The Project Gutenberg eBook of Tough yarns, vol. 2 (of 2)
    
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and
most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online
at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States,
you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located
before using this eBook.

Title: Tough yarns, vol. 2 (of 2)
        A series of naval tales and sketches to please all hands, from the swabs on the shoulders down to the swabs in the head

Author: M. H. Barker

Release date: September 12, 2025 [eBook #76867]

Language: English

Original publication: Philadelphia: E. L. Carey and A. Hart, 1835

Credits: hekula03, Terry Jeffress, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOUGH YARNS, VOL. 2 (OF 2) ***





                              TOUGH YARNS;

                                A SERIES

                                   OF

                        NAVAL TALES AND SKETCHES

                          TO PLEASE ALL HANDS,

     From the Swabs on the Shoulders down to the Swabs in the Head.


                          _BY THE OLD SAILOR_,
                  AUTHOR OF “GREENWICH HOSPITAL,” ETC.

                            IN TWO VOLUMES.

                                VOL. II.


                            _PHILADELPHIA_:
                         E. L. CAREY & A. HART.

                              _BALTIMORE_:
                           CAREY, HART & Co.

                               _BOSTON_:
                          WILLIAM D. TICKNOR.
                                 1835.




                         E. G. DORSEY, PRINTER,
                          _12 Library Street_.




CONTENTS OF VOL. II.


                                  PAGE

 _Ghost Stories_,                    5

 _Frere du Diable_,                 23

 _The Fisherman’s Family_,          41

 _The Red Flag at the Fore_,        62

 _The Prisoner_,                    85

 _The Convict_,                    113

 _The Burning Ship_,               136

 _Veteran Soldier_,                163

 Advertisements                    185




TOUGH YARNS.




GHOST STORIES.

    “_Glendower._--I can call spirits from the vasty deep.

    _Hotspur._--Why, so can I; or so can any man:
    But will they come when you do call for them?”

                                           _King Henry IV._


I wish my young readers had been acquainted with my worthy and
excellent father, for he cared not a snap of the finger for ghosts
and hobgoblins, and he would actually walk through a churchyard at
midnight without feeling the smallest particle of fear. Now, it may be
supposed that his children (of whom I was the third) were naturally as
courageous as their father; but from certain circumstances this was not
the case. For whilst my worthy sire would have bidden defiance to a
whole army of apparitions, myself and my brothers (there were five of
us) would tremble at every noise after dusk, and when we were in bed,
bury our faces in the blankets, lest something alarming should appear:
nay more, not one of us would remain a moment in the dark without
screaming, even if persons were in the same room; or be left alone in
any place, though it was broad daylight and the sun shining in all his
splendour.

I have said that my father was courageous; but then what ghost would
have dared to attack him, or ventured to appear in his presence? He
had fought many battles; he had braved the wind, and the storm, and
the howling tempest: he had undauntedly looked death in the face, and
the unrelenting tyrant had plundered him on every possible occasion,
in his violent efforts to carry him off altogether. Thus the brave
man had at different times lost an eye, and an arm, the calf of his
right leg, and sundry slicings and cuttings from various parts of his
really handsome person; so that a thought of frightening him never
could have entered the mind of any supernatural being,--at least,
of any rational one. This was the opinion of us boys respecting our
father; but as to ourselves, it was quite another thing. We were
children, and ghosts might rub their cold noses against our faces in
the night, or start up out of the ground to terrify us during the day
with impunity; for that there were such things as ghosts it would
have been impossible to entertain a moment’s doubt, having, as we
certainly had, the undisputed authority of Susan the housemaid, backed
by the matter-of-fact accounts of Jane the cook, and the whole fully
authenticated by old nurse, who declared that she had actually seen
a spirit; but I suspect it was at a time when _spirits_ were pretty
plentiful with her.

My parents were much out in company, and then the evenings were
employed in telling the most horrible tales of murders, of sudden
deaths, and of those who shortened their brief span of life on account
of disappointments in love. Oh! how often has a cold sick shuddering
come upon my young heart at pictures of the diabolical cruelty of human
nature, when “man became a wolf to man!” and how has terror shaken
every joint in my childish frame to hear of the restless spirit. Of
the murdered, clothed in corporeal semblance, escaping from its cold
prison-house to haunt the guilty slayer! How frequently have the tears
trickled down my pale face at the hapless adventures of blighted
affection; and many a time did my infantile imagination follow the
retributive form that constantly haunted the wretch who had broken the
vow of fidelity and truth! Nor was there wanting a good sprinkling
of _accurate_ stories about highwaymen and housebreakers, gentlemen
thieves for whom young maids wept when they considered them deserving a
better fate.

The house we lived in was a very ancient but strong building, and
exactly the sort of place to excite superstitious feelings--in fact,
a sort of ghostery. There were some strange tales told about it; and
the unaccountable noises in the chimneys which frightened the birds
that built their nests there, and the hollow murmuring sounds that
proceeded, particularly in windy weather, from behind the old oak
panels of the rooms, all conspired to do that which my parents had but
little idea of,--namely, to unnerve the system and weaken the intellect.

Still I was no coward, for I would always defend myself against any boy
of my size, and was ready to undertake the usual hazardous enterprises
of children; but a subtle poison was working within, which bade fair to
render the mind imbecile, and to undermine the constitution. My parents
became sensible of our altered condition, and when it was almost
beyond redemption, were made acquainted with the cause. My father, in
his usual blunt manner, made use of a strong argument against ghosts.
“Boys,” said he, “you are a pack of fools: remember this, that those
who are gone to Heaven, are too happy to quit it; and those who are
gone to a place of torment, the devil won’t part with even for a
moment.” Of course a change took place among the servants, who were
blamed for instilling pernicious principles into our minds, but which
they could not have done had my parents used a little more watchfulness
to guard against it.

I was destined for the sea, and at an early age to sea I went. But
though I had risen superior to many apprehensions which once tortured
me, yet there were times when I could not entirely conquer former
weaknesses; and a few weeks after the frigate to which I belonged had
left Plymouth on a three months’ cruise, one of the quartermasters of
the name of Buckley died, and, as is the usual custom, the body was
sewed up in a hammock preparatory to interment. The poor fellow had
expired late in the afternoon, and the committal of the corpse to the
deep was to take place the following morning. Now Buckley had shown me
a great deal of kindness, and taught me to knot and splice, and other
parts of a seaman’s duty; besides, he had always slept at no great
distance from me, and both of us were in the same watch; yet I could
not subdue the horror I felt struggling in my breast, at the thoughts
of passing the night near the cock-pit where I supposed the dead man
to be laid. I dared not mention a word of this to my messmates, lest
it should have ruined my character for ever; and as I was to take the
morning watch, I went early to my hammock--but not to sleep. The close
proximity to the corpse excited the most sickening sensations, which
I found it impossible to get rid of; horrible phantoms floated before
my imagination, and if weary nature exerted her prerogative and sank
into repose for a moment, I started with dread lest the cold hand of
the old man should be pressed heavily on my heart. At length my mind
was harrowed up beyond human endurance; the watch below had turned in;
there was no light except the glimmering in the lantern of the sentry,
and he sat dozing at his post. I thought I could catch the spot where
the corpse was extended, and faintly discern the outline of his form.
To remain longer was impossible; the bell struck four,[1] and slipping
on my jacket and trousers, over which I hastily wrapped my watch-coat,
I cautiously ascended to the deck, but, ashamed to be seen, I crept
into the launch,[2] which was between the booms, and finding a hammock,
which I supposed to have been negligently left there by one of the
seamen, I laid myself down upon it, and pulling over me an old sail
with which it had been covered, I was soon in a deep and refreshing
slumber.

The corpse was to be committed to the deep whilst all hands were
upon deck, during the relief of the watch at four o’clock in the
morning; and exactly at that moment, I was awoke by some one shaking
me rather roughly by the shoulder. In an instant I sprung up; horrid
recollections rushed upon me: it was broad daylight; many eyes were
staring at me, some with astonishment, others with mirth; but, oh! how
can I describe the terrible thrill that ran through every vein, when
on looking at the hammock which had served me for a bed, I discovered
that I had through the whole of the night been sleeping with the dead
man for my companion, the body having been removed to the launch late
in the preceding evening! I could not speak; I could not shriek; but
I burst into an hysterical fit of laughter, and that saved me;--for
the spectators, not knowing what was passing in my mind, took it for
bravado. Many were the jokes respecting my attachment to old Buckley;
and thus I was severely punished for my folly.

Two years passed away, during which I had occasional returns of terror
and alarm, arising from my dread of non-existents, though I had been
in two or three engagements and gained some applause for my conduct.
The frigate I had first joined had been laid up unserviceable, and I
was now in a beautiful eighteen-gun brig-sloop on the South American
station. The tale of old Buckley was no longer the subject of amusement
to others and torture to me, for the circumstance was unknown to my
new messmates; and I entertained hopes that in the course of time, I
should be enabled to overcome the feelings which but too frequently
oppressed me.

The sloop was attached to the expedition intended to subjugate (for any
other design was futile) the city of Monte Video, in the river Plata;
and, with several other vessels, we were employed to capture the island
of Goretta, in Maldonado Bay. There were three strong batteries, with
long twenty-four and thirty-two pounders mounted, and these batteries
were well manned with Spaniards; but they were compelled to yield to
the intrepidity of our brave tars after a severe slaughter, considering
the comparatively small number of men engaged. After the conflict,
small parties were posted in various places round the island to prevent
a surprise, whilst the main body with the commanding officer occupied a
large building in the centre.

Midnight came,--a dark, dreary, cold, starless midnight, and I was
ordered to visit all the outposts to see that the sentinels were alert
upon their duty. The dead bodies of those who had fallen in battle
remained unburied. I had looked upon many a bleeding and mangled form
during the day; I had seen many a poor wretch writhing in the last
pang of mortal agony; I had gazed with a sort of desperate wildness
on the convulsive contortions which expiring nature had left upon
the countenance; and now, in the stillness and solitude of night, to
traverse the spot where they lay in promiscuous heaps as they had
fallen, my very soul was harrowed up! I would not disobey, and I did
not dare to ask for attendance lest my secret should transpire.

Alone then I departed, every nerve agitated with the commotion that
shook my trembling frame. Alone I took my way to the nearest outpost,
often starting aside as some stiffened corpse lay stretched across
my path. The hollow moaning of the waves breaking against the rugged
rocks, came with a fearful sound upon the wind, which rushed past
in hurried gusts, and now and then a half-stifled groan burst from
some poor creature who yet survived the carnage and was recovering
sensibility. I had reached about halfway to my first place of
destination, when my faculties became in a great measure paralysed,
on hearing something behind which emitted a strange and unnatural
noise. I determined to face it, and turned round for that purpose. The
atmosphere was dense and hazy, enveloping the earth in darkness; but
amidst the gloom, a most horrible figure kept rising up to more than
mortal height, and then again sinking to scarcely half the stature
of a man; two immense projections issued from its hideously formed
head, and a pair of burning eyes glared with vengeful fierceness upon
me: all my old feelings returned; dismay crept upon my spirit; and
making one desperate effort, I ran with amazing rapidity from this
terrific object. But alas! I had not run far, when I stumbled over a
dead body, and fell in the midst of several others. I stretched out
my hands to assist me in rising, and they rested upon the cold clammy
face of a corpse! Once more upon my feet, I looked round; the monster
was close to me, rising and falling as it had done before, and again
I bounded away without knowing whither. A building presented itself,
which I hoped was one of the outposts, and hastily entering it, I
fell about twelve feet into a space below, but sustained no bodily
injury as the floor was covered with piles of seal skins. Here, in
thick darkness and insensibility, I lay for several hours, when I was
accidentally discovered by a party who had clandestinely left the
main-body to seek for plunder, and were attracted to the spot by seeing
an enormous _he-goat_ near the entrance to the building. By the light
of the lantern which they carried I was readily recognised, and soon
rescued from my uncomfortable situation. The fresh air and human voices
speedily restored me to animation, and almost the first thing I saw,
quietly standing amid the group of seamen, was the innocent cause of
my alarm and misfortune,--_the great he-goat_! My fall was attributed
to accident; and, attended by the party, I visited the outposts and
made my report to the commanding officer. The account of my adventure
soon spread, but the occurrence was attributed to any thing except the
real cause, as the different tale-tellers had each a story of his own
to magnify my intrepidity; and thus my weakness not only again escaped
detection, but I actually gained approbation for my courage. From that
hour my determination became more and more strengthened to resist the
pusillanimity, which in spite of every effort would at times attack me.

I was next employed in the capture of Monte Video, or rather the city
of San Philip, which is the proper name,--Monte Video being a lofty
mountain on one promontory of a deep bay, as the city of San Philip
stands on the extreme point of the other promontory. After the city
was taken, I was stationed at night on the flat roof of a house which
communicated with several others; having received orders to be very
vigilant, and in case of any thing material occurring to forward
immediate information to the officer in command of the party, who
was to despatch the intelligence to head-quarters. The post was one
of extreme importance, and had been entrusted to me on account of my
apparent fearlessness. It overlooked the gates leading to the shores of
the bay, which, though in our possession, were frequently visited by
guerilla bands, who secretly dealt death to the incautious sentinels.
I had been about one hour upon the look out, and had suppressed the
rising sensations of terror which had more than once attacked me; when,
to my great surprise, a large empty earthenware crate, that stood in
the corner of the next flat began to move slowly along the roof. I
had been leaning over the parapet of the house with my back towards
the crate, but the slight rustling made by the movement caused me to
glance over my shoulder without appearing to turn my head. The motion
ceased; but I could not doubt the fact, for the crate was not in the
situation where I had first seen it. I still remained in my position
without stirring, but kept my eyes directed by a sidelong glance
towards the object. Again it moved, but so slowly and noiselessly, that
by a person possessing a mind of any other stamp than mine, it would
have passed unheard and consequently unheeded. In vain I struggled to
suppress my emotion,--trembling imbecility was rapidly creeping upon my
system,--all my former terrors were reviving, when at that moment the
devices of the guerillas recurred to my recollection, and cocking the
lock of a pistol, I stood in perfect readiness. Again the crate moved,
so as to get more into my rear; but a picket-guard passing through
the street below, I called to the officer and instantly sprang over
the breastwork that divided the two roofs, and ran to that part which
was most likely to cut off a retreat if the crate had been moved by
human agency,--of which, I confess, I entertained strong doubts. These,
however, were soon dispelled; for I had scarcely reached my station,
when the crate was thrown up, and the tall gaunt figure of a guerilla
was for an instant seen against the dim light of the sky. But it was
only for an instant: our pistols seemed to be discharged at the same
moment of time. I heard his ball whistle by my ears, and it left a
tingling sensation that indicated how very close it had passed to my
head: the smoke hindered me from seeing more, but I felt the sharp
point of a knife graze down my breast,--I heard a heavy fall into the
street below,--a fire of musketry succeeded;--then followed a wild
shriek, and the guerilla was a corpse! His knife had been intended
for my heart, but a backward step on my part, saved me: the skin was
slightly scratched, and the instrument remained in my coat without
doing further injury.

In what manner the desperado had gained the roof, I could not then
divine; and I felt certain that he was not under the crate on my first
taking the post, as I had carefully examined it. I had afterwards an
opportunity of witnessing the mode by which he had accomplished it,
and it was simply through the efforts of a number of men, who were
raised up successively on each other’s shoulders. His design was
assassination and plunder. For my share in this transaction, I obtained
the approval of Sir Home Popham, and was raised in temporary rank.

The next trial of my nervous system was at Sierra Leone. I was then in
a frigate, and as fears were entertained that the French were about to
make a descent upon some part of the settlement, (a French squadron
having been seen hovering off the coast,) the free negroes were armed
and enrolled as volunteers. To effect this at a village about six miles
in the interior, I was despatched with proper orders, and the boat
landed me at the nearest point to my place of destination. It was late
in the evening before my duty was completed; and as I was particularly
desirous to return to the ship and make my report, an officer of the
York Rangers lent me a beautiful and spirited horse, which I mounted,
though not without a few misgivings, which were much increased when I
was jocosely requested not to fall in love with the “ghost” on my road.
On the wayside stood a lone and uninhabited house, where a trafficker
in human flesh had murdered his wife; and ever since, the lady, or her
apparition, had presented herself after dark before the gate. Beyond
this house were the remains of a negro village, which previously to
colonization had been attacked by slave-dealers and burned. The aged
inhabitants were massacred, the young were borne to slavery; and now
it was asserted that the former visited their old habitations, and
called aloud for vengeance to redress their wrongs. Such tales were not
calculated to inspire composure; but I strove to laugh at the jokes
passed on me, and started off at full speed, declaring that “the ghosts
should have a long chase, if they felt inclined to sport.”

The empty boast still faltered on my heart and my tremulous hand could
scarcely hold the rein, when the house of death, all desolate, appeared
in view. Striking the spurs into the sides of the generous animal, he
sprang forward on his way, and passed the dreadful spot without my
witnessing any thing to excite horror.

Although the moon was up, yet storms were on the wind, and heavy clouds
obscured her light. Often in imagination did I hear the shrieks of the
slaughtered negroes as they came howling on the gale, whilst I rapidly
approached the ruined village which had been the terrific scene of
blood. A black cloud thick with darkness overshadowed the picture,
and spread a gloomy wildness over every object. The horse buried his
hoofs deep in the sand, and, like an arrow from a bow, continued his
fleet career; when, in a moment, he stopped, threw out his forelegs
and reared upon his haunches, while steaming foam issued from his
nostrils. It was with considerable difficulty that I retained my seat;
and as the creature refused to proceed, I rode back a short distance
and again made an effort to pursue my direct road, but in vain; the
animal stopped at the same spot, and flew from side to side of the
highway, nor could the whip and spur urge him to advance.

Several times did I repeat the same attempt; and though a chilling awe
crept through my veins and made my blood run cold, yet nothing had
presented itself to my sight, though it was evident that the eyes of
the horse were fixed upon something supernaturally terrific.

At length the moon shed her dim light through a fleecy cloud, and then
with horror and amazement I beheld the cause of terror; for right in
the middle of the road appeared a long black coffin, and the pale beams
of the moon glanced on the white escutcheons fixed on the top. Every
feeling of the soul was racked to the extreme; every fibre of the heart
was nerved to desperation; and, mustering all my breath, I uttered the
great and awful name to which both quick and dead must pay obedience.
The lid of the coffin was thrown up,--a figure slowly raised itself and
gazed upon me, whilst my whole existence seemed quivering on the verge
of eternity. The horse pawed the ground with uncontrolled fury; the
howling of the gale seemed more dreadful;--when a hollow voice, with
distinct utterance, vociferated, “Don’t be alarmed, ’tis only Uncle
Joey!--So, so, poor fellow! so, so!”

The horse, hearing a well-known sound, became pacified; and then I
ascertained that Uncle Joey, a corporal in the newly-raised volunteers,
had been to town to fetch an _arm-chest_, which had been made by a
carpenter to deposit the muskets in. Having, however, drank rather
freely, he had found himself drowsy on his way back; so getting into
the chest (which was painted black with a tin plate on the lid) and
shutting himself in, he had enjoyed a comfortable nap, till the
snorting of the animal and my shouting brought about his resurrection.

I hardly need say how much my heart was lightened by this explanation;
and that I parted with Uncle Joey and his shell in much better spirits
than had attended our meeting. Since that time I have had occasional
returns of panic, but they have gradually diminished, and I am now
almost as daring as my late excellent father, and except during
temporary fits of nervous relaxation, care neither for ghost nor
goblin; and I trust, that whilst my readers who are parents will keep a
watchful eye that servants do not instil pernicious feelings into the
breasts of their offspring, my young readers will rest satisfied on
the assurance of an old man, that all ghosts are in reality mere Uncle
Joeys.


FOOTNOTES

[1] Ten o’clock at night.

[2] The largest boat belonging to a ship.




FRERE DU DIABLE.

    “Some said he was a wizard wight,
    Some said he was a devil.”


Whoever has visited Italy, must retain a lasting remembrance of
its romantic beauties, its delicious climate, and the balmy odours
exhaled from the glowing productions of its soil. It was in one of
the most delightful parts of this luxuriant country, that Joachim
Galeazzo cultivated his extensive vineyards; and his wealth and
influence rendered him of considerable importance, not only in the
immediate neighbourhood, but throughout the province where he resided.
Possessed of a fine manly form, and endowed with a countenance of mild
benevolence, it could be no wonder that he was united to a female
whose loveliness first attracted his attention, and whose sweetness
of disposition secured the best affections of his heart. Smiling
little cherubs blessed their union, gladdening prospects crowned
their industry, and happiness shed contentment on their days. It was
delightful to see the interesting family group, after the heat of the
day had subsided, assembling round the margin of the clear fountain to
enjoy its refreshing coolness, or revelling on the verdant lawn and
sporting in their innocence and gayety.

But this was a bliss too pure to continue long. That plague of kings
and scourge of nations--ambition, urged Napoleon on to conquest;
and war, with its attendant horrors, spread devastation through the
fertile valleys, while ravages heightened by ruthless ferocity marked
the progress of the invaders. In vain did the peasants rush to defend
their country and their homes; the army of the conqueror advanced amid
smoking ruins and burning villages, the ashes of which were quenched
only by the blood of slaughtered victims. Galeazzo possessed a soul of
undaunted courage, and he determined to exert his utmost efforts to
repel the approaching storm. He assembled a band of the bravest of his
countrymen, and a solemn oath was pledged upon the altar, that they
would expel the sanguinary invaders from their native soil, or die in
the attempt.

It was an affecting sight to see those self-devoted heroes parting from
their families and friends. Mothers and maidens, amid all the anxious
emotions which fill the female heart with apprehension, looked with
glowing pride upon the men they loved; and the small but firm phalanx
bade adieu to their peaceful habitations, and to those whom danger
bound more strongly round their hearts, determined that no disgrace
should tarnish their fair fame.

Galeazzo and his band of patriots marched towards the enemy, and nearly
the whole of them fell in the desperate struggle for liberty. They had,
however, inspired their countrymen with fresh vigour, and the career of
Napoleon was for a short time checked. The gallant conduct of Galeazzo,
who still survived, pointed him out as a fit person to assume a higher
command; a number of select and well tried men were therefore placed at
his disposal, and without risking a general engagement, he commenced
that species of guerilla warfare which afterwards became so terrible to
the French.

But fortune, which at first crowned the efforts of Galeazzo with
success, at length forsook him. In an evil hour he fell into a snare
that had been laid to entrap him: his men were either killed or
dispersed; and wounded almost to death, he returned to his own estate
to aid the flight of his family to the mountains.

Almost fainting with the loss of blood, he arrived at the midnight hour
on the borders of his vineyards. But the hand of the destroyer had been
speedy; the red hue of the crackling flames streamed upon his sight,
and overpowered with agony and weakness, he sank to the ground behind
a hedge of myrtle that screened him from observation. Insensibility
would have been a blessing, but it came not; for though unable to rise
from the spot where he had fallen, his mind was still acutely alive to
all that passed within his view. He saw his little innocents butchered
by the murderous hands of the inebriated troops; he saw his beautiful
wife struggling in vain against the brutal violence of the soldiery; he
beheld the bodies of his children--

    “Their silver skins laced with their golden blood,”

thrown among the burning embers of their once happy home; his soul
sickened at the spectacle, and his senses forsook him. At length the
ruthless passions of the troops were satiated; demolition ceased, for
there was nothing more to destroy, and they quitted the work of their
impious hands to immolate other victims, and to offer fresh sacrifices
at the shrine of Napoleon’s ambition.

Morning dawned upon the wretched sufferer, who awoke once more to sense
and misery; yet all around was calm, except when the solemn stillness
was broken by the piercing death-shriek of some poor wretch in his
mortal agony, or the distant discharge of artillery, which told a tale
of slaughter. Still serenely beautiful was the clear blue sky, tinged
with the golden radiance of the sun; and the blushing flowers that had
drunk the moistening dew breathed forth their odours to the morning
breeze, blending the soul of sweetness with the cooling winds. But the
song of the peasant, as he early plied his wonted task among the purple
clusters of the vine, was heard no more. The very birds, scared by the
blackening smoke that curled towards the heavens and like the blood
of Abel cried from the ground for vengeance, had left the spot where
desolation triumphed.

Life was rapidly passing away from the wretched Galeazzo; his wounds
had burst out afresh in his struggles to rise, and he felt approaching
dissolution spread its film over his eyes. Still he continued fearfully
sensible of his situation, and waited for the hour when his mortal
agony should cease.

At this moment, the whole expanse was filled with a wild unnatural
yell, like the mingling laugh and shriek of the tortured maniac; and
a female figure, her hair dishevelled and hanging down her bare and
bleeding bosom, her white dress rent and deeply stained with human
gore, appeared upon the lawn. Her left hand was writhed in the hair
of a French soldier, who was wounded beyond the power of resistance;
and with strength almost surpassing nature, she dragged him towards
the still glowing ashes of her once joyous habitation. Her right
hand grasped a dagger, which was reeking with blood, and there she
stood like another Hecate over her fallen prey. There was a maddened
laugh--a scream--a shout of triumph--as she buried the ruddy steel in
the body of the soldier; then flashed it in the sun, and again plunged
it to the hilt in his breast. She gazed on her prostrate enemy with
the fiend-like expression of a demon, and seemed to feel a terrible
gratification in turning over every mangled corpse that bore the
uniform of France, and with a direful vengeance thrusting the dagger
into many a heart that had long ceased to beat. Unsatiated by revenge,
she looked round for fresh offerings to her fury, and at length came to
the spot where Galeazzo was crouched,

    “Breathing the slow remains of life away.”

She looked upon his sunken eye and hollow cheek, and raising the
weapon in her hand, “Die! wretch,” said she; “for thou hast nought to
live for now.” But nature refused compliance with her purpose; the
dagger dropped from her unnerved grasp, and she fell senseless by his
side:--it was his wife!

       *       *       *       *       *

The French army continued to advance almost unmolested, and thousands
fled to the mountains to escape the ravages of war. But though these
remained quiescent and passive at first, yet when the impulse of
terror had subsided, the guerillas again formed themselves into an
organized band, and swore eternal enmity to France. Their leader was
a man of dauntless intrepidity and cool determination. Ever foremost
in the conflict and always the last in the retreat, he soon become a
conspicuous object to the invaders; and when the army encamped near
Capua, his single hand performed prodigies of valour. The outposts were
constantly attacked; the sentinels, even in the very centre of the main
body, were found dead upon their post; and but a few of the foraging
parties ever returned to supply the wants of the soldiery. All succour
was cut off from seaward by the British cruisers, and provisions began
rapidly to diminish in spite of even the masterly commissariat of
Bonaparte.

The officers had been accustomed to make excursions into the
surrounding country; but this was at last forbidden, for there was
scarcely a jutting crag or thicket that did not conceal a desperate
enemy, whose shining blade or long fusee was prompt to deal
destruction. In vain were whole brigades called out to scour the
country; the guerillas were secure in their mountainholds, and bade
defiance to their foes. Attempts were made to dislodge them from their
positions, but they were utterly fruitless; for though a few prisoners
fell into the hands of the French, and after suffering torture were
hung upon the branches of trees as spectacles for their companions, yet
this did but instigate them to firmer resolve and to deeper revenge.

The chief had been known repeatedly to visit the camp of the invading
army in disguise; and once, on being detected and pursued, the bullets
whistled around him in every direction; but he escaped unhurt, and
superstition whispered that his body was impervious to shot. The
sentinels declared that they had seen him assume a variety of shapes,
for he was sometimes perceived in the form of a wolf stealing from bush
to bush, and then he would suddenly emerge in all the vigour and prime
of manhood; but pursuit seemed useless, for he was said to disappear
so suddenly, that none but those who were under the protection of
superhuman agency could otherwise have escaped. A general consternation
spread among the soldiery; even the commanders caught the infection,
and this desperate leader became known to the whole army under the
appellation of Frere du Diable. Large rewards were set upon his head;
many of the officers bound themselves by oath to take him dead or
alive, but their oath was generally sealed in death. Oftentimes when
the wine was set upon the convivial board, and the canvass walls echoed
to the sounds of mirth, the alarm was given that Frere du Diable was
in the camp, and every weapon was prepared and every eye alert for
action. Oftentimes at the evening hour, when the generous wine had
warmed the flagging courage, would some one or other, more bold than
his companions, laugh at their pusillanimity and swear to destroy the
common foe; but the morning light generally saw him a corpse, with some
certain token that either Frere du Diable or one of his comrades had
dealt the blow.

It was about this time that Sir Sidney Smith commanded a fine
frigate in the Mediterranean, and few men were better adapted for
the conducting that sort of amphibious warfare which attended the
hostilities on the shores of Italy. Dauntless intrepidity and daring
resolution were mingled with a skilful knowledge of his profession; and
there was a certain degree of romantic enthusiasm in his enterprises,
which strongly displayed his adventurous and chivalrous spirit. The
defeat of the French at Acre, and other places, was an incontestible
proof how well he could conduct operations on land; and in boarding
and cutting out the vessels of the enemy from under the embrasures of
well-mounted batteries, or in storming the batteries themselves, his
cool courage and his steady skill were regarded as pledges of victory
by the intrepid seamen. But his chief delight was to lead his men under
the cover of the twilight glow of an Italian night through the dark
mazes of the forest, or winding among the huge masses of rock that
lined the coast, where the wild guerilla crossed his path or joined his
band and gave intelligence of the enemy.

It would be impossible for language to do adequate justice to such
a scene. The slow movements of a hundred men, who crept from bush
to bush without a whisper,--the cautious and silent advance upon
the enemy,--the red watch-fire that marked the temporary encampment
of the French, and the occasional challenge of the drowsy sentinel
at the outpost, which died away upon the breeze as tranquillity was
restored,--the crouching down in breathless silence till suspicion was
lulled,--oh! there was a degree of enchantment in the whole which then
was realized, but cannot now be described.

To the seamen these expeditions were a source of real amusement, and
they afforded them repeated opportunities for indulging in their
characteristic humour. When the word was passed for the boats to
be manned, (and none but volunteers were permitted to go with the
captain,) the hoarse voice of the boatswain’s mate followed his shrill
pipe, and as the words “Bush-fighters away!” resounded down the
hatchways, every man fore-and-aft knew the purport of the summons, and
all would have gladly joined the party for the shore.

But though I say all, it must be admitted that the old master was an
exception; he would have fought the devil himself in his ship, or would
have run her flying jib-boom into the very quarters of his satanic
majesty if he had caught him afloat; but he had no idea of “land
privateering,” as he termed it. “A sailor,” he said, “always gets out
of soundings ashore, and without knowing his bearings and distances,
generally runs upon a false reckoning.” The fact was, he was as much a
piece of the frigate as any timberhead in her hull; and nothing short
of being wrecked or blown up could have separated them.

Sir Sidney had obtained intelligence that Frere du Diable was in the
neighbourhood of his cruising ground, and wishing to communicate
with him for the purpose of ascertaining the precise situation and
operations of the French, the boats were manned and armed, and an hour
before day-break the whole party landed in a small cove formed by rocks
that entirely concealed from view the means of debarkation.

