University of Virginia Library

THE SURF SKIFF,
OR,
THE HEROINE OF THE KENNEBEC.

1. CHAPTER I.
The Cliff and Fisher's Lot.

The bold, iron-bound coast of Maine is
indented with numerous romantic inlets
that penetrate at greater or less distance
from the sea; some of them expanding
into capacious harbors where a fleet of
the line could ride at anchor in safety,
and others narrowing into creeks overhung
by almost arching cliffs. The
shores of these indentures of the coast
are mostly formed of steep, bald cliffs,
with scarcely a vestige of tree upon
them; bleak, wild, desolate spurs of
granite that for centuries have battled,
unmoved, with the storms and billows.

In one of these little rock-bound bays,
one pleasant sunny afternoon in August,
1814, a small fisher's vessel was riding
at anchor. There was not a breath of
air to ruffle the bosom of the sheltered
nook where she lay, though the blue
surface of the ocean beyond the head-lands
that shut it in, was gently moving
under a light wind from the south-west.
But the little bay lay as motionless as a
mirror, reflecting with wonderful distinctness
the rocky sides, the minutest
shrub upon them, and the fishing craft
itself inverted with every rope and spar
like a painting.

The bay in which the fishing-boat was
reposing so peacefully, was seperated
from, or rather was joined to, the sea by
a narrow passage between two rocky
headlands, about sixty feet high, that
came sweeping round from the main like
two embracing arms. The inlet thus enclosed
was about half a mile in breadth,
and from the sea to its farther shore not
quite one mile. Of all the bays of that
bay-abounding shore, this was the most
romantic and secluded, combining the
most perfect safety from the tempests of
the ocean, with the closest contiguity to
its deepest waters.

The shores on this secluded spot, we
have said, were on every side bold and
rocky. There was, however, one remarkable
exception; and this was a snow
white, in the sunshine, silvery beach
that for a quarter of a mile broke the
savage character of the rocky boundary
in the bight or curve of the bay, directly
opposite to its narrow, tunnel-like entrance.

This beach was as smooth as a floor of
the purest marble, and at low tide was
full a hundred yards broad—a beautiful
pavement of sparkling sand that at noon-day
dazzled the eye, and by moonlight,
when the waves rippled upon its verge,
was one of the most lovely features in the
scenery. Not a stone, not a green weed,
marred its purity. The eye, turning from
the savage grandeur of the cliffs around,
rested always upon this with relief and
delight.

Directly opposite this lovely beach, the
fishing boat was at anchor, and about a
cable's length from it. From the beach
a path wound up the face of the rock to
the upland. Over-hanging this path were
two or three groups of pine and fir trees,
dark and unfading in their perennial
green. These were, with the exception
of fine tall white pines that grew, conspicuous
objects from every quarter, on
the western headland close to its verge.
On the eastern head there had doubtless
been once a similar group, as a lofty
scathed trunk, white and hoary, lifted itself
from the cliff in lonely grandeur, a
land mark for the fishermen far away at
sea, as the sun beams lighted it up and
made it shine like a column of steel.

In the rear of this, stretching far inland,
was a forest of low pines and other
evergreen trees; but they were not visible
from the level of the bay, and were
only seen coming in from sea; or more
nearly when the path which led from the
beach was surmounted and the upland
reached. The observer there would,
however, see this side of the forest a
lower secondary cliff, about twenty feet
high, between the base of which and the
cliff he had climbed, stretched a green
level space, comprising several rods in
length and breadth, and would be agreeably
surprised and pleased to discover
close against the receding cliff a neat
fisherman's hut, half embowered in the
foliage of wild vines, and over shadowed
by green trees that bent protectingly
down from the rocks above it.

This dwelling from its seclusion, its
native beauty, its commanding view of
the bay beneath it, and of numerous bays
and islands, and headlands, and the broad
blue sea beyond—with its pleasant lawn
and pathway to the beach, and the pretty
beach itself—with the fishing vessel riding
at anchor, as if inviting to an excursion
down the bay; with all these advantages,
so unexpectedly discovered and
combined, it would have tempted the
most world-loving to sigh for its possession
as a haven and home of rest.

The cottage, the situation of which we
have thus described, was the abode of a
fisherman; one of that large and useful
class of men, who have given to Maine
the proud appellation of `Nursery for
the Navy.'

Unlike the ordinary habitations of the
poor fishermen, who dwelt along the
iron coast of the eastern sea-board, this
was, as we have seen, a picturesque
abode. It was constructed of logs it is
true, but they were smoothly hewn, and
neatly fitted at the angles, so that when
the walls were completed, they presented
a smooth surface which, being whitened
with lime, made from sea-shells, presented
a pretty appearance. The roof,
too, was unique. being entirely composed
of a surface of large shells, cemented in
line, and laid in rows over-lapping like
the plates of scale armour. This arrangement
combined both economy and
ingenious taste, and showed that the occupant
was a person of a superior order
of mind, to those of his class.

The house, which contained four rooms,
was built against the second cliff, and
directly beneath two trees that shot outward
from its surface almost horizontally,
and so covered it in a manner at once
wild and sheltering. Above these trees,

was a great dark crown of forest, the beginning
of the vast inland wood already
alluded to. The sides of the cliff bent
round, so as to enclose the cottage on
the north and east, and west sides, leaving
it open to the south and the sea.

This wall of cliff was not entirely bare.
Some careful hand had trained over it,
nearest the hut, the wild creeper of the
Northern clime, so that it formed a beautiful
feature to the eye.

The same hand of taste had planted
rose-bushes, the fragrant wild-rose of the
rocks, about the door and underneath the
windows; and also in groups on the
lawn interspersed with young acacias and
elm. Woodbine had also been taught to
form leafy arches over the two humble
windows and door, and to fall from the
eves in graceful festoons.

There was a dove-cote at one end of
the cottage, and upon a tall pole near
the eastern gable, was perched a little
miniature light-house, perforated with
arched windows, from which the chirruping
and ever-active black-martin went in
and out, enlivening the scene with their
musical notes, and their motions through
the air.

There was also a lantern-shaped cage
hanging at the door side, through the
bars of which a glimpse could be got of
the rich green coat of a Poll Parrot, even
if his shrill voice in continually calling
out, `How is the tide, my lads?' did not
previously give warning of his presence.
There was seated also, in the door step,
on this sunny afternoon, on which we
are bringing you, dear reader, to the
house we are describing to you as you approach
it, in the door-way a large, enormously
large, and comfortable-looking
black cat, nine years old, with a face as
grave as a grandam's, and her paws and
hide as sleek and soft as those of a young
mouse. She sits purring in the warm
sun, wrapped up in her dignity and com
fort with all the consequential appearance
of a privileged citizen.

Not far from the old cat, which occasionally
glances towards him out of the
corner of her half-closed left eye, crouches
a grand, noble-looking Newfoundlander,
with his nose resting upon his
pure white paws, large as a lion's. His
colour is tawny, like that of a lion, and
his hair about his majestic neck and head,
long like that of the king of beasts, to
whom this dog is only second, save in
savage ferocity. But the small light
hazel eye of the dog, the quiet thoughtful
air of his brow, the gentle aspect of
his whole physiognomy, show that his
qualities are far from being savage; that
though he may have the courage of the
lion, he has the gentleness of the lamb.

He seems to be asleep, as he lays himself
half in the sun, half in the shade of
a low myrtle bush; his eyelids from
time to time slowly lift, as if he was on
the alert with all his outward repose.—
He had laid himself down in the full sunshine,
but the sun in his journey has
thrown his stately form half into the shadow,
and soon promises to cast him completely
into the shade. The old cat appears
to be quietly watching this operation,
and to be speculating with half an
eye, upon the probability of Bonus's
changing his position, as the shadow falls
farther and farther upon his person; for
though it was an August afternoon, it was
near the close of the month, when on
this coast, the sun-light is sought rather
than shade.

There is a small black and white cow,
without horns, grazing upon the lawn,
cropping the sweeter grass near the
verge of the cliff, an ugly, ill-favored
animal; but nevertheless in keeping
with the place and scene. These are all
the living objects about the cottage, save
a poor solitary sparrow hopping upon the
rocks, near the path that descends to the

beach, and far away, in the deep blue of
heaven, a hawk, or an eagle, balancing
himself upon his spread pinions as immovable
as if painted on the sky.

About the cottage door are signs of the
craft of the occupant. A dip net stands
against the wall on one side, and a grapnel
hangs by a peg on the other. Before
the window, on the grass, is stretched a
cast net, to dry in the warm sun-beams,
and afterwards to undergo repairs, which
rents here and there in the delicate tracery
of cross lines shows that it will need
ere it be used again to ensnare the hunted
habitants of the deep.

Against a tree, at the west end of the
cabin, stand a pair of oars and a mast
with a sail bound around it by the gasket,
the blades of the oars being still
damp, as if not long out of the water.—
From the trunk of this tree to the limb of
another was stretched a cord, knotted at
regular intervals, with strands of twine
pending from each knot. This was the
commencement of a new net, and the
balls of twine, a serving mallet, and marline-spike,
near in a box, showed that the
worker was not far distant, and had been
recently at his task.

The door of the cabin is open: it leads
into a broad, high entry or hall, open to
the very rafters of the roof; but a glance
will tell us that this space was left for a
given purpose, and not from want of
thrift or time to cover the hall. Instead
of a roof or ceiling, its place is supplied
by a boat inverted, so as to form a sort
of arched ceiling. This boat is of peculiar
structure, very long, and narrow
forward and aft, but broad in the beam.
It is a light sea-green color on the outside,
and pure white within; and in reality
forms a very pretty and appropriate
roof or canopy to the central apartment
of the fisher's cottage. It is just the
length of the entry, and in its centre exactly
its breadth. It is suspended in the
mid air by regular davits, and can be
lowered in a moment's time, when, by
being turned on its side, it can easily be
passed out of doors. On each side are
beckets, containing each two long slender
oars, beautifully made, with white
blades and green tips. The entry also
contains, at its furthest extremity, festoons
of dried fish, nets, paddles, oars,
spars, boxes, and is altogether a general
household storage room.

There are doors on either hand, opening
into small, but comfortable rooms,
one of which is a kitchen, the other a bed-room.
In the rear are two other rooms,
one of which is a sort of boat-shop for
repairing, and even building boats, and
the other a ruder sleeping apartment
than the former, which has a carpet woven
of grass upon the floor, and snow-white
curtains to the bed. There are
glimpses of three or four pots of flowers
in the window, though they looked as if
they fared not too well in the hard sea-air
of the cliff. See! there is a bee busily
buzzing and stealing sweets out of one
of the flowers, which shows that they are
more healthy than we at first supposed.
But the bee must have been a far traveller
to wing his way to the sea-side to
gather honey; but, peradventure, he
well knoweth that May Fawn's flowers
are like herself, when compared with
other maidens, sweeter and fairer than
all in the regions round about.

And who is Mary Fawn?

Mary Fawn is the fair flower of the
cliff, whose presence has thrown such a
fragrant beauty over all that we see. It
is the lovely fingers, lovely and taper
though browned with the sea-winds and
the sun—of May Fawn that has taught
the woodbine to cover the naked rock,
as charity clotheth the poor. It is the
busy hand of May Fawn that planted
the wild rose-bush at the door, and trimmed
the honeysuckle over the window.

It is the taste of May Fawn that has converted
this bleak sea-cliff, with its acre
of open ground, into a green and tempting
paradise. If thou seest any beauty
in it at all, it is because it first existed
inherent in the pure soul of May Fawn.
The beautiful and picturesque, which
you behold, are but emanations from
her own tasteful self. She has one of
those souls which creates every where,
out of the material, its own image.

The affection of May Fawn led her
to build a cote for the dove, and a tower
for the martin. Her affection gathered
to her bosom the old cat to love, and to
embrace, in her benevolence, the noble
dog Bonus. May Fawn was stamped
upon every thing around. The spirit of
Mary Fawn filled all with its own
beauty.

2. CHAPTER II.
“Poor Tom of the Cliff.”

At the moment we have introduced
the reader to the Fisher's ocean-cot with
all its picturesque beauties, there was no
human being visible to give it life and
character. There was, indeed, the old
black cat, the parrot, the Newfoundland
dog, and the hornless, short-tailed cow,
the doves, and the martins, and the bee
busy at one of the flowers in the window;
and all these lent life and variety to the
scene. But the presence and voice of
man, the prince over all things on earth,
and without whose presence, though
`sin doth follow him as his shadow,' all
would be barren, desolate, without meaning
or end, were wanting to complete the
scene.

The deep quiet and sunny silence
which we have described, continued for
a little time without interruption. Suddenly
Bonus, the tawny old Newfoundlander,
began to prick up his small,
shapely ears, and gently turn his head
as if to listen. A footstep strikes his
ear, but very faintly. His eye looks
lively and interested, and an expression
of pleasure lights up his fine countenance.
The foot-fall becomes more distinct, and
comes from the direction of the rocky
boundary that overhangs the cottage in
the rear. The dog now lifts his head
and looks eagerly, still listening with the
peculiar air of his race; and now he
very slightly moves his shaggy tail.

The steps come nigher and more fully
marked to the ear. The cat, Kate, now
purrs loudly and moves her long whiskers
in a sort of gratified manner. The Poll
Parrot utters a shrill whistle, and calls
loudly and noisily,

`Kate, how's the weather?'

The martins chirp and fly in eccentric
and more joyous circles about the roof,
and even the ugly, black, spotted cow
lifts her head and gazes for an instant in
the direction of the cliff.

There is now in full sight, slowly descending
a flight of rude steps, formed
partly by art, but mainly by nature, a
young girl dressed in a brown-coloured
calico, and with a large, broad-brimmed,
grass hat upon her head, shading features
most beautiful, as we can see they
are at this distance. As she comes
down the rocks and advances to the
house, coming round to the front, she
moves with a free, graceful step, and an
air at once modest and independent, as if
unconscious of observation and felt unrestrained.
Her figure is slight but
finely moulded, and expressive of the
purest health, to which the rich peach
hue of her nut-brown cheek bears testimony.
Her eyes are large, expansive
and expressive of much feeling while
they are animated with intelligence and
sweetness of character. A smile of the
most charming character plays about her
mouth, and she is singing from very
lightness of heart and absence of care:

She sings like a nightingale, and her
voice is rich and mellow, and full of
feeling. The cliffs take it up and repeat
it as if they would prolong the sweet
sounds.

`But why should I sing,' said she in a
subdued tone, as if reproaching herself.
`I ought to be sad and silent till I know
the fate of those I love. I sing without
thought; my heart is not in the idle songs,
they are on the sea! the sea, which, all
so beautiful and calmly blue as it is, may
be a grave to those dear to me. I will
sing no more.

`Pretty May,' cried the parrot as she
made her appearance in front of the cottage,
and stood near his cage, leaning
upon a staff which she had taken to
support her steps in descending the rocks,
upon which she had been, for the last
half hour, standing and earnestly watching
the ocean, now scanning its faint hue
on the horizon to the east, now surveying
the island outline of the vast prospect on
the west, and now endeavoring to pierce
the infinite open sea that stretched away
to the southward.

`Poor Poll!' responded the maiden,
looking up at her green-coated friend.
`you look as if you wished your master.'

`Poor Poll!' responded the bird in the
same sad tone in which she spoke.

The old cat now rose up, and stretching
at her full length, walked slowly towards
her; and, after walking once
around her, rubbed her glossy hide against
her feet, which were as bare as ever an
Indian girl's, and as brown almost; and
of the most exquisite shape. They were
without doubt or question the prettiest little
pair of feet in the world. The hand
too was the fellow of the feet; small, taper,
and faultlessly designed, from the
bared elbow to the rosy nails.

One could see now, as she stood by
the cottage door, how darkly beautiful
were her eyes; how rich the rosy blush
upon her cheek that mocked the most
artful carnation of the toilet: how abundant
and softly flowing in a mass of shining
waves was her raven hair; how deep,
and transparently clear, the scarlet ripeness
of her charming lips; how long the
dark fringe of lashes that shaded the fire
of her eyes; and how altogether lovely,

and without compare, was this maiden of
the cliff.

The Newfoundlander now rose, and
shaking his huge form, walked towards
her, with the majestic, friendly carriage
peculiar to his race. His hazel eye
beamed upon her with a protecting complacency,
and looking up into her face,
he wagged his huge tail, and then raising
his clean white paw, laid it affectionately
in her hand.

`Good Bonus!' she said kindly, as she
patted his large head. `You feel as lonely
as I do without your master. Even
old Kate here can't bear to be left alone.
She understands that something is wrong;
that my father is not always so long
away. How they rejoice, poor things,
when they see me return even after a
few minutes absence, as if they feared I
should leave them, too, with no one but
poor Tom; and they know as well as
any one that Tom is witless.'

