 at court proportioned to the importance of his services 
 abroad, and the large fortune he had there accumulated. 
 Especially he presumed that his labors for rendering stable 
 the Spanish empire over Peru, by regulating the mita for 
 
ACLLAHUA. 69 
 
 the mines, and by cutting off the royal family, the rallying 
 point of disaffection to the Peruvians, would be amply and 
 suitably remunerated. But in this hope he was most egre- 
 giously disappointed. His enemies had pre-occupied tire 
 king s ear with an exaggerated account of his riches, and 
 had so represented his execution of Tupac Amaru, that 
 when he entered the presence chamber to kiss the hand of 
 Philip II., the king commanded him very shortly to be 
 take himself to his house, for that he had been sent to 
 Peru to serve, not to slay, monarchs. Broken-hearted at 
 this harsh repulse, and at the complete overthrow of his 
 ambitious expectations, he retired to learn that he was 
 also accused of embezzling public monies, and that the 
 fiscal officers were commissioned to take possession of all 
 his gold and silver until the truth of the charge was ascer 
 tained. His proud spirit could not brook these indignities 
 from a master, whom if he had offended, it had only been 
 by reason of excess of zeal in his service. In a short time 
 the once confident Toledo, sickened and died of pure dis 
 appointment^ and chagrin, in this respect accomplishing 
 the poetic justice, which his cruel and unrighteous, though 
 politic murder of Tupac Amaru and of the Incas de 
 served." 
 
 Don Diego Chocolato, a young Castilian, just from the 
 university of Grenada, had joined the renowned Pizarro, 
 solely from the love of glory. He knew no avarice, and 
 was above all vulgar ambition. He was not only a high- 
 born cavalier, but a scholar, a gentleman, and every way 
 a soldier, from feeling, and lofty courage. His father 
 
70 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 had assisted Pizarro in getting up his enterprise of con 
 quest, for the advantage of Spain. Don Diego had kept 
 in his service, for some time, a young Peruvian, who had 
 been taken from his native country when Pizarro first vi 
 sited Peru. From this lad Diego had acquired some know 
 ledge of the Peruvian language. The youth became much 
 more attached to Diego than to Pizarro, and was constant 
 ly by his side. While Pizarro was digesting his plans of 
 conquest, Diego was looking about the country, to mark 
 its capacities, and to enjoy its sublime and beautiful scene 
 ry. He was in transports at every view. All that he had 
 examined in Spain or in France, the gardens of Europe, 
 sunk in comparison with what now struck his astonish 
 ed sight. The hills of his native land, covered with vines 
 and olive trees, was a paradise, and with a natural love 
 of country, he believed all the poets had said of both ; but 
 the scenery of Peru threw Europe, in all its variety, into 
 the shade. He was a botanist ; and the groves were a 
 wilderness of beautiful trees, mingled with flowers of ex- 
 quisite fragrance and colors. He was an ornithologist; 
 and birds of the gayest plumage, and sweetest notes, were 
 seen on every twig and branch. One fine morning, he 
 took his fowling-piece and canister for plants, and made 
 a ramble for birds and flowers. He reached a cultivated 
 spot, not far from the city of Quito. The cultivated ground 
 was surrounded by trees and shrubbery, and among them 
 were myriads of birds. The Peruvian youth was his com 
 panion ; but as he was entering the cleared ground, the 
 lad showed great signs of distress and horror, and entreat- 
 
ACLLAHUA. 71 
 
 ed Diego not to put his foot on that soil, as it was the 
 CALOCAMPATA, sacred to the cultivation of the Incas, and 
 all who trespassed upon it were put to death, unless they 
 were of the royal family. Don Diego, smiling, said, I am 
 of the royal family of the king my master, and therefore 
 the injunction does not reach me. Without any further 
 ceremony he strode on ; the Peruvian durst not follow 
 him, but waited in an agony on the borders of the sacred 
 field. After wandering a while on the skirts of the woods, 
 in ecstasy at every thing, his eye caught a tall plant, ten or 
 twelve feet in height. It was crowned with numerous 
 flowers, exhibiting, as it were, so many suns, of every co 
 lor in nature, from the paly yellow to the darkest purple. 
 He had never seen any thing before in the garden of Flora 
 half so splendid. He was charmed by a full examination 
 of it. He was ignorant of the fact, that it was dedicated 
 to the sun, and that no one but of the race of the Incas 
 were allowed to touch it: probably it would not have 
 troubled him, if he had been acquainted with the supersti 
 tion. The Spaniards trod the soil of Peru, from the first 
 moment they landed, as its masters. This is the same 
 flower which has since been transplanted to Europe, and 
 from thence to North America, and is called Dahlia, from 
 the name of the German botanist who carried it to Europe, 
 whose name was Dahl. Having shot a few birds to draw 
 and paint on his return to camp, he was about retracing 
 his steps, when on an old catalpa tree he saw an owl of 
 monstrous size near her nest. This tree appeared to have 
 been her habitation for ages. The bird was so tame that 
 
72 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 he hesitated to fire at it, thinking that it might have been 
 domesticated; but unwilling to loose so good a chance of 
 adding to his stock of ornithological knowledge, sportsman 
 like, he brought down the owl. The moment she fell, a 
 scream from an hundred throats broke forth, and as many 
 arrows were discharged at the Spaniard s body. The 
 guardian of the CALOCAMPATA had watched his movements, 
 but had been restrained from violence by the august ap 
 pearance of the warlike stranger, and from the terror of 
 the fire-vomiting divinity he carried in his hand ; but this 
 last outrage of shooting the sacred bird, was too much for 
 them to endure. The first flight of arrows were shot at 
 such a distance from their ambush, that they did not much 
 harm, but as he attempted to gain the cleared ground, he 
 fell in with the whole body of the guard, and received a 
 second shower of arrows. He sustained himself for a mo 
 ment, long enough to shoot the leader, but soon sunk un 
 der his wounds. The dead owl was in his hand, and no 
 one ventured to approach him, not knowing what his Jire- 
 spirit, the gun, might do, even if its master had fallen. 
 The young Peruvian had witnessed the attack upon his 
 friend, and seeing him fall, and supposing that he must be 
 slain, from the number of arrows discharged, he ran to the 
 mansion of an aged cacique, in the neighborhood, to beg 
 of him to rescue the body of the gallant officer from being 
 the prey of the condors of the mountains. He told the 
 old man the story ; but urged the ignorance of the stranger 
 as an excuse for his sacrilege. The good old man listened 
 with attention, and ordered his men to bring the body to 
 
ACLLAHUA. 73 
 
 his lodge in the garden. They heard the order with a 
 shudder, but bowed their heads in obedience. As they 
 reached the garden, some sign of life appeared in the body 
 they were bearing ; and the cacique, who was skilled in 
 the medicinal virtues of all plants and herbs, gave the 
 wounded man a decoction of cuca leaves, which soon 
 brought him to his senses. The cavalier expressed his 
 gratitude to his deliverer, who made signs for him to re 
 main quiet, while he covered his wounds with crushed 
 plantain leaves, which soon assuaged their anguish, and 
 allayed the fever in his veins. In the heat of the day, the 
 wife of the cacique, with her two daughters, came to the 
 lodge in the garden, with large bunches of feathers, to 
 give a gentle resuscitating breeze to his face and lips. The 
 eldest daughter was named Nuna Nina, and the youngest 
 Tanta Ashla. Diego made use of the little he knew of 
 the Peruvian language, to thank them for their kindness. 
 They were astonished to hear him speak in their own 
 tongue, but their young countryman soon explained the 
 mystery. Diego was charmed with the eldest daughter 
 of the cacique, at first sight. She was the perfection of 
 Peruvian beauty. Her height was majestic for that of her 
 countrywomen, her limbs finely turned, and every move 
 ment as graceful as those of the gazelle. On her cheek 
 was the flush of health, and in her eye the smile of inno 
 cence. Devoid of all affectation, her tongue was the in 
 terpreter of her feelings, and she knew no guile. Her 
 sister was much like herself in person, but had not the 
 
 same mental power. The cacique had kept his daughters 
 
 7* 
 
74 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 from public view, as Atahualpa had heard of their beauty, 
 and wished to get them into his possession. The ancient 
 laws of the Incas had been relaxed in regard to the vir 
 gins of the sun. At first, they were selected and brought 
 to the temple when only eight years of age ; but of latter 
 years, many were taken at a more mature age, for the 
 Incas entered the vestal abode to select the most beautiful 
 for his own household. The old cacique exacted a pro 
 mise of Don Diego that he would be silent on his adven 
 ture, or at least so far as it regarded himself and daughters. 
 Diego slowly recovered, as his fair attendants, under the 
 direction of their parents, would not permit him to indulge 
 his appetite for food. They gave him to drink the milk 
 of the lama, boiled in a golden vessel, to be certain of its 
 purity, twice a day, and once a roasted silver fish, dressed 
 with aromatic herbs, both savory to taste and smell 
 After his fever had entirely left him, the cacique gave him 
 a decoction of cinchona, the Peruvian bark, which 
 has since given strength to hundreds of millions of the 
 human race. The paleness on the cheek of Chocolato 
 now passed away, and was succeeded by a fine roseate 
 tinge ; and to do him justice, he was as noble a cavalier as 
 ever " witched the world with horsemanship," or drew a 
 battle blade. The attachment between him and Nuna 
 Nina now increased. She came every day to the lodge, 
 before his wounds were healed, and amused him with the 
 tales of Peru, the history of the Incas, and the loves and 
 adventures of individuals. The language of the country 
 was copious and sweet; and from the very fact that they 
 
ACLLAHUA. 75 
 
 had no letters, their memories and imaginations were the 
 more extensively cultivated. These tales grew every day 
 of a more tender cast ; and what began in the common 
 delineations of friendship, now glowed in all the fascina 
 tions of love. I have said they had no letters, but they 
 were made accurate historians by tradition ; they were 
 obliged to trace events with accuracy, but were allowed to 
 indulge their own imaginations and tastes in episodes and 
 ornaments. Nuna Nina was the Scherezade of Peru, and 
 her eloquence was as sweet as poetry or song from the 
 lips of enamored and enamoring beauty. All was purity 
 and love. 
 
 Pizarro thought, from his long absence, that Chocola- 
 to was dead, and the young Peruvian also, as no traces of 
 them could be found. A messenger now arrived at the 
 abode of the cacique, who informed him that Atahualpa 
 had been invited to visit the camp of Pizarro, and had 
 summoned all his great officers to attend him. Diego 
 hearing this, and knowing the vast ambition, and want of 
 high honor, in Pizarro, which he had learned since he left 
 Spain, was apprehensive of treachery, and announced his 
 departure. The cacique was offended when the Don 
 talked of remuneration. My life is forfeited for what I 
 have done ; if the Inca should find out that I have enter- 
 tained one who has killed the sacred owl, my life and that 
 of my family may pay the forfeit. All I ask is, that as you 
 have an opportunity, spare the blood of the Peruvians. I 
 bid you farewell ; may you be a favorite of the sun in every 
 hour of your life. They all shed tears at parting. Even 
 
76 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 in a fashionable and cold-hearted world, kindness and 
 attention, when we are sick, beget lasting affections, and 
 the impression is deeper and more lasting when their atten 
 tions flow from the philanthropy of strangers, who act 
 neither from the ties of kindred, or nation, or from any 
 hopes of notoriety or reciprocity. The heart of Don Diego 
 was too full for words ; he promised them that he would 
 return, and be their friend during life. The stranger s 
 horse, which the young Peruvian had secreted in the 
 woods, during the sickness of Diego, and fed him in pri 
 vacy, for fear that he would be destroyed by the natives, 
 who were not accustomed to the sight of such an animal, 
 was now brought to the garden gate. Turning to Nuna, 
 he said, " We shall soon meet again." " Never," was the 
 reply. " Atahualpa, by this time, is acquainted with all. 
 He will take us to the temple of the sun, and you he will 
 destroy." " My dear friend," said Diego, " if you have no 
 other fears, dismiss them ; the emperor dares not touch 
 me, and shall not injure you ; the Spaniards have terrible 
 instruments of death, the Inca cannot hurt them, and they 
 understand the art of war." Mounting his charger, he 
 soon reached Pizarro s camp. All were glad to see him, 
 except Pizarro, who had contemplated the capture of Ata- 
 hualpa, and he feared that the high Castilian blood of Don 
 Diego Chocolato would mantle his cheek at any appear 
 ance of perfidy. Diego gave a general account of his ill 
 ness, and of the kindness he had experienced from the 
 Peruvians, but did not mention names, or precise places. 
 In a few days it was rumored that Atahualpa had 
 
ACLLAHUA. 77 
 
 made his preparations, which were wonderfully magnifi 
 cent, to visit the Spanish camp. He soon made his ap 
 pearance, when the outrage took place which we have 
 recounted. 
 
 Diego, with eight or ten Castilians, whose lofty feel 
 ings of honor would not permit them to join the slaughter 
 of defenceless men, did not act in the work of death with 
 Pizarro and his assassins ; but while he was turning away 
 from the bloody spectacle, the young Peruvian rushed to 
 wards Diego, with vengeance in his looks, and gave the 
 information that Nuna Nina and Tanta Ashla had been 
 dragged from their father s residence, and were now in 
 the Acllahua ; that this was done by the emissaries of the 
 emperor, and that the good old cacique and his wife were 
 in the prisons of Quito, for having shown mercy and kind 
 ness to one who had profaned the ground sacred to the 
 cultivation of the Incas, and shot the sacred bird. In an 
 instant Diego and his Castilians were on a gallop towards 
 the city ; and on reaching the golden doors of the temple, 
 broke them into a thousand pieces with their battle-axes, 
 and were at once in the midst of the virgins, who were 
 all kneeling before the image of the sun, and with down 
 cast eye chanting in solemn accents a hymn of propitia 
 tion; for the roar of Pizarro s cannon, and the discharge 
 of musketry, were reverberating with tremendous echoes 
 among the mountains near Quito, and filling the city with 
 affright. When the priestess lifted up her eyes, she thought 
 the Castilians were demigods, sent from the sun to protect 
 them, and they changed the song to one of thanksgiving 
 
78 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 and praise. Diego, with a lover s glance, saw his adored 
 Peruvian, with her sister, kneeling in the outer row of the 
 vestals, for they had not as yet taken the vows. He took 
 the fair ones by the hand, and led them forth, while the 
 young Peruvian explained to the virgins the reason of the 
 forcible entry into the house of the stars. The prisons 
 were near, and in a few moments, bars, bolts, and doors, 
 were shivered into atoms, and the cacique and his wife 
 were on their way to the Spanish camp. 
 
 Spanish honor and love would not admit of delay, in 
 such a case, and Don Diego Chocolato was married after 
 the rites of the church, to Nuna Nina, a descendant of 
 the Incas, before the sun had gone down on that day s 
 massacre, and in a few days Tanta Ashla became the 
 wife of Francisco Davila, a brave and worthy Castilian. 
 These were the first marriages between the Spaniards and 
 Peruvians. When Diego entered the Acllahua, he was sur 
 prised at the composure of Nuna. She seemed as serene as 
 if she had been an inmate of the house for years. She ap 
 peared an emanation of a lovely morning sun, free from all 
 clouds and followed her deliverer as if she expected him 
 as a bridegroom. He ventured after a few days to allude 
 to the circumstance ; she smiling, made him this answer, 
 " I knew you were coming to relieve me, my sister, and 
 father, and had no doubts on my mind about the whole 
 affair. I told the priestess of the sun, all that was to take 
 place, and she believed so far as to delay the religious 
 ceremonies of the vows. She consulted the oracles of 
 Acllahua, and their responses were such that she dared 
 
ACLLAHUA. 79 
 
 not insist on the ceremonies of the virgins of the sun at 
 the usual time. I had told her of the noise of the cannon, 
 of the captivity of Atahualpa. 
 
 "This fortitude arose from a vision the sun suffered me 
 to receive. I will, for your satisfaction, relate it. On the 
 evening of the day you left us, Atahualpa sent us to the 
 Acllahua. I looked at the moon our mother, and praying 
 with all the agony of my soul to be relieved from the 
 solemnities of the religious vows or the embraces of the 
 emperor of Quito, I fell into a profound sleep, with my 
 eyelids wet with tears, and my heart palpitating with 
 grief. The good mother of the Incas, Coya Mama, came 
 to me on a bright and golden throne, and said to me, 
 Daughter, be of good cheer, your inclinations are not to 
 be violated. All will be well with you, but Oh ! my 
 country. With the mother of the Incas, you still 
 are safe. I was at once transported to the highest point 
 of the Andes, and not only the whole surface of the 
 kingdom of the sun was before me, but all the civilized 
 world rose up to my view. 
 
 "The children of the sun," she continued, "are soon 
 to be sunk into the shades of night, and the Incas only to 
 be a subject of tradition, perhaps of history. The empe 
 ror Atahualpa, for his crimes, is to suffer death without 
 regret or honorable mention. He was your enemy, but 
 he is no longer to be found. Cast your eyes on either 
 ocean ; all must submit to the invaders. They will rule. 
 The children of the sun will be commingled with this 
 new race. Repine not at this ; it is the will of The Un* 
 
80 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 known God, who is greater than the sun ; to him you must 
 bow. The Acllahua will soon be destroyed ; the purity 
 of the vestals cannot control the fates ; they will be 
 scattered and forgotten, and a solemn race of friars, monks, 
 and chanting nuns will take their places. It must be so. 
 The last groans of the virgins of the sun are now sound 
 ing in my ears. Other nations are to be interested in the 
 fate of the Peruvians, and particularly the tribes around 
 us." She then pointed to a small island in the north 
 east, at almost a sightless distance. It seemed but a 
 speck in the horizon. It was a very little spot ; they had 
 many boats ready for adventures. The GREAT HARRY 
 with her great castles, was floating in the waters, and her 
 warriors were harnessed for the fight. " That small island," 
 said Coya Mama, " is to be the greatest nation on the great 
 waters, that the sun even looked down upon." She said, 
 look again. The Great Harry was not to be seen ; but a 
 virgin queen, a priestess of the sun, was seen in mortal 
 fray, with an hundred ships, and was victorious. Her 
 enemy was scattered, sunk, or disappeared ; the gods 
 assisted them, she said. She directed my attention to the 
 immeasurable wilds of the north. The forests were 
 thick and tall; and here and there a red man was 
 wandering with his bow to kill his game. I was directed 
 to look again, and here and there a settlement had been 
 made by white men, who were driving the red men from 
 the sea-shore. They grew like the small clouds which 
 hover over the Andes to a mighty one, and in one vast 
 storm was pouring down on the red men. " Leave them>" 
 
ACLLAHUA. 81 
 
 said Coy a Mama, " for a moment, and east your eye 
 over your own country, and all those around you." I 
 looked, and one vast night of ignorance and bigotry was 
 reigning from the Isthmus to the Horn. No noise was 
 heard, save the bigot s prayer, which Heaven never 
 regards ; and now and then a groan of suffering humanity, 
 in the cells of the Inquisition, went up to Heaven for 
 vengeance. Pride, ignorance, and bigotry were the 
 supreme rulers of the land. Cowled monks were seen 
 moving from place to place, to mock the worshippers ot 
 the sun, and those who doubted their own divine mission. 
 The philosophers who taught us that our god was good, 
 were wasting their days in prison ; and he who thought 
 for himself was proscribed. Turn again to the small isle 
 which we saw just now ; her sails whiten every sea her 
 thunders are heard in every echo. Again I stretched my 
 view to the north ; myriads of white men were in commo 
 tion ; a change had come over them, and they were eager 
 to sever from the mother country. Anon, it was done. 
 Auain, as I looked at Peru, and its adjacent countries, 
 there was the inconstant and flickering lights of liberty 
 seen from mountain to vale ; sounds were heard that 
 startled the priest, as he was quietly dozing on the cross, or 
 mumbling mass at the altar. From these countries are to 
 come vengeance to Spain, and succor to your race. The 
 flashes which were blazed along the heavens, became 
 more frequent, and spread wider and rose higher. Sol- 
 diers were seen at every flash with arms in their hands. 
 
 passing through the land, and breaking down all barriers 
 
 8 
 
82 ACLLAHUA. 
 
 to freedom. At the head of these armies was a leader of 
 small stature, but of martial air, and of determined mien. 
 Wherever he went, the air rung with plaudits, and every 
 heart seemed inspired with confidence, as he spake. " That 
 hero," said Coya Mama " is the LIBERATOR ; in his veins 
 flows the blood of two lofty races the Castilian, and that 
 of the Peruvian Incas. See with what chivalry he over 
 comes every obstacle. He is a descendant of thine! 
 He will claim you and your Spanish lover as his an 
 cestors. Nearly three centuries must pass before he 
 shall begin his labors, but the sun that will look down 
 upon his deeds will be as bright and beautiful as at this 
 time ; the god of the Peruvians grows not dim with 
 years. Behold that train who lick the dust of his feet ; 
 they in secret envy him. By whispers of his ambition, 
 they attempt to sully the whiteness of his fame they will 
 succeed to break his noble heart, which is made of Peru 
 vian tenderness and Spanish pride. Greatness often 
 suffers from the ignorance of the many and envy of the 
 few. He will not be called to leave the world, until the 
 cells of the Inquisition have been broken up, and freedom 
 in religion given to all. He will cause superstition to take 
 her flight, and relieve the spirit of man from thraldom, as 
 well as his body, and his soul shall walk abroad in native 
 majesty." " Heard ye that solemn strain ?" said Coya 
 Mama. " That was the dirge of the Liberator. Ingrati 
 tude was too much for his spirit to bear ; but his fame 
 will never die. After the agitations which are always 
 attendant in a nation passing from chains to freedom, 
 
ACLLAHUA. 83 
 
 shall have subsided, altars and monuments shall rise to 
 his memory, inscribed with affection, admiration, and 
 gratitude." The Andes overlooking the clouds were 
 watching the day-spring, as we beheld this last scene of 
 the Liberator s career, and with the first clear ray 
 of her god, the mighty spirit of the mother of the Incas 
 commingled, and was gone from my sight. 
 
 Don Diego delighted to find his wife a philosopher 
 and priestess by a dream and was more so as he found 
 her impressions received in the vision, growing stronger 
 every day ; and his own doubts were in a good degree 
 removed, when he was satisfied of the maternity of Nuna, 
 and witnessed the death of Atahualpa. The drama had 
 opened not to be closed until all was fulfilled. 
 
THE TROGLODYTES 
 
 " Some are born with base impediments to rise, 
 And some are burn with none." 
 
 NEAR the mouth of an eastern ri?er in the United 
 States, is to be found an island, nine miles long, and 
 from one to two wide, formed almost entirely of shifting 
 sands. Every storm changes some portion of the physi 
 ognomy of this island. Its whole vegetation consists, with 
 the exception of a small portion of the southern end, in a 
 few juniper bushes, and some few other scraggy, stinted 
 shrubs of that class ; but during some years, after a wet 
 spring, a small bush springs from the sand and bears a 
 irrayish plumb, nearly as large as a damson, which in 
 September is very delicious. Barren as the place is 
 of vegetation, it is full of life. In the summer season 
 countless millions of spiders are found on the sand, or 
 swinging from the bushes, on their airy webs, in size 
 from the circumference of a cent to the smallest thing 
 that gives proof of life. About a mile from the east side 
 of the island is a bar of sand hardly covered at low 
 water ; over which, when the wind is easterly, the sea 
 rolls, and breaks with great force and sublimity. Gazing 
 on these resounding billows, one is impressed with the 
 words of inspiration, to the mighty ocean, " Hitherto shaft 
 thou come, and no farther ; and here shall thy proud 
 &* 
 
% THE TROGLODYTES. 
 
 waves be stayed" The sea-birds, from the tiny peep, the 
 long-legged snipe, the fine plovers, gray and black- 
 breasted, up to the wild goose, make this island their 
 caravansary, as they pass from south to north, and on 
 their return. They love to linger along these shores, and 
 feed and rest themselves for the great journeys the God of 
 nature has taught them to make, for continuing their 
 species, and for the benefit of man. In spring and fall, 
 the island is the sportsman s paradise. He chooses the 
 smaller or the greater game at pleasure, and returns 
 loaded with it. Often the great gray eagle is seen sailing 
 and poising in his majesty, in order to prey upon the small 
 bird, or watch his jackall, the fish-hawk, to bring up his 
 prey from the ocean. The subservient hawk dives into 
 the water for the fish for himself. The eagle, measuring 
 his distance, darts upon the hawk with the greatest 
 swiftness ; who with a scream of fear drops his prey, and 
 the eagle seldom fails to catch it before it reaches land or 
 water. This amusement to the spectator is often con 
 tinued for hours, until the bird of Jove is surfeited with 
 more substantial food than nectar, such as his master 
 feeds on. When the eagle turns to poise himself after 
 seizing his prey, is the time to take aim, if you are 
 disposed to bring him down. It is a dangerous sport for 
 boys, and of course they are fond of it. Nine times out 
 of ten, the eagle is not shot dead, if struck by the ball, 
 but falls with a broken wing, full of wrath at his misfor 
 tune and disgrace. Then let the young sportsman be or* 
 his guard. 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 87 
 
 On each end of the island, there are two houses, but 
 no trace of civilization marks the intermediate waste, 
 excepting a hut here and there, erected by some charita 
 ble societies to save shipwrecked mariners thrown in 
 the storm upon this deceitful shore. These are filled 
 with fuel and provisions for them in such emergencies, 
 and it is considered as a species of sacrilege to rob these 
 depositories, and, to the honor of human nature, things 
 tempting have been left there for years, untouched by 
 a thief or trespasser. On the opposite side of the river, 
 on the main land, there have lived for ages a race of fisher 
 men, who from their ignorance and modes of life are de 
 nominated Algerines. They supply the market of the 
 neighboring town a beautiful mart of commerce within a 
 few miles with all sorts offish. One of these Algerines, 
 getting into a quarrel with his neighbors, determined to 
 forego the advantages of society, and migrate to the island 
 the first fair opportunity. This was a bold decision for 
 these sea-dogs, who fear nothing else, fear departed spirits, 
 and tradition had been busy in making this desolate island 
 the rendezvous of the pirates, who in former days swarmed 
 on the coast of North as well as South America. Stories 
 of buried treasures and foul murders were still rife among 
 them. Afar off in the country, bold men who had heard of 
 the buried treasures of the Buccaneers, with " all their 
 damned rites of sepulture," sometimes came to the island 
 to dig for it ; but there is no well authenticated account 
 of the success of the avaricious, with all the charms they 
 could muster, to break the fast spell with which it was 
 
88 THE TROGLODYTES. 
 
 bound. In confirmation that it was "haunted ground, 
 hundreds had declared that they had heard the plaintive 
 moans of ghosts upon the breeze that preceded a storm. 
 Neddy Ball, the fisherman, who intended to migrate, did 
 not think so much of this as many others did, for he said 
 he never heard these sounds, only when the wind blew 
 from the eastward, and if there were as many ghosts as 
 he had seen alewives go up the river, he was not afraid 
 of them ; for they would not touch him, for he had saved 
 more than one man s life; and his mother had always 
 told him, that when he saved a human being s life, 
 no ghost or witch could have any power over him to do 
 him harm. *.! 
 