Leaving the principal portion of the men by the boats, with strict
orders to the officer not to suffer any one to stray away, but to be
extremely vigilant, Sir Sidney, with a lieutenant, two midshipmen, and
twelve men, proceeded on his way over rock and stone, through bush and
briar, towards the spot where it was most probable the guerilla chief
would be found. It was a lovely morning; the stars still glistened
in the clear blue heaven of an Italian sky, and there was that sort
of dubious light which greatly added to the beauty of the romantic
scenery. Sometimes the party had to climb by aid of their hands and
knees to the summit of the frowning precipice, and at others to slide
down huge masses of rock; so necessary was it to keep from every beaten
track, for the purpose of avoiding any stragglers from the enemy’s
camp, who might raise an alarm.

At length, after considerable exertion, and just as the sun appeared
above the verge of the horizon, they arrived at a place in the
interior of a thick forest and nearly at the extreme height of the
mountain, which evidently displayed strong lines of defence, but so
inartificially contrived as to appear more the work of nature than
the hand of man. Huge trees lay piled in various directions as if
thrown down by some gust of the wild tempest, yet in such positions as
to afford occasional shelter to a retreating party, and offering an
admirable post for harassing an advancing foe.

Scarcely was the first of these barriers passed, when a shrill whistle
sounded close to them, and in a few minutes they burst into an open
space that had been cleared of the underwood, and some of the trees now
formed a pleasant alcove. Here the scene became highly interesting;
it was one of those such as Salvator Rosa would have gloried in
transferring to the canvass. In one corner upon an elevated mound so
as to command a view of the whole area, sat a majestic-looking figure,
with a countenance of mild serenity, but yet of a commanding aspect.
Over his shoulders was hung the skin of a wolf, and the lower part of
his body was enveloped in a cloak of furs. The butts of his pistols
were just seen as they stuck in his broad girdle; a heavy sword and
a carbine lay by his side, and in his hand he held that peculiar
kind of knife so well known as the favourite weapon of the guerilla.
Resting upon one knee, and with her arm leaning on his shoulder,
was a female of great beauty; she was gazing tenderly upon him, but
at intervals there was a fierce flashing of the eyes, an agitated
contortion of feature, that rendered her terrible to the sight. There
was nevertheless a fascinating beauty still, though it was constantly
changing from the glance of fervid affection to the fiend-like
expression of a fallen angel. These were Frere du Diable and his wife:
or in other words, Galeazzo and Camilla.

The guerilla band were assembled in separate groupes, yet so connected
as to be ready for action at a moment’s warning. Some were stretched
upon the ground and still buried in the deep sleep which exertion and
fatigue render so delicious to the weary frame; others were awakening
from their slumbers and stretching their sinewy limbs, whilst a few
were examining their arms and polishing their knives.

The shrill whistle again sounded, when a single blast from a bugle
aroused every soul in an instant, and carbine in hand, they stood
prepared for battle! Sir Sidney advanced, was immediately recognised,
and a loud shout of joy proclaimed his welcome. The guerillas laid down
their arms, and received the seamen with demonstrations of attachment.
The chiefs met and embraced in token of amity, whilst the beautiful
Camilla testified her satisfaction at seeing the enemies of the French.
A multitude of conflicting feelings seemed to agitate her soul as she
pressed the hand of Sir Sidney to her heart, and called upon him as
“the avenger of blood.”

As soon as order was restored, the two chiefs held a conference
together; after which refreshment was spread upon the green sward,
consisting of dried venison, hard cheese, bread, fruits, and wine.
On the elevated mound Galeazzo, Sir Sidney, Camilla, and the British
officers, were seated upon the grass. Behind the guerilla chief,
a little to the right, stood the bugleman, and on the left the
sword-bearer, both prompt to obey commands. The seamen joined in the
messes of the band, and the utmost harmony prevailed. A few minutes
had elapsed since these arrangements were made, when suddenly a bright
flash was seen among the bushes on the opposite side to that where
the chief sat, and as the report of fire-arms echoed among the rocks,
the bugleman fell dead upon Sir Sidney’s shoulder. All parties were
instantly on their feet, and the chiefs dealt mutual looks of distrust
at each other. It was evident that the ball had been designed for one
of them, and suspicion pervaded the minds of both that treachery was
at work. The dauntless look of defiance was exchanged; but it was only
momentary, for the shrill voice of Camilla was heard. “Do they seek the
lion in his den?” she exclaimed with bitterness. “On, on, and destroy
the common foe!”

The features of the guerilla changed; he grasped Sir Sidney’s hand
with impetuosity, gazed for a moment on the corpse, and then seizing
the bugle, blew a blast so loud and shrill, that every rock and glen
re-echoed the sound. He ceased, and the whole band stood in breathless
silence, watching their leader who appeared like a statue; but no
sound was heard, except the gentle rustling of the leaves in the
morning breeze. Again with wild haste the chief raised the bugle and
sounded louder and longer than before, and again all subsided to the
deepest attention. At length, answering blasts were heard in different
directions, and the chief, dashing the bugle on the ground, gave orders
for the immediate departure of the band. Sir Sidney wished to accompany
him, but this offer was politely declined; yet, turning to Camilla, he
requested her to remain with the English captain till his return. She
gave her husband a look of stern reproach. “Am I not bereaved?” said
she. “Is not the blood of my offspring on their hands? Will not the
wolf fight for her whelps, and shall I shrink? On, on, Galeazzo! the
death shriek of my murdered children is ringing in my ears, and nought
but deep and terrible revenge can satisfy me now!”

The chief raised the wolf’s skin from his shoulders, and drawing
the head-part over his own so that the nostrils covered his brows,
he assumed that terrific appearance which at all times rendered him
so conspicuous an object in his encounters with the enemy. He again
grasped Sir Sidney’s hand, and requested him to return to his ship; and
as soon as he saw a smoke rising from the spot on which he then stood,
he might consider it as a signal for him to retrace his steps to the
place of rendezvous.

The guerilla band spread themselves into small parties and pursued
different routes, though only at such distances from each other as to
be ready to unite into one body should it be necessary; and in a few
minutes not a vestige of the troop remained, except the corpse, the
broken food, and the half-emptied flagons.

The British party returned to the frigate, and a careful watch was set
to look out for the concerted signal. The officers were constantly
directing their spy-glasses towards the spot, but nothing was seen;
and the day passed away in restless impatience, not unaccompanied with
suspicion of Frere du Diable’s intention.

Night came,--a beautiful clear Italian night,--reviving in the mind all
the strong fervour of romance. The deep blue of the sky, reflected on
the transparent wave which gave back its lovely hue, was beautifully
contrasted with the dark foliage and the rocky masses which bound the
shore, affording no indication of human dwelling--all was still and
passionless. The eye was eagerly strained towards the thick wood, which
frowned in gloom and pride; when about the middle of the first watch,
light wreathes of smoke curled upward above the trees, followed by
bright flashes, and in a few minutes the red glare of ascending flames
gave a grand and terrific change to the quiet of the scene.

The boats were again manned, and soon sweeping through the liquid
element to the spot they had quitted in the morning; and in an hour,
Sir Sidney, with a more numerous retinue than before, arrived at the
appointed place. But though the scene of the early day was striking,
it was a mere tranquil spectacle when compared with the present, where
wild ferocity was heightened by intoxication and hellish cruelty. In
the centre of the space, the dry trunks of trees were piled on end, so
as to form a spiral elevation and terminate almost in a point at the
summit. They were burning with great rapidity, and cast a red tinge on
the horrible figures that were spread around. The chief leaned upon his
heavy sword near the fire, and his wife stood laughing by his side; but
that laugh was utterly destitute of human pleasure,--it was like the
laugh of a fallen angel exulting over mortal agony. She was terrible
in her beauty, and the soul trembled before her demoniac gaze. A loud
shout proclaimed Sir Sidney’s presence, and he immediately advanced
towards the chief, who received him in the most cordial manner; whilst
Camilla in wild accents exclaimed, “They would seek the lion in his
den: but more blood has been shed as a sacrifice to avenge my murdered
babes!” and she threw another log on the flames.

The chief informed Sir Sidney that the pursuit of the guerillas had not
been unavailing, for they had followed the delinquent (who proved to
be a French soldier under pledge to destroy Frere du Diable) down to
the very outpost of the enemy’s camp, where, after a slight skirmish,
he was captured and brought back to the strong-hold of the band. “And
see!” said the chief, opening the blazing pile with his sword, and
showing the mutilated remains of a human body consuming in the flames,
“thus perish all our enemies!”

“Ay, perish, perish for ever!” responded Camilla.

“This is he,” continued the chief, “who fired the shot this morning. He
confessed that it was designed for me, but thus--thus am I avenged!”
The miserable victim had been burnt alive!




THE FISHERMAN’S FAMILY.

                            “As he spoke,
    A sea burst o’er them, and their cables broke!
    Then, like a lion bounding from the toil,
    The ship shot through the billows’ black recoil,
    Urged by the howling blast--all guidance gone--
    They shuddering felt her reeling, rushing on--
    Nor dared to question where; nor dared to cast
    One asking look,--for that might be their last.”


“Come aft here, my lads, and haul down another reef in the mainsail!”
exclaimed a hoary veteran, who stood at the helm of a fishing smack
which was buffeting the waves at the entrance to the British Channel
one October evening, when the lowering of the clouds and the freshening
of the breeze gave strong indications of a southwesterly gale. The
order was promptly obeyed; and the snug little craft again breasted the
lofty surge, like a bird upon the wing, skimming the foaming tops of
the billows.

“We shall have a rough night, father,” said a middle aged man, whose
hardy countenance had borne the washing of many a salt sea spray; “the
sun is setting in yon bank, and tinges the ocean with his reddening
hue. The summits of the Scilly Isles appear like dying watch-fires
through the haze; and these, you know, are sure prognostics of a rising
gale.”

“Then let it come,” replied the veteran. “He whom the winds and the
seas obey, can, when it pleaseth him, allay their fury and command
them ‘Peace, be still!’ But go, Richard, have the trysail ready and
get the storm-jib up; for by the long swell from the westward, I am of
opinion there has been bad weather to windward, which will be down upon
us before long; so let us have all low and snug before dark, my lad.
And, James,” continued he to a noble-looking, fair-haired lad; “James,
set St. Agnes’ lighthouse by the compass, for the fog will thicken
presently; and yon Seven Stones[3]--worse than the plagues of Egypt to
a sailor--look far from tempting, crested as they are with feathery
foam.”

“I hope mother will not be uneasy about us,” rejoined the youth, as
he laid the edge of his hand upon the compass, directing it towards
the lighthouse; “we have been a fortnight at sea, grandfather, and the
tempests must have howled round the cottage fearfully o’ nights; it
has blown hard ever since we came out, and not a fish caught, besides
losing part of our nets.”

“What, still uttering complaints!” exclaimed the veteran. “Look at your
brother yonder, on the windless end; how fearlessly he sits and watches
the ill-omened bird[4] which triumphs in a storm.”

“He does not think of home,” replied the youth. “But what would become
of mother, and Jane, and the little ones, should the Fisherman’s Family
go to wreck?”

“The Fisherman’s Family go to wreck!” reiterated the old man, stamping
his foot upon the deck; “she’ll weather many a gale yet, my boy! Look
at this white head!” and as he uncovered his hoary locks that wildly
wantoned in the breeze, he presented a fine picture of Time steering
inexperienced youth through the dangerous channels which beset human
life. “Look at this white head!” he exclaimed; “the snows and storms
of sixty-seven winters have passed over it, yet was I never deserted
in peril by HIM in whom I have placed my trust. Your mother knows
what a fisherman’s life is. Ay, boy, it was my pride to fortify her
mind against adversity. But go, James, and help your father reef the
bowsprit; for we shall have the gale here presently.”

And a gale indeed they had; for scarcely was the glory of the day
departed, when the wind, like a destroying angel, came sweeping over
the surface of the deep, and dashing the billows up to heaven with
fury. Night shed its blackness on the scene, whilst the dense fog
rendered it more drear and horrible. Poor James thought of his mother
and his happy home; whilst his brother Ned, though two years his
junior, seemed like a child of the tempest, exulting in its lavish
wildness.

The Fisherman’s Family (for such was the name of the smack) rode
buoyant on the waves; she rose and fell with the heave and set of the
sea, like the swift-winged swallow when it stems the tempest; and the
small bark scarcely felt the roughness of the billows, where larger
vessels would have laboured fearfully with their heavy burdens.

It was about ten o’clock, when the crew of the smack thought that
amidst the roaring of the storm they could distinguish the reports
of signal-guns at a distance, and every ear was anxiously inclined
to discover the quarter whence the sounds proceeded. At length they
became more distinct, and it was soon ascertained that the vessel must
be nearing them. The fog was still thick and gloomy, yet occasionally
there were intervals of partial clearness; and it was during one of
these breaks that a ship was descried drifting at the mercy of the wind
and waves, for it was evident, from the wild course she was pursuing,
that all management was lost. Her foremast, bowsprit, and main top-mast
were gone; and having nothing aloft to steady her, the billows beat
against her sides and dashed raging over her. The smack showed a light,
which was immediately answered, and two guns fired to acknowledge the
near approach of succour.

“That ship has lost her rudder as well as her masts,” exclaimed the
old man; “she has struck somewhere; and now my lads, to render them
assistance!”

“Oh, if we should get her safe into Mount’s Bay, grandfather,” said
James, “and a good salvage[5] awarded, what would mother say to us
then? I should not mind the loss of the nets.”

“Let us save their lives,” said Ned, “at all events; and if we can save
the ship too, so much the better.”

In the course of another hour the smack was hailing the ship, and
found that her rudder had been knocked away upon the rocks at the same
time that the masts and bowsprit had fallen with the shock. She had
also sprung a leak under the bows, and the pumps could barely keep her
free. As, however, no immediate danger was apprehended, the smack kept
near the shattered vessel until daylight, when the father of the youth
contrived to get on board, by running close alongside and catching a
rope with a noose at the end, which he passed securely round his body
and was hauled through the water by the ship’s crew. The smack then
dropped astern with a stout rope, and by her judicious movements acted
as a rudder to the large vessel, which was got before the wind for
the Bristol Channel; but the towrope parted soon after, and the gale
increased to a downright hurricane.

Upon an eminence on the coast between Penzance and the Land’s End stood
a substantial dwelling, which though designated a cottage, presented
every token of homely comfort. A quantity of fishing materials, hung
out to dry, showed it to be tenanted by those hardy sons of the ocean,
who brave the greatest dangers to procure fish for the markets; whilst
the air of neatness and enjoyment also proved it to belong to one of
that class of men, who risk their existence to save the lives and
property of others--the undaunted pilot. A winding and declivious path
led to the shelving rocks below, which formed a small inlet or bay
for vessels of a light draught, that had received the name of the
Smuggler’s Gap, from its having been frequently used by those daring
outlaws in their illegal trade.

On the same evening that has been already mentioned, an anxious mother
quitted the cradle in the cottage to look out towards the sea for those
whom, next to heaven, she loved best. Her foreboding eye had witnessed
the same prognostics of the gale, and with a heavy heart she resumed
the mother’s watch over her sleeping infant. A fair and beautiful
female, about fifteen years of age, was attending to the duties of
the house; a boy of ten years sat by his mother’s side gazing on her
care-marked countenance; whilst a girl of three years was sharing her
supper with a rough but favourite dog on the hearth before the fire.

“I must feed poor Dorey, mother,” said the little one, “for James told
me to be kind to him. Poor Dorey!” continued she, patting his head, “I
wish James was here.”

“You should remember, Mary,” replied the mother, “there are also your
father and your grandfather.”

“And Edward,” added the boy; “I miss him very much; for he used to help
me up the rocks, and I am afraid to scramble along alone.”

“All are equally dear to us, William,” rejoined the mother, “and all
are equally under the care of Providence. Yes; I trust the Fisherman’s
Family is safe.”

“Who gave her that name, mother?” inquired William; “you promised to
tell me.”

“I did, my child; and as my heart is heavy, I will now relate to you
how it happened. Your grandfather in his younger life was brought
up to expect a genteel competency, for his father was a wealthy
ship-owner at Liverpool. He was sent to sea early, whilst his brother
remained at home to manage the business. But that brother was cruel and
treacherous; he weaned his father’s affections from the poor sailor,
and got a will made entirely in his own favour. Your grandfather, not
suspecting the wickedness of his brother, was frequently absent on long
voyages; and when only in his twentieth year, he married a poor girl,
who had no other recommendation than her beauty of person and integrity
of heart. He married too without the sanction of his father, who from
that hour forbade him his presence and never saw him more--for the
angry parent died a few months afterwards. On arranging his father’s
affairs, your grandfather found himself disinherited; and his brother,
who had dissipated a great portion of the property previous to the old
man’s dissolution, gathered the residue together and embarked for the
East Indies. But your grandfather was not wholly destitute; he had
saved something handsome to begin life with, and purchased a share of
a ship, of which he obtained the command. Still adversity pressed upon
him: his ship was captured by the enemy, and he returned (for they
did not detain the prisoners then) to England almost pennyless. My
mother had relations at St. Ives, and thither the poor sailor and his
wife repaired. They were received with welcome; and he, unwilling to
leave my dear mother for any length of time, commenced his career as
a fisherman and a pilot. Success crowned his labours; and he not only
obtained a handsome maintenance, but was enabled to purchase a vessel
of his own. In this house I was born, and when I grew up, was married
to your father and had a family. The old vessel was broken up and a
new one built, which was called by the name it now bears. Oh, how many
anxious hours does your father pass for the Fisherman’s Family ashore,
and how many days of earnest solicitude do I endure for the Fisherman’s
Family at sea! But go, my children, the storm is coming on. Go to your
beds; but first kneel to the Creator and humbly implore his guardian
care for the poor mariners.”

Heavily passed the night with the apprehensive mother; often did she
approach the dizzy edge of the steep cliff, but no other sounds were
heard except the continued howling of the tempest and the roaring of
the breakers. Fervently were her petitions offered up before the throne
of Omnipotence; and amidst the appalling demonstrations of almighty
power did the creature of his will plead with her Creator. His voice
was heard upon the storm, proclaiming dominion and majesty; but her’s
mingled with it, as in prostration of heart she earnestly supplicated
mercy.

Morning appeared, but the desired vessel could not be distinguished.
The sea presented one wide sheet of foam, with here and there a dark
object driven like the ocean weed upon the waters. At the close of
the day, a dismasted ship with a smack in company was seen through
the dim haze, drifting towards the shore. They were yet several miles
distant; but hope for the ship there was none, unless the gale abated.
The intuitive eye of the mother readily recognised the little bark
that held, as she supposed, her father, her husband, and her two sons;
and all the several relative bonds were linked more closely round her
heart. Their occupation was manifest,--they were waiting to assist
fellow creatures in distress; and the abundant prayer for the safety of
all spontaneously ascended from her lips.

Night veiled them from observation; but the bold seamen of the
neighbourhood, headed by the reverend pastor of the village as a
magistrate, remained in readiness to act as circumstances required.
Apprehension sat on many a furrowed countenance, and dark
anticipations filled many a feeling breast. But language would fail to
describe the agony which suspense and fearful agitation wrought in the
mother’s heart.

At length, about midnight, the report of a heavy gun echoed among the
rocks, and told that the devoted ship was near at hand; the flash had
pointed out her position, but nothing could yet be seen. The pastor
with his resolute band of determined boatmen hastened to the shore;
report followed report; fires were lighted on the rocks to show that
land was near, but still no object could be discerned.

The storm came more heavily, and vivid lightnings rent the frowning
clouds; then when the glaring flash threw its stream of awful
splendour on the feathery foam, that fated ship was seen struggling
with the waves. As a last resource she had let go her anchors; and
there she lay, like the soul of the mighty, wrestling with despair.
Another gun--and yet another--but help was hopeless, From the shore
no assistance could be given; every attempt to get through the raging
surf was useless; and the brave boatmen were compelled--an unusual
circumstance--to be sad spectators of the scene.

The ship rode heavily as the long rolling waves came foaming in.
Suddenly a shriek was heard upon the shore--a wild cry: the vessel had
parted her cables, and the streaming lightning showed her careering
towards the rocks with resistless force. Onward she came (as was
now plainly visible) through the hissing foam. Still onward, onward
she urged her desperate course, till a tremendous crash--a loud
yell--proclaimed that her stout timbers were shattered, and many a
stouter heart was buried in the waves.

The ship had struck on that part of the shore where the rocks were
steepest; and the wreck remained wedged in firmly between two craggy
knolls not more than one hundred fathoms from perfect safety. But even
that was a fearful space; for the heavy breakers rolled over the sunken
rocks and dashed with wild fury. Body after body came on the surge,
and were thrown upon the land: but life had fled, and no effort could
restore animation to the mangled and disfigured corpse.

The inhabitants of the adjacent village, young and old, were crowded
on the strand; and amidst the group was the venerable rector. Often,
when the vivid flash illuminated the foaming billows and showed the
deck of the rending vessel, he rushed with his horse towards the spot;
but the barrier was impassable, and the bitter shriek rang upon his
tortured ears. “Oh, that I could die for them!” he exclaimed. “Father
of mercies, stretch forth thine hand and save!” Willingly would he
have given his life for theirs; for he was prepared to meet his God,
whilst they would be hurried into the presence of their Maker without a
moment for repentance.

Morning began to dawn, and dawned in horror; but with its earliest
beam the smack was seen about a mile from the shore under snug sail
and apparently in safety. The anxious mother was with the villagers,
but the children remained at the house upon the cliff. Sleepless had
been their night; and at the break of day the terrified Jane, with
William and the little Mary, stood upon the shelving rock above the
yawning gulf which had already entombed many of their fellow creatures.
They could see the Fisherman’s Family, as the light became more clear;
and it was evidently the intention of those on board to run for the
Smuggler’s Gap,--a small red flag having been hoisted at the mast-head
to require the boatmen on shore to hold themselves in readiness to give
assistance.

At this moment, whilst the children were standing gazing at the vessel,
the heavens seemed to be rent asunder, and the red blaze of the forked
lightning darted forth; it struck the smack, and masts and sails came
tumbling down in one general wreck. “My father! my father!” skrieked
the horror-stricken Jane, recoiling backward and grasping her brother
round the neck, as if she feared that he too would be torn away. The
little Mary clung on the other side, and even the poor dog looked with
instinctive dread towards the ocean.

But though the smack was dismasted, her hull still continued to float,
and every wave drove her nearer to the shore. Oh, what an agonizing
sight was that to the fond mother and her children! The former ran
hurriedly among the boatmen, exhorting and imploring them to use their
best exertions to snatch her relatives from death. Her spirits seemed
to rise in proportion as their peril increased; and she laboured to
forward the preparations which were making as a last effort to rescue
the little crew.

The ship still continued grinding between the rocks, and victim after
victim was hurried into eternity. From portions of the wreck which had
drifted on shore, it was conjectured that she was a free trader from
Calcutta; and the number of hands and passengers were calculated at
seventy. The boatmen had made repeated efforts to get a rope from her,
but all their attempts had failed. At length, part of a mast with five
individuals clinging to it was seen to be rent away from the body of
the wreck, and lifted by a mountain surge clear over the craggy rocks.
Another wave came rolling in; but just before it reached them, it
raised its awful crest, and with a tremendous roar, like the famished
panther when seizing his prey, dashed furiously upon their heads. They
were seen for a few moments hurled confusedly amongst the bubbling
eddies, and then disappeared. Once more the shattered mast floated,
but there were now only three, who clung to it with desperate energy
as they neared the shore and hopes of life revived. The next wave was
still more raging than the last, but its fury was spent before it
reached the swimmers; and “they’re safe! they’re safe!” was shouted
from the shore. The boatmen plied their oars with redoubled strength,
and in a few minutes the three men were hauled into the boat, which
immediately made for the safest landing-place.

The villagers hurried to the spot, and the anxious mother, hoping to
hear tidings of her family, stood foremost amongst them as the boat
ran upon the strand. But who can paint her joy and her terror, her
delight and her agony, when she saw that one of the individuals saved
was her husband! They were soon clasped in each other’s arms; but the
bitter recollection that lives infinitely precious to them were still
in jeopardy with scarcely a hope of rescue, roused them to exertion.
Richard turned to the boat and assisted an elderly man to land. The
moment the latter touched the ground, he fell upon his knees and
offered up a thanksgiving to the Creator; he then clung round the neck
of Richard, and blessed him as the instrument of his preservation. “I
should have sunk,” said he, “but you supported me; you snatched me from
death and--but I have power to show my gratitude.”

The other man saved was a seaman, who reported the ship to be the
“Isabella,” from the East Indies. How many had perished he could not
tell; but there were yet more than one half of the crew, and nearly
the whole of the passengers on board. By the aid of their glasses, the
boatmen could discern the hapless creatures as they watched the success
of those who had been saved, and several launched themselves upon the
fickle element lashed to broken pieces of the wreck. The boats were
again on the alert, and the boatmen had the satisfaction of picking up
all that the billows allowed to come within their reach.

But now the principal attention of the men on shore was devoted to the
smack, as she neared the craggy barriers for security. The old man with
his two grandsons and two men, who formed the crew, had been actively
engaged in getting up a boat’s mast, on which they hoisted a small
sail so as to give the vessel steerage way; and it seemed to answer
the required purpose, for the little bark with impetuous haste rushed
onward to the Smuggler’s Gap, as if bidding defiance to suspense.

Pale anxiety sat on every countenance. “Is there any hope?” inquired
the rector, addressing a gray-headed veteran, who from infancy had
been inured to the tempest, and had the character of a bold intrepid
sailor. Report made him the associate of a gang of smugglers; but
humane as he was brave, many a shipwrecked seaman was indebted to
Donald Ferguson for his life. “Is there no hope?” inquired the rector.
A look of melancholy anxiety was the only answer. The rector repeated
his question.

“Sailors never despair, sir,” replied Donald, “and if they once get
well in the--but stop: I have no right to disclose to any one, much
more to you.”

“Yet,” rejoined the rector, “when yon gallant ship has been lost, can
so small a vessel be saved?”

“Have hopes, sir,” replied Donald; and then turning away, “Ned,” he
exclaimed to a rough, hardy-looking fellow, well drenched with the
surf, who immediately approached him. They whispered together for a few
minutes, and then Ned ran from place to place selecting the strongest
and most daring of the boatmen for some particular purpose.

“Ned,” exclaimed Donald again, “overhaul the hawser down, ship the
capstan bars, and be all ready. Remember, it is life or death, my
hearty! I myself will hook her on.”

“No, no,” said Richard, “that shall be my doing; you are old, Donald.”

“But not feeble,” replied the veteran; “your anxiety would betray
you; besides, you have a wife and other children, but if old Donald
goes, nobody will miss him. Do as you are bid, my boy; and now for the
marks!” He waved his hat, and two conspicuous objects were instantly
raised at different distances on the rocks, to act as a guide to those
in the smack where to make their passage.

Who can describe the feelings of the spectators, as they looked on with
doubtful apprehension and silent astonishment! The smack was now so
close to the shore, that every one was visible. No bustle nor confusion
prevailed: all seemed ready with cool intrepidity to attend to their
several duties. The old man stood stationed at the helm, and with
steady gaze kept his eyes fixed upon the beacons. Now she was lifted up
to heaven, and borne with amazing rapidity through the outer breakers;
again she sunk and disappeared beneath the hollow seas.

“She’s gone! she’s gone!” exclaimed the rector; but in an instant the
vessel again mounted on the topmost wave, and rushed with surprising
swiftness through the foaming surge. At this moment a dreadful broken
sea came, raging with all its fury; it burst upon the deck, and seemed
to bury the little craft in the dark abyss. Breathless, agonizing fear
filled every heart, and groans and shrieks mingled with the gale. But
again the smack rose, though the helm was now deserted, and the vessel
seemed abandoned to her fate. Once more, however, was hope revived; for
young Edward with cool determination ran to the tiller, and directed
her headlong course.

The vessel had reached the secret channel known only to the illicit
trader; she neared the beach; the sea again struck her, and she was
carried by its force through the inner breakers. A wild shout of joy
arose from the shore as the smack gained the smooth water, agitated
only by the receding swell; but at this instant, she struck the ground
heavily and rent in twain, the retiring surge carrying back the
shattered fragments towards the rocks. And now the hardy race of brave
boatmen, reckless of danger, plunged headlong in the waves. Old Donald
took the lead; he grasped the arm of the lad James and turned towards
the shore; the surf threw them up with violence and would again have
returned them to the sea, but Donald seized the rope which had been
overhauled down and kept his firm grasp; in a few seconds more they
were safe on land. Richard succeeded in saving his father-in-law,
aided by the boy Ned, who swam like a fish and seemed to triumph in the
element. Not a soul was lost of that little crew; and relatives and
friends flocked round, rejoicing in their deliverance.

The grandfather, with Richard, his wife, and the whole of the
fisherman’s family, accompanied by the stranger who had been saved
from the ship, hastened to the cottage on the cliff. They entered the
abode with congratulations, and the stranger was ushered into the best
apartment. He sat down, blessing his deliverer and forming schemes in
his own mind to testify his gratitude. Suddenly his eyes were rivetted
on a picture that hung suspended over the mantel-piece; it was a
portrait of the unkind father who had disinherited his son, through the
false representation of a still more cruel brother; but it had been
preserved by the old man as the last relic of his family. The stranger
gazed upon it with earnestness, and he then eagerly turned to the aged
fisherman:--their eyes met, and again both looked at the picture. The
stranger covered his face with his hands and groaned bitterly.

“I do not value the loss of the vessel,” said Richard, “so that we have
all met together again. But come, father,” he continued, “let us kneel
and offer up our grateful praises to the throne of grace.”

“Stop, stop!” cried the stranger convulsively: “my presence would be a
clog upon your prayers. I too had a father--that picture was his,” he
continued, falling on his knees before the venerable old man, “and you
must be--you are my noble-minded, my much-injured brother.”

Oh, what a meeting was this! Animosity had long since subsided, and the
word “brother” revived all the attachment of their boyish days.

What need of saying more? they knelt together; and whilst without the
storm raged, within the cottage

    “The peace of God, beyond expression sweet,
    Filled every being humbled at his feet.”

They rose, and the stranger--stranger now no longer--was received
into the circle with delight. A man entered the room, announcing
that several of the seamen who had been saved from the wreck were
waiting outside the house, to know if they might take shelter in
some outbuildings. The kind-hearted mother would not permit this,
but succoured them under the same roof with her children, and gave
them plentiful refreshment. The stranger went amongst them, and they
instantly rose from their repast with the utmost respect. From them
he learned that the whole of the remaining portion of the crew and
passengers had quitted the ship. About thirty had perished; but the
rest, nearly forty in number, were safe on land. Another man now
entered, and addressed the stranger as Sir William Russell. Yes! he was
great, he was wealthy; and from that hour his influence and his wealth
were devoted to the promotion of the happiness and welfare of the
FISHERMAN’S FAMILY.


FOOTNOTES

[3] The Seven Stones are dangerous rocks lying between the Scilly Isles
and the Land’s End.

[4] A small bird, like a swallow, that is scarcely ever seen
except previously to or during a gale of wind. It is viewed with a
superstitious feeling by seamen, who call it “Mother Carey’s Chicken.”

[5] Salvage is a sum of money allowed to individuals who are
instrumental in saving a ship from being wrecked.




THE RED FLAG AT THE FORE.

  “Come, sit thee down by me, love; come, sit thee down by me,
  And I will tell thee many a tale of the dangers of the sea,--
  Of the perils of the deep, love; when the stormy tempests roar,
  And the raging billows wildly dash upon the groaning shore.

