Edith Percival E-Book

May Agnes Fleming

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The day was very hot. The crew lay in groups, idly, near the deck. The captain – a stately man of about forty or so – stepped up and down a quarter of the deck – now letting his eyes wander around his people or give them some order. His companion was young, three to four years younger than him, with a frank beautiful face and laughing brown eyes. His look of careless ease was very different from the proud stock of his companion, but some secret connection of sympathy bound the two together.

Leseprobe

Contents

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER II

CHAPTER III

CHAPTER IV

CHAPTER V

CHAPTER VI

CHAPTER VII

CHAPTER VIII

CHAPTER IX

CHAPTER X

CHAPTER XI

CHAPTER XII

CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIV

CHAPTER XV

CHAPTER XVI

CHAPTER XVII

CHAPTER XVIII

CHAPTER XIX

CHAPTER XX

CHAPTER XXI

CHAPTER XXII

CHAPTER XXIII

CHAPTER XXIV

CHAPTER XXV

CHAPTER XXVI

CHAPTER XXVII

CHAPTER XXVIII

CHAPTER XXIX

CHAPTER XXX

CHAPTER XXXI

CHAPTER XXXII

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHAPTER I

THE TWO FRIENDS

And its hame, hame, hame, I fain wad be– Hame, hame, hame, In my ain countrie.”

–Allan Cunningham.

Morning on the ocean! Grandly rose the sun in the red east, sailing slowly and majestically toward the meridian–a burning jewel of fire set in the deep-blue sky. Light, fleecy clouds dotted the azure firmament here and there, looking as pure and as stainless as snowflakes or the white wings of angels. The balmy south breeze scarcely rippled the surface of the deep, or filled the canvas of the good ship Mermaid, as she glided gracefully onward, bound for the bright shores of America.

The day was intensely hot. The crew lay in groups, idly, about the deck. The captain–a stately-looking man of forty or thereabouts–paced up and down the quarter-deck–now letting his eyes wander over his men, or giving them some order; nowlooking aloft with a sailor’s pride in his handsome craft; and now raising his glass to sweep the horizon, on which no living thing was to be seen save themselves.

Leaning over the taffrail, stood two young men. The eldest appeared to be about twenty-five years of age–tall and finely proportioned, with an eye like an eagle, and hair that

–”To shame might bring The plumage of the raven’s wing.”

He stood leaning over the side, his eyes fixed thoughtfully on the spray flashing in the sunlight, as the ship cut her way through the rippling waves. His hat was off, and the cool breeze lifted lightly the jetty locks off his high, white brow.

His companion was a youth some three or four years his junior, with a frank, handsome face, and laughing hazel eyes. His look of careless ease was very different from the proud reserve of his companion, but some secret bond of sympathy bound those two together.

“Well, Fred,” said the younger of the two, continuing their conversation, “since, as you say, you neither have a lady-love in America nor expect a legacy there, I confess it puzzles me to know what inducement could have been strong enough to make you quit Paris.”

“Very easily told, my dear fellow: I have started for America at the express command of my worthy father.”

“Whew! what a dutiful son you are, Fred. And, pray, what has brought Sir William to that rebellious land?"

“To assist in subduing the rebellious Yankees, of course!” replied the young man, with a slight sneer on his well-cut lip.

“And he wishes his son and heir to aid him in that laudable design, instead of spending his time making love in Paris?”

“Yes; he has obtained for me the post of lieutenant in the British army, he says.”

“Which you will, of course, accept?” said the younger of the two, with a peculiar smile, as he lit a cigar, and blew a whiff of smoke from the corner of his mouth.

“Which I most decidedly will not!” replied Fred, coolly.

“And why, may I ask?”

“Why? What a question for you to ask, Gus! Am I not an American by birth–an American in heart and soul–a thousand times prouder of the glorious land in which I was born than of my father’s broad acres in merrie England? Why? I tell you, Gus Elliott, I will join the ranks of my countrymen, and fight and conquer or die with them in defence of their cause!”

He stood erect, while his eagle eye flashed, and his dark cheek glowed with the enthusiasm with which he spoke.

Gus stood regarding him with something like admiration struggling through his usual look of careless indifference.

“Well,” he said, after a pause, “I call that pretty strong language for the son of such a staunch royalist as Sir William Stanley. What do you suppose your honored father will say when he sees his son turn rebel?”

“Doubtless,” said Fred, quietly, “he will be in atowering passion, and rather amazed that any one should presume to disobey his commands. I have long known it must, sooner or later, come to this. When this war first commenced, how often has my blood boiled with impotent rage, listening to the insults and sneers of him and his tory friends on the ‘rebel Yankees,’ as they contemptuously called them! How I did long, then, to leave England and fly to my native land, to aid her sons in their brave struggles for independence! I would have done so, but I shrank from the storm of passion which I knew must follow it. When my father left England to join his Britannic Majesty’s army in America, I left for Paris, lest he should desire me to follow him, and thus hasten a disclosure of our opposite sentiments. Three weeks ago, I received his command to join him instantly. It seems some rumor of my true sentiments had reached him; and, indignant that anyone should presume to question the loyalty of a son of his, he desires me to vindicate my allegiance to his gracious Majesty, and wipe off such a stain on his name by immediately accepting the post he has obtained for me in the army. Any further concealment is, of course, out of the question: and I thank Heaven it is so; for it seems to me a craven act in anyone to remain an idle spectator while his native land, in her struggles for freedom, calls all her sons to her aid.”