 Fortune soon favored Neddy s enterprise. In a great 
 freshet in the spring, large quantities of timber floated 
 down the river, and lodged on the island, and larger 
 quantities, perhaps, went out to sea. The owners of 
 these broken rafts, now and then, have recovered this 
 lodged timber, by way of their marks. In this, they are, 
 however, often thwarted by these Algerines, and others of 
 their grade, by a process they call mooning, that is, by 
 taking advantage of a moon-light night, for cutting out 
 the marks on the timber, and floating it off, when the 
 high tide serves their purposes. Without an ear-mark, 
 timber is only drift-wood. They have no other way to 
 get fuel, and they have no compunctions of conscience in 
 doing this ; for they consider this wood a god-send and 
 that it belongs to them, as it breaks away from the owner. 
 Neddy and his family having been quite successful in 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 89 
 
 mooning, set about to build themselves a convenient cabin. 
 This was done by the assistance of their few friends, in a 
 short time ; and it required no great time for the removal 
 of his furniture, or household gods. He formed his cabin 
 strong, and quite comfortable. Now he was independent. 
 He felt no ambition for preferment in civil or military life. 
 He was a hardy, industrious fisherman, and owned his 
 boat ; he had taken her on shares at first, but now had 
 " worked her out." He had a wife, two sons and two 
 daughters, and while a part of the family were fishing, 
 the others were selling the produce of their labors in the 
 market. They supported a good reputation for honesty. 
 The cabin had just begun to attract the notice of the 
 sportsman, as a place to rest for a few moments, to get a 
 bite of broiled fish, after fatiguing himself by travelling 
 in the sands ; when a sudden storm arose, and so far 
 changed the masses of sand, that the light-houses were so 
 much out of their correct bearings as to make it necessary 
 to give them a new position ; and while they were doing 
 this, it was discovered that Neddy s house was covered 
 with sand. He had manfully kept a breathing hole from 
 the door by the help of his clam-spade ; he was the 
 owner of such an instrument for frequently, at low 
 water, Neddy dug a load of clams, for amusement, as 
 Beau Tibbs wife washed her husband s shirts for ex 
 ercise. 
 
 Among those who visited the island after the storm, 
 was a merchant, every way a splendid man, in talents 
 and fortune. He was a military man, a legislator, gene 
 
90 THE TROGLODYTES. 
 
 rous and brave. He was curious to observe every thing. 
 With him was his friend, a young counsellor at law. The 
 buried fisherman s family were known to them, and they 
 repaired at once to examine the extent of the disaster of 
 the fisherman. The Troglodytes, as the counsellor play 
 fully named them, from their present situation; for they, 
 like those of ancient story in the extended regions of Ethi 
 opia, literally came from a cavern in the earth. The bu 
 ried fisherman and his family were thankful for the relief 
 afforded them, for many days had they been deprived of 
 their ordinary sources of subsistence. The weather be 
 came calm, and the next day Neddy was at the door of his 
 benefactors, with a fish so fresh that a farewell to his na 
 tive element seemed yet to be on his tongue, and his eye 
 had not lost a particle of its life. 
 
 Neddy, this time, had caught a good freight. In a 
 few weeks he appeared in the market with clams only ; 
 and on meeting the counsellor, the latter inquired why he 
 had left bringing cod and haddock, and taken to dealing 
 in clams, as clamming was not so profitable or honorable 
 as fishing. "Why, squire," said he, for the humblest 
 suppose that their good or ill fortune is known to all men, 
 " dont you know that we ve lost our boat ; she was lent 
 to a friend, and he got her swampt on the hump-sands." 
 The counsellor had been busy in his profession, and had 
 not been made acquainted with the ill luck of his friends, 
 the Troglodytes ; but after hearing the story, he said, 
 "Well, Neddy, your friend the colonel is out of town, but 
 you shall not want for a boat. What will purchase one as 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 91 
 
 good as you want, Neddy ?" said the counsellor. The 
 sum was named ; but as it was known to the friends of 
 Neddy that those who ask a favor diminish the necessary 
 sum, he set down double as much as Neddy stated would 
 suffice, and in a generous community soon obtained all he 
 required, by a subscription among his circle of friends. 
 In a few days Neddy was master and owner of just such a 
 craft as his heart panted after ; for he was desired to see 
 the boat-builder, and agree as to size, material, and fash 
 ion of his boat; and Neddy, in his directions, said he 
 wanted to have a little of the life-boat fashion in her, as 
 he intended to earn some of the premiums given by the 
 Humane Society for saving persons from drowning. The 
 boat was finished as he desired, and in his gratitude he 
 muttered, that he guessed he should get a share of that 
 are money. Neddy had already received several premi 
 ums from that society, for his exertions in saving ship 
 wrecked mariners. The Troglodytes had been prospe 
 rous all that season, and held up their heads, conscious of 
 their own exertions, and proud of the acquaintances they 
 had formed. They were able all round to get a comforta 
 ble suit of go-to-meeting clothes, partly boughten, and 
 partly made from the old wardrobes of their friends ; and 
 once or twice ventured to be seen in them. This was no 
 small effort, for the envy of the vulgar is the greatest diffi 
 culty the humble have to surmount in their attempts to 
 rise. Neddy now delighted in self-government. He had 
 been worried in the Algerine community, aud was not 
 fond of the civilization he had seen, to which he could 
 
92 THE TROGLODYTES. 
 
 have no access. Although he had not read Vattel or Azu- 
 ni on the laws of nations, he understood his own rights as 
 well as any one. He drew his living from resources that 
 were inexhaustible, from a bank which required no en 
 dorser for a discount, and from which no public functiona 
 ry could withdraw the deposites, a bank which was char 
 tered in the morning of creation to run until the end of 
 time, or as long as the "globe was poised, or the sea rolled 
 a wave." The clam ground belonged to the public, and 
 he felt that as a native, a descendant of the pilgrims, who 
 lived so long upon faith and clams, that he had equal rights 
 with all others around him, to the use of the Flats, and to 
 take, without stint, the quohogs as he pleased. 
 
 A few years after the independent Troglodytes had 
 been established, much to the benefit of society, the mer 
 chant and his friend took a ride to the island, as they 
 were in the habit of doing. A bridge connected it with 
 the main land ; one to enjoy a sea-breeze, the other a sea- 
 bath. The former was a Leander in swimming. He often 
 amused himself for hours in the sea. Few dared to swim 
 near the island, for in most parts of it there was a high 
 surf, which was appalling to ordinary swimmers, but only 
 a matter of amusement to him. He passed through the 
 surf as easily as a Sandwich islander. It was a fine warm 
 day in August, the merchant went to his swimming, and 
 the counsellor took his last Edinburgh Review from his 
 pocket, to amuse himself until his friend returned to par 
 take of the dinner of fried fish and chowder which was 
 promised by the cook in the course of an hour. So intent 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 93 
 
 was the reader upon one of these racy articles in that 
 work, which, if they do not always convince, must certainly 
 chain the mind to the subject, from their power and spright- 
 liness, that for a long time he did not perceive a brazen 
 looking cloud arising from the west, and when he did ob 
 serve it, a tornado instantly followed. It had passed down 
 the river, and went out to sea in a terrific fury. Before 
 it had reached the island, the superintendent of the light 
 house had, from apprehension, hoisted his flag of distress, 
 and fired his six pounder, which he had at the foot of the 
 flag-staff, to give the swimmer notice of his danger, and 
 all, that some one was in distress; but the swimmer seem 
 ed quite insensible of his danger, and at ease. The tor 
 nado swept on, and he saw it too late to attempt to return, 
 and with the cool judgment which he always possessed, 
 prepared himself to be carried before it. The wave?, 
 which had been running high, were now struck down to 
 an almost smooth surface, ominous of some great convul 
 sion. He thought that if it were true that the sea was a 
 monster that was constantly moaning for human victims, 
 lie was now rebuked by some superior power. He was 
 during this whole time cool and collected, for he was a 
 child of the ocean, and could say, 
 
 !; And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy 
 Of youthful sports, was. on thy breast to be 
 Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy 
 I \vantonM with thy breakers. They to me 
 Were a delight ; and if the freshening sea 
 Made them a terror, twas a pleasing fear, 
 For I was as it were a child of thee, 
 .And trusted to thy billow far and near, 
 And laid my hand upon thy mane." 
 
 After the tornado had swept along, the cry was heard, 
 9 
 
94 THE TROGLODYTES. 
 
 <f Colonel G. is still above water. I see his head ! I see 
 his head !" The counsellor, in the greatest distress, 
 mounted his horse and rode with all possible speed through 
 the sand to the Troglodytes, to call on them to succor his 
 friend. They had been spectators of their patron s dan 
 ger, and the first minute that it had been practicable, had 
 manned their boat. I say manned her, she had on board 
 the old man, Ball, his two sons and two daughters. The 
 girls were fair looking lasses, one about fifteen years of 
 age, the other about thirteen. As the counsellor was ap 
 proaching the boat, he saw the mother of the family hand 
 her old night-gown to her oldest daughter. There is an 
 instinctive delicacy about an innocent woman, in the hum 
 blest grades of life, that a man never knows. The coun 
 sellor rushed to the water s edge, and leaping from his 
 horse, was about throwing himself into the boat, when the 
 eldest girl, to prevent him from getting on board, shoved 
 her off, with a cheek mantling with high feeling, and her 
 fine blue eyes flashing with courage and decision of cha 
 racter ; and as she cleared the boat from the shore, said 
 with a loud voice, " No, Squire, you shan t come into the 
 boat. If the Colonel should be drowned, and our boat 
 swampt, and you were with us, who would there be to bury 
 us, or to give our old mother a shilling to keep her from 
 starving ? You shan t go ; an hundred of us had better be 
 drowned than you : and then there is Miss Martha, what 
 would she say, if I were to let you go with us and be 
 drowned ?" Not another word was spoken ; the sons and 
 daughters sat themselves down to their oars, the old man 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 95 
 
 took the helm, and the boat, built after the life-boat fash 
 ion, skimmed the waves like a nautilus. The sea, which 
 had been flattened while the tornado was passing, now 
 rose in long, heavy swells, which the light-house man 
 thought quite as dangerous as the breakers. He ascended 
 the flag-staff with his spy-glass, and gave the cheering in 
 telligence that the Colonel s head was yet to be seen, and 
 that he was still swimming off shore. This would have 
 hardly been credited by the by-standers, if his extraordi 
 nary powers in the water had not have been known to all 
 of them. The man with the glass next cried out, " The 
 young Balls have jumped overboard, they are lifting him 
 into the boat ; he is in," was the next ejaculation. In a 
 moment the man came down laughing. He begged par 
 don of the Squire, for he could not help laughing to see the 
 Colonel, one of the best dressed men in the world, with 
 mother Ball s night-gown on ! The boat returned, the 
 Colonel was not much exhausted. While dressing him 
 self, he very emphatically declared, that mother Ball s 
 night-gown was never to be sent home ; he would send one 
 in place of it. The preserved officer requested the Tro 
 glodytes to come to town and see him, on the morrow, and 
 enjoined it upon the old man to bring the whole group. 
 
 After eating a good dinner of fried fish, the friends 
 mounted their horses and rode home. The news had 
 reached the family of the Colonel before he did, and the 
 subject was talked over in a full assembly of friends. It 
 was agreed that the eldest girl was the soul of the expedi 
 tion for his rescue. The counsellor, who had baptized them 
 
96 THE TROGLODYTES, 
 
 the Troglodytes, now prepared to call Miss Judith Ball the 
 second Joan of Arc. Several of the friends of Colonel 
 G. were present when the Troglodytes, in a body, made 
 their appearance. The Colonel, taking Miss Judith by 
 the hand, said, " Now, my smart, fine girl, what shall I give 
 you as a reward for your courage and kindness? Ask 
 freely ; don t be mealy-mouthed;" suiting the expression to 
 her vocabulary. The girl, blushing, replied, " I don t 
 know how to read." "Well, well, no matter," said the 
 Colonel ; thinking it was a sort of an apology for the lan 
 guage she might be about to use. " But I want to know 
 how to read." The Colonel, struck with this sensible 
 wish of the girl, said, " You shall know how to read, and 
 have books to read too." Parson D. was there, and made 
 a sage remark, which was, " that Solomon s request of the 
 Lord, in his dream, was of the same nature." The dream 
 of Solomon was unknown to Judith Ball ; it was an origi 
 nal wish in her. The family were removed to a comforta 
 ble dwelling-house ; the children sent to school ; the boys 
 in the evening, and during the six winter months, and the 
 girls constantly, until they could read, write, and cipher. 
 The Colonel, in his gratitude, was noble, but judicious ; 
 he assisted them to make themselves. The cavern was 
 filled up with sand, and the name of the Troglodytes was 
 changed into Skipper Ball and family. He being the 
 owner of a bank-fishing schooner, and his boys, grown 
 men, were sharers in his voyages. The daughters were 
 well married, it being known that Colonel G. would be the 
 patron of their husbands, if they deserved it, by their 
 
THE TROGLODYTES. 97 
 
 industry and good conduct. Peace, plenty, and happiness, 
 was in all their borders. Poverty was banished from their 
 habitation. Their misfortunes were only such as befall 
 the best, the common casualties of life. One of the sons 
 was killed fighting bravely on board the sloop of war 
 Wasp, in her first engagement. He was gunner of the 
 ship, and as smart a fellow as ever walked a deck. His dis 
 tinguished commander bore testimony to his worth. The 
 other son, and the two daughters and their children, are 
 among the respectable commonalty of the country. Their 
 aged father and mother have lately sunk to rest, in a good 
 old age, bearing unexceptionable characters for morals 
 and piety. At their funerals, the Colonel followed them 
 to the grave as a mourner, next to the family. Their be 
 nefactor, too, has since paid the debt of nature. His 
 bounty was judiciously bestowed, and produced the best 
 effects. The most lavish hand, without these kind atten 
 tions, would not have laid the foundation of respectability 
 through the medium of industry. This short tale proves 
 that there are good feelings in the hearts of the humble, 
 and that patronage and gratitude are not always empty 
 names. 
 
 9* 
 
THE TENSONS. 
 
 "Thev sung 
 
 Of Palfnes white, of Lady s love, 
 And courtly Knights in armor brave." 
 
 Provencial Poetry. 
 
 WHEN Raymond Berenger and his successors, who 
 governed Provence, introduced into the south of France 
 a taste for letters, and the arts and sciences, a spirit 
 of chivalry and a love of liberty burst forth unknown to 
 former ages. This passion for letters and science had 
 flourished for centuries in Arabia, and was at this time 
 rapidly spreading through Spain as well as the south 
 of France. A taste for poetry was a natural concomitant. 
 In Provence it was cultivated by many, and patronized 
 by all. At this period of history, when the crusades had 
 given a new impulse to the human mind, women arose 
 from being only the help-meets of man, such as she was 
 made for, to be a divinity to worship. They directed the 
 destinies of men, and demanded homage from them. 
 This age of gallantry had its uses. It softened the barba 
 rous features of the dark ages, by diffusing knowledge 
 among the wealthy, which if followed by freedom of man- 
 ners, certainly was accompanied by refinement. This 
 excitement produced the Troubadours, a body of poets 
 and musicians, who for several centuries held a higher 
 
100 THE TENSONS. 
 
 rank, and had a more extraordinary influence, than any 
 class of the literati in any age of letters. They were 
 admitted to the highest grades of society as equals, and 
 to them genius, wealth, and beauty, paid the homage 
 of admiration. The princes and dukes of the land 
 numbered them among their friends. The potentate who 
 had in his household the greatest number of these bards, 
 was the most to be envied. From these Troubadours 
 have sprung modern poetry, and modern music, as is 
 agreed on all hands. At the time of their glory, distant 
 nations sought for these bards, as means of exalting 
 a nation and giving a whole people a taste for letters 
 "the humanizers of mankind." About the middle of the 
 twelfth century, Geoffrey de Resdel of Blieux, in 
 Provence, was invited to England by a brother of Richard 
 the First. Here he was held in the highest honor, and 
 made wealthy from the royal coffers ; but on hearing from 
 the knights who had returned from the HOLY LAND, of a 
 lady of exquisite beauty, of great piety and of unbounded 
 liberality, one who had extended to the knights the most 
 generous hospitality, he fell violently in love with this fair 
 dame, the Countess of Tripoli, whom he had never seen ; 
 but her virtues and her charms occupied his whole 
 thoughts. He wrote poetry on her addressed to " afar 
 distant love," and wrought himself up to so great a 
 phrenzy, that he could no longer endure the palace of a 
 king, but must needs have a sight of this darling of his 
 soul. Having prevailed on one of his friends, Bertrand 
 d Allamaron, a Troubadour, like himself, to accompany 
 
THE TENSONS. 101 
 
 him to the Levant ; he quitted the cqurt, of 
 1162, to visit the Holy Land, to eaten new inspirations, 
 and to see his adored countess; in h/3 ivajr.;, Hi s^iHhriei- 
 asm was wound up to such a degree, that he was attacked 
 by a severe illness, and had lost the powers of articula- 
 tion when he arrived at Tripoli. While lying in this state, 
 the beloved countess heard that a celebrated poet was 
 dying of love of her on board a vessel, then in the harbor. 
 She lost no time, but visited him on ship-board. She was 
 led to the cot of the expiring bard, and took him kindly 
 by the hand, and whispered to him accents of comfort. 
 The influence of her divine voice resuscitated the poet 
 sufficiently to give him strength and tongue, to thank his 
 adored for her kindness, and to declare the sincerity 
 of his passion but further explanations were silenced by 
 the convulsions of death. The countess had the body 
 removed to her palace, and distinguished honors paid to 
 his funeral solemnities. She also erected over his grave 
 a splendid monument of porphyry, with an inscription in 
 Arabic, from which many of the above facts have been 
 obtained. 
 
 The bards and minstrels of a later date find but few 
 such as the countess of Tripoli. In these days were 
 instituted " COURTS OF LOVE," held only by women, with 
 their attendant guests, the Troubadours. In them were 
 recited warm and tender poems on the beauty of 
 women, their influence, and their divine right to rule. 
 These poets dealt in romantic descriptions, comparing the 
 lustre of woman s eye to the brightness of the evening 
 
102 THE TENSONS. 
 
 sicuy.and her TQice jto|a seraph s harp. Sometimes when 
 excited by "the se eridianting strains, the fair members 
 job the cokrt: jvo^ltf/.dispjay their eloquence on some 
 subject stated for discussion. These discussions or games 
 were called Tensons, and genius often corruscated from 
 every part of the debating hall. On a time when the 
 the question was " Whether it be a greater grief to lose 
 a lover by death, or by infidelity," Orilla, a lady whose 
 husband was then in Palestine, was the first speaker. 
 She was a beauty with an Arabian soul, full of nobleness 
 and eloquence. She contended that it was greater to 
 lose a lover by infidelity than by death, that the disap 
 pointment felt by desertion and neglect brought a sickness 
 to the soul, that death in the cause of honor never could; 
 that it seemed to level the sufferer with the cause of the 
 anguish ; that it destroyed all confidence, and changed 
 trusting fondness to cold and jealous suspicions, giving a 
 new direction to character, and with the hatred to the 
 false one lessening our veneration to love itself. If we 
 seek revenge, said she, and attempt to strike a blow for 
 injured honor, it often recoils on ourselves. If we are 
 tame in the suffering, we are despised ; if we seek redress 
 by the laws of honor and arms, we are feared ; but when 
 a gallant lover expires, we are sustained in our grief by 
 the contemplation of his glorious deeds, which Fame 
 with her trumpet sounds through all the corners of the 
 earth. When his shade visits our bed-side, it comes from 
 a soldier s grave. 
 
 We build monuments to cherish his memory, and feel 
 
THE TENSONS. 103 
 
 ourselves for ever in the shadow of the hero s fame. If he 
 has left children, we devote our days to their instruction, 
 and half live again in the growth and development 
 of their virtues, and enjoy the perfume of their fame by 
 anticipation. Would Artemisa have been known, if she 
 had not solaced her grief by erecting a monument to 
 Mausoleus, her departed husband? Or would Judith 
 have delivered Israel if she had not given her mind to 
 patriotism and piety in the house of mourning, where she 
 had once lived in the purest affection with her departed 
 lord. She mourned with true dignity, while a neglected 
 damsel mourns as one ashamed to avow her grief; she 
 is a flower, not cropped to adorn the bosom of her lover, 
 which is beating with patriotism and chivalry, but one 
 plucked to be trampled with disdain, under the feet 
 of the despiser of her charms, o-r left to wither on the 
 virgin thorn. Then raising her eyes to heaven, Orilla 
 called on all of mortal and immortal birth, to suffer her 
 lover to die on the field of glory, and rest in a soldier s 
 grave, if he could not return from the Holy Land, but 
 never suffer him, ye gods ! to be caught by the snares 
 of a Damascus dame, or be charmed into infidelity by 
 the syren song of a paynim maid. 
 
 Amanda, shrinking as the mimosa, delicate and ten 
 der as the passion flower, with trembling accents, but 
 with high-souled resolve, took the opposite side of the 
 question ; and contended that the spirit of resentment 
 which arose in a woman s breast at the infidelity of a 
 lover, cicatrized at once the wounds of the heart and 
 
104 THE TENSONS. 
 
 aroused the energies of the whole female character. From 
 such disappointments she contended, that a thousand 
 heroines were made, while often the fondness of over 
 weening affection sunk the female to an imbecile depen. 
 dence upon man. If she loses her lover by death in the 
 path of his glory, she is constantly dwelling on his virtues ; 
 and her tongue never ceases to repeat the epitaph she 
 has written for him on her heart. 
 
 She secludes herself from society, cut off from all 
 
 that enchants life ; she wastes her beauty in tears, 
 
 unseeing and unseen; and falls almost unknown to the 
 
 grave ; while the insulted woman rises to deeds of poetry, 
 
 of song, or war, and takes a rank in the annals of 
 
 history. The Queen, who presided in the court of Love, 
 
 that day balanced the arguments, but could not decide 
 
 the question, as infidelity would atfect some females more 
 
 than the death of their lovers, and others would rise from 
 
 neglect and insult with new-born energy of character. 
 
 History informs that Count Altamont, the brave, the 
 
 husband of Orilla, was in this campaign, slain in battle, 
 
 and that she fell lifeless at the news. While Ormond, the 
 
 fearless knight, but fickle lover, left Amanda for an 
 
 Arabian princess, and that in three days Amanda married 
 
 Baldwin of the iron fist and brazen brow, who was 
 
 the witness of Ormond s infidelity. 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 m And such is human life ; so gliding on, 
 It glimmers like a meteor, and is gone; 
 Yet is the tale, brief though it be, as strange, 
 As full, methinks, of wild and wond rous change, 
 As any that the wand ring tribes require, 
 Stretched in the desert, round their evening fire ; 
 As any sung, of old, in hall or bower. 
 To minstrel harps at midnight s witching hour." 
 
 To portray the character of our countrymen as they 
 were before the revolution, has often been attempted ; but 
 it is impossible for any single writer to give more than a 
 partial profile or slight sketch, with some few distinct fea 
 tures; and perhaps, before we have an opportunity to do 
 justice to such a subject, for want of sufficient leisure, in 
 this country almost every nice line which distinguished 
 our ancestors from the rest of the world, will have faded 
 away. But one thing will remain certain to their descend 
 ants, that the spirit of independence was discovered in the 
 character of the early settlers, as strongly as in any suc 
 ceeding generation. It required time alone to nourish it 
 into a full growth. The solemn, pious manners, the sage 
 gravity of those known in church or state, were of such 
 example to the young the truths they learned from 
 infancy were so deeply instilled into their minds, that it 
 might be said no boyhood was permitted in the life of a 
 
 generation amongst the Puritans. They married young. 
 10 
 
106 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 The conjugal, parental, and fraternal ties, were affection 
 ately cherished, and all were busy and active through life. 
 Their great exertions to cultivate their hard soil, and at 
 the same time, their own minds, with the martial feeling 
 produced by constant dangers of attack from a powerful 
 and an insidious foe, gave an energy and intelligence to 
 this race of men, far superior to the early settlers of any 
 other country. Their matrimonial connections, formed in 
 youth, grew out of affection, not of interest ; and their prin 
 ciples, although they gave a solemn and staid air to their 
 manners, had in them the essence of virtue. Their situ 
 ation was singular and romantic. Three generations often 
 went to the field of battle together, and fought side by side, 
 and braver men no country could ever boast. Most of 
 their deeds are left to the scanty annals of that age, 
 while a few of them may be traced through the memories 
 of the aged, by any one acquainted with the monuments 
 and mile-stones set up by the first travellers. The follow- 
 ing tale is intended to illustrate a few of these traits of 
 New-England character, which are yet in the memory of 
 man. 
 