  The skies are flaming red, love, the skies are flaming red,
  And darkly rolls the mountain wave, and curls its monstrous head;
  Whilst clouds and ocean blending, and loud howls the bitter blast,
  And the daring tar, ’twixt life and death, clings to the shattered mast.”


Never shall I forget my emotions on first ascending the side of
the ship, in which I commenced my career as a sailor. It was just
about the time when Nelson and the Nile was the universal theme of
conversation; our theatres echoed to the shouts of “Rule Britannia,”
and the senate-house rang with plaudits for the achievements of naval
valour. But ah! how few who rejoiced in the triumphs of victory, gave
one thought to the hardships, privations, and oppressions under which
the gallant seaman laboured. Boy-like, I thought it was a jovial life;
and when standing on the deck, with the British ensign floating at the
peak, and the bull-dogs (cannon) peeping from their port-holes, I felt,
“ay, every inch a hero.” Besides, there was my handsome uniform, with
bright gilt buttons bearing the impress of the anchor, and my dirk,
just long enough to spit a partridge, swinging like a cook’s skewer by
my side, and a leathern belt with two fierce lions’ heads in front,
and that summit of a school-boy’s ambition, the cocked hat and gold
rosettes. What child of twelve years could resist the temptation! So
I e’en kissed my poor mother, who used to compare the rattling of the
rain, as it ran down the spout into the water-butt, to the roaring
of the waves, and for whom gilded buttons and cocked-up hats had no
charms,--shook my father by the hand, as he gave me the bill for my
outfit, to make me (by calculating the expense) more careful of my
clothes,--threw my arms round the neck of my weeping sister, who slyly
thrust something into my waistcoat pocket, which I afterwards found
was all her own private little store of cash,--and away I started with
glory in my eye, to leave “home, sweet home” far, far behind me.

The ship which I was going to join, was a fine dashing frigate,
commanded by a friend of my father’s friend, to whom I received the
most handsome recommendations. I say friend of my father’s friend,
for such he was represented to me; but the fact is, my worthy dad was
a freeman of no contemptible borough, besides holding a considerable
influence over a certain number of _independent_ voters, and one
of the candidates, whilst canvassing for the general election, had
declared that “I was cut out for a sailor,”--that “he had interest at
the Admiralty,” and made no doubt that by diligence and attention I
should soon carry the “red flag at the fore.” I thought so too; but
what the “red flag at the fore” meant, I was just as ignorant as I was
of cuckoo-clock making. Nevertheless, it sounded well, the candidate
became an M. P., and I was sent on board a stranger amongst strangers,
and about as much patronised as a widow’s pig upon a village green.

I had never seen a ship,--I had never seen the sea; and when the wide
ocean burst upon my view, rolling its mighty billows in majectic
grandeur, I began to think that they were not the most pleasant things
in life to play with, particularly for such a little fellow as myself;
but, when the stupendous bulwarks of Britain appeared, as they lay at
anchor in the bay, with their shining sides reflected on the waves and
their bright ensigns flashing in the sun, fear gave way to admiration,
and I began to sing--

        “I’m a jolly roving tar,
        Fearing neither wound nor scar,
    And many a tightish breeze then have I seen.”

But, bless your heart! I had seen nothing then; nevertheless, I thought
of the “red flag at the fore,” and as the boat lightly skimmed the
surface of the dark blue waters, a feeling of honest pride swelled
in my little breast;--henceforth I was to be devoted to my king and
country.

The first-lieutenant received me very graciously. The wonders
which every where presented themselves almost overwhelmed me with
astonishment and delight. But, alas! this was not of long duration; for
a youngster about my own age accompanied me to the cockpit, where I
was to take up my abode. The dark cavern which formed the mess-berth,
where a ray of daylight never entered, seemed rather horrible to my
imagination, and the motley group of all ages from ten to twenty-five
that filled it, did not inspire me with much confidence.

At the door stood a stout negro, scarcely visible except by his white
teeth and his rolling eyes, which strongly reminded me of Robinson
Crusoe’s monster in the cave, and a little sprig of a midshipman
was venting imprecations on him for not having the dinner ready.
Surrounding a table inside the berth, which was illumined by two
_dwarf_ candles, that appeared as if they had never reached their
proper growth, sat eight or ten small officers, employed in various
ways. One was playing a difficult piece of music on the flute, with the
notes placed before him, propped up by a quart bottle; a companion, to
annoy and ridicule him, had put his pocket comb between two pieces of
paper, and applying it to his mouth, produced a sound more execrable
than the bagpipes, yet still endeavouring to imitate the tune. Two
youths in the farthest corner had quarrelled, and were settling their
disputes in a boxing-match. Another seemed totally abstracted from
the scene, and leaning his elbows on the table, was contemplating the
miniature of a fair-haired girl, whose mild blue eyes beamed with love
and constancy. On the opposite side of the table two youngsters, with
a treatise on seamanship before them, were arguing in no very gentle
terms on their own proficiency in naval tactics. At the head of the
table an old master’s-mate was exercising his authority in preserving
peace; but as he was engaged at the same time in mixing a good _stiff_
glass of grog, his orders were either disregarded or laughed at. But
there was one pale-faced lad, with a countenance full of intellectual
expression, whom I shall never forget. He sat by himself, with a small
writing desk before him, and on it lay a letter, the writer of which,
not satisfied with filling up each page with black ink, had crossed
the lines with red, and this letter he was endeavouring to answer. The
noise had disturbed him, for sheet after sheet had been torn up, and
lay in a pile by his side. He looked at the combatants, and a gentle
murmur escaped him; he turned to the musicians, and a smile lighted up
his features; he cast his eyes towards the youth whose thoughts were
with the pole-star of his affections, and a shade of melancholy sat
upon his brow. At this moment he caught sight of me, as I stood at
the door, undetermined whether to advance or recede, and his hand was
instantly extended. He closed his desk, remarking that “his sister must
wait another day,” and--but why need I recount every particular?--from
that hour we were friends.

Ay, how often when the pale moon at midnight has thrown her silver
beams upon the bosom of the wave, or when the star-gemmed canopy of
heaven has glistened with its myriads of glories, have we two stood
together holding sweet converse on the past, and picturing bright
scenes of future fame. Yes! hand in hand, we have stood like brothers
talking of those sweet spots, endeared by every tie of fond regard,
where first we revelled in our infancy. Yet, oh God!--the vision is
even now before me--when I beheld that pale-faced youth struggling in
the agonies of death,--those features full of mild benevolence, still
more deadly in their hue and hideous in convulsive writhings,--the
hand that I had so often pressed with real unabated friendship, dyed
in the lifestream from his heart, as he worked his fingers in the deep
wound that dismissed his noble spirit! It was in action, when rage and
vengeance lashed the passions into fury. Yes! there he fell, and the
ocean was his grave.

But to return to my introduction. Almost at the same moment that I
entered the berth, a quarter-master came down and inquired if Mr.
Moriarty was below. A fine handsome young man, about two-and-twenty,
immediately answered in the affirmative. “Here’s a letter for you,
sir,” said the quarter-master, “with the Admiralty seal on the back,
and a direction full of sheep-shanks and long splices on the face of
it.”

“Ay! ay! Johnson,” replied the young officer, “the old story I
suppose:--‘the door of promotion is shut,’ and by and by I dare say
they will send me word that the key’s lost. But let us see, you old
sea-dragon, and don’t stand turning it over and over there, like a
Lapland witch at her incantations!”

The veteran was examining the letter with rather an inquisitive eye;
for his other eye was on an equally inquisitorial visit to a full
bottle of rum that stood upon the table, and he hesitated to give up
his charge to the young officer, who I now perceived had his right arm
in a sling in consequence, as I afterwards learned, of a wound received
in the battle of Aboukir.

“Cantations or no cantations, sir,” replied the old quarter-master,
“this here letter weighs heavy, and I have been close-hauled for these
two days past; and it’s dry work, sir, that tack and half tack.”

“Well, well, Johnson,” rejoined the midshipman, “you want a glass of
grog, and you shall have it; so, steward, give him one, d’ye hear. And
now hand over the scrawl.”

“Ay, ay, sir!” said Johnson, “and if it arn’t freighted with a pair of
white lapels--put some more rum in, you black angel!--then call old
Johnson a lubber, that’s all.” Moriarty laughed; but it was evident
that he took the letter with some degree of tremour, especially as one
of the youngsters jocosely addressed him as _Lieutenant_ Moriarty.

“Hold your prating, simpleton,” said he, “you wont find commissions so
plentiful when you come to my age, unless you happen to be a stray slip
of nobility, or have strong parliamentary interest to back you.”

The old quarter-master had been wrangling with the black steward for
another drop, and then holding up his grog, exclaimed, “Your health,
Lieutenant Moriarty! and I hope I shall live to see you carry ‘the red
flag at the fore.’”

“With all my heart, Johnson,” replied Moriarty, his eyes sparkling
with pleasure, for the letter was now unfolded; “and see, here is the
first step up the ratlines sure enough; whether I shall ever reach the
mast-head or not is another thing.”

It was an order from the Admiralty to go on shore and receive his
commission, and every one crowded round him full of congratulations.
I cannot say but I felt a little jealous about the “red flag at the
fore,” for I considered _that_ as my exclusive right, though utterly
ignorant of what it meant. But I was soon enlightened upon the subject,
for being naturally communicative, I mentioned my expectations of
getting “the red flag at the fore” during dinner, and several of the
little midshipmen nearly choked themselves with laughing at me. I
then learned that the “red flag at the fore” was the distinction of
a vice-admiral of the red; a station that not more than one officer
in five thousand ever attained, and even then only through very
distinguished merit or peculiar good fortune. Nevertheless, I was
nothing daunted, and the “red flag at the fore” urged me on.

We sailed a few days afterwards with a convoy for Bombay and China, but
destined to cruise ourselves in the neighbourhood of the Cape of Good
Hope. We had not quitted port more than a week, when we encountered a
very severe gale. It was the first time I had beheld the sea in such
commotion, and the spectacle was awfully grand. The noble ship was
borne like a weed upon the ocean at the mercy of the tempest, which
howled through the rigging so as to deaden the shouts of the seamen
while furling the heavy sails upon the yards. Billow after billow
beat over us, and as the rolling waves dashed up their frothy crests
to heaven, roaring in the wildness of their fury, I could not help
thinking how different the noise was from the comparison of my poor
mother, when she heard the rain patter into the water-butt. The convoy,
too, heavy-laden Indiamen and transports with troops, were scattered in
every direction; but now and then we could distinguish one or two, as
they appeared for a moment on the summit of the foaming surge, like dim
specks upon the verge of the horizon.

Night came and brought its frowning horrors; a pitchy darkness which
seemed almost palpable to the touch, hung with a funeral gloom above,
whilst the wild waves, lashed by the raging tempest into sparkling
foam, served but to render the blackness of the heavens more dense and
horrible. At the commencement of the gale the wind was dead against
us, and the ship was hove-to under a close-reefed main-topsail; but
towards midnight the wind veered in our favour, and we flew through
the liquid element with astonishing rapidity. The shifting of the gale
had produced a still wilder commotion in the waves, which seemed to be
struggling for the mastery. Wave after wave came raging after us and
threatening to ingulf the frigate; but, like a bird upon the wing, the
gallant vessel lifted to the swell and rushed down the steep abyss,
tracking her path with brilliancy and light.

I cannot say but the spectacle rather terrified me, and more than once
I wished the “red flag at the fore” at the--

“Stop,” says the reader, “and do not conclude the sentence.” But
really, gentle reader, I must; for I was merely going to say that I
wished the “red flag at the fore” at the mast-head, and myself snug in
my own little bed-room with my poor mother to tie my night-cap, and to
tuck me in.

Ossian or Byron, I forget which, says: “Once more upon the waters, yet
once more, and the waves bound beneath me as a steed that knows his
rider;” but I found a vast deal of difference between mounting the
speckled waves and riding my own pretty little piebald pony. Morning
at length appeared; the wind had again changed, and the ship was once
more hove-to. But if the gale of the preceding night had been furious,
it now came with redoubled violence, and the stately vessel which had
so lately steered her course in majesty and pride, lay writhing and
groaning between the billows like the soul of the mighty smuggling with
the last pangs of mortality.

Orders were given to furl the foresail, and about sixty of the best
seamen sprang aloft to execute the command. Already had they extended
themselves upon the yard, and were gathering up the folds of the heavy
canvass, when a tremendous sea came like an Alpine mountain rushing
towards us. As the poor wretch, when the fierce eye of some famished
beast of prey is glaring on him, stands fixed and immovable, so did the
seamen suspend their labours when they saw the waters of destruction
approaching. No human voice could warn them of their danger, no hand
could be outstretched to save. There seemed to be a momentary stillness
in the storm, and a shuddering instinct crept through every spirit,--a
horrible dread of they knew not what.

Still onward rolled the wave; it struck the vessel on the bows, and
threw its ponderous burden on the deck. A crash mingled with a wild
tumultuous yell ensued, and when the spray had cleared, it was found
that the fore-mast had been swept away, and upwards of fifty brave
fellows were buried in the waves. Some still remained entangled in the
rigging; but man after man was washed away till one alone was left. We
could see him--we could speak to him--but only that Power who holds the
tempests in his hands could rescue him from death. There he struggled;
blank despair in every feature, as his strong limbs writhed round
the shattered mast, and with convulsive agony he buffeted the waves.
Of what avail was human strength in such an hour of peril? His hold
relaxed;--it became weaker, and slowly he settled in his watery grave.

I need not describe the effects which such a scene produced upon the
mind of a boy not thirteen years of age, and even at this moment,--so
strong are first impressions,--the crash, the yell, and the agonized
contortions of that drowning man, are present to my mind in all their
horrors.

The wreck was cleared, the storm abated; a jury-mast was erected, and
once more the stately frigate held her way upon the glossy surface of
the azure wave. The first duty was to collect the convoy, and heavy
forebodings of their fate were whispered among the crew. One by one,
however, they gathered round us, showing manifest indications of the
recent storm.

There is something peculiarly interesting to a seaman in the
assembling of ships after a gale of wind; it occasions a sensation
which a landsman can never feel, unless it is that sort of melancholy
satisfaction when friends meet who have surmounted adversity together,
but with the apprehension of similar calamity before them. Several of
the convoy were yet undiscovered, and as the evening was closing in,
the heavy report of a distant gun came booming on the waters. Another
and another followed in rapid succession, and the frigate’s course was
directed towards the spot from whence the sounds proceeded.

The sun went down in glory; its radiance tinged the bosom of the liquid
element, but it never rose again on those whose signals of distress
we heard. They must have seen his last beams arching the heavens with
their golden brightness, and light and hope must have expired to them
for ever.

The wind opposed our progress, and the swell still rolled against us,
though now it was only the heaving of the sea without its breaking
violence. Still we approached nearer to the object of our search, as
the noise of the guns was more distinct, and the flashes were plainly
visible. At length, about midnight, by the help of glasses, a dismasted
ship was distinguished rolling like a log upon the waters. Every nerve
was strained, every effort was made to intimate that assistance was at
hand, and the boats were prepared to give succour, or to snatch from
destruction. The sight was eagerly bent towards the spot where the
clear horizon was broken by the dark object of our good intentions.
Suddenly the curve appeared connected; in vain the eye sought the
vessel in distress; for nothing obstructed the view of sky and ocean,
and “She’s gone! she’s gone!” was simultaneously exclaimed by officers
and men.

Yes! she was gone; and the gallant ship, that had endured the fury
of the tempest, sunk when its wrath was spent. But that tempest had
doubtless shaken her stout frame and rent her joints asunder. Yet it
was hard to perish almost within the grasp of safety.

Hopes were still entertained that some, if not all, had escaped in the
boats. Our own were hoisted out, and having neared the supposed spot,
were immediately despatched. The morning dawned in magnificence and
splendour; the sun rose in glorious majesty, but his earliest beams
glanced on a scattered wreck that told a tale of death. The boats were
actively employed in passing to and fro, but no appearance of human
being could be discerned. The launch was discovered bottom upwards, and
another boat broken nearly in two. The truth was soon disclosed, for
the name, ATLAS, on the stern of the launch, informed us that nearly
two hundred victims had perished in the deep. How the catastrophe had
happened could only be matter for conjecture.

One of our boats fell in with some floating spars, which were lashed
together so as to form a kind of floating raft; and on turning them
over, a scene presented itself that filled every soul with anguish. A
young female apparently about twenty-two, with an infant fastened round
her body, had been secured to the timber,--perhaps the last sad office
of a tender husband, who in the affectionate solicitude of his heart,
had vainly hoped to rescue them from death. They were taken on board
the frigate, sewed up in a hammock, and again consigned to that element
at once their destruction and their grave.

One other ship was still missing; what became of her, I never heard;
but after waiting a proper time, we pursued our way to the island of
St. Jago, the place of rendezvous. A succession of fine weather soon
deadened the remembrance of the past, and by the time of our reaching
the Cape de Verds, the “red flag at the fore” had once more gained the
ascendancy. The novelties which presented themselves at Port Praya, the
oranges, the cocoa-nuts, and above all, the monkeys sporting in their
native cunning unrestrained among the green foliage, were delightful;
whilst the waters in the bay were so clear and transparent, that fish
could be distinctly seen at the depth of from thirty to forty feet
swimming above the silver sand that covered the bottom.

Having refitted and watered, the anchor was once more weighed, and
we again directed our course to the place of destination. At the
latitude appointed, we parted from our convoy, and then were left
alone. Days, weeks passed on, and no sail ever appeared in sight to
change the dull monotony. It was still the same unvaried scene of sky
and ocean, and not unfrequently severe and boisterous weather. At the
end of five weeks, we were gratified by the sight of a ship steering
towards us, and in a few hours had retaken a fine Indiaman, prize to a
French frigate. No time was lost in securing her, but the irreparable
devastation caused by scurvy among our crew, rendered it necessary to
proceed with our recapture to Madras; and thither we hastened.

On our arrival, fresh scenes that appeared like enchantment opened
upon me. The natives on their catamarans, formed of three or four logs
lashed together, dashing without dismay through the tremendous surf
that rolled upon the beach with everlasting roar, and the manners and
habits of the people, filled my young mind with wonder and admiration.
I regret that my first letter to my poor mother is not forthcoming; in
fact, the worthy soul considered it such a concentration of genius and
talent,--I much question whether there was not some little exaggeration
in my descriptions,--that she wore it completely out by carrying it in
her pocket to show to all her friends and neighbours.

We remained three years in the East Indies without anything material
occurring, and then the cry was--“Huzza for old England!” But it would
be an almost endless task were I to enumerate all my adventures,
perilous and humorous, and sometimes a combination of both, in my
strenuous endeavours to attain the “red flag at the fore.” Before my
six years had expired, I had been in seven different engagements,
received three wounds, (one of them severe,) been once shipwrecked,
and once taken prisoner, but escaped. Storms I had weathered many; had
visited the coast of Africa, South America, and New South Wales; but
still I endured every thing for the sake of the “red flag at the fore.”

At the expiration of six years, I passed my examination for lieutenant
and received my certificate of qualification; which, after waiting a
modest time, I forwarded with a memorial to my patron, who had been
elevated to the House of Peers. His answer was, that “things were
materially changed since I first went to sea; the same individuals were
not now in office, and he much questioned whether he could obtain my
promotion; indeed he hinted that it would be better for me to quit the
service, and apply myself to some other profession.” I cannot describe
my disappointment and vexation. Through the representations of this
man, I had given up the sweets of childhood to endure the severest
hardships and privations. I had toiled unflinchingly in my duty; I
had fought the battles of my country, and could show my honourable
scars; and thus to have the “red flag at the fore” torn down by the
hand I expected to raise me!--my pride, and every feeling of my heart,
revolted against it. I was determined to persevere.

Other six years passed away, in which I was a partaker of some of the
most brilliant achievements of the war, when I was honoured, after
thirteen years’ servitude, with a lieutenant’s commission. But even
then it was not gained by any desperate act of valour, or by those
feats which are dear and precious to every British sailor’s heart; but
simply by obtaining (through the present of a handsome Cashmere shawl)
the interest of a fair lady, highly esteemed by the First Lord of the
Admiralty. However, I got the white lapels, and that was, as Moriarty
observed, “the first step up the ratlines” towards the “red flag at the
fore.”

After this, things went on tolerably ill among some sharp fighting and
many hard knocks. My poor mother slipped her cable for the blessed
haven of eternal rest. My sister got married to a pirate, who plundered
my father’s property, and then cast her adrift upon the world. The
old gentleman’s gray hairs were brought with sorrow to the grave,
my sister’s coffin was soon placed upon his breast, and I was left
desolate.

Still the “red flag at the fore,” like a will-o’the-wisp, lured me on.
I conducted one of the fire-ships at Lord Cochrane’s attack upon the
French fleet in Basque Roads; had the command of a gun-boat at the
storming of St. Sebastian, and was with the army at the sortie from
Bayonne, in which I got a crack on the head--not big enough to jump in,
to be sure, but it set my brains spinning for a month. I commanded a
fast-sailing schooner charged with despatches for Wellington, when he
was expected to occupy Bordeaux, and entered the Garonne in the dead of
the night, lighted on my way by the flames of a French eighty-gun ship
that had been set on fire to prevent her falling into the hands of the
English; and having anchored in a secure position, left my vessel in
a four-oared boat, passed the batteries undiscovered, and executed my
orders as the brave marshal stood in the great square, with white flags
and beauty greeting his arrival.

Peace came: Bonaparte was elbowed off to Elba, and the “red flag at the
fore” was as far off as ever. My vessel was paid off, and after many
years of activity, I entered upon a life of indolence. But as Dr. Watts
very wisely observes, in one of the hymns which I was compelled to
learn at school when a child,--

    “Satan finds some mischief still,
    For idle hands to do;”--

so I e’en got married. The fair lady (she is now peeping over my
shoulder) attracted my attention at church by the broad and bright
ribands that graced the front of her bonnet. They reminded me of the
“red flag at the fore,” and an inglorious sigh escaped. Now every body
knows that a sigh is the beginning of love, for Byron says,

    “Oh, love! what is it in this world of ours
      That makes it fatal to be loved? Ah, why
    With cypress dost thou wreath thy bowers,
      And make thy best interpreter a sigh?”

Well, but to make short of it, I got married; but no sooner had
Napoleon returned from Elba, than I was again at my duty. I was sent by
Sir Pulteney Malcolm, then naval commander-in-chief at Ostend, with a
party of seamen to man the great guns in the army under Wellington on
the plains of Waterloo, and the “red flag at the fore” once more opened
on my view. It was on the very morning after the decisive battle, that
between Brussels and Bruges, I met the first detachment of prisoners
coming down from the field, and was ordered to take charge of them to
Ostend. There were about two thousand officers and men, most of them
wounded and without a single application or dressing to the mangled
parts; yet their devotion to Napoleon was unabated, and with their
stiffened limbs sore with laceration, and their bodies gashed and
scored with sabre cuts, they still shouted, “_Vive l’Empereur!_”

The battle of Waterloo ended the war; Bonaparte was despatched to St.
Helena, and all prospects of promotion are over. My noble patron has
accomplished the number of his days, and no “red flag at the fore” will
ever fall to my lot, unless indeed I include a certain Bardolphian
tinge to the most prominent feature of my face, which has been _red
at the fore_ for some years past; but excepting the half-pay of a
lieutenant, a small remnant of prize-money, and a wife and seven
children, I am as poor as a churchwarden’s charity-box.




THE PRISONER.

  “It is thou liberty! thrice sweet and gracious goddess, whom all in
  public and in private worship, whose taste is grateful and ever will
  be so, till Nature herself shall change.”

                                                             STERNE.


Twenty years had floated down the stream of time since my escape from a
French prison, and my almost immediate embarkation for the East Indies
with cheerful prospects and with a glowing heart. Hope and enterprise
urged me on in my career, and the efforts of my industry were crowned
with complete success. But ah! how dear the purchase; an Asiatic clime
had undermined my constitution, and ill health had rendered me peevish
and discontented; so that I determined once more to visit the land of
my nativity, and I embarked in an Indiaman for that purpose.

Only those who have been long estranged from the home of their
fathers, and are returning to it with ardent expectation and thrilling
apprehensions--only those can tell the mingling sensations of pain
and pleasure that agitate the breast, as the tall ship urges on her
course--“splash, splash, along the wave,”--while the anxious mariner,
day after day, calculates his distance from the shore and sighs to find
it yet so far away.

At last, I trod on British ground, but how changed were all things
since my departure! The authors of my being were no more; the
companions of my youth were scattered upon the wide world, or numbered
with the dead; while others whom I had folded in my arms at parting,
and felt my cheek bedewed with their tears, now received me with
distant politeness and cold reserve. No cheering heart-descriptive
smile of affection welcomed my return, and I found myself alone,
unfriended and unblest. Society became my aversion, and withdrawing
from the world to the cottage where I first received existence, my days
were passed in nurturing the melancholy that consumed my heart, and my
chief gratification was to pass the hours of solitude near the tomb of
my parents. There I would pour out my griefs, and pray to join them in
the blissful realms of immortality; but a life like this, working upon
a debilitated constitution, soon shattered my intellects, and my reason
became impaired.

One lovely evening in August, I had taken my usual position, and
the stillness of the hour, the serenity of the air, the surrounding
scenery, teeming with the choicest blessings of nature’s store and
gilded by the last rays of the setting sun, operated like enchantment
on my mind; while the solemnity of the lone churchyard, spread with the
turf-raised tenements of death, wrought upon my disordered imagination,
and filled me with a superstitious awe. The darkening shades of
twilight fell heavier on the landscape, and I gazed around with
indescribable sensations, fearing my eyes might rest on some unearthly
form, yet desperately wishing to know the secrets of the clay-cold
prison-house.

At this moment, as the full round moon shed her pale lustre on the
monumental stones, bleached by many a winter’s storm,--at this very
moment, my sight fell upon a strange mysterious figure, crouched near
a new-made grave. Every fibre of my heart was racked to the extreme,
every nerve was strung with maddening resolve. I rushed toward the
spot; but what was my horror, what were the sickening sensations of my
soul, when the figure raised his pale face, and as the moon-beams fell
upon it, I beheld the well-remembered countenance of one who had shared
the pastimes of my boyhood, who had been my fellow-prisoner at Verdun,
whose untimely death I had deplored, and whose mortal remains I had
myself seen consigned to the silent grave. It spoke; the voice seemed
to be the same, though mournful and sepulchral, and every faculty
of my mind seemed to be suspended. Again it spoke, and recognised
me,--changed as I was,--called me by name, and rising from the earth,
stretched forth its hand to welcome me. I shrunk back for an instant,
my brain was suddenly as if on fire, and then again was chilled to icy
coldness; life seemed to tremble on the verge of eternity. I sprang
forward, grasped the extended hand, and fell senseless to the earth. On
again recovering, the spectre was gone, but the recollection flashed
upon my mind. I hastened towards my cottage, and entered it a maniac.

Months passed away in this unhappy state;--sometimes the attendants
were animated by the faint glimmerings of hope, at others they were
prepared to resign me to the angel of death. However, contrary to every
expectation, I slowly recovered my reason and my health, when after
a careful explanation, the fancied spectre again visited me, and was
received as my old, my intimate friend; in short, we had been deceived
respecting his death and burial through the infamous intrigues of
the commandant, Wirrion, and from his own lips I heard the following
account:--

“You may remember, B----, the kindness which many of the prisoners
experienced from the inhabitants at Verdun, and the tender attachments
that united numbers of youthful hearts together, softening the loss
of liberty, and lightening the bonds of imprisonment. Can you forget
Adele,--the beautiful, blooming, innocent Adele? Do you not recollect
the first time we saw her at the gathering in of the vintage, when her
luxuriant auburn hair was entwined with the green leaves of the vine,
and she presided as the queen of the festival? Have you forgotten the
sweet voice that warbled forth such strains of harmony? Yes! you may
forget, but I never can.

“From that moment I loved Adele; from that moment our hearts were
firmly knit together, and every interview served to strengthen our fond
regard. She was an orphan, her parents had perished in the sanguinary
conflicts of the revolution, and she now resided with a widowed aunt,
whose only daughter had pledged her affection to our fellow-prisoner,
Robinson. Euphemia was light-hearted, gay, and full of spirit; Adele
was firm, cheerful, and enthusiastic, but at times a deep melancholy
overshadowed her disposition, nor would she reveal the cause.

“A few months after our first acquaintance, several officers had broken
their parole and escaped, the consequence was a rigid restriction on
the freedom of the rest; but still money at all times could overcome
the watchfulness of the guard. One evening, Robinson and myself had
bribed the _gens d’armes_ to permit our straying as far as the
vineyard. We found Euphemia at the cottage, but Adele had walked to
the verge of the grounds near the town, expecting our approach, and
as we had been compelled to enter them by another path, she was not
aware of our arrival. I immediately hastened towards the spot where I
expected to find her, when a low murmuring sound followed by a faint
shriek, arrested my steps. They were repeated still louder, and the
sound directed me to the place from whence they proceeded. The cry of
distress was enough for a British heart, and forgetting my situation as
a prisoner, forgetting every thing but that some one stood in need of
my assistance, I rushed forward. The shrieks continued, though fainter,
and in a few seconds I reached the spot where Adele, my own sweet
Adele, was struggling with a brute in human form. In an instant he was
prostrate at my feet, and the fainting, innocent maiden clasped to my
breast; but turning my eyes towards the wretch who thus had forfeited
all pretensions to the character of man, I saw my fate was sealed,--it
was the infamous, the cruel Wirrion.

“Before I could recover from my surprise, the villain had sprung upon
his feet and advanced towards us; but stopping short, he gnashed his
teeth, and shaking his clenched hand, exclaimed, ‘Eh bien, monsieur!’
and instantly retreated. ‘You are lost,’ cried Adele, ‘my Henry you are
lost! ’tis his persecutions have made me wretched, and I did not dare
to tell you, lest it might lead to dangerous consequences.’

“We ran to the cottage, related the events which had occurred, and then
bidding the sweet girls farewell, with heavy, dejected spirits Robinson
and I instantly returned to our quarters.

“Day after day passed on, but no public notice was taken of the
transaction. No! the villain played a deeper game. Our minds were kept
in a state of continued alarm by mysterious hints, rigid watchfulness,
and harsh regulations; till at last, in conjunction with our faithful
adherents, who sacrificed all selfish feelings to secure our safety,
we projected our escape, and they prepared to supply us with every
requisite for the purpose. Oppression had stirred up my spirit, and I
longed once more to tread the deck in the service of my country; yet to
leave Adele, whom I so fondly loved, and to leave her too exposed to
such a monster,--my heart sickened at the thought.

“I was sitting in my apartment, agitated by struggles between affection
and duty, reflecting that every means would be employed to shorten my
days if I remained, and the many chances there were against my escape,
when a lad entered and intimated that there was a peasant waiting
below, who wished to deliver a message. The person was introduced, and
we were left alone; but what was my surprise to find, under a peasant’s
garb, my beautiful Adele. She had brought the disguises we were to
assume, and came, as she said, ‘to weep her last farewell!’ Often did I
declare it was impossible to leave her; and as often did she press my
departure with an earnestness that surprised and distressed me.

“Every thing at last was finally arranged, and on the ensuing night,
Robinson and myself were to repair to a particular spot, where, upon a
concerted signal, a faithful guide would be ready to attend us. Short
was our interview,--I pressed her to my heart,--we pledged our solemn
troth,--and--she tore herself away.