He leaned his head on his hand, and gazed thoughtfully on the bright waves below.

“For myself,” said Gus, who had been deeply impressed by Fred’s earnestness, “I always sympathized with the Colonies; but it was merely the natural feeling which all must experience when they see a band of brave men struggling for freedom.Like yourself, America is the land of my birth, but, up to the present, I have been absent from it so long, that I had almost ceased to regard if as such. Now, however, my feelings are changed. Together, Fred, we will fight the battles of our native land; every arm that will lift itself in her defence is needed now.”

“Your sentiments do you honor, my dear Gus; but, as you asked me before, what will your friends say?”

“Oh, I have no friends worth mentioning,” replied Gus, resuming his former indifferent tone. “I am an orphan, you know, with a bank-stock sufficient for all my wants, with no relations that I know of except an uncle in America, whom I have not seen these ten years. And I tell you what,” he added, with sudden animation, “he has two confoundedly pretty daughters–especially the youngest. I used to be desperately in love with Nell, as a boy.”

“Indeed!” said Fred, smiling, “and who is this uncle of yours?–a tory, no doubt.”

“You had better believe it!” said Gus. “Major Percival hates the rebels as he hates Old Harry. Of course, I’ll be disowned when he hears what I’ve done. Everyone has his own peculiar hobby; and pride of birth is Major Percival’s. If you were only to hear him, Fred! He dates his descent back to the days of Noah, and a good deal further; for some of his ancestors, I believe, were drowned in the flood. His lady, too, Mrs. Percival, is the granddaughter of a lord; so you see the major has some foundation for his family pride. He’s as rich as Cr[oe]sus, too.”

“And Miss Nell, I suppose, is heiress to all his wealth?"

“Not she, faith! Major Percival has a son and daughter besides; Nell’s the youngest. You ought to know Nugent Percival; he’s a glorious fellow, and no mistake–about your age, too, I should think.”

“I may see them all yet–who knows?” said Fred. “I wish this voyage were over. I long to see my father and tell him all, and join the patriot army of Washington.”

“You told me you were born in America,” said Gus, after a pause. “I thought Lady Stanley was an Englishwoman, and had never crossed the Atlantic Ocean in her life.”

“The Lady Stanley you knew was not my mother,” said Fred, coldly.

“She was not! That’s something I never heard before,” exclaimed Gus, in unbounded surprise.

“It’s none the less true on that account,” replied Fred, while a slight flush crimsoned his dark cheek. “My mother was an American born; she lived, died, and was buried in that land.”

“Well, now, that’s odd,” said Gus, puffing meditatively at his cigar. “Come, Fred, make a clean breast of it; I made an open confession to you: and one good turn, you know, deserves another.”

The young man smiled slightly, and then his face grew serious–almost sad.

“Very few know my history,” he said, with a half sigh, “but with you, my dear Gus, I know I may speak freely. Many years ago, when my father was a young man, business or pleasure–I know not which–called him to America. Whilst there, he made the acquaintance of a young girl far beneath him in wealth and rank, but his equal in education, and his superior in moral worth. Bewildered by her beauty, he forgot their different degrees of rank, and theyoung girl became his wife. His marriage was kept a secret from his proud friends in England, and Sir William knew that there was little fear of their ever discovering it, for prudence had not been forgotten by love, and he had wooed and won her under an assumed name. My mother never dreamed her husband was aught but one of her own station, and it was my father’s aim not to undeceive her.”

“It was a confoundedly mean trick!” interrupted Gus, indignantly.

“When I was about nine years old,” continued Fred, unmindful of the interruption, “my father started for England, as he said, on business. As he was frequently in the habit of doing so, my mother was not surprised, but her husband had by this time outgrown his love for her, and when, five months after, he returned, it was as the husband of another.”

Gus was again about to make a passing remark on Sir William’s conduct, but suddenly checking himself, he sank back in silence.

“He told her all,” went on Fred, with stern briefness; “his rank, his title; told her he was the husband of another, and that she must no longer consider herself his wife. He said he had come for me, to take me with him to England; that I was his son, and should be educated as became a Stanley. My poor mother shrieked and clung to me, but I was forcibly torn from her arms. They said she fell to the ground like one dead, and from that hour never spoke again. One week after she was laid in her grave!”

Fred paused, while the veins in his forehead grew dark, and his voice choked with suppressed emotion.