 JOHN ELLIOT lived in a seaport town in the province 
 of Massachusetts Bay, near the mouth of the river Merri- 
 mack. He was bred to the seas, and became distinguish 
 ed for his skill as a mariner, and accuracy as a navigator 
 the science of navigation being, at that time, but par 
 tially understood by those who ventured to traverse the 
 ocean from these shores. He had married young, and in 
 1757 had several children. Talents allied to virtue, in 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 107 
 
 every state of society, have their influence. Capt. Elliot 
 was known by many of the officers of the British army and 
 navy ; and when Maj. R. Rogers had orders to raise four 
 companies of rangers from New-England, each to consist 
 of one hundred privates, two lieutenants, one ensign and 
 four Serjeants, as also one company of friendly Indians for 
 the same service, Capt. Elliot was offered the command of 
 one of the companies, and accepted it, at least for a cam 
 paign or two ; and such was his reputation, that the whole 
 number of his company was completed in a few days, and 
 set off for the great western waters. He had served in one 
 campaign before, when quite young, as a subaltern officer. 
 At this time, he discovered no small share of talent and 
 bravery ; but nothing particular marked the transactions of 
 that season. A trifling incident, however, occurred, which, 
 from its subsequent effects on his fortunes, it may be pro- 
 per to mention. While walking one morning on the banks 
 of a rapid river, near the place of his encampment, for 
 recreation, as the enemy were supposed to be at a distance, 
 Lieut. Elliot (this was his station in the army) saw an In- 
 dian child playing on the opposite side of the stream. He 
 was skipping stones on the apparently smooth eddy of wa 
 ter ; but just below the eddy, the current was turbid and 
 furious. Running to give his efforts a more manly display, 
 the little urchin fell from the bank, and was instantly car 
 ried down the stream. Elliot was a father, and thought 
 nothing of an enemy at such a time, but leaped into the 
 flood, and after a severe struggle, succeeded in bringing 
 the child to the shore. The mother of the boy had heard 
 
108 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 his screams for succor, and from the bank witnessed the 
 efforts of the white man in rescuing her child. A flag of 
 truce was raised for the Indians to cross the stream, but 
 no one ventured but the Indian woman. What is there a 
 mother will not dare for her offspring ? She leaped into a 
 canoe, and paddled across without apprehension. The lad 
 was soothed by the caresses of his deliverer ; and when 
 clothes were brought for an exchange of the wet garments 
 of Lieut. Elliot, the boy was quite fascinated with a ban 
 dana handkerchief, which was to supply the place of the 
 wet stock of the officer. It was instantly presented to him, 
 and with it, other trinkets from those around, the attend 
 ants of Lieut. Elliot. The woman took her child, arid in 
 a few words of broken French and English, expressed the 
 feelings of her heart. This occurrence passed off, and 
 was hardly thought of again by Elliot or his companions. 
 He had not even inquired the name or rank of the woman, 
 but thought, from the air and manner she assumed, and 
 the respect with which she was treated by the Indians who 
 were waiting her return, that she must have been of some 
 consequence amongst them. 
 
 The order for raising the companies was dated the 
 llth of January, 1758; and in February, the several corps 
 were at their posts, having travelled most of the way 
 through the woods, on snow-shoes. This body of men was 
 taken from the bravest and hardiest of the sons of New- 
 England. They were to be used for every service, and 
 range every part of the line of defence on the frontiers ; they 
 must have been accustomed to carry great burthens, in 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 109 
 
 packs or on sledges, to shoot with the accuracy of a rifle 
 corps, and lie on the snow as a common bed. On the llth 
 of March of that year, Maj. Rogers was ordered to march 
 with his men, to find the enemy and fight them. Many of 
 the rangers had not arrived, and others were dispersed on 
 duty. This order appeared singular to these brave men, 
 as it was generally understood that the enemy was in large 
 force at no great distance ; but their duty was to obey, and 
 their business to die, when their country required the 
 sacrifice. On this day, Maj. Rogers proceeded with his 
 rangers as far as the first narrows on Lake George, and 
 encamped that evening on the east side of the lake. The 
 troops were all night on the watch for the enemy. On the 
 12th, the forces inarched at sunrise, on the ice of the lake, 
 but soon went on shore, and were concealed until night, 
 for fear of being discovered by the enemy. There were 
 many circumstances observed, going to show that they 
 were not far distant. The Americans were on the west 
 side of the lake, and after dark they took the ice again, 
 and proceeded down the lake. Several swift skaters were 
 sent to reconnoitre. On the 13th, Rogers and his men 
 proceeded on snow-shoes, still on the west side of the lake, 
 the snow being at least four feet deep. They met a body 
 of about one hundred Indians, and putting off their packs, 
 the rangers prepared for battle. These Indians were 
 supposed to be the whole body of the enemy, and these 
 were nothing in the eyes of the rangers. Forty of the 
 enemy were killed in a few minutes, and the rest fled. 
 
 Rogers supposed he had gained a complete victory, but the 
 
 10* 
 
110 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 mistake was soon discovered ; six hundred Indians and 
 Canadians were instantly upon this little band. The con 
 test was tremendous ; skill and valor were opposed to num 
 bers; fifty of the rangers fell, the rest retreated in good 
 order ; like the band of Leonidas, the rangers could die, 
 but could not be conquered. Seizing with wonderful skill 
 the advantage of ground, the rangers received the enemy 
 so warmly, that they retreated three times in disorder. 
 The attack was again and again renewed ; the assailants 
 and assailed were often intermingled, and fought hand to 
 hand. Had they lived in the days of poesy, such deeds, 
 like those of the heroes of Homer, would have been im 
 mortalized in song. After efforts of incredible valor, u 
 retreat was ordered, but few remained to avail themselves 
 of this chance of escape. The few who returned to the 
 lake were met by Capt. Stark, afterwards the hero of 
 Bunker Hill and of Bennington, at Hoop Island, six miles 
 north of Fort William Henry, and there all remained that 
 night. Stark had made his way there first, after having 
 fought most valiantly that day. Rogers, with the remnant 
 of his forces, arrived at Fort Edward on the 15th. The 
 enemy counted seven hundred, they lost more men than 
 the Rangers numbered. If Rogers had been in command 
 of his full corps, he would have given a different account 
 of the enemy. Those brave fellows have no monument, 
 not a simple stone marks the place of their interment. So 
 perished the brave. 
 
 Capt. Elliot and his men fought with desperate energy ; 
 but finding all efforts in vain, his ammunition exhausted, 
 
THE LOST CHILD. Ill 
 
 and most of his brave companions dead, he entered into a 
 treaty with the Indians. They promised to take their 
 prisoners to Montreal, and there receive a ransom of five 
 times the bounty given for scalps, for each man. He 
 hoped, by promising so much for each person s ransom, to 
 keep the Indians quiet, until they should reach Montreal 
 or Quebec. At these places, Capt. Elliot thought he could 
 procure funds to pay for the redemption of himself and 
 men. Montcalm, the commander in chief of the French 
 forces, was distinguished for humanity as well as valor ; 
 and it was said, was encouraging the Indians to bring in 
 prisoners for redemption, rather than scalps for bounties ; 
 and this rumor seemed to be rendered probable, from the 
 Indians being so willing, when their forces were so large, 
 to enter into a treaty, which was an unusual thing for 
 them on the battle-ground. 
 
 A short time afterwards, in their march to Montreal, 
 the savages quarrelled among themselves, about the divi 
 sion of the sum to be received for the ransom ; some claim 
 ed what others thought they had no right to have ; and in 
 a state of inebriation and fury, determined on murdering 
 the whole of their prisoners, and no prayers, entreaties, or 
 offers of large sums at Montreal, could dissuade them from 
 this horrid intention. The work of destruction began, and 
 in a few minutes all were tomahawked or hewn to pieces 
 and scalped, excepting Capt. Elliot, who at the moment 
 the bloody scene began, made a furious attempt to knock 
 down his guard, and so far succeeded as to make his es 
 cape, with but little injury to himself. He made his way 
 
112 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 for a swamp, the Indians following him, but their dog? 
 were gone with a hunting party, and the pursuers lost sight 
 of him ; but soon after sunrise the next morning, the hun 
 ters coming in, he was pursued and overtaken. He found 
 it was in vain to make any resistance, and was quietly led 
 back to the camp. He thought it possible that the Indians 
 had drank their rum the night before, and might be more 
 reasonable at this moment ; this was a vain hope. They 
 held a consultation, and decided to continue the work, and 
 to murder him in all the forms of savage barbarity, when 
 the moon should rise that night ; such forms as they had 
 used in the death of some rival chief, who had fallen into 
 their hands and had found their vengeance. Capt. Elliot, 
 like the son of Alnomack, was bound fast during the day, 
 without any thing of food or drink. The shades of the 
 evening came, and the hour of death was at hand. The 
 yell, announcing the sacrifice, a sort of invocation to the 
 spirit of revenge, was set up. The priests, or the fiends 
 of revenge, led the victim to a large tree, and after strip 
 ping him nearly naked, bound him to it, and smeared him 
 all over with turpentine, taken from the pines around them ; 
 then strewed a large quantity of birch bark around, at a 
 small distance from him, and splitting some pitch-wood 
 with their hatchets, thrust the splinters through the fleshy 
 parts of his body and limbs, then strewed other small pieces 
 of the same wood among the birch bark. The pile was in a 
 circle around him, a little higher than his head. Over these 
 combustibles were thrown green boughs, in some degree 
 to stop the progress of the flames, that he might linger 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 113 
 
 longer in torments, for their hellish sport. Before these 
 ceremonies were over, the moon rose clear and beautiful 
 in a cloudless sky. The Indians collected rapidly from 
 every quarter, for the death yell had been heard through 
 the surrounding forest. Capt. Elliot summoned his forti 
 tude for the awful moment ; he looked on the moon and 
 stars as objects which he was to see no more for ever. 
 The thoughts of his wife and children came over him, and 
 a sickness seized his heart ; a sigh broke from his lips, but 
 no tear-drop wet his eye. 
 
 The fire was kindled on the outer verge of the circle, 
 and the dance had begun. The birch bark was crackling 
 and curling with the blaze ; the victim bit his lips and 
 closed his eyes to commune only with his Saviour in his 
 agony. At this instant, a shriek of distress reached his 
 ear, and a female was seen, with desperate energy com 
 batting the flames with her naked hands ; her hair and 
 her garments were again and again enveloped with fire ; 
 in a few seconds others came to her assistance the 
 burning materials were scattered, and little Monegan was 
 in the arms of his deliverer, and Monongahela, his 
 mother, burnt as she was, continued shouting and leaping 
 for joy. In the wildest note of gratitude she told the 
 story of the delivery of her son from the dash of the 
 torrent. Her eloquence was irresistible the prisoner was 
 released, and savage revenge was at once changed to 
 gratitude : this is the disposition of these children of the 
 forest. Monongahela was the wife of a chief, then on a 
 hunting party ; by meeting some straggling Indians, she 
 
114 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 learnt the captivity of Capt. Elliot, and had hastened with 
 a quantity of otter skins to buy him. She afterwards 
 often told him, that on the last day of her journey, she 
 had travelled harder than before, for the Great Spirit 
 seemed to whisper to her, that some mischief would 
 happen to the preserver of her child, if she did not hurry 
 on; but being much fatigued, she, with those in her train, 
 had encamped for the night at about a mile or two distant 
 from this place, when the well known death note reached 
 her ear, at the rising of the moon, and she flew to the 
 place with a presentiment of his danger. 
 
 It required some time to heal the burns and wounds 
 Capt. Elliot had received, and the Indians were unwilling 
 to let him leave them at once; but about mid-summer, 
 Monongahela and her husband, a chief of some influence 
 amongst his tribe, consented that he should return home, 
 as they found he could not be happy away from his family. 
 Paeton, the chief, with his wife, and little Monegan, 
 accompanied Capt. Elliot on his journey for several days 
 march, to guard him from other tribes of Indians if they 
 should cross his path. The chief furnished the prisoner 
 with a Canadian pony, a supply of parched corn, and 
 some dried hams of deer, and after taking an affectionate 
 farewell of him, departed for Montreal ; and Capt. Elliot 
 for his native place. The travelling in that day, was bad, 
 and it was a long and wearisome journey from the lakes to 
 the Atlantic. As he approached within sixty or seventy 
 miles of his own town, he hurried his little animal until 
 he was nearly exhausted with fatigue ; and when within 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 115 
 
 five miles of his dwelling, the pony sunk under his 
 load, which, however, was only a pack-saddle and the 
 remaining provisions, with a few skins the Indians had 
 given him to sell, on the way, if necessary, for his sup 
 port ; they could raise but a few shillings in money for 
 him. These were all the animal had to carry, Capt. Elliot 
 having walked the greater part of the day, leading little 
 Monegan, the name he gave his pony, in honor of the 
 Indian lad, now become so dear to him. It was late in 
 the evening ; the people on the road were in bed, and no 
 one was with him to cheer his spirits ; but he was decided 
 on reaching home that night if possible, and therefore 
 turned the pony into the first pasture on the road-side, 
 after he had tired down, and putting his saddle, skins, etc. 
 into the nearest barn, set forward for his home. In the 
 solemn hour of night, when all the farmers were in sound 
 sleep, he was startled at the sound of distant cannon, 
 several times repeated in quick succession, and seeming 
 to come from the quarter to which he was going. In that 
 state of agitation, which is so natural to every feeling 
 heart, as one draws near home after a long absence, 
 Capt. Elliot entered the borders of his native town ; he 
 saw a few men and several boys with them, and two 
 or three half dressed females, in the train ; the men had 
 a drum which they now and then beat as they marched 
 on. Capt. Elliot inquired the cause of this unusual 
 excitement in a place remarkable for its stillness, and was 
 particularly struck with surprise when he recollected that 
 it was Sunday evening ; and in that place the Sabbath was 
 
116 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 kept with almost Jewish strictness. The answer was, 
 a child is lost ; many fear, as he lived near the river, that 
 the child is drowned. The thought of his family checked 
 his utterance, and he could not assume sufficient courage 
 to proceed in his inquiries ; but one of the females 
 instantly, in sobs of grief, said, " It is the widow Elliot s 
 child that is lost ; the widow of Capt. Elliot, who was 
 killed by the Indians in Canada, last winter." A chill of 
 indescribable horror ran through every vein, and stopt the 
 pulsations of his heart ; but he was a ranger, and like 
 the Spartan had learnt to bear agony without a visible 
 sign of pain or suffering. The female continued " The 
 widow is in a state of distraction at the loss of her Iktle 
 boy, so soon after the death of his father, who had his 
 tongue cut out, and his eyes put out, and then scalped 
 and burnt to death by the horrid Indians. All the town 
 are taking on with the widow, seeing she had met with 
 such a desperate loss before, in losing her husband, who 
 was a very good man. Oh ! what a shocking death he 
 died !" Capt. Elliot made no reply. The female continu 
 ed " You could not have known Capt. Elliot and his wife, 
 or you would take on too." He followed the group to the 
 door of his own house, which was filled and surrounded 
 by weeping neighbors ; but being dressed in a sort of 
 Indian garb, with the remnants of a fur cap on his head, 
 a little out of season for a seaport town, and it being 
 supposed Capt. Elliot was dead, his person was not 
 discovered. They considered the father of the lost child 
 as a straggler the excitement had brought to the place 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 117 
 
 with others. He looked into his barn, walked through 
 his garden, heard the shrieks of his wife, but trembled at 
 the probable effect of coming suddenly upon his wife and 
 friends in such a melancholy moment, and was for some 
 time in a state of indecision. At length, he thought he 
 heard the well known voice of his clergyman praying with 
 his wife, and he waited until the good man had adminis 
 tered what consolation he had to offer and had come out 
 of the house to return home. Capt. Elliot walked along 
 side of the priest, and entering into conversation with 
 him, soon made himself known, and his pastor approved 
 of the course he had pursued, and invited him to the 
 parsonage house, for the remainder of the night. It was 
 there determined to make known the story to Capt. 
 Elliot s father and his brothers, in the morning, but to 
 proceed in a more cautious manner with regard to his 
 wife. They were afraid if the boy was found in the 
 morning, and the news of her husband s return reached 
 her at the same time, the transition from grief to joy 
 would be too great for her to bear. But the child was 
 not found, and the clergyman with great delicacy prepared 
 her to hear of her husband s return. He first intimated 
 that he might be still alive. Strange things had happened 
 in this world, he said, and Capt. Elliot might yet be living 
 and well, and might return to her again to comfort her. 
 Capt. Stark brought the news too particularly, she replied, 
 for me ever to indulge a hope of that nature ; and then 
 fell into a paroxysm of grief, and before the clergyman 
 
 could say a word, went through all the details of his 
 11 
 
118 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 dreadful death. The blood, the fire, the savages were 
 directly before her. The good man waited until her 
 frenzy had in some measure passed, and then assured her 
 that a man resembling Capt. Elliot had made his escape 
 from the Indians, and for his part he entertained strong 
 hopes of his safety. He went on to more particular circum 
 stances, such as seemed to excite a slight hope even 
 in her mind, that there might be something in the story. 
 He then left her to make some further inquiries, and 
 returned again with some additional facts; and in the 
 mean time, he had spread the rumor about town, and 
 all the gossips had passed them through several editions, 
 some of which had come to the ears of Mrs. Elliot before 
 the good man had returned ; and on the third visit he 
 had so far braced her nerves as to tell her that her 
 husband was at home and in good health. 
 
 During the day, her mind often wandered. She 
 thought God had made an exchange, and had taken her 
 child and given her her husband only in a dream. The 
 next day, the arrival of Mr. Whitefield, the celebrated 
 preacher from England, but last from the State of Georgia, 
 was announced. He had made a great impression on the 
 minds of the people in every part of the country through 
 which he had travelled. Awakenings, revivals, and 
 serious inquiries, all followed in his train. He understood 
 human nature well. He possessed insinuating manners, 
 a considerable share of intelligence, had a sweet and 
 powerful voice, related anecdotes with great skill, and 
 was, no doubt, zealously engaged in his great cause. 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 119 
 
 Field preaching, now so common, was then a great novelty. 
 By a careful management of his voice, he was enabled to 
 preach to thousands in the open air. This man, hearing 
 of the late extraordinary circumstances of the loss of Capt. 
 Elliot s child, and that officer s adventures, proposed a 
 meeting in the open air, on the next afternoon. He 
 selected a ship-yard within a short distance of Capt. 
 Elliot s house, as a proper place for his purpose. In it 
 were scattered timbers, and the whole ground was an 
 amphitheatre, bounded by wharves, stores, dwelling-houses, 
 and the river. Near this place it was supposed the child 
 of Capt. Elliot was drowned, having fallen from some 
 spars afloat ; for he was last seen about there. The news of 
 Whitefield s arrival rapidly spread in the adjacent towns. 
 M tny had followed him, and others were rapidly arriving, 
 to hang upon the accents of the pious man, and une 
 qualled orator. Early in the afternoon, all work was 
 suspended in the ship-yard, and in fact throughout the 
 town ; and such accommodations as could readily be 
 made, were attended to. Thousands were gathered to 
 the spot. The preacher arrived, and took his stand on 
 the staging of an unfinished vessel. She was but partly 
 planked ; and those hanging on the several parts of her, 
 as well as all around, could hear the slightest word uttered 
 by the speaker. He commenced with a fervent and 
 impressive prayer ; then took for his text And the sea 
 shall give up his dead. His sermon was unlike the 
 preaching of the times, which consisted of elaborate 
 discussions on some point of faith or doctrine, divided 
 
120 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 into general heads, and then into minor divisions; with 
 endless inferences, improvements, and applications. 
 Whitefield made a direct appeal to their hearts. He 
 touched upon the greatness of the love of God to fallen 
 man, shown in the prophecies, and in the coming of the 
 Saviour. He dwelt upon the joys of heaven, and upon 
 the miseries of human life, and urged the necessity 
 of regeneration to obtain those joys, a glimpse of which 
 only could be given, for eye had not seen them, nor 
 ear heard. In remarking upon the vicissitudes and 
 calamities of this vain world, he succinctly told the story 
 of Capt. Elliot s sufferings. It was the same Divine 
 Being he said that saved him, in that perilous moment, 
 that walked as the fourth in the furnace of old, to save 
 the others from the devouring flames, and to show the 
 power of God in governing the events of the world. 
 Until this moment, it was not known to all that Capt. 
 Elliot had passed through such perils, and the audience 
 hung upon the preacher s lips with wonder. He passed 
 from the safety of the father to the death of the child, 
 and described the lovely innocent, with his sweet smiles 
 and lisping accents, plunged at once into a watery grave ; 
 then turning towards the ocean, he exclaimed, " and ye 
 proud waves shall give up your dead ; the Lord God hath 
 said it. In the days of Pagan darkness and idolatry ye 
 were represented as a monster moaning at every surge for 
 something to devour ! Your insatiable jaws were for ever 
 extended to swallow all living things ; Pharoah s proud 
 host, with countless navies, have been devoured by you ; 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 121 
 
 out Christ has put his foot upon the waters and declared, 
 your reign shall end, and the dead shall rise. All material 
 things shall expire, but the soul is beyond the reach 
 of death. Dear mourners, you shall see your lovely 
 infant again, in the radiant beauty of a coming angel. 
 Jesus has folded him in his arms, and he is now reposing 
 on his Redeemer s breast. The corse of your infant 
 is sunk in the ocean, and carried down by the tide. The 
 tide of time is now, at this very instant, sweeping us all 
 into the ocean of eternity. Are you ready ? Have you 
 made your peace with God ? To-morrow it may be too 
 late. Jesus is now standing on this shore, and offering 
 you his redeeming love. A general groan was heard 
 from the multitude, sobs and cries followed ; the awaken- 
 ing had begun. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 l: Some source of consolation from above, 
 Secret refreshings, that repair her strength, 
 And fainting spirits uphola." 
 
 \VmTEFiELD v was too wise not to improve this golden 
 opportunity of calling sinners to repentance ; and day after 
 day, at morning, noon, and evening tide, he poured out the 
 stores of his eloquence, until most of his audience were 
 completely under his control. His reasonings were not 
 always very profound to prove his doctrines, but his illus 
 trations were drawn from nature, and easily understood by 
 
 the most illiterate of his hearers, and attracted the atten- 
 11* 
 
122 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 tion of the most enlightened. For instance, speaking of 
 eternity, he stretched forth his hand, and pointing to miles 
 of sand banks in view, where nature had sported from cre 
 ation with her countless atoms, and said, " Dear hearers, 
 if a little bird was to come once in a thousand years and 
 take off in his bill one grain of sand at a visit, in time all 
 those great mounds would be gone ; and if the whole mass 
 was to be multiplied by the grains it contains, and the 
 same means were used to convey away the whole number 
 of masses, in time it would all be gone ; but at the end, if 
 the process was carried on in eternity, eternity would have 
 but just begun, never to end. How can you then," said 
 the solemn preacher, "for the momentary gratification of 
 your appetites in sin, jeopardize your souls for eternity ?"- 
 One after another, as we have seen them in latter days, 
 cried out, the Lord have mercy upon us, and then fell into 
 a paroxysm of horror at the danger of hell-fire, and repeat 
 ed the groans and cries until nature was exhausted, and 
 the sufferer at last fell into a syncope and was stretched 
 lifeless on the ground. This was hailed as a glorious 
 omen, and called the strivings of the Spirit with the sinful 
 creature. Mrs. Elliot, as frequent allusions were made to 
 her departed child, could bear it no longer, and she, though 
 a woman of great good sense, was overcome, and fell with 
 the rest. Her husband, who had heard all, and perhaps 
 was touched, but not moved, took her up and carried her 
 home, a short distance, in his arms, and placed her where 
 the air might pass freely over her, thinking it only a faint 
 ing fit. She was a long while in the same state, and there 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 123 
 
 was a seeming reluctance amongst those good women who 
 came to her attendance, to prescribe or administer for her 
 relief, as they believed that she was in a trance, and when 
 she came out of it would bear testimony to the mercy of 
 God. After a painful lapse of time, life and motion slowly 
 returned, and >h- opened her eyes again upon the world; 
 and her senses, which seemed to have fled for ever, return 
 ed, but all her agony was gone, and a soft serenity had 
 taken its place. Her eye was no longer tearless and dry 
 with distress, but was gently moistened, more with affec 
 tion than trouble. The tone of her voice had entirely 
 changed, and she spake as one perfectly happy. As soon 
 as her strength would admit, she arose, caressed her friends, 
 and spoke of her lost child with composure, and often with 
 a smile. On a visit from Whitefield, who was a shrewd 
 observer of the operations of the mind, he gently asked 
 her if she had received assurances of the true state of her 
 soul, or any consolation from a spiritual source? If she 
 had, he said, it was her duty to speak of it, for the edifica 
 tion of others, God might make her an instrument to 
 bring others to salvation. She looked at her husband, as 
 if to ask liberty to speak, and he, delighted to find the 
 change, from whatever cause it might spring, readily gave 
 his consent that she should tell the cause of so sudden an 
 alteration. In a composed and suppressed tone, she said, ( 
 " I have been in a trance, and God has been kind to me ; 
 and I rejoice to declare his mercies. I thought my soul i/ /) 
 had been separated by death from its frail tabernacle of 
 the flesh, and that I stood a disembodied spirit, trembling 
 
124 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 on the confines of the world of spirits, dreading to com 
 mence my journey into an unknown region, when a being, 
 more lovely than any thing in life, said, in the sweetest 
 manner, Fear not, child of sorrow, I am sent as your in 
 terpreter, consoler and guide follow me. I did, and we 
 seemed to travel a long way, as I have in a dream, without 
 my precisely knowing how we went. At length, as we 
 moved along, a glimmering light caught my eye, resem 
 bling the midnight sky when a building is burning at a 
 distance, and is about sinking to the earth. Distant 
 moans at first reached us, and then louder cries were 
 heard, and at length terrific screams of agony and despair 
 assailed us on all sides. I tried to cover my eyes and ears 
 with my hands, but I found I had neither hands or eyes or 
 ears, and I could not tell how I could see or hear or know 
 any thing. I was affrighted as much at myself as at 
 other things. I seemed to cling to my guide, but how I 
 know not, and he conveyed me through the scenes of 
 horror in safety. A sense of pity and commiseration 
 came over me, and my heart seemed to beat when there 
 was no heart there. A purer light, without that fearful 
 redness, seemed to dawn upon us. The air was fresh 
 and balmy. Songs of praise, and the sweetest music 
 charmed me, as we passed along. I wanted to stay for 
 ever in this spot, where I could see suns and stars and 
 other worlds moving beneath me, and immortal beings 
 were gazing on them in ecstacy. Their bright and shin 
 ing countenances were often turned on me with a smile of 
 welcome. Millions were singing hosannas to the Lamb 
 
LOST CHILD. 125 
 
 that was slain for the sins of the world, these were the 
 just made perfect. Angels and archangels, and cherubim 
 and seraphim, \\vro -tnkm_^ their harps, and crying Holy, 
 holy, holy is the Redeemer of the world. I tried to join 
 my feeble voice, but could not, with them;" and turning to 
 the priest, she said, * Oh ! all that you have ever said about 
 heaven, my dear sir, is noihing to what I saw.~T~At a dis 
 tance, on a cloud of fleecy brightness, sat innumerable 
 little cherubs, of sweet countenances ; and one of them 
 smiling on me, I discovered that it was my own dear child, v > 
 that was drowned so lately, he was tuning a harp of 
 j>raise. I sprang to embrace him, but my kind guide pre 
 vented me. Not yet, said he, heaven has not as yet done 
 with your services, nor have your sufferings ended on 
 earth. You must go back, the time has not yet come 
 for you to join these heavenly hosts. I caught another 
 look at my dear babe, and the emotion brought me to life. 
 I am happy," she added, "I beli< \ my>< H one of the 
 elect." Whitefield was in doubt whether this was a per 
 fect proof of an effectual calling. It was, indeed, marvel 
 lous, but that touch of nature and feeling, for those in tor 
 ment, seemed too much like the unregenerate heart, as the 
 truly converted would have had no such emotions in them 
 as to feel for justly condemned sinners. However, the by 
 standers were satisfied, and the reformer was too wise to^/ 
 suggest his doubts in a very decided manner. All were 
 perfectly satisfied, excepting Capt. Elliot ; he had too vi 
 gorous a mind to be easily overcome. He had seen some- 
 thing of the world too, but, on the whole, thought that he 
 
126 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 would not say any thing at that time, as its effects were so 
 comforting to his wife. He remembered, too, a thousand 
 vagaries of his own mind, when he was stretched on a 
 couch of new pulled leaves, wounded, sick, and over 
 whelmed with thoughts of home, a prisoner, hourly ex 
 pecting his own dissolution, and only kept alive by some 
 narcotics and balsams, administered by his Indian physi 
 cian. This story related by his wife, brought these dreams, 
 as he had called them, fresh to his recollection. He 
 thought, also, that the very language in which this vision 
 was related, appeared to him more like the enthusiastic, 
 warm and glowing words of Mr. Whitefield, than those of 
 his own modest spouse, before she had heard his rhapso 
 dies and arousing harangues. He was silent, however, as 
 his wife was quiet. The general awakening went famously 
 on, and the effects of it are visible on the lives of some of 
 them to this day. There are those now sinking into the 
 grave, who talk of this season of the gathering in of souls, 
 as having never been equalled in this country. 
 