`Who calls Tommy?' said a shrill,
crackled voice, from a shady covert,
where a few myrtle bushes grew near a
large fragment of rock that lay upon the
ground at the end of the cottage. The
sound of the voice was very extraordinary,
as if compounded of the hoarse,
base voice of a man, and the sharp tenor
of a small boy. It had a complaining,
impatient key, too, as if natural to it.

`You may well ask who calls Tom,'
answered the young girl, with a smile on
her lip, and a slight frown upon her brow,
as she raised her finger and shook it at a
short, square built human figure, with high
shoulders, and a large head sunk between
them to the ears. He was about four
feet and a half in height, and full twenty
one years of age. His legs were very
short, and his arms so long that he could
take things from the ground with very
little stooping. His head, which was
enormously large for his dwarfish stature,
was crowned with coarse yellow hair,
that grew long, and thick, and bushy,
like a mop over his brow, which was
square and projecting. His eye-brows
were as black as jet, and strikingly contrasted
his hair and complexion, the latter
being white and sandy; and his eyes
were also small, and of a whitey blue tint.

His features otherwise were not only
good, but decidedly handsome. His
nose and mouth and chin were elegant
and manly counterparts of those of the
maiden, to which they bore a marked
likeness.

But here the resemblance ceased, a resemblance
physical rather than intellectual;
for the features, which she animated
with soul and feeling, on his face
were characterised only by the sottish
and unmeaning expression of folly and
imbecility. There was no mind in them.
As she said, even the dog and cat could
tell that poor Tom was witless.

He was dressed in a common fisherman's
duck trowsers, shortened at the
knee, leaving the leg bare below; in a
linsey-woolsey jacket, and a woollen
shirt of faded yellow flannel. His head
was surmounted by a red cap, in which
was stuck a piece of evergreen as an ornament;
and around his neck and upon
his wrists were strings of small, beautiful
sea-shells, mingled with coral, and a perforated
penny or two, worn bright with
the fingers, which were constantly playing
with them.

He held in his hand a bunch of twine
and a large wooden needle used in netmaking.
The expression of his features,
as he saw the maiden, was that of mingled
affection and fear.

`Ah, Tom,' she said in a kindly tone,
`I fear you will never get the net done
if you are so idle. You no sooner see
me go away than you go off and lay
down to sleep. An't you quite ashamed
to be so lazy!'

`Tom very tired,' answered the idiot.

`If one would let you, you would sleep
under the trees from sunrise to sunset,
Tom. You don't have to work very
hard. Come, finish your task!'

The dwarf approached the cord which
was stretched between the two trees and
began, with an idolence of movement
that was amusing, to attach a strand to
one of the knots, while he kept his eye
over one shoulder upon the young girl
who stood near, watching him.

`Sister May!' at length said the dwarf
turning round and fixing his large lustrous
eyes upon her; `where is father?
Is he dead?'

The face of the young girl grew suddenly
pale, and she answered quickly,

`Nay, I pray not, Tom!'

`Why don't he come home, then?—
The sun has set nine times since he went
away! I'm tired bein' alone here. I'd
rather father 'd be here, if he does beat
me; coz I'm afraid?'

`Afraid of what?'

`Of devils, May.'

`There are none here,' answered the
maiden, shuddering in spite of herself,
and yet smiling.

`You can't see 'em, coz you are good,
May; and they don't come round the
good foik. But if you was as ugly and
bad as I am, you'd see 'em plenty!'

`You are not bad, Tom. You are
only —'

`Only a half-grown monster. That is
it, May,' said the dwarf, turning round
and speaking with an energy and vehemence
she had never before witnessed
in him; for his general manner was
inert and lethargic.

`Who told you you were a monster?'
she asked, with amazement.

`Who? If you had been in my head
last night when I was sleeping, you
wouldn't ask that! I saw him plain as I
see Bonus there!'

`Saw who?'

`The old 'un, May. He came and
danced round me, now stannin' right up
on his tail, and on his head whirling
round like a top, and then he'd come aclose
to me and make mouths, and jabber
and grin and say, `Tommy, how do
you do? You are a nice person, Tommy—a
brave man, Tommy, with your
head between your shoulders, and a back
like a whale. You are a monster, Tommy,
and no body loves you.'

`You were dreaming, brother,' said
May, trying to laugh off the unpleasant
feeling which his words occasioned.—
`I love you if no body else does!' she
added, taking his huge hairy hand in
her's, and patting his shaggy forehead
with affection. `Don't mind such dreams,
Tommy! You are good, and sister May
loves you!'

`If you love me I don't care for the
devil, coz you can keep him off! He's
afraid of you. He knows you are good,
and if you will love me, I'll not be afraid
of him any more!'

`That is brave, Tom! Now go to
your task, for you know you are happier
when you are at work.

3. CHAPTER III.
The Dwarf.

The dwarf, who had betrayed in his
brief conversation more feeling in reference
to his deformity than he usually exhibited,
kissed the fair hand of his sister
with affectionate awe, and began to apply
himself to his task.

The maiden stood looking at him for a
few moments with painful interest. He
had never but once before, many years
ago, alluded to his deformed shape, and
then with a sort of idiotic wonder on seeing
the reflection of his person in the water
by the side of her own. He then expressed
astonishment and surprise that
he was so hideous and she so lovely: but
it was unaccompanied by any manifestation
of emotion. It was simply idiotic
wonder.

His habitual insensibility to his condition
was the only solace her affectionate
and warm heart received from the
contemplation of his revolting personal
appearance. She felt thankful that he
was deficient in that intelligence which
would render his life miserable at the full
realization of his physical degradation
among men.

He was her brother—her only brother,
and as he was always kind to her, and
seemed to worship her and look up to her
as to a superior being, she felt for him a
strong and sacred attachment. She felt
that it was her duty to love him whom
all men hated and cast off. Even his
father treated him with neglect and severity,
bringing him up rather as a slave
than a son. But poor Tom always found
a shelter from the world's harshness in
e sympathy of his noble sister. She
was like an angel given to guard him.—
His attachment to her was like that of a
dog for its master; he was always faithful
to her, and in her service was bold
and active. He would have sacrificed
his life to serve her. Between him and
his unloving father she had always interposed
and saved him from many a
blow. Poor Tom! All gratitude and
all feeling were not quite extinguished in
his bosom. May was all the world to him,
and all the future. He had vague ideas
of Heaven, and he peopled it with angels,
all like his sister May. To contemplate
his dependent affection and watchful devotion,
and her protecting tenderness and
gentle sympathy, was a spectacle of the
most touching and beautiful character.—
The helplessness of poor Tom called into
exercise all the benevolent and holier
attributes of the generous sister's heart,
and made her a lovelier character than
perhaps she would have been; for we all
need external objects to develope our internal
qualities. Without the poor and
wretched, charity and pity could not live
in the human bosom. The kindness of
May, also, drew forth from the darkness
of Tom's soul the half-trained sensibilities
and scarcely-formed affections which
lay there, and which otherwise had never
manifested themselves; thus keeping his
soul for ever locked up in the hideous
prison of his body. Her influence subdued
the savage ferocity which at times,
under the harsh treatment of his father,
showed itself to be a native element of
his character; and out of a ferocious
brute she gradually cultivated a grateful,
faithful monitor.

May had, however, but little sympathy
herself from her dark-souled brother.—
He could not enter into her sorrows, or
understand her griefs. He could not
converse. He had no ideas to give or
interchange. His existence was comprised,
not in thought, but in feeling. He
had a heart, for May had unfolded its affections
towards herself; but he had no
head. He could talk only in the accents
of affection, or else in the bitter complaints
of hatred against his father and all
those who mocked at his deformity; for
there are persons to whom misfortune is
not sacred.

May needed sympathy at this time.—
She felt the want of some one to talk
with. Bonus seemed to understand when
she was unhappy quicker than her brother,
and to manifest a lively interest in
her. He now drew near her, seeing her
stand with a sad face gazing vacantly upon
the sea, and, looking up into her face
with his soft, intelligent eyes, seemed to
ask her what he should do for her. She
saw him, and patting him upon the head,
said,

`Poor Bonus! You can do nothing to
help me! You nor Tom can enter into
my unhappiness. Yet I know you miss
your master, and are sorrowful that he
comes not; for though he never loved
my poor brother, he has always loved
you!'

`Yes, father loves Bonus. Tom hate
Bonus,' said the idiot with a scowl, as he
clenched his enormous hand and shook
it morosely in the dog's face.

Bonus remained immoveable, calmly
eyeing him. He knew as well as any human
being did, that poor Tom was not a
responsible person. He now seemed to
regard him with dignified commisseration.

`You should not hate Bonus! He is
faithful and has twice saved your life!'
said May, with gentle severity of reproof.

`Yes, Tom love Bonus. Bonus good
dog! He never call Tom, `Hunchy'
and `Devil's child!' Tom love Bonus
and hate father!'

Here the idiot unclenched his hand
and, with a face full of kindly emotion,
patted Bonus on the neck. The sensible
animal slightly wagged his tail and licked
the palm of his hand with devotion, as if
he loved Tom because, May, his mistress
loved him.

`I wish, Bonus, you were a bird—an
Eagle—that you might fly and bring me
news of my dear father!' said May,
earnestly as she once more cast her eyes
along the horizon of the sea.

`I hope father'll never come back,'
said the idiot, with emphasis. `Tom get
no more beating.'

`You are selfish, Tom! You are
wicked to say so.'

`Yes, the devil told Tom he was wicked,'
answered the dwarf, with a countenance
of fear and grief. `He say Tom
you are wicked and when you die I shall
have you! I told him May said I was
good. Now you say Tom is wicked.'

Here he began to give vent to a flood
of tears, and it was some moments before
she could pacify him.

`You are good, Tom. I am sorry
you dream so. It is because you sleep
so much!'

`I dream more about the old 'un
when I'm wake, May. He comes and
talks with me when I'm makin' the net.
He stands one side and I the other, and
always asks me to let him knot a strand.
But I know if I do he will make the net
to catch me in it, and so I threw the
servin'-mallet at his head and he goes off
bIowin' like a porpus.'

`You should'nt think about him and
you wont see him. There, go to work
at your task, and I will by and by give

you a nice supper. You know if you
don't finish the net by the time father
returns he will be angry with you.'

`But he darn't touch Tom while you
are by.'

`But its better to get it done and not
make him angry. It is nine days since
he went, and you have not yet done five
hours work on it; and he said he should
be absent but three and would expect to
find it done when he returned.'

`I hope the fishes have got him,' said
the dwarf, with savage vindictiveness.

`Sail ho! Sail ho! How's the weather?
Stir your stumps you infernal dwarf!
What luck I say? Sail ho! Pretty Poll!
Pretty May! Work you rascal Tom!'

`I'll kill him. He's the devil, May!
I hate him! He always abuses me just
as father does.'

No, Tom, for my sake hurt him not!'
said the maiden, for the hundredth time
being compelled to interpose to save her
favorite from the rage of her brother.
`He does'nt know what he says.'

`Don't he? Is he fool-mad like poor
Tom?' asked the idiot, with wondering
inquisitiveness.

`Yes, brother.'

`Then Tom won't kill him!' was his
answer, his countenance at once resuming
its former inanity.

`Poll has spoken truly!' cried May,
with sudden animation. `Look, brother
Tom! Is not that a white sail off in the
south-east?'

`Sail ho! Sail ho! It's goin' to blow
like blazes! Tom you idle dog! Work!
Work! Work! Sail ho, I say!' screamed
the parrot from the cage.

`I don't see it, May. But Poll knows.
She has sharp eyes. Tom can't see
half the time.'

`Yes, Poll is right!' cried the maiden,
joyfully. `It must be father's smack!'

`I hope the wind in yonder cloud,
May, 'll blow till it sink him if it is. I
don't want nobody but you and I, and
Bonus to live here!'

The young girl was too deeply interested
in watching the distant sail, for
sail it was which had been discovered
by the parrot from his perch, to heed
his words. She hastened rapidly to the
verge of the cliff where the path commenced
descending to the beach below.

Here upon a naked rock, that projected
over the path-way, she stood, with
Bonus by her side, and gazed eagerly off
upon the ocean. with her two hands
hollowed into a focus, she looked long
and eagerly; while the dog, following the
direction of her eyes, seemed to be quite
as interested in the white speck on the
horizon as herself. He wagged his tail,
and he appeared to anticipate the arrival
of his long absent master. Tom remained
to go on with his task which he diligently
pursued from fear of his father's
blows, when he should come home, and
find the net unfinished.

The young girl watched the sail until
she was satisfied that it approached nearer
and nearer. Her face, on this discovery,
expressed her joy; and she began
to congratulate Bonus on soon seeing his
master. For an instant, to relieve her
eyes, pained by steadily fixing them upon
the distant vessel, she dropped them
to the bay immediately below her, where
cradled upon its calm bosom, lay at anchor
the little mackerel-boat we have already
described. She could look down
directly upon its deck. The sight of it
suggested the idea of going out to meet
her father.

`If there were a breath of air in the
bay, I would go down and embark in the
boat with Tom, and sail out to meet him.
But though there is a fresh breeze outside
all is as calm as a lake in the harbour.
I must check my impatience, and
await his slow approach. But I am disappointed!
It is not my father!' she

cried with surprise and grief, as a slight
change made in the course of the vessel
displayed three masts, and the rig of a
ship. Till this discovery, the vessel had
been standing directly towards her, so
that she presented only one mast; from
her great distance. May could not tell
the shape of the sails; and it might be
taken for her father's shallop-sloop. But
she now saw that what she supposed was
a small vessel, comparatively, very near
her, was a large ship half below the horizon,
her upper sails only visible.

It was a great disappointment to her;
for she was most tenderly attached to her
father, who, in his turn, idolized her for
her beauty and goodness. Her influence
over him had been extraordinary, for he
was a man of violent passions, and a stern,
cold character; and although she grieved
that he hated his dwarfed child as he
did, she exerted all her power to shield
him from his anger and endeavor to turn
his heart towards him. For her sake he
had withheld many a blow which would
have well nigh slain poor Tom, and her
sweet voice had stilled a thousand feelings
in his bosom. Her love rendered
her blind to her father's faults, save this,
his hatred of her brother; and this did
not make her love him less, but her brother
more. How could she see evil in a
father who never breathed an unkind
word to her, who never looked upon her
face but with admiring tenderness? How
could she judge him bad who to her was
good! How could he, who so loved her,
be wicked!

Yet there were dark tales abroad about
her father. They had even been whispered
with malice in her ears; but they
were not heeded. She shut her ears to
the words that fell on them, and would
never suffer them to rest a moment in
her mind.

Nine days before, as we have said, the
old Fisherman Northrop, had sailed from
the little secluded bay on a trip, as he
said, to Portland, to buy articles needed
in his profession, especially salt; and also
to lift his bounty money. He had
sailed in a small sloop of ninety tons,
which he used as his fishing vessel, for a
few months past, his swallow-tailed
schooner having been wrecked a few
months before in coming into the bay in
a storm, by being driven upon a ledge,
directly off its entrance, about a mile distant
from the scathed pine on the promontory.

The trip over to Portland and back
did not wholly occupy more than two or
three days; and, as the wind and weather
had been favorable almost every day
since his departure, and he still stayed
away, May, who was left alone with
her brother on the cliff, began to entertain
apprehensions for his safety; and these
fears had increased with each day's absence,
after the fourth passed without
bringing him.

He had taken in the sloop with him an
old man and two of his boys, who lived
on an island about a league distant towards
the mouth of the Kennebec, who,
from their poverty, having no vessel of
their own, usually embarked their fortunes
with him, and composed his crew whenever
he went on a fishing cruise.

4. CHAPTER IV.
The Little Cloud.

The sail which had so disappointed the
young girl, by displaying the majestic
outline of a ship, instead of proving to be
the little fishing sloop, now gradually
lifted above the horizon-line, and showed
her masts down to her deck, May was
sufficiently skilled, fisher's daughter as
she was, to see that she was a very large
ship, and that her sails had that square,
heavy look characteristic of a man-of-war;
for she had seen, during the existing
war, more than one English and
American frigate sail past the harbor;
and could distinguish them from the
more frequent and less imposing merchant
vessels, even at three leagues off.

The course of the strange sail had
been, when first seen by her, direct for
the cliff; but she had shortly after hauled
her wind and now seemed to be stretching
away eastward and a little northwardly.
May continued to watch her
until she could plainly discern the whole
of her dark hull. She strained her eyes
to see if she could distinguish the black
and white squares of ports; but the distance
was too great. She also strove to
make out the nation of the colours which
she saw flying over her stern.

`It is no doubt an English war-ship,'
she said with a disappointed air. `Ah,
Bonus, your master comes not. I fear
that he may have fallen into the hand of
the enemy; though they have never yet
harmed fishermen. My poor father!—
What can have become of him. If by
to-morrow morning he does not return,'
she said anxiously, `I will take Tom
with me and sail over to Portland in
search of him! The ship has altered her
course again! She is now standing directly
in for the bay! No; I see the
reason of this seeming change. The
wind has suddenly gone down, and so she
is becalmed; her bow has swung round
and points this way. Not a breath ruffles
the ocean, which but a moment ago
was rippled like the back of a mackerel!
How calm the air is even here upon this
eminence!'