“But she was avenged,” he continued, lifting his head, while his eyes flashed; “she had a brother,absent at the time, but who, on his return, heard the story from the sexton who had buried my mother. His oath of vengeance was fearful, and fearfully kept. Five years passed away. Sir William and Lady Stanley had but one child, a daughter, whom they idolized. Leila was the gentlest and most beautiful creature I ever saw. Words cannot tell you, Gus, how I loved that child. One day, as the nurse was walking with her through the grounds of Stanley Park, a man, dressed in the rough garb of a sailor, sprang from behind the trees, and, in spite of the shrieks and struggles of the attendants, bore her off.

The nurse, wild with terror, fled back to the house, and meeting Sir William on the piazza, fell, fainting, at his feet. When she recovered, she related what had happened, and the consternation and horror her recital produced may be imagined. There was no doubt in Sir William’s mind as to who had done the deed. The abductor had left a message: ‘Tell Sir Will Stanley,’ said he, ‘my sister is avenged!’ Search was made in every direction, enormous rewards were offered, the police was put on the track, but all in vain. Not the slightest clue to Leila could be obtained. It was the belief of everyone, the sailor had destroyed the child to escape detection.”

“It is more than probable,” said Gus. “Poor Lady Stanley! I can now understand the cause of the strange melancholy that used to puzzle me so much.”

“She never smiled from that day,” said Fred. “Had the child died she would have grieved, but such grief is as nothing. It was the terrible uncertainty as to its fate that weighed on her heart. It was well she did not survive it long."

“And Sir William? how did he bear the loss?” inquired Gus.

“He became a changed man from that day. He grew stern, morose, and harsh to all. I have no doubt he felt it to be a just retribution for his conduct to his first wife, and this reflection rendered his remorse more bitter. Poor Leila! dear little angel! Gus, I cannot tell you how I loved that child.”

He paced excitedly up and down, and Gus saw there were tears in the deep, dark eyes of his friend.

“Yes, that’s just the way I feel about Nell,” said Gus, who really was in a desperate strait for something to say, and the deep sigh that accompanied his words seemed inexpressibly ludicrous.

In spite of himself, Fred laughed outright at his friend’s melancholy look, much to the disgust of Gus.

“On my honor, my dear fellow, you are smitten. I shouldn’t wonder if you would be rash enough to take a wife next,” said Fred.

“Rash! I think it’s the most sensible thing a fellow could do. Don’t you ever intend to marry, Fred?”

“Not I,” said the other, carelessly, “as I said before, liberty or death for me. Why, Gus, the tyranny of King George is nothing to that of a wife. Don’t you know what the French poet Mauvause says:

'I would advise a man to pause Before he takes a wife, Indeed, I own, I see no cause He should not pause for life.’”

“He must have been a crusty old bachelor who wrote that,” remarked Gus; “as for me, I intend to make fierce love to Nell the moment I land. ‘Ponmy honor, I’d give a diamond ring to see that flinty heart of yours lying at the feet of some graceful little Yankee–metaphorically speaking, of course. They say, Fred, the American ladies are all pretty!”

“I doubt it.”

“You’re a stoic, a cynic, an unbeliever–an old Diogenes in his tub. You deserve to die an old bachelor. It’s my firm and never-to-be-shaken belief that you have been jilted by some heartless coquette, and for spite, now rail at the whole sex.”

“I cry you mercy!” said Fred, as he laughingly ran his fingers through his luxuriant dark locks. “I am now, as I ever was, and always shall be, ‘heart-whole, and fancy free.’ But I see,” he added, drawing out his watch, “it is the hour

'When lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake, And sleepless lovers just at twelve awake.’

So let us go below; the sable goddess of the cabin will presently announce dinner is ready.”

And together the two young men strolled into the cabin.

CHAPTER II

THE WRECK

Alone, alone, all, all alone, Alone on the wide, wide sea.”

“I say, Jack, old fellow, it’ll be doomsday before we reach Boston, at this rate,” remarked Gus, some three hours after the conversation related above–as he, together with his friend, stood once more on the deck.

The pleasant breeze of the morning had passed away, and was succeeded by a dead calm. Not a breath of air rippled the surface of the deep; the sails lay flapping idly against the masts; the crew lay, gasping for breath, over the side of the ship. The sun, with its fiery, brassy glow, glared in the cloudless sky, loosening the very seams of the ship with the scorching heat, until everything looked parched and burning. The vessel lay motionless on the glittering sea, her masts and ropes reflected on the polished surface, as in a mirror. One could almost imagine her to be a painted ship on a painted ocean–so still, so lifeless, so sluggard was the calm.

The old tar addressed gave his trousers a hitch, turned an enormous quid of tobacco into the other cheek, and replied only by a dissatisfied growl.

“I’m fairly choking for breath,” went on Gus, leaning over the bulwarks in the vain endeavor to catch a mouthful of air; “I wish to heaven a breeze would spring up.”

“Humph!” grunted the old tar, as he discharged an enormous stream of tobacco-juice over the side, “you’ll have your wish before you sleep, youngster, or I’m mistaken.”