“The following morning, Robinson received his instructions, and to
avoid suspicion, we kept within doors through the remainder of the day.
At dusk we sallied forth, and passed the gates just before they were
closed, not without suspicion, but our disguises were so admirably
contrived, as to deceive the penetrating looks of the guard. The night
was dark and stormy, and it was with great difficulty we reached the
suburbs near the vineyard. Here poor Robinson formed the resolution
of once more seeing Euphemia; and though I pointed out the danger,
yet my own heart was involuntarily attracted towards the cottage. We
approached, but were compelled to abandon the design, as the _gens
d’armes_ were evidently on the watch.

“We returned to the spot where our guide was to be in waiting, and
made the signal; but it met with no reply, and we dreaded lest by
delay we had forfeited the opportunity of escape. Crouched behind a
jutting rock, after remaining some time longer in anxious suspense, we
saw a figure moving at a short distance; the signal was again given,
and by being answered, we knew it to be our guide. He appeared, from
his stature, to be a mere lad; but the darkness of the night and a
broad-brimmed hat, concealed every feature of his face. Not a word
passed on either side, and we commenced our march over a rugged track
winding among the rocks, that greatly impeded our progress, till we
came suddenly upon the main road, and the next moment were surrounded
by a troop of cavalry. They interrogated our guide, but he was silent;
they addressed us, and suspecting we were betrayed through the
machinations of Wirrion, I was on the point of venting my indignation
on the guide, when he prevented it by answering we were peasants. The
reply not satisfying the officer, and the guide preparing to pass on,
he struck him a severe blow on the head with the flat of his sword;
a piercing shriek followed, that wrung my soul to agony,--such a
shriek as had once before fell upon my tortured ear; it was Adele,--the
generous, self-devoted Adele,--and she fell into my arms breathless and
bleeding.

“The officer and several of the troop alighted on discovering that our
guide was a female, and every means were used to restore animation,
which, after considerable exertion, proved successful; and we were
informed that our condition was well known, as they had only a short
time before seized the conveyance which was to carry us beyond the
frontiers, and had extorted the whole plot from the driver.

“There are some situations to which human nature may be exposed, that
come like a blight upon the heart, chilling every faculty, and such
was my case now; an icy coldness crept through my whole frame, and a
faint sick shuddering shook every nerve. Adele was still supported in
my arms, but I experienced neither grief nor pleasure; her blood ran
streaming down my breast, but excited neither horror nor resentment;
not a single murmur escaped from my lips, yet an insupportable weight
of anguish pressed heavy on my soul. I heard the curses and execrations
of our captors with indifference; but when they came to force her
from me, then--then my spirit was aroused,--then my dormant faculties
awakened from their stupefaction, and clasping her closer to my heart,
I swore to hold her there till death. The courageous girl clung round
me with all the powerful strength of maddening desperation, but how
futile were our efforts against the united force of such a band! we
were forcibly torn from each other; I saw her tender arms pinioned with
cords; I saw her mounted on one of their horses; my stupor returned,
and I patiently suffered them to bind my hands. Robinson and myself
were conveyed to the citadel, and put in close confinement.

“On the following morning, Wirrion came to our prison, and a ghastly
smile of infernal satisfaction played upon his features. Every epithet
my tongue could lavish on a villain, was poured on him. At first he
shrunk back; but approaching nigher, I heard his detested voice in a
half whisper muttering between his teeth, ‘Remember Adele!’ My hand was
instantly writhed in the wretch’s collar, but the bayonets of the guard
were presented,--nay, even pricked my breast, and the pain compelled
me to quit my hold, and we were condemned to solitary confinement for
breaking our parole. Oh! how many hours and days of agonized suspense
followed close upon each other! and though a cheerful gleam would
sometimes break upon our dreary solitude, yet the uncertainty as to
what had become of those we loved, clouded the brightest moments. In
vain exertions were used in our behalf; we were considered dead to the
world, and all its enjoyments.

“Among the soldiers who did duty near our prison, was an old grenadier,
and sometimes we surprised him gazing at us with deep and marked
emotion; but the moment he found himself observed, he would resume his
ferocious countenance and turn away. On a particular day of festival,
when discipline somewhat relaxed from its severity, our grenadier was
sentry over us, and having looked cautiously around, he growled out
a curse at the English prisoners, and thrust his bayonet towards the
grated bars of the window. At first, I thought he designed to stab me;
but observing something like white paper screwed up in the muzzle of
his firelock, it was instantly in my hand, and the piece withdrawn.
Hope once more played round my heart; it was a note in broken English,
expressive of sympathetic feeling, and promising assistance. The writer
had been a prisoner in England, and had shared the generous hospitality
of my countrymen; but what conveyed the greatest delight to my mind,
was assurances of the safety of the dear girls. After reading this
unexpected epistle, we looked down towards the veteran; but no effort
could again draw his attention, he continued pacing his post till
relieved, without taking the slightest notice. Means of communication
we had none, and several weeks of intense anxiety passed away without
again seeing the grenadier. Wirrion would frequently come to glut his
brutal malice, and never failed to drop some threatening hint of his
future intentions.

“One afternoon, the grenadier again appeared before our prison; but the
other sentinels were too near for him to convey any thing of which he
was possessed, though it appeared evident that such was his intention.
Recollecting the mode of receiving the last communication, I uttered a
torrent of abusive and provoking language; he seemed to understand my
meaning, and thrusting the bayonet through the bars, my hands grasped
the paper, and unfolded an affectionate yet mournful epistle from
Euphemia and Adele. The latter had been imprisoned, and every method
resorted to which was likely to effect her destruction; but, happily,
she had escaped all the machinations of the villain Wirrion. Her wound
had been healed, and she was again restored to liberty. This letter was
enclosed in a paper written on, I believe, by yourself with a pencil.”

“I remember it,” said I; “it was to give you hopes of escape, as
several had united in the cause, determined to set you at liberty; but
the commandant traversed our design. A Frenchman we entrusted, betrayed
our secret.”

“It was so,” he continued; “and from time to time the veteran supplied
us with information. By his means we were furnished with tools to cut
through the bars which confined us; but this was a work of time, and
could only be attempted at those hours when our friend was on sentry,
as the least noise of the file would have betrayed us to the man at the
next post. At last, after a sickening interval of several months, our
task was accomplished, and we waited in anxious expectation for further
instructions.

“It was on a stormy day in November, poor Robinson and myself were
sitting together on our only chair, conversing about home and recalling
to memory the transactions of our childhood, when parents, brothers,
sisters, and the companions of our juvenile amusements alternately
occupied our attention. From them the conversation turned to the land
of our nativity, and there was something so peculiar in Robinson’s
manner when speaking of his country, as to excite painful sensations
in my mind. His spirits were exceedingly dejected, though at times
an enthusiastic expression of devoted attachment to his king and his
profession lightened up his pale features with a glow of animation;
but it would presently sink again, and grasping my hand, while a tear
trembled in his eye, he uttered, ‘You will see them again, you will
once more tread on British soil, whilst I--yes, my grave will be made
in the land wherein I am a stranger. Yet tell them,--tell my parents
that Robinson never disgraced his cloth, or committed an act for which
they could blush.’ I endeavoured to divert his thoughts from such
ideas, but my efforts were useless. I know not whether there is any
thing like presentiment; but in many events which occur in our journey
through life, there are some strange mysterious coincidences that would
almost prompt the credence of it, and thus it proved with poor Robinson.

“The heavy bell of the citadel tolled four, and in a few minutes we
heard the relief-guard beneath our windows. The officer and his men
passed on; we listened to the measured tread, as their steps receded,
and then cautiously advanced; but the sentry was in his box, and again
we resumed our seat. The theme of our conversation turned upon the dear
girls, who had risked so much for the poor prisoners; and here Robinson
was again sad and melancholy, conjuring me, if my life was spared, to
give his last and tender farewell to the amiable Euphemia.

“At this moment a noise was heard, like the fall of a firelock on the
pavement, but it passed unnoticed; however, when a short time had
elapsed, it was repeated, and on going to our grating to ascertain
the cause, we saw our faithful old soldier on the post. The rain was
pouring down in torrents, and the weather was excessively cold, so that
most of the other sentinels were glad to keep under shelter. After
taking two or three turns without looking up, he suddenly halted,
raised his bayonet to the window, and we received a small scrap of
paper, which contained these words, written in a hand we did not
remember to have seen before. ‘At ten o’clock to-night, when the relief
comes round, be ready to remove your grating and descend. Upon the
ramparts, under the muzzle of the third gun from the sentry-box, you
will find materials to assist in your descent, and below are disguises
to put on. Be firm and resolute.’

“There was a something in the manner of this note that did not
altogether please me; it raised suspicions I found it difficult to
suppress; but to give any information of this to the grenadier was
impossible; he returned to the spot no more. The next consideration
was, how we were to descend; but that was readily suggested, by tearing
our blankets into slips, and then twisting them together. To tell
you the torturing suspense we endured, while the time passed heavily
on, is beyond my power, but there was a novelty in our situation
which lifted us to hope. Nine o’clock came, and our hearts beat in
tumultuous disorder; we listened to the chiming of the quarters, and
silently prepared for our removal. At last, we heard the first warning
for ten, and we grasped each other’s hand with convulsive agitation.
Every stroke of the sonorous bell vibrated on our hearts with sickly
apprehension; it ceased, and all was silent, except the howling of
the wind and the pelting of the rain. Shortly afterward, the sentinel
challenged the relief, and hope and despair alternately took possession
of my breast, but both urged me on in the same determined course.

“The night was uncommonly dark, tempestuous, and dreary, so that we
could not discover the fresh sentry as he paced his post. After walking
backwards and forwards several times, the noise of his footsteps
ceased, and we heard the butt of his firelock brought to the ground as
he entered the box. Another quarter of an hour elapsed, when we removed
the bars, and secured our blanket rope. I descended first, without
making the slightest noise; but poor Robinson slipped and struck the
loose grating above, which instantly fell into the room. The sentinel
started from his box, we heard the rattle of his arms, but all was
instantly hushed, and the howling of the gale deadening the sound, he
did not advance. Stretched on the wet pavement, while the rain poured
down with impetuous fury, we remained motionless for nearly half an
hour; when finding the sentry had returned to his box, we cautiously
crawled away upon our hands and knees, till having attained a proper
distance and rising on our feet, we slowly and silently followed the
directions which had been given.

“Again the bell tolled eleven, as unseen we reached the spot; but
the sentry here was on the alert, and we had time just to secrete
ourselves, by laying at full length on the sloping descent of the
rampart, when he passed the place; this he continued to do repeatedly,
and we could distinctly hear his movements at every turn. At last,
after a painful suspense, the heavy tread ceased; and stretching our
hands out in various directions, we found beneath the muzzle of the
gun, a rope coiled up. To secure one end to the carriage and pass
the other down through the embrazure, was the work of a few minutes,
and sliding over the battlements, the cord passed swiftly through
my glowing hands; but what was my distress, on reaching the lower
extremity, to find it was too short to allow of my touching the ground,
and the darkness prevented my seeing what distance there was to fall.
It was impossible to apprize my companion, for just at this instant I
felt the rope violently agitated from above; the next moment it gave
way, and I was precipitated down the rocks. How long I laid insensible,
I cannot tell; a confused recollection sometimes passed across my
mind of a piercing shriek mingling with the gale; but the fall had
completely stunned me. Dreadful indeed were my feelings, on recovering
from the shock to see, by the light of glistening flambeaux, two _gens
d’armes_ standing over me. I stretched out my hand to raise myself up;
but oh, horror, horror! it fell upon the death-cold cheek of poor
Robinson. Yes, there he lay by my side a mangled corpse--literary
dashed to pieces by the fall. I tried to rise, but found every effort
ineffectual; in short, both my ankles were dislocated. The barbarous
wretches lifted me on my feet; but I again fell, and received another
severe contusion on my head. Finding I was unable to walk, they
extinguished their torches and carried me on their shoulders through
the gates, till they stopped before a heavy grated door; here they
were joined by a third person, closely wrapped in a horseman’s cloak.
He opened the door, and taking from beneath his cloak a dark lantern,
I was rapidly borne forward to those horrid dungeons, where a ray of
daylight had never been admitted.

“After passing several massive entrances, they halted at a low door,
and it swung upon its hinges; here they threw me down with bitter
imprecations, and the _gens d’armes_ withdrew. The individual who
carried the lantern then approached me, and purposely turning the light
upon his face, I beheld the fiend-like countenance of Wirrion; it was
like a blasting vision to my sight, and the powers of utterance were
denied me. He tried to laugh, but it resembled the yell of a demon. He
gnashed his teeth, exclaiming, ‘Remember Adele!’ and turned the key
upon his wretched captive. Oh, what was my agony as the last feeble
glimmering of the lamp disappeared, and all around became the darkness
of the grave,--still living--still breathing, yet, as I thought,
entombed for ever! Happily insensibility crept over me for a time,
but of its duration I am unable to speak. I was awoke to recollection
by a confused sound which appeared to come from a distance, and then
died away. Again the clashing of bayonets and the heavy tread of armed
men seemed to approach, but my head was strangely bewildered. In a
few minutes, however, I could distinctly hear voices, and recovering
in some measure from my stupefaction, as they drew near, I gathered
sufficient from their impetuous language to ascertain that another
victim was about to be incarcerated in the dreary dungeons, and that
victim our faithful friend--the grenadier. When they had reached my
dungeon, he refused to proceed,--reproached them with their cruelty
to an old man, and added, ‘Life at the longest, must be of short
date to me; here satisfy your brutal malice!’ A heavy rush and the
rattling of bayonets instantly succeeded, mingled with the curses of
the guard; a yell--a wild yell followed, and something fell like a
leaden weight, against the door of my dungeon; a bitter groan, as when
the heart-strings break, vibrated through the vault, and a convulsive
struggling noise, as if some poor wretch lay quivering in his last
death-pang.

“The brutal soldiers exulted over their victim, and then slowly
retraced their steps. Hitherto I had been silent, but now wrought up
to a pitch of frenzy, I raved with desperate madness, entreating them
to return and release me from my misery. In a few minutes they halted,
and a dead silence ensued. Again I shrieked, and the rocky vaults
prolonged the sound, as if a thousand voices joined my cries. The guard
growled out their imprecations and departed. In vain I tried to get
upon my feet; every effort increased my anguish, and as I extended
my hands upon the stone floor of my cell, they fell upon some slimy
reptile that filled me with abhorrence and with disgust. After repeated
painful struggles, I crawled to the door; but receded on finding my
hands immersed in what I first imagined to be water, but a heavy groan
and then the tremulous gurgling of the breath in the throat of the
dying man, convinced me it was blood. I called to him, but no answer
was returned; I spoke with tenderness, mentioned who I was, but still
all was silent except the groans of the wretched sufferer. Oh! how
did I pour out my heart in prayer, for heaven to support me under the
accumulated load of horror, or to remove me from existence.

“In about an hour afterwards, as near as I can conjecture, the door was
violently shaken by his struggles; a sudden shriek, with the grinding
of the teeth, and then a heavy deep-drawn sigh, told me the last
efforts of frail mortality were over.

“But why need I enumerate the trials I underwent, the sufferings I
endured. My daily scanty pittance was brought by an individual, upon
whom every attempt to gain a single word was unavailing; so that at
last I refrained from speaking. Often have I been compelled to wait
hours beyond my time, racked with hunger and burning with feverish
thirst. Once in rising too eagerly, I dashed the jug from the jailer’s
hand, and no entreaties could move him to supply me with more. My
raging thirst brought on delirium, and I fell into a lethargic stupor.
Well do I remember it,--sweet dreams came over me, and I fancied I
was ranging through some lovely meadows, where the eddying streamlet
murmured over its shingly bed, clear and transparent as crystal. All
the friends of my youth were surrounding me, and I heard their sweet
welcomes to my home; my mother pressed me to her heart; my father
grasped my hand with joy, whilst sisters and brothers hung in my
embrace, and wept with rich delight. Then we sat down to the feast, and
every luxury which could refresh the grief-worn prisoner was eagerly
devoured. Oh! the agony of awaking from such a dream! Scorched with
fever, and parched with burning heat,--it is impossible to picture it.

“How long I had remained in confinement was unknown to me. I had
endeavoured to keep some trace upon my memory by the return of my food,
but that was soon lost in the number. By almost constantly sitting
with my legs extended, I recovered the use of my feet; but the cell
was so low and contracted, that walking was impracticable. My clothes
were in tatters; I was unwashed and unshaven, and my hair hung down in
thick and matted flakes. How many victims of sanguinary malice have I
heard in their last dying agonies! how many secret murders have been
perpetrated in those vaults,--even at this moment I shudder at the
recollection!

“When I was in a state bordering on brutalized indifference, my keeper
was changed, and one of milder manners brought my food; this too was
augmented, and I was indulged by many little acts of kindness to which
I had long been a stranger. I had been sitting anxiously waiting
his appearance, when sleep overpowered me, and the luxury of clean
straw contributed to the sweetness of repose. I was awoke by some one
gently shaking my shoulder, and raising myself beheld--oh! what were
my sensations--it was Adele. ‘I am mistaken,’ said she, gazing at my
haggard looks, and trembling with alarm. But when I called her by name,
she sunk senseless by my side. What a moment was that, when after every
hope had vanished, when those sweet feelings which are best and dearest
to man were dying in my heart, thus to be recalled to life,--to be
awakened to the world, and once more to hold in my arms the dear
treasure which bound my spirit down to earth!--Forgive me, my friend,
for I cannot restrain my feelings.

“When she recovered, she stared wildly upon my emaciated face, and
then springing up, tore herself away. ‘Rise!’ said she in a tone of
bitterness, ‘rise! and follow me!’ But this was no easy task, and the
voice of command from Adele struck heavy on my heart. I had been so
little used to exercise, that walking was almost death to me. Adele
perceived it, and in a tone of softened tenderness she implored me to
lean on her, and burst into tears. ‘Why are you here, Adele?’ exclaimed
I; ‘why are you my deliverer, and how could you discover my prison?’
She indistinctly murmured the name of Wirrion, and the truth instantly
flashed upon my mind. ‘You are--Adele, can it be?’ and I felt a
suffocating weight upon my breast. ‘Adele you have sacrificed yourself
for me!’ The exertion overpowered my weakness, and I sunk senseless at
her feet.

“On recovering my recollection, I found myself in a comfortable
apartment, and an attendant sitting by my side. ‘Where is she?’ said
I, ‘where is Adele?’--‘Alas! alas!’ replied the man, shaking his head,
‘_monsieur est tres mal au tete_.’ ‘Tell me,’ exclaimed I, ‘tell me,
I conjure you, where I am, and where is--but no, no, I recollect it
now.’ The man again shook his head and repeated his observation. At
this moment an aged female entered the room, and finding me rational,
she sat by my side, and from her conversation I learned that I was
in Germany, having been brought thither about a fortnight before in
a state of insanity by some French troopers. That since then the
fever had been very powerful, and my life had been despaired of. ‘And
Wirrion?’ said I. She made no answer, nor did she appear to comprehend
the question;--indeed I afterwards found that she was totally
unacquainted with my history, but that a sum of money had been left to
provide for my maintenance.

“By wholesome food and kind treatment my recovery was rapid, and I was
soon enabled to return to my native land. But misery seemed to follow
me still; my parents were numbered with the dead, and the report of my
untimely fate had hastened their departure. Their property was divided
amongst my brothers and sisters, who were most of them married, and
they now treated me as one who had risen from the grave to rob them of
their rights. Disgusted and sick at heart, I once more embarked in the
service of my country, and received the reward dear to every British
officer’s heart,--promotion.

“Fortune now smiled upon me, and her golden favours were showered with
an unsparing hand. Still Adele, the beautiful, tender, self-devoted
Adele, constantly occupied my mind; in dreams, in visions of the night,
Adele was ever present to my memory, and through the duties of the day
the debt of gratitude was never banished from my heart. I heard that
Wirrion had been summoned to give an account of his stewardship; but
unable to meet the frowns and sentence of Napoleon, had done justice
upon himself and perished by his own hands. But all inquiries after
Adele had been useless; yet I had sworn never to love another, and my
oath was kept inviolate.

“As soon as peace between the two countries was declared, I crossed
the Channel, and from thence hastened to Verdun. The vineyard still
remained, though in ruins, and the ashes of the cottage were strewed
upon the plain. No one could tell me of Adele. The inhabitants of the
house at which I had lodged were mourning for the loss of their brave
sons, whom Bonaparte had compelled to enter the army; age had dimmed
their sight, but sorrow more. I told them who I was, and they recoiled
from me in doubt and perplexity. However, I soon convinced them, and
then I heard that Wirrion had buried poor Robinson, and reported that
both our remains were contained in the same coffin, and interred in the
same grave. I inquired for Adele and Euphemia; the latter was dead, but
of the former they could give me no information, and after a fruitless
search I bent my way to Paris.

“One day having dined with several British officers, we took a stroll
in the evening through the city, and on arriving at the _Palais
Royale_, a number of persons had assembled round an itinerant singer;
but as she was not then engaged, we were passing on, when our steps
were suddenly arrested by a sweet plaintive voice, pouring forth those
thrilling notes which, like inspiration, almost enchant the soul.
We drew near the crowd, but how shall I describe my agitation when
I heard the self-same _chanson_ which Adele had sung so exquisitely
when I first beheld her? Old remembrances rushed upon my mind, and
unconsciously putting aside those who opposed my progress, I advanced
close to the singer. Her back was toward me, and her voice seemed
faltering as if shaken by bitter recollections; but when she arrived
near the close, her tones were scarcely audible. At that moment she
turned; I gazed upon her features, and the next instant she was in my
arms,--it was herself--it was Adele!

“Why need I repeat every transaction? Together we returned to England,
and she became my wife;--yes, mine by every tie, both human and
divine. She told me her tale of sorrow, but I cannot relate it now.
Her sufferings had been on my account, and I was determined to heal
the wounded spirit and bind up the broken heart. The world condemned
and shunned me, but what had I to do with the world? Adele was all to
me, and in her dear society I forgot my sorrows. Not but that she was
changed: circumstances had much altered the natural sweetness of her
temper, and the mode of life she had pursued contributed to deaden the
finer feelings of the heart; but she was the deliverer who saved me
from destruction, and I thought only of our meeting at the gathering in
of the vintage.

“We lived happily together, away from the bustle, the turmoil, and what
is falsely called the pleasures of life. A small cottage in the country
was our home, and there we enjoyed peace and contentment. My fortune
was ample, with but few desires to be gratified; and I have deeply to
regret that I was unacquainted with your residence in my neighbourhood,
for your society would have been an additional happiness.

“But ah! how fleeting are all our joys. It was on the early part of
that day, when you saw me kneeling over a new-made grave, that I had
consigned the last remains of my Adele to the narrow home appointed as
a resting-place from earthly trouble. Yes, she is gone, I trust, to the
realms of everlasting bliss, where no sorrow can disturb; no pain be
felt; but where there is fulness of joy for evermore?”




THE CONVICT.

    “Alas! the constancy of my sad mind
    Is put to dreadful proof.”


It was some short time after the storming of Monte Video by the British
troops, when the guerilla bands were formed in the neighbourhood of
the city, that a party of young men took it into their heads to ride
into the adjacent country; and though the inhabitants were decidedly
hostile to the English, yet with the carelessness and impetuosity
natural to youth, they resolved to _seek_ adventures, cost what they
might. With hearts elate, and mounted on swift horses, they passed the
city gates and swept round the bay that forms the extensive harbour.
After riding through some villages, they considered it as not accordant
with their plan to keep the beaten road,--nor indeed was there any
road which merited the name, after they had gained a certain distance
from the town. The meridian sun saw them scouring across the plain,
where neither tree nor shrub could mark their track, or serve as guides
for their return. Frequently, from behind the jutting rock, the
_paysáno_[6] would display his hardened and ferocious features, and
muffling himself in his _poncho_, or long robe, grin defiance at the
adventurers. His long fusee held in one hand, with his _lasso_ coiled
at his side and a terrific knife stuck in his girdle, the marauder
stood undaunted by danger and undismayed by the fear of death. The
young men had frequently been led to pursue the wild ostrich in its
course, and to chase the numerous deer; but this hunting produced
consequences which might have terminated seriously, for it scattered
the number into parties of two or three, who might easily have been cut
off and destroyed by the enemy:--and now for my own individual portion
of the excursion. Having been, with one other, separated from the rest,
we used every possible exertion to discover them, but without effect.
Whenever we shouted, our voices reverberated from the rocky piles that
reared their heads upon the plain like monuments of ancient grandeur,
and seemed to revive recollections of the field of graves.

The sun, whose journey was even more rapid than our own, threatened
to leave us in obscurity and darkness; and when once his beams had
disappeared, we had no certain direction to ascertain our way. It was
in the month of June, and consequently winter in that part of the
world; but accustomed to privations of almost every kind, we cared but
little for the season, and as for attacks--we had weapons of defence.
Yet still, at times, an indescribable emotion agitated my heart. The
countenances of the _paysános_, and the certain death which awaited
capture--death, too, the tortures of which might be increased by
malignity and rendered lingering in the extreme, left no very pleasant
sensation on the mind. The recollections of home crowded upon me--for
the delights of domestic society never come more sweet to the memory
than when they threaten to be torn from us for ever. Still we had come
out for adventures, and the buoyant spirit of sailors urged us on. We
had already travelled, at a moderate calculation, upwards of twenty
miles without seeing a habitation, or the least trace of civilized
society, when the bright luminary of day disappeared from the western
horizon, and all became murky gloom and darkness. To have continued on
without knowing whither we were going, (for not a star was visible to
act as a friendly pilot in our navigation,) would have been downright
madness; so reining in the horses, we suffered them to pursue their own
way. Often could we hear the jaguar growling near us, and the enraged
buffalo would dart across our path, while the bellowing of the wild
cattle from the distance floated on the breeze. Frequently misled by
the false light above the fen, we had nearly plunged into irretrievable
destruction, and then imagination would (as the bleak wind passed
across our eyes) make us fancy that we saw some dwelling near at hand
of safety and security. Hunger, too, attacked us, for we had tasted but
little food since our departure.

Three hours had been employed in suffering the horses to take their
own course, during the last of which neither of us had spoken much,
when my companion suddenly exclaimed, “We are stopped; here is a gate!”
and sure enough the gate, with large wide folding compartments and a
mud fence--as far as the darkness would allow our sight to extend--was
distinctly visible, though no habitation nor the trace of human being
could be seen. Immediately alighting and securing our horses to the
gate-posts, we cautiously reconnoitred; but all ingress by that way
appeared impossible, without climbing over. To propose and to perform
were synonymous, and in a few minutes we were safely landed within the
walls. Following the track of a narrow path for about a quarter of a
mile, our progress was arrested by hearing the strains of music, and
shortly afterwards a female voice, of exquisite tone, commenced the
evening hymn to the Virgin. Sailors are naturally superstitious, and at
this moment, yielding to the romantic fervour of my disposition, all
seemed enchantment. Never, perhaps, was there a voice more harmonious,
or more calculated to work upon the softer emotions of the soul.
There was no laboured execution--all was pure nature, offering up its
sacrifice of heartfelt devotion. The sounds ceased. “Surely,” said I to
my companion, “those are the sweetest notes that could ever charm the
coldest nature.”--“Truly,” replied he; “for now we shall get something
to eat, at all events!” This answer called me from my _heroics_, and we
proceeded onwards.

Not a light was to be seen--not the least vestige of a house in view;
yet we followed the path till a low, but extensive range of buildings
displayed itself. It was on one floor, and on turning the corner, a
sudden blaze of light burst upon us.

In a small but neat chapel, such as is usually attached to country
residences among the Catholics, a number of wax candles illuminated the
altar. The gray-haired sire stood before it, whilst his wife, children,
and domestics knelt in a semicircle round him. He raised the emblem of
redemption in his hand, and pressed it upon his breast; then kneeling
down, his aged head reclined upon the cross as he poured forth his
fervent petitions. Rising from this attitude, he replaced the crucifix
upon the altar, and turning towards the assembled group, his hands were
outstretched to dispense a parent’s blessing. There was something in
the whole scene so truly descriptive of a patriarchal benediction, that
I felt all the emotions of my breast indulging in their full energies.
“Sidney,” whispered I to my companion, “this is indeed delicious.
What fervour, what devotion, what----.” “Nonsense,” said he, “let
us see the roast beef and a bottle of wine, and then I’ll talk to
you.” We introduced ourselves at the close of the service, and were
received with the most hospitable welcome. Servants were despatched
for our poor jaded horses, we were ushered into a large hall, and
the table soon groaned with substantial fare, amongst which was hot
beef, cooked in the hide. Our host informed us we were upon a farm
belonging to himself, and after refreshing ourselves, he introduced us
to his family. They were nine in number, nor was I long in discovering
from whom those dulcet warblings had proceeded, which made such an
impression upon my mind. It was the old man’s pride,--his eldest
daughter, in her sixteenth year. In that country, nature is extremely
bountiful to females; sixteen is considered the age of maturity, and
few marriages are contracted after that period. Mariqueta was lovely,
yet it was not that sort of beauty that strikes the beholder with
mere admiration; it was a loveliness that interested the heart. Among
the attendants was one who seemed to watch our movements with marked
attention; he almost anticipated our wants, and I frequently observed
the shades of deep sorrow pass across his features. He had once been
handsome, but age had dimmed the lustre of his eye, and I fancied that
his countenance still bore marks of hurried passion and guilty daring.

Of the Spanish language, myself and companion scarcely knew any thing,
nor was there an individual in the place to interpret; nevertheless,
we contrived to hold something like a conversation, though frequently
the subject was left to chance for decision. The old man expressed
his undisguised resentment against the invasion of the English, but
scorned to withhold hospitality from benighted travellers, though they
were his enemies. He spoke of the _paysános_ as terrific people, and
rejoiced that we had not fallen into their hands. On retiring to rest,
he placed a hand on each of our heads, and offered up a prayer. We then
saluted the family round, and never were my lips pressed to those of a
female with more unblemished purity or chastity of thought than when
they touched the cheek of Mariqueta.--After a night of sweet refreshing
slumber, we arose and contemplated the surrounding scenery. The farm
was erected in a secluded spot, far in the interior, for the purpose of
catching wild cattle, and jerking or salting the flesh, which, at Monte
Viedo, formed a great branch of commerce. The hides and tallow were
also carefully preserved.