 Year after year passed away, and other children were 
 born to Capt. Elliot. He had resumed his business of a 
 sea-faring life, and was successful in it. In the year 1770, 
 he built a brig, of more than ordinary size, for the West 
 India trade; and having rigged her in the very best style 
 of the times, he felt, as master-mariners generally do, very 
 proud of his vessel. To make every thing go right, he 
 was careful to select as good a crew as could be found in 
 a place which produced the best sailors in the world, or at 
 least as good as any. This was done without difficulty, as 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 127 
 
 Capt. Elliot had a good name for humanity, and generous 
 living on board his ship. He was entirely suited in his 
 men. His mate was a young man, and a near relation : 
 of not much experience, but energetic and intelligent. 
 His prime men were Harry Oakum, Bill Jones, and John 
 Frink. Harry Oakum was a fine sized man, and so well 
 made and comely a tar, as to have been called Handsome 
 Harry. Several years before this, in the Bilboa trade, he 
 had been taken by the infidel foe, carried to Morocco, 
 and sold, with others, for a slave. He, with two others, 
 had made a bold resistance against the crew of the cor 
 sair which took him, and the Turks were glad to get such 
 a daring fellow off their hands. Oakum was sold to an 
 old military officer of the government, and kept in the 
 gardens of his harem, to cultivate flowers and fruit, for the 
 space of three years and more, until liberated, or rather 
 ransomed, by the British government. Harry often gave 
 strange hints of what he saw and did in that period. Now, 
 there was a beauty drowned in a sack, and now, a slave 
 beheaded ; but he fared, generally speaking, pretty well, 
 running several hair-breadth escapes ; and when he had a 
 double share of grog, he would drop some insinuations that 
 he was seen with tender emotions by "ladies fair," with 
 great riches, who, on his turning Turk, would have show 
 ered upon him their gold, and offered him their hands ; 
 but by thunder and Mars, he would not turn Turk, and 
 give up his religion. No; turn Turk and curse his father, 
 as the old proverb says, was not after Oakum s heart. He 
 was born a Christian, and he meant to die one, in spite of 
 
128 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 the Devil. Bill Jones was as tight a sailor as ever stepped 
 between stem and stern of any ship. He had been three 
 years a press volunteer on board a British frigate, and 
 knew every rope in the ship. On Saturday night he sung 
 many a good song, and told many a long yarn ; but all 
 loved Bill, for he was every body s friend in distress. John 
 was a hard headed, careless fellow, that was ever ready in 
 a case of need to do the thing he ought, in the way of duty, 
 and a little beyond it, if occasion required. He feared 
 nothing called flesh and blood, but was a little superstitious 
 about ghosts, and such sort of things. The rest of the 
 crew were hearty fellows, but inferior to these three. 
 
 One evening, as they approached the West Indies, the 
 air became as still as though it had never moved it 
 seemed difficult to respire, such a rarifaction of the air 
 had taken plaee. Without any apparent cause, the ocean 
 rose in long, portentous swells. Capt. Elliot made every 
 preparation for a storm ; he said nothing of his fears, but 
 listened to hear the distant sound of the hurricane, in its 
 dreadful travel towards them. He was calm, but the 
 sailors understood his apprehensions. Bill Jones was 
 entertaining Jack Frink with a long story of a ghost, who 
 appeared to some of the crew of the Hercules just before 
 she was wrecked ; and before he got far into the story, he 
 ewore he saw it himself. It was the ghost of Jack 
 Oldcastle, who died in his own arms, he said, about three 
 weeks before the event. Jack appeared to him, told him 
 the storm was coming, and to keep a good * look-out, 
 or they would all be in Davy s locker before morning. 
 
THE LOST CHILD. l ^9 
 
 Frink, in breathless suspense, was inquiring more particu 
 lars about the ghost, when Capt. Elliot, hearing the dia 
 logue, put an end to it by telling those who were not 
 in the watch to go below. At the order they started, but 
 as they were about turning in, Bill Jones, throwing his 
 quid overboard, gave a look all round, and muttered out, 
 not for the green horns to hear, " Split my timbers, Harry, 
 I am not going to sleep we re to have it soon, tight and 
 tough ; this becalm, now, is only a sleeping dog it will 
 bark loud enough by and by ; but, howsomdever, our brig 
 is new and stanch, and will weather it, if any thing can." 
 Harry was of the same opinion, but thought they might 
 get a little sleep before the blow would come on. Bill 
 said the brig would work like an egg shell in a sea. The 
 darkness come on so thick as almost to be felt, and the 
 very stillness was appalling. The scene soon changed, and 
 the rushing of the wind was heard, and came on so 
 instantly and furiously, that Bill Jones proposed cutting 
 away the masts ; for the first sweep threw the brig nearly 
 upon her beam ends. Harry stood ready with his ax, and 
 Frink was near to spell him ; but as yet, Capt. Elliot 
 would not give the order, relying on the strength of his 
 vessel; but at last yielded to the importunities of his 
 crew. The hull was soon cleared of masts and rigging 
 together, and she righted. The decks were swept clean, 
 and one man was missing : but he was soon seen by the 
 flashings of the lightning, to be floating in the rigging. 
 Bill Jones fastened a rope to his own body, and plunged 
 in after the missing man, and succeeded in bringing him 
 
 12 
 
130 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 on board. Twelve hours they were in this perilous situa* 
 tion, expecting instant death ; but thanks to the faithful 
 workmen of Capt. Elliot s native town, the brig was 
 so well built that she defied every storm. When the gale 
 had in some measure abated, one of the sailors stated to 
 Capt. Elliot, that he had heard heavy guns from a distance, 
 from some vessel in distress ; and by the flashes of light 
 ning, he thought he saw a large man of war, with her 
 masts carried away. At the next flash, she was seen by 
 all the crew; but they could do nothing for her relief. 
 The firing was repeated once or twice more ; and after 
 that, nothing could be seen or heard of her. At day 
 light, the storm had almost subsided, but the waves were 
 still running and breaking with great fury. Some one 
 cried out that he saw a man on a spar, and then another 
 saw him, and presently others were discovered in the 
 same situation. Capt. Elliot called Oakum, Jones, and 
 Frink, and consulted them upon the chance of relieving 
 the men that were afloat on the spars, whom the crew 
 thought by appearance were nearly exhausted. The 
 sailors all said they would go with the captain, but they 
 would not start tack nor sheet with the mate ; and the 
 mate insisted that it was fool -hardiness to run such a risk. 
 Capt. Elliot ordered the large boat to be lowered down. 
 She was built after a model of his own, for his brig, and 
 had scarcely been used ; but he had great confidence in 
 her as a sea-boat. His three trusty sailors got into her. 
 He chose to have only two oars, and one man to assist in 
 getting the sufferers on board. They proceeded with 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 131 
 
 skill and caution, and soon picked up five men nearly 
 
 exhausted. The boat was about returning, when Bill 
 
 Jones cried out that he saw a large hen-coop at a 
 
 distance ; when one of the men they had picked up, 
 
 said, it was only the ship s monkey, who had got on to the 
 
 hen-coop he said he saw him abreast an hour before. 
 
 Bill replied, he has struggled like a good fellow for his 
 
 life, let us save him, and mayhap, after all, it may 
 
 be a man. Well, said Capt. Elliot, pull, my boys, for 
 
 the hen-coop ; let us take a look at it. On it they found 
 
 a monkey, who was watching the lifeless form of a young 
 
 lad, apparently about fourteen or fifteen years of age, in a 
 
 midshipman s dress. The animal was howling piteously 
 
 over the body of the youth. The living and the dead 
 
 were taken into the boat together. The sailors lately 
 
 saved, knew it to be the body of Midshipman Dalrymple, 
 
 son of the captain of the Centaur, which had gone down 
 
 during the night, and all had perished but themselves. 
 
 They begged Capt. Elliot not to throw the body overboard. 
 
 as Capt. Dalrymple was not lost with his ship, being 
 
 on shore when the gale commenced, and was not able to 
 
 get on board before the Centaur slipped her cables and 
 
 put out to sea. With no small difficulty they reached the 
 
 brig and got on board. In stripping the corse of the 
 
 midshipman, Oakum said he had no water in him, and he 
 
 did not believe he was entirely dead. They set about 
 
 rubbing him with flannels, and making up a bed on the 
 
 cabin floor, with all the dry blankets they could find ; two 
 
 of the healthiest of the sailors got into it and took the 
 
132 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 body between them. In the course of an hour they 
 discovered vital heat, and by noon the young man 
 could speak. The cold, exhaustion and sleepiness 
 had not quite extinguished the vital spark with care 
 it was revived. Capt. Elliot rigged a jury-mast, and in 
 two days was in Kingston, Jamaica, and brought to the 
 anxious inhabitants the sad news of the loss of the 
 Centaur and all but six men. Capt. Dalrymple came on 
 board the brig, and before he had time to make any 
 inquiries, Bill Jones brought up the midshipman in his 
 arms, and said, mayhap, captain, you know this boy. The 
 father and son were both overcome. Capt. Elliot felt 
 distressed that the zeal of Jones should have been so 
 indiscreet, as the young man was yet so feeble ; but how 
 ever, no ill consequences happened. Capt. Dalrymple 
 expressed his gratitude in the strongest terms to Capt. 
 Elliot, and rewarded the sailors in the most generous 
 manner. 
 
 The storm had thrown every thing into confusion 
 on the island, and it was difficult to make repairs or find 
 a cargo at this moment. Capt. Dalrymple procured an 
 order for the carpenters and riggers at the navy yard 
 to assist in fitting the brig for sea. This was promptly 
 attended to, and in a few days she was ready to receive 
 her cargo ; which, however, was not yet collected, nor 
 entire sales made of the outward bound cargo. While 
 the business was in as regular a train as could be expected 
 after so much confusion, Capt. Elliot several times went 
 out a hunting with Capt. Dalrymple and his friends* 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 133 
 
 George, his son, at length found himself sufficiently 
 strengthened to accompany them. Nearly three quarters 
 of the island of Jamaica is uncultivated. It contains 
 three millions of acres in a wild state, or nearly so. 
 Immense mountains, inaccessible fortresses, and terrific 
 precipices, make it a most romantic country. Capt. 
 Elliot loved to breathe the mountain air, so refreshing after 
 inhaling the city atmosphere, and often ventured far up 
 the country. He had been apprised that in those regions 
 there were numerous wild negroes, as they were called, 
 runaways and insurgents, who had fled to these places 
 of security, and formed themselves into a government, 
 under an intelligent and daring fellow by the name 
 of Cudjo, who ruled his subjects with so much talent, 
 that he was a great annoyance to the city and plantations 
 in every part of the island. It had been found impossi 
 ble to dispossess him from his eyre in the mountains. 
 
 George became fond of shooting, and sometimes, 
 when his father s gout would not permit him to go out, he 
 prevailed upon his preserver, Capt. Elliot, to go with him, 
 attended only by a slave, for a guide. On one of these 
 excursions they had seated themselves to take some 
 refreshment, when the slave uttered a scream and fled : 
 and in an instant a large party of the free, wild blacks 
 bad surrounded them, and demanded that they should 
 surrender as prisoners; promising not to do them any 
 personal injury. George had precipitately fired his piece 
 and wounded one of the blacks ; but Capt. Elliot gave up 
 
 his gun, telling George it was useless to contend against 
 
 12* 
 
134 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 FO many, and he thought the blacks would be induced to 
 ransom them. They were conducted up the mountain to 
 King Cudjo, who was seated on his throne ; and after 
 examining the prisoners, he told them that he sent to 
 seize some of the whites as hostages for several of his 
 men, then in prison in Kingston, and who were threatened 
 with death. He dwelt strongly upon the propriety of the 
 lex talionis, and concluded with an oath, that if his men 
 were executed he would carry it into effect. They might, 
 he said, send a note to their friends, if they would be 
 answerable for the flag of truce. This was agreed to, 
 and a messenger dispatched, with news of their capture. 
 Day after day passed away, and he did not return ; and 
 Cudjo had fixed the next day for their execution. He 
 knew his men were to be burnt alive, and he prepared a 
 pile to make the retaliation exact. As the prisoners were 
 dwelling upon their melancholy state, Capt. Elliot had to 
 comfort George, and related to him his former perils. At 
 this moment the doors of their rude cabin opened, and the 
 daughter of Cudjo entered, bringing sugar-cane, yams, 
 and other refreshments. George suggested that they 
 might be poisoned. No, said Capt. Elliot, I have been 
 amongst the Iroquois, and other fierce tribes of Indians, 
 on the coast of Africa, and in Lapland have seen 
 civilized, half civilized, and savage women, and I never 
 found one, who was not slighted or insulted, that was not 
 humane and compassionate. The female was in great 
 agitation, and frequently looked out to see if the sun was 
 approaching. It at length arose in full glory. She burst 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 135 
 
 from them in a convulsion of distress and despair. The 
 guard fastened the door, and they joined in their devo 
 tions to prepare their spirits for the death which awaited 
 them. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The sailor s hand is open; his courage 
 Rises is the great occasion calls, 
 Bui his proud heart is soft as infant s flesh." 
 
 As soon as the servant returned to the city, he alarmed 
 Capt. Dalrymple, and the troops on garrison duty, and 
 others, who repaired to the spot without loss of time, and 
 while there, learnt from a negress, who was collecting 
 herbs, that she saw the party of hostile negroes, with two 
 white men as prisoners; and described them so minutely, 
 that there could be no mistake respecting their fate ; and 
 further informed them, that the white men walked with 
 great ease, and did not appear to be in the slightest degree 
 wounded ; but from the best information they could get, it 
 was certain that pursuit would be unavailing, as the ma 
 rauders had several hours the start, in the mountains, with 
 an acquaintance with every pass to Cudjo s settlement 
 On the return of Capt. Dalrymple and the soldiers, Oak 
 um sat on a hen-coop, using more than an ordinary quan 
 tity of the best Virginia, but was for a while quite silent ; 
 at length he beckoned to Bill Jones, who was wiping his 
 eyes. " Bill," said he, " don t you remember that black 
 fellow who was the cooper for us last voyage? He used to 
 
136 THE LOST CHILD, 
 
 tell me that he was once a prisoner in the mountains, and 
 knew all the passes and by-ways round old Cudjo s eagle s 
 nest. Now we will go and see him." On reflection, 
 however, they sent for the cooper to come on board, and 
 take a drink with them. This was easily done, and the 
 cooper came. A little money was slipped into his hand, 
 and a good glass of stuff given him, when he readily fell 
 into the plan Oakum had been cogitating. They agreed 
 to set off the next night to reconnoitre old Cudjo s city, and 
 see if it was accessible to a large party. As soon as mat 
 ters could be arranged, Oakum and Jones, disguised as 
 blacks, set out with the cooper, who led them a round 
 about way, for fear of being discovered by the negroes of 
 the mountain, who were always, as he said, lurking about. 
 The path was filled with the prickly pear, which made the 
 travelling almost death to them ; but brave men yield to 
 no evils in a good cause. They made notes as they 
 went on, and with such accuracy, that it was easy for 
 the seamen to find the course, if any accident should 
 happen to the cooper. At midnight they reached the se 
 cret path, and by the dawn came to. the village of Cudjo. 
 They entered it with great caution. The prison was easi 
 ly distinguished from the other houses, by the size of the 
 stones and logs with which it was built, and the smallness 
 of the apertures for air and light. Several sentinels were 
 walking around the building, and several more were asleep 
 near the door of it. After looking about carefully, and 
 counting the number of the huts, and noticing the manner 
 in which they were erected, Oakum gave the signal for a 
 
THE LOST CHILD J37 
 
 retreat. This was effected without the slightest suspicion, 
 and they made the best of their way to the city by the 
 same path they came. The next night, Oakum called the 
 crew of the brig, and about thirty English sailors, who had 
 just been paid off, from a sloop of war, and then living in 
 boarding bouses, and stated to them his project, bound 
 them to secrecy, and invited them to lend him a hand in 
 rescuing Capt. Elliot and George, who were prisoners in 
 the mountains. The sailor?, one and all, were delighted 
 with the frolic ; and pledging themselves to keep sober, 
 and be in readiness the next afternoon, they parted. Arms 
 were easily procured, as the crew of the brig had acquaint 
 ance with the gunners and boatswains of every ship in tho 
 harbor. Not a man flinched, nor had the seamen been 
 discouraged, though, perhaps, all of them were not quite 
 as sober as they promised to be; however, all were in 
 marching order. They went out of the city by squads ; 
 and as most of them had been parading the streets for se 
 veral days, no notice was taken of them as they passed to 
 the suburbs. Their arms had been sent on before them 
 by Oakum, who employed the cooper to take them as far 
 as he could on a couple of mules; and also a quantity of 
 provision and liquors. Arriving at the foot of the moun 
 tain, the corps rested and refreshed themselves, shook each 
 others hands in pledge of faith to one another, and then 
 chose officers. Oakum was elected their leader, Jones 
 lieutenant, and a quarter-gunner the next; after which 
 they began the ascent. All the dilliculties were overcome 
 before day-light. They stopped about a mile from tho 
 
138 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 village to rest a while, and at the first dawn of the day, 
 took up their line of march for the attack. Bill Jones 
 was to plant a sentinel at the door of every cabin, and 
 Oakum proceeded to liberate the prisoners. The quarter- 
 gunner had his corps in reserve, to act as occasion should 
 require. It was now full day-light at the residence of 
 these children of the mist ; for the twilight in that latitude 
 is short ; but in general they were not yet stirring. Oak 
 um went on to the prison, and instantly captured all the 
 guard, cutting down two, who stoutly opposed him ; the 
 rest surrendered at once, seeing the force they must con- 
 tend with. Near the door, the stakes were fixed, and the 
 cane tops gathered and dried for the holocaust, which was 
 to have taken place that day. The daughter of Cudjo was 
 just coming out of the prison, attended by two aged wo 
 men. They were instantly made prisoners, and ordered^ 
 on pain of death, to be still. Oakum and his men then 
 forced the rough door of the prison, and hailed his friends 
 as free ; and making short work of getting them out, he 
 poured his men into the king s palace. The attendants 
 had taken the alarm, but were not in a state of defence. 
 They were made prisoners, and bound in five minutes ; 
 every man of the assailants had a piece of rope in his 
 pocket in case of need, this was a good thought. Cudjo 
 was stupified with astonishment ; but when he beheld his 
 darling daughter a prisoner, his grief knew no bounds. 
 He threw himself upon his knees, and begged for her life, 
 promising all his treasures for her ransom. Oakum ex 
 plained in a few words the business he came for, and said 
 
LOST CHILD. 139 
 
 if the king would confide in him, no person should be in 
 jured. " I must take you," said the noble-minded tar, 
 " part way with us, for fear, if we let you go, that you will 
 raise a strong force, and follow us ; but you shall be libera 
 ted as soon as we are in safety." Capt. Elliot now came 
 forward, and told them all how kind the king s daughter 
 had been to himself and George while in prison. On 
 hearing this, they all, with one accord, declared that she 
 should not b hurt. Oakum now asked Capt. Elliot to 
 take command ; but such was his surprise and joy at his 
 liberation, that he told Oakum he was captain now, all 
 should obey him. They took up their march on the re- 
 turn, and moved on as rapidly as possible, for fear the in- 
 habitants of the neighboring mountains would take the 
 alarm, and pour out their warriors; but such was the dis 
 patch and secrecy with which this expedition had been 
 conducted, that no alarm was given an hundred yards 
 from Cudjo s village. When all had come to the foot of 
 the mountain, with the king and his daughter, Oakum said 
 to Cudjo, " Now, king, I will make a treaty with you on 
 fair terms. I could take you to the city ; but if I did, your 
 head would not be safe eight and forty hours. Now if you 
 will pledge yourself to give up, and send home, every pri 
 soner in your dominions, in three days, I will let you go, 
 and all your men ; but your daughter must be taken to the 
 city as a hostage for your act inn up to your promise in 
 good faith." He pledged himself most solemnly, and 
 swore, by the Obi, that he would be true to his word, but 
 grieved sorely to think that his daughter must be exposed 
 
140 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 for his sake. Capt. Elliot then came forward and laid his 
 hand upon his breast, assuring the king that no harm 
 should come to his daughter; that he would defend her to 
 the last moment of his life; and Oakum wound off with an 
 oath for her safety. The king yielded, and the treaty be 
 ing definitively settled, Cudjo began his march for his vil 
 lage. The parting between the father and daughter was 
 affectionate, and quite affected all the hardy tars, most of 
 whom had thought a negro could not have a heart. 
 
 Bill Jones was the only one wounded. A guard 
 of Cudjo had given him a cut with a knife, but Bill said 
 he did not mind a little scratch, as things had gone 
 so well. The king s daughter seeing Jones s wound, 
 offered to dress it ; and finding some herbs, she bound 
 it up, and Bill with great gallantry said he was now quite 
 well, and tendered his thanks to his royal doctoress with 
 a hearty shake by the hand. The assailants arriving in 
 the city, rumor, with her hundred tongues, was magnify 
 ing the event. It was the subject in every shop, vessel 
 and house in Kingston ; but when the Governor heard 
 that Cudjo had been in the hands of the party and 
 had been liberated, his resentment knew no bounds. 
 These mountain negroes had kept him in continual alarm, 
 and that so good an opportunity for destroying them should 
 have escaped, was distressing. The next morning he 
 gent for Capt. Elliot, and in a high and authoritative 
 tone, inquired the state of facts, and reprimanded him 
 for suffering Cudjo to escape. He calmly replied, that as 
 he was rescued by a party of brave volunteers, and was 
 
THE LOST CHII I>. 141 
 
 not indebted to any interference of his majesty s govern- 
 mnit. he did not think it his duty to put a stop to the 
 course of humanity at any time. At this reply he left 
 the hall, and the soldiers brought in the daughter of 
 Cudjo, and her faithful protector, Harry Oakum, bearing 
 something of his late success in his countenance. The 
 young woman was called and examined. The first ques- 
 lion put to her was, " What is your name ?" " Seka," was 
 the reply ; " I am the youngest daughter of the chief in 
 the mountains, sometimes called King Cudjo." The 
 clearness, firmness and precision with which she spoke, 
 astonished the grave politicians there assembled. She 
 looked, dark as she was, quite handsome; slightly tinged 
 with the red and white of an European, tall and graceful, 
 with a most melodious voice. On further inquiry, she 
 proceeded to give a more distinct account of herself, and 
 stated that she was educated by a white woman, the 
 widow of an officer whom her father preserved from 
 outrage and death some years before, when the wife had 
 followed her husband in an attack on the inhabitant? 
 of the mountains. The officer was slain, and when 
 Cudjo sent the lady home, his infant, at the lady s request, 
 was allowed to attend her, but the rank and name of 
 the child were to be kept secret. She added, " I remained 
 in this city until I heard my father was growing old, and 
 had bad advisers about him, who induced him to act? 
 of cruelty which were contrary to his naturally good 
 disposition ; I then returned to the mountains, hoping 
 
 to save the innocent who might fall into his hands. In 
 
 13 
 
142 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 this I have succeeded ; and when I was taken by this 
 noble fellow, and kept as I now am, a hostage for the 
 discharge of certain white men in my father s dominions, 
 I was carrying comfort and consolation to Capt. Elliot 
 and young Dalrymple. My father had promised me that 
 they should not be executed until we had heard further 
 from the city. We had discovered, the afternoon previous 
 to our being made captives, that the messenger sent with a 
 flag of truce had been shot, and robbed of the watch 
 which young Dalrymple had given him to urge him 
 on in his duty in carrying his message. The letter was 
 found in the dead man s pocket. If no other means 
 could have saved the lives of the prisoners, I should 
 have liberated them myself, and have conducted them 
 to such a place of safety as would have secured their 
 lives." She then gave the whole account of the capture 
 and the treaty, and ended by avowing her confidence 
 in her father s honor. 
 