The ship had indeed became stationery;
the light wind which a few moments
before had been wafting her along at the
rate of four miles an hour having suddenly
died away, leaving the surface of
the sea as polished and smooth as if an
ocean of molten steel. The sun, which
was within an hour and a half of its going
down, reflected from the water with dazzling
splendor.

`A ship, May!' said the shrill voice of
the dwarf close to her shoulder. `A warship!'

`Left your work again, Tom!'

`I'ant afraid o'father now. It ant the
sloop, but a reg'lar war-ship. I can see
the big guns sticking out.'

`You have better eyes than I have,
Tommy. I know that it must be a frigate,
but I can't see that she has ports at
this distance. She is full six miles off.'

`I see 'em,' answered the dwarf, fixing
his large bright eye upon the vessel.—
`See that smoke and fire!'

`A flash!' cried May with surprise.

`And a loud gun too, May,' he cried,
as the deep boom of a heavy cannon
reached their ears, while the frigate was

half hidden for a minute in a cloud of
blue smoke that slowly rolled away to
the south-wind upon the sea.

`They wants a pilot!' said Tom with
emphasis.

`They cannot want one for this little
bay; and they can have no object in
coming in here. Besides, if they had a
pilot, they could not move without wind,
Tom.'

`Wind! There 'll be enough o' that
as soon as they'll want it,' he answered
very positively, and pointed to the south-westward.

`What makes you think there will be
wind, brother? I hope there will be;
for unless there is, father will not reach
home to-night!'

`I hope that he 'll never pass the
scathed pine there agen, sister May!' he
said doggedly.

`I almost believe you would murder
your father, Tom, if you dared!'

`No, no. I wouldn't kill him. That
would be wicked, May, and the devil
would have Tom then sure enough. But
if the winds and blue waves drown him,
Tom wouldn't be to blame!'

`I am sorry you hate him so, Tom!
I shall not love you.'

`He beats me, and calls me a wolf and
a bear, May.'

`He will beat you no more, Tom. He
promised me that.'

`He wont when you are by; but when
you are out o' sight, he half kill Tom.'

`Well, I wont be out of sight, brother!
See, there is another gun.'

How loud it sounds. It is bigger than,
thunder, May.'

`I wonder what they can be firing at,'
she said, with surprise visible upon her
earnest face, as she watched the distant
stranger.

`There 'll be firing and flashin' from
this a-way too, afore long, May,' said
Tom, pointing again to the west, where
a small bluish clay coloured cloud was
suspended low upon the horizon. It was
not larger than three breadths of the sun,
near which its position was. The sun,
moreover, began to show a faint halo of
mist, and to redden as it descended in its
course towards the horizon. `That cloud,
May, 'll grow faster than a mushroom if
you'll just watch it. It is born right out
of the sun, and the sun 'll feed it with
its light, and fill it with lightenin', and
the winds will fill it up with thunder.—
That's where all the wind's gone to now.'

`There is no doubt the cloud enlarges,
and the sun looks angry, Tom, though I
don't agree with you exactly as to the
way the cloud is made up.'

`Afore sun-down, the west 'll be half
covered over with that little blue speck.
It is a reg'lar storm-breeder.'

May knew that her brother's knowledge
in such matters, was better than
her own; for he had little else to do but
to study the sky and the sea, which for
hours he would gaze upon in silence,
seated upon the cliff, or posted upon some
limb which overhung the surges. A
storm excited in him the wildest joy;
while, also, he seemed to have a heart
for the softer features of nature, and to
delight in beauty as well as riot in sublimity.
She knew that his judgment was
to be taken in all matters touching the
weather; that even her father relied upon
him in such cases, more than upon
his own experience.

`If there is to be a blow, I hope the
frigate will get an offing before it comes
on,' said May.

`You do, May. Well, I don't; if she
is an Englisher, I hope she'll go to the
bottom. I don't wish good to the enemy.'

`You should not bear such hatred,
Tom. I shall not love you, if you feel
so. The truly generous spirit cannot recognise
enemies in the hour when danger

menaces them. How rapidly that
cloud enlarges and changes its shape.'

`Yes, it looks now just like a great
black eagle flying over the sea.'

`It looks menacing, and more so now
that the sun has cast over its northern
skirt a lurid red. The sun, too, looks
fiercer every moment. Still, how calm
lies the ocean every where around, as if
in slumber. There is something fearful
in witnessing this silent gathering of the
tempest. There is another gun from the
frigate.'

`Do you want to know what them
guns be fired for, May?' asked Tom,
with a bright, covert light in his eyes.

`I cannot conceive, unless it is for a
pilot.'

`They see the storm-breeder as well
as we. They are becalmed, as you see,
and know that it is a dangerous coast to
be on in a gale. The storm is coming
up from the south and west, and that 'll
make a lee-shore for 'em; so they'll
have to run for some harbour or go to
pieces. They want a pilot to come aboard
to help 'em to get in safe somewhere,
when the storm begins to pipe. Tom's a
dwarf and a fool, and every body hates
Tom, but you, May; but Tom knows
the war-ship is 'fraid o' the gale, and
wants a pilot. They'd take Tom, if he
is a fool.'

Here the poor idiot laughed and chuckled,
as if triumphantly anticipating his
power to save the vessel, foolish as he
was, if he were on board of her; for
there was not a better pilot on the coast
than poor Tom. He knew every shoal
and rock, every sunken reef and dangerous
place as familiarly as the palms
of his two hands.

`Do you think they feel that they are
in such peril, Tom?' she asked earnestly.
`How many noble and brave souls
there are, doubtless, on board that ship!
It would be dreadful if she should be lost.'

`Hear that gun again, May! They
are minnit guns, and minnit guns is
al'ays fired when war-ships is in trouble.
They wants a pilot, in case the storm
should come and catch 'em among the
herrin' ledges. They be in the worst
place they could be put into. If father's
sloop was there, I'd be sure she'd be
wracked, if he didn't know how to pilot
her into the bay!'

`That cloud is advancing up the sky,
and darkening all the west with fearful
rapidity.'

`In less than half an hour we shall see
rare sport, May.'

`You seem to have no human feeling
at times, Tom,' she said angrily. `If it
would please you to see that ship in peril,
it would not please me.'

`Don't frown on poor Tom. Tom love
the war-ship, if May love it!' he said deprecatingly.
`If sister May be mad at
Tom, Tom wish to die.'

`Then do not show such malice, brother.
That ship, as you say, may be in
peril. There is plainly going to be a
heavy blow from the south-west. The
cloud has already darkened the face of
the sun, and casts a shadow like midnight
beneath upon the sea. There they
fire again. It is evident that they think
themselves in a dangerous position, and
are calling for aid from some one of the
fishermen. Something must be done.'

`If father was here, he'd go out to 'em
and stay on board till the storm was
over. `He'd run her safe in here.'

`And why can't you, dear brother?'
she cried with an eloquent expression of
entreaty.

`Me? You ask poor Tom to go and
save a big war-ship? Tom's a dwarf!
They'd hang Tom on the yard-arm soon
as he come on board. They'd throw
Tom into the sea to make the waves be
still! Oh, no! Tom stay 'shore!'

`There is no one but ONE that could

save that ship from her danger!' she said,
her cheek suddenly brightening its roseate
hue: `but I fear that he would
deem it his duty to let her perish—to
leave her to her fate. What my brother
says is true; they might fear to trust
him; and he might, in the malicious caprice
of the moment, wilfully wreck
what I should send him to save. He is
not to be trusted. There is no alternative.
The effort must be made. His LOVE
for me shall now be tested. They still
live in hopes some one will aid them, and
each solemn report of the guns, indicates
their sense of the danger of their condition.
What I do I must do quickly.'

The danger in which the frigate was
placed, was indeed, very imminent.—
She had become becalmed in a sort of
bight of the main-land, with a low point
running out to the east-ward which, if the
wind of the storm should come out of the
south and west as it was threatening to
do, could not be weathered. She was,
as the sailors phrase it, land-locked.—
Her distance from the shore in a direct
line was about four miles, and from the
place from which the young girl and
dwarf were watching her, five miles in
an east by south direction. The coast
was rocky and forbidding, and off the
land at various distances, were several
sunken ledges, intermingled here and
there with a sharp, black rock, looking
like a huge fish lying upon the smooth
surface. The fishing bay, we have described
at the commencement of our
story, was the nighest shelter for the
ship; but as several ridges of sunken
rocks indicated a dangerous entrance, its
passage would not be attempted by a
large ship, without a pilot. The ocean
was perfectly breezeless; lying in profound
repose, as if awaiting the coming
storm. This was advancing up the sky
with appalling blackness. Half the heavens
were covered with a bluish black
canopy, its upper edges curling along the
blue expanse in ashy white fringes, streaming
out straight before the winds of the
upper air. The blackness of darkness
lay upon the sea beneath. Solitary upon
the wide ocean, hung as if in silent terror,
the noble ship; its sails snugly furled,
save two storm-stay-sails; and at ra
pid intervals came from her the loud voice
of her artillery, calling for human aid.

5. CHAPTER V.
The Young Fisher.

The young maiden who had suddenly
formed, as we have seen, some resolution
in her mind to do something for the
safety of the endangered ship, left the
verge of the cliff where she had been
standing, and began rapidly to descend
the path-way to the water.

`Follow me, Tom,' she cried, as she
darted towards the beach.

`Where are you going, May?' cried
the dwarf, as he bounded after her. `Tell
me what you want of Tom.'

`I want you to go with me and pull
the skiff. I am going to George Hunnewell's.'

`Georgy has got a broken arm, May.'

`Do I not know that, Tom?' she answered
as she bounded lightly into a
small skiff which was fastened to a stake,
which belonged to, and was used to go to
and from the little craft at anchor a few
yards off the beach.

`Yes, you ought to know it, for you
cried when father told you how he'd been
dashed against a rock when the fishing-schooner
was wracked, and so smashed
it. What are you going over to see
Georgy for? Didn't you tell him, for I
heard you, when he was last here, that
you could never love him? But I knows
it was because he had said something
about father you didn't like. Touch father,
and its touch May.'

`I can't talk with you now,' answered
he maiden, blushing. `I am going to see
George. I want you to row me there.'

`That I'll do, sister May, because
Georgy like me. He never calls me
dwarf. He loves you too, for he always
talks about you, and said if he could
make you love him he should be the
happiest fisherman in all the coast. Why
don't you love him, May?'

`Don't ask foolish questions, Tom.—
Take your oars. There: cast off. Now
pull hard and strong. We have not a
moment to lose.'

`But I'm afraid that storm 'll come up
before we get there.'

`Not if you pull hard,' she answered,
as she shoved off the skiff with a boat-hook,
and turned it prow down the bay.

Tom, without saying a word, and accustomed
implicitly to obey his sister,
immediately sat down, and taking his
oars, placed them in the row-locks, and
began to bend his broad back vigorously
to his task. May sat in the stern with a
paddle, guiding the boat on her course.

`You are not going straight across,
May?'

`Straight across, Tom,' she answered
with a resolute air.

`If the storm meets us we are gone to
bottom.'

`It wont meet us,` she responded,
glancing at the tempest-cloud, which
was already flinging out its ashy banners
from the edge of the black mass, far
across the zenith. `By the way it has
been coming on for the last half hour, it
will be full half an hour before it bursts.
It is but a mile and a half to George's
cabin.'

`I begin to guess something.'

`What?'

`That you'll be going out to the
frigate.'

`No, I am not.'

`Well, if you was, I wouldn't row another
pull, if you should beat me with
the boat-hook. No, no! Tom is a fool;
but Tom loves May too well to let her
drown in the black waves.'

`I am going only to George's. Pull!
Do not delay!'

`Then I'll pull, and hard too,' he answered,
as he once more bent to the
oars.

The little skiff seemed to be cutting
its way across the surface of a sea of ink
—so black was the reflection of the sky
upon it. Its wake lay like the the whitest
snow far astern. It shot across the bay
like an arrow, and approaching the base
of the cliff-head, on which stood the tall,
scathed, white pine, looking like a spirit
of the storm, with its arms outstretched,
beckoning on and marshalling the hosts
of the tempest.

`That old white tree looks like a monstrous
live woman, May. How it glistens!'

`It is because the clouds are so dark
which it is relieved against. It has a terrific
appearance in this murky gloom.—
But heed it not. Pull hard and strong
till you get round the rock, and then we
shall have but a short distance to go to
reach George's.

The skiff passed out of the entrance to
the enclosed bay and going round the
promontory of the Scathed Pine, where
the under-sea billows began already to
swell in anticipation of the wild surges
that promised soon to lash the deep,
opened upon a shallow inlet half shut in
by a ledge and reef, upon which the
swell had begun to rise and break into
white caps, though there was no wind
upon the ocean, and a fearful stillness
reigned in the heavens, which were in
fierce and rapid motion from the south
west. As soon as the two adventurous
occupants of the skiff had got out of the
bay and pulled round the head of the
cliff, they entered the lesser bay; and,
after passing inside of the reef that nearly
barred entrance to it, they came in sight
of two fishermen's huts, nestled in a rocky
nook close to the shore. Their situation
was wild and romantic. Not a green
tree, not a vestige of soil or sward was in
their vicinity. As the skiff rapidly approached
the shore, a rocky natural stair
was visible by which it could be reached
from the cove; and at the foot of the
stair were two skiffs, one containing a
mast and sail; the other was drawn up
a little ways upon a flat rock which was
covered with sea-weed.

There was a short distance to the left
of the landing the wreck of a vessel of
sixty tons, nearly stripped to its ribs, and
over-grown with richen and barnacles.
A net was dragging upon the rocks; and
upon the end of a spar which projected
from a crevice in the cliff over the water,
about six six feet above it, sat an old woman
in coarse apparel, bare feet and
arms, with grey locks falling wildly over
her brow and about her brawny shoulders.
She was smoking a short pipe, and
engaged in repairing an old sail with a
seaman's thimble lashed upon her palm.
Her features were sunburned, harsh and
repulsive. She seemed to have an habitually
savage aspect, as if she loved no
one, but rather hated all of her kind.—
She had been keenly watching the approach
of the skiff since it first hove in
sight around the spur of the promontory,
at intervals muttering to herself:

`That fool, Tom Northrop and his
cream-faced sister! I wish the storm
would come up with 'em. What do they
want coming here? No good, I'll warrant
me. She is a witch and no better;
for she has bewitched my boy. He is
good for nothing now since he was last
over to their place; and does nothing
but talk of May Fawn! I'll send her
back ere she shall see him!'

She would then take a few stitches in
her old sail, and then as her small grey
eyes wandered over the sea, they would
fall on the frigate, about four miles distant,
which continued still to fire her signal
guns.

`Ah, fire away, Englishmen. There
is no harm done to any of us by such
kind o' powder-burnin'. You find yourself
in a bright o' the land and know that
when the wind begins to make the sea
up you'll have to run in under the land,
or go upon the rocks. There's no getting
to windward with the tide flowing
and the wind, as it is like to be dead
agen ye! — How that strong-backed
dwarf pulls an oar. He makes the skiff
dance along as if it was alive! I wonder
what they want here! I hope George
'll not get home afore they 've got what
they want and are back where they came
from. There is lightning, and sharp, too!'

The appearance of the heavens now
was truly terrific. The cloud which an
hour ago had been no bigger than `a
man's hand,' had expanded till it covered
two thirds of the sky; and was still rolling
eastward to envelope in its inky
veil the strip of horizon where still was
visible the deep blue expanse. The shadow
upon the sea was like night-fall; and
from its gloom appeared the frigate with
its two white strips of canvass shining
almost with phosphorescent brightness.
The shades of the sea were lighted up
by the light of the continual cannonade
from her deck, while the deep peal of the
report resounding among the cliffs of the
main, awakened feelings of solemn awe
in the mind not only of May Fawn as she
sat at her little helm, guiding the bark in
which she had so adventurously launched,
but also in that of a young fisherman
who had been for some moments watching
the frigate from an opening in the
cliff, not far from the two huts we have
seen perched mid-way the precipice.

He was about two and twenty years of
age, of good height, and finely moulded
person. His complexion was clear and
somewhat pale, as if from illness; but
his eye had lost none of its fire, nor the
expression of his face any of its native
decision. Altogether, his countenance
was handsome, and singularly prepossessing.
He was dressed in grey trousers,
fisher's half-boots, and a sort of woollen
blue frock, without button or button hole,
secured to his waist by a leathern belt.
His brown locks were covered by an old
straw hat, turned back from the brow
with a bold air.