At a short distance from the house was a large garden, tastefully
arranged, and beyond this was an orchard. There was an air truly
English in the decorations and manner of laying out the grounds that
caused very great surprise, as being totally different from any thing
else I had seen in this part of the world; but I could gain no other
information on the point, than that it was performed by the attendant,
or chief man, whom I have mentioned before. Suspecting he might have
been in England, I spoke to him; but he shook his head and seemed
totally ignorant of the language. After breakfast we prepared for our
departure, but the old gentleman, our kind host, would not suffer us,
as he feared danger was abroad, and we might be attacked; nor was
he altogether wrong, but how he derived his intelligence we did not
discover. Thus another day was passed at the farm, and passed in the
society of Mariqueta. Young, ardent, and enthusiastic, the folly of
entertaining any partiality or affection for a female, whom a few hours
would probably separate from us for ever, did not enter my thoughts.
I felt she was amiable--I saw she was beautiful, and the difficulties
which presented themselves only served to enhance the treasure. The
attendant frequently addressed her, and I could plainly perceive his
language was in my favour, while the aged parent seemed rather to
encourage than to repel my assiduity. The following day, our horses
were led to the gate, and the attendant was ready to conduct us on our
way. We bade farewell to the parents, and Mariqueta in their presence
bound a bracelet of her own hair round my wrist, while I pressed upon
her acceptance a plain gold ring. As soon as we had reached the road,
our guide stopped; then coming close by my side (while Sidney was some
distance in advance) and addressing me in my native tongue, said, “Sir,
I am an Englishman, your countryman; I have written a few particulars
on this piece of paper, which I request, if possible, you will attend
to. Be secret and be faithful; do not let your friend know who or what
I am, and now farewell.” Having uttered this, he wheeled his horse
round, and the swift animal soon bore him from my sight. In a few hours
we arrived safe in the city, and found every one of the party, for
though each had _met with adventures_, yet all had returned uninjured.
On perusing the paper so mysteriously given to me, it contained, as
near as I can recollect, as follows:--

“I am the son of a clergyman, who for an alleged crime was convicted
and sentenced to transportation. The convicts seized the ship and
brought her into the River Plate. In this I had no participation,
but the guilt rests upon me, and I must die a stranger in a foreign
land. My acquaintance with the Spanish tongue has deceived many into
a belief that I am a native, but there are others who wish to drag
me into battle against my countrymen. I will see you again, and then
be prepared to say whether I can entertain a hope of escape. If not,
provide me with a few books, particularly a bible and prayer book, and
be secret, as my life is now in your hands.”

There was no name signed, and I immediately recollected the
circumstance of the convicts taking the ship Jane Shore from the crew
several years before; but why the man should place such confidence in
me seemed inexplicable. However, I instantly set about an inquiry as
to his prospects of protection, but the grounds were not sufficient to
warrant any assurance of it; and as he had not mentioned when I should
see him again, the affair would most probably have been soon forgotten,
had it not been for the memorial of Mariqueta and the recollection of
herself.

There are some feelings in the human mind so exquisitely delicate in
their nature, and yet so firm in their endurance, that neither time
can impair nor distance efface them. Who is there, even when “their
strength becomes labour and sorrow,” that does not with a retrospective
eye glance back upon his early days, and call to remembrance the scenes
of his youth in all their sunny vigour? Oh, there is an enchantment in
it which sweetens life and lightens toil! But to my tale.

Upon an enthusiastic mind, nothing fixes an impression more deeply
than the danger attendant upon an enterprise and the difficulties of
accomplishing it, and such I experienced in my attachment to Mariqueta.
The remembrance of her beauty, her retiring modesty, and her kindness
to an enemy and a stranger, filled my thoughts day after day; while,
in the stillness of night, fancy renewed the vision in my dreams. The
risks which myself and companions had run in our excursion, produced
an order from the commander-in-chief forbidding similar undertakings,
except to a certain distance from the town; and often have I rode to
the very verge of the precincts, entertaining the flatterer Hope, yet
destitute of expectation.

It was about three weeks after my visit to the farm that Sidney
accompanied me in my ride, and on our return we were overtaken by
a storm, which raged with the utmost fury. The rain came down in
torrents, and was swept like sheets of foaming spray across the plain.
The wind in its fury tore up the trees and scattered the branches
in every direction, threatening to crush us beneath their ponderous
weight. Completely drenched with rain and worn with the efforts to keep
our horses under curb, we arrived at the first village in our homeward
path. A straggling place it was, formed of a few miserable cottages, or
huts, with a chapel in the centre.

We stopped at the wine-house, (the only decent place,) and put our
frightened animals into a shed; after which we entered the room
appropriated for travellers, and found it was nearly filled with
Spaniards. Near the fire were ranged several persons attached to the
commissariat department, who had come from the city to bargain with
the hunters for cattle. The hunters, arrayed in their _ponchos_ and
broad-brimmed hats with small crowns, were mingling with the former
and carrying on a traffic, using the most violent gesticulations.
Stretched in one corner lay several guerillas with their fusees by
their side, ready at a moment’s notice in case of alarm. They were
soundly sleeping; but even in this placid state their features retained
the most hardened ferocity. Distinct by himself, in another corner, sat
a man in the guerilla costume, who on our entering, muffled up his face
as if he wished to be concealed from observation. Conviction instantly
flashed upon my mind that this was the individual I had been seeking,
but prudence dictated that the present moment was no time to recognise
him.

Our entrance produced a momentary silence, and all eyes that were not
closed in slumber were directed towards us. The guerillas, whom noise
could not disturb, instantly awoke at the cessation of it, and raising
themselves up, stared with a gleaming fierceness upon us; but finding
we were alone, they growled a few indistinct curses, and again resumed
their former position. Without betraying any surprise at the strange
company we had fallen into, we drew near the fire, but nevertheless, I
determined to quit the place as soon as we had obtained refreshment,
preferring rather to trust to the storm, than run the hazard of the
long and shining blades which each guerilla knew so well how to use.
The day was waning apace when the marauders suddenly took their
departure, and, in a few minutes afterwards, the man who sat alone
followed them. In a country where, among the lower orders, wild and
lawless passions usurp the place of reason, and baleful revenge steels
the heart against every generous feeling of humanity, the departure
of the guerillas came across my mind like a prophetic warning of evil
intentions. I walked to the door; the storm still raged as these
desperadoes were slowly putting their horses in motion. No time was to
be lost; one half hour’s ride would place us in security at the British
out-posts, where a company of the ---- regiment was stationed.

As soon as the guerilla band had disappeared, we hastily mounted and
pursued our way. But darkness came stealing upon us, and the plain was
so inundated that we found it difficult to keep the beaten track; while
the lightning, rendered more visible by the gloom, alarmed the spirited
animals we rode, and greatly impeded our progress. When we had gained
midway between the village and the out-post, the road lay through a
deep ravine, formed by two craggy and almost perpendicular rocks. It
was a wild and dreary spot, where several skirmishes had taken place,
and many a mangled body still lay beneath huge piles of stones. Scarce
had we advanced a few paces in the defile, when a shot was fired from
above, and several others immediately succeeded it. Happily, our horses
knew the road, and dashed forward with amazing swiftness; but the
guerillas also were well mounted and possessed every advantage over
us, though after the first discharge I trusted to the state of the
weather to prevent them firing again, and so it proved. Still, however,
we could distinguish them in close pursuit, the leading men gaining
rapidly upon us. The out-post was in view, when I heard the noose of
the lasso whistle past my ears, and saw it encircling the neck of the
horse. The moment was one of desperation, yet I had the presence of
mind instantly to check the animal and stand still. By this means the
lasso was slackened; but while I was endeavouring to clear him from
restraint, the guerilla was by my side, and his arm upraised to strike
the fatal blow. My hanger was unsheathed, though fighting on horseback
was something new to me; but death from the unerring aim of the ruffian
seemed inevitable. At this very instant, while the glittering blade
hung over me, I heard the report of a gun, and the guerilla fell
backwards from his horse in the agonies of death; but so vengeful had
been his purpose and so strong his arm, that the knife designed for me
was buried deep in the shoulder of his generous steed. This, however,
was only a reprieve, for others came pressing on, and no doubt we
should have been sacrificed to the memory of their companion, but for a
whole volley from about fifty men who had advanced from the out-post.
The guerillas immediately wheeled round, and sought safety in flight.

On joining the party who had thus snatched us from destruction, the
first object that met my view was the man whom I had seen at the
wine-house, and recognised as the attendant or chief man at the
farm, and to him I was indebted for rescuing me from the party. I
have already mentioned that he quitted the house directly after the
guerillas, and leading his horse to a distance, in a contrary direction
to them, he had there mounted and sought the British out-post; where
giving information of our danger, the commanding officer instantly
despatched a party for our protection. The attendant acted as their
guide, and from his fusee it was that death was dealt to my opponent at
the critical juncture, when my own life was trembling upon the verge of
eternity.

On reaching a place of safety, I told him that his expectations could
not be complied with; but, from the recent service he had performed,
I would make a proper representation to the commander-in-chief, and
hoped to succeed. He then inquired for the bible and prayer book,
which were given to him, as I had constantly carried them about me,
under the hope of falling in with him. His gratitude for the gift I
shall never forget; he pressed them to his heart, and the tears flowed
down his furrowed cheek. He opened the bible and read these words,
“Yet never saw I the righteous forsaken, or his seed begging their
bread.” A sudden ejaculation of--“Oh, my father!” followed. It came
with double force upon my heart. His father had been a holy man; but
there was another parent, whose name he had been taught to lisp in
early infancy, as “Our Father, which art in heaven;” and though his
earthly sire could no longer pour the balm of consolation on his mind,
yet HE whom the heaven of heavens cannot contain, hath respect unto the
lowly and heareth the contrite in heart. As soon as grief would give
him utterance, he told me of his early days, and then the conversation
turned upon his present situation. He had nothing to complain of as to
treatment, but his soul still clung to the land of fond remembrances.
He mentioned Mariqueta, and I had to ask some questions which respect
for his sorrows had restrained. “She was well,” he said; “but the
gayety of her heart had fled, and her chief pleasure was to sit in
the little chapel and sing the evening hymn which had so delighted
me. She frequented those spots where we had been together, and her
whole conduct manifested a remembrance of the stranger, which became
more deeply rooted by time. But,” continued he, “I must depart; those
demons, if they knew who had frustrated their design, would wreak their
vengeance on the innocent and helpless.” He struck his forehead,--“I
must away, yet do not forget me. I claim no memorial for what I have
done, but think that a fellow-creature, a countryman, sues for your
pity, and may the Almighty reward your efforts.” Having uttered this,
contrary to every persuasion, he prepared to go. In addition to the
books for the attendant, I had also carried with me a present for
Mariqueta; it was a miniature of myself, plainly set, but allowed to
be an excellent likeness, and with this and my ardent expressions of
regard, he bade me farewell.

As soon as I had reached the city, no time was lost in making the
necessary representations to the commander-in-chief, and I pointed
out the extreme danger to which the family would be exposed in the
event of the guerillas discovering that they had afforded shelter to
Englishmen, and that one connected with the farm had given intelligence
against them. My persuasions and my entreaties had their weight, and
the following afternoon I was despatched with a party of men to take
post at the farm, and escort the family into the town. Never shall I
forget the feelings which agitated my breast as the guide conducted us
the nearest route to the spot, and when the gates appeared in view, my
heart throbbed with tumultuous agitation. I should see Mariqueta--I
should press her in my arms and conduct her to a place of safety. The
gates stood open, and a damp hung upon my spirits, as I had witnessed
the caution with which they had been closed as evening approached.
Still a herd of cattle might have entered, or a hundred things have
occurred to prevent it; so without stopping to conjecture, we entered
within the walls. But deeming the appearance of so large a party might
alarm the inmates, I dismounted, and giving my horse to one of the men,
requested the whole to wait until my return.

With a light elastic step I bounded on. The night was beautifully
clear, the stars shone in their effulgent glory, and the beautiful
cross of the south was at its meridian height. I reached the building,
but all was calm serenity. In the little chapel a single lamp burned
by the side of the altar, while a dark substance screened its feeble
rays. I entered the door, and beheld a negress sitting on the steps of
the sanctuary, with her face concealed in her hands, which were resting
on her knees. To the left of the altar lay several persons, covered
over, apparently wrapt in slumber; while in front, upon a raised
platform, spread over with white satin, was a dead body. The noise of
my footsteps aroused the negress, who, upon seeing me, shrieked most
piteously, and taking the lamp in her hand beckoned me to advance. An
instinctive impulse urged me on. I sprang forward, and, as the pale
gleam of light fell upon the corpse, beheld the perishing remains of
the still lovely Mariqueta. Yes, there she lay, like a lily blighted
by the tempest, or a flower seared by the lightning’s flash. The hand
of the destroyer had indeed been speedy, for those whom I had deemed
at rest were also in the cold sleep of death. Parents, kindred, all
cut off, and there was none to deliver. Oh, the agony of that moment!
Years have since passed away, but years cannot efface the recollection
from my mind; and even now, a sick shuddering creeps upon my soul. Yes,
there lay the beautiful Mariqueta--beautiful even in death. The negress
removed the coverlet, and displayed a deep wound in her bosom, from
which her pure spirit had escaped.

Frenzy took possession of my reason. I tore the cover from the bodies
beside the altar, and the first countenance that met my view was the
aged sire. Near him lay the other members of the family--all cold--all
dead. Full of desperate resolve, I called my party, pointed to the
bleeding bodies, and urged my comrades to avenge their fall. We
searched the house, but all displayed marks of the bloody hand of the
plunderer. The negress informed us that the guerillas had attacked the
farm the day before, and committed acts of atrocious barbarity. The
gentle Mariqueta had received her wound while shielding her father
from the fiends; who, after murdering all they could find, had carried
the attendant and the servants away as prisoners. She had escaped by
secreting herself beneath the altar. “The Englishman had fought,”
she said, “and some of the guerillas had fallen.” With this vague
intelligence, after leaving a guard at the farm, we sallied forth, our
guide undertaking to show us the haunts of the murderers.

The face of the heavens was still, calm, and clear; but, in my state of
mind, the whirlwind and the tempest would have been more congenial to
my agitated feelings. The stars still glittered in their brightness,
but the deed of blood I had just witnessed, gave to my sight a red and
gory haze that dimmed the sparkling lustre of the glistening orbs. The
soft persuasions of humanity were deadened in my breast, and vengeance
alone reigned with all its cruel terrors. Eagerly we pursued our
course, and after one hour’s smart riding, our guide suddenly pulled
up and informed us we were close to their retreat; but it would be
necessary for one or two to go before with him and reconnoitre, while
the others slowly advanced. Taking two men with me, and leading our
horses, we approached a wild romantic spot, formed of stunted shrubbery
and craggy rocks, beneath which the mouths of many caverns yawned in
darkness--but all was solemn stillness. Entering one of these dismal
dens, a deep groan arrested our steps. The guide shouted in the
Spanish language, but no answer was returned. A gun was fired, but
all remained tranquil; and it became evident that the guerillas had
not been there, or else had withdrawn on our approach. Another groan
decided me on searching the interior of the cave, and having procured
a light, by flashing some powder on a flambeau, we advanced through
several intricate windings to an inner apartment, when another sight
of horror was presented. Stretched on his back upon the damp floor
lay the Englishman, weltering in his blood; round his ankles and his
wrists strong ropes were fastened, the other ends of which were secured
to pegs driven firmly in the ground, so as to stretch his extended
limbs to the extreme of torture. Nor was he the only one; two others
appeared in similar situations, but their sufferings were over. We lost
no time in releasing the Englishman from the rack, but his state of
insensibility from loss of blood, left but small prospect of recovery.
Time was rapidly hastening away, and our guide informed us that all
pursuit was fruitless, as he had no doubt the guerillas had retreated
to the mountains; we therefore retraced our steps to the farm, from
whence I despatched a communication to the commander-in-chief. The
same night a reply was brought, stating that the priests refused to
officiate or attend at the removal of the bodies; I was therefore
directed to inter them wherever I could find a place most suitable.

In the orchard attached to the farm was an avenue or grove of
orange-trees, and at the extremity of the walk, a rural seat (where I
had sat with the sweet girl) was formed beneath the spreading branches;
and this was the spot I selected as the last resting place of murdered
innocence. At the still midnight hour the bodies were laid in their
narrow home; no chaunt of voices gave notice of their burial; but the
ritual of our church was solemnly read over them. No pomp attended
the funeral; but the honest tear of the veteran, as he consigned the
last remnants of frail mortality to the dust, was a memorial far
more precious. No monumental inscription marks the spot--the name of
Mariqueta, engraven on the green bark of the orange-tree, formed the
only memento.

The Englishman was removed to the city, where by excellent medical
attendance he slowly recovered, and under the protection of the
commander-in-chief, he returned to his native land. But he found his
parents had long been consigned to the tomb; the friends of his youth
were either dead or estranged, and after lingering a few months,
tortured by remorse, he entered upon that “bourne from whence no
travellers return.” In early life he had been nursed in the lap of
luxury, and received a good education, but in an evil hour he had
committed a felony to answer the demands of a gambling debt. He had
been tried and sentenced to die, but through powerful intercession
his punishment was commuted to transportation for life. The ship
Jane Shore, in which he embarked, was seized upon by the convicts,
and carried into the River Plate. From that hour no ray of pleasure
beamed upon his mind, but all was cheerless melancholy, bordering upon
hopeless despair. Oh! may “he who thinketh that he standeth, take heed
lest he fall.”


FOOTNOTES

[6] Literally countryman, or peasant; but here designed to represent a
guerilla.




THE BURNING SHIP.

    “A dismal heat, foreboding death,
    Came stiflingly on by every breath;
    And many a shuddering mother clasp’d
    Her infant to her breast, and grasp’d
    In strong despair some kindred hand,
    Which shook her off.”


We were both born in the same village, and drew our nourishment from
the same source in infancy. Yes, we have lain encircled in each other’s
arms in the same cradle, and fond affection grew with our growth. But
ah! how different were our conditions in life;--she the offspring of
one who could boast of rank and wealth, whilst I was brought forth in
comparative obscurity and poverty.

Agnes was the daughter of a baronet, to whom my father was head
gardener; her mother resigned her existence in giving birth to her
child, and the first tears of the infant were shed upon the cold
inanimate bosom of that being to whom she was indebted for her life. My
maternal parent having been confined about the same time, was selected
as wet-nurse on account of her excellent health and gentleness of
disposition, and the little Agnes was removed to our cottage, which
was surrounded by a shrubbery tastefully laid out, and situated in the
most delightful and romantic part of the grounds.

Sir Edward Melville was generous, and even condescending, to his
inferiors, as long as they preserved an unqualified respect for his
dignified rank; but if any one aimed at superior station, or failed
in due reverence to himself, he became vindictive and revengeful. His
principles were of so aristocratic a nature, that he considered it an
ordination of divine authority for riches and titles to rule, and for
humble obscurity to be content with tacit submission. Soon after the
decease of his lady, he was appointed envoy to a foreign court, and a
maiden aunt officiated as mistress at the castle during his absence;
but the pride and malice of her heart rendered her hated and feared
by all around her, and it was only at the cottage of her nurse in
which Agnes always found an affectionate bosom as a depository for her
griefs, and where the soothings of tenderness were ever ready to calm
the perturbation of her mind.

It is impossible to define the feelings of childhood, for, as we grow
more advanced in years, the softer sympathies become deadened by
intercourse with the world and witnessing the scenes of misery which
every where present themselves. Solomon hath said, “Childhood and youth
are vanity;” yet what would I not give to possess the same innocence
of heart, the same purity of thought which I enjoyed in my early years.

In our amusements, Agnes and myself were inseparable; and when removed
from the haughty control of her aunt, we indulged in those little
endearments which innocence inspires. Although my father’s condition
in life was humble, he nevertheless possessed a cultivated taste, and
was well acquainted with the works of the best writers of the day,--his
leisure hours being occupied in reading (for through the kindness of
the steward, he had free access to Sir Edward’s library and could
obtain the loan of any book he wanted) and imparting instruction to
myself. At the age of six, I could read tolerably well and understand
what I read; but no book delighted me so much as the affecting tale of
Paul and Virginia, which was my favourite volume, and often has the
sweet Agnes mingled her tears with mine while perusing its pages.

Agnes had an elder brother, but he seldom associated with us, for
his aunt had centred all her regards in him, and instilled into his
mind every notion of high birth and exalted parentage. Yet he was not
happy; for when he did deign to share our childhood’s sports, I can
well remember the burst of passion which agitated him if I did not
immediately comply with his wishes and submit to his caprice. But
the last two years before Sir Edward’s return, he had been under the
management of a tutor, whose kindness I shall never forget. This
worthy and excellent man was also a constant visiter at the cottage
whenever his duties would permit, and to his instructions am I indebted
for whatever portion of knowledge I possess.

When I had attained my eighth year, intelligence arrived of Sir
Edward’s return to England, and his intention of visiting the castle;
yet much as I desired to see the father of Agnes, still I can remember
a dejection came upon my spirits, young as I was, and I seemed to dread
it as something which foreboded evil. At length he came, and received
me with great kindness as the foster-brother of Agnes; but never shall
I forget his terrible look, when with the playful familiarity of
childhood, the dear girl put her little white arms round my neck. It
was the first time I had ever witnessed such a display of rage, and
it left an impression on my mind which time can never efface. I was
removed from the castle, and nothing but the persuasions of a nobleman
who accompanied him, would have prevented the dismissal of my father
from his situation.

In a few days afterwards, the baronet with his sister and children went
to the metropolis, and four years elapsed before we met again; but
though nothing is sooner erased from the memory of a child than past
events, yet the remembrance of the companion who shared our infantine
amusements seldom quits us through life: and so I found it with Agnes.
Since we had parted, I devoted myself assiduously to learning and had
made great proficiency in writing and drawing, to the latter of which
accomplishments I was particularly attached. Nor was I deficient in
athletic exercises, for nothing gave me greater delight than skimming
through the liquid element, climbing the lofty mountain, or breaking
through the thick mazes of the forest. The scenery in Paul and Virginia
raised a desire in my mind to imitate the former, and often have I
ascended the highest tree, sitting for hours on its topmost branches
and gazing towards the road where I had last seen the equipage of Sir
Edward disappear.

We were now in our twelfth year; the baronet was gone abroad taking
his son with him, and Agnes with her aunt, who had married a gouty
old colonel, took up their abode at the castle. The colonel was an
“Honourable,” but the very reverse of his lady or her brother; he was
destitute of their pride, and I was frequently permitted to pass whole
days at the castle in reading to and amusing him. In these pursuits
Agnes was generally at my side when the absence of her aunt allowed
it, and I number some of those hours as the happiest of my life. Her
instructress was a mild and amiable woman, of Christian meekness and
piety; she had drunk deep from the cup of sorrow, and there was a
pensive melancholy imprinted on her countenance which powerfully
interested the best feelings of the heart.

Thus passed two happy years, during which I felt my soul more strongly
linked with every thing that concerned the gentle Agnes. I was as yet
unacquainted with the cause of these feelings, and the first time that
the truth opened to my heart was on my fifteenth birth-day. My father,
whom I had occasionally assisted in his labours, gave a little féte in
remembrance of it. It was the height of summer; the most respectable
youths and lasses in the village were assembled to a dance in the park.
The colonel was wheeled to the spot in his garden-chair, and her aunt
being absent on a visit, Agnes graced the festival.

It was a happy and a lovely group beneath the wide-spreading branches
of the trees, and when the dance commenced, Agnes became my partner.
Oh, then I felt how precious she was to my happiness, as her light
airy form was pressed in my arms! but when I contrasted the coarseness
of my apparel with the delicate texture of her dress, a pang of deep
humiliation stung me to the quick. At this moment, a young man in a
travelling dress advanced towards us; it was Sir Edward’s son. His face
was flushed with anger; he seized the arm of his sister with a wild
impetuosity that caused her to cry out, and I immediately interfered;
he raised his riding-whip and struck me--yes, struck me to the earth.
I sprang upon my feet, but was instantly held fast and forced to the
cottage, whilst Agnes was hurried away to the castle. Ah! then I felt
what it was to love, and despair took possession of my mind; all other
considerations seemed swallowed up, and I determined to fly from the
place. Parents, kindred, all but Agnes were forgotten, and ere the dawn
broke upon the cottage or the castle, I was far on my way from home.

In the early part of the morning I was accosted by a gentlemanly man,
who offered me a seat in a post-chaise. This I gladly accepted, and
found he was a naval officer about to join his ship at Plymouth, and
he proposed my serving my country. The world was all before me, and
to my romantic mind there was a magic in the expression, and before
another day had elapsed I was entered on the books of the Amphion
frigate as a volunteer. There was no time for reflection; I was wearied
with my journey, sleep overpowered my faculties, and before the dawn
arose the ship was out at sea. Never shall I forget my sensations when
I first beheld the expanse of ocean, without a single speck to break
its monotonous appearance. Blue waters all around and the clear heaven
above, while the tall ship, reflecting her image on the waves, passed
majestically through the briny element.

I was ignorant of etiquette, and without ceremony respectfully
addressed my friend, the lieutenant; but he repulsed my familiarity
with coldness, and directed a lad to take me to his cabin, where he
immediately joined me. Here he explained the nature of the service,
and the distance which it was deemed necessary to keep up between
the officers and crew. He then made inquiry as to my clothes, and
generously supplied me with some linen from his own stock. The ship’s
tailor altered one of his jackets, and in a short time I was equipped
as a sailor. But, ah, how many hours of bitter mortification and
anguish did I undergo! I had every thing to learn, was often ill-used,
and every day increased the distance from all I loved, without being
able to inform them of my situation, as the frigate was bound to the
East Indies. Remorse prayed upon my mind; I had not contemplated
leaving England, much more leaving it without letting them know where I
was; but now their affectionate hearts were wrung with my indiscretion.
Agnes too!--but the remembrance of the sweet girl was ever accompanied
by the recollection of the blow I had received from her brother, and I
determined to persevere in the profession in which I had engaged.

The lieutenant was my sincere friend; he took every opportunity to
promote my interests, and I endeavoured by all the means in my power to
profit by his kindness and to testify my gratitude. At first, I was
much persecuted by the seamen and the other boys; but when they found
me desirous of learning and attentive to my duty, every one conspired
to render me assistance, and I soon became a favourite with both
officers and men. On one occasion, whilst the ship was lying nearly
becalmed, one of the junior midshipmen, as he was playing about the
rigging, fell overboard; I instantly dashed into the sea, and supported
him from sinking till a boat was lowered down and took us up. This act,
for which I claim no merit, brought me under the immediate notice of
the captain, who witnessed it, and I was removed to the quarter deck
to do duty as a midshipman. Every one expressed satisfaction at my
promotion, and my new messmates vied with each other in manifesting
their generous feelings.

After a passage of four months, we arrived at Madras, and I lost no
time in acquainting my parents with my destination; but, unfortunately,
the letter never reached their hands, as the ship which conveyed it was
wrecked off the Cape of Good Hope, and every soul perished. Scarcely
had we time to refit and victual, when orders were received to proceed
to the China seas, as two French frigates had been seen cruising among
the islands. Thither we hastened, and continued our search after them
for six months, but without success, and at the expiration of that time
we returned to Madras. It would be useless for me to enumerate the
many places we visited during our stay in India, which occupied upwards
of three years. Despatches were prepared for us, and we sailed for
England.

Throughout the whole period of my absence, I had never heard from
home; but still the fond remembrances of early enjoyments in that
sweet spot clung to my soul, and Agnes in all her loveliness was ever
present to my imagination, prompting me to many an honourable action
and restraining me from every thing which could bring discredit on
my affection; indeed I may truly say, that to her I was indebted for
the respect and esteem I enjoyed from every one on board. Often did
I rejoice in my heart at the prospect of once more embracing those
who were so dear to me, and as often did the sickening sensations of
distracting doubt agitate my breast.

One lovely evening, the sky was beautifully serene; the ocean like a
clear mirror reflected the golden rays of the setting sun, and the
light breeze just lulled the spreading sails to sleep, propelling
the ship almost imperceptibly along at the rate of three knots[7] an
hour. It was one of those evenings that baffle the painter’s art, and
only the poet can portray; The first watch was drawing to a close; it
had struck seven bells;[8] the seamen on the look-out had proclaimed
“all’s well,” and every thing was again hushed to solemn stillness. I
was standing on the gangway full of pensive musings, watching a bright
star just kindling on the verge of the horizon. It beamed like a ray of
hope, irradiating the gloom which hung heavy upon my heart; suddenly
it expanded like the glowing meteor, and the ocean was illuminated
with a red and gory tinge. I was struck with astonishment, but at the
same moment an exclamation resounded fore-and-aft, “A ship on fire! a
ship on fire!” and the horrid conviction was, alas! too evident. In
a few minutes the flames were distinctly visible, and the ship was
pronounced to be about five miles distant. Never before did I witness
such alacrity among our crew, as in that hour of peril. The captain
and every officer and man were on deck immediately; and as it was
impossible for the frigate to approach in sufficient time to rescue
the sufferers, before ten minutes had elapsed from the period of first
noticing the fire, every boat was in motion towards the scene of danger.

It fell to my lot to command the captain’s gig, a swift-pulling boat
with seven men, who bent to their oars with all the might of brave
and generous spirits. As we drew near, the destructive element raged
with increasing fury, and the shrieks of the wretched creatures came
mingling with the crackling of the flames and the crash of falling
masts. The frigate had fired guns and hoisted lights to show them
succour was at hand, and the boats’ crews occasionally cheered to
announce that they were approaching to their rescue. The shouts were
returned from the burning ship, but so wild, so fearful, that they
sounded like the yell of expiring agony that still clung to hope and
life. I would have dashed instantly alongside, but the old coxswain
respectfully warned me of the danger of such a measure.

We were now within a short distance of the vessel, and oh, what a
sight of horror was presented! The ports were all open, and the flames
pouring from them as from so many mouths, seemed eager for their prey.
Numbers of poor creatures were swimming towards us, whilst others held
pieces of shattered spars with a strong convulsive grasp. The fore part
of the ship was nearly consumed, and the upper part abaft was rapidly
falling in. Those who could swim we left for other boats to take up,
and pulling under the stern, we lay unobserved by the gun-room ports,
while the fiery fragments came tumbling thick about us. Trusting to my
skill in swimming should it be deemed requisite to jump overboard, I
instantly entered the port-hole, and the ship having fallen off before
the wind, what little air there was, drove the greatest part of the
smoke forward; yet there was an almost insupportable heat, and the
suffocating vapours bade defiance to my efforts to penetrate further. A
feeling I could not account for, an indescribable feeling urged me on,
and I reached the gun-room ladder, at the bottom of which lay a human
being whose sufferings apparently were over. I passed my hand quickly
to the heart to feel if any palpitation yet remained, and discovered
that the individual was a female. She was yet living, and in a few
minutes was safely in the boat. Again I returned with three of my crew,
and soon had the satisfaction of rescuing eight poor wretches, who lay
in a state of insensibility, and must soon have perished. Stimulated
by success, we penetrated to the burning deck above, and never shall I
forget the horror of the spectacle. Here all was brilliancy and light;
and the devouring element, rolling its huge volumes over many a devoted
victim, roared in its fierceness, as if to stifle the thrilling scream
of the last death-pang. Several half-burnt and mangled bodies could be
distinguished in the flames, and many others lay in a senseless state,
unaware of the awful doom awaiting them.

Near the transom abaft, sat a woman with an infant in her arms, seeming
unconscious of any object moving near her. She saw not our approach,
but her eyeballs wildly glared upon the red hue of the burning fabric.
I spoke to her, shook her arm, but her eyes still continued fixed:
alas! the film of death was on them. She heeded me not, but clasped
her infant closer to her bosom, gave one wild, one dismal shriek, and
mortal agony was over. The moments became exceedingly precious, and
the smiling infant--for it smiled amid the horrors of the appalling
scene--was secured, and several poor wretches were dragged to the
gun-room scuttle, where they were thrown down, risking their limbs
to save their lives, and the boat was completely filled, almost to
sinking. Yet numbers were still left behind, and roused from their
stupor by the increasing heat, came rushing to the port, and plunging
headlong into the sea. It was but changing their mode of death, for
the watery element, equally fatal with that from which they strove to
escape, ingulfed them in its dark abyss, at once their destruction and
their grave.