 During this examination, Oakum stood by, full of 
 admiration at her understanding and spirit ; and when 
 she had finished, spoke so loud as to be heard by all, 
 "By the beard of Mahomet, that speech is better by half 
 than a Turkish princess could make." The Governor, in a 
 harsh voice, called upon Oakum to give an account 
 of himself. Harry replied, that he was not much given to 
 speech making, though he did not think himself wanting 
 in tongue ; and, thank God ! he Lad one which he called 
 his own, at least he thought so, when at home in the 
 Bay State ; but as to the matter of this little affair, he 
 
THE LOST CHIf IX 1 l\ 
 
 said, that he had taken it into his head to save his old 
 captain if possible, and he had done it, without thanks to 
 government troops, who never could, or never dared, find 
 the way up the mountains. This sneer was a severe cut, 
 for his excellency had often threatened to exterminate the 
 blacks in the mountains, but had never redeemed his 
 promises ; but Harry knew nothing of this in particular. 
 The Governor again asked him, why he did not bring 
 Cudjo to the city, as he might have made his fortune 
 by it. " Did you not know," continued he, " that I have 
 offered two thousand pounds for Cudjo s head ?" " Y," 
 answered Harry, " I have heard something of this promised 
 reward, and, to be honest with you, it did once come 
 across my mind, but I set sail on another business, and 
 did not think it was like a true seaman to go out of my 
 way to plunder a wreck ; and then what good would such 
 money do my old mother, when she come to know it was 
 the price of a man s blood, and one, too, who never did 
 me any harm ? She would have found it out ; for in 
 faith she heard every tiling I did when I was a slave 
 in Morocco, long before I got home ; and if she had not, 
 there would have been something about my heart, which 
 would have kept up an eternal racket about such a scurvy 
 trick as selling a poor old man .-- head for gold." Harry was 
 then ordered to leave the room, but he said that he " came 
 to convoy that Indiaman there," pointing to Seka, " and as 
 good a one as ever floated, and I shan t sheer off until I 
 have had a broadside or two with any force which may 
 come, even if his majesty s navy, all put together, were to 
 
144 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 ;Utack her." This speech excited a smile around the 
 council board, and the peace officers were ordered to take 
 Seka to a place of confinement, but accompanied with 
 strict injunctions to treat her with kindness and attention. 
 " Not so fast," said Harry, and instantly knocking down the 
 peace officers, who apprehended no resistance, he seized 
 Seka under his arm, and marched out of the hall with so 
 much firmness and decision, that all the spectators were 
 astonished at the lofty spirit of the gallant sailor. The 
 alarm was given ; the soldiers turned out ; and in a few 
 minutes, Harry, with his interesting charge, was over 
 powered and taken. He would have had a severe brush 
 with the soldiers, for he had pistols about him, but Seka 
 implored him not to make any defence, for she knew that 
 all would come right. Seka was led to a place of con 
 finement, which was secure but comfortable, a sort of 
 tower for prisoners of distinction. Harry went off to 
 Capt. Elliot, and told the whole story, fuming and raging 
 like a madman. The sailors, from ship to ship, sympa 
 thized with him, and blasted the cruelty of the Governor. 
 Captain Dalrymple was unfortunately confined to his 
 bed with the gout in the stomach, and his physicians 
 thought it dangerous to name the return of his son 
 to him. This was done, however, by degrees, but with 
 the express injunction of his medical advisers, that 
 nothing of an unpleasant nature should be mentioned to 
 him. Even Capt. Elliot was ndt permitted to visit him. 
 Oakum sat silent and alone on the deck of the brig, and 
 no one hardly ventured to speak to him, all had so much 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 145 
 
 commiseration for his wounded feelings. This abstraction 
 continued for two days, and during this time several 
 distinguished officers of his majesty s navy came to see 
 the noble hearted tar. He bowed respectfully to all of 
 them, but made no conversation with any one. They 
 promised him honors and money, but this did not move 
 him. At the close of the second day, Oakum called 
 Bill Jones to him, who had remained pretty quiet with his 
 wound, and said to him, " Bill, did I not say to Cudjo, that 
 he should have my head for a foot-ball if any harm came to 
 his child?" " Something like of that," said Jones. "Come 
 here, Bill," said Harry, and they put their heads together, 
 and had a long conversation in whispers ; during which 
 they were both seen to shed tears. This was a new thing ; 
 tears had not trickled down their weather-beaten faces for 
 many a day before. Their own personal sufferings could 
 never affect to tears. The next morning Oakum and 
 Jones were missing. Captain Elliot was alarmed, but 
 looking into their chests, he discovered that all their 
 valuable articles were taken away. Two pairs of the 
 brio s pi-tols were missing, as well as two cutlasses, dirks, 
 &c. On going into the city, he found that two sailors 
 had purchased a mule, laden her and led her off. This 
 information reached the government house, and sol<licr> 
 were dispatched after the fugitives, but no trace of them 
 could be found. The same day, six white men, who 
 were supposed to have been murdered, came into the city, 
 and reported themselves to the Governor as having been 
 
 released from bondage ami prison by Cudjo, in faith 
 
 13* 
 
J4<) THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 of his treaty with Oakum. This spread joy throughout 
 the city, and such clamors were raised by all classei 
 of the community, that Seka was released and escorted to 
 the house of her god-mother with every attention. A 
 proclamation was issued, requesting Oakum and Jones 
 to return, and offering them large sums for being the 
 means of saving the lives of these six respectable 
 individuals ; but nothing could be heard of them. The 
 black cooper was sent with a flag of truce in the course 
 of a few days to Cudjo ; but when he came to the difficult 
 part of the secret way, he found it entirely filled up with 
 stones from the mountains, and all communication cut 
 off. The mountaineers had made that path for ever 
 inaccessible, and of course he was obliged to return 
 without finding any access to Cudjo. 
 
 Soon after this, the mountains were seen every night 
 illuminated with large fires, and it was currently reported 
 in the city coming, probably, from those living between 
 the mountains and lower lands, who, from their very local 
 situation, held a sort of neutral ground that all the 
 passes were defended by cannon, or high masses of stones 
 were held by machinery of wood, ready to be precipitated 
 on the foe who should dare the ascent, and that Cudjo 
 laughed at British power in conscious security. No lives 
 had been taken, but plantations had been plundered of 
 arms and munitions of war, even very near the city, and 
 the whole island seemed about to be under the dominion 
 of the mountaineers. Not a mother slept safely in the 
 city. At midnight the roar of the cannon was often 
 
THE LOST mil. P. 147 
 
 heard to echo amongst the mountains, and passing over 
 the city in its reverberatians, died upon the Atlantic 
 wave. On the Governor s palace one morning, it was 
 found written in large letters of chalk " The inhabitants 
 of this house hart thi> night been indebted to tin guuro- 
 tity of an enemy for their lives. Learn to do jvstir, 
 At another time, a placard was put up on the door of the 
 government house " If Oudjo s daughter rereices the 
 least /trirni, the daughters of crery member of the eounril 
 shall be answerable for it. An eye for an eye, and 
 a tooth for a tooth." In this manner matters went on, 
 and the whole business of the city seemed suspended. 
 
 Captain Dalrymple had so far recovered as to converse 
 with his son, and to see his friend Elliot ; and by degrees 
 he came to a full knowledge of the whole affair, but 
 he was not yet able to leave his room. Notwithstanding 
 his weakness, he dispatched several notes to the Governor, 
 of a high-toned character, which were answered in a 
 milder tone than his excellency had before thought fit to 
 use. He knew Dalrymple s power and influence at home, 
 and wished to conciliate him. A sort of apology was 
 offered from the government house, to Capt. Elliot, but he 
 took as little notice of it as of the insult. While the 
 people of the city were in this sad consternation, one 
 night there came up a violent thunder gust. The evening 
 before there had been several slight shocks of an earth 
 quake, which alarmed the inhabitants very much, as the 
 city had cnce suffered severely by one of these dreadful 
 convulsions of nature. The thunder storm was violent, 
 
148 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 and strange stories were told of mountaineers being 
 seen by the flashes of lightning, prowling through the 
 streets of Kingston. The doors of the prison in which 
 Seka had passed a night, were broken open, and the 
 whole room defaced, but no person was seen in the yard 
 or about the building. 
 
 John Frink declared to Capt. Elliot, that as he was 
 in his hammock, in the forecastle, the ghost of Harry 
 Oakum appeared to him, and seemed rummaging the old 
 chest he had left. Frink stated that the ghost held a 
 candle in his hand, and came up near his hammock, 
 and looked scornfully upon him, but did not speak a word, 
 and then vanished away. The next morning, Seka and 
 her god-mother were missing, and traces of blood were 
 visible from her chamber to the yard ; not a servant could 
 be found in the house. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 "All is best, though we oft doubt 
 What th unsearchable dispose 
 Of highest Wisdom brings about, 
 And ever best found in the close." 
 
 CAPTAIN Dalrymple received advices from London, that 
 in the list of promotions, he was advanced to Rear Admi 
 ral, and was ordered to the East Indies. Calling his son 
 George, he consulted him on finishing his education in 
 America. " I have," said he, " large tracts of land there, 
 in several of the provinces, and probably you will find it 
 to your advantage to spend a good part of your time in 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 149 
 
 America ; but at all events, it is a good quiet place for you 
 to get an education. Harvard College has the reputation 
 of furnishing some excellent scholars, and you are well 
 grounded in the classics and mathematics, and of course 
 can graduate with distinction, if you will. This plan was 
 acceptable, and the young man took his departure for Bos 
 ton with Capt. Elliot. He was put under the care of Doc 
 tor Samuel Cooper ; and entering College a year in ad 
 vance, was soon among the first of his class. Young as 
 he was, he soon saw that the country would not long re 
 main quiet, for at this time two regiments of British sol- 
 diers were quartered in Boston, and the citizens were in a 
 state of great irritation. In the spring of 1770, the first 
 blood was spilt in the streets of Boston. The whole coun 
 try expressed the greatest indignation at this outrage. The 
 next year the event was commemorated by a solemn pro 
 cession and an oration. In it the great doctrines of civil 
 liberty were freely discussed, and resistance to oppression 
 inculcated. The students were allowed to come from 
 Cambridge to Boston to join these solemnities ; and the 
 head of every youth was filled with politics. The next 
 year, 1772, the oration was delivered by Doctor Joseph 
 Warren, then one of the leading whigs in Massachusetts. 
 From the high standing of Admiral Dalrymple, his son had 
 access to the best society in Boston and the neighborhood. 
 Among others, Doctor Warren was very attentive to the 
 young gentleman, and often invited him to dine with him 
 on Saturdays, when the students who had friends in town 
 were allowed to come in to see them, and spend the Sun- 
 
150 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 day. Warren was a fine bred gentleman, and said but 
 little about politics when the young Englishman was there. 
 This the latter perceiving, directed his inquiries to the 
 state of things, and received the most accurate account of 
 them from the Doctor ; but still the latter was cautious of 
 giving opinions on the future course of events. When the 
 anniversary of the massacre, as it was called, arrived, War 
 ren suggested to his young friend, that he had better not 
 come to Boston to hear the oration, as bold ground would 
 be taken by him, and his doctrines and their expositions 
 might sound harsh to his ears. George thanked him for 
 his politeness, but told him that it was his father s orders 
 to him, to note every thing going on, and to send advices 
 often to England, that they might reach him in due time in 
 India. George was at the delivery of the oration, and 
 procured copies as soon as it issued from the press, to send 
 to England with the package, containing a file of newspa 
 pers and the political pamphlets of the day ; he wrote the 
 Admiral the following letter : 
 
 "Dear Father, 
 
 " The newspapers and pamphlets I herewith send 
 you, will apprise you of the state of affairs in this province, 
 and the oration of Doctor Warren will convince you that 
 men of intelligence and standing are deeply engaged in 
 the contest ; and pardon me, if, young as I am, I venture 
 to predict that torrents of blood will be spilt before the 
 struggle is over. I do not draw any inferences from what 
 may have been done by a mob, or by what a few partisan 
 leaders may say ; but from the feelings and reasonings of 
 the youths of the country. There are not more than a 
 half dozen in this institution with me in politics; and I 
 assure you that I am, as you advised me to be, prudent in 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 151 
 
 these matters. Every thing here is warlike or political 
 A poll > and the Muses have Hed lor a season, and I wi&h I 
 was on the journey with them. Your friend and mine, 
 Doctor Warren, joins with you in thinking that studmts 
 should attend to their duties, and wait for npcr years to 
 commence politician. My dear father, what a splendid 
 roan Doctor Warren is! His person is more manly than 
 when you saw him, his movements have ease with ma 
 jesty ; his voice is full, sweet, powerful, and well cultim- 
 ted ; his lowest undertones, in that oration, were heard 
 with great distinctness. He is the great leader of the 
 whigs. John Hancock is held in greater reverence by 
 some, who consider wealth as making a man ; hut it is 
 not believed that he has the same exalted talents. War 
 ren is just such a man as would have been all-powerful at 
 Athens in the best days of Greece; he has the enchanting 
 manners of Alcibiades, the copious flow of Isocrates, with 
 the clear judgment of Plato. Such a man cannot fail to 
 be a leader. 
 
 " I have just returned from an excursion to Portsmouth, 
 to fee your friend, Governor John Wentworth; he is 
 alarmed at the symptoms of the times. In every tavern I 
 heard the village politicians make use of the freest expres 
 sions of determination to resist unto the end, if some ame 
 lioration of measures did not take place. As I passed the 
 beautiful little town of Newburyport, I called to see our 
 flood friend, Capt. Elliot. He received me with great 
 kindness, and I stopped with him a day or two. His wifo 
 was very attentive to me, and the captain narrated to me 
 the events of his life, his rights with the Indians, and par 
 ticularly of the loss of a fine child several years ago, u \un 
 mysterious disappearance created much excitement at the 
 time. In this place I heard a sermon that went to show that 
 resistance to tyranny was obedience to God. The clergy 
 throagboot the country are Puritans; severe in their di>o- 
 pline, and bred to religious and |K>IiticaJ contests. They 
 have a jjreat influence am n: il . people. This influence 
 is not confined to their Hocks alone, a popular preacher in 
 
152 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 known through a whole province. The sermon that I 
 heard, I am informed, will be called for in many other 
 places, it is so well suited to the taste of the times. The 
 minor minds among the ecclesiastics will imitate their su 
 periors, and the pulpits will resound with political disser 
 tations, instead of moral homilies. There are not many 
 lawyers in the country, but they are not more loyal, as a 
 body, than the divines. The physicians, with a few ex 
 ceptions, are whigs ; so that in case of a rupture, the tories 
 will have but a small share of talent in comparison with 
 their opponents. 
 
 " Governor Wentworth retains no small share of his 
 popularity. He has been of great use to the province of 
 New-Hampshire, by introducing new breeds of cattle and 
 horses, and by publishing several books on agriculture. 
 This is the way to benefit a nation. Such a man may 
 literally 
 
 Read his history in a nation s eyes. 
 
 The Governor has, near Portsmouth, laid out and cultiva 
 ted a fine garden, and has made large importations of fruit 
 trees and shrubs from every part of England, and from the 
 continent of Europe. Not content with his agricultural 
 and horticultural improvements in Rockingham county, 
 the oldest part of the state, he penetrated the wilderness 
 to Winnipisiogee Lake, in the interior of the state, and 
 commenced farming operations on a large scale ; has erect 
 ed a mansion-house and several farming-houses, with 
 barns of a large size, and great convenience, on the bor 
 ders of this most beautiful and magnificent sheet of water. 
 The lake is more than thirty miles in circumference. The 
 water is pure, depending more on subterranean springs 
 than from tributary streams. The fish in the lake are 
 fine, perch, pike, bass, trout, and others, good for the 
 pan. The water is deep, cool, and the fish abundant ; in 
 the winter season, trout of a large kind, weighing from 
 three pounds to twelve and sixteen pounds, have been 
 caught in these waters. The Governor has a pair of moose 
 deer, caught when young, and broken as coach horses, 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 153 
 
 which he has driven several times, for a few miles at a 
 time. His park is surrounded by a fence fifteen feet in 
 height, as these animals are wonderful in their leaps, and 
 can only be taken alive when the snow is deep, and the 
 crust of it is thick. Sir John is a man of great courtesy 
 of manners, and is more engaged in his duties as a lead 
 ing practical farmer, than fighting with the legislature, as 
 his brother governors of Massachusetts and New-York are. 
 But it is not the popularity of one man, however di>tin- 
 guished or beloved, to stem this current of republican ex 
 pressions. The whole of his province are opposed to his 
 politics. Still he is popular, as he avoids all matters that 
 may bring him in collision with the people or their repre 
 sentatives. 
 
 " Your son, G. D." 
 
 "Dear Father, 
 
 " Since my last letter, the excitement has been in- 
 onM-ing. John Hancock delivered the oration comme 
 morating the massacre, as they still continue to call the 
 firing of the soldiers on the citizens of Boston, notwith 
 standing it was clearly proved that the citizens pelted the 
 soldiers with stones and pieces of ice, previous to the dis 
 charge of a musket. The oration carried out the doc 
 trines of freedom as his predecessors have promulgated, 
 and all connection is broken up between the Governor 
 and Hancock ; in fact, none of the mandamus council 
 visit him. Your friend William Vassal read me a long 
 lecture for dining with Mr. Hancock, in company with 
 Doctor Cooper; but I did not acknowledge his right to 
 direct me, still I thanked him for his solicitude. The Go 
 vernor has an obstinate temper, and, it is thought, not fit 
 for his place, in these times of excitement. The Supreme 
 Court are all on the side of the crown, but do not act with 
 any decision in matters involving politics, as was seen in 
 the case of the writs of assistance, which was argued se 
 veral years ago, but has not been decided yet, and it is the 
 general belief that the question is put to rest for ever. The 
 
 14 
 
154 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 whole of the judicial and executive parts of the govern 
 ment have no energy, except by irregular impulses, which 
 inflames instead of awing the people. The question of 
 taxation is one never-ending subject of dispute. The 
 people say they are not represented in Parliament, and 
 will not be taxed by that body. 
 
 " My college life has become an unpleasant one and 
 I wish your permission to leave the country. I have formed 
 some associations which I shall leave with regret. Many 
 of my acquaintances are looking forward to distinction, in 
 case of a contest between this and the mother country. 
 Some anticipate the glories of statesmen, and others are 
 preparing for the field. These ardent spirits think more 
 of personal fame and national honor, than of the hard 
 ships and sufferings in store for them. Clubs are formed, 
 in which the great questions of the rights of man are dis 
 cussed while the classics are neglected. The very 
 thought of their being free to direct themselves, makes 
 them reckless of consequences. I repeat my request to 
 be permitted to spend a few years in France, and in other 
 countries on the continent. 
 
 " Your Son, G. D." 
 
 " P. S. My mother is now in France with some of her 
 friends. I should be happy to join them." 
 
 In a few months the admiral having returned from 
 India, gave his son permission to return to England by 
 the way of Jamaica. He sailed for Kingston with Capt. 
 Elliot, who still kept up the West India trade. On their 
 arrival they both made inquiries after Oakum and Bill 
 Jones, and found that, if they were living, they were still 
 in the mountains; that nothing direct had been heard of 
 them since the night Seka was missing. The forces 
 of Cudjo had now become numerous and powerful, having 
 obtained a supply of arms by a stratagem. At the sugges- 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 155 
 
 lion of young Dalrymple, the Gorcrnor determined to 
 mako some efforts to induce the two American sailors 
 to leave the mountains. The Governor pledged himself to 
 make no inquiries of them, to give them a pension of 
 seventy-five pounds a year each for their natural lives; 
 clothe them well, and send them free of expense to their 
 own country. Capt. Elliot undertook to get the Governor s 
 letter to his old sailors, but this was not easily effected. 
 He added one of his own, and another from Dalrymple, 
 who urged them in the strongest terms to accept the offers 
 and return. On the fourth day after the letters reached 
 these brave fellows, they were on board of Capt. Elliot s 
 brig, which they greeted as a thing of life, declaring that 
 she looked as fresh as she did the first voyage. The 
 greetings between them and their old friends were truly 
 hearty; but what astonished the tars the most was to see 
 the little George they had saved from the hen-coop, only 
 four years before, now a tall elegant man ; and also to 
 find that he had been to college. Bill Jones declared 
 most emphatically with an oath, that he could sec the 
 very flash of the admiral s eye, every time George spake, 
 and Oakum thought his voice resembled Capt. Elliot s; 
 in the dark he said he should not know them apart. 
 They informed their friends that they lived in ease in the 
 mountains, cultivating a garden, and making and rigging 
 miniature ships, one of which they had brought with 
 them to present to their old captain. Seka, they said, 
 was married to Campaign, a maroon, who behaved like a 
 gentleman and friend to the sailors. He was at the head 
 
156 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 of the army, and relieved old Cudjo of all his cares. 
 They explained the traces of blood when Seka was 
 carried off, as flowing from Bill s wound, which from his 
 exertions bled afresh. The Governor acted towards them 
 in good faith, and paid them their year s pension in 
 advance, besides giving a chest of clothes to each. They 
 took passage with their old commander, and although not 
 required to do any labor, they would keep their watch 
 with the crew, in order, as they said, to get their sea legs 
 again, and feel a little like sea-dogs as they once were. 
 On their arrival, they were greeted by their old mess 
 mates with joy, who were wonder-struck when they heard 
 that both had a pension from Jamaica. Soon after 
 their arrival, not wishing to go to sea again, these old 
 sailors hired a sail-loft, and taught seamanship. They 
 rigged a ship, and unrigged her, and taught green hands 
 their duty ; who flocked to them to learn their duty, 
 in splicing, and knotting, and cutting rigging. Their 
 terms for instruction were low, and in a few weeks after 
 they had commenced, their school was crowded and it 
 was said they were very happy in their practical methods 
 of teaching. If they delivered their lectures without a 
 dictionary, they were well versed in the technicalities 
 of their profession. More than one eminent naval com 
 mander, who figured in the American navy, from 1776, 
 and since, was a pupil to Oakum and Jones. 
 
 After leaving Jamaica, Dalrymple repaired to England, 
 and from thence to the continent ; and when in France, 
 entered as a cadet in the military school. Among the 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 15? 
 
 otliccrs who were the teachers in the engineer corps, was 
 a Polish gentleman, to whom Dalrymple became much 
 attached. lie had been distinguished for the extent 
 of his acquirements, and the gallantry of his bearing in his 
 native country. But although born in a land of nobles, 
 descended from one, he was a decided republican, and 
 sought Dalrymple every day, to learn something of Ame- 
 rica, and from him got a fair insight of the state of atlairs 
 in that country, and an opinion that an appeal to arms 
 would take place shortly, and would be maintained with 
 the greatest pertinacity by both parties. Kosciuazko, at a 
 Hash, made up his mind to join the republican standard, 
 and to give them the advantages of his science and skill. 
 Dalrymple did not at that time think that his father would 
 insist on his joining the army about to be sent to subdue 
 America. News soon arrived in France that the drama 
 of the American revolution was opened by the battle 
 of Lexington, and this followed by the more decided one 
 of Bunker Hill. The Polish officer soon made arrange 
 ments to join the American standard ; taking with him 
 the highest recommendations from Frenchmen and Poles 
 of military distinction. At his departure Dalrymple gave 
 him a letter to John Hancock, stating his merits as an 
 engineer and as a gentleman, regretting, however, that 
 his services should be wanted in America. 
 
 The situation of the colonies the next year was sad 
 indeed ; the campaign of 1770 was almost a continued 
 scene of disasters on the side of the Americans, and 
 
 success on the part of the British. The battles fought. 
 
 14* 
 
158 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 determined in favor of the latter until the American army 
 crossed the Delaware, and fought the battle of Trenton. 
 
 Early in the next year, 1777, it was known that Bur- 
 goyne was to march from Canada, to join the forces at 
 New- York, and fix upon a line of defence from the lakes 
 to the harbor of New- York. This would, in their opinion, 
 effectually divide the south from the east, and finish the 
 contest. Admiral Dalrymple had too much at stake to 
 be indifferent to the struggle, and at once purchased his 
 son a majority in General Frazer s grenadiers. The 
 father thought that the son would not be pleased with this 
 step, but his orders were not to be disputed, and with his 
 commission he sent him deeds of large parcels of land in 
 various parts of the country, with a long letter, telling him 
 that as he was now independent, he hoped that he would 
 have spirit enough to defend his property. Major Dal 
 rymple was soon a pet of Burgoyne, and was selected as 
 one of his aids, which kept him constantly employed. He 
 was daily urging the general, if he intended to reach 
 New- York in season, that no time should be wasted, and 
 gave it as his opinion, that when it was known that the army 
 was at Fort Ticonderoga, that all New-England would 
 swarm on the frontiers. Burgoyne smiled at his opinion 
 of his foes, and playfully observed, "Major, as soon as 
 I arrive at New- York, and have refreshed my army, for a 
 few days, I shall send you with the advance guard on to 
 Boston, to take the oaths of allegiance of all your old 
 friends. I wish you to tell Hancock that he shall not 
 be hanged, but shot as a gentleman and a soldier." The 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 159 
 
 young officer, bowing, replied, " I shall always be happy 
 to obey your commands." But his look was so solemn, as 
 to induce the commander-in-chief, as soon as Dalrymple 
 had gone, to observe to Frazer, " That spirited youth, 
 whose bravery cannot be questioned, has imbibed strange 
 ideas in regard to Yankee courage. It is true they gave 
 us a pretty fair specimen at Bunker Hill, but that affair 
 stands by itself." Frazer made no response. 
 
 When it was known in New-England, that Burgoyne 
 was advancing from Canada, the tocsin was sounded at 
 every corner, the whole mass of people were in agitation, 
 and large drafts were made to meet the enemy. 
 
 Captain Elliot, who had been an officer in the last 
 French war, was now appointed Colonel of a regiment, 
 and again girded on his sword and marched to Saratoga. 
 The capture of Count Baum and his troops, by General 
 Stark, had revived the spirits of the soldiers of the main 
 army under Gates, and they were waiting with no small 
 anxiety for battle, sure of victory, when Colonel Elliot 
 arrived. On the 13th and 14th of September, Burgoyne, 
 with thirty days provisions, crossed the Hudson, and 
 encamped on the heights and plains of Saratoga. Gates 
 was above Still water. On the night of the 17th, the 
 British General moved onward, and encamped within four 
 miles of the American army, and about mid-day, on the 
 19th, advanced in full force against it. The right 
 wing was commanded by General Burgoyne, and covered 
 by General Frazer, and Colonel Breyman, with the grena 
 diers and light infantry, were posted along some high 
 
160 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 grounds on the right. The front and flanks were covered 
 by Indians, Provincials, and Canadians. The left wing 
 and artillery were commanded by the Major Generals 
 Phillips and Reidisel, who proceeded along the great 
 road. Colonel Morgan, who was detached to observe 
 their motions, and to harass them as they advanced, soon 
 fell in with the pickets in the front of their right wing, 
 attacked them sharply, and drove them in ; they were 
 supported, but at length were forced to give way. Rein 
 forcements on both sides made the battle general. Colo 
 nel Elliot, who was well acquainted with Indian fighting, 
 was ordered to attack the flanking parties of Indians and 
 Canadians. This order was executed with great prompti 
 tude. The Indians and Canadians were beaten. A 
 small body of Indians seemed determined to sell their 
 lives as dearly as possible. They had taken possession 
 of an eminence containing but a few acres, and had made 
 up their minds to die rather than surrender. Colonel 
 Elliot took his right battalion and led the attack in person. 
 The contest was desperate. The young Indian warrior, 
 the chief of the party, was full of fight when the attack 
 was made upon him. Elliot marked the desperado, 
 with intention to push him to single combat. One with 
 drawn sword, and the other with an uplifted tomahawk 
 began the fight. Elliot was skilful with his weapon, and 
 the Indian as agile as a mountain cat. The Colonel s 
 foot slipped and brought him on his knee. The Indian 
 advanced to give the finishing stroke with his tomahawk, 
 when he uttered a scream, let fall his weapon, and 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 161 
 
 threw his arms around Colonel Elliot s neck. He had a 
 few words of English at his command, but was too much 
 agitated to use them correctly. One of the regiment 
 rushed on to strike the Indian to the heart. Colonel 
 Elliot seized the bayonet and prevented the deed. At 
 this moment, an Indian woman sprung from the thicket, 
 waving the tatters of an old bandana handkerchief, and 
 cried out, "Don t you know your son your Monegan !" 
 The story of his saving the child, although more than 
 twenty years had elapsed, came fresh to his mind. The 
 bandana had been preserved, " as a medicine" and the 
 features of the white man had not been forgotten. Mone 
 gan was now a chief, and his mother had attended him to 
 see that he did not disgrace his father s glory. The 
 Indian prisoners were conducted to the camp and treated 
 with the greatest kindness. The commander-in-chief 
 was made acquainted with the whole circumstances, and 
 loading Monegan and his mother with presents of cloth 
 ing and trinkets, gave them their liberty with all the other 
 Indian prisoners. The effects of this treatment were 
 incalculable. In four days every Indian had deserted the 
 British General. Monegan and his mother had produced 
 the effect. He declaring that he could not fight against 
 his second father, and she prophesying that Burgoyne 
 would be taken. Still the Indian woman, with her son, 
 hovered around the camp, thinking that they might be of 
 some service to their friend, the white man, in case he 
 was taken by the English. 
 