He wore his left arm in a sling, and
upon his rightshoulder, he carried a rusty,
well-worn gun, at the extremity of which
dangled a bunch of snipes and sand-birds.
He had been out upon the beach
for the last two hours shooting, as an old
fisherman who lived in a neighbouring
hut, had recommended bird's-flesh for
wounded persons, in preference to fish,
the usual sustenance of those in health,
who dwelt on that coast. The young
fisherman, had therefore, taken his gun
and gone out to shoot his own supper,
about three hours before sun-set. He
had walked slowly and stopped often, as
his wounded arm still kept him weak;
and although two months had elapsed
since he crushed it in being wrecked in
Old Northrop's shallop, it had not yet
healed. Had not the birds been very
plenty and very tame, he would hardly
have been able to take any game; but
as he could rest his gun upon the shoulder
of an old negro who accompanied
him, and fire among flocks of them, he
was thus enabled, though with but one
arm in use, to do considerable execution.

He was about a mile from his cabin
up the coast, when he heard the first
gun fired by the frigate. He was a little
ways back from the shore, when the report
reached his ears; and he hastened

to the sea-side to learn its cause. He
saw the frigate laying, becalmed, directly
opposite the place where he stood. At
first he did not understand the object of
the signals; but on turning his head
westward, he beheld the expanding cloud,
and the storm haze that was veiling the
sun's disc. A few seconds observation
showed him at once the perilous position
of the ship, and he was at no loss to conjecture
the cause of the guns.

`Buttermilk,' he said, addressing the
negro, who was looking over his shoulder.

`Massa Jorge,' responded the black,
who was a fat, oily, paunch-bellied African
Falstaff, who looked as if he had
lived on train-oil and turtles all his life.

`That frigate is English.'

`Yiss. I know dat widout him color;
but I see him color 'stinctly.'

`I see it now flash out broadly red. It
is English, and therefore, an enemy.—
Do you see his danger when it begins to
blow?'

`If he don't walk out o' dat afore dat
storm walk up, he'll hab to walk down
to Davy Jones. Dem's my pinion, mass
Jorge!'

`He would, no doubt, be glad enough
to get out of the place he is in. He is
fairly embarged. But he cant move a
fathom till the storm strikes him, and
then it is sure to drive him on the rocks,
unless he has a pilot who knows the
coast well.'

`Pr'aps he hab, massa Jorge,' remarked
Mr. Buttermilk, rubbing his grey wool
on the top of his forehead where he had,
by this habit, nearly rubbed a bald spot
as big as a dollar.

`Then what is this firing for? He is
making signals for a pilot to come off to
him; for he well knows he will want
one ere long.'

`Dere no pilot in dese parts, massa
Jorge,' said Buttermilk, looking as if
wondering at the idea; `dere no big city
here for 'em pilot to sail a ship in.'

`He don't expect a regular pilot, Buttermilk;
he is firing in hopes some of
we fishermen will go out to him.'

`Vah, yaw! I see 'em now. Him
spose he get some ob us, eh? I guess
he hab to pay! Spose we go and pull
out to him, massa Jorge, and ax him.—
Praps he gib you plenty money to pilot
him into Nortorop's bay.'

`Do you think me a traitor to my country,
'milk?' cried the young man, with
flashing eyes. `No, no. If Providence
aid our cause by wrecking a powerful
ship of the enemy, so be it. I shall not
save it from its fate! Come, let us homeward.

They now moved along the shore,
sometimes by a path winding inland
round evergreen woods, and othertimes
close to the pebbly shore. At length they
came once more upon a commanding
eminence, where the young man stopped
both to rest, and to admire the sublimity
of the gathering tempest; its effect increased
by the regular firing every minute
of the ship's cannon.

6. CHAPTER VI.
The Dwarf and his Sister.

The young man stood admiring the
ocean with its dark pall of clouds, the
frigate reposing upon its bosom reflecting
the light from the east, which
was becoming fiercely red, and listening
with something like awe to the heavy
discharges of the artillery as they were
borne over the waveless sea, and to the
answering thunder in the west, which
now began to mutter with terrific fore-boding.
The bosom of the dark-cloud
was momently riven by arrowy shafts of
lightning that shot athwart the murky
vault, or rendered dazzling by chains of
fire extending from the zenith to the sea
beneath.

`We shall have the storm bursting
upon us in all its fury ere long, 'milk,'
said George Hunnewell, as he turned
from the spot to hasten along the edge
of the dizzy cliff towards his abode.

`You see dat skiff down dere, massa
Jorge!' asked the negro, as he paused
on a shelf of the rock to wipe from his
shining forehead the drops of oily sweat
that oozed from the pores of his skin,
and to take breath; for Mr. Buttermilk
was not much of a walker.

`Yes,' said the young man, `I see it
now! It contains a female, certainly!'

`Yes, dat am plain to be seen widout
a spy-glass, massa Jorge. And don't
you know who dat am rowin'? It de
dwarf Tom!'

`You are right, and that must be
May!' he cried, with joyful surprise.
`What can bring her here to see—no
ot to see me! She wouldn't take that
trouble. She would sooner go from
me. I hope she comes with no ill news
of her father.`

`Dere be no news ob old Northrop
but what 'll ebber be ill,' answered the
negro. `Come, massa Jorge, whar you
runnin' so fast! You break you neck
down dem rock, and den you' arm nebber
get well, sure! I nebber can run
dat way! Its nuff for dis nigger to walk.
Legs is good for nothin' in dis here
blessed world but to go up rattlins wid,
and hold on to foot ropes aloft wid. I
nebber seed any oder use for em since I
was born'd ob my fader and moder.
Dey ony makes a man tired as walks on
em ashore, and sweats him like a fried
porpus. I wish massa Jorge arm get
well so we go fishin' agen in de smack,
coz I nebber live if I don't die runnin'
about on de shore. Dere, he out ob
sight like a herrin' divin' under a haddock's
belly.'

The old negro, who had lived on the
salt-sea all his days, and had grown lazy
and fat on idleness and good humor of
late years, now followed at a slow and
laborious gait his younger companion,
for George was the companion not `master'
of Buttermilk.

Our hero had recognized the graceful
form of May Fawn in the skiff and
bounded away to meet her at the landing.
As he went he wondered at her coming;
for a few days before he had been coldly
received by her, when he told her
with all the warmth of manly devotedness
that he loved her better than life

and hoped that she would promise one
day to become his wife.

As he descended the path, he passed
the upper of the two cabins, in the door
of which sat an old blind fisherman with
a head as white as snow, busy at work
mending his nets.

`Ho, who is it?' he inquired, as
George came down the path rattling the
stones into the water beneath.

`It is me,—George:' answered the
young man, without stopping.

`You, is it? You have cured your
arm in a hurry, youngster! Not two
hours ago you went past up the cliff
creeping along like a sick crab, and
Buttermilk after you like a snail with
his shell on his back. What is that I
hear—thunder or cannon?'

`Both, uncle,' answered the young
man, as he went on.

He now came to the door of the hut
below, which was his own. It stood on
a shelf of the rock, with hardly room
about it to spread a net to the sun.—
It was twenty feet from the landing
where the boats were secured, and communicated
with it by a rude stair way of
loose rocks. Here he paused behind the
angle of the house to recover breath and
to collect his thoughts while he watched,
unseen, the scene just below him.

There was the skiff stopping within
five rods of the landing, and in it was
standing the beautiful girl who made
him the most miserably unhappy person
in the world, yet whom he would have
died to do a service.

She was talking with the old woman,
who was seated on the spar below the
hut; and who, having dropped the end
of the sail she had been patching, was
gesticulating, and loudly talking to her,
while in her right hand she brandished an
old harpoon.

`I tell you, you old hell-wizzard of a
wdarf, if you pull another stroke nearer,
I'll send this ere harpoon straight through
your crooked back. I'd just as leef do
it as drive it into a porpoise.'

`Say the word, May, and I'll row
right in and take the old witch, and fling
her into the sea,' cried Tom, whose rage
was aroused by her epithets and menaces.
`Jist say I may, sis.'

`No, no, Tom. I fear she would do
as she says,' answered the young girl
firmly. `Mild measures are the best.
Ma'm Hunnewell, I do not wish to land
if you will let me say a word to George.'

`Yes, George,' she shrieked with fury,
`I'll wager it's George you're after.
You have so bewitched and bebothered
him so that he don't know a shad from a
pollock, or me from the devil.'

`That's a true word, May. Let me
tell her aloud she is the devil's dam.'

`Hist, Tom,' said May, `we must not
anger her, if possible to prevent it. Keep
quiet, and do only as I bid you. `Good
Marm Hunnewell, if you will tell George
I wish to speak with him a moment, I
will make you a present of the old gray
and white cat you once said you would
like to have.'

`Will ye now?' cried the old hag, her
face all at once lighted up with hideous
delight. `Then if ye'll bring me the cat
afore to-morrow morning ye shall speak
with George. But he aint to home now.
He's gone out to shoot snipe; for they
say snipe's meat is good for broken bones.
He has been a sort o' going backward
the last week. He'd been better, it's my
opinion, if he kept away from Northrop's
bay. So you'll give me the old cat, will
ye,' she screamed in a high key.

`Yes, as soon as Tom can go and return
with it.'

`That's a darter!' she answered, rising
and looking up the cliff, as if in search of
her son.

At this moment George made his appearance
almost by her side before he
was discovered.

`May, how glad I am to see you!' he
cried with animation lighting up his fine
face. `I never expected to see you come
here voluntarily. Something I fear has
happened. No ill news from your father,
I hope?'

`No, no; old Northrop will never
come to any other end than a rope's end;'
growled his mother. `He that's born to
be hanged will never be drowned. Keep
a straight path before your own face and
eyes, Miss May, or you may be no better
than your forefathers. What's bred in
the bone will show itself in the flesh.'

`George,' said the young girl, in a low
tone, as the youth descended close to the
water-side, `get into the boat there, and
paddle out to me. I wish to speak with
you.'

`Speak it out and never fear, girl,'
cried the old beldame. `No charming
with your snake-whisperings, my boy.
He has had enough o' that. He hasn't
the soul of a spider left in him since you
have been practicing your charms upon
him, poor boy. Stay where you are,
George.'

The young mand did not heed her, but
springing into a whale-boat that was fastened
to the rock, he cast off the painter,
and shot the boat by a strong push out to
where her skiff lay, about thirty feet from
the shore. As he came along side she
extended her hand in a frank, friendly
way to him. He grasped it with emotion
and joy, colouring to the temples
with pleased surprise at this reception.

`How good and kind you are, May,'
he said, with a delighted look.

`I have come to see you, George, to
ask you to do me a favor, or rather—not
me but—'

Say it is for you, dearest May, that I
may have the happiness of doing something
for you to show my—my—love for
you.'

`Perhaps you will deny that the favor
is for me, but rather for humauity, when
you shall know what I have to ask of you.'

`No matter what it is you wish, I will
do it for you, May.

`Do you see this storm that is over-hanging
land and occan, and gathering
its power to a head?' she cried pointing
to the gloomy heavens, and sullen and
motionless sea.

`Yes: and I am glad that you have
reached here as you have done. It was
rash in you to have set out at such a time,
dear May.

`I have came on an errand of mercy!
You behold the tempest advancing like
an armed host, and you know the tremendous
power of storms such as this
promises to be on this coast. Tell me
can any vessel live in it, that is caught
near the land?'

`No, unless they sought shelter in one
of the harbours.'

`Do you see yonder stately ship of
war hanging mid-way as it were between
heaven and ocean, as if a foot-ball for
them to sport with and crush when they
shall ere long meet in their fury?'

`I have been watching it from the
cliff, May. I have heard the firing from
her for some time.'

`And do you know why they are
making these signals?' she asked earnestly,
looking her lover full in the eyes.

`Yes, for a pilot to come off to them!'

`Then you think they will need a
pilot!'

`Need one! If they have none, they
are sure to be driven upon the land!'

`And can you speak of and contemplate
such an appalling catastrophe,
George Hunnewell, and not feel a desire
to prevent it! Can you look on with indifference
when it is in your power to
save her from the fate which inevitably
awaits her. The signals can be for no
other purpose than to call for the aid of
some fishermen to pilot them into some

harbour as soon as the storm sets them in
motion. To my ears it has all the pathos
of a human voice. I cannot hear it unmoved.
Hark! how its deep voice
thunders among the cliffs. Its cry is,

`Aid us! Send us help! or we are
ost!'

`I have felt for them, May! I have
not listened with indifference; but do
you know that that ship is an enemy! I
could distinctly see that the flag of England
waved over her stern!'

`And are not Englishmen fellow-beings.
Would you quietly see that ship
go to pieces and hurl into the engulphing
surges five hundred souls!'

`They are our foes, May. That ship
has been armed, manned, and fitted out
in England, to war against our land, burn
our cities, and lay waste our coasts. If a
ship of my own country meets her, she
will seek to destroy her with powder and
ball; and if she plunges down ints the
depths of the ocean, with every living
being on board, it would be a matter of
rejoicing in the land; and the conqueror
would be proclaimed with the trumpet of
fame as a hero. Now, here the ship is
exposed to peril by being becalmed in this
side of Cape Small Point. It is certain
that, without a pilot, she will be lost on the
reefs; for it will be impossible, after the
wind strikes her, for her to gain an
offing. This she is sensible of, for hear
how constantly her guns are booming for
assistance. Now, painful as it would be
to me to see this vessel wrecked, I feel
that, as an American, I cannot wish any
one to go to her aid, and I sincerely trust
that no fisherman, in the hope of a large
reward, will be so lost to his patriotism as
to answer her signals and go to her relief.'

`Is this your serious opinion, George
Hunnewell?' said May, her face as pale
as marble, and her lips trembling with
emotion.

`Yes, May.'

`Then has my errand hither been
fruitless,' she answered, with deep depression
in her sad, beautiful face.

`Come, brother Tom, we may go
again. Farewell, George! The time
is too precious for me to linger, when
humanity calls for my aid.'

`May! What? Where do you go?
Do not leave me thus,' he cried, seeing
her skiff receding rapidly from that in
which he stood. `Where are you going?
You cannot reach home at this
time. The storm will be upon us in a
few minutes.'

`I can reach the frigate!' she exclaimed
promptly.

`Reach the frigate! Are you mad?
You will be lost!' he cried with wild
alarm.

`I shall perish in a noble cause,' was
her noble response. `Tom you must
row me to the frigate,' she said with decision.

`Do you mean to pilot her, May?' he
asked with hesitation as he stopped rowing
after having pulled about two boats'
lengths from the skiff in which George
was standing.

`No. But you must pilot her into Northrop
Bay, brother. I shall stand by the
wheel with you to see you do your duty
faithfully. The frigate shall not be lost
while there is safety at hand.'

7. CHAPTER VII.
The Lover.

Every word that the spirited and humane
girl uttered was distinctly heard by
the young fisherman. He seized the
oars of his boat and was in a moment by
her side.

`May, you are mad! Do not think of
doing any thing to aid this vessel. Aside
from her being an enemy, who if saved
to-day, might destroy Bath to-morrow, it
is impossible for Tom to reach her in
time.'

`Do not say one word to dissuade me,
George,' she said earnestly. `There is
no time for words. The lives of five
hundred men or more, may hang upon
a moment. Once more, I ask, will you
try and reach the endangered ship and
pilot her in safely, when the storm bursts
upon her?'

`May, I can do nothing for my arm.'
He answered, wishing, if possible to throw
obstacles in the way of her wishes.

`You can take Tom with you. He
will row you on board. You need not
stand to the helm yourself when on board,
save to direct the seamen how to steer.
George, it would be a heavy crime
in you and I to leave that vessel to her
fate!'

`I do not know, dearest May, but that
it might be considered a crime in the eyes
of my country to save her!'

`I see you will do nothing! I see that
ou love me not, George, with all your
protestations. I did well to meet your
professions coldly. Pull strong and well,
brother; we must reach the frigate and
save her if we can! They are no longer
to be considered as our enemies,
whom Providence has cast upon our
mercy and love for the safety of their
lives! Good by, George, I hope that
your country will reward your inactivity;
and if the frigate be lost, crown you a
hero, as much as if you had destroyed
the ship in battle. Not another moment's
delay. The tempest is nearly upon us.
Bend to your oars, brother! Five hundred
lives depend upon your strong arms
and willing heart!'

`I'd do this for you, sister May; because
I love you; answered the dwarf;
`but I know you'll love me more if I'll
go by myself! Just get into George's
boat and I'll go alone; and I will be
honest, and pilot the ship in, because you
want to save it!'

May hesitated a moment. She well
knew the fickleness of her brother's disposition.
She feared to trust him.

`No, Tom,' she replied, shaking her
head, `I will go with you.'

`Dearest May!' cried George Hunnewell,
coming up after the flying skiff, and
holding by the gun-wale; `will nothing
alter your determination?'

`No, George. Release the boat!' she

cried with decision. `This is no time for
words!'