“Well, confess you’re a better judge of the weather than I am, if you can see any sign of a breeze,” said Gus. “By the look of things at present I should conclude we might lie sweltering here for a month of Sundays.”

“I’ve been on the ocean man and boy, for thirty odd years, sir, and ought to know something of weather signs. If it doesn’t blow great guns before the sun sets to-night, then you may call old Jack a good-for-nothing lubber–that’s all.”

“I vow I hope it may! This dog-trot rate of goingis enough to provoke a Quaker to kick his grandmother. A stiff breeze will give us new life, and set things all right again,” said Gus.

“Maybe so,” said the old salt, rather doubtingly; “but, if I’m not mistaken, you’ll wish yourself safe on land before you see the sun rise again.”

“Faith! I wish I were there now,” said Gus, with a yawn. “I never was born for a sailor; and never were the children of Israel more tired of their quarters in the desert than I am of this rascally old ark. Look out for your storm, Jack; and if you see it coming, just let me know.”

And Gus seated himself on the quarter-rail, and leisurely lit a cigar.

An hour or two passed away in silence. The sun was setting, but the heat was still intense. Fred lay gazing idly into the ship’s wake; Gus puffed away, and thought of Nell; but the heat had rendered both too languid to talk. Suddenly a hand was laid on his arm; and looking up, Gus beheld old Jack.

“Look now, sir,” said the old man, pointing to the sky. Absorbed in his own reflections, the young man had totally forgotten the prediction of the old sailor. As he glanced up at the sky, he involuntarily uttered an exclamation of surprise at the sight which met his eye.

As far as he could see, in every direction, a huge black pall of intense darkness covered the face of the heavens. A lurid, crimson line of fire in the west showed where the sun had sank below the horizon, and was reflected like a thin stream of blood on the sea. Faint puffs of wind, from what quarter of the heavens no man could tell, at intervals sighed through the rigging, only to be followed by an ominous calm, more profound than before. The ship lay rolling heavily on the black, glassy billows, rising and falling like a dull, heavy log. A gloom like that of midnight was gathering over sea and sky–the dismal, ominous silence involuntarily made the boldest catch his breath quick and short, and filled each heart with a nameless awe, as they stood in silent expectation of what was to follow this dead calm of Nature, as she paused to take breath before the hurricane of her wrath burst in its full force.

At this moment, the clear, commanding voice of Captain Harden was heard giving orders to his men to reef the sails.

“We’ll have a rousing gale to-night,” said he, a few moments afterward, “or I’m mistaken. I knew this dead calm didn’t come for nothing. Ha! here it is! Down, men, down, and hold fast for your lives! The squall is upon us!”

Even as he spoke, the black pall that hung over the sky seemed visibly lifted up, and a ghastly, whitish light lit up the heaving sea. A vivid flash of lightning blazed in the sky followed by a crash of thunder that seemed to rend the very heavens in twain, accompanied by a flood of rain and a terrific gale of wind–and the hurricane burst upon them with tremendous force. For a moment the good ship tottered and quivered in every timber, as if trembling before the gigantic foe; then plunging suddenly downward like a maddened steed, she flew before the hurricane with the speed of the wind. On, on, on, with the spray dashing over the decks, and drenching to the skin the affrighted crew, she sped like a flash. The lightning blazed as though the whole heavens were one vast sheet of flame; the thunder crashed peal upon peal, as though the earthwere rending asunder; the rain fell in vast floods of water; the wind shrieked and howled like a demon with impotent fury, and the bark plunged madly on, quivering, creaking, groaning, and straining in every timber. The huge billows rose black and terrific, yawning as though to engulf them, the white foam gleaming dismal and ghastly in the spectral darkness, now and then shown in their appalling hugeness by the blinding glare of the lightning. The whole scene was inexpressibly grand and terrific–the most cowardly soul lost all sense of fear in the awful sublimity, the unspeakable grandeur of the elemental uproar.

Fortunately, the hurricane was not one of long duration. Ere an hour had passed, the violence of the squall had greatly abated, but not before it had nearly dismantled the ship.

Fred Stanley stood clinging to a rope, gazing at the troubled sea and sky with a feeling of unspeakable awe, that swallowed up every other feeling. His hat had blown off; his long dark locks streamed wildly in the gale–his eyes were fixed, as if fascinated, on the gigantic billows, rising like huge mountains as if to overwhelm them.

His meditations were suddenly cut short by a hand being laid on his shoulder. With a start he looked up, and beheld, by the light of the binnacle-lamp, the pale features of Gus Elliott.

“A wild night, my friend,” said the youth; and although he spoke loudly, his voice sounded almost like a whisper amid the roar of wind and sea.

“A fearful storm, truly,” was the reply, as Fred’s eyes again strove to pierce through the thick darkness.

“Would to Heaven it were morning! this intense darkness is appalling. Could we see our danger Iwould not care; but in this fearful gloom the imagination pictures a thousand horrors, far worse than the most dreadful reality.”