 In the second battle with the British, which took place 
 
162 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 on the 7th day of October, 1777, Colonel Elliot was 
 opposed to Frazer s grenadiers, but Major Dalrymple 
 was then acting aid to the British commander-in-chief, 
 and of course could pay no particular attention to his own 
 corps. In this battle Colonel Elliot was wounded and 
 taken prisoner. This was instantly made known to 
 Burgoyne. Major Dalrymple suspecting the prisoner to 
 be his friend, from the exposed situation in which he last 
 saw him, gave orders to have the wounded officer carried 
 to his own tent, and directed the surgeon of the staff to 
 attend him, who on examining his wounds, declared that 
 he was in no jeopardy of life, requiring only attentive 
 nursing. On the close of the battle, so disastrous to the 
 British cause, Major Dalrymple entered his tent with 
 gloomy feelings ; he found that his apprehensions were too 
 true. His friend was in a delirium before him ; the 
 battle had discouraged the British troops, and inspired the 
 colonists with new ardor. He trod his own tent with 
 caution, fearing to wake the wounded man. When the 
 latter awoke, he found that there was a small lamp throw 
 ing a pale and dim light from behind a screen, and a 
 gentleman in a night-coat watching his slumbers. The 
 wounded man had been insensible until this moment, 
 from his fall. He saw that he was a prisoner from the 
 splendor of the furniture of the tent. He, lifting his 
 head, faintly inquired, " To whom am I indebted for such 
 kindness as this ?" " To an old friend," was the reply : 
 " pray compose yourself until the morrow, and then you 
 shall know all." " Answer me one question now, for 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 1G3 
 
 to-morrow s sun may never shine on my couch : Have my 
 countrymen been disgraced V " No," was the reply, 
 * your honor is safe. Your regiment fought most bravely. 
 Your horse fell on you, or you would have been brounht 
 off by your soldiers. Go to sleep; you have nothing 
 to regret, but your own misfortunes." An anodyne was 
 administered, and the wounded officer calmly went to 
 rest As the day dawned, both camps were in motion. 
 The British were about retiring, and the American army 
 preparing to follow them. A flag of truce was sent into 
 General Gates s camp, offering to exchange Colonel Klliut 
 This was soon effected. Major Dairy mple did not intend 
 that it should be known that he was the person who spent 
 the night by the American officer s bed-side, but the sick 
 man knew the tones of his friend s voice, and wanderingly 
 observed, " This must be George. Cursed be civil wars, 
 that arm brother against brother, and break up the ties of 
 friendship." Burgoyne soon retired from his position, and 
 attempting a retreat, found himself quite surrounded. 
 Calling a council of war, it was agreed to enter into 
 a convention of surrender. This was done on fair terms, 
 all things considered. The officers were to retain their 
 arms and their private property ; public property to be 
 given up. Major Dalrymple was one of the commission 
 ers, and proved to his friends that he was as diplomatic 
 as brave. The caution, prudence, and tact, shown in the 
 treaty of convention, gave Burgoyne a high idea of young 
 Dalrymple s talents. Nothing was forgotten but a stipula 
 tion for a particular tune, by which the captured should 
 
164 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 march out to lay down their arms. The ceremony was 
 solemn and imposing ; veteran soldiers, passing between 
 two lines of raw militia, to surrender their arms and 
 themselves, reserving to themselves only the honors of 
 war, was no common sight. The instant the march began, 
 the American band struck up " Yankee Doodle." This 
 was unforeseen, and made a deep impression on officers and 
 soldiers of both armies. This song had been written by 
 a facetious English surgeon, at Lake George, in playful 
 ridicule of some raw companies of Provincials who had 
 come to the frontiers to assist Loudon in his campaign 
 against the French. The Provincials were gay, if not 
 disciplined, and the surgeon made music out of their 
 primitive notes of mirth. From the moment it was 
 played by the American band in the surrender of Bur- 
 goyne, it has been a national air. 
 
 As soon as this ceremony, so joyous to one party and 
 so unpleasant to the other, was finished, Major Dalrymple 
 repaired forthwith to his friend s quarters, and was happy 
 to find that he was rapidly convalescing. General Gates, 
 understanding the friendship that existed between the two 
 officers, accepted the parole of the Major to accompany 
 the wounded Colonel to his home in Massachusetts. A 
 wagon was procured, and they moved on slowly but 
 safely. The Major rode on horseback, with his body- 
 servant in attendance, well mounted, and by easy stages 
 saw the Colonel at his own house in about ten days, much 
 recovered from his wounds. By particular influence, Ma- 
 jor Dalrymple went to England without any pledge to re- 
 
THE LOST C11ILD. 165 
 
 turn; and, by the influence of his family connections, was 
 soon returned to Parliament, his father being satisfied of 
 the last campaign. His parliamentary course was highly 
 satisfactory to the Admiral. He thought his boy could 
 speak as well as himself. He ranked himself on the side 
 of the ministry, but was respected by the opposition, as he 
 stated every thing as he had seen, in his residence in 
 America. When Burgoyne was attacked, he defended 
 him, and in his arguments showed not only a thorough 
 knowledge of his profession, but an intimate acquaintance 
 with all the points in dispute ; and no young member in 
 the House of Commons, except Charles James Fox, was 
 more highly respected for talents. He never resigned his 
 commission in the army, but contented himself with his 
 parliamentary duties, until after his country got into a 
 war with France. He was now promoted to a full colo 
 nelcy, and was sent to Egypt with Sir Ralph Abercrombie. 
 Colonel John Moore, afterwards the celebrated Sir John 
 Moore, was his particular friend in this campaign. In 
 this wild and extraordinary expedition, he, with the rest, 
 won laurels of lasting green. While in Egypt, Colonel 
 Dalrymple viewed every thing in his power ; and this cra 
 dle of the world affords much for the contemplation of the 
 philosopher and the antiquarian. On his return he visited 
 Canada, to dispose of some of his lands and to look after 
 others. On- his way home, he took a journey across the 
 country from Albany, to see his old friend Colonel Elliot ; 
 and it pained the gallant English officer to find the Ameri 
 can patriot in poverty and distress. His property, which 
 
 15 
 
166 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 had been considerable, from his mercantile and maritime 
 industry, had all been thrown into the state and national 
 treasury, for the purposes of carrying on the revolutionary 
 war. At one time he had advanced to the American 
 army ten thousand Spanish milled dollars, and took paper 
 money for the same. That paper was now in his pos 
 session ; but for the pledge of the whole of it he could not 
 purchase a suit of clothes. He had also large quantities 
 of other emissions of paper, in pay for advances to his 
 men, and for his own services ; but yet all of it would not 
 keep the bailiff from his door, for a few hundred of dollars 
 his family had borrowed while he was absent in the army, 
 thinking that his hordes of paper money, which every body 
 knew he had, would be redeemed, and all would soon be 
 settled. The spirits of the veteran were broken down, 
 and his body was tortured with rheumatic pains. His 
 wife had become blind, his furniture had been taken and 
 sold for a mere trifle, his whole soul was sick ; and when 
 Colonel Dalrymple sent in his name, for he lingered still 
 in his former mansion, although there was nothing in it 
 but what a niggardly law allowed to keep men from abso 
 lute starvation, he denied himself, and said to his sister, 
 " Go and tell that princely friend, that I am a miserable, dy 
 ing wretch, having lost all for my country, and cannot and 
 will not see him." " By heaven, he shall !" said Dalrymple 
 with energy, and took possession of the door ; " lead me, 
 instantly/ said he, in a tone that could not be refused, 
 " to his room." In a moment they were in each others 
 embraces, and both wept like children. The blind wife 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 167 
 
 instantly came into the room, having heard the conversa 
 tion. Dalrymple kissed her hand, and said to her, " Be 
 still, all our evils are over." A note was written to the 
 host of the inn where the stranger had taken up his lodg 
 ings, to send a dinner, servants, &c., which came in due 
 season. The three had just finished their repast, when 
 the door was unceremoniously opened, and a broad-shoul 
 dered cripple, with a crutch under his left arm, and a cane 
 in his right hand, with the gray hairs straggling about his 
 head, entered the room. This was old Oakum. He said, 
 that hearing of the coming of the boy George, he had 
 swallowed his grub, and started without a moment s warn 
 ing. Colonel Dalrymple inquired if Jones was living. 
 " No," said Oakum, " he slipt his cable about two years 
 ago, in a right trim, as the parson says, and has gone, he 
 has no doubt, to a good snug harbor. He left me all he 
 was worth. The parson thought it would not hold, as the 
 paper had only his name to it, and Bill Shackford s; but 
 the giant of the law told me not to mind the parson on 
 such a subject, every one to his trade, the whole world 
 should not get it from me, and so it turned out. I have it 
 now. I offered the lawyer a yellow boy; No, no, Oak 
 um, said he, when I want to rig a ship, I will send for 
 you to help me. These lawyers are sometimes good fel 
 lows, in spite of all they say against them. I don t believe 
 they have more to do with old cloven-foot than other folks. 
 Now, George, my boy," the old sailor at one moment felt 
 all the reverence and respect for a great British officer, and 
 then could not, would not, think of him in any other light 
 
168 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 than the boy on the hen-coop," I have something to tell, 
 which I should not have dared said to my old captain here : 
 and that is, I got old omnium gatherum Beak, who deals 
 in all trash, from a needle to an anchor, and from a spun- 
 yarn to a cable, to bid in for me all the things sold here 
 t other day. He got them all ; and I have them now all 
 stowed away, waiting for a time to take off the lock and 
 key." " Send them all, my good old friend, directly here 
 to-morrow morning," said Colonel Dalrymple ; " you and I 
 will see that matter put according to Gunter." " It is 
 not much, I assure you," said Oakum, " for when old 
 Beck gave a hint, nobody would bid on them, so they 
 went off plaguey low." The same giant of the law was 
 sent for, and papers of great length passed between the 
 two friends, Elliot and Dalrymple. The latter gave Oak 
 um a dinner at his boarding-house, and informed the host 
 that Captain Oakum would dine with him that day, and if 
 he knew his taste, to cater for it ; and Oakum was requested 
 to invite his friends. This courtesy he extended to a few 
 old sea captains, who ever afterward called him Captain 
 Oakum. From the hour that Colonel Dalrymple met his 
 old friend Elliot, it was remarked that he was another 
 man, and that his wife was altogether changed. It was 
 known to some that the Admiral had died leaving a large 
 estate, and that the Colonel, his son, was his principal 
 heir. Some of the inquisitive made gentle inquiries, but 
 had no satisfactory answer, and when this was known, the 
 family were no longer troubled with questions from any 
 quarter. The blessings of competency were soon seen 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 169 
 
 and felt. Colonel Dairy mple visited the Elliots every day, 
 and he continued his stay through aJl the shooting season, 
 which was very excellent in that country. Late in Novem 
 ber the friends parted with great emotion. This the 
 neighbors saw, as they bade a last adieu to each other. 
 Mrs. Elliot soon found partial relief from her blindness ; 
 and the Colonel took a journey to spend the winter at the 
 south. For many years he saw his family well settled 
 around him, before he and his wife sunk to rest, with se 
 renity and faith. In about seven or eight years from the 
 death of Colonel Elliot, the account of the death of Major 
 General Dalrymple reached the United States. His exit 
 \v as sudden as a flash of light, from angina pectoris. He 
 had served in the West Indies for several years previous 
 to his death, but at length he found that the climate had 
 injured his hardy constitution beyond all hopes of perfect 
 restoration, but still believed that he might, with great 
 care, attend his duties in Parliament for many years to 
 come ; but in this he was disappointed. After a great 
 effort in the House of Commons, he instantly expired, with 
 ;i sentence on his lips stating to a friend how much he felt 
 exhausted. 
 
 With the information of the General s death, came 
 several trunks to the heirs of Colonel Elliot, and an au 
 thenticated copy of the General s will, giving and granting 
 to them by name certain real estate in America, and also 
 a quantity of United States stock. The great bulk of his 
 fortune, which was very large, he gave to his daughter, 
 
 at the time of his death the wife of a distinguished states- 
 
 15* 
 
170 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 man in England. The General had been married whilr 
 an officer in Canada, to a fine woman of Montreal, a de 
 scendant of one of the old French families, who remained 
 there after the peace of 1763. He never saw her after the 
 army began its march. She died in a few weeks after she 
 had heard the news of the capture of the British army, 
 leaving a daughter only ten days old. This child was 
 educated in a convent in France, and brought out under 
 the care of her father in England. She was a reigning 
 belle for two winters, and then was married to her father s 
 wishes, and to the satisfaction of her connections. 
 
 The trunk, containing deeds and other papers from the 
 deceased, was left at a counsellor s office for a thorough 
 examination and arrangement, in order that those which 
 ought to be preserved should be put on record, and the 
 others filed away. A sale of a portion of the lands be 
 queathed was advised, as money in commerce, at that time, 
 was thought better than lands of any kind. In pursuance 
 of this duty, the lawyer found at the bottom of the trunk 
 a bundle of papers covered with oil-cloth, and sealed with 
 great care. In it he found a letter addressed from the 
 Admiral to his son, informing him of the contents of his 
 will, that he was made sole heir, after a few legacies, but 
 at the same time sent him a sealed paper, to be opened 
 when he should hear of his father s decease. An endorse 
 ment was on this paper, naming the time he had been 
 made acquainted with his father s death, and of the open- 
 ing of trie paper. Along side of the paper was one in 
 the hand-writing of the General, both going to prove that 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 171 
 
 Major General George Dairymple was the identical lost 
 child of Colonel Elliot. The gist of the story is this. 
 Captain Dairymple had been stationed at Boston, to 
 watch the coast to Halifax, previous to and during a 
 part of the war of 1755, as it was called. During his 
 command, he was ordered to visit the frontiers to give ad 
 vice in transporting artillery and munitions of war to Lake 
 George. As he was on the frontiers, his son, only two 
 years of age, sickened with the croup and suddenly died, 
 and he hastened with his half distracted wife to the Atlan 
 tic sea-board. The fleet had sailed he knew, and he took 
 an eastern port in his way, for he had heard of a fine ship 
 just ready for sea, which was to be sent to England for 
 sale. This was purchased, and soon got ready for sea. 
 His wife was now conducted to the ship, to see her accom 
 modations, and give her orders. On her last visit to the 
 ship, she saw a child, about the age of her own she had 
 lost, playing with a little dog. She took them into her 
 cabin, and tied round the child s neck a coral and bells, 
 which had been a present to her child. The boy, as it 
 was warm, soon went to sleep, and she placed him in her 
 berth, and the little dog jumped in beside him. In the 
 midst of bustle and preparation, she forgot the circum 
 stance. It was soon announced that the wind was fair 
 and fresh, that the pilot was on board, and all things ready 
 for the voyage. The ship saluted the town as she left it, 
 and she was soon out of sight, sailing as she did at least 
 ten knots an hour. Captain Dairymple was busy in watch 
 ing her motions, and was delighted to find her so fast and 
 
172 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 manageable. As the shades of night came on, the exhaust 
 ed lady was about to retire, and was making some adjust 
 ment of her mattress, she uttered a shriek of distress, for 
 in her berth she found both child and dog. " Oh ! his 
 mother, his mother !" broke, in the wildest tones, from her 
 lips. " She is distracted by this time good God ! good 
 God ! what shall I do !" From this paroxysm she fell into 
 a state of torpor and almost insensibility. When Mrs. 
 Dalrymple came out of this state of mind, she said to her 
 husband, " Did not God send this child to us to supply the 
 place of our own? Ours was taken away from us sudden 
 ly, and this as wonderfully given to us;" and before the 
 sun arose, they had come to a determination to adopt the 
 child with the name of their own. An Irish female ser 
 vant was the only one who had the secret, and she was 
 faithful to the highest example, even to death. Entering 
 into the scheme most cordially, to please her mistress, she 
 made some admirable arrangements. In the morning the 
 child was dressed in the best clothes of the deceased : it 
 was a green and gold hermaphrodite dress ; such as indi 
 cated, but did not unequivocally decide the sex of the in 
 fant. With this dress, and the bells and coral, he did 
 not complain, and before the week was passed forgot his 
 cradle and his home ; probably having at home been in 
 some degree neglected by some new comer in the list of 
 sons and daughters of the family. If there had been a 
 sailor on board who had seen the urchin at home, in his 
 new dress, he would not have known him. In justice to 
 this good woman, it must be said, that she was the fondest 
 
THE LOST CHILD. 173 
 
 mother to her adopted offspring, and petted him so much 
 in childhood, that the admiral sent him from home to 
 school, that she might not ruin him by indulgence. The 
 Admiral knew that he was the founder of his own for 
 tunes, and could do no injustice to any hereditary claims 
 by the course he was pursuing. 
 
 When the General read his father s letter, he remem 
 bered the story of his American friend of the loss of a 
 child, and at once he was anxious to get at the whole of 
 this interesting story. He entertained the wish, in a strong 
 degree inherent in all minds, to know distinctly his origin. 
 On his last visit to the United States, he made minute in 
 quiries respecting the sailing of the St. George, the vessel 
 bought and named by his father, and compared the date 
 with the one in the paper sent him. He talked with Mrs. 
 Elliot respecting the precise time of the loss of her child. 
 She said he had a mark on his left hand, the scar of a 
 burn. The whole circumstances were brought to agree 
 with circumstances and impressions in his own mind, and 
 by slow degrees he communicated the whole story to the 
 Colonel and his wife. All, the whole course of these 
 events, made the proofs irresistible in the minds of parents 
 and child. Indeed, the mother thought the child was not 
 sent into Egypt without the consent of the Lord, who now 
 had it in his heart and power to bring succor to them all ; 
 but with the prudence of a good woman, she thought, for 
 her son s sake, that this ought not to be known, as it would 
 do them no good, and might injure her son among the 
 high-born in England. This prudent counsel prevailed, 
 
174 THE LOST CHILD. 
 
 and the secret died with the parents, as it regarded them ; 
 but father and mother bore on their bnfws until the hour 
 of their departure, as if written with a sun-beam, " This 
 is my son, who was dead, and is alive again ; iclw was lost, 
 and is found." Parents and child have gone long since 
 to their graves, and the story is told to vindicate the ways 
 of God to man, 
 
MY DOG 
 
 I blame you not for praising Caesar so." 
 
 THE affectionate faithfulness of the dog has been a 
 theme of praise ever since man has recorded a thought of 
 his brain, or spoke of the pulsation of his heart. More 
 than twenty-seven hundred years ago, the great master of 
 epics and novels devoted some of his loveliest pages to"~ 
 ARGUS, the faithful and intelligent dog who owned the 
 wise Ulysses for a master. Homer, who knew human 
 nature as well as any bard, since that day, knew also the 
 character of those friends of man, the dog and the horse. 
 On each he has bestowed some of his most splendid 
 passages. The story of Argus is deeply affecting. He 
 knew his master s voice and step, after an absence of 
 twenty years, when all his subjects had forgotten him, 
 and when even Penelope, the queen of connubial chastity, 
 no longer remembered the person of the husband of her 
 youth, and his old father had lost every trace of the image 
 of his son. I had once a friend like Argus, of equal 
 blood and breed to any royal pack that ever uttered a full 
 mouth cry in the chase, and as affectionate and sagaciom 
 a dog as ever hunted for the bewildered traveller among 
 the Alpine snows. He died young, cut off by ruthlest 
 
176 MY DOG. 
 
 violence, before he could bear witness to the ingratitude 
 of civilized man, by long neglect, as poor Argus did. 
 Since his murder, I have an hundred times read the 
 eloquent biography of Argus, and as often made up my 
 mind to pay a humble tribute to my dog Julius Caesar. 
 This I shall now attempt, after quoting that noble tribute 
 to Argus, which is to be found in the Odyssey. There 
 has never lived a monarch, warrior, philosopher, or states 
 man in the annals of time, whose fame is so sweetly 
 embalmed by the Muse, as that of Argus ; even great 
 Hector s shade might envy the fame of Argus, and the 
 far-darting Apollo, with the rays of wisdom bursting from 
 his head, has never been brought down among mortals 
 with more poetic beauty than was used to give immortality 
 to the faithful dog of Ulysses. The tribute I pay to 
 Julius Caesar has neither epic dignity nor mellifluous 
 rhyme ; but the virtues of the latter hero will place him 
 along side of him of Ithica, not indeed in history, but in 
 the affections of his master. 
 
 "Thus near the gates, conferring as they drew, 
 Argus, the dog, his ancient master knew ; 
 He, not unconscious of the voice and tread, 
 Lifts to the sound his ear, and rears his head. 
 Bred by Ulysses, nourished at his board, 
 But ah ! not fated long to please his lord ! 
 To him his swiftness and his strength were vain ; 
 
 , The voice of glory call d him o er the main. 
 
 I Till then in ev ry sylvan chase renown d, 
 
 . With Argus, Argus, rung the woods around ; 
 With him the youth pursu d the goat or fawn, 
 Or trac d the mazy lev ret o er the lawn. 
 
MY DOG. 177 
 
 Now left to man s ingratitude he lay, 
 Unhous d, neglected, in the public wav ; 
 And where on heaps the rich manure was spread, 
 Obscene with n-pules, took his sordid bed. 
 
 " He knew his lord ; he knew, and strove to meet, 
 In vain he strove, to crawl, and kiss his 
 Yet (all he could) his tail, his ears, his eyes 
 Salute his master, and confess his joys. 
 Soft pity touch d the mighty master s soul; 
 Adown his check a tear unbidden stole, 
 Stole unperceiv d ; he turn d his head, and dry d 
 The drop humane ; then thus impassion d cry d ; 
 
 What noble beast in this abandon d state 
 Lies here all helpless at Ulysses gate? 
 His bulk and beauty speak no vulgar praise ? 
 If, as he seems, he was in better days, 
 Some care his age deserves : Or was he priz d 
 For worthless beauty! therefore now despis d? 
 Such dogs and men there are, mere things of state, 
 And always cherish d by their friends, the great. 1 
 
 4 Not Argus so, (Eumwus thus rejoin d,) 
 But scrv d a master of a nobler kind, 
 Who never, never shall behold him more! 
 Long, long since perish d on a distant shore ! 
 Oh had you seen him, vig rous, bold, and young, 
 Swift as a stag, and as a lion strong; 
 Him no fell savage on the plain withstood ; 
 None scap d him, bosom d in the gloomy wood ; 
 His eye how piercing, and his scent how true, 
 To wind the vapor in the tainted dew ! 
 Such, when Ulysses left his natal coast; 
 Now years unnerve him, and his lord is lost ! 
 The women keep the gen rous creature bare, 
 A sleek and idle race is all their care: 
 The master gone, the servants what restrains! 
 Or dwells humanity where riot reigns? 
 16 
 
178 MY DOG. 
 
 Jove fix d it certain, that whatever day 
 Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away/ 
 This said, the honest herdsman strode before : 
 The musing monarch pauses at the door. 
 The dog, whom fate had granted to behold 
 His lord, when twenty tedious years had roll d, 
 Takes a last look, and having seen him, dies ; 
 So clos d for ever faithful Argus eyes I" 
 
 When I was about thirteen years of age, a school 
 boy in the country, one bright winter s morning, an 
 Indian of the Oneida tribe, called at my boarding house, 
 for the purpose of obtaining some refreshment on his 
 journey to Philadelphia, then the seat of government. 
 He bore a memorial for remuneration for the services 
 of his tribe during the revolutionary war, and being a chief, 
 was an object of curiosity to the boys of our school ; but 
 the Indian was nothing in rny view in comparison with 
 his dog. He was one of the largest I had ever seen ; he 
 was tall, and long, broad-chested, and strong, and as 
 fleet as a grey-hound. His color was of a bright yellow, 
 and his head, much larger, but shaped like that of a 
 wolf s. He was grave, although not more than eighteen 
 months old. I made love to the dog at once, and a 
 reciprocal affection seemed to take place ; he had found 
 the Indian a hard master. I offered the Indian my 
 silver watch for the dog, which he readily accepted. I 
 took him to my chamber; the Indian told the dog that 
 from henceforth to consider me as his master, and I 
 thought he understood all that was said to him, and rejoiced 
 in being freed from his old master; but however that 
 
MY DOG. 179 
 
 might have been, by caressing him and feeding him 
 well, he never showed the slightest wish to stray from me. 
 He was decidedly in favor of civilization, particularly after 
 he had flogged all the dogs in the neighborhood, who had 
 made an attack on him. Sometimes a dozen of them 
 would come together, but he never regarded them a straw, 
 but sallied out, chastised them for their insolence and 
 temerity, and came quickly back to his bone. When the 
 purchase was made, I was reading Caesar s Commentaries, 
 and instead of keeping his Indian name, called him Julius 
 Caesar, after the immortal Roman, and in truth his charac 
 ter was more like his illustrious prototype s, than any 
 other in the catalogue of heroes. He was brave, power 
 ful, magnanimous, intelligent, and full of clemency ; for 
 after he had conquered all the dogs of any size in the 
 village, he bore with unruffled magnanimity and compo 
 sure all the attacks of the smaller ones. I have known 
 him receive a severe bite from a snarling little cur, but 
 disdained to resent the injury ; his enemy was too insigni 
 ficant for him to notice. He walked the lion of the farm ; 
 the cattle and hogs obeyed his kingly directions; and 
 the poor sheep so perfectly understood his character, 
 that so far from fleeing from him, they took courage 
 whenever he was near them. It was a new country ; 
 and the wolves sometimes sought the sheep cotes, and 
 often their tracks were seen in the snow about the barns. 
 At such times Julius would quietly sleep in the yard with 
 the sheep, inspiring the whole flock with confidence the 
 moment they saw him. When he stood sentry, no dog 
 