`May,' he said, drawing his boat up
along side and taking her by the hand;
`you shall not take my place in this enterprize.
I have told you my objections,
on the score of leaving a dangerous enemy
to his fate. I have pleaded my
wounded arm. I have pleaded the danger
to be incurred in trying to gain the
ship! But I see that you are resolute to
go. Believe me that my heart is humane;
and that, were that ship wrecked
I would risk a hundred lives did I have
them to save her crew from a watery
grave. But, I question very much
whether I ought to try and save them
from the wreck which will be their fate
unless they receive aid! You have accused
me but now, and said that I loved
you not; and that you did well to return
coldly my professions. I will go to the
frigate. I wish to show you that I love
you, even before my love for my country.
I waive every objection, every
opinion adverse to your own, and for
your sake will do what I can to save the
frigate. If I am lost before I reach her,
remember me with kindness, and forget
not that I lost my life in proving to you
my devoted attachment. If I live and
save the ship I cannot, do not hope that
my success will be rewarded by what
would compensate for every risk,—your
love.'

`George, if you save this ship,' answered
May with deep, earnest emotion,
`my hand is yours.'

`Then welcome the tempest and the
danger!' he cried springing into the skiff.
`From this moment, dearest May, I enter
into this with the same heartiness that
you do. For your sake I will save that
ship or perish with its crew!'

`I do not think of danger to you, dearest
George, for I know your skill and
courage. There is yet time to gain the
frigate. The flood-tide has gradually
lifted her landward, till she is now not
more than two or three miles off. Do not
be too venturous, for recollect that your
life is very dear to me.'

`Is it possible that I hear such words
from your lips?'

`Do not delay. Tom you will pull
George out to the frigate.'

`No; I will go alone.'

`Your arm!'

`I feel no weakness in it. The consciousness
that I am beloved makes me
a new man.'

`Tom shall go with you.'

`No, I won't,' answered the dwarf. `I
mean to stay by with May. Who'll she
have to row her home? No, no. Master
George can go if he likes alone. It's one
thing to pull for sister May, and another
to row Master George.'

`I shall go alone,' answered George
Hunnewell.

`No. There is Buttermilk calling to
you, George,' said May. `He will go
with you. You cannot row the boat
alone.'

`I had forgotten him. Good bye, dearest
May. Pull in shore, Tom, and land
there, and remain until the storm is over.
I will just row in and take 'Milk in, and
then be off.'

The two boats now turned back to the
landing, which was about a hundred
yards distant, and the young fisherman,
without a word of explanation to the negro,
ordered him to get into the boat and
pull him out to the frigate, while deeper
and louder rolled the answering thunder
over-head.

`It's a hard pull, massa George; but
you gib nigger half de money dey pays
you for pilotin'.'

`Whatever money is paid shall be
yours,' answered George. `I don't go
for money.' And as he said this he looked
into May's eyes, which returned a

kind glance that inspired him to the task
before him.

`You had best pilot her into our bay,
George,' said the maiden, as the negro
grasped the oars and her lover seated
himself at the helm after pressing her
hand in farewell, for he did not know he
should ever see her again, the duty he
ad entered upon being full of danger.

`Yes, I will do so, if I can. At any
rate, if I reach her, I will run her into
one of the bays near here. Remain here
with my mother.'

`No, I shall try and get back before the
gale commences, as I left the house
open; and all will be ruined if I am
away.'

`You had best not try to double the
headland, but land and cross the cliff and
so go on foot, May.'

`I will take the best and safest course,
George. Now, God bless you and make
you instrumental in saving the ship and
the lives of all.'

`For your sake I will do all man can
do,' he answered as he waved his hand
to her.

The next moment the sinewy armed
African was sending the little bark swiftly
over the bay in the direction of the
open ocean, where the ship lay motionless,
about two and a half miles distant.
May followed in George's boat, for he
had taken the skiff as faster and lighter,
giving Tom orders to keep close in with
the shore and row rapidly; for, near as
the storm seemed, she hoped to reach
the cove before it came upon her. It was
not without feelings of sadness—anxiety
that she watched her lover as he receded
from her eye in the direction of the frigate.
It seemed as if to embark at such
a moment, in so frail a bark, when a
mighty ship could not face the gathering
storm, were tempting fate. She could
not see him departing without emotion;
for, though she had treated George with
coyness and coldness, as if from a spirit
of maidenly waywardness, she was really
and sincerely attached to him; and
when she promised him her hand as the
reward of his efforts to save the ship, it
was no very painful sacrifice of herself.

But much as she loved him she felt
that she ought not to be so selfish as to
think of his danger, while by his daring
a whole ship's crew might escape a watery
grave. She felt that if she were not
willing to give him up for such an effort,
she was unworthy of a brave man's love.

Her heart swelled with emotion as she
gazed on the threatening heavens, lowering
and over-hanging the sea, as if ready
to fall with the weight of suspended waters.
She felt that if he did not reach
the ship before the wind began to plough
up the depth of the sea, he would perish.

`But rather let him, dear as he is to me,
rather let him perish in the effort to save
so many lives in jeopardy,' said the noble
girl with tears rushing to her eyes, `than
that they should perish without an effort
being made to save them. If he had not
gone, I would have gone! Keep farther
out or you will hardly pass that rock,
brother,' she said to the dwarf, as they
glided swiftly along the shore. Upon the
cliff far behind them stood the tall, wildlooking
figure of Dame Hunnewell, calling
now after May, in fierce threatenings
for sending her son away by her charms
to meet certain death; and now shrieking
his name, and with extended arms, calling
upon him to return.'

He heeded not her cry, his spirit nerved
to the task before him by his love for
May. The maiden, as she followed him,
with her moist eyes, felt that it was for
her love he was venturing thus, and he
rose in her esteem for his courage and
devotion.

`The boy is mad as a crazed ell-wive,'
cried his mother, mounting the rocks till
she came and stood where the old man,

her uncle, was seated, calmly mending
his nets; using his fingers for eyes. His
quiet and repose of countenance and manner
contrasted remarkably with the excitement
of the woman's manner. He
could not see the foreboding blackness
of the heavens, or hear distinctly the
muttering thunder and the deep-mouthed
cannon.

`What is the matter?' he asked petulantly.

`Matter, John? That girl May Fawn
has been here again, and bewitched the
boy. He is as mad as he can be. She
has charmed him. He would try to walk
on the sea if she bade him.'

This was shricked into his dull ear, in
a key shrill and loud, like the scream of
an eagle.

`What has she done?'

`Done? She has sent the foolish boy
out in a skiff to try and reach the British
frigate that is in the offin'; and as it's
dead calm and a dreadful storm comin'
she'll go to Davy Jones's without she
get's a pilot; and she has been firin' for
one this hour.'

`Yes, I've heard the guns. An Englisher,
you say? How near Cape Small
Point is she?'

`About two miles this side, and inside
of it; and the storm is coming from the
southward right smack down upon her.'

`Then she's on the reef of bald rock
afore midnight. Has any o' the fishermen
gone out to help her?'

`Didn't I just say that Northrop's girl,
the young witch as she is, has been here,
and made George go out to the frigate.
He wouldn't have gone if he could have
helped it: but she fascinated him like,
and so he went.'

`They'll pay him handsomely for it, if
he pilots the ship in.'

`Handsome? I don't want money for
my boy's life. He never'll reach the frigate
in this world. There he goes, poor
boy, and Ben to row him, right out into
the open sea. He's a mile away now, and
the devil was never so ugly as the sky and
sea looks; though the sea is as still as
death.'

`The boy will get gold, if he gets there
The English are rich,' answered the ava
ricious old fisherman. `I would ha' done
the same in my young days. We risked
our lives every time we put to sea, woman,
for money. Let the boy go, so
that he gets well-paid for it.'

`But it is an enemy's ship.'

`Gold is gold if it be an enemy's. I
say let the boy go.'

`I'll take the life of the girl if harm
comes to him,' answered the old woman
clenching her fists, and exulting in this
contemplated vengeance, if her son should
be lost.

`Stand here and tell me how things
go?' said the old man. `What has become
of the girl.'

`There she is in George's boat (for he
has got her's) and that dwarf of a brother
of her's, hugging the scathed pine
head, and trying to double it before the
storm reaches them. I pray that they
may be sunk. But she'll get home safe,
for all my prayers; for she has a charmed
life. She is in league with evil spirits
and charmers; and that is the way she
has bewitched the boy. That was lightning.
It seemed to hiss in the sea, Hark!
the very rocks tremble at the awful thunder!'

8. CHAPTER VIII.
The March of the Storm.

The crisis of the time was now drawing
near. The heavens were enveloped
in black from the west, where the small
clay-coloured cloud first appeared an
hour and a half before, to the east, where
for the last ten minutes a streak of red
sky had seemed to contend with the
moving clouds for a place above the
horizon.

The sun, though long invisible, was
just about setting; but the darkness of
twilight had been some time covering the
bcean. From the cliff where the old
woman stood, nothing was visible but the
gloomy presence and advancing power
of the tempest. Night seemed suddenly
descending upon land and sea like a
curtain let fall. The sky was not simply
a black mass, but was streaked with angry
looking wreaths of a pale phosphorescent
colour, that curled and shot
outward with wild movements. The
whole bosom of the sky seemed to be in
a state of the wildest agitation. It tossed
and heaved like an inverted ocean lashed
by the winds. In the west and south
the thunder rolled, and arrowy lightnings
shot athwart the arching heavens in terrific
splendor.

All beneath the rolling and echoing
sky was motionless. Not a breath stirred
the leaves of the herb that clung to
the rock, or sighed through the heavy
branches of the immovable pine. The
agle and the hawk had sought their
eyries upon the cliffs or thunder-splinted
pine, where they sat in silence and fear,
watching the coming of the storm.
Even the snowy-winged gull ceased to
wheel about the cliff-head in swift and
graceful flight, and darting into the
crevices of the over-hanging rocks disappeared
from sight. A shadow of singular
gloom lay upon the land and sea.

And the sea itself lay motionless beneath
the wildly driven storm-sky. Its
surface was unruffled by a zephyr. It
looked like molten steel, only darker
from the reflection of the clouds that
seemed to hang in some places within a
few hundred feet of its surface.

Upon its broad bosom but two objects
were visible; the frigate, and the little
skiff half way from the land to it. The
boat containing May and the dwarf, had
already doubled the head-land back into
Northrop's bay and were out of sight.

The old woman stood by the hut
looking earnestly after the boat containing
her son. At intervals she would
make a brief reply to a question put to
her by the blind old man, who had dropped
his net, and turning his sightless eyes
towards the ocean, seemed to be trying
to comprehend the situation of things.

`Hark, what noise is that?' he said,
his anxiety quickening his hearing, even
more than hers; for her thoughts and
eyes were upon the little skiff, and heedless
of all else.

`It is the under-swell of the storm,
moaning up from aneath the sea. The
storm has struck the ocean not many
leagues away and will soon be here.
Oh, my poor boy!' she cried, clasping
her hands. `You will ne'er reach that
foul ship in time. Accursed be the
witch who sent thee to thy death; for
hadst thou not been fascinated thou
would'st never have thus risked thy life.'

`Do you see any signs of the wind on
the ocean yet?'

`No, not yet. All is smooth and
black as night!' she answered, after casting
her eyes in the direction of the
south-west. `He is but little more than
half-way now. See how small-like a
black spec it looks to be. May the God
of the sea keep him is an old mother's
prayer!'

`I think I hear the ship's guns.'

`No. It is the booming of the undertow
as it swells up against the shore,
forced along by the tempest ere it has
reached us. The billows begin to roll
and swell, and heave like mad. List!
Did you hear that roar? It was a huge
wave rising suddenly over Fox ledge
and breaking bodily upon it in masses of
snow!'

`We shall soon have it then. These
sou-west storms al'ays show their teeth
first on the Foxes. Look away to windward
and see if Porpus rock is white!'

`As a snow-drift!' she answered, emphatically.

`Then it wont be long afore it'll be
down upon us. I'd better go in and shut
up all snug.'

`I shall not move. I shall watch the
boat my boy is in, so long as I can strain
my eyes upon it, or see it above water.
It goes on fast, and nears the frigate.'

`How is the frigate's head?

N. by East.'

`What sail has she set?'

`She has only two three-cornered, jib
like looking sails spread between her
masts, and her jib set reefed; with her
spanker also close-reefed. All else is
taken in.'

`Her master is a wise seaman. He
knows just how to meet the storm. If
there was only room for him to lay his
course, he might get an offing as soon
as he feels the wind. But if Cape Small
Point is east of him and stretching south
of him, he'll have to lay to, or make a
harbour. And it takes a good pilot to
get into one o' our harbours in fair weather,
much less in a storm like that I can
hear howling.'

`It is the surges coming in, in great
rollers, and dashing upon the beach, that
you hear,' answered the woman. `If
you would escape the tempest, get in
with you speedily. I shall watch the
boat.'

The old man got up, and feeling his
way by the wall of the cabin, entered it,
and sat down within the door; and so
near it, that he could at any momen
close it.

She remained standing upon the rock,
her gaze bent piercingly upon the little
spec, scarcely vislble, that indicated the
spot where her son was.

`Poor boy! The girl shall die if you
perish ere you reach the ship. I hope
and pray the charms and spells she has
thrown over you, will keep you in safety.
But I have little faith in them to do any
good, though they do evil enough. Oh
my God above, spare my child!' she
suddenly cried, as a crash of thunder
shook the very earth, and made her soul
shrink within itself with horror. `I can
see my child no more!' She sank upon
her knees in grief. `The gloom and
distance has torn him from my sight.—
To thy hand, oh, Jehovah of the seas, a
mother's bleeding heart commits him!
Curses light upon the girl who has done
this!' she suddenly cried, rising to her

feet, and menacing with her arm the
quarter where May had disappeared
sometime before.

The sea now began to roar with a terrible
and deep baratone, and to fling its
enormous billows against the reefs, over-leaping
them, and tumbling noisily into
the mouth of the bay.

The ocean surface was yet polished
as a mirror, but undulating with majestic
and momentarily increasing motion.
The movement was caused by
other power than that of the winds,
which yet were held suspended in midair.

Suddenly there came to the ears of
the woman, and to the ears of May and
the dwarf, as they hugged the rock in
their skiff, and to the ears of George and
the negro, as they toiled together hard to
reach the ship, and to the ears of the
crew on board the frigate, the well-known
and terrific voice of the unbounded
storm. It was not thunder, but it was as
loud as the loudest thunder. It seemed
as if it thundered underneath the sea, and
the caves of the ocean echoed the subterranean
sound.

The woman gazed appalled, her hands
clasped upon her bosom. The old man
shut to his door, and having barred it and
sat in the darkness of blindness and solitude,
listening to the dreadful noise without.

May turned her eyes in the direction
of the storm, and beheld on the level
ocean, advancing towards the main-land,
what to her imagination seemed
like a vast army upon white steeds, rushing
to battle along the surface of the sea.
The winds had leaped from the clouds,
and turned up the bosom of the sea in a
long line for leagues, as a plough upturns
the glebe. The heaped up waves came
rolling on with fearful speed like mad
coursers foaming at the bit. The thunder
rolled above, the lightning flashed
wildly across the sky, and cast a lurid
fire upon the agitated waters, which out-roared
the thunder. Chaos seemed returning
to resume its empire over the
earth and sea.

For a moment May closed her eyes,
and covered her face with her hands.—
But she cast aside fear, and hoped that
George had reached the ship in safety;
for there were not three minutes space
for him to gain had he not.

`May, the waves will soon be upon us;
hadn't we better pull into that hole under
the rocks?' asked Tom.

`No: it will be filled instantly by the
sea. Pull on for a few rods further, and
we shall get round that rock; we shall
then have it between us and the billows,
and before they can break over us we
shall reach the beach.'

`There will be a hard chance for us;
but just as you say, May.'

He pulled with tremendous exertion of
his muscles about twenty rods further, the
skiff all the while tossed like an egg-shell
upon the under tow of the sea, and was
with difficulty guided and kept from dashing
against the cliff.

`Once or twice more, strong and
hearty, brother,' she cried; and as the
willing dwarf obeyed, she steered the
skiff adroitly round a low projection of
the cliff, and was instantly in smooth water.
It was now about five hundred
yards to the snow-white beach, on which
the heavy swells were unrolling in long
polished rolls. The darkness was becoming
momently greater, and the sea
each instant increasing in wild tumult.

`To the shore—land any where, where
it is nighest!' shouted May to the dwarf.
`The sea has overleaped the reef, and is
rolling in upon us. Pull hard for our
lives, brother!'

Her voice could no longer be heard
amid the shrieking of the tempest. The
sea leaped the reefs, and came foaming

and tossing like a myriad of whirlpools.
The roar of the rain in the air, of the
winds and the billows, was absolutely
deafening. Quitting the stern, May seized
one of the oars to aid her brother—
but too late! Suddenly the skiff was
lifted high in the air upon the brow of
the leading wave, and hurled forward
with such force as to dash it to pieces in
its fall. The next wave submerged them
both; but upon the third they rose together
to the surface, May clasped in her
brother's strong arm, which firmly encircled
her waist.