“It can scarcely be midnight yet,” said Gus; “I see the clouds are breaking away in that direction. It will be light enough presently.”

“Well, messmate, have my words come true?” said a voice at Gus’s elbow, and turning, both beheld old Jack.

“That they have,” replied Gus; “and though I must give you credit for being a true prophet, upon my honor I wish to hear no more such predictions while I am on board the Mermaid.”

“That won’t be long, sir, or I’m mistaken,” replied Jack, gloomily.

“What? croaking again? I thought all danger was past,” said the youth.

Jack shook his head despondingly.

“Come, my honest son of Neptune, out with it. What’s in the wind now?”

At this moment, one of the crew shouted, in a voice of horror:

“The ship has sprung a leak! There’s five feet of water in the hold!”

“All hands to the pumps!” called the calm, trumpet-like tones of the captain.

The eyes of Gus and the old sailor met.

“I knew how it would be,” said the old tar, shaking his head, mournfully, “I had a presentiment, last night, that not a soul on board the Mermaid would live to see the sun rise again.”

As he spoke, he hurried forward; but not until Gus had fairly started back at sight of the ghastly look on his face, as it was revealed by the dim light of the binnacle-lamp. The youth turned uneasilyaway, and encountered the dark, earnest eyes of his friend.

“Pooh! nonsense! what an old prophet of evil that is,” said Gus, striving to shake off the feeling for which he could not account: “a raven could not croak more dismally than he.”

“And yet I fear he is right,” said Fred. “We are far from being out of danger. How this old dismantled hulk is plunging and staggering. Hark! what is that?”

It was the voice of one of the men who had been sent below, and who now came to announce that the water was rapidly rising.

The crew redoubled their efforts. Fred and Gus sprang to their aid, and worked for their lives. But all was in vain; in spite of all their exertions, the hold was filling fast.

Suddenly a voice full of horror was heard:

“The ship is sinking!”

In an instant every arm dropped as if palsied, every face blanched to the hue of death, and the silence of the grave reigned. Then the spell was broken, and with a wild cry they sprang toward the boats.

“Are you mad, men?” shouted Captain Harden, as the crew rushed pell-mell to the side of the vessel.

But his words were in vain; the frightened wretches heard not, heeded not. Maddened by their selfish fears, they sprang into the boats, pushing one another fiercely aside in their cowardly haste.

“Those crowded boats will never live in this surf!” exclaimed Fred, in a voice that intense excitement had almost sunk to a whisper.

Even as he spoke, the nearest boat was lifted onthe crest of a monster wave. For a moment it poised on its fearful height, quivering like a reed; the next a wild shriek arose from the doomed crew, and every soul was struggling in the hissing seas. In less than a minute, to their inexpressible horror, the other boat shared the same fate! One wild, wild agonized shriek of mortal horror arose high above the storm, and then all grew still. Engulfed beneath the hissing billows, they had sunk to rise no more.

Of all the numerous crew of the good ship Mermaid, there were three persons remaining on board, the captain, Fred and Gus. Above frowned the angry sky, black and ominous; beneath, raged the angrier ocean–the tops of the white billows gleaming like snow against the murky background. Around was spread the dense, dark pall of night–an almost impenetrable wall of thick blackness. Boats and crew were alike gone. Alone they stood on the wide sea, in a sinking ship, with death staring them in every direction in the face.

The ominous words of the old sailor rushed to the mind of Gus: “Not a soul on board the Mermaid would live to see the sun rise again!”

How true his words seemed likely to prove!

“We will soon follow them!” said Gus, turning to the captain.

“God liveth!” was the solemn answer. “He holdeth the ocean in the hollow of His hand. Trust in Him!”

CHAPTER III

SAVED

Rise! for the day is breaking Though the dull night be long! Rise! God is not forsaking Thy heart–be strong–be strong.”

For a few moments the survivors of the wreck stood silent. With death staring them in the face, men are not inclined to be loquacious. Each one inwardly commended his soul to his Maker, and strove to nerve himself to fearlessly meet his doom.

“And can we not even make an effort to save our lives?” said Fred, at last. “Must we die without one attempt to escape the doom which threatens us?”

“While there is life there is hope,” said the captain. “Ha!” he exclaimed, as if suddenly struck by a new thought, “here are plenty of loose spars and ropes; why not make a raft.”

“This old hulk will go to the bottom before it is half constructed,” said Gus.

“It is worth a trial, however,” said his friend, springing up with new hope. “Let us not lose time. Every second is precious.”

Men working for their lives need little urging. In less than an hour, a sufficient number of spars were lashed together to make a tolerably safe raft.

Captain Harden went below, to discover how much longer they might stay on the wreck in safety.

Turning to his friend, Gus said, as he touched the raft with his foot:

“A desperate venture, Fred, to trust our lives on these few crazy planks, on the wide Atlantic. I fear, my dear friend, the patriot army of Washington will be deprived of two recruits this time.”