180 MY DOG. 
 
 dared approach. He was obedient and affectionate to 
 his young master, and to him alone was his whole soul 
 devoted. He would sometimes obey others when he 
 thought them right but his master s commands he never 
 questioned. They hunted together, they swam together, 
 and were inseparable. Damon and Pythias had not a 
 stronger friendship than Julius and his master. When 
 we had lived together about a year, some of the neigh 
 boring farmers came to inform me that some foxes had 
 been seen crossing the field, and making for the woods. 
 A deep light snow had fallen during the night, and it 
 was an excellent time for a fox hunt. Julius took the 
 track with great zeal, and was soon out of sight, taking 
 two of the fox leaps in one. His master followed, but had 
 not sufficient strength to keep up with the hardy yeomen 
 on the track. The morning was rather mild and pleasant 
 for the season, and the depth of the snow made the 
 walking tiresome. About ten o clock the wind shifted, 
 and it began to grow cold rapidly. The change was so 
 great, that from glowing with perspiration, I became 
 numb and chilly. I sought for a hemlock tree, such as 
 are often found in the woods, torn up by the roots in some 
 tornado, and lying there until the bark separates from the 
 wood, and forms a comfortable place of rest to the 
 traveller. Into such a cradle I crawled to get out of the 
 way of the wind, and refresh myself for returning home. 
 In this place I soon fell asleep, and never should have 
 awaked again, had it not been for my dog. On his return 
 after a very successful hunt, Julius, in a state of great 
 
MT DOG. 181 
 
 fatigue, found me asleep. He instantly set up a cry that 
 alarmed the hunters, but they, supposing that he had found 
 a new den of foxes, felt themselves too much fatigued to 
 go an inch out of their way to seek for more game. In the 
 course of half an hour Julius came bounding on in their 
 path ; his manner was terrific. He passed before them, 
 and seemed to insist on their return. At one moment he 
 seized their clothes, and attempted to lead them back to 
 the woods, from whence they had issued. At length the 
 oldest man among them, a reflecting sort of citizen, said, 
 This dog has something on his mind more than a fox; 
 I will go back." The others were ready to follow 
 him. The dog led them directly to the hemlock tree, and 
 there they found me in a state of insensibility. The dog 
 had turned me over, and had nearly, in his distress, torn 
 every particle of dress from my body, but, as it appeared, 
 in vain. I was still soundly sleeping. I was instantly 
 taken out of my cradle by my friends, rolled in the snow, 
 drubbed with it, and brought to life by the application of 
 friction, and made to bite a crust of bread. This exer 
 tion gave me more life than all other applications. In a 
 short time I was so far resuscitated as to speak, but could 
 not walk. They took me on their backs alternately, 
 being sturdy fellows, and I soon felt that I was once more 
 in the land of the living. Julius was in an ecstasy, when 
 he first heard my voice. He plunged into the snow, rolled 
 over before the man who was bearing me on his back, 
 licked his feet, and now and then sent forth such a yell 
 
 that might have been heard miles from our path. When 
 
 10* 
 
1S2 MY DOG. 
 
 we arrived I was so much recovered, as to be able to 
 walk into the house without alarming my friends, but the 
 conduct of the dog excited attention, and we were 
 obliged to tell the whole story. Julius watched by my 
 bed all night, and could not be prevailed upon to taste 
 food until he saw me drink a bowl of gruel. He noticed 
 every movement, and was delighted when I told him that 
 I should soon be well ; that I was not frozen, or much 
 injured. The attachment after this grew stronger, if 
 possible, than it was before. Julius would not take the 
 slightest notice of a fox track, nor move at the call of 
 any one unless I was there to lead. He accompanied me 
 to the academy door every morning, and came to meet 
 me at noon. The preceptor ordered me to send him off. 
 I only replied, if that is done, I go with him. The 
 master did not accept of this, for I was essential to him, 
 being a better mathematician than he was, and at times 
 my services were wanted. Julius and I still lived together. 
 While I was engaged in study, he never made the 
 slightest noise, nor allowed any one to disturb me. But 
 when the books were shut, he leaped in ecstasy, and 
 frolicked before me with the playfulness of a kitten. My 
 school-fellows, although he seldom deigned to cast a look 
 upon any one of them, were all his friends. Twice 
 he had assisted a sinking tyro to reach the shore, who 
 had ventured to swim beyond his strength. His judgment 
 was as cool as if he had been constituted a life-preserver 
 by the humane society. One of the boys declared to me, 
 that having hugged the dog too closely, he shoved him off 
 
MY 1 183 
 
 and took hold of him again in a different position, and 
 frightened as the boy was, he soon found that he must be 
 saved as Julius thought best. Wherever he moved, he 
 made friends, and never by any caprice forfeited their 
 good opinion. He seemed but little anxious to conciliate 
 any one; his whole heart was with his master. He 
 flattered no one by his caresses, but all were proud of 
 a look of recognition. 11 is motto seemed to be truly Julian, 
 
 " Veni, vidi, vici." 
 
 His object was to do good. Once a wagoner in a state 
 of inebriation fell from his seat ; Julius took the reins in 
 his mouth, and forbad the horses to move an inch until 
 those came whom he knew were capable of directing the 
 team. When the small children of the family went out 
 without liberty, or any one to protect them, he would 
 accompany them, take their little bags or baskets in his 
 mouth, and move on before them, a protector and friend. 
 If they were capricious and abused him, he never suffered 
 his passions to be in the slightest degree aroused. The 
 dignity of a great mind never deserted him. Thus 
 Julius and his master lived without one moment s difficulty 
 until the hour of their separation by death ; and his death 
 was as singular as that of his great namesake himself. 
 In the month of August, " Oh! long remembered day," 
 in the year 1800, there was a hue and cry in the neigh 
 borhood, that a mad dog had been seen in the village. 
 The only proof there was of his madness, was drawn 
 from the fact, that in chasing a flock of geese he had gone 
 round a pool instead of swimming across it ; and a mali- 
 
184 MY DOG. 
 
 cious boy, who had been whipped for not getting his 
 lesson that morning, declared that the great dog Julius 
 had been seen in company with the one supposed to be 
 mad. This was enough. The whole tribe of his enemies, 
 for he had enemies as well as friends the great are 
 subjects of envy as well as of admiration, were aroused 
 at once. Now was a fair opportunity of deadly revenge. 
 He had disdained the dogs and neglected the men, and 
 they felt envious of him as a being of a higher order than 
 themselves. Now was the time to accomplish his death. 
 Every scamp in the village turned out with guns and 
 clubs, and came after Julius, who was lying down in the 
 back yard, and without any inquiry, in the most unfeeling 
 manner poured their fire upon him. I reached the spot 
 before he was quite dead, and embracing him, called 
 on the savages to fire. This they dared not do. The 
 dog without a moan laid his head on my breast and 
 expired. The school-boys, in general, came to condole 
 with me, and Julius was buried with more regret than 
 was ever felt for any one of his murderers. The grave was 
 made deep, and a mass of heavy stones thrown into it to 
 prevent some vagabond from digging him up for his skin. 
 The boys labored hard to assist me, and in whispers 
 suggested that they would join me in killing every dog 
 in the village. To this I was not inclined ; the dogs 
 had done me no harm, but on their masters I contempla 
 ted a deep and lasting revenge, one that might preserve 
 their memories in infamy for ages. I compiled, in 
 the first place, the history of the village, and hunted 
 
MY DOG. 185 
 
 up the dark stains on the escutcheons of the murderers 
 of Julius, if they could be said to have any. There 
 were enough who sympathized with me, to help me to 
 facts. The work was composed in a paroxysm of terrible 
 vengeance. On reflection, I found it should, to be effec 
 tive, be written in verse. I reflected that hundreds of 
 lines of the satirists, of Horace and Pope were repeated, 
 when hardly a sentence of Cicero s Orations against 
 Verres, or Anthony, or Cataline, was ever committed 
 to memory. But a difficulty now arose. I had never 
 written a line of poetry, but, inspired by the indignant 
 muse of satire, I commenced my labors. In two days 
 a satire of three hundred lines was ready for publication. 
 Several copies were made by my school-fellows. I now 
 took up my connections with the school ; made an 
 address to the boys ; bid a lasting adieu to the sincere 
 friend and the generous enemy ; took the passing stage ; 
 and never saw the place again for thirty years, when 
 I found that the mound of stones erected over the grave 
 of the great Julius still remained unimpaired by time. 
 My school-fellows had published my satire, by giving 
 copies of it to those who were not subjects of it. It 
 took mightily ; girls and boys committed it to memory, and 
 repeated it, as a smart thing, to their acquaintances. 
 The subjects were mortified to hear lines against them 
 at every turn. The school-master made it an offence 
 to copy the poem, or to repeat a line of it; the very 
 best method he could have taken to promulgate it, and 
 to fill up the measure of my revenge. On my late visit 
 
186 MY DOG. 
 
 to the town, after thirty years, I found one of my school 
 fellows at the inn, who repeated to me several lines of 
 the satire, which had nearly gone from my recollection. 
 If the lines had not much poetry in them, they have a 
 good share of satirical venom. 
 
 "And limping Bill, of dusky Indian breed, 
 Was first to make the mighty Julius bleed ; 
 Then lazy Glines, the offspring of a sot, 
 Discharg d with wicked aim a murderous shot; 
 Then drum-head Dalton, whipt for stealing hogs, 
 Held deep resentment gainst all faithful dogs ; 
 They traced his stagg ring steps from barn to camp, 
 And brought conviction on the furtive scamp. 
 Then gawky Joe, whose father ran away 
 To scape the dangers of the battle fray ; , * ( 
 In all the blust ring of a coward s ire, 
 Dar d boldly, a half mile off to fire. 
 Then gripus Smith, who took the widow s cow, 
 To pay another s rent she did not owe, 
 Levell d his gun with most malicious will, 
 But thinking what his powder cost, was still 
 And gambling Turner joined the savage glee ; 
 He hated Julius riot, but hated me. 
 His feeble son, on every coming night, 
 Drew from my brains his morning lesson s light ; 
 Shar d every honor of the village school, 
 A knave the father, and the son a fool ; 
 The teacher frequented the gamester s hearth, 
 And there injustice had its shameful birth. 
 At eve they play d, the subtle father won, 
 Was paid in honors to the drivelling son, 
 At sad expense to every honest child 
 Whom God has gifted in this northern wild ; 
 And there be some who will be known to fame, 
 The spark of genius bursting to a flame." 
 
MY DOG. 187 
 
 This excitement formed an era in the history of the 
 village. From family and domestic anecdote they passed 
 into a strict examination of the affairs of the school ; 
 listened to all the complaints that were made, and found 
 most of them had their origin in truth. The trustees 
 were proved to have been partial in their conduct, particu 
 larly in the election of the preceptor, who was an ignorant 
 and shallow fellow, a libertine, gamester, and base calum 
 niator of some, and a gross flatterer of others, who pro 
 tected him in turn. Comparisons were instituted between 
 this and other literary institutions, and it was found want 
 ing. The instructor was dismissed, and the literary 
 ephemeron closed its wings and expired, and the building 
 rented for a wheel-maker s shop. 
 
 I could not ask of the bleeding form of Julius, as 
 I called it up to memory, after thirty years had elapsed, 
 to pardon me for meekness and gentleness to his butchers; 
 his spirit could not have asked a deeper revenge, if he had 
 come from the confines of his rest, and howled in their 
 ears a thousand evils to their race. 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 "Breathes there a man, with soul so dead, 
 Who never to himself hath said, 
 
 This is my own, my native land! 
 Whose heart hath ne er within him burn d, 
 As home his footsteps he hath turned. 
 From wand ring on a foreign strand !" 
 
 IN one of those fine grazing towns in the Granite 
 State, where all live well and most work hard, there then 
 resided a grave and solemn personage, a farmer and tan 
 ner, by the name of Zechariah Gilmnn. lie was of staid 
 manners and inflexible muscle. He had read the Scrip 
 tures with assiduity, and also many of Cotton Mather s 
 sermons. His library consisted of a few commentaries on 
 the Bible, Flavel s Works, Pilgrim s Progress, and a Ge 
 ography, with Fox s Lives of the Martyrs, and probably 
 Bailey s Dictionary. His method of reasoning was to 
 commence with doubting every thing, but his own expla 
 nation of God s secret will, together with his own exposi 
 tion of predestination and foreknowledge. The benevo 
 lence of Deity was a subject he never touched on, but de 
 lighted to dwell upon the hatred of God to sinners. When 
 some bigot made close calculations of the number that 
 would be saved, and sifted them to a very small portion of 
 the human race, it was refreshing to his soul to find a 
 preacher of such doctrine. He astonished many by his 
 
 apparent deep metaphysical reasoning ; but when his argu- 
 17 
 
190 THE EXILE. 
 
 ments were fairly examined, it was discovered that he rea 
 soned in a vicious circle, and, like a horse in a cider-mill, 
 followed blindly in his own track. His morals were legally 
 correct, for he did nothing that the law could reach ; but 
 his heart was harder than the nether mill-stone, and cha 
 rity was not in his catalogue of virtues. He had trained 
 his dogs to keep off vagrants. He was sometimes induced 
 to let out small sums to poor laborers in the winter season, 
 taking a due-bill for work when the days were long in the 
 summer ; and wo betide the delinquent who did not come 
 at his bidding ; on a day s delay he would find a sheriff in 
 possession of his body. In this way he became a wealthy 
 man, for a farmer, and was promoted in the church to a 
 deaconcy, and was said to have read the psalm in a bless 
 ed tone. In the neighborhood, which always extends a 
 mile or two in a thinly settled place, there was an old sea 
 captain, who had become sick of the billows, and changed 
 them to furrows. His hand was always open to the needy, 
 and he protected the oppressed with unflinching bravery. 
 These men were magistrates. If a young trespasser on a 
 plumb garden, or a water-mellon bed, was brought before 
 Justice Oilman, he was sure to be punished to the extent 
 of the law; but if brought before Justice Newman, the 
 affair was, nine times out of ten, settled without a judg 
 ment, in an amicable way, and the culprit dismissed with 
 good advice, and he was seldom troubled with a second 
 offence. Both these men had sons, who for a while were 
 at the same town-school ; and when Capt. Newman s sons 
 went to college or to the seas, he treated the young 
 
THE EXILE. 191 
 
 Oilman s with great kindness, and furnished them with 
 books from a good library which he had collected in his 
 seafaring days, and assisted the second son to obtain a 
 little knowledge of surveying and navigation. This was 
 a fine, tall lad, athletic, and full of life, and took the lead, 
 in school and out of it, of all the boys of his age. 
 
 In the month of June, 1805, on a Saturday night, there 
 came up a tremendous thunder storm ; the whole heavens 
 were in a constant blaze for several hours ; many people 
 were sadly alarmed. The lightning struck in several 
 places in the town. Many cattle and sheep were killed ; 
 and a house, belonging to a widow, was burnt to the 
 ground. On the following Sunday, after the evening ser 
 vices had closed, several parishioners met, and agreed at 
 once to assist the widow in rebuilding her house. Some 
 were ready to give their labor ; others, materials for build 
 ing. Some had timber, others had lime, bricks, or nails ; 
 and strange as it may seem to those who know nothing of 
 the spontaneous benevolence of a primitive people, before 
 the next Monday s sun had gone down, a comfortable 
 house was ready for the reception of the sufferers. The 
 workmen and contributors were in high spirits at their ra 
 pid progress, when it was made known to them that one 
 of the widow s children was nearly struck blind by the flash 
 of lightning that destroyed the house. A competent sum 
 was instantly raised, to send the child to an eminent ocu 
 list, about twenty miles off. William Hutchins Gilman had 
 subscribed his day s work ; this he had a right to do, by 
 the customs of farmers, having gained about ten days to 
 
192 THE EXILE. 
 
 himself by over-work, and of course his father could not 
 have any thing to say against it. When the sum was to 
 be made up for the child, he had a half dollar in his pocket; 
 he unhesitatingly gave all he had about him. By some 
 one who had come home earlier than William, his father 
 had been made acquainted with this act of generosity, and 
 began to lecture him as soon as he got into the house ; 
 telling him that he would and ought to be a beggar, if he 
 went on in this course. The boy defended his conduct 
 in very mild terms, but in the true spirit of that indepen 
 dence which is born with that people. " What advan 
 tage," said he to his father, " is it to me to earn money in 
 hours stolen from sleep, if 1 cannot use it in an honest way, 
 as I please. If I had wasted my money in a tavern, or 
 gambling room, you would have had a right to complain ; 
 but as I have given it in charity, I do not concede your 
 right to complain." The old churl found he had no rea 
 son to offer, and, as most men do in such cases, flew into 
 a violent passion, and seizing a horse-whip which hung 
 behind the door, made a blow at his son, who catching the 
 handle of the whip, instantly drew it from the assailant, 
 and breaking it across his knee, was making his way to the 
 door, with the lash in his hand on a small piece of the 
 handle, when his father attempted to strike him with his 
 clenched fist ; but he parried the blow, and darted from his 
 presence like a deer. The incensed father, seizing the 
 kitchen tongs, attempted in vain to reach him. Every in- 
 mate of the house fled at once, and the pious officer of the 
 church was left alone in his glory. Tho boy at once made 
 
THE EXILE. 193 
 
 his way to his friend Newman s, who was in bed, but in 
 stantly arose and opened his hospitable door, for the relief 
 of his young friend, that door which never turned on its 
 hinges to shut out those who came for succor or kindness. 
 The story was soon told ; and the young man s determina 
 tion to leave the state, if not approved of, was not strenu 
 ously opposed. He was furnished with some short letters 
 of introduction to several master mariners on the sea 
 board, and with some money to bear his expenses; and as 
 they were considering the difficulty about clothes, William s 
 elder brother, John, came to the house with a bundle of 
 clothes. When all was in readiness, the old gentleman 
 called up one of his men, ordered him to put a horse in the 
 wagon, and take William across the country to meet the 
 mail route. They shook hands breathed a farewell, 
 and before the sun had gilded his native hills, he was on 
 his way to seek his fortune. His father preserved a dog 
 ged silence on the subject, and but few dared even allude 
 to the event. Many a year rolled on, and no tidings from 
 William ever came to the people of the neighborhood, or 
 none that could be relied upon. Sometimes it was rumored 
 that he had enlisted as a soldier, and had gone to the 
 western country, and there had been killed by the Indians; 
 and some went so far as to give a minute account of his 
 tortures and sufferings, as they roasted him alive ; then 
 there was another rumor, that he had turned pirate, and 
 being taken, was hanged in the West Indies. Captain 
 
 Newman seemed always to turn a deaf ear to these stories ; 
 17* 
 
194 THE EXILE. 
 
 prophesying that William would do well, and return in 
 due time. 
 
 In the year 1820, a mariner made his appearance at 
 the house of Capt. Newman, not remarkably well dress- 
 ed ; but this did not excite any attention, as the captain 
 had a great many seafaring acquaintance, who, returning 
 from a voyage, made him a visit, although it was some 
 thing of a journey to his house in the interior. He was 
 greeted as cousin Newman, and treated cordially, and set 
 at the table, notwithstanding his dress. He wore a short 
 blue jacket, and white linen trowsers, a waistcoat that 
 had been once quite dashy, but now a little the worse for 
 wear; his hat was new, and his linen remarkably neat, 
 and he had a good bandana. He had no watch, an article 
 sailor s love to display. His whole appearance, if it did 
 not indicate poverty, was certainly not sufficiently genteel 
 to prove any uncommon success. His person was noble ; 
 he appeared to be above thirty years of age, of a large 
 frame, and agile in his motions, and in excellent health. 
 He rambled about the farm, but was seldom seen abroad. 
 The attentions paid the stranger by the captain, led to 
 some surmises in the mind of an old maid, an appendage 
 to the family ; and she, with some inquisitive neighbors, 
 set about finding out who the stranger was; and at the 
 next quilting visit, some one asked if it might not be Bill 
 Oilman, who went away many years ago ; but if it was Gil- 
 man, she guessed that he had come home not much better 
 off than when he went away. This conjecture was strength- 
 
THE EXILE. 195 
 
 ened by one of the females declaring that she saw the 
 stranger, one moonlight night, standing near the graves of 
 the Oilman family, in the church-yard. Curiosity was 
 now heightened to distress; and the old maid, to give them 
 a chance of seeing the stranger, invited the ladies to come 
 and eat cherries with her the next day, as, when that fruit 
 was ripe, the captain opened his garden to all his neigh 
 bors. The next afternoon the visitors began to swarm ; 
 and the captain asked his cousin to assist the lad it s in 
 gathering the cherries. He waited upon them with so 
 much ease and grace, that they could not believe that he 
 was a sailor, made out of a country boy. Women, in every 
 grade of life, have a quick and delicate perception of fine 
 manners in a gentleman. Mrs. Sarah Gilman, the widow 
 of the late John Gilman, was one of the visitors. She was 
 an imperial looking woman, tall enough for a tragedy 
 queen. She had light hair, blue eyes, a fine complexion, 
 and majestic mien. Captain Newman used to say, that no 
 party was perfect, in his view, that wanted " the Patago- 
 nian beauty." The stranger paid her particular attention. 
 He filled a little basket with ox-hearts, and presented it to 
 her, as she was about to depart. The visitors, as they 
 wended homeward, compared notes, and a great majority 
 was found against the belief that the stranger was William 
 II. Gilman. The widow was silent. The next afternoon 
 she made it in her way to return the basket; but she was 
 not so much at ease as the day before. The stranger was 
 the same. He talked with her upon the gardens of Italy, 
 France, and England, and of the fruits of the equator and 
 
196 THE EXILE. 
 
 the tropics. He had plucked the pomegranate in Arabia, 
 and the clusters of grapes at Shiraz ; but all was easy and 
 natural, as if he had been talking of his native town. 
 The next Saturday the captain invited the widow and her 
 brother, a genteel young lawyer, to dine with him and a 
 few friends. The stranger had now on a long dress coat, 
 rather decent, but far from being new. His manners were 
 frank, and his conversation was spirited, and not unfre- 
 quently playful. As they were walking in the garden, after 
 dinner, a lilly was seen in an artificial pond. The nympha 
 was closed; it had that day, for the first time, spread its 
 beautiful leaves on the pure bosom of the water to catch the 
 first rays of the morning sun. With great gallantry he 
 lifted the lady into a small boat, remarking with a smile, 
 " You are heavier than you were sixteen years ago." At 
 this the " orient blush of quick surprise" mantled her cheek, 
 as the thought flashed across her mind, that this must be 
 her late husband s brother; for she remembered that Wil 
 liam had carried her through a snow-bank, when she was 
 a little school girl of seven years old. The next remark of 
 the stranger did not assist her in any further conjectures, 
 being very foreign to the subject. On her return home that 
 night, she ventured to suggest to her brother her suspi 
 cions, but he laughed at her ; adding, " I was a school 
 fellow with Oilman when I was quite a boy, and I think 
 I should have remembered him. This is a polished man, 
 who has been accustomed to good society from his cradle." 
 Two or three days elapsed before she ventured to the gar 
 den again. She had made up her mind to state her con- 
 
THE EXM r. 197 
 
 jecturcs to the captain. This she did ; and added, " I 
 have brought him all the money I had in the house, about 
 three hundred dollars, which I wish you to hand to him, 
 as I think he has been unfortunate. I shall have more 
 next month, and it shall be at his service." The captain 
 said, " Well, well, you are a good girl. I wish I was forty 
 years younger ; I would not Jet every one run away with 
 you. I will inform my cousin of your kindness;" and 
 went out to bring him in. 
 
 He approached her with great emotion ; acknowledged 
 that he was her brother-in-law, who had been absent for 
 fifteen years; stated that he had met with various fortunes 
 in his wanderings round the world, but as he was a 
 single man in good health, he could earn his living, and 
 must decline her generous offer but her intentions 
 should never be forgotten ; adding, that when the baggage 
 wagon brings along my sea-chests I shall be better 
 clothed, and at the same time I hope I shall receive 
 a little money that is due me for my services; and until 
 that comes, the captain will let me have whatever I may 
 want. The good-souled widow was delighted at the 
 discovery, and still more sp when she was told that there 
 was no necessity of his b<-iu^ incognito any longer. She 
 urged him never to think of the treacherous ocean again. 
 His friends, she knew, would do any thing for him, and 
 he must not leave them. The next day the old maid 
 spread the news over the whole town. Old Mr. Oilman 
 heard the story, but said not a word. The brother and 
 sister of William Hutchins Oilman came to see him. 
 
198 THE EXILE. 
 
 The boy was common-place enough, but the girl was 
 intellectual, and pretty if not handsome. The next 
 Sunday after the fact was settled that the exile had 
 returned, as Deacon Oilman called his family together for 
 evening prayers, his daughter, whose turn it was to read 
 a chapter in the Bible, took that which contained the 
 parable of the prodigal son. The father saw her intention, 
 but made no remark. When the reading had finished, she 
 asked her father if it was not the intention of Jesus 
 Christ to encourage a forgiving disposition, not only to 
 those who offended us, but to those who had done 
 foolishly and wickedly? " Your son, my dear father, has 
 only erred, not sinned ; will you not be such a disciple of 
 Christ, as to forgive your son and take him to your arms, 
 and make all of us happy ; and prove to the world that 
 you are not only a professing Christian, but one in feeling 
 and principle 1" This came like a blow from a strong 
 arm on a bosom of flint, and which for a moment seemed 
 cleft in twain for the admission of charity ; but the sor 
 ceries of avarice closed it again, and ribbed it anew 
 with brass, and made it, if possible, more obdurate than 
 ever. No man is always a brute ; and he did not smite 
 her to the floor. He told her never to name the vagabond 
 and imposter again, and bent his knee for prayer. What 
 a mockery ! She sobbed aloud, for her distress was beyond 
 her control. She had always listened to her father s prayers 
 with delight before. Now they became an abomination 
 to her, and she never listened to them again with pleasure. 
 To address a Being on whose mercies we constantly 
 
THE EXILE. 199 
 
 depend for forgiveness, and at the same time to harden 
 our own hearts, she was too pure and good to think was 
 of a Christian character. There was more piety in one 
 of the palpitations of that little girl s bosom, than in all 
 that the "twilight deacon," as some called him, ever 
 uttered. 
 