The faithful idiot buffetted with the
billows manfully: now riding high upon
a foaming surge, now making his way
along the sands upon the bottom. At
length he reached the main with his almost
lifeless burden; and scrambling up
the rocks where the waves could not
reach her, he sat her down and took
breath.

It was a fearful time. The darkness
and horror of the hour were increased by
the whitish glare of the surges, that
seemed to reveal the appalling scene
without lessening the gloom. The rain
fell in transparent sheets, the wind howled,
and tore up pines, and toppled rocks
from the precipices. It was with difficulty
Tom could keep his footing, and
hold his sister upon the shelf where he
had placed her.

`How be it with you, May?' he asked,
placing his mouth to her ear and his fingers
upon her pulse.

`I am not hurt, brother; you have
saved my life,' and she pressed his hand
gratefully. `Can we reach the cottage?'

`I will see when the next flash comes.
Yes, it is not far off—we are on the Fern
Ledge. Give me your arm—I will lead
you safely, if you can stand.'

He found that she could not, on account
of the wind and rain and the slippery
footing upon the rock. He grasped
her in his arms, and throwing her across
his broad shoulders, began to crawl on
his knees round the rock, and up through
a gap in its side. He soon gained a comparatively
sheltered pathway, which he
ascended with great difficulty and danger.
But he reached the summit, and guided
by the yellow lightning, dashed forward
to the cottage, in a room of which he
soon deposited his fair burden.

`Thanks, noble and brave brother!—
but for you I feel I should have perished
in the sea, or on the rock. I had no
power to aid myself, and was tossed by
the waves like a wreath of sea-weed,
when I felt your strong arm interposed
beneath me: from that moment I felt
that I should not die.'

`No, if May should die, Tom would
not care to live!' he answered with energy.

`I feel so thanful for my escape! It
was rash in me to attempt to return.—
Poor George! my heart aches for his
fate. Let us look from the windows, and
see if we can see the frigate by the flashes
of lightning.'

She felt as if she could tell by her
steering whether her lover was at her
helm or not.

9. CHAPTER IX.
The Perilous Enterprise of our Hero.

The mother of George Hunnewell
continued to watch, as we have said, the
receding skiff containing her son, until it
was lost to her eyes in the gloom and
distance. She remained still gazing
eagerly in the direction of the frigate,
which she could yet see floating motionless
upon the deep, awaiting her fate.
The storm which had overtaken May and
the dwarf reached her; and still she
clung to the shot, hoping yet that the
lightning would give her a glimpse of
her boy, and assure her of his safety.
At length, unable to withstand the full
force of the wind which swept with resistless
fury over the cliffs, and dashed
the spray high above her head, she
sought the shelter of her cottage, which
stood just below that of the old man's.
Yet in the door of it she stood watching
the sea with the most painful anxiety.
Like May she felt that she could tell by
the manner of the frigate's steering
whether George were on board directing
her course and guiding her destiny.

The skiff had continued pulling on
steadily and swiftly until it had got a mile
from the landing-place, when George
proposed to Buttermilk to take his place;
seeing how the poor negro blowed at his
task.

`No, no, massa,' answered Buttermilk.
`Dis nigger nebber giv up nor say die!
Specially as you hab a lame arm!'

`My arm doesn't trouble me now,
Milk. Since I have seen Miss May I feel
as if I was as well as ever. I will at
least pull one of the oars.'

`No, no, massa Jorge. It only bout
three quarter ob a mile more. In de
East Indgy I pulled Calcutta ribber all
day, for thirty-six miles, me and de boat's
crew. Dis boy nebber tire. Gorry massa,
master Jorge! Don't it look amazin'
black and ugly up dere to windward!—
We hab to do our best to get to de ship.'

`We shall reach it in time. The wind
hasn't struck the sea yet in sight; and I
could see it begin to turn up a line of
foam ten minutes before it could reach
us. But pull away strong; if you won't,
let me. We shall have to do our best.'

The shores, as he looked back, were
fast disappearing in the increasing blackness
that gathered around him. At intervals,
by the glare of the lightning he
fancied he could see his mother's tall
form upon the rocks watching his progress,
and doubtless, as he said to Buttermilk,
sending up prayers for his safety;
for though rude and coarse in her
manners and of strong passions, and full
of hatred to her kind, she loved her son
with the sincerest affection. Nature in
her bosom asserted and maintained her
rights in spite of the grosser usurpation
of fierce and uncontrollable passions;
and George, while he loved his mother,
feared and stood in awe of her.

The skiff, as the rocky shores faded,
began to come nigher and nigher to the
frigate; and each moment it grew more

distinct and larger to the eye of our hero.
Stately and grand in all her war-like
proportions she sat upon the breast of
the broad ocean in majestic beauty. The
heavy under-swell of the sea which
moved like a huge heart with life in it,
kept the ship swinging like a pendulum
on the glassy surface of the undulations.
As the skiff advanced, George fancied he
could see the officers unpon her quarter-deck
waving their hands. The frigate
had ceased firing for some time; and he
attributed this silence to their having discovered
him.

He was right in his conjecture. Many
an anxious eye on board had been long
and earnestly watching the inhospitable
coast off which their ship was embayed,
hoping as the report of each gun died
among its cliffs, to see a fisher's boat
emerge from the shore to their relief.—
But more than one hundred guns were
fired, and all was sllent and motionless
whither their longing eyes were turned.

The English commander had seen the
danger of his situation as soon as the
wind left him becalmed with a storm
gathering in the south and west. He
saw at a glance that unless he could tow
out of the bay before the storm reached
him, he would be in danger of losing
his ship; for although there seemed to
be good harbors on the coast within reach,
he was ignorant of their pilotage.

As soon as he had made himself fully
acquainted with his position, he ordered,
out his boats to tow off the land. But he
soon found that this method was futile on
account of the flowing tide which set him
landward faster than the boats could resist
it. He then called them on board;
and anchoring in forty-nine fathoms, began
to wait in hope that a light breeze
would spring up before the storm should
get full force and enable him to claw off
the land. But the profound stillness of
the air, the mirror-like surface of the
ocean, the hazy mist gathering about the
sun and the angry aspect of the heavens
told him too plainly that the first wind
that he should feel would be the full head
of the tempest. He now began to think
of a pilot to help him into one of the harbors
when the storm should strike him.
There was not a man on board who had
any practical knowledge of that part of
the coast, at least sufficient to risk running
a ship into shelter in a gale. He
resolved, therefore, in the imminency of
the peril in which he found his ship to
fire signals in hope of inducing some one
from the shore to board him.

Several guns were fired at intervals of
a minute; but nothing moved in shore
that he could see, though he closely scanned
it with his glass.

`These Yankees are either afraid of
us or are too patriotic to venture,' said
his first lieutenant to his commander.

`They have often supplied our ships
from the coast of Maine with fresh water
and fresh provisions. Besides, we never
interfere with fishermen. If they understood
what we want, there are some of
them who will come out to us!'

`Yes, if they thought we should pay
them well for it,' answered the first officer
with a smile.

`There is a boat rowing in shore, close
under that cliff with the old white pine
upon it,' said a midshipman who had a
spy-glass at his eye.

`I see it,' answered the captain, after
watching it for a short time with his glass.

`It seems to be coming out to us.—
Tell them forward not to fire again at
present.'

The boat, however, instead of pulling
strait out of the bay, doubled the headland
and shortly went out of sight up the
land. This disappearance was witnessed
with deep disappointment visible on every
anxious countenance. The English Captain
looked at the rising cloud and gave
orders to continue firing.

The shores were now closely watched
by the officers; but in vain. The storm
came advancing up the sky, covering
the sea with its dark shadow, while
the thunder peals answered their artillery.
Night grew on apace, and the
signs of a fearful tempest thickened upon
them.

`This firing is likely to be powder
thrown away,' said the Captain. `They
are too much afraid of us, or do not understand
our signals. We must trust to
ourselves and the strength of our good
ship, my friends,' he said, addressing his
officers; `and with the favor of Providence,
we may yet save the ship.'

`Keep a sharp look-out till the last moment,
there aloft!' called out the first
lieutenant, hailing the fore-top.

`Aye, aye, sir! There is something
moving in the little bay abeam of us. I
can't exactly make it out as a boat, sir,
but it mout be and moutn't.'

Half a dozen glasses were now in requisition,
and brought to bear upon the
point of the main-land indicated. The
air was becoming murky, and a deep
gloom hung upon the land, so that objects
were but faintly discernible.

`I see nothing,' answered the captain
with looks of keen disappointment. `As
we are here in this bay, becalmed, with
this fierce wild storm ready to burst upon
us, we might as well, for safety, be over
a sea-volcano just ready to explode.

`I can see it, sir. It holds two persons,
and is pulling out from the land,'
said a young officer with a sparkling star
upon his breast.

`There are two boats, both in motion,
in the harbor,' said the senior lieutenaat
with animation. `Ten to one, sir, we
shall have a pilot now!'

`If it is possible for a boat to reach us
before the storm does. I see both boats
now,' answered the captain, in a lively
manner. `They have now separated
and one of them hugs the cliff, while the
other keeps on this way. God grant it
may be a fisherman who knows the coast,
that Heaven has inspired to come to our
relief.'

`Any seaman, sir,' said the young
officer, `could at once understand the
danger we are in, looking at us from the
land, becalmed as we are, with a storm
to windward, and a rocky lee-shore.—
They could see that we would want help,
without the hint our guns have given.—
The boat keeps on.'

`Yes, boldly. The other skirts the
cliff; and seems to be making westward.
But we will watch the one that seems to
be coming to our assistance. The tempest
comes on at a racing pace. Mr.
Morpeth, you will again see that the guns
are all lashed fore and aft, and that
every thing is snug alow and aloft.—
Have the storm-axes ready for use at a
moment's warning; for we may be thrown
on our beam ends at the first touch.—
This is to be no child's play affair to-night.'

`The boat pulls steadily out this way,'
said the senior officer, watching with his
glass the approach of George in his skiff.

`Yes, and bravely too,' responded the
Captain; `but unless he pulls harder,
we shall hardly get him on board.'

`He is certainly coming directly for
us,' observed the quarter-master; `we
are not deceived in this. If the storm
keeps off twenty minutes longer, he will
be up with us!'

`God grant it!' ejaculated the captain.
`With one of these fishermen on board
at the helm, we can run before the gale
into some one of these small bays, and
so save the ship.'

`At the risk of being taken, or set on
fire from the shore by the Yankees,' said
a junior lieutenant.

`This is a thinly peopled coast; and
no forts are any where about this region,'

responded the officer, with the star upon
his breast.

`That thunder rings again!' observed
the other, turning pale at the sound as if
the very globe had cracked. The most
vivid lightning followed, by the glimmer
of which the little boat, to which all eyes
were turned with the deepest interest,
was seen steadily approaching.

`Shall we fire again?' asked the officer,
in charge of the signal guns.

`No, sir. Lash the guns, and see that
all the powder is returned to the magagazine
at once. There is too much lightning
in the air, and we are likely to be
struck in any part of the ship.'

The ship now began to feel the first
pulsation of the storm in the heavy swell
of the ocean. She rolled and pitched
violently, though not a breath of air was
yet moving. The white wall of surge
advancing with its deafening roar, at
length was visible to them, and while
they were preparing the ship to meet the
shock, all eyes were turned in the direction
of the boat. Now it seemed to be
lost in the hollows of the smooth billows;
and now it was balanced for an instant
upon the summit to be shot forward
again, like an arrow, on her course.

Nearer and nearer the little boat came.
Buttermilk tugged laboriously at the oars,
aided by George. Nearer and nearer
advanced the black tempest, in its march
across the ocean. The excitement on
board the frigate was intense. It was a
race between the storm and the skiff.—
Involuntarily men in all parts of the frigate,
forward as well as aft, shouted for
them to hasten for their lives.

George saw his danger. He forgot
his arm and bent to the oars with 'Milk,
with the most sinewy activity. On came
the tempest, preceded by a wall of white
foam. Its roar was appalling; and the
sight of it sufficient to paralyze a stronger
heart than that of our hero. Manfully
he urged the little skiff over the billows.
It seemed to fly. The crew and officers
of the ship shouted, and waved their
hands to cheer and encourage them.—
The storm was not a quarter of a mile
off, when they were within cable's length
of the ship.

`Ropes! Fling ropes to the brave
fellows,' shouted the English Captain in
tones of joyous relief.

The next moment George sprung upon
the lowest step of the gangway, amid a
loud huzza; and as he touched the deck,
the storm burst upon the ship.

10. CHAPTER X.
The Windward Gage.

The roar of the tempest ere it struck
the frigate was fearful. The up-rearing
waves charged upon the ship like armed
squadrons, with sounds not unlike the
wild din of battle, the loud cannon rattling,
the rolling musketry, `the thunder
of the Captains and shouting!' All was
confusion and terror. The storm stay-sails
and jib burst instantly, like the
sharp ring of artillery, and the fragments
went whirling to leeward like feathers
on the blast. The waves overleaped
the ship and swept a score of living men
into the waters to struggle with death.
The frigate was thrown over upon beamends,
and the cracking and rending of
spars and cordage added their sounds to
the storm.

`Cut away the masts fore and aft!'
shouted the English commander through
his trumpet. His voice was scarcely
heard in the fierce uproar of the elements;
but men understood what he
ought to have said, and sprung to unlose
their axes, which began to fall upon the
weather stays with a loud hacking noise.
Stay after stay snapped and lashed the
air furiously, and with a loud rending
and flying of splinters went overboard
the main-mast and mizen-mast.

`Hold on the fore-mast! She rights!'
thundered the Captain, as the ship rolled
suddenly up to windward, and so far
over that she took in water on that side.
After a moment she lay upon an even
keel, to the great joy of every soul on
board; for at one moment with the immense
weight of her guns, there was the
most iminent danger of her capsizing
keel upward. The instant peril was
past and as the fierce, red lightning,
which constantly shone, fell upon the
faces of those on board it showed them
looking one at another with expressions
of gratitude. The danger, however, was
far from being past. The roar of the
winds was still terrific and their fury increasing.
The huge mountainous billows
lifted the dismasted ship upon their
crests and hurled it forward unresistingly
towards the land under her lee. The
thunder rolled like an incessant cannonading;
and seemed to be close over the
deck. The clouds seemed to hang so
low as nearly to touch the top of the
only remaining mast, enveloping the sea
in black pall. The ocean roared and
tumbled like a sea of cataracts. The
rain fell in glassy sheets, and the winds
had become whirlwinds and went shrieking
over the fated ship as if the air had
been filled with demons.

As soon as the Captain saw that the
frigate was once more upon her legs, he
gave orders to sound the wells; and finding
she had not been strained so as to
take in water he felt that the ship might
yet be saved.

`Young man,' he said, laying his hand
impressively upon the arm of the youthful
pilot, George, who had been thrown
down with the rest when the ship was
knocked over, and now was steadying
himself by the capstan, `did you come
on board as a pilot, for I have not yet
had time to ask you?'

`Yes, sir,' answered George, scarcely
able to speak for the wind and rain, and
unable to hear his own voice. The
English Captain placed his ear close to
his lips, and both stooped so as to be
sheltered by the portion of the bulwarks
that were not thrown down by the falling
masts.

`Our only safety is in being able to
run into one of the harbours. Can you
pilot me in?'

`Yes, sir! I know the channel well!'

`By night?'

`As well as in the day; especially
with the lightning to aid me.'

`Good. Go to the helm and you
shall have three men to help you at the
wheel!'

`I shall need them—I have an arm
broken, and shall only be able to teach
them how to steer; the black man here
will aid also.'

`That will do. Young man, if you
save the ship, you shall have one hundred
pounds.'

`I did not come to be paid for my services,
sir; money would hardly have
tempted me to risk my life to reach your
ship. Will she be able to carry a topsail
close-reefed, sir, on her foremast,
and a jib?' he asked, as if giving himself
at once to his duties.

`Yes, I think so.'

`If you can get her under her topsail
and jib, and rig a jury-mast aft so as to
present a small bit of canvass to the wind,
I think I can run her into Northrop's
Bay.'

`I will give the orders at once—we
are drifting fast landward. Is there bold
water here?'

`Close up with the land, quite sufficient
to float the frigate for a mile yet towards
the shore.'

`Where is this Bay?'

`You can see the entrance, sir: wait
for the next flash of lightning—it is between
the two headlands, on one of which
you will see a tall white landmark.'

`I see it now—we shall have to lay
close to the wind to get in.'

`Yes, sir; but I think I can reach the
Bay in safety if the ship holds together.'

`You are a brave young fellow, and
will do a noble deed if you save us to-night
from the peril of our position,' answered
the captain, as he turned and
gave through his trumpet the necessary
orders to get sail on the frigate.