I was compelled to put some of my rescued party in the launch, and
then pulled briskly for the frigate. The female I had thus saved was
still insensible; but yet, as she lay extended in the stern sheets
of the boat, with her head resting on my knees, I could feel the
tremulous palpitation of her heart, and hope whispered that she might
yet recover. She appeared to be young, but her dark hair hung in
thick flakes down her face, so as to conceal her features. The worthy
coxswain had wrapped the infant in his jacket, and it was now sweetly
sleeping in the box by his side. Several of the sufferers, restored to
fresh air, speedily recovered; but it was only to lament some one whom
they supposed had perished.

In the bows of the boat an elderly man raised his white head, and
with incoherent language inquired where he was. The bowman soothed
him, and tried to explain his situation; “But my son! my daughter!”
he exclaimed, “where are they?” then turning to the burning ship
continued, “wretched--wretched man, they are lost--lost for ever--and
I yet live!” He struggled to throw himself into the sea, but overcome
with weakness, fell backward.

At this moment, another voice faintly uttered “My father! my father!”
A cry of ecstacy burst from the old man’s lips:--it was his son. The
youth lay near him, and the exclamation drew my attention towards him;
he started up like one awaking from a frightful dream, and glared
wildly around. But, oh God! in what language can I portray the various
feelings which alternately took possession of my soul, when fixing
his look on me, I saw the countenance of Sir Edward’s son. A sick
shuddering came upon me. The old man had called upon his daughter, and
in an instant the inanimate body of the young female was raised in my
arms. I parted the dark tresses that obscured her face, and as the red
glare of light shone upon it, recognised my Agnes. Yes, it was she; my
arm had encircled her neck--my hand had been pressed upon her heart;
but then I knew her not, and now to find her thus! Sobs of anguish and
tumultuous bursts of joy followed in rapid succession. “You have saved
her, sir,” said the coxswain, and a glow of pleasure filled my heart.

Sir Edward and his son had relapsed into stupor, and shortly afterwards
we reached the frigate. I sprang upon the deck to inform the captain
who it was that I had brought, and then returned to the boat to see
my only--my richest treasure safely conducted up the side. In my
arms I carried the dear girl to the captain’s cabin, and stole one
kiss from those lips which I had pressed with such delight in early
infancy--clasped her to my heart, and then hastened back to my duty.

Once more I reached the ship; but all approach was now impossible, and
we could only pick up those who were enabled to swim, and occasionally
by great hazard run so close as to receive some poor sufferer from the
wreck. Yet there were many who still remained, and dreading to trust
themselves to the sea, hung tremblingly between two deaths. My boat
was once more filled, as were also all the rest, and we made for the
frigate, which had arrived within a short distance.

Suddenly an awful explosion shook the whole atmosphere; the glare
of light was for a moment increased, and the next succeeding minute
a shower of blazing timbers fell in every direction around, and the
pale moon alone shed her silvery effulgence on the transparent wave.
No shouts--no shrieks were to be heard; the bitterness of death was
passed, and all was as tranquil as the grave. Happily the burning ruin
had struck none of the boats, and we soon afterwards put the sufferers
on board the frigate. The boats then again repaired to the place, but
except the shattered remnants of the wreck, no trace was left. The
swelling billow rolled smoothly on, and that gallant ship with many
a stout heart, was buried beneath its deceitful surface. Still we
passed across and across in every direction, and long after the sun had
kindled up the day, our search was continued; but nothing met our view,
except mutilated fragments of human bodies and pieces of blackened
timber. All hands repaired on board, the boats were hoisted in, and the
frigate pursued her course for England.

On getting aboard, I hastened to the surgeon and inquired the state
of Agnes and her friends. They had all recovered, and were composed
in slumber. Etiquette forbade my entering the precincts of the cabin
uninvited, yet I lingered near the door, and the steward gave me all
the information I could obtain. Duty compelled me to attend in another
part of the ship, after which I hastened to my berth and equipped
myself in uniform for the forenoon watch. The master’s mate had been
promoted to a lieutenancy, and I had been appointed to fill the
vacant station, and never was I more studious in adjusting my dress,
whilst a feeling of pride animated me under the reflection that I had
endeavoured to earn my present distinction solely by my own efforts.

We had saved ninety-seven people, including passengers, out of one
hundred and forty-three. The ship was an East Indiaman on her passage
out, and Sir Edward was going to Bombay to fill a high official
station. No one could tell how the fire had originated, but it
was supposed to have been occasioned by the communication of some
combustible matter with the fodder stowed in the orlop deck for the
live stock. But so amazingly rapid had been its spread, that the boats
were rendered useless before they could be got out, excepting one small
jolly-boat, which sunk soon after it was lowered down.

Notwithstanding my attention to dress, it would be impossible
to describe the tumult of agitation under which I laboured.
Parents--home--Agnes, all rushed upon my heart, and the cruel blow
which had occasioned my departure mingled with the rest. When relieving
the watch I found my friend, the lieutenant upon deck, and to him I
briefly related my situation. He had heard parts of my story before;
but when I told him all, he advised me to suffer things to take
their course, to manifest a becoming spirit, and by no means to show
resentment. He said the captain had spoken very highly of me for my
exertions and humanity, and was greatly pleased with my conduct. Praise
is sweet from those who despise unmeaning flattery, and this came like
a reviving cordial to my drooping mind.

Soon after ten o’clock, Sir Edward awoke considerably refreshed, and
with his children returned thanks to Heaven for safety. They afterwards
came on deck, and as the young man ascended, a feeling of indignation
filled my breast; but it was momentary, and I walked forward to conceal
my agitation, which became almost insupportable, particularly when I
heard the captain’s voice hailing me, and guessed the purport of his
call. Mustering all my resolution, I approached them as they stood
abaft, but who can paint the different looks, of father, son, and
daughter, as the captain presented me to their notice. The recognition
was immediate, and each seemed to have a conflict of passions in the
breast. Sir Edward took my hand with coldness, and then pressed it
ardently; his son walked away, giving me a glance that betrayed humbled
pride, whilst the sweet countenance of Agnes spoke volumes to my soul,
and told me I had been treasured in her memory with fond affection.
I would have inquired for my parents; but while the question hung
upon my lips, a well-remembered face displayed itself,--it was the
old butler of the family. As soon as it was possible, I took the old
man aside, and from him learned every particular. My father had been
dismissed from his situation, and had struggled with many difficulties;
but a relation of my mother had left them a handsome competency at his
death, and their only unhappiness proceeded from ignorance of my fate.
They had mourned my loss as for one who would never return. I briefly
ran over my adventures to him, and only on one subject was I silent;
but this was unnecessary, as he told me of many circumstances which
gladdened my heart.

Being officer of the forenoon watch, it was my turn to dine with the
captain. This I would gladly have declined, but it was impossible
without a breach of regulations; and at the appointed hour, after
putting on my full-dress, I entered the cabin, and at the captain’s
request, took my seat by the side of Agnes. Sir Edward looked
displeased and bit his lips; his son arose from the table and muttered
something about “plebeian rank;” whilst the sweet girl was almost
fainting with alarm. The captain had noticed a strange peculiarity at
the first interview, and, as I understood afterwards, had answered many
inquiries respecting me. My friend, the lieutenant, had also given him
some hints, but he was not the man to see honest humility abused;
for he himself had risen from an obscure origin, and through his own
merits had climbed every gradation to his present command. Beloved by
his crew and universally respected in the service, he despised the
proud aspirings of those who considered high birth as the greatest
recommendation. Without discomposing himself, he directed the steward
to remove the young gentleman’s plate to another table. Sir Edward
keenly felt this, and rising up, demanded whether his present condition
had so far reduced him in the captain’s estimation, as to render him
the object of insult?

“Sir Edward,” replied the captain calmly, “when you have explained your
meaning, I shall be better able to answer you; at present I am involved
in mystery.”

“Look there!” said the baronet, pointing towards me, “the son of my
gardener! Look there!” continued he, turning to his son, “the heir to
the richest baronetage in Great Britain; and that”--pointing to Agnes,
“to my shame be it spoken, is my daughter.”

I offered to withdraw. “Sit still, Mr. ----,” said the captain,
rising at the same time himself with all the dignity that marked his
character. “Sir Edward,” he coolly answered, “it is not in my nature
to taunt any one with obligations. I view mankind as united to me by
the strongest ties, and whether it was a beggar or a duke, should
consider I had only done my duty in snatching a fellow-creature from
destruction. But where, let me ask, would your baronetage have been,
had not this young officer stepped between you and the grave? Where
would your ungrateful sort have been, but for his timely aid? And where
would this sweet girl, of whom any father ought to be proud,--where,
I say, would she have been, but for the youth whom you despise?” He
grew warm. “By heaven! Sir Edward, you would have found the sharks
no respecters of rank or riches; they revel in the glorious spoils
of death without troubling themselves whether their prey is of noble
or ignoble birth, and you long, ere now, might have satiated their
ravenous appetites.” The baronet shuddered. “As for this young officer,
he has been upwards of three years under my command; I have watched him
silently and secretly; he is a noble fellow, and shall never want a
friend while these old timbers hold together! If he has injured you or
your daughter, prove it, and I instantly discard him!”

“He has! he has!” exclaimed both Sir Edward and his son. I felt myself
almost inspired with eloquence, and briefly told my tale.

“If (said I) to love Miss Agnes is a crime, it is one that has to me
produced the most happy results, and never, never will I resign it.
To that love I am indebted for my present situation; has been the
pole-star of my heart, but never till this moment did my lips publicly
avow it. This then, sir, is the injury I have committed, and it now
remains with you to drive me from your patronage, or still to cherish
the obscure individual whom you have been pleased to raise.”

“Drive you away, my boy!” replied the captain; “no, no! I should indeed
consider you unworthy of my notice, could you associate with so lovely
a lass and remain insensible to her amiable disposition and beauty.
But what says the fair lady? Does she too despise the poor but honest
sailor?”

A faint smile passed across her pallid cheek as she distinctly
uttered--“He has preserved my father’s life.” At that moment, thrown
off my guard, I caught her hand and pressed it to my lips. Both her
father and her brother saw it, but they neither spoke nor moved.

“Come, come,” said the captain, as he turned round to hide the
gathering tear; “let us sit down to dinner, and we’ll discuss the
matter afterwards. At present, thank God, you are safe; the young folks
have yet many years to pass over their heads, and a thousand things may
happen. Thus much, however, I will say; if ever he disgraces his cloth,
I will be the first to oppose his designs; but if, on the contrary, he
continues in the same honourable course he has begun, I will support
him with hand and heart; so, Sir Edward, you will have two opponents
instead of one.”

Sir Edward resumed his seat, his son returned to the table, but it was
evidently with great mortification, and the dinner passed off tolerably
well.

The infant I had taken from its dying mother, was the son of a female
passenger going to join her husband, an officer in the army who had
preceded her about twelve months, at a time when it was impossible she
could accompany him. The little innocent did not want for nurses in the
frigate, as a great many women had been saved, and every seamen was
anxious to caress and fondle the child. It was afterwards restored to
its father; and both their names were returned amongst the killed on
the plains of Waterloo,--the former a colonel, the latter a captain in
his father’s regiment. But to proceed.

After touching at the island of Flores for a supply of water and fresh
provisions, we pursued our course for home; and though from my junior
station I could not join the company of Sir Edward and his family, nor
even approach the captain without his sanction, unless on duty, yet
Agnes took frequent opportunities for conversing with me. I did not
venture to mention my ardent attachment, or request a return of her
esteem; yet I had the satisfaction of knowing that we regarded each
other with feelings of affection, founded upon the purest desire of
promoting each other’s happiness. None but those who have witnessed,
can form an idea of the beauties of a fine clear summer evening passed
upon the smooth surface of the ocean; it is the season when the
officers assemble on the quarter-deck, and as they pace fore-and-aft,
enjoy the social and unrestrained converse which is precious to the
heart. The falling shades of twilight conceal the anxious look as busy
Memory conjures up scenes of past joys, and Hope portrays the coming
future. It was at these hours that Agnes generally came on deck, and I
had the inexpressible pleasure of enjoying her society; for Sir Edward
had relaxed in his haughtiness though his son remained impenetrably
stubborn.

At length we arrived in England, and the baronet repaired to London;
but previously to his departure I received the most solemn assurances
of the attachment of Agnes. To my friend, the lieutenant, I was
indebted for this last interview; and in his presence our vows of
fidelity were pledged. A few weeks afterwards, the baronet with his son
and daughter once more embarked for Bombay. Agnes wrote me a farewell
letter, and every energy of my soul was aroused to fresh exertions in
my profession, under the hope of one day calling her mine. As soon as
duty would admit, I visited my parents, whose joy at seeing me again
exceeded all bounds. They were very comfortably settled, and it was not
amongst the least of their gratifications to behold their only child
arrayed in the naval uniform of his country.

It would be a useless, though perhaps not altogether an uninteresting
task, for me to detail the events of the seven succeeding years, during
which I frequently endeavoured to get on the East India station,
and at last obtained my desire. At this time I was first-lieutenant
of a frigate, (as through the interest of the captain, I received a
commission almost immediately after passing my examination,) and had
amassed a very handsome property in prize-money; but I knew it would
be necessary for me to gain higher promotion before Sir Edward would
listen to my proposals. Nevertheless, the prospect of seeing Agnes
afforded me the most lively emotions of pleasure. To this moment I can
remember the delight which swelled my soul when we anchored at Bombay,
particularly as we had captured an enemy’s ship that had long been a
great annoyance to commerce in the Indian seas, as it seemed to promise
me another step.

As soon as duty would permit, I went on shore and eagerly hastened to
the residence of Sir Edward, where almost the first individual that met
my sight was the old butler. From him I learned that the baronet had
been consigned to the tomb about nine months;--that young Sir Edward
retained an important and lucrative office,--and that the gentle Agnes,
harassed by the _importunities_ (I afterwards heard _cruelties_) of
her brother to become the wife of an extremely wealthy but depraved
libertine, had sunk broken-hearted to the grave! and the old man, with
many tears, placed in my hands her last letter addressed to me, with
a small box containing her miniature and several other mementos of an
affectionate heart.

I shall not attempt to describe the anguish of my spirit at this heavy
disappointment; at first it seemed to wither up my faculties, as if
the only incentive to exertion was entirely destroyed, and all my
future prospects were thenceforward to be dark and dreary. Many years
have flown away since, and I am now an old post captain; but though I
have seen hundreds of beautiful and pleasing women, I am still single.
My affection for the devoted Agnes--my first, my only love--remains
unshaken, and I look forward to that happy union in the blissful realms
of immortality which knows neither separation nor sorrow.


FOOTNOTES

[7] Three miles.

[8] Half-past ten o’clock.




THE VETERAN SOLDIER.

    “The brave poor soldier ne’er despise,
      Nor treat him as a stranger:
    For still he’ll prove his country’s stay,
      In every hour of danger.”


The young urchins were taking their last five minutes of play on the
beautiful village green at S----, in Devonshire, previous to returning
to the school-room for the afternoon, and in the midst of them stood
a tall but aged man, who appeared to be regulating the game with all
the accuracy of a thorough tactician. I stood watching the interesting
group of children (of all ages) whose actions were guided by the tall
old man, and witnessed their parting when the sonorous bell called them
from their sports. They assembled round the aged mentor, and in a broad
Irish accent he bade them mind their “larning,” and be good “childer.”

I entered into conversation with the veteran, and found he was a
pensioner on the army, who had also a little property to live upon in
the village of S----, which had been left him by an officer whose life
he had preserved at the battle of Talavera. Having an hour or two
to spare, I requested to hear something of his history, and with the
garrulity natural to old age, he readily complied with my request. We
seated ourselves, on a rustic bench beneath a giant sycamore, and he
began by telling me--but I cannot do better than give it in his own
language.

“Faith, but your honour’s mighty condescending,” he exclaimed, “to
listen to the chathering of ould Pat. Fifty years have marched off
under General Time since I first shouldered the firelock, and now I
am daily expecting the route (for my billet is nearly expired) to
assemble for the grand review before the sarcher of all hearts. Och,
many’s the time and oft I’ve wished for some kind friend that I might
spake a word to and unburthen my sinful spirit; for when I’ve stood
sentry all alone by myself in the dark nights in Ameriky and Spain,
and in dare little Ireland too, I’ve thought, ‘Arrah Paddy, but you
are a great big blaggard, so you are, for running away from your ould
mother that’s dead and gone, without so much as seeing her dacently
laid under the turf. If she had been alive, it would have broke her
heart, so it would, to think how her own beautiful Paddy should desart
her in time of need, and not stop to see her waked.’ But ’twas the
dthrink, your honour, ’twas the murthering dthrink, and bad manners to
Sarjent Linstock for that same; he laughed at poor Pat, and marched
us off without bate of drum, saying that ‘She would never wake again;’
for I must be after telling you that there was a recruiting party
came down to the fair, so they picked me out as the most likely lad
on the sod; and indeed your honour, there wasn’t many in those days,
though I say it meself, that dared tread upon my greatcoat, or call my
shtick a rascal. But, as I said before, it was the dthrink, and then
they chated me by slipping the king’s countenance into my fob when I
knew nothing about it at all, at all; but they swore I had ’listed
willingly, and had taken the picture meself. Och, by my conscience,
didn’t I get into a thundering rage, sure!--not that I minded sarving
his Majesty, heaven bless the heart of his soul, that’s in t’other
world! but I thought it was not trateing me handsome, your honour, to
trap me into it. But I found it was of no use to complain; so I went
to bid poor mother good bye, and she’d just breath enough left to
tell me not to disgrace the country that gave me birth. ‘Arrah Paddy,
(says she,) my own dare Paddy, that I loved so tinderly, and used to
get the but--but--but-buthermilk and pra-pratees for!’ Oh, sir, ’tis a
big shame to see a sodger cry; but when I think of the dare soul and
the buthermilk, how can I help it? ‘Niver dishonour your cloth, Paddy,
(says she,) nor the king you sarve, nor the father that begot you.
Fight in a just cause, and when the vanquished cry for quarter, unlock
the heart and spare the hand. Protect the innocent, and do your duty
like a man.’

“Then there was poor Norah, your honour. Och, hone, but I thought it
would have broken my heart entirely, to see how the tears chased each
other down her pale face! ‘And why will ye lave me, Paddy, (says she)
all alone by meself? Oh, look at our cottage and the peat-stack--where
will you find the likes of it in another country, Paddy? Then there’s
the bit of a bog yonder for the pigs and the geese, and your own dare
Norah, and the pratee garden. Oh, why will you go, Paddy, and lave me
all alone by meself?’ And then, your honour, I put my arms round her
neck, (for I couldn’t spake a word,) and my tears fell trickling on a
bosom that looked like twin roses moistened with dew. Oh, I niver felt
before nor since as I did at that same moment! But then Mr. Sarjent
must have his say, divel twist him to the right about round the rim
of the moon,--God forgive me that I should have unchristian feelings
tow’rds the vilest of his creatures; ‘Come, come, young man, (says he)
fall into the ranks and march; you’ll soon find prettier girls to lead
a wild-goose chase!’ Bad manners to him for that same, to try and make
my own dare Norah believe that her Pat would iver cease to love her as
his own heart’s blood; so I up and tould him I didn’t like to be made
game of. ‘Well, well, (says he) I suppose an honest sodger may have
a kiss.’--‘Arrah, dress back to the rear, (says I) Mr. Sarjent, for
by me soul, if you lay but one of your thieving-hooks upon a digit of
her corporal substance, faith! but I’ll brake me arm across your face,
so I will.’ Well, your honour, and so he persisted in that same, and
cotch’d hould of her gown. Oh, ’twas more than Irish blood could brook,
and ‘Lay there jewel!’ says I, stretching him along upon mother earth
before he could cry ‘whack!’ and then they put iron mittens on me, and
tore my swate love away. I thought me brain would have turned, and
so they took me before ould Justice Ballymagfoglem, and poor Pat was
committed for a rogue and a vagabond, and marched off for Cork under a
military guard; and put into jail.

“A few days afterwards and the transports were going to sail; so they
trotted me down to the beach, and there I found a great many more like
meself. Well, just as I was stepping into the boat, I heard the swate
voice of my own dear Norah, and so I stepped back again. ‘Jump into
the boat! you mutinous rascal,’ says the sarjent. ‘Rascal yourself,
(says I) Mr. Sarjent; do you think his honoured majesty, God bless him!
would refuse me one last embrace from the dare cratur I’d broke the
bit o’ gold with? Arrah, be aisey now, and paws off,’ for they began
to handle me again, your honour. ‘Let the poor fellow alone!’ said the
midshipmite of the boat; ‘let him alone to spake to the girl.’--‘God
bless you! young jontleman (says I) for that same. May your father
niver have to sorrow over your mother’s son!’

“And so poor Norah came to me; but I couldn’t throw my arms round her
neck now, your honour, for the bracelets they had clapped upon my
wrists; but she stooped down and got between them, and we were folded
to each other’s hearts. Oh, sir, I feel it at this moment, and hope
you won’t think the worse of poor Pat for the dthrop in his eye. Well,
we were obliged to part; ‘Oh Paddy, (says she) niver, niver forget
your country or your Norah!’--and bad luck to me, your honour, if ever
I did--and she waved her apron till I saw her out of sight, and then
I could have laid down and died. ‘Niver forget your country or your
Norah!’ were her last words; and they have ever been engraven on my
heart, by the same token that Corporal Flannagan, who had received a
’varsity edecation where he was brought up to run arrands and clane
shoes, composed the beautifullest song,--oh! your honour, it would do
your heart good to hear it. Faith, and it’s here I’ve got it, along
with the bit of broken gold and a lock of my own darling’s hair, all
black and shining,--oh! they’re a rich treasure to poor Pat. My hair
was like it once, but now my head is silvered over with the snow of
age; but my heart is as warm as iver, and melts with tenderness, spite
of the frost of adversity that has so often nipped it. Would your
honour like to rade that same? or shall I rade it to you? Oh, I can
repeat it by heart, for sure it is always laying next to it.

    ‘Dear land of my fathers, their glory and pride,
    Who fought for their homes and in Freedom’s cause died;
    The hallow’d green turf-mound marks each sacred spot,
    And their spirits still cry, Let us ne’er be forgot!
    Forget you? Ah never, whilst Shannon’s stream flows,
    And Liberty’s tree on dear Erin’s land grows,
    To yield us shilelahs to lather our foes
                  Will Paddy forget you,--ah never!

    ‘Your lovely green meadows, all sparkling with dew,
    Where Norah first met me, how dear to my view;
    Remembrance now pictures the sweet little cot,
    And I hear her last words, Let me ne’er be forgot!
    Forget you? Ah never! though now far apart,
    Still faithful and honest shall be this poor heart;
    Till life’s latest breath from my lips shall depart
                  Can Paddy forget you?--ah never!’

“There, your honour, what do you think of that for a composition? oh
sure, it’s a sublimity. ‘Can Paddy forget you? ah never!’ But to make
the long of the short of it and go on with my story; I was sent on
board a transport, and the next day we sailed with the rest for the
West Injees, and all the passage out I was drilled morning, noon,
and night, till I was as thin as a pratee dibble,--marching and
countermarching between two guns on the deck, that wer’n’t more nor six
feet asunder; and what with the sea-sickness, and the drilling, and the
six-upon-four,[9] I was almost done up by the time we got to Jemakee,
where they make niggers of the poor blacks.

“Och! your honour, but that was the place for the yellow faver and the
land crabs, and may-be I didn’t get a long spell in the hospital, that
made me as thin as a ramrod and as wake as ten-water grog. But I got
over that bout; though many’s the brave sodger I’ve seen hearty and
well at sunset--talking about home and the darlins--and a loathsome
corpse before morning, and buried by day-break. By me conscience,
death gives but little more warning there than he does in the field of
battle. Yet I got used to the place at last, and there I was made a
corporal, and should have been contint but for the thoughts of my poor
Norah.

“Well, many years after this, the regiment was ordered to the River
Plate, and so we landed in Maldonado Bay and took the Island of
Goretta. Oh, your honour, it made my heart ache to see the poor souls
lie bleeding on the ground, and to be obliged to stick my bayonet into
the breast of a fellow-cratur! But I thought of my ould mother’s
advice, sure,--‘Do your duty like a man.’ After this, we sailed up
to Monte Video, and I shall niver forget to remember that same, when
we stormed the breach over a scaling ladder of dead bodies that came
tumbling down upon us as fast as we could get up. By and by, somebody
fetches me the terriblest poke of the sconce; it made the light dance
in my eyes like sparks from a skyrocket, and who should it be but my
old friend Sarjent Linstock, sure, as dead as a red herring, your
honour. ‘Long life to you, jewel! (says I) for taking yourself out of
the way so dacently;’ but my heart smote me as soon as I had said it.
‘Shame to you, Paddy, (thought I) to rejoice in the downfall of any
man; you don’t know how soon it may be your own turn,’ and it struck
me all of a heap entirely, so I stood stock still. ‘On, on, my brave
fellows!’ roared somebody in the rear, giving me a prick behind with
the bayonet; it made me jump like a billy-goat, and so I rushed on,
headed by our brave captain, and we entered the town.

“Well, there was a comical fellow of the name of Taylor[10] (he was a
sailor commanding a private brig of war) advanced with us, having a
bag of Union-Jacks over his shoulder to hoist upon the batteries. When
we got into the great square ould Elio, the governor, stood ready with
his troops to receive us; so we charged, and Taylor running on, knocked
the ould fellow down with the bag of Jacks, and after that, och! but it
was all dickey with them.

“‘Arrah, Paddy, what booty have you got?’ says Corporal Blacketer.
‘Sorrow the scurragh,’ says I. ‘Och, hone to your heart, look here!’
says he; and so, your honour, he turns round upon his back, and puts
his hand into his haversack, and pulls out a little silver image, that
I knew at first glance was St. Peter. ‘Oh, you tief o-the-world, (says
I,) what, rob a church?’--‘No, no, (says the corporal,) I had it from
an honest priest, to redeem his _corpas-any-mule-he_ from danger. And
see here, (opening his cartouche-box and showing another,) and here,
(tapping his knapsack that bulked out,) see here! I’ve got all the
saints in the calendar dacently buckled up; faith, here’s enough to
make an almanack.’

“But what plased me most was, the good cheer we met with after our long
voyage. I’ll engage we wasn’t long getting the camp-kettles to work.
Oh, there was beef and mutton for picking up, and turkeys and chickens
enough to stock all the _uphoulsterers_ in the united kingdom. Oh, your
honour, didn’t we live like fighting cocks, sure?”

At this moment, an elderly female called to the veteran from the door
of a snug little cottage, mantled with evergreens and surrounded by a
garden neatly laid out, and kept in the most exact order.

“Faith! (said he) but my baccy’s ready; and will your honour condescend
to walk into the cabin, to rest yees a little while?”

I told him my engagements would not at that moment permit me; but as I
should remain some time in the neighbourhood, I would most certainly
visit him once more before I quitted that part of the country.

“I hope no offence,” said he, “but I should be proud to do meself the
honour of your acquaintance, so I would; and if you could make it
convenient to give poor Pat a call now and then, ’twould cause joy to
dance in his heart, and pleasure would stretch out the wrinkles in his
withered countenance. Long life to your honour, and may God bless you!”

The veteran rose from his seat, gave his hand a military flourish
to his hat, and marched off in ordinary time to his cottage; whilst
I pursued my way to the residence of a friend, reflecting on the
vicissitudes of life.

A few days after this adventure, I again visited the spot; and on
advancing to the village green, I observed my friend Pat with some
twenty little urchins drawn up in a line, each with a broomstick or
mop-handle, going through the various evolutions of the drill-ground.
He was in the first position for facing to the right; and the
youngsters, with mouths and eyes wide open, were watching the motion.

Though seventy winters had spent their storms upon his head, he stood
erect and firm, and at that moment would have been a fine study for an
artist. “To the right face!” said he, and the motion brought him full
in my front; his hand was flourished to his hat in an instant, and from
a countenance expressive of command, it changed to one of the most
lively pleasure. “Oh, joy to the hour that I see your honour again!
Faith! but delight is bateing the roll upon the drum of my heart, and
every swate sensation is answering to the muster.”

The children, no longer under control, were charging each other in
front and rear, which annoying the veteran, he exclaimed, “Arrah be
aisey, and don’t be after making such a hubaboo. Double quick time,
march!” and off they started, as wild as young colts. “Are any of these
your own?” inquired I. “Oh no, your honour,” he replied mournfully;
“when the turf covers poor ould Pat, his lamp will be clane put out.
But see at yon gossoon; oh, it makes my heart ache to look at him, for
he has never a friend in the world, nor in Ireland eather, save and
beside myself, your honour. Sure, isn’t he a darling of a boy, by token
that he’s the very image of my own dare Norah. Come here, Casey, und
spake to the gentleman; don’t stand rubbing your pate there.”

A fine healthy lad with long flaxen curls approached, and took hold
of my hand; but this did not altogether agree with the old soldier’s
ideas of etiquette, and he continued addressing the youth, “Run off,
you ragged rascal, and let his honour alone. Don’t stand grubbing with
your ten toes, like a pig in a pratee garden. Faith, but he’s off; and
now perhaps your honour would like to know a little more of my history?
But first I’ll go back to the end, and tell you straight forward in a
circuitous manner, that we mayn’t set out in a round about way.

“Sure and wasn’t it at Monte Video that you left me last? And faith,
I might have staid there till death, and longer, but they ordered
me up for Boney’s Airs; and och, hone, but we suffered severely at
that place, marching up to our middles in water without rations and
without rest for three days. And then the assault,--bad luck to the
divil!--didn’t we charge into the town with our bagnets, and nothing
but our hammers in the locks? and that, too, where every house was a
battery in itself, and we had no enemy to meet on plain ground? By
the powers of Moll Kelly, but they knocked us down like bastes in a
slaughter-house, and divil a rap could we give ’em again. Only think,
your honour, of straight streets crossing each other at right angles,
so that a nine-pounder at the end of one street was a defence for the
whole; and then they pulled down a part of the cathedral, so that
nothing might stop the shot.

“Oh, that was a terrible consarn, so it was, and many brave fellows
lost their billet; for these Spaniards had an ugly knack of knocking
the wounded on the head after they were kilt. Sure, wasn’t I one of the
party that stormed the Pizzelaro del Tow-row, where the bulls fight?
and didn’t we make a big bull of it? for how could we get at ’em,
your honour, seeing there was not even the spoke of a ladder by way of
staircase? Ah, then poor Pat tumbled down with a wound I got in the
breast, and then I thought of dare little Ireland and Norah; and so I
struggled to get up again, but all was of no use; so I fainted with the
loss of blood, and there I lay, spachless and comical entirely.

“Well, when I woke, I heard a soft swate voice spaking to me in broken
English--it was just like Norah’s, your honour; and so I opened my
daylights to take a peep at the angel, for I thought it was her own
dare self come in a phantomical manner to cheer my weary spirit, about
to quit this world of trouble, only I couldn’t make out the brogue;
but not a soul did I see, saving and except a young officer in the
uniform of a Spanish hussar kneeling by my side and feeling my pulse,
which was now bateing the dead march. The creature started when I
showed my peepers, and the cap flew from its head. Oh, I shall never
forget to remember that same, for it was a woman, your honour, and her
long auburn locks came clustering down her forehead, and she looked
like the commander-in-chief of the cherry-bums. Oh, she was beauty’s
queen, and a countryman of my own; for though French by birth, she was
married to a son of the sod. Long life to her, whether she’s dead or
alive, for her kindness to poor Pat! for didn’t she have me carried
by the viceroy’s sarvants to snug quarters, where my wound was dressed
and the ball distracted? Faith, and she did, your honour, and many
more besides me; for after the battle--having a regard for the brave
sodger, and knowing that many lay bleeding on the ground--she put on
the regimentals of a captain of hussars, as one of General Liniers’
aids-de-camp, and rode through the scenes of carnage to stop the
murderers’ hands.[11] Oh, wasn’t she a darling of a soul? Ax General
Beresford, your honour, for he knew her very well, by token--but that’s
none of my business to notice; only ’twas whispered as soft as a peal
of bells, that they found his image in wax-work, all alive and kicking,
your honour.