 Early in the week, the stranger heard that an old 
 and decrepit woman, a tenant to the deacon, was to be 
 ejected from a small log-house which she had rented, for 
 being behind in her payments. She had been sick, and 
 her earnings were suspended. At the dawn of day he 
 dressed himself in a neat linen suit, " white," as aunt 
 Molly, the tenant, said, " as the driven snow." But it 
 was a jacket, and not a coat; a suit, as the people 
 thought in that region, rather belonging to a mariner than 
 a gentleman. As he entered aunt Molly s cabin, he 
 inquired how much she was in the rear ; her reply was, 
 " live dollars." On inquiry, he found she had another 
 tenement in view, if she could get rid of her present 
 landlord. The sum due was paid by the stranger, and 
 the new tenement hired ; and a year s rent advanced, with 
 strict injunction of secrecy. This was asking too much 
 of human nature. She only whispered it to a dear sister, 
 and she went trumpet-tongued through the parish. After 
 he left aunt Molly, he strolled along the road he used to 
 travel when a school-boy, and within a short distance from 
 the house of the deacon. He met him in the highway, 
 and intended to pass him without uttering a syllable ; but 
 the deacon, staring him full in the face, abruptly accosted 
 
200 THE EXILE. 
 
 him "Are you the impostor and vagabond, who have 
 come to disturb myself and family, by pretending to be a 
 son of mine, who left me many years ago ? You are a 
 vagrant, and I will send you to the alms-house." " Not 
 quite so fast, Mr. Justice, that is a little beyond your 
 puissant authority," was the reply. " If I had my horse 
 whip here, I would whip you to the bone," said the 
 deacon. The stranger replied, " I understood that you 
 could not succeed in whipping your son when he was 
 only seventeen years of age, and I question whether, 
 at your time of life, you would meet with much success in 
 attempting the process upon one of my size ; but, how 
 ever, I have a whip in my pocket, and here it is, do you 
 recollect it?" It was the identical lash with a short 
 piece of the handle, that William Hutchins Oilman had 
 carried away with him. The deacon was in a paroxysm 
 of rage, and running to the gate of his tan-yard, called 
 on a big surly mastiff, kept there to guard the property, 
 and set him on the stranger. The dog in obedience made 
 a furious onset, but the next instant was dead with a 
 single blow from the oaken club the sailor had in his 
 hand. He struck with a giant s strength, and the deacon 
 pale and trembling, uttered a fiendish laugh, and said, 
 " Now, you vagabond, I have you ! that dog was worth 
 a hundred dollars, and I will hold you to bail in an action 
 for damages, and you will go to jail." The stranger had 
 returned to the captain s but a few hours, when a deputy 
 sheriff, with a dozen assistants, came to apprehend him, 
 on a writ. The deacon told the officer that the trespasser 
 
THE EXILE. 201 
 
 possessed a giant s strength, and warned him to go weH 
 guarded ; when in fact it was only to give notoriety to his 
 conduct. Captain Newman instantly put in bail. The 
 next morning his guest took passage in the stage for the 
 sea-coast, promising to return in a few weeks, and stated 
 that then he should take up his abode with his friend for 
 the season ordering the whole of his acquaintances not 
 to disturb the deacon with any process or animadversion 
 upon the subject. 
 
 The widow seemed the only one disturbed at his 
 abrupt departure ; even she was softened when the 
 captain said to her some time after his friend s departure, 
 " Sarah, I forgot to tell you that William has left a 
 present for you, as a little token of friendship," handing 
 a splendid ca.-hmire shawl, which was folded in >ilk, and 
 labeled " To my mother. W. II. G." " But as that mother 
 is no more, it has now a new destination, To Mrs. Sarah 
 Gilman. " The widow was delighted at the sight of the 
 superb article, but looking at the captain, she exclaimed, 
 11 Why did he not sell this shawl, and put it on his own 
 back? The captain, laughing, said, "Sailors are 
 strange animals ; there is no accounting for their whims ; 
 that article would have sold for enough to have clothed 
 a man for three years." The widow looked at her present 
 with a tear in her eye, and said " I shall never put this 
 on my shoulders until I see William well to do." 
 
 There was a good share of gossip upon the late 
 visit ; for there were some circumstances in his conduct 
 
 that were rather mysterious, but all was soon absorbed 
 
 18 
 
202 THE EXILE. 
 
 in a new village incident. Colonel Gibson, a fashionable 
 man, whose wealth was supposed to be almost boundless, 
 had died, and his estate was found to be insolvent, and 
 was for sale by order of court, to satisfy the demands of 
 the creditors. The sale was advertised in the city papers, 
 as the farm was large, and the personal estate considera 
 ble ; and as the terms were cash down, therefore it was 
 supposed that some merchant who wished to retire from 
 business would be the purchaser of most that was up 
 for sale. The auction was a full one, as many went 
 to get a single piece of furniture, if no more. The room 
 was crowded with ladies. The old captain had taken 
 the widow in his chaise to the sale. It was a gala which 
 most people have a wish to attend. Early in the morning 
 of the day of the sale, the furniture was all spread out for 
 examination. It is a strange propensity that leads 
 persons to such a place. Of all the cold-blooded scenes 
 in life, that of viewing the household furniture paraded to 
 the gaze of those who never entered the mansion while the 
 master was living, is the most chilling to a feeling heart. 
 It goes to show the truth of the saying of the wise man 
 of Israel, " A living dog is better than a dead lion." 
 Many gentlemen from the sea-board were at the auction. 
 Deacon Zechariah Oilman was there, for he thought things 
 must sell low, as cash was scarce. It was rumored 
 that Capt." Newman would bid for some old sea-faring 
 friend. He bid so fair a price at first, that there was but 
 few bidders upon him, and the sale ended in half the 
 anticipated time. The house and farm was knocked 
 
THE EXILE. 203 
 
 down at ten thousand five hundred dollars. The money 
 for all was paid. The administrator s deed, drawn, 
 according to the statute, " in such cases made and provi 
 ded." The captain then rose and requested the adminis 
 trators to insert the name of William Hutchins Oilman, 
 merchant, late of Canton, China, now commorant of the 
 county of Stafford, and State of New-Hampshire." " Fel 
 low-citizens," continued the captain, " this gentleman was 
 bom among us, has been absent for more than fifteen 
 years, has made himself a man of letters and science, 
 and lias accumulated an decant competency, and intends 
 to spend his days and income with you. He is now at 
 the hotel, and in a few minutes I shall have the pleasure 
 of introducing him to you all." Men, women, and chil 
 dren broke into an involuntary burst of applause. The 
 echoes from their voices had hardly died away, when 
 a well-dressed, elegant gentleman made his appearance, 
 and was introduced by his old friend as the master of the 
 mansion and their long lost townsman. They in a mass 
 rushed towards him with the greatest cordiality, and his 
 own little sister was in a moment in his arms. His father 
 saw the whole, and was the only being who looked dissat 
 isfied. He instantly retired, but left his children. The 
 merchant now came forward, and requested his fellow- 
 citizens, of both sexes, to partakeof a little refreshment with 
 him at the hotel, which lie had provided, anticipating this 
 event. The invitation was accepted without a dissentient 
 voice, and he requested the gentlemen to escort the ladies 
 across the way to the hotel. This was done without much 
 
204 THE EXILE. 
 
 ceremony, for the old and the young enjoyed the scene. 
 The parson, without any reluctance, stayed to ask a bles 
 sing. The host stepped up to his friend, the captain, and 
 said, " My dear sir, you promised me to bring my sister-in- 
 law here to-day. I do not see her." His little sister, who 
 had hold of his hand, in a whisper said, " Sister Sarah has 
 gone up stairs, and is a crying about something ; she hid 
 her face, and went off when the captain was telling the 
 folks all about you." Mr. Gilman instantly ran up stairs, 
 and knocked at the door. " Come in, said a faint voice." 
 He was in an instant by her side, and taking her by the 
 hand, inquired what he had done to offend her. " I never," 
 he added, " intended to wound your feelings." " You 
 have deceived me," she replied, " you gave me an oppor 
 tunity of exposing my heart when I thought we were on 
 an equality, and now your situation mocks my hope. 
 When you were poor, as I thought, I could have died 
 to assist you, and I now am undone." " If that is the 
 cause of your tears, you shall dry them at once. You are 
 mistress of this and all that belongs to it, on condition 
 that you will take me as an appendage. I have no other 
 attachment. If you consent, the peaches now ripening 
 shall be presented by a husband. The cherries were 
 handed you only by a humble and distant friend. Come, 
 my dear sister, take my arm and let us march to the table, 
 and you must preside at the entertainment." " Oh, I can t 
 go, my eyes are swollen with crying. I won t expose 
 myself?" " Never mind, you little witch, your smiles 
 shall dry up your tears." He led her at the head of the 
 
THE EXILE. 205 
 
 table, and she soon was at ease. The host did every 
 thing to make the company happy, and was successful. 
 The choicest wines flowed like water. His little sister 
 was full of playful remark, and acknowledged that a glass 
 of the Chatteaux Margeaux was pretty nearly equal to the 
 Shaker s cider. 
 
 After his affairs had proceeded so far, Oilman now 
 thought it proper to gratify the curiosity of his friends, by 
 giving them his history ; and one evening, as the widow, 
 the old maid, and the captain, were seated at the tea-table, 
 he began his narrative. " You have all heard of my going 
 off to strike the great mail road, in the captain s wagon. 
 It was a lovely morning in June, when I reached the road, 
 and sprang from my seat and gave the driver a farewell. 
 While I was waiting for the stage to come along, the 
 thought struck me, that as I was now to seek my fortune, 
 I had better begin with economy, and save my stage hire 
 by walking. On this subject I came to a conclusion at 
 once. I sold my trunk ; packed up my clothes in as small 
 a compass as possible ; put on a pair of woollen stockings ; 
 cut me a shrub-oak stick, the one I wear now in 
 all my excursions, and the one with which I killed the dog 
 the other day, and started off to the first sea-port town, 
 but could find no ship up for the East Indies. These 
 were voyages my mind was bent upon. In Boston I heard 
 of two vessels, which were to sail in a month or two ; one 
 to be commanded by a Captain D., and the other by Captain 
 W. I at once called upon Captain W. ; the other being 
 
 on a visit to New- York, for the purchase of proper goods 
 
 18* 
 
THE EXILE. 
 
 for the North-west Coast and the Sandwich Islands. Cap 
 tain W. said that all the places were taken. He saw at 
 once it affected my spirits ; but on looking at the letter the 
 second time, he observed that the old captain, who was 
 known to W., had dwelt much upon my mathematical 
 powers, and the thought struck him that I might be useful 
 as an instructor on board to the young gentlemen who 
 were to go out with him ; and after putting a few ques 
 tions to me, said, Well, William, I will find or make a 
 place for you. You must come here in September, and 
 join us. I looked around and saw that he had men mowing, 
 and ventured to observe, Captain, I am direct from the 
 country ; suppose I should take hold and help you at once. 
 You will then know what I can do when I have learnt my 
 duty. This he assented to at once ; and in half an hour 
 I was in the grass ground, keeping up with his first-rate 
 hands. The captain spoke to me every day, and cautioned 
 me against overdoing. When his haying was finished, I 
 took hold of the sickle, and did my day s work with his 
 reapers. I was paid full price, and told the captain I 
 had heard of an almanac maker, and that I should like 
 to go and learn to make an almanac when I was in the 
 Pacific. He smiled, and told me that when I was tired of 
 the astronomer, to come and live with him, as he could 
 find work enough for me to do. In the morning I took 
 my stick and best suit of clothes, and travelled about forty 
 miles, to the mathematician. He was a lean, lank, whap- 
 per-jawed man, whose frame seemed .hung together with 
 wires, and he moved as if he was thinking of dropping to 
 
THE EXILE. 207 
 
 pieces, and reckless of the consequences ; I addressed him 
 in a set speech, and informed him of my errand. He 
 seemed to look a little suspicious of me, but I soon con 
 vinced him of my sincerity. At once terms were agreed 
 on for board and tuition, and I went to work as hard as I 
 could. There was a good telescope in the neighborhood ; 
 and for six weeks I was in the midst of calculations and 
 the stars. The philosopher was indeed learned, but had 
 the simplicity and credulity of a child. I could have lived 
 with him for ages ; his stock of science expanded to my 
 wants. He would go into a tedious calculation with great 
 readiness, and obtain accuracy far more rapidly than 
 any man I have ever met with since; but in the street and 
 away from his books, he did not know a hawk from a 
 handsaw. He would stand out in a shower, to enjoy the 
 sublimity of a thunderstorm, until he had not a dry thread 
 about him ; and enjoy the lightning, as it leapt from cloud 
 to cloud, as the effect of a piece of splendid machinery in 
 some great drama of nature. I wrote to Captain W. every 
 week, who was amused with my description of my pursuits, 
 and with the description of my tutors ; for I employed a 
 first-rate sailor, who had a ship in miniature, to unrig her 
 and then put all her rigging up again, for my information. 
 In a few days after my engagement with the sailor, the 
 lesson was attended by dozens of mariners, at home, for 
 the novelty of the thing. Captain D. sailed first ; and it 
 was agreed that I should go with him, as his was the largest 
 vessel, and contained more young gentlemen. 
 
 " The Eagle was a fine ship, and Captain D. a talented 
 
208 THE EXILE. 
 
 commander. His connections, family, and acquirements 
 were such, that he was called by his brother master-mari 
 ners, the Don. As soon as I came on board, he sent for me 
 into his cabin, which was finished and furnished like a pa 
 lace, and examined me in my acquirements. When he had 
 gone through with his interrogatories, he told me that I 
 must be ranked as captain s secretary and instructor to 
 the young men. I replied, that I was willing to take upon 
 myself any duties, but as it was my intention to make my- 
 self a first-rate navigator and seaman, that I could not 
 consent to be relieved from the duty of a seaman. He 
 said, "You may do as much of that duty as you please; 
 only you will be expected to wear a long coat when you 
 act as secretary or schoolmaster. To this I made no re- 
 ply. I was prepared for climbing the masts and rigging, 
 having an hundred times stood on the highest branch of 
 a chestnut tree, or a tall hickory, and knocked off the nuts 
 with a long pole, unsustained by any thing but my foot 
 hold and careful balance. 
 
 " My duties were constant, but not oppressive ; for I labor 
 ed on no portion of them any longer at a time than I pleased, 
 and changed them as often as I felt fatigued with any one 
 branch. By the time I had reached the Pacific, it was agreed 
 by all hands that I could discharge the duties of a first-rate 
 seaman better than any one on board. My reckoning was 
 kept with the greatest accuracy ; for I had not only solar, 
 but lunar and siderial calculations made whenever the day 
 and night were fair. We touched, on our passage to the 
 North-west Coast, at the Sandwich Islands, and left a part 
 
THE EXILE. 209 
 
 of our cargo for the next season, and proceeded to our 
 traffic. The trade with the Indians required great cau 
 tion and perseverance, for at that time there was no small 
 competition among the different interests. I was frequent 
 ly sent in the boat supplied with articles for trade. The 
 Indians are the most traitorous and malicious of any sava 
 ges in the world, and there is no confidence to be placed 
 in thorn. They are dexterous in taking the sea-otter ; and 
 in fact even the inhabitants of the deep seem to have been 
 put under their control when God put them on their in 
 hospitable shores. On our return to the Sandwich Isl 
 ands, I saw the great king Tamahamaha, and his queen 
 Kaiaraana. The king had not a good face, or at least 
 not so good as some of his chiefs ; but his queen was a 
 most majestic looking woman, about six feet in height, and 
 then inclining to corpulency. The king and queen were 
 great friends to Captain D., and he lived among them with 
 the greatest freedom and security. He carried out the 
 frame for a house, and erected the first of that kind on the 
 island of Wahi, then a great curiosity. Captain D. was 
 an original character. He was generous as well as intelli 
 gent ; and had that fearless frankness about him that al- 
 ways charms a savage. His present to the great chiefs 
 astonished them, and they repaid him with sandal wood, 
 of which they then did not know the value. 
 
 " When Captain W. arrived, they bought an old brig 
 they found there, and prepared to send her into the 
 southern high latitudes a sealing. Nothing could sur 
 prise me more than an offer from the two gentlemen 
 
210 THE EXILE. 
 
 to give me the command of her, and allowed me to 
 pick my crew from both vessels, or any sailors to be found 
 on the island. This was too flattering to refuse. I took 
 the journal of the captain who had discovered the island I 
 was directed to find, and examined his reckoning for three 
 weeks previous to his discovery. I did this, as one vessel 
 had been sent, and could not find the island. I soon 
 discovered his error. The reckoning was more than fifty 
 miles from the truth. I went directly to the island, and 
 made it within an hour of my calculations. The seals 
 were abundant, and our crew set about their business like 
 brave fellows. When the cargo was entirely made up, I 
 was sent to China, for a sale of our stuffs, for a quantity 
 of teas. It was consigned to Sequor a Hong, merchant, 
 who was one of the most noble minded men I ever knew. 
 He inquired my whole course of life, thinking me very 
 young for a commander of a vessel. I told him all 
 honestly. He offered me ten thousand dollars worth 
 of teas, to pay him when I next come to China. After 
 consulting my friends, I was induced to accept of his 
 generous offer. Ten thousand dollars on the simple his 
 tory of my adventures, and that before my minority had 
 ceased! I made my voyage in as short a time from 
 Canton to Boston as had ever been made, and became 
 acquainted with the owners of Captains D. and W. 
 to whom of course I had letters. They spake in high 
 terms of my services, but frankly told me that they could 
 not send me as master of the vessel they were about 
 fitting out but would send me as mate. To this I did 
 
THE EXILE. 211 
 
 not accede. I now bought a small brig of one hundred 
 and seventy-five tons, and manned her on shares. I 
 sailed from Boston on a sealing voyage, and never was 
 one more successful. We had but three first-rate sailors, 
 a few ordinary ones, and all the rest were raw hands ; but 
 every man was engaged in his duty, and our little vessel 
 was a school from the time we started until we returned. 
 In two years and ten days from the time I left Sequor I 
 was in China with my cargo. My old Chinese father said, 
 as I offered him skins and sandal wood in payment for his 
 old debt, " No ; you have done well ; try your luck once 
 more." I was advised still to traffic on his capital. On 
 reaching Boston, I had offers from several merchants to 
 make up a voyage wherever I thought best to go. Having 
 got tired of this kind of business, notwithstanding its 
 profits, I accepted an invitation from those princes of 
 merchants, J. and T. II. P., to take charge of a large 
 ship for them to Calcutta. In a few weeks I was off again. 
 On my return I was anxious to visit Europe. I was with 
 several Americans in the House of Commons when the 
 news of the declaration of war arrived. There was less 
 excitement than one would have expected from such an 
 event. But a nation which has been at war nine years to 
 every four of peace for three centuries, is not much disturb 
 ed at such an event. I had made some observations on 
 London before I obtained liberty to go to Paris ; and must 
 think after all, that London is the greatest city that the world 
 contains, every thing considered. Its literary, scientific, 
 and charitable institutions place it above all others, and its 
 
212 THE EXILE. 
 
 commerce has no equal. In the gay and tasteful city 
 of Paris, I spent six months, attending to the French and 
 Italian languages for six hours every day and by having 
 a well educated servant, who understood both tongues, 
 I made rapid improvement in my studies, and yet they 
 did not interfere with any rational pleasure I wished for. 
 
 " I then went to Naples and Rome. I had letters from 
 a distinguished Catholic prelate in New-England. I ex 
 amined all the wonders of the eternal city, and left for 
 Greece, Egypt and the Holy Land. The tour consumed the 
 three years of the war ; when I returned from it to the 
 United States, and from thence sailed in a short time 
 to India, where I have resided ever since, until my visit to 
 this place of my birth a few months since. When I find 
 time, I shall write out my travels for your amusement. 
 I labored harder in my travels than I ever did as a 
 farmer, mariner, or sealer. But it gives me great pleasure 
 to think I have had such an opportunity to improve my 
 mind. Among my papers you will find careful drawings 
 of the principal views on the Mediteranean, the Sea of 
 Marmora, and the Bosphorus. And what you will most 
 be pleased with, are some faithful descriptions of Jerusa 
 lem as it now is, a desolate and wretched place the 
 rocky foundations remain, but the prophecy against the 
 city has been accomplished." 
 
 In a fortnight William Hutchins Gilman was married 
 to the widow Sarah Gilman, and took possession of the 
 Gibson estate. His library was large and well selected ; 
 and every thing about his house partook of taste and afflu- 
 
THE EXILE. 213 
 
 encc. The poor had found in him a new friend, and the 
 neighborhood an excellent citizen, whose public spirit was 
 even greater than his private liberality. Deacon Oilman 
 never spake of his son, but no longer laid any restraint 
 upon his younger children. They visited their brother 
 when thny chose. He was happy that so much was done. 
 The wife was the admired of all her guests; and, a rare 
 fliiiiiT in the country, was popular with all classes. 
 
 In the course of the year, the death of the deacon was 
 announced. He died suddenly of an apoplexy. He left 
 no will. He was one of those timid characters, in a moral 
 view, that thought that it was saying to Deity, if you made 
 a will, " Now I shall not be caught leaving my property 
 where it should not go, however suddenly you may take 
 me away." On the annunciation of the death of his father, 
 the son instantly repaired to the mansion house, and found 
 his father a corse. The exile of sixteen years from his 
 home, now entered the place of his birth, not to receive the 
 greeting of a parent, but to bury his father. He looked 
 around with emotion, upon those things once familiar. A 
 relation was there, with an infant, and the old family cra 
 dle, made of stout oak, was rocking the babe to sleep. 
 The picture of the Boston Massacre, engraved by Paul 
 Revere, a mechanic, soldier, patriot and statesman, still 
 hung over the best room fire-place, with the lines made for 
 the occasion by Dr. Church, beginning 
 
 "Unhappy Boston, see thy sons deplore 
 Thy haliow d walks, besmeared with guiltless gore, 
 While faithless Preston, with his savage bands, 
 In murd rous rancor streak their bloody hands," &c. &c. 
 19 
 
214 THE EXILE. 
 
 On the other side was a likeness of General Warren ; and 
 over him hung the family coat of arms, in needle-work, 
 done by his great great grand-mother, bearing date 1713. 
 He remembered several Scripture pieces, which he was 
 taught to think very fine, which he now saw were execra 
 ble daubs. Nothing in the rooms was more familiar to him 
 than the face of the iron dogs, which were cast to repre 
 sent cherubs, but they came nearer the looks of the pug- 
 nosed spaniel than that of infant beauty. He was a man 
 /of nerve and firmness, during his whole exile he had 
 never shed a tear, he refrained no longer, but wept as a 
 child. The deep sense of his wrongs were forgotten, and 
 nothing remained to support him but a consciousness that 
 he had not deserved his fate. The image of his beloved 
 mother came up, all fresh to his mind, and subdued every 
 lingering resentment in his heart. At the funeral, as was 
 the custom of the country when a member of the church 
 dies, a sermon was preached. The clergyman was a man 
 of strong mind, and acute feelings. He alluded to certain 
 events that had transpired in the family, with great effect 
 and delicacy ; and showed from sacred history that, under 
 the guidance of God, good often springs from evil. Not a 
 single tear fell to the memory of Deacon Gilman, save 
 those of the exile and his youngest sister. He had 
 ground the face of the poor, and driven the beggar from 
 his door. Even the kind-hearted, generous w r oman, who 
 had been married to two of his sons, was solemn but tear 
 less. She remembered that after the death of her first 
 husband, that her father-in-law attempted to wrest from 
 
THE EXILE. 215 
 
 her the property left her by will, and went so far in the 
 nefarious design, as to suborn a wretched quack to swear 
 that the testator was not of sound disposing mind when the 
 will was made ; but the whole neighborhood was on the 
 other side, and the jury did not leave their seats to make 
 up their minds, but returned a verdict of sanity, hardly 
 restraining their resentment at the course the father had 
 taken. 
 
 The son hjuMiyed much in Catholic countries, and 
 some of the ceremonies had made strong impressions on 
 his mind. He now more particularly thought of the masses 
 said for the dead, and with what serenity many wise and 
 good men believed in their efficacy. Under these feelings, 
 not daring to divulge them, he thought of a half-way mea 
 sure to quiet his conscience. Taking a sheet of paper, 
 he laid it upon the cotlin which contained his father s ashes, 
 and wrote a deed of gift of one half his portion of his fa- 
 ther s estate to the church to which his family belonged, 
 for charitable purposes, the other half to his youngest sis 
 ter, and handing it to the clergyman, who, casting his eye 
 upon it, observed that his wife s signature was not put to it. 
 She heard the remark, anticipated its purport, and instant 
 ly added her consent to the disposition. If he did not be 
 lieve in the efficacy of prayers for the dead, he felt that he 
 could not be doing wrong in providing for the poor his fa 
 ther never relieved. The procession now moved on, and 
 dust was consigned to dust. In a few weeks Mr. Oilman 
 built a family tomb, and deposited the remains of his 
 mother and brother with those of his father, and expressed 
 
216 THE EXILE. 
 
 his wish to be laid in the same vault when it should please 
 Heaven to call him from time to eternity. He requested a 
 friend to write an epitaph for a stone when he should there 
 be laid. It was written ; but will any one dare sculpture 
 the inscription for posterity ? 
 
 Here repose, 
 
 until the resurrection of the body, 
 the ashes of those who lived in strife ; 
 
 and died 
 
 without interchanging forgiveness 
 in this world. 
 
 "Is there no bright reversion in the sky?" 
 
 Darkness and eternal Silence 
 reign beneath this stone: 
 
 all hatred and envy 
 are here buried in the dust. 
 The grave hath no tongue 
 
 for slander; 
 
 no imperishable walls 
 
 for malignant falsehood 
 
 to cover with her venomous 
 
 record. 
 
 If our mother earth 
 
 hath no accents to utter, 
 
 go, traveller, and spread far and wide 
 
 this solemn truth, 
 
 a lesson for mankind at large, 
 
 that there is no bane 
 
 for which 
 
 God has not made an antidote, 
 that thrice accursed leprosy 
 
 of the soul, 
 
 A Family Quarrel, 
 
 excepted. 
 
14 DAY USE 
 
 RETURN TO DESK FROM WHICH BORROWED 
 
 LOAN DEPT. 
 
 This book is due on the last date stamped below, or 
 
 on the date to which renewed. 
 Renewed books are subject to immediate recall. 
 
 CD LD 
 
 MAR 3 1963 
 
 
 LD 21A-50m-3, 62 
 (C7097slO)476B 
 
 General Library 
 University of California 
 JBerkeley 
 
919113 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 
 
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