“Desperate, certainly,” said Fred, thoughtfully; “yet I feel a sort of presentiment that our end is not so near.”

“Would I could think so, too,” said Gus, striving to discover some sign of hope in the threatening scene around. “I cannot but recall the ominous words of that old sailor. They are continually recurring to my mind!”

“To the raft! to the raft, for your lives!” shouted Captain Harden, as he rushed on deck, “the ship is sinking!”

Even as he spoke, she began plunging to and fro, like a frightened steed.

In a moment they had flung their raft over the side, and had leaped from the deck.

They were not a moment too soon. The doomed ship, after a few mad struggles, began rapidly to settle in the water. The waves seemed lashed into fury, and the crest of each huge billow swept the dismantled deck. Suddenly she was whirled round and round by some impetuous force, then rising almost perpendicularly, she plunged down, stern foremost. In the enormous whirlpool thus formed, they almost imagined they could see the bottom; so great was its force, that although they were at some distance, they held their breath for a moment in involuntary terror, as they were swept rapidly toward the hissing vortex. But the waves again closed over her, and every sign of life vanished from the horizon.

“There perished as noble a bark as ever bravedthe blue Atlantic!” said Captain Harden, dashing the spray from his eyes.

There was no reply, for his companions were lost in thought. How inexpressibly dreary and desolate is all around. Alone on the wide ocean, on a frail raft, that threatened each moment to go to pieces under them by the violence of the waves. The cold spray drenching them to the skin, benumbed them with cold, a dull lethargy was creeping over them, when Captain Harden, who noticed with alarm how frail the raft was, suddenly said:

“Let us try to make this craft of ours a little tighter. It threatens now to go to pieces every moment. Work will keep us warm, too; this cold spray is enough to freeze a man.”

The exertion produced the desired effect; and they soon had the pleasure of finding their float much more secure than before. How long the hours seemed that must intervene until morning! As the night slowly wore on, the storm seemed to die away, the waves subsided, and the wind sank to a light breeze. The clouds of night suddenly rolled away before the white wand of morning. Far in the east, the sky and sea were blushing scarlet before the coming of the sun. Up he rose in fiery radiance, glowing and golden, in a canopy of purple, crimson, and blue. Not a cloud obscured the clear blue vault of heaven, that a few hours before had shot forth forked lightning and deafening peals of thunder. Their frail raft rose and fell gayly on the sparkling waves, that the night before had loomed up so dark and frightful. Calm and peaceful the blue sea looked, as though hundreds of brave hearts, that fearful night, had not perished forever beneath.

“What a change a few hours has made!” saidFred, as the light, cool breeze lifted gently the dark hair off his feverish brow; “last night, all was wild, and dark, and tempestuous; this morning, everything breathes peace and beauty. Sunrise on the ocean! was there ever anything more glorious?”

“A sailor’s luck, Mr. Stanley,” said Captain Harden, shaking the spray from his hair; “a short time ago we were shivering with the cold, and in two hours hence, we will be sweltering in the rays of a sun hot enough to roast an African.”

“Do you think there is any chance of our being picked up before night, Captain?” inquired Gus.

“Can’t say, sir. I trust so, however. There are always ships cruising about in these latitudes.”

The day wore on; and, as the sun approached the meridian, the heat grew almost intolerable. Without shelter to ward off the burning rays of an almost tropical sun, they sank down overpowered, and utterly exhausted. Thirst, too, began to torment them; and the consciousness that they were without means to allay it, added to their suffering. Too languid even to converse, they sat in dreary silence, their eyes fixed on the boundless expanse of sky and ocean.

Slowly the sun began to sink in the west, and the conviction that they must pass another night where they were, added anything but comfort to their situation.

When the glorious sunlight of the following morning fell on them, it found them parched with thirst, and lying utterly exhausted on the miserable float. Fred and Captain Harden still bore up, but the fiery flush on the cheek of Gus and the wild light in his eye, showed the fever that was burning within.

As the morning passed, and noon approached, hegrew delirious. He raved wildly, and more than once it required the united strength of his friends to prevent him from plunging bodily into the deep.

“Would to Heaven aid would come!” said Captain Harden, with deep anxiety, as his eye fell on the delirious youth. “Poor boy, I do not wonder he has sunk beneath this trial. He is little inured to the hardships and privations of a sailor’s life.”

“What is that?” said Fred, who had an eye like a hawk; “there is a vessel bearing down directly toward us. Look! look!”

“By Heaven, yes,” exclaimed the captain; “let us display our flag. Ha! they see us! There goes their signal!”

“Saved, Gus! Saved, my dear fellow!” exclaimed Fred, seizing his hand, hot and burning, in both his.

“Saved! saved! I knew we would be! Hurrah!” he shouted, with wild incoherence, as he endeavored to spring to his feet–but weak and exhausted, he fell back in the arms of his friend.

The vessel proved to be an American privateer. In half an hour, the friends were on board, where every kindness that could be required was generously bestowed upon them; and poor Gus was resigned to the care of an experienced surgeon–who, to the great joy of Fred, affirmed, that in a few days he would be out of danger.