“But the worst of it was the loss of our colours, that hung dangling in
the church of San Nicholas, where the brave Sir Samuel Auchmuty had
suffered so much, and was compelled to surrender; but that was a sad
job to make the most of it, and all through the treachery and cowardice
of Whitelocke, bad luck to his powthered fiz-hog. But the colours, your
honour, oh, didn’t they stick in my gizzard, sure? and so I spoke a
word or two about it to my ould comrade, Corporal Blacketer. ‘What’s to
be done,’ says he. ‘Arrah, dacently walk off with them,’ says I. ‘How’s
that?’ says he. So seeing he had no liking to the matter, I was obliged
to close my chather-box, and soon after we sailed down the river.

“Well, about two years afterwards, an ill wind blow’d me there again,
and I couldn’t help going to take a sly peep. Oh, didn’t I get into a
big rage, sure, when they struck like a blight upon my eyes? ‘Oh Paddy,
(says I) twig ’em, and take shame to yourself for not dislodging them
from their height;’ and so it bothered me night and day, your honour,
that I couldn’t slape a wink, nor ever cease to think of it while
waking.

“Well, one evening Jerry Driscoll and meself were ashore, taking a sup
of the cratur. Jerry was a broth of a boy, and knew that two and two
made five when his own ugly mug was shoved in to balance the account.
He was a blue jacket, your honour, belonging to a sloop of war. ‘Arrah
Jerry, (says I) shall we do the thing?’--‘Faith and we will, (says he)
and the more by token that they have stuck the bunting up!’ as indeed
they had, your honour, with R. M. B. on it, for Royal Marine Battalion.
So when night came, off we set with a long rope and got safe into the
middle of the centre of the church, and clapped ourselves in ambush
clane out of sight where nobody could see us.

“About midnight, ‘Now Jerry, (says I) you must mount a reev-o; only
take care the rope does not get round your neck.’ Well, just as we were
going to begin, we heard the most terriblest noise; and what should it
be but one of the padres, who had been sipping the supernaculum and
fallen asleep in the sentry-box--arrah, the confessional-box, I mane.
Bad manners to him for stretching his daylights and prying into honest
men’s affairs. Oh! your honour, he roared like a pope’s bull, and out
he came as big as three moderate sized aldermen. ‘Arrah, be aisey,’
says Jerry, giving him a thump in his rotunda, which would have held a
cathedral, ‘can’t you behave yourself, jewel?’ Thump went Jerry again,
till his coporation sounded like a big drum, or a Chinese gong. The
sentry peeped in at the church-door; Jerry twigged him and cotched the
friar round the neck, and down they rolled together, both roaring with
all their might.--‘Arrah, Jerry, (says I) don’t you mane to get up?’
‘Oh, the murthering rascal, (says he) don’t you see how he’s using
me;’ and indeed, your honour, the padre was belaboring him entirely
with both his fists. I ran to assist, but a sarjent entered with the
guard.

“‘What’s the matter here?’ says the sarjent,--for he was a countryman,
your honour, that had deserted from Whitelocke’s army.--‘Oh, by my
conscience, (says Jerry) but that same fellow is a thumping rogue, so
he is.’--‘Be aisey,’ says the sarjent; and so he speaks to the padre
in broken Spanish, and tells him to get up; but he couldn’t do that
thing till the sodgers lever’d him up with their firelocks. And then
he tells them a long story about his being asleep, and dreaming that
somebody was trying to steal the Virgin Mary, and that San Nicholas
tweaked his noise, and that he woke and cotched us at it. ‘Do you hear
that?’ says the sarjent. ‘Faith and I do,’ says Jerry; ‘but sorrow the
silly-bull do I understand at all, at all. All I know of the matter is,
that we were passing by and heard the poor jontleman hollaing; so we
ran in, and thinking he’d got the cramp in the stomach, I rubbed his
_eminence_ a little; when the ungrateful fellow knocked me down, and
threw himself on the top of the outside of me, and I’m almost mumm’d to
a jammy--arrah, no, jumm’d to a mammy--och, botheration, it’s jamm’d to
a mummy I mane.’--‘But what’s that rope?’ said the sarjent, pointing
to it. ‘Oh, the sinner,’ says Jerry, ‘and sure he was going to hang
himself, but didn’t like it; faith, but it’s all plain enough now, Mr.
Sarjent, and by the powers we’ve saved his life.’

“However, your honour, they marched us off to the guard-house, Jerry
and I; and there we staid till morning light, like the babes in the
wood, our hearts bateing the tattoo all the time, fer we’d no great
relish to the mines for life. But, joy betide the friar; he made it
all out to be a miracle, and so we were released for the honour of San
Nicholas, in spite of the thwacks he got in his corporation, that would
have held a whole bench of bishops; and so the colours hang there till
this time, your honour, unless they’ve taken them down since.[12] Happy
enough were we to get out of that, and they said the friar would be
_cannonized_; but Jerry swore they should ram him into a _mortar_, or
marry him to the gunner’s daughter, before he would go colour-staleing
again, with a vengeance to it.”

I left the old man with a promise of visiting him again; and in a few
months afterwards, being in the same part of the country, I strolled
towards his usual resort--the village green. There was no busy hum
of voices--no cheering laugh, or infantile prattle; the grass grew
as luxuriant as ever, but the children were listlessly scattered
about, as if they had lost the common tie which once had bound them
together:--the veteran was no more. In a corner of the churchyard,
below a time-shattered elm, was a turf-raised mound, and beneath it
lay the mouldering remains of poor Pat. It was a lonely spot, and the
villagers took delight in keeping it clear from weeds. A few wild
flowers blossomed around, and some rustic had carved a rude memorial on
a slab of wood. There were guns and swords neatly cut at the top, and
underneath was cyphered a plain P. M. Below these letters appeared this
simple elegy,--

                           A Soldier’s Grave.

It was enough, and its language spoke more closely to the heart than
all the pompous eulogies which deck the monumental urn, or sculptured
tomb. It was indeed a soldier’s grave, and a sailor’s tear was shed
upon it.


FOOTNOTES

[9] Six men upon four men’s allowance of provision.

[10] This anecdote of Taylor, I have since found to be correct. He
commanded a small brig, and was commissioned by the Spaniards; so that
when the English fleet first anchored off Monte Video, he was under
Spanish colours, having brought in the most daring manner a cargo
of cattle for the city, which, being closely invested, was short of
provisions. These cattle he landed in a small sandy bay, but payment
for them was refused. That night he came out in his boat (a beautiful
Deal galley) clandestinely to the English admiral, and offered his
services as a pilot, and also to bring off the cattle that was landed,
provided he had a strong party from the ships to assist him. His offer
was accepted, and he accomplished the undertaking. After the cessation
of hostilities, he settled at Buenos Ayres, and acted as a pilot for
the River Plate; but on the declaration of independence and the war
between Buenos Ayres and Monte Video, he was appointed to command the
squadron of the former. Since then, he joined Lord Cochrane, when
admiral of the Brazilian navy, and commanded a Brazilian frigate. He
is, I believe, still in existence, and holds high rank at Rio Janeiro.

[11] I have since ascertained the accuracy of poor Pat’s statement. The
lady was Madame O’Gorman, a native of the Mauritius, and married to
Captain O’Gorman, brother to the great counsellor of that name. She was
a remarkably fine woman, and possessed great influence over Liniers,
the viceroy. Bold and daring in her manners, and of an intrepid
disposition, she attended the viceroy during the battle habited in the
dress of an officer of hussars; and after the failure of the attack,
she rode through the town, at the imminent risk of her life, to protect
the wounded. Her brother was in the Spanish service, and was one of the
officers present when Sir Samuel Auchmuty surrendered his sword.

[12] This too I have found to be correct. They had not been taken down
a short time since, and the Spaniards were extremely proud of the
trophies. The damage done by the British artillery to the churches and
steeples was promptly repaired; but the spots where the shot struck
were painted black, and in some instances the shot themselves were left
remaining in the walls. The Spaniards execrated the name of Whitelocke,
and expressed great disgust whenever it was mentioned. As a set-off
against this, a friend informs me that, in several houses at Buenos
Ayres, he saw framed upon the walls the series of British engravings of
the Battle of Trafalgar, Death of Nelson, &c.


                                THE END.




ADVERTISEMENTS


                                                     CHESNUT STREET,
                                                           JANUARY, 1835

                               NEW WORKS

                           LATELY PUBLISHED,
                                  AND
                       PREPARING FOR PUBLICATION,

                                   BY
                     E. L. CAREY & A. HART, PHILAD.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        In Three Volumes, 12mo.

                            JACOB FAITHFUL;
                         OR, LIFE ON THE WATER.

                               COMPLETE.

           By the Author of “PETER SIMPLE,” “KING’S OWN,” &c.

“It is replete with amusement and oddity. Poor Jacob was born on
the water. ‘It was,’ says he, ‘in a floating sort of a box, called
a lighter, and upon the river Thames, that I first smelt the
mud.’”--_Baltimore Gazette._

“Equal in merit to Peter Simple, and perhaps even more entertaining,
are the adventures of Jacob Faithful, another of the whimsical
creations of Captain Marryatt’s prolific brain.”--_Saturday Courier._

“It is full of character and incident, and will, we doubt not, be a
universal favourite.”--_Lit. Gaz._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        In Three Volumes, 12mo.

                             PETER SIMPLE;
                    OR, ADVENTURES OF A MIDSHIPMAN.

                               COMPLETE.

        By the Author of the “KING’S OWN,” “NAVAL OFFICER,” &c.

“The quiet humour which pervades the work is irresistibly amusing, and
the fund of anecdote and description which it contains, entertaining.
The humour sometimes approaches to downright burlesque, and the
incident to extravagance, if not improbability; but, altogether, as a
book of amusement, it is excellent.”--_Baltimore Gazette._

“Those who are the most competent to Judge, say that Captain Marryatt
is altogether superior to any other writer of naval sketches or
descriptions, living or dead.”--_N. Y. Commercial Advertiser._

“This is the best work that Captain Marryatt has produced.”--_Atlas._

“‘Peter Simple’ is certainly the most amusing of Captain Marryatt’s
amusing novels; a species of picture quite unique; a class by
themselves, full of humour, truth, and graphic sketches.”--_Literary
Gazette._

“This is an admirable work, and worthy of the noble service it is
written to illustrate.”--_Spectator._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                           THE NAVAL OFFICER;
        OR, SCENES AND ADVENTURES IN THE LIFE OF FRANK MILDMAY.

        By the Author of “PETER SIMPLE,” “THE KING’S OWN,” etc.

“This is the most seaman-like composition that has yet issued from the
press. We recommend it to all who ‘live at home at ease,’ and need
scarcely say, that no man-of-wars man should remain an hour without
it.”--_Atlas._

The following beautiful and judicious compliment to the genius of
Captain Marryatt, author of the Naval Officer, is from the pen of
Mr. Bulwer, who, it will be acknowledged, is no inexperienced or
unobserving critic:

“Far remote from the eastern and the voluptuous--from the visionary and
refining--from the pale colouring of drawing-room life, and the subtle
delicacies of female sentiment and wit, the genius of Captain Marryatt
embodies itself in the humour, the energy, the robust and masculine
vigour of bustling and actual existence; it has been braced by the sea
breezes; it walks abroad in the mart of busy men, with a firm step and
a cheerful and healthy air. Not, indeed, that he is void of a certain
sentiment, and an intuition into the more hidden sources of mental
interest; but these are not his forte, or his appropriate element. He
is best in a rich and various humour--rich, for there is nothing poor
or threadbare in his materials. His characters are not, as Scott’s,
after all, mere delineations of one oddity, uttering the same eternal
phraseology, from the ‘prodigious’ of Dominie Sampson, to ‘provant’
of Major Dalgetty--a laughable, but somewhat poor invention: they are
formed of compound and complex characteristics, and evince no trifling
knowledge of the metaphysics of social life.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                            THE KING’S OWN;
                           A TALE OF THE SEA.

       By the Author of “THE NAVAL OFFICER,” “PETER SIMPLE,” etc.

“An excellent novel.”--_Edinburg Review._

“Captain Marryat may take his place at the head of the naval novelists
of the day.”--_United Service Journal._

“The adventures of the hero, through bold and stirring scenes, lose
not a jot of their interest to the last, while the naval descriptions
of sights and deeds on shipboard may be compared with any similar
production of which we have any knowledge.”--_Atlas._

“A very remarkable book, full of vigour, and characterized by
incidents of perfect originality, both as to conception and treatment.
Few persons will take up the book without going fairly through it
to the catastrophe, which startles the reader by its unexpected
nature.”--_Literary Gazette._

“Replete with genius. The work will go far permanently to fix the name
of Captain Marryat among the most popular and successful writers of
fiction of the age.”--_Felix Farley’s Bristol Journal._

“A work, perhaps, not to be equalled in the whole round of romance,
for the tremendous power of its descriptions, for the awfulness of its
subjects, and for the brilliancy and variety of the colours with which
they are painted.”--_Spectator._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                        THE PACHA OF MANY TALES.

                  By the Author of “PETER SIMPLE,” &c.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                             ADVENTURES OF
                    JAPHET IN SEARCH OF HIS FATHER.

          By the Author of “JACOB FAITHFUL,” “KING’S OWN” &c.

                             (_In Press._)

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        In Three Volumes, 12mo.

                           TOM CRINGLE’S LOG.

                               COMPLETE.

                 A NEW EDITION, REVISED AND CORRECTED.

“The scenes are chiefly nautical, and we can safely say that no author
of the present day, not even excepting our own Cooper, has surpassed
him in his element.”--_U. S. Gazette._

“The sketches are not only replete with entertainment, but useful, as
affording an accurate and vivid description of scenery, and of life and
manners in the West Indies.”--_Boston Traveller._

“We think none who have read this work will deny that the author is the
best nautical writer who has yet appeared. He is not Smollett, he is
not Cooper; but he is far superior to them both.”--_Boston Transcript._

“The scenes are chiefly nautical, and are described in a style of
beauty and interest never surpassed by any writer.”--_Baltimore
Gazette._

“The author has been justly compared with Cooper, and many of his
sketches are in fact equal to any from the pen of our celebrated
countryman.”--_Saturday Evening Post._

“A pleasant but a marvellously strange and wild amalgamation of water
and earth is ‘Tom Cringle;’ full of quips and cranks, and toils and
pranks. A fellow of fun and talent is he, with a prodigious taste for
yarns, long and short, old and new; never, or but seldom, carrying more
sail than ballast, and being a most delightful companion, both by land
and sea. We were fascinated with the talents of Tom when we met him
in our respected contemporary from the biting north. His Log was to
us like a wild breeze of ocean, fresh and health-giving, with now and
then a dash of the tearful, that summoned the sigh from our heart of
hearts; but now that the yarns are collected and fairly launched, we
hail them as a source of much gratification at this dull season. _Tom
Cringle and a Christmas fire! may well join in the chorus of ‘Begone,
dull care!_’--The ‘Quenching of the Torch’ is one of the most pathetic
descriptions we ever read. The ‘Scenes at Jamaica’ are full of vigour.
As a whole, we have no hesitation in pronouncing ‘The Log’ the most
entertaining book of the season. There has been a sort of Waverley
mystery thrown over the authorship of these charming papers; and though
many have guessed the author, yet we take unto ourselves the credit of
much sagacity in imagining that we only have solved the enigma:--there
are passages in ‘Tom Cringle’ that we believe no living author except
Professor Wilson himself could write, _snatches of pure, exalted, and
poetic feeling, so truly Wilsonian, that we penciled them as we read
on and said, There he is again, and again, and again; to the very last
chapter_.”--_New Monthly Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        THE CRUISE OF THE MIDGE.

                 By the Author of “TOM CRINGLE’S LOG.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                         THE MAN-OF-WAR’S-MAN.

                 By the Author of “TOM CRINGLE’S LOG.”

“No stories of adventures are more exciting than those of seamen. The
author of Tom Cringle’s Log is the most popular writer of that class,
and those sketches collected not long since into a volume by the same
publishers, in this city, were universally read. A large edition was
soon exhausted. The present is, we believe, an earlier production, and
has many of the same merits.”--_Baltimore Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                  THE PORT ADMIRAL; A TALE OF THE SEA.

                     By the Author of “CAVENDISH.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                     LIVES OF THE ENGLISH PIRATES,
                       HIGHWAY-MEN, AND ROBBERS.

                         BY CHARLES WHITEHEAD.

“These are truly entertaining volumes, fraught with anecdote, and
abounding in extraordinary adventures.”--_Naval and Military Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                               CAVENDISH;
                       OR, THE PATRICIAN AT SEA.

         _The following Notice is from the pen of Mr. Bulwer._

“The peculiar characteristics of Captain Marryatt are shared by some of
his nautical brethren; and the author of ‘Cavendish’ has evinced much
ability and very vigorous promise in the works that have issued from
his pen.”

“We should find it very difficult to be very angry with the
‘Patrician,’ even if he had fifty times his real number of faults, on
account of the jovial, easy, reckless, off-hand style of character
that seems to belong to him. Our sea portraits multiply so fast, and
advance so rapidly in excellence, that we become fastidious, and insist
upon a likeness where formerly we were contented with a caricature.
‘Cavendish’ partakes of both.... Into these thousand or rather ten
thousand scrapes, we cannot follow him, but the reader may, much to
his advantage. The Navarino narrative, in particular, will be read
with an interest proportioned to the truth and spirit with which it is
told.”--_New Monthly Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

          New and cheap Edition, in Two Volumes, 12mo., of the

                           MEMOIRS OF VIDOCQ,
               THE CELEBRATED AGENT OF THE FRENCH POLICE.

“But it is not our province or intention to enter into a discussion
of the veracity of Vidocq’s Memoirs: be they true or false; were they
purely fiction from the first chapter to the last, they would, from
fertility of invention, knowledge of human nature, and ease of style,
rank only second to the novels of Le Sage. The first volume is perhaps
more replete with interest, because the hero is the leading actor
in every scene; but in the subsequent portions, when he gives the
narrative of others, we cannot but admire the power and graphic talent
of the author. Sergeant Bellerose is scarcely inferior to the Sergeant
Kite of Farquhar; and the episodes of Court and Raoul, and that of
Adele d’Escars, are surpassed in description, depth of feeling, and
pathos, by no work of romance with which we are acquainted.”


                      _From the Boston Traveller._

“MEMOIRS OF VIDOCQ.--He who reads this book, being previously
unacquainted with the mystery of iniquity, will find himself introduced
at once into a new world: but it is a world which must be known only
to be avoided. Never before was such a mass of depravity opened to
the mind of inquiry in a single volume. It was well said by Byron,
‘truth is strange, stranger than fiction.’ Whoever passes through the
details of this singular exposition, supposing it to contain correct
delineations of fact, will be satisfied of the justness of this remark.

“The details of the varied scenes through which he has passed in
private and public life, surpass all the creations of fancy, and all
the delineations of fact, from the wonderful relations of the Arabian
Nights to the renowned exploits of Mr. Lemuel Gulliver; and from the
extraordinary sufferings and escapes of the celebrated Baron Trenck to
the still more marvellous exploits of the famous Mr. Thomas Thumb.

“It would seem, on following this singular writer through his
adventures, as if all the crimes of which human nature is capable,
all the horrors of which the universe has heard, all the astonishing
incidents which history can develope or imagination portray, all the
cool-blooded malice of the assassin, and all the varied machinations
of the most ingenious and systematic practitioners in the school of
vice, in all its varied departments, had been crowded into the life
of a single individual, or come beneath his cognizance. The lover of
mystery, who delights to ‘sup upon horrors,’ the admirer of romance,
who is pleased with the heightened pictures of the most fanciful
imagination, and the inquirer into the policy of crime and its
prevention, may here have their utmost curiosity satiated.

“Vidocq, during the early portion of his life, was personally initiated
into all the mysteries of crime, and becoming afterward a pardoned man,
and an active and successful agent of the French police in the city
of Paris, ‘girt with its silent crimes,’ as well as its tumultuous
depravities, becomes a fit person to delineate its scenes of vice,
depravity, and guilt. His work is a study for the novelist, the
annalist, the philosopher, and the Christian. But it is a work which
should be read with a guarded mind; with a disposition to profit by its
lessons, and to avoid scenes which have little enjoyment, and which
invariably end in misery.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In Two Volumes 12mo.

                             THE HAMILTONS.

               By the Author of “MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS.”

“This is a fashionable novel, and of the highest grade.”--_Athenæum._

“Mrs. Gore is undeniably one of the wittiest writers of the present
day. ‘The Hamiltons’ is a most lively, clever, and entertaining
work.”--_Lit. Gaz._

“The design of the book is new, and the execution excellent.”--_Exam._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                            FIRST AND LAST.

             By the Author of “FIVE NIGHTS OF ST. ALBANS.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                         A YEAR AT HARTLEBURY.

                        BY CHERRY AND FAIR-STAR.

“Most pleasant Cherry! most brilliant Fair-star! we hail ye and welcome
ye both: agreeable and profitable will be the scenes you paint.--We
cordially recommend ‘Hartlebury’ to our friends, convinced that our
friends will be pleased and amused by its acuteness and variety.”--_New
Monthly Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                      THE WEST INDIA SKETCH-BOOK.

“The sketches are worthy of George Cruikshank.”--_Globe._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        In Three Volumes, 12mo.

                             THE COQUETTE.

                     By the Author of “MISERRIMUS.”

“The ‘Coquette’ is a most amusing library book. Several of the
characters are exceedingly well drawn: indeed, they are obviously
sketches from life, and there is a sparkling vivacity throughout the
whole work.”--_New Monthly Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                       THE MISERIES OF MARRIAGE;
                       OR, THE FAIR OF MAY FAIR.

                   By the Author of “PIN MONEY,” &c.

“Mrs. Gore certainly stands at the head of the female novelists of the
day. But we subjoin the opinion of Mr. Bulwer.”--_U. S. Gazette._

“She is the consummator of that undefinable species of wit, which we
should call (if we did not know the word might be deemed offensive, in
which sense we do not mean it) the _slang_ of good society.

“But few people ever painted, with so felicitous a hand, the scenery
of worldly life, without any apparent satire. She brings before you
the hollowness, the manœuvres, and the intrigues of the world, with
the brilliancy of sarcasm, but with the quiet of simple narrative.
Her men and women, in her graver tales, are of a noble and costly
clay; their objects are great; their minds are large, their passions
intense and pure. She walks upon the stage of the world of fashion,
and her characters, have grown dwarfed as if by enchantment. The air
of frivolity has blighted their stature; their colours are pale and
languid; they have no generous ambition; they are _little people_! they
are fine people! This it is that makes her novel of our social life so
natural, and so clear a transcript of the original.”--_The Author of
Pelham._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                      SOME PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF
                     SIR PUMPKIN FRIZZLE, K. C. B.
                            AND OTHER TALES.

“Decidedly one of the most amusing productions of the year. In addition
to the adventures of _Sir Pumpkin_, there are several capital stories,
which cannot fail to be popular.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                     ADVENTURES OF GILBERT GURNEY.

                           BY THEODORE HOOK,
                    Author of “SAYINGS AND DOINGS.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                             MEMOIRS OF THE
                         BEAUTIES OF THE COURT
                         OF CHARLES THE SECOND.

                            BY MRS. JAMESON.

           Author of “DIARY OF AN ENNUYEE,” “CHARACTERISTICS
                             OF WOMEN,” &c.

“NEW WORK.--Messrs. Carey & Hart, Philadelphia, have in press a popular
book, ‘The Beauties of the Court of King Charles the Second,’ written
by Mrs. Jameson, whose father had been employed by the princess
Charlotte to paint cabinet pictures of those too celebrated ladies. The
princess died before they were completed, and the consequence was, they
were never paid for. The circumstances of the family required some use
should be made of the paintings to produce a remuneration; and Mrs.
Jameson undertook the delicate task of the letter press, the portraits
being engraved in the highest style of art. The London copy costs about
twenty-five dollars: the American edition will be an octavo without the
portraits. Nell Gwynn, the Duchess of Hamilton, &c. are not unknown
characters in history. Mrs. Jameson has executed her department in a
remarkably graceful manner.”--_Journal of Belles Lettres._


                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                               SYDENHAM;
                   OR, MEMOIRS OF A MAN OF THE WORLD.

“The work before us is one of the most powerful of its class; it bears
intrinsic evidence of a new writer. The portrait of Brummel, the ‘arch
dandy,’ is excellent, and all the scenes in which he is engaged are
managed with skill and tact. There is, in fact, sufficient material in
this book for three or four novels.”--_New Monthly Magazine._

“Each of these volumes is in fact a separate work--each in a different
style and spirit--each aspiring to a different fame in composition.
‘Sydenham’ is a capital work, which, without the trouble of puffing,
must make a great stir in the upper and political circles.”--_London
Lit. Gaz._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                             ALICE PAULET;
    BEING A SEQUEL TO “SYDENHAM; OR, MEMOIRS OF A MAN OF THE WORLD.”

                      By the Author of “SYDENHAM.”

“Two most amusing and clever volumes, decidedly improvements on their
predecessors. The great characteristic of this work is its good
sense.”--_London Literary Gazette._

“Conceived and sketched in the very spirit of Hogarth.”--_Courier._

“Great strength of mind, knowledge of the world, and acquaintance with
the higher circles of society, are visible in every page.”--_Cheltenham
Chronicle._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                   TRAVELS IN VARIOUS PARTS OF PERU;
                INCLUDING A YEAR’S RESIDENCE IN POTOSI.

       By EDMUND TEMPLE, Kt. of the Royal and distinguished Order
                            of CHARLES III.

“These travels in Peru will long maintain their reputation for
the accuracy of detail, the spirit of the style, and the utility
of the information they contain. The professional matter is very
valuable.”--_Bulwer’s New Monthly Magazine._

“There is much to instruct, and a great deal to amuse. Amid the details
of personal adventures, there is a great deal of shrewd and strong
observation.”--_London Monthly Magazine._

“We have met with no volumes of travels in that country with which,
upon the whole, we have been so much pleased as the one before
us.”--_Baltimore Gazette._

“This is an instructive and entertaining work.”--_National Gazette._

“This book is one of the most entertaining that has been issued from
the press for some time.”--_Pennsylvania Inquirer._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                           RECORDS OF TRAVELS
                         IN TURKEY, GREECE, &c.
                   IN THE YEARS 1829, 1830, AND 1831;
       AND OF A CRUISE IN THE BLACK SEA, WITH THE CAPTAIN PASHA.

                        BY ADOLPHUS SLADE, ESQ.

“One of the most valuable and interesting works which has yet been
placed in our hands, on the domestic state of Turkey.”--_Monthly
Review._

“We do not know when we have met with two volumes more amusing--they
are full of highly entertaining and curious matter.”--_Court Jour._

“The work before us supplies the best description of this remarkable
nation.”--_Courier._

“One of the most amusing and interesting of oriental travellers, none
having ever equalled him in a thorough knowledge of the true state of
society, and the true character of the Turks.”--_Spectator._

“We can warmly recommend this book for perusal, it is not only very
amusing but very valuable.”--_Metropolitan._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                       TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE
                            IRISH PEASANTRY

                             FIRST SERIES.

“Admirable--truly, intensely Irish: never were the outrageous
whimsicalities of that strange, wild, imaginative people so
characteristically described; nor amidst all the fun, frolic, and
folly, is there any dearth of poetry, pathos, and passion. The author’s
a Jewel.”--_Glasgow Journal._

“To those who have a relish for a few tit-bits of _rale_ Irish
story-telling,--whether partaking of the tender or the facetious,
or the grotesque,--let them purchase these characteristic
sketches.”--_Sheffield Iris._

“The sister country has never furnished such sterling genius, such
irresistibly humorous, yet faithful sketches of character among the
lower ranks of Patlanders, as are to be met with in the pages of these
delightful volumes.”--_Bristol Journal._

“This is a capital book, fall of fun and humour, and most
characteristically Irish.”--_New Monthly Magazine._

“Neither Miss Edgeworth, nor the author of the O’Hara Tales, could
have written any thing more powerful than this.”--_Edinburgh Literary
Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In two Volumes, 12mo.

                       TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE
                            IRISH PEASANTRY.

                             THIRD SERIES.

“This work has been most extravagantly praised by the English critics:
and several extracts from it have been extensively published in our
newspapers. It is altogether a better work than any of the kind which
has yet appeared--replete with humour, both broad and delicate--and
with occasional touches of pathos, which have not been excelled by any
writer of the present day. An Edinburgh critic says that ‘neither Miss
Edgeworth, nor the author of the O’Hara tales, could have written any
thing more powerful than this.’”--_Baltimore American._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In two Volumes, 12mo.

                               PIN MONEY;

                         BY MRS. CHARLES GORE,

          Authoress of “HUNGARIAN TALES,” “POLISH TALES,” etc.

“Her writings have that originality which wit gives to reality, and
wit is the great characteristic of her pages.”--_Bulwer’s New Monthly
Magazine._

“Light spirited and clever, the characters are drawn with truth and
vigour. Keen in observation, lively in detail, and with a peculiar and
piquant style, Mrs. Charles Gore gives to the novel that charm which
makes the fascination of the best French memoir writers.”--_London
Literary Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                           THE STAFF-OFFICER.
                      OR, THE SOLDIER OF FORTUNE.
                          A TALE OF REAL LIFE.

“The web of life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together; our
virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not, and our crimes
would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.”


                            BY OLIVER MOORE.

“We are prepared to admit that our extracts do not do justice to the
work: the writer’s power is in discriminating _female_ character;
but as he judiciously makes it develope itself by incident, to
illustrate this would require scenes and pages to be transferred to
our columns. As a whole, this novel will be read with interest: it is
light and pleasant; with many very natural scenes, many excellent and
well-drawn characters, and without one line or word of affectation or
pretence.”--_Athenæum._

“This is a most entertaining work: it is written with great spirit,
elegance, and candour. The delineation of character (particularly that
of many distinguished individuals officially connected with Ireland
during the Pitt administration) is skilfully and vividly drawn; and
the multifarious incidents--several of which are of a highly _piquant_
description--are given with a tact and delicacy creditable to the
judgment and talent of the author. We can say with truth, that we
have fairly gone through this tale of real life without being cloyed
or wearied for a single moment; but that it excited, and kept up, an
interest in our minds which few volumes designed for mere amusement
have been able to inspire.”--_Brighton Herald._


                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                         MOTHERS AND DAUGHTERS.

“The best novel of the season--a faithful, exact, and withal spirited
picture of the aristocracy of this country--an admirable description
of what is called high life, and full of a more enlarged knowledge of
human nature.”--_Spectator._

“A very lively and amusing panorama of actual life.”--_Lit. Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In one Volume, 12mo.

                                CARWELL,

              By Mrs. SHERIDAN, Author of “AIMS AND ENDS.”

“A story which for minute fidelity to truth, for high tragic
conception, both of plot and character, has few equals in modern
fiction.”