The winds and waves still roared and
raved, and the ship was rapidly driven
before it towards the land. All eyes
were now fixed upon George as he went
aft and stood by the helm. The officers
watched him by the light battle-lanterns
hanging round, and saw in his countenance
a certain air of resolution and
judgment which gave them confidence
in him. They saw how his quick observing
eye glanced over the ship, and
then, as the lightning permitted, towards
the land, as if cooly calculating the danger
and the means of escape. They also
fixed their attention with interest upon
Buttermilk, who was at George's elbow,
and whom they saw, by the young fisherman's
command, take the first and
most responsible position at the wheel.
Two seamen, the best steersmen in the
ship, were appointed by the captain to
aid him. George took his post on the
left of the wheel, a little elevated, so as
to be able to con the ship from stem to
stern. All this while the uproar and
confusion of the tornado were dreadful.
Orders had to be passed from man to

man, and from ear to ear—for voices
could no longer be heard.

`That young man will do his duty,'
said the English captain within himself;
`if the ship can be saved he has an eye
that shows me he can do it.'

The fore-topsail was at length set,
close-reefed, and another jib hoisted.—
The mast bent forward like a withe beneath
the force of the outward-stretching
sails, and each moment every one on
board expected to see the topsail blown
clear out of the bolt-ropes, and tossed on
the winds like tow. But it continued to
hold its place, and drove the frigate forward
almost with the speed of the tornado,
plunging her bows deep beneath the
billows, and tossing the spray in huge jets
over the fore-top. Her course was as
strait as an arrow for the land, which was
not a mile distant, its cliffs rising, as they
were seen by the flashes of lightning, out
of an ocean of foam.

`Mind your hand, young man!' cried
the captain. `All our lives are in your
hand—I hope you know what you are
about.'

George made no reply: his eye was
upon the ship's course, and his whole
soul seemed wrapped in the responsible
duty he had taken upon himself.

It was a sublime moral spectacle to
see that young fisherman standing there
the centre of all eyes—the hope of the
lives of five hundred and seventy men.

The ship continued her course right on
for the land for a moment after the captain,
in his anxiety, had spoken; and
then George, catching one of the spokes
of the wheel, called out in a loud clear
tone,—

`Brace up the fore-topsail—sharp up!
—Hard a-lee!'

The steersmen threw their whole
weight upon the wheel—the ship's head
rapidly came up into the wind, and the
topsail swinging of itself—for no number
of men could manage it—the vessel bore
away upon the starboard tack as obedient
to her helm as a cock-boat. This
was a dangerous manœuvre at such a
time, but its success confirmed the confidence
of all on board in their youthful
pilot.

The ship's course was now about W.
N. West, as close to the wind as she
could lay with her jury mast and topsail,
the only two sails that she could carry.
The captain now came up and spoke to
George with an air of respect and deference,
as he would have addressed an old
and experienced pilot.'

`Where do you intend to run in, sir?'

Between the two headlands I before
pointed out, sir. Keep her nigh, men?
Look sharp for the Porpus Ledge, Milk,
and just make it in a line with the bow-sprit.'

`I see it massa Jorge. Dere no ledge
dere now, ony de white froth. If de wind
hold dis a-way we hab to chance runnin'
on de Foxes; coz de tide run in like debbel.'

`Keep her steady as you are.' answered
George.

`Don't you want the lead hove again,
sir,' asked the captain.

`No, sir. I have fished on every fathom
of this coast. I know its depth anywhere.
We are now in twenty-eight fathoms.
Luff a little, Milk. You are falling
off; and you well know if we get to
leeward of the Ledge we are gone without
hope.'

`Do you mean to try and weather that
foaming rock ahead?' asked the captain.

A loud peal of thunder close above
their heads, and the increased roar of the
waves prevented him from replying. At
length he answered,

`I shall weather the Ledge if possible.
The ship's safety depends on it. If we
fall to leeward of it we shall strike on a
sunken shoal and go to pieces.'

`Then for God's sake watch your helm
young man.'

`They steer right now. We shall, no
doubt, pass the danger safely; but as it
requires all my attention, please don't
speak to me till it is passed.'

`You are right.

It was soon understood by every man
in the ship that their safety depended on
weathering the vast bank of foam that
seemed to lay directly in their course,
about a third of a mile ahead. The foam
upon the ledge could be seen without the
aid of the lightning, by its own phosphorescent
light. It was an appalling spectacle.
Every eye gazed upon it as if it
were a grave. Every few seconds the
course of the ship was reported from
mouth to mouth; the report now producing
pleasure as the distant opening between
the bow and the ledge seemed
wider, and now turning every face pale
with fear, as it decreased in breath;

The rain as suddenly ceased as it had
come on, and the atmosphere being clear,
showed them their danger in all its dread
aspects. The wind still howled, and the
thunder rattled, and the sea roared and
dashed against the frigate's sides with terrible
blows, shaking her to her centre.

The young fisherman kept his eye upon
the course of the ship, and gave his
orders with coolness and decision. Nearer
and nearer they approached the danger,
and now the roar of the breakers up
on the ledge rises above the raving of the
storm. The distance every instant lessens.
The frigate rolls, plunges, dashes
on and seems for an instant before reaching
it to be about to plunge headlong into
the vortex. All is breathless expectation.

`Steady, as you are,' said the young
fisherman in a quiet tone of voice.

The whole sea around the bow seemed
a whirlpool. Its surface was white with
foam. The noise of the surges was deafening.
The crisis is at hand. For a moment
the ship seems to be among the
breakers. But it is only for an instant.
She drives on past the reef in safety, but
so near that the black heads of the rocks
could be seen lifting themselves from the
frothy billows within thirty feet of the
ship's quarter. Another moment and the
foaming gulf was past and was seen astern;
and the joyful sense of safety to
the hundreds on board found vent in a
shout that out-shouted the storm.

The ship stood on steadily in the same
course for about three minutes, when
George, who had been all the while calm
and collected, and who looked as if he
was only engaged in an ordinary duty,
gave orders to put the frigate's head before
the wind. It was obeyed with alacrity,
and the half dismantled ship of war,
stately in her ruins, bounded swiftly onward
before the tempest in the direction
of the entrance to Northrop's bay.

11. CHAPTER XI.
The Moorings.

The captain of the English frigate upon
seeing the ship safely past the reef onwhich
nothing but a miracle seemed possible
to keep it from being wrecked,
grasped the hand of his youthful pilot
with enthusiasm.

`Noble young man, you have saved
the lives of all on board by your skill and
coolness. You shall have double the
sum I promised you if you get us safely
into the bay!'

`I ask no reward, sir,' answered
George.

`Did you not come on board tempted
by the hope of large pay?' asked the
captain, surprised.

`No, sir; I would not take money for
the lives of men; much more from my
country's enemies!'

`Ha! This speech rings! If you
speak in this way, why did you come to
our aid at all?'

`Keep her away more, helmsman!'
cried George, not wishing to reply.—
`Captain, the danger is by no means past.
Open as the entrance to the bay appears to
us, and fair as the gale blows to drive us in,
there is a dangerous ledge mid-way the
bay, just inside the open passage to it.
A strong current sets that way, and with
the heavy sea running the ship will be in
as great peril as any she has come
through until we get by the ledge.'

`The ship is in your hands, sir! I
leave the whole to you! I can do nothing!'

`I will do my best, sir. Have some
of your men ready at the topsail-braces;
for we must luff up sharp very soon, and
stand at right angles with our present
course. There are three short turns to
take in getting into this bay; and if the
ship obeys her helm as well as she has
done, in twenty minutes we shall be in
smooth water.'

`Can you see well enough by the flashes
of lightning?'

`Yes, sir. So long as I can get a
glimpse now and then of the Scathed
Pine I can steer with safety.'

It was now busily rumored through the
ship that the whole danger was not yet
passed. Their confidence in their pilot
from what they had witnessed, prevented
the crew from yielding to their former
alarm. Still all was anxiety and suspense.
The hurricane still swept the sea
ike a besom, the wind howling concert
with the roaring billows. At intervals,
glimpses of the rocky shore could be got
as the lightning illumined the wild scene;
and many an eye was strained at such
instants to see if the steep cliffs afforded
any shelter or path-way for them to escape
the surges should the ship strike.

Suddenly a bright light shot up from
the land, and the brilliant flame of a bonfire
cast its radiance over the gloomy
land.

`What is that?' cried the English
captain.

`It is a signal-light kindled by a friend,

to enable us to get in more easily;” answered
George, who saw in this the
watchful hand of May, and knew thereby
that she had safely reached her home.

`Blessings on the noble girl,' he said
mentally. `That light is kindled for me.
In it I can see that I am remembered. If
Heaven permit, I shall soon be by thy
side again.'

The light attracted great attention and
awakened the deepest interest on board.
It seemed to them a beacon of hope—a
promise of safety. She ship rolled on
her landward course with resistless
power. At every heavy plunge of her
bows into the concave seas those on board
trembled till she rose again, lest the
rocks should meet her keel. The cliff
upon which the Scathed Pine stood was
now very near. Men had to look up to
see it from the deep. The ship went on
rapidly strait for it without lessening her
tremendous speed, and was within a
cable's length, when the young pilot's
trumpet-like voice was heard giving the
order `to put down the helm and brace
up!'

Instantly the ship came into the wind,
and leaving the cliff astern. She had
passed so near, that a dollar might have
been thrown against the face of the rock.
Every heart ceased beating for a moment
till she was making her way off
from the danger in safety.

`That was a risk, young sir,' said the
Captain, catching his breath as he saw the
frigate had way again on the starboard
tack.

`It was necessary, sir, to go so close,
in order to be able to get to leeward of
the ledge on this tack,' answered George
calmly.

`Where is the ledge?'

`You will see it in this direction. There
is a line of breakers upon it.'

`Yes, I see it now. It is to windward
of the ship's course,' he said joyfully.

`Yes, and we have got this advantage
by running so close in under the cliff,'
swered George. `If I had hauled wind
two minutes sooner, I should have had to
run to windward by the ledge, and as the
current sets very strong into this bay, I
should have been afraid of losing the
ship by driving her on the ledge!'

`I have seen enough of shaving reefs
to-night,' answered the Captain; `and if
we should have been in as great danger
in passing to windward of this as the
other one, I won't say any thing more
about your approaching so near the cliff.'

`The danger would have been greater
on account of the greater swiftness of the
current at this place.'

`You are a bold and skilful pilot,
young man. I feel that my ship is safe
in your hands.'

`I trust in a few minutes that she will
be past all the danger, sir. Keep her
close, 'Milk,' he called to the negro, who
had not quitted his post by the wheel
from the first; and who promptly and
intelligently obeyed every order of the
youthful fisherman. His hands seconded
the words of George in every instance,
and as it were simultaneously, as if he
anticipated the direction to be given; and
indeed he knew well how to steer the
ship in; but he could not have done it
alone, for want of that coolness and self-possession
which George possessed in a
far superior degree.

The ledge was now visible a-head.—
Gradually the ship's bows fell off from
it, after hugging it closely a few minutes,
and the helm being closely put up,
and the fore-yard squared, the ship steered
directly up the bay, and in almost
smooth water.

`Are your anchors ready, sir?' asked
George.

`What! are we in safety?' cried the
Captain, who, in the darkness, could not
tell his situation.

`Yes, sir. The dangers are all far
astern,' responded the pilot. `In a moment
or two more I shall bring the ship
to where you can drop anchor and ride
the storm out in perfect security.'

`The ship is safe!—the ship is safe!'
rung along the decks from stern to stem.

`Stand by to cast the best bower there
forward,' was the cheerful order passed
forward from mouth to mouth. The men
were cheering and congratulating each
other, and all speaking in praise of the
youthful pilot.

`Helm-a-lee! Hard-a-lee!' shouted
George.

`Ha-a-r-rd a-le-e-ee!' responded 'Milk
and the two steermen.

The ship, making a noble curve, came
obediently into the wind; the topsail fell
upon the cap; and in a moment or two
afterwards the heavy anchor plunged
from the bows.

The ship came easily to her moorings,
for there was scarcely any sea in the
sheltered bay which she had reached;
and the lightning showed the English
Captain and his crew that they were anchored
within three cables' length of a
snow-white beach, and just under the
cliff on which still blazed the dying embers
of the beacon light.

The storm still raged with relentless
fury; but it was comparatively little felt
where the frigate now lay. The deep
roar of the surges beating against the
cliffs and ledges reached their ears, impressing
the crew with the delightful
sense of present safety.

The frigate now being in perfect security,
the English Captain was going up
to the young pilot to embrace him and
thank him, and press upon him a large
reward for services that he felt could
hardly be repaid by any amount of money,
when a look-out from the starboard
quarter shouted,

`Sail ho!

`Where away?' demanded the captain,
stopping to take his spy-glass.

`In the offiing, sir. I saw it just now,
as the lightning shone. She seemed to
be a small vessel, so far as I could judge,
scudding under close reeffed mainsail!

All eyes upon this were turned seaward;
for there was at once awakened
in every bosom a lively sympathy for
the stranger, who was combatting with
the dangers they had so safely passed.

`It is a shallop,' cried the English captain,
as he surveyed the sail through his
spy-glass. `She seems to be trying to
make the bay.'

The darkness prevented George from
seeing her, for some moments; but he
watched the returning flashes of lightning,
and caught a glimpse of the vessel;
he saw at once that it was a fisherman's
craft, but whether sloop or schooner was
not discernable.

`The poor fellow,' said the captain
will hardly fare as well as we have done;
for there cannot be in this bay two pilots
like yourself. I believe no other man
could have piloted the frigate in. Your
skill and coolness are admirable, young
man. To-morrow I shall talk with you
about taking service under the King.'

`I am an American,' responded George
in a tone of lofty patriotism.

`Nobly answered, young fisherman,'
said the officer already alluded to, as
having his breast adorned with a star,
which glittered in the lightning, as if
composed of the costliest stones.

`See! there fires up the beacon again,'
said the Captain. `They see the fisherman
from the shore, and would help him
on his way.'

`That shallop seems to be exactly between
us and the outer-reef,' cried one
of the officers. `She seemed to be rushing
to certain destruction, as I beheld her
by that last blaze of lightning.'

`Then it is a certain proof that he is

familiar with the entrance to the bay,'
answered George. `He should run so,
for at least five minutes longer; and then
tack as the frigate did.'

`Yes, I see! I am glad the poor fellow
knows how to run in. But for you,
we should ere this have gone ashore on
the other side of the head-land.'

`Captain, will you oblige me with a
boat to return on shore,' said George.—
`It is so smooth now here that there is no
danger in sending one off.'

`None at all, nor any objection. But
you had best remain on board to-night.'

`I have performed my duty, sir. I can
give you no further aid. I prefer being
on shore.'

`But we shall need you to go out of
the harbor again;' answered the captain,
hesitating.

`It is easy enough to go out with the
lead in the day time, after you shall have
refitted.'

`And that will consume two or three
days. We shall have to be brief and
active about it, or news will be sent to
some American cruiser that we are here,
and we shall be caught in a trap. I
would prefer you should remain.'

`Is this a command?' asked George,
with a resolute air.

`Not exactly.'

`Then, if you do not intend, sir, to re
ward my services by detaining me as a
prisoner you will have the goodness to
suffer me to leave the ship.'

`Will you promise to come on board
and pilot me out?'

`I cannot, sir! I have saved your
ship and the lives of your men as an act
of common humanity. I can go no farther
by piloting you to sea again, without
proving traitor to my country!'

`Very well spoken, young man. I
admire your spirit and commend your
firmness, even though I may be the sufferer
by it. You shall have a boat for
yourself and your man.'

The gig was ordered to be lowered
and brought to the gang-way. The
captain approached George and said,

`My brave young man, here are three
hundred guineas in this package. You
have earned it by the service you have
this night done me and those who sail
with me. Take it, and with it bear away
our grateful sense of your humanity and
courage. We had no right, as the foe
of your land, to expect this service at
your hands. You have shown yourself
a generous and noble person, superior to
every selfish feeling. And here my fine
fellow,' added the captain, placing a purse
in Buttermilk's hand, `here are twenty
guineas for yourself; for you have done
your part as well as your master.'

12. CHAPTER XII.
The Shallop.

`Thank'ee, massa Cap'n, said Buttermilk,
as he took the purse given him by
the English Captain, and after balancing
it in his hand dropping it into his pocket.

`But you do not refuse, sir!' said the
Captain, with surprise as George put
back the souleans of gold, saying,

`No, sir, I have not done this for
money!'

`But certainly you will let me pay
you something!'

`Nothing, sir. I am rewarded by
seeing your ship and those on board in
safety.'

`I will increase the reward!'

`It is more than enough, sir. You
have paid the black; that will do. I do
not know how either to charge for men's
lives, or to take gold from my enemy.
What I have done, I have done!'

`You are an extraordinary young
man!' exclaimed the Captain, in tones of
disappointment; for he felt that he owed
a debt that would always weigh upon
him unless the pilot took the gold.

`Good night, sir. I see the boat is
ready for me!' said George, going to the
gang-way.

`Good night, then. You will not very
soon be forgotten on board this ship!'
said the English Captain, shaking him
warmly by the hand.

`Massa Cap'n,' whispered Buttermilk,
lingering behind a step, as George went
over the side, `if you gib de gold to dis
child he keep 'em for massa George!'