CHAPTER IV

THE BURNING SHIP

Great God! the sights that I have seen When far upon the main, I’d rather that my death had been Than see those sights again.”–Landon.

“Yours was a narrow escape, Mr. Stanley,” said Captain Dale, the commander of the privateer, as, about a week after their deliverance, Fred made his appearance on deck.

Gus was there, too, looking rather pale, but perfectly restored both to health and spirits.

“Yes, sir,” replied Fred; “and, though I have been as near death in many shapes before, I never felt it so horrible as when, wild with thirst, I stood expecting it on that frail raft, on the broad Atlantic.”

“And your friend,” said the captain, smiling, “was in still worse condition when we providentially came across you.”

“Egad!” exclaimed Gus, “it came near doing for me. I’ll never undertake to sail across the Atlantic on a raft again, if I can help it; at least, not without a beaker of fresh water on board.”

“What is your destination now, captain?” inquired Fred.

“Boston; but I mean to capture, if possible, a few Britishers first, to make time pass pleasantly.”

“Boston? we’re in luck, Fred,” observed Gus. “So,” he added to the captain, “you sometimes have a skirmish with the British, do you?”

“Yes,” replied Dale; “it’s only last week I sent asloop-of-war to Davie Jones; and, with the help of the Lord, and that long Tom there, I trust speedily to send some more of their brethren to look after them.”

“Sail ho!” called the shrill tones of the look-out, at this moment.

“Whereaway?” demanded Captain Dale, as he seized a glass, and sprang into the rigging.

“Due east, sir.”

“And an Englishman, by Jupiter!” exclaimed the captain, as he again leaped on the deck. “There’s something wrong on board of her, too,” he continued, “for the crew are running wildly about the deck, sometimes rushing in a body below, and again re-appearing. Can the crew have mutinied?”

Again he gazed long and steadfastly at the vessel.

“Heavens!” he exclaimed, “the ship’s on fire!”

“By Jove, so it is,” said Fred; and, even as he spoke, a sudden jet of flame shot up the hatchway of the ship.

“And there goes a signal of distress,” shouted Gus, as a white pennant suddenly streamed out in the breeze from the mast-head.

“See how the poor wretches are crowding together,” exclaimed the captain; “we must not let them perish before our eyes. Who will volunteer to go to the rescue?”

As if by one impulse, men and officers all sprang forward to offer their services.

“No, no,” said Captain Dale, good-humoredly, “I cannot let you all go. Here, Mr. Stewart,” addressing his first lieutenant, “you will take command of one boat, and–ah! Mr. Stanley, I see by your eager look how anxious you are to lend assistance. Well,you can take charge of the other boat; and,” he added, lowering his voice, “look out for the magazine. Now, be off, and God speed you!”

“Ay, ay, sir,” came cheerily from a score of lips, as the hardy seamen bent to their oars.

“Give way, my lads!” cried Fred, as he sprang into the stern-sheets and waved his cap in the air.

The men bent to their oars with a will, and the boat cut like a sea-gull through the waters. Fred still stood with his eyes fixed on the burning ship–his handsome face all aglow with excitement.

The scene was inexpressibly grand and terrific. The flames were now bursting out from every part of the ship; while a dark, dense cloud of sulphurous smoke clouded the blue sky above. The fiery monster ran up the shrouds and rigging, twining its fierce tongue around the masts; while occasionally the sullen booming of a gun would float over the waters, as her armament, heated by the flames, went off. The affrighted crew were huddled together–by their frantic gestures and wild signs, striving to urge the boats still faster on, as they beheld the flames rapidly approaching the spot where they stood.

“Give way, my men! give way! Will you see them perish miserably before your eyes?” shouted Fred, his dark eyes blazing with excitement, as he beheld the fiery-tongued monster almost within a few feet of the unhappy wretches, whose skrieks of terror came piercingly to their ears.

And the brave fellows did give way. In that moment they thought not that the men they were going to save were the enemies of their country–they only saw fellow-creatures in danger of perishing by a miserable death; and with the proverbial generosity of sailors, they bent their brawny arms to thetask until great drops of perspiration stood in beads on their flushed faces, and the boat skimmed over the water with the velocity of a bird on the wing. In less than ten minutes more, they were within a few yards of the burning ship.

“Leap into the water, and we will pick you up?” shouted Fred–fearing lest, if they approached too near, the boats might swamp from the numbers who would crowd into them.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the command was obeyed, and the crews of both boats were soon busily employed in rescuing the poor fellows.

“Is this all?” asked Fred, as the last of those who had leaped from the deck were picked up.

“All, sir,” was the universal answer.

“No, sir; it’s not all!” said a boy–a mere lad of fourteen–springing from his seat. “There’s a lady aboard yet; she is in the cabin, and we forgot her.”

“Great Heaven!” exclaimed Fred, his dark face paling with horror–”have you left a woman on board that burning ship to perish?”