“But everywhere you see that rarest of all literary beauties, a
beautiful mind--an intimate persuasion of the fine and great truths
of the human heart--a delicate and quick perception of the lovely and
the honest--an intellect that profits by experience, and a disposition
which that experience cannot corrupt.”--_The Author of Pelham._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In one Volume, 12mo.

                        THE GENTLEMAN IN BLACK.

“It is very clever and very entertaining--replete with pleasantry and
humour: quite as imaginative as any German diablerie, and far more
amusing than most productions of its class. It is a very whimsical and
well devised jeu d’esprit.”--_Literary Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                        THE INVISIBLE GENTLEMAN.

         By the Author of “CHARTLEY,” “THE FATALIST,” etc. etc.

“It is a novel which may be termed the whimsically
supernatural.”--_Athenæum._

“The present narrative is one of the most entertaining fictions we have
met with for a long time; the idea is very original, and brought into
play with a lively air of truth, which gives a dramatic reality even to
the supernatural.”--_Literary Gazette._

“The adventures follow each other with delightful rapidity and variety;
occasionally there is a deep and thrilling touch of pathos, which we
feel not a bit the less acutely, because the trouble and wo of the
parties have originated in the familiar and somewhat laughable act of
pulling an ear.”--_Court Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In one Volume, 12mo.

                      LEGENDS AND TALES OF IRELAND

                            BY SAMUEL LOVER.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                       FIVE NIGHTS OF ST. ALBANS.

“Some man of talent has taken up the old story of the Wandering Jew,
to try what he could make of a new version of it. He has succeeded in
composing as pretty a piece of _diablerie_ as ever made candles burn
blue at midnight. The horrors of _Der Freizchutz_ are mere child’s play
compared with the terrors of the Old Man or the demon Amaimon; and yet
all the thinking and talking portion of the book is as shrewd and sharp
as the gladiatorial dialogues of Shakspeare’s comedies.”--_Spectator._

“A romance, called the ‘_Five Nights of St. Albans_,’ has just
appeared, which combines an extraordinary power of description with
an enchaining interest. It is just such a romance as we should
imagine Martin, the painter, would write; and, to say the truth, the
description of supernatural effects in the book, fall very little short
in their operation upon different senses of the magical illusions of
the talented artist.”--_John Bull._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                              THE CONTRAST

                                A NOVEL.

       By EARL MULGRAVE, Author of “MATILDA,” “YES AND NO,” etc.

“‘Yes and No’ contained the best _tableaux_ of actual--human--English
society in the nineteenth century, of any novel we know of. The same
characteristics that distinguished the most agreeable novel are equally
remarkable in its successors.”--_Bulwer’s New Monthly Magazine._

“‘Contrast’ cannot fail to prove interesting.”--_Court Journal._

“These volumes possess the rather uncommon merit of a very interesting
story. The design is to paint a man whose strong feelings are curbed
by an over-fastidiousness--what the French so happily term unhomme
difficile.”--_London Literary Gazette._

“Messrs. Carey and Hart have republished, in two neat volumes, Earl
Mulgrave’s novel of the ‘Contrast,’ which has been so favourably
received in England. It is said to be one of the best novels of the
kind, that has issued from the press for years.”--_Philadelphia
Inquirer._

“‘Pelham,’ and ‘Yes and No,’ are perhaps the only paintings of the
present time which are drawn with the accuracy of knowledge, and the
vivacity of talent. Were we to be asked by a foreigner to recommend
those novels which, founded on truth, gave the most just delineation
of the higher classes in England, it is to the above mentioned works
we should refer. _The present volumes, however, are an infinite
improvement on their predecessor._”--_London Literary Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                        MEMOIRS OF MARSHAL NEY,
         COMPILED FROM PAPERS IN THE POSSESSION OF HIS FAMILY.

The work has been put together under the direction and management of
the Duke of Elchingen, Marshal Ney’s second son, who has affixed his
signature to every sheet sent to press.

“They may be regarded as the Ney Papers, connected together by an
interesting biography; the anecdotes with which they are interspersed
have plainly been collected with great pains from all the early friends
of that illustrious warrior.”--_Blackwood’s Magazine._

“The memoirs before us are founded upon the papers and documents
which he left behind him at his death, consisting of anecdotic and
biographical fragments, accounts of his divers missions and campaigns,
and the substance of many extraordinary secrets intrusted to him as a
general and a statesman. All these materials throw great light upon
the history of the French empire, as the details given in the memoirs
possess the strongest interest.”--_Pennsylvania Inquirer._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                            THE BLACK WATCH.

                             BY T. PICKEN.

                By the Author of the “DOMINIE’S LEGACY.”

“One of the most powerful and pathetic fictions which have recently
appeared.”--_Times._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                              ALLEN BRECK.

                               BY GLEIG.

                       Author of the “SUBALTERN.”

“The most striking production of Mr. Gleig.”--_U. S. Journal._

“One of the most powerful and highly wrought tales we ever
read.”--_Edinburg Review._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                       ROMANCE OF ANCIENT HISTORY
                                 EGYPT.

“One of the best productions of the present day.”--_New Monthly Mag._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                         LIFE OF A SUB-EDITOR.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                              THE OXONIAN;
                   OR, SKETCHES OF SOCIETY AT OXFORD.


                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                            NIGHTS-AT-MESS.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                           LIFE OF A SOLDIER.

                          BY A FIELD-OFFICER.

“A narrative of twenty-seven years’ service in various parts of the
world, possessing all the interest of the wildest fiction.”--_Sun._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                  BIOGRAPHY OF EXTRAORDINARY PAINTERS.

                       By the Author of “VATHEK.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        THE HIGHLAND SMUGGLERS.

                            BY J. B. FRAZER.

                      Author of the “KUZZILBASH.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                      SKETCHES ON IRISH HIGHWAYS.

                          BY MRS. S. C. HALL,

                Author of “SKETCHES OF IRISH CHARACTER.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                          THE PURITAN’S GRAVE.

               By the Author of the “USURER’S DAUGHTER.”

“If we were to point out one romance of the day which more than another
would become a Christian pastor to write, it is this last production
of Mr. Scargill’s. It is written in a subdued and gentle spirit of
faith and charity. It is pregnant with unaffected piety: passion there
is not in it; but there is the presence of a quiet and deep love;
that blessed spirit walks, breathes, and has its being throughout the
whole book.... The reader must be prepared for the absence of exciting
events; his mood must be in harmony with the work: he must read slowly,
pencil in hand, to mark the holy and eloquent passages that occur. He
must consider himself reading a tale which, without the pedantry of a
preacher, is suffused with the spirit of some beautiful homily. He will
feel, as he proceeds, no very exciting interest; no hurried emotion:
but when he has closed the last page, he will find his soul insensibly
soothed, and, as it were, _Christianized_ over.”--_The Author of
Pelham._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                               THE BABOO;
            AND OTHER TALES DESCRIPTIVE OF SOCIETY IN INDIA.

“The Baboo is not only an interesting novel, but a clear and clever
sketch of society in Calcutta. The writer has been trained in a good
school; there is an impress of truth throughout, which shows that the
author was drawing from nature, not from fancy.”--_Spectator._

“We conscientiously and heartily recommend this very superior work to
the notice of the public. It is a delightful Indian companion to the
Don Quixote of Spain, the Gil Blas of France, and the Hajji Baba of
Persia; and quite equal to them all.”

“This work is second to none in graphic powers. The Baboo himself
is a perfect study. It is founded on facts, and true to nature; and
altogether a work of no common order.”--_Metropolitan._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                            IN PREPARATION,

                               THE GIFT;
             A CHRISTMAS AND NEW YEAR’S PRESENT, FOR 1836.

        Edited by MISS LESLIE, author of “PENCIL SKETCHES,” &c.

The publishers have the promise of articles from many of the most
popular authors of the day. The ILLUSTRATIONS are in the hands of some
of the most eminent engravers, and no expense will be spared to render
the work in every respect equal to the foreign productions of the same
class.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                                MAKANNA;
                      OR, THE LAND OF THE SAVAGE.

“One of the most interesting and graphic romances it has been our lot
to read for many a year.”--_Athenæum._

“There was yet an untrodden land for the writer of fiction, and the
author of ‘Makanna’ is its discoverer.”--_Atlas._

“The narrative includes some daring adventures which would make timid
blood shudder at their magnitude.... This work abounds in interest, and
is written in a style of great vigour and elegance.”--_Weekly Times._

“The work does not want to be invested with any fictitious interest;
and the talent which is visible in its pages is its best recommendation
to public favour.”--_Morning Post._

“The attempt was a bold and hazardous one, but it has been fully
successful. We have rarely read a production of deeper interest--of
interest sustained from the first page to the last. It has been
conceived in a fine spirit; the several characters are ably painted....
He is as much at home on the ocean, and there are many scenes on
ship-board equal to the best of the great sea-lord, the author of ‘The
Spy.’”--_New Monthly Magazine._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 18mo.

                         COLMAN’S BROAD GRINS.

                     A NEW EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS.

“‘This is a little volume of the comic,’ which we recollect to have
laughed over many a time, in our boyish days, and since. It is old
standard fun--a comic classic.”--_Baltimore Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                      THE LIFE OF DAVID CROCKETT,
                           OF WEST TENNESSEE.

                          WRITTEN BY HIMSELF.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                        A SUBALTERN IN AMERICA;

                               COMPRISING

    HIS NARRATIVE OF THE CAMPAIGNS OF THE BRITISH ARMY AT BALTIMORE
                 WASHINGTON, ETC. DURING THE LATE WAR.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                           SELECT SPEECHES OF
                             JOHN SERGEANT,
                            OF PENNSYLVANIA.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                     THE PAINTER’S AND COLOURMAN’S
                            COMPLETE GUIDE;

Being a Practical Treatise on the Preparation of Colours, and
their application to the different kinds of Painting; in which is
particularly described the WHOLE ART OF HOUSE PAINTING. By P. F.
TINGRY, Professor of Chymistry, Natural History, and Mineralogy, in
the Academy of Geneva. First American, from the third London Edition,
corrected and considerably improved by a practical chymist.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                        PICTURE OF PHILADELPHIA;

Or a brief account of the various institutions and public objects in
this Metropolis, forming a Guide for Strangers, accompanied by a new
Plan of the city. In a neat pocket volume.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                         In Two Volumes, 12mo.

                            SICILIAN FACTS.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In one Volume, 8vo.

                              THE AMERICAN
                        FLOWER GARDEN DIRECTORY,
            CONTAINING PRACTICAL DIRECTIONS FOR THE CULTURE
                            OF PLANTS IN THE
                HOT-HOUSE, GARDEN-HOUSE, FLOWER-GARDEN,
                         AND ROOMS OR PARLOURS,

For every month in the year; with a description of the plants most
desirable in each, the nature of the soil and situation best adapted to
their growth, the proper season for transplanting, &c.; instructions
for erecting a

                HOT-HOUSE, GREEN-HOUSE, AND LAYING OUT A
                             FLOWER-GARDEN.

Also, table of soils most congenial to the plants contained in the
work. The whole adapted to either large or small gardens, with lists of
annuals, bienniels, and ornamental shrubs, contents, a general index,
and a frontispiece of Camellia Fimbriata.

                         BY HIBBERT AND BUIST,
                    EXOTIC NURSERYMEN AND FLORISTS.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                               A WHISPER
                        TO A NEWLY-MARRIED PAIR.

            “Hail, wedded love! by gracious Heaven design’d,
             At once the source and glory of mankind.”

“We solicit the attention of our readers to this publication, as one,
though small, of infinite value.”--_Baltimore Minerva._

“‘The Whisper’ is fully deserving the compliments bestowed upon it, and
we join heartily in recommending it to our friends, whether married
or single--for much useful instruction may be gathered from its
pages.”--_Lady’s Book._

“The work contains some original suggestions that are just, and many
excellent quotations; some of her hints to the ladies should have been
_whispered_ in a tone too low to be overheard by the men.”--_Daily
Chronicle._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 18mo.

                           PRINCIPLES OF THE
                       ART OF MODERN HORSEMANSHIP
                       FOR LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,
      IN WHICH ALL THE LATE IMPROVEMENTS ARE APPLIED TO PRACTICE.

           Translated from the French, by DANIEL J. DESMOND.

THE ART OR HORSEMANSHIP.--This is the title of a neat little work
translated from the French of Mr. Lebeaud, by Daniel J. Desmond, Esq,
of this city, and just published by Carey & Hart. It gives full and
explicit directions for breaking and managing a horse, and goes into
detail on the proper mode of mounting, the posture in the saddle, the
treatment of the animal under exercise, &c. An appendix is added,
containing instructions for the _ladies_, in mounting and dismounting.

The Philadelphia public are under obligations to Mr. Desmond for
this translation. We have long needed a manual of horsemanship, to
correct the inelegant habits in which many of our riders indulge, and
to produce uniformity in the art of equitation. We see daily in our
streets, mounted men, who totter in their seats as if suffering under
an ague-fit; others who whip, spur, and rant, as if charging an enemy
in battle; and again others, of slovenly habits, with cramped knees,
and toes projecting outwards, who occupy a position utterly devoid of
every thing like ease, grace, or beauty. These things are discreditable
to our community, and earnestly do we hope, that this book will have
many attentive readers.--_Philadelphia Gazette._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                        TWO HUNDRED RECEIPTS IN
                        DOMESTIC FRENCH COOKERY.

         By MISS LESLIE, Author of the “SEVENTY-FIVE RECEIPTS.”

                            Price 50 cents.

“‘The 200 Receipts by Miss Leslie,’ published by Carey and Hart of
Philadelphia, has been much praised, and we think deservedly. The
selection of subjects made by the accomplished writer is of a most
tempting and tasteful description, and we must do her the justice to
say, that she has treated them in such an eloquent and forcible manner,
as to raise in the minds of all dispassionate readers the most tender
and pleasurable associations. We commend her to the careful perusal and
respect of all thrifty housewives.”--_New York Mirror._


                           ENGLISH EDITIONS.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                  LANDSCAPE AND PORTRAIT ILLUSTRATIONS
                                 OF THE
                            WAVERLEY NOVELS.

                              NEW EDITION;
          Containing one hundred and twenty superb engravings.

The above work is complete in _twenty-four_ numbers, and supplied at
the moderate price of _seventy-five cents per number_. The former
edition sold at _double the price_.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                 ILLUSTRATIONS OF THE POETICAL WORKS OF
                           SIR WALTER SCOTT;

In eight 8vo. Nos. each containing five plates. Price 75 cents per No.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                    FINDEN’S LANDSCAPE ILLUSTRATIONS
                        OF THE LIFE AND WORKS OF
                              LORD BYRON.

Now complete in twenty-four numbers. Each number contains five highly
finished engravings. Price 75 cents per number.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                       THE GALLERY OF THE GRACES.

Just completed in twelve numbers, each containing three beautifully
engraved portraits. Price 75 cents per number.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                        FINDEN’S BYRON BEAUTIES.

Now publishing in monthly numbers, at 75 cents each.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                 PLEASURES OF MEMORY, AND OTHER POEMS.

                           BY SAMUEL ROGERS.

With seventy-two plates--same style as “ITALY.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                             CONVERSATIONS
                        ON VEGETABLE PHYSIOLOGY;
      COMPREHENDING THE ELEMENTS OF BOTANY, WITH THEIR APPLICATION
                            TO AGRICULTURE.

         By the Author of “CONVERSATIONS ON CHEMISTRY,” &c. &c.

                    Adapted to the use of schools by
                           J. L. BLAKE, A. M.

             Third American Edition, with coloured plates.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In Two Volumes, 8vo.

                            NATURE DISPLAYED
                IN HER MODE OF TEACHING LANGUAGE TO MAN;

Being a new and infallible method of acquiring language with
unparalleled rapidity; deduced from the Analysis of the human Mind, and
consequently suited to every capacity; adapted to the French.


                            BY N. G. DUFIEF.

To which is prefixed a development of the author’s plan of tuition:
differing entirely from every other; so powerful in its operation and
so very economical, that a liberal education can be afforded even to
the poorest of mankind.

                 EIGHTH EDITION, ENLARGED AND IMPROVED.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In Two Volumes, 8vo.

                        DUFIEF’S SPANISH NATURE
                               DISPLAYED.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                          A NEW UNIVERSAL AND
                         PRONOUNCING DICTIONARY
                  OF THE FRENCH AND ENGLISH LANGUAGES.

Containing above _fifty thousand_ terms and names not to be found in
the Dictionaries of Boyer, Perry, Nugent, &c. &c.; to which is added a
vast fund of other information equally beneficial and instructive.

                            BY N. G. DUFIEF.

A new Edition, revised and corrected by the Author.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                     MATHEMATICS FOR PRACTICAL MEN;
                                 BEING
                          A COMMON-PLACE BOOK
  OF PRINCIPLES, THEOREMS, RULES AND TABLES, IN VARIOUS DEPARTMENTS OF
                      PURE AND MIXED MATHEMATICS,

   With their applications; especially to the pursuits of surveyors,
 architects, mechanics, and civil engineers, with numerous engravings.

                  BY OLINTHUS GREGORY, LL.D., F.R.A.S.

                SECOND EDITION, CORRECTED AND IMPROVED.

“Only let men awake, and fix their eyes, one while on the nature of
things, another while on the application of them to the use and service
of mankind.”--_Lord Bacon._


_Extract of a Letter from_ WALTER R. JOHNSON, _Professor of Mechanics
and Natural Philosophy in the Franklin Institute_.

“This treatise is intended and admirably calculated to supply the
deficiency in the means of mathematical instruction to those who have
neither time nor inclination to peruse numerous abstract treatises in
the same departments. It has, besides the claims of a good elementary
manual, the merit of embracing several of the most interesting and
important departments of Mechanics, applying to these the rules and
principles embraced in the earlier sections or the work.

“Questions in Statics, Dynamics, Hydrostatics, Hydro-dynamics, &c. are
treated with a clearness and precision which must increase the powers
of the student over his own intellectual resources by the methodical
habits which a perusal of such works cannot fail to impart.

“With respect to Engineering and the various incidents of that
important profession, much valuable matter is contained in this volume;
and the results of many laborious series of experiments are presented
with conciseness and accuracy.”


_Letter from_ ALBERT B. DOD, _Professor of Mathematics in the College
of New Jersey_.

“Messrs. CAREY & HART,

“Gentlemen--I am glad to learn that you have published an American
edition of Dr. Gregory’s ‘Mathematics for Practical Men.’ I have for
some time been acquainted with this work, and I esteem it highly. It
contains the best digest, within my knowledge, of such scientific
facts and principles, involved in the subjects of which it treats, as
are susceptible of direct practical application. While it avoids such
details of investigation and processes of mathematical reasoning as
would render it unintelligible to the general reader, it equally avoids
the sacrifice of precision in its statement of scientific results,
which is too often made in popular treatises upon the Mathematics and
Natural Philosophy. The author has succeeded to a remarkable degree
in collecting such truths as will be found generally useful, and in
presenting them in an available form to the practical mechanic. To
such, the work cannot be too strongly recommended; and to the student,
too, it will often be found highly useful as a book of reference.

                                 “With much respect,
                                       “Your obedient servant,
                                               “ALBERT B. DOD,
               “_Professor of Mathematics in the College of New Jersey_.

“Princeton, Nov. 11, 1834.”


_Extract of a Letter from_ EDWARD H. COURTENAY, _Professor of
Mathematics in the University if Pennsylvania_.

“The design of the author--that of furnishing a valuable collection
of rules and theorems for the use of such as are unable, from the
want of time and previous preparation, to investigate mathematical
principles--appears to have been very successfully attained in the
present volume. The information which it affords in various branches of
the pure and mixed Mathematics embraces a great variety of subjects,
is arranged conveniently, and is in general conveyed in accurate and
concise terms. To THE ENGINEER, THE ARCHITECT, THE MECHANIC--indeed to
all for whom results are chiefly necessary--the work will doubtless
form a very valuable acquisition.”

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                          _BOLMAR’S LEVIZAC._

                  A THEORETICAL AND PRACTICAL GRAMMAR
                                 OF THE
                            FRENCH LANGUAGE;
        IN WHICH THE PRESENT USAGE IS DISPLAYED AGREEABLY TO THE
                    DECISIONS OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY.

                           BY M. DE LEVIZAC.

With numerous corrections and improvements, and with the addition of
a complete treatise on the _Genders of French Nouns_; as also with
the addition of all the French Verbs, both regular and irregular,
conjugated affirmatively, negatively, and interrogatively.

                             BY A. BOLMAR,

            Author of “KEY TO TELEMAQUE,” “PHRASES,” &c. &c.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                     _TEALE ON NEURALGIC DISEASES._

                               A TREATISE
                         ON NEURALGIC DISEASES,
     DEPENDENT UPON IRRITATION OF THE SPINAL MARROW AND GANGLIA OF
                         THE SYMPATHETIC NERVE.

                        BY THOMAS PRIDGIN TEALE,

 _Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London, of the Royal Medical
   Society of Edinburg, Senior Surgeon to the Leeds Public Dispensary_.

“It is a source of genuine gratification to meet with a work of this
character, when it is so often our lot to be obliged to labour hard to
winnow a few grains of information from the great mass of dullness,
ignorance, and mistatement with which we are beset, and cannot too
highly recommend it to the attention of the profession.”--_American
Journal of the Medical Sciences, No. X._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                                 SELECT
                    MEDICO-CHIRURGICAL TRANSACTIONS.

A collection of the most valuable Memoirs read to the
Medico-Chirurgical Societies of London and Edinburgh; the Association
of Fellows and Licentiates of the King and Queens College of Physicians
in Ireland; the Royal Academy of Medicine of Paris; the Royal Societies
of London and Edinburgh; the Royal Academy of Turin; the Medical and
Anatomical Societies of Paris, &c. &c. &c.

                      Edited by ISAAC HAYS, M. D.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                              A PRACTICAL
                        COMPENDIUM OF MIDWIFERY:

Being the course of Lectures on Midwifery, and on the Diseases of Women
and Infants, delivered at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital.

                    By the late ROBERT GOOCH, M. D.

“As it abounds, however, in valuable and original suggestions, it will
be found a useful book of reference.”--_Drake’s Western Journal._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                             AN ACCOUNT OF
                       SOME OF THE MOST IMPORTANT
                      DISEASES PECULIAR TO WOMEN;

                         BY ROBERT GOOCH, M. D.

“In this volume Dr. Gooch has made a valuable contribution to practical
medicine. It is the result of the observation and experience of a
strong, sagacious, and disciplined mind.”--_Transylvania Journal of
Medicine._

“This work, which is now for the first time presented to the profession
in the United States, comes to them with high claims to their
notice.”--_Drake’s Western Journal._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                          _TATE ON HYSTERIA._

                       A TREATISE ON “HYSTERIA.”

                         BY GEORGE TATE, M. D.

“As public journalists, we take this occasion to return him our hearty
thanks for the pains he has taken to shed a new light on an obscure and
much-neglected topic.”--_North Amer. Med. and Surg. Journ. No. XIX._

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                          _SAISSY ON THE EAR._

                     DISEASES OF THE INTERNAL EAR.

                            BY J. A. SAISSY,

_Member of the Royal Academy of Sciences, Literature, and Arts in
Lyons, Fellow of the Medical Society of the same city, and of the
Medical Societies of Bordeaux, Marseilles, &c._

Honoured with a premium by the Medial Society of Bordeaux, and since
enlarged by the Author.

Translated from the French by NATHAN R. SMITH, Professor of Surgery
in the University of Maryland; with a Supplement on Diseases of the
External Ear, by the Translator.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 18mo.

                     _THE SURGEON-DENTISTS MANUAL._

                  THE SURGEON-DENTIST’S ANATOMICAL AND
                         PHYSIOLOGICAL MANUAL.

                              BY G. WAIT,
      _Member of the Royal College of Surgeons in London, &c. &c._

“The work cannot fail, we think, to answer well the purpose for which
it was designed, of a manual for the practical dentist; and in the
notes will be found many useful hints respecting the diseases of these
structures.”--_Boston Med. and Surg. Journ._ 1830.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                  OBSERVATIONS ON THE SURGICAL ANATOMY
                                 OF THE
                             HEAD AND NECK;

          ILLUSTRATED BY CASES AND ENGRAVINGS. BY ALLAN BURNS.

  WITH ADDITIONAL CASES AND OBSERVATIONS, BY GRANVILLE SHARP PATTISON.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                           A TREATISE ON THE
                   NATURE AND CURE OF THOSE DISEASES,
                        EITHER ACUTE OR CHRONIC,
                   WHICH PRECEDE CHANGE OF STRUCTURE;
      WITH A VIEW TO THE PRESERVATION OF HEALTH, AND PARTICULARLY
                  THE PREVENTION OF ORGANIC DISEASES.

                       BY A. P. W. PHILIP, M. D.

                   WITH NOTES BY T. H. MILLER, M. D.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 12mo.

                           FORMULARY FOR THE
                       PREPARATION AND EMPLOYMENT
                                   OF
                         SEVERAL NEW REMEDIES.

                     TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH OF
                              M. MAGENDIE.

With an Appendix containing the experience of the British
Practitioners, with many of the new remedies.

                        BY JOSEPH HOULTON, M. D.

                       *     *     *     *     *

                          In One Volume, 8vo.

                             A TREATISE ON
                            LESSER SURGERY;
                                 OR THE
                       MINOR SURGICAL OPERATIONS.

                         BY BOURGERY, D. M. P.

Author of “A Complete Treatise on Human Anatomy, comprising Operative
Medicine.” Translated from the French, with notes and an Appendix; by

                 WILLIAM C. ROBERTS AND JAS. B. KISSAM.

Copy of a letter from WILLIAM GIBSON, M. D. Professor of Surgery in the
University of Pennsylvania.

                                         _Philadelphia, Nov. 5th, 1833._

  It gives me pleasure to say that the elementary work on Surgery, by
  M. Bourgery, and now under translation by Drs. Roberts and Kissam of
  New York, appears to me _well calculated for the use of students_. So
  far as I can judge from examination of a small portion of the English
  text, justice has been done by the translators to the author of the
  work.

                                                    W. GIBSON, M. D.
               _Professor of Surgery in the University of Pennsylvania._


Copy of a letter from GEORGE M’CLELLAN, M. D. Professor of Surgery in
the Jefferson Medical College.

                                         _Philadelphia, Nov. 6th, 1833._

  Dear Sirs,

  I have examined Bourgery’s manual, or work on Lesser Surgery, and am
  of opinion that it is an _excellent compend_, which contains a great
  deal of matter that will be useful to students. The translation which
  you are about to make, will deserve a large edition, and I have no
  doubt will meet with a ready sale.
                                              Yours truly,
                                                     GEO. M’CLELLAN.

    DRS. ROBERTS AND KISSAM.




Transcriber’s Note


 • Text in italics represented by _underscores_.

 • Text in small capitals converted to ALL CAPS.

 • Punctuation and other obvious typographic inaccuracies were silently
   corrected.

 • Archaic and variable spelling has been preserved.

 • Variations in hyphenation and compound words have been preserved.

 • Footnotes renumbered consecutively and relocated to the end of the
   relevant chapter.

 • Added a headline for Advertisements in the Table of Contents and
   above the advertisements for convenience in grouping the ads.

 • New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
   public domain.





*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TOUGH YARNS, VOL. 2 (OF 2) ***


    

Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will
be renamed.

Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright
law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works,
so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United
States without permission and without paying copyright
royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part
of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™
concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark,
and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following
the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use
of the Project Gutenberg trademark. If you do not charge anything for
copies of this eBook, complying with the trademark license is very
easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose such as creation
of derivative works, reports, performances and research. Project
Gutenberg eBooks may be modified and printed and given away—you may
do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks not protected
by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the trademark
license, especially commercial redistribution.


START: FULL LICENSE

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full
Project Gutenberg™ License available with this file or online at
www.gutenberg.org/license.

Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg™
electronic works

1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg™
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or
destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in your
possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a
Project Gutenberg™ electronic work and you do not agree to be bound
by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person
or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg™ electronic works if you follow the terms of this
agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg™
electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the
Foundation” or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection
of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works. Nearly all the individual
works in the collection are in the public domain in the United
States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the
United States and you are located in the United States, we do not
claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing,
displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as
all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope
that you will support the Project Gutenberg™ mission of promoting
free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg™
works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the
Project Gutenberg™ name associated with the work. You can easily
comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the
same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg™ License when
you share it without charge with others.

1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are
in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States,
check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this
agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing,
distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any
other Project Gutenberg™ work. The Foundation makes no
representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any
country other than the United States.

1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other
immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg™ License must appear
prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg™ work (any work
on which the phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the
phrase “Project Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed,
performed, viewed, copied or distributed:

    This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most
    other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions
    whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms
    of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online
    at www.gutenberg.org. If you
    are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws
    of the country where you are located before using this eBook.
  
1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is
derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not
contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the
copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in
the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are
redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase “Project
Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply
either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or
obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg™
trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg™ electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any
additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms
will be linked to the Project Gutenberg™ License for all works
posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the
beginning of this work.

1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg™
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg™.

1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg™ License.

1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including
any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access
to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg™ work in a format
other than “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official
version posted on the official Project Gutenberg™ website
(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense
to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means
of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original “Plain
Vanilla ASCII” or other form. Any alternate format must include the
full Project Gutenberg™ License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg™ works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg™ electronic works
provided that:

    • You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
        the use of Project Gutenberg™ works calculated using the method
        you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed
        to the owner of the Project Gutenberg™ trademark, but he has
        agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project
        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid
        within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are
        legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty
        payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project
        Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in
        Section 4, “Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg
        Literary Archive Foundation.”
    
    • You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
        you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
        does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg™
        License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all
        copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue
        all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg™
        works.
    
    • You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of
        any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
        electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of
        receipt of the work.
    
    • You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
        distribution of Project Gutenberg™ works.
    

1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work or group of works on different terms than
are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing
from the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the manager of
the Project Gutenberg™ trademark. Contact the Foundation as set
forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project
Gutenberg™ collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may
contain “Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate
or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other
intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or
other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or
cannot be read by your equipment.

1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg™ trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg™ electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium
with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you
with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in
lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person
or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second
opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If
the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing
without further opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’, WITH NO
OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT
LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of
damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement
violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the
agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or
limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or
unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the
remaining provisions.

1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg™ electronic works in
accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the
production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg™
electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses,
including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of
the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this
or any Project Gutenberg™ work, (b) alteration, modification, or
additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg™ work, and (c) any
Defect you cause.

Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg™

Project Gutenberg™ is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of
computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It
exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations
from people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg™’s
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg™ collection will
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg™ and future
generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see
Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org.

Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non-profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by
U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws.

The Foundation’s business office is located at 809 North 1500 West,
Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up
to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s website
and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact

Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg™ depends upon and cannot survive without widespread
public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine-readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND
DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular state
visit www.gutenberg.org/donate.

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg web pages for current donation
methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To
donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate.

Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg™ electronic works

Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project
Gutenberg™ concept of a library of electronic works that could be
freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and
distributed Project Gutenberg™ eBooks with only a loose network of
volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg™ eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in
the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not
necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper
edition.

Most people start at our website which has the main PG search
facility: www.gutenberg.org.

This website includes information about Project Gutenberg™,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.