“We forgot her, sir,” was the muttered response; while more than one eye fell beneath the scornful gaze of those fiery black eyes.

For one moment Fred thought of Captain Dale’s command–”Look out for the magazine!”–and paused irresolute. Not for himself–oh, no! His determination was to rescue the lady or die, but for the men intrusted to his care. He felt that he had no right to peril the lives of many to save that of one; and for a moment he stood undecided what course to pursue. Then, as the terrible thought, that a fellow creature and a woman might even at that moment be perishing in the flames, sent the blood curdling to his brave heart, he looked up and said, in a clear and impressive voice, to his own men:

“My brave lads, I cannot leave a woman to perish in that burning ship. I am going on board to rescue her. You will, in the meantime, keep at some distance off; and when I appear on deck, return for me. Should you not see me again,” (he paused for a moment), “you will return to the privateer, and tell Captain Dale I have striven to do my duty. That will do. Stand off, and wait for me.”

He caught a rope that hung over the vessel’s side, and sprang on the burning deck, “whence all but him had fled.” There was a moment’s profound pause of surprise and admiration in the boat, as the crew of the privateer beheld the tall, slight form of their gallant young leader disappear amid the thick smoke. The crew of the Englishman bent their heads in shame; the scathing, scornful glance in the eagle eye of the young American had brought before them, more forcibly than any words could have done, his lofty contempt for their dastardly conduct.

Meanwhile, through the dense smoke, Fred made his way. A sudden breeze blew the flames aside; and to his inexpressible joy he saw that the flames had not yet reached the cabin. He dashed down the stairs, taking three or four steps at a time, and paused for a moment to glance around.

The walls were of a dark, polished oak, the floor covered with a rich Turkey carpet, whose brilliant hues were bright as the gorgeous plumage of a humming-bird. The chairs and lounges, profusely scattered around, were of dark carved wood–old and quaint in appearance, and cushioned with dark-blue velvet. A guitar lay in a corner, and carelessly scattered by it were several sheets of music. A bookcase, filled with a choice selection of books, stood in one corner; and lying half open on the table, as if it had just been dropped, was a small, elegantly-bound volume of Milton. By it lay a tiny gold locket, containing a miniature. Not doubting but that this belonged to the occupant of the cabin, Fred snatched it up, thinking she might value it, and turned to look for its owner. She was not in the cabin–he saw that at a glance. The door of an adjoining state-room lay half open. It was no time for idle ceremony. Without a moment’s hesitation, he dashed it open, and entered; but paused in involuntary awe at the sight which met his eyes.

A young girl, transcendently lovely, was kneeling in the middle of the floor. Her snowy robes fell in spotless folds around her exquisite form; the long silken tresses fell like a shower of rippling sunbeams over her pearly shoulders. The small white hands were clasped over the stainless bosom, that rose and fell with her soft breathing. Every trace of color had faded from that fair face, leaving cheek and brow as white as monumental marble. The large blue eyes, calm and cloudless as mountain lakes, looked from beneath the golden lashes as serene as the heaven to which she seemed about to ascend. On that sweet young face was a look of such rapt, such sublime, such angelic devotion, that Fred for a moment stood, not daring to disturb her.

A sudden crash on deck roused him from the spell into which he was falling. Stepping before her, he said, hurriedly:

“Madam, everything is in flames around you! Come with me, or you will be lost.”

At the sound of his voice she sprang to her feet; and with a wild cry of “Saved! saved!” she threwup both snowy arms, and would have fallen fainting to the floor, had he not caught her in his embrace.

Snatching a quilt from the bed, he wrapped it round her slight form and rushed from the cabin. To his unspeakable horror, as he sprang with one bound up the stairway, he found the whole deck had now become one vast sheet of flame. There was no time to lose. Springing like a wounded panther, he cleared the deck with two bounds, and leaped clean over the side into the sea.

A wild cheer arose from the crew of the boat at the sight. Propelled by strong arms and willing hearts, in a moment it was by his side; and in another he stood among them, with his still insensible burden in his arms.

“Pull, men! pull for the love of God!” he shouted, waving his hand in the air. “Work for your lives!”

Like straws the strong oars bent in the brawny hands of the rowers, and like an arrow sped from a bow, the boat shot out from the burning ship.

One moment more, and it would have been too late. With a roar that seemed to rend heaven and earth, the magazine exploded, and the ill-fated ship was blown to atoms. Like a shower of hail, the burning spars and timbers fell all around them. But they were almost miraculously saved; the boat escaped uninjured, and in ten minutes was entirely out of danger.

Everyone drew a deep breath, and from the most callous and hardened heart present went up a prayer of thanksgiving for their unexpected deliverance from death.

Fred seated himself, and throwing off the quilt in which he had enveloped the slender form of theyoung girl, began to chafe her cold hands and temples.

“Had this young lady no friends on board, that she was thus forgotten,” he asked, turning to one of the crew of the Englishman.