`That; my good fellow,' cried the
Captain, placing the money in his hand,
not a little gratified to be able to force its
acceptance in this way upon the sensitive
and proud young man. `What is your
master's name?'

`Jorge Hunnywell, massa cap'n.'

`He shall never be forgotten. You
seem to be a good pilot.'

`Yes, massa,' answered Buttermilk,
busily stowing away the gold in different
parts of his apparel.

`Will you come off and pilot us out
when we sail?'

`When dat be, massa cap'n?'

`In about forty-eight hours or three
days. I will pay you fifty pounds;—the
signal for you shall be two guns.'

`I'll be dere, massa cap'n,' answered
Buttermilk emphatically.

`Milk!' called out George from the
boat, which was dancing like an egg-shell
alongside, and was with difficulty
kept by boat-hooks and pikes from being
dashed against the frigate's side.

`Comin', massa Jorge,' answered the
negro, stowing the last roleau away in
the fob of his waistband—for fob he had,
though he had never owned a watch in
his life.

The black was soon in the gig, and six
men at the oars soon sent it flying across
the space between the ship and the beach.

Although the bay was so much sheltered
that the full power of the ocean
billows did not reach it, yet a short, chop

sea was agitating it, that made the passage
somewhat perilous, The current
also, aided by the gale, set them strongly
towards the perpendicular cliffs east of
the landing.

`You will have to put out all your
strength, my men,' called out George;
`or we shall be lifted up and dashed
against the wall of rock there to leeward.
If we miss the beach we are lost.'

This address inspired them with a
strength and energy almost superhuman,
and the gig went leaping from wave to
wave as if a conscious thing, and was
striving in itself to escape the danger under
the lee.

`The storm still holds its own outside,'
said the coxswain. `The ocean beyond
the reefs roars like a volcano. That
shallop will hardly get in—do you think
it will, sir?'

`If it contains William Northrop there
is no fears for its safety,' answered
George.

`And who is he?'

`The man for whom this bay is named;
he is an old fisherman who lives on
the cliff where you saw the bonfire a little
while ago—he is the most experienced
pilot and seaman on the coast.'

`Not a better pilot than you are, sir,
I'll make oath,' responded the cozswain,
warmly. `We all owe our lives to you,
sir,. Give way strong men. We can
master the tide-set, if you lay out all you
have got.'

The men renewed teeir vigorous exertions,
and the gig bravely weathered
the cliff.

`Ha! what is that to windward of us?'
cried the coxswain, as a flash of lightning
exposed the prospect around them,
and pointing to a dark object which seemed
to be moving, like some huge fish,
swiftly along the water about two hundred
rods to the west of them.

`It is a boat,' answered George.

`Yiss,' added Buttermilk, `dat boat,
massa, and no mistake. Wait till the
lightnin' shine agen, and we tell better.'

It was some moments before there was
another flash, when both George and
Buttermilk exclaimed,

`The surf-skiff.'

`What is that?'

`The life-boat. It is putting off to the
frigate,' said George, who had made the
object out to be the boat we have seen
suspended in the entry of Northrop's cottage:
though he could not distinguish
those in it. It was moving rapidly out
from the land, with one oarsman and one
in the stern. His thoughts at once reverted
to May; and he believed that she
had embarked in it with Tom, for the
purpose of bringing him off from the ship.

`Coxswain, put back and pursue that
boat?' he cried, impressed with the idea,
and alarmed for her safety at such a
`It is some of my friends going for me.'

`It will be dangerous to turn the boat
to meet this swell, sir,' answered the
coxswain.

George hesitated, uncertain whether
he ought to run this risk, when it might
not be May after all;' `but who then
could it be?' he asked of himself; for
there were only those at the cottage; and
that it was the Surf-Skiff he was sure, as
when he caught sight of it, it was riding
half its length out of the water upon the
arch of a great wave. Another blaze of
lightning removed his doubts; for he saw
the graceful and spirited figure of May at
the helm, guiding fearlessly the flying
bark over the tumbling billows.

`Put about? Back wate, larboard
oars,' he cried quickly. `Coxswain, we
must put back and overtake that boat.
There is one in it who is dearer to me
than my own life; and who will perish
if she ventures farther out.

`It will be dangerous to bring the head
of the boat round, sir, in such a swell.

`This is not one of your fishing skiffs.'

`Try it. It must be done,' he cried
taking the helm from the coxswain's
grasp, and bringing the boat round.
`Back water on the larboard side. Pull
hard, starboard oars. Hard! for your
lives! for your lives, men!

It was too late, the result which the
coxswain had anticipated occurred. As
the gig swung round broadside to the
sea, in turning about, a monstrous wave
lifted it bodily upon its crest, and flinging
it many feet almost through the air, turned
it bottom upwards, and scattered its
crew to struggle for their lives.

Fortunately they were not far from the
beach, which they all at length succeeded
in gaining, tho' Milk from the weight
of gold about him came very near being
drowned. The boat was carried by the
waves to leeward against the cliffs and
wrecked, being stove into a hundred
pieces by the sharp rocks upon which it
was tossed. As soon as George could
recover his feet he looked eagerly over
the bay, striving, in vain, to penetrate the
darkness, in search of the Surf-Skiff.
But it was some minutes before a flash
from the sky gave him a view of it, still
riding the waves in safety, but already
far beyond the frigate, as if steering
seaward.

`What can that mean, Milk,' he said,
addressing the black.

`Can't tell, massa.'

`It was certainly the surf boat, and I
saw a female figure in it, that could have
been no other than May's.'

`Sartain. I see her by de lightning
as plain as if de sun shone,' responded
Buttermilk.

`My friends follow me to the summit
of the cliff. The black man will guide
you to a house not far from here where
you will be sheltered till the storm is
over.'

Without waiting for a reply, the young
pilot hastened up the pathway to the cottage.
He passed on the green the remains
of the bon-fire which had been
seen from the frigate; and rushed towards
the cottage. He felt confident it
could have been no other than May in the
boat; but he wished to remove all doubt.
He entered the cot, and by the light of a
lamp which hung above the door saw
that the surf-boat was gone. He called
loudly on her name; but there was no
reply. He called for the dog, but there
was no answering bark.

`It was she. She has ventured her
life for what I know not. Rash girl.
Dearest May. What madness has led
thee to this step. Just as I have found
thee, and learned that I am loved, I am
doomed to lose thee forever.'

He left the solitary cottage, and came
out upon the cliff to wait for the flashes
of lightning to reveal him the ocean. He
saw by them the dismantled frigate pitching
at her anchorage, half a mile distant,
the life-boat dancing over the waves beyond
her, and approaching the reef, and
beyond the reef a dark object tossed upon
the bosom of the tempest. What
could it be? It had no sail set as the
shallop had when last seen by him; yet
he feared that it was the sloop.

`Did you see dat, massa?' inquired
Buttermilk as he came near him, followed
by the crew of the gig. `It was de
shallop dismantled.'

`So I thought and feared. This accounts
for the launching of the life-boat.
This accounts for May's rash departure
on the wild sea this fearful night. She
saw the danger of the sloop, supposed,
or recognized, it to be her father's, and
prompted by filial duty, has ventured her
life to give him a chance for his own.'

`Yiss, dat's it, massa. Missy May hab
courage like a man, and don't fear duckin'
in salt water no more dan fish. She
good sailor.'

`She will perish. The surf is running
mountains high across the ledge. If she
attempts to reach the shallop she is lost
inevitably.'

He began to pace the cliff in despair,
at every flash of the almost constant
lightning straining his eyes after the
little boat which contained all dear to him
on earth. The men, in the meanwhile
entered the cottage, and Buttermilk taking
upon himself to act the host, found Northrop's
store of rum, and filled them cans
ail round.

The conjecture of the young man had
been the right one. May, engaged in
watching the struggles of the frigate with
the elements, aiding it with her prayers,
after she saw it pass safely into the bay,
felt sure that none other than George had
been at the helm.

Her anxiety, therefore, for his safety
was removed; and she expected soon to
see him on shore to receive her thanks
for his prompt obedience to her commands
in saving the endangered frigate of
the enemy.

`Now God be thanked!' she exclaimed;
`both the ship and George are safe.
He has done a noble act, and been the
means of saving many souls from a watery
grave. He will land as soon as the
frigate anchors.'

She saw the ship come to her moorings
and remain stationary; and was
giving thanks to Heaven in her heart for
the consummation of the ship's safety,
when Tom called her attention to a sail
in the offing.

`Impossible, brother! no sail could
stand this hurricane. It was the cap of
some larger wave than usual.'

`Wait a moment, sister May! There,
see now by the flash!'

`It is a sail!'

`I said so.'

`It seems to be that of a very small
vessel!'

`Watch out again, May, for the next
flash!'

`I see it plainly now. It is a shallop.'

`Scudding with her main-sail more
than half reefed down,' said Tom. `It is
the old man's too.

`You can't tell at this distance, and in
such a storm.'

`None but father would think o' runnin'
into the bay in such a storm. I
tell you its the old devil, May! His
shallop is the only one on the coast that
has reef-points half way up the main-sail,
and can reef so close. The sail he carries
isn't six feet above deck. It's the
old man or the devil! No other small
craft could swim in such a sea, and no
other skipper think of steering her in!'

`See the shallop is broadside to us
now, and is running between the ledges
and the cliff.'

`That shows it's the old 'un. Nobody
else but George Hunnewell and I knows
the channel like that.'

A flash of lightning now illumined the
sea and land far and wide. The shallop
was seen, but dismasted and tossing, a
wreck upon the waves. The storm was
driving her furiously upon the ledge
which the frigate had so narrowly escaped.
All this was seen in an instant—in the
brief instant of a lightning flash! But
it was enough to show the young girl the
imminent peril of the sloop.

13. CHAPTER XIII.
Nortkrop, the Skipper.

`There is no doubt that it is our father's
shallop,' said May. `At all events,
the lives of those on board are in jeopardy,
and I will not let them perish if there
is a chance of getting aid to them. Lower
the life-boat, Tom, and hasten with it
to the beach while I take the oars and
buoys.'

`It will be a hard row, May, and I
don't care to risk bein' drowned for the
old un,' answered Tom doggedly.

`I will give you a new green jacket
and a red waistcoat, Tom, if you will go
with me.'

`You won't deceive me, now, May?'
he said, his eyes brightening up, and his
whole face expressive of his satisfaction.

`No. When May gives you her
word it is sacred, Tom.'

`I'll go, then,' he answered decidedly.
`If we are drowned, I shall drown with
you, and so go up to Heaven with you.'

In less than ten minutes the surf-boat
was taken from its place in the cabin,
carried on the dwarf's shoulders down to
the beach, and launched into the frothy
waves.

It was very light, and buoyant as a
nautilus, and was tossed on the waves
like a feather. May sprang into it with
the oars,—the dwarf sent it out upon the
billows with a strong arm, followed her
at a bound, and began to ply his oars.—
It was some moments before they could
get away from the shore; but, when they
did, the strong arms of the idiot sent the
boat forward in the face of the storm with
astonishing speed.

May was so intent on the duty she had
undertaken, that she did not see the gig
to leeward of her. As she came near
the frigate, she would gladly have gone
on board to have got George to aid her,
and also called on the crew to follow
her in a boat. But she felt that every
moment's detention might prove fatal to
her father; for she was confident it was
his shallop. She therefore left the frigate
to leeward and held her way straight out
to the ledge. The boat was seen from
the ship, and as it was evidently a surf-boat,
its mission was understood; for the
situation of the dismasted shallop was
plainly visible whenever the lightning
permitted objects to be seen. But the
English Captain, finding that it would be
impossible to pull one of the frigate's
heavy boats to windward, and to attempt
it would endanger more lives than he
might hope to rescue, gave no orders to
follow the example of the surf-boat. The
little messenger of life, however, was
watched with the deepest interest. The
shallop could be seen every now and
then drifting towards the reef. At times
it seemed to be lost in its foam; but
again would re-appear a helpless wreck
rolling onward to destruction at the mercy
of the waves.

George continued to watch the life-boat's
progress trom the cliff, in the
greatest anguish. He saw the whole extent
of her danger on such an enterprize,
and the more he reflected upon her courage
and daring, which were ever ready
handmaids to her humanity, he trembled
the more; for he knew that she would
count her life nothing so that she could
save that of her father.

He recalled her former acts of generous
bravery in saving the perishing, herself
also saved; but he derived no consolation
from this reflection.

`She will never return. Such a storm
as this she never ventured out in. Besides,
before, when she saved the five
persons from the ledge, she had her father
and Tom with her. Now she probably
has only Tom, who is not always to
be depended on in the hour of greatest
peril.'

These words were uttered aloud. Buttermilk,
who was by, answered,

`Nebber you fear for Missy May,
Mass' Jorge. She nebber be drowned so
long as dere be a angel in heaben to hold
her pretty head 'bove de waves. I don't
feel least consarned at all, Massa Jorge.
You mind me. She sure to come back
safe herself; but wedder she bring back
old Northrop alive is a nodder question.'

`I hope I shall see her again safe, but
I fear not.'

`Well, it nebber do no good to stand
here takin' on. Massa better come in,
for de wind blow him off de cliff for sartain.'

`No. I shall remain here, and by the
aid of the friendly lightning, watch the
progress of the skiff. If she is lost, life
has no more charms for me.'

`Nebber say die, Massa Jorge!' responded
Buttermilk, in a resolute tone.

`I there saw the skiff. It is close to
the ledge, and to windward of it. It
seemed to be trying to pass between the
ledge and the shallop! No power on
earth can save it!'

This was, also, the opinion of those on
board the frigate, who watched as well
as they could with their glasses, the fate
of the sloop, and the bold surf-boat. To
the officers it seemed trying to cut off
the shallop, ere it should be flung upon
the reef.

`Whoever manages that boat,' said
the young officer with the star upon his
coat, `has a true hand, and a fearless
heart.'

`And is reckless of life,' said the captain;
`for the boat will hardly get out
of that surf alive, if it once gets into it.
What brave, skilful fellows these Maine
fishermen are.'

`The skiff was no longer visible by
that flash!' said an officer, in a tone of
anxiety. `I fear it has capsized.'

`No doubt of it. If my own father or
child was in that shallop, I should hardly
venture out to that ledge in such a pampero
as this to try to save 'em,' said the
quarter-master.

`Both shallop and surf-boat are likely
to be lost,' was the response of the English
captain. `It is a pity. For whoever
has launched that boat, and guided it so
resolutely thus far, deserves a better
fate. Has any one been able to see
where the gig landed?'

`No, sir.'

`No signs of her return.'

`No, sir,' was the answer from the
lieutenant of the deck.

`I fear they have been swamped.—
Fire a gun, Mr. Mervin, to bring them
off, if they should be loitering on the
shore!'

The gun was discharged, awakening
the echoes of the encircling cliffs, and
lighting up the bay with its flash.

`Send up a blue light, sir,' said the
captain. `Send up three, one after the
other, so that we can have a look at the

shore; and also see what is become of
the shallop.'

But we will not wait for the rockets to
go up, but follow the surf-skiff as she approached
the shallop.

As we have already described, the
shallop was outside the bay, dismasted
and drifting, without human remedy, fast
upon the inner ledge, over the long line
of which the wild waves of the storm,
lashed deep, foamed and roared with appalling
power.

The rain had some time ceased, and
here and there a chasm opened in the
dark curtain of clouds, that were rolling
along upon the black wings of the tempest.
The wind outside had lessened
its force in no degree, but went howling
on over the ocean, and ploughing up its
blue depths, and turning out its snow-white
lining like paths of snow.

The strange sail, when first seen from
the frigate, was coursing like an affrighted
bird over the wild scene, with only a
small sail closely reefed, presented to
the gale. It was a small, sloop-rigged,
craft, of the rudest description, containing
two old fishermen, and two young
men or youths. Her forward deck was
open, and the cargo protected with tanned
canvass. At the helm, stood a strong
built, grey-headed man, of large stature,
and stern visage. His countenance was
deeply lined with the furrows of a hardy
and exposed life; and upon his brow
were impressed resolution and courage,
that amounted almost to ferocity.

His large frame was dressed in a long
coarse blue storm-coat; he wore a tarpaulin
upon his head, lapping over his
ears, and high boots that reached to his
knees. As he stood at the helm, his
keen eye bent forward upon the wild
flight of his little craft, there was no
signs of fear of the result. Firm and
cool he stood at his post, riding on the
storm, like its presiding spirit.

Behind him stood a young fisherman,
broad-shouldered and ill-made, who aided
him in holding the tiller in its place.—
Forward were the others; one of them
was a thin, old man, with a long back
and longer limbs; the other, a lad with
a black head of hair, exceedingly black
restless eyes that shone like diamonds, a
dark skin, and teeth like the most brilliant
ivory. He wore a red flannel shirt,
or what was left of it, and a pair of duck
trowsers cut off at the knee. He was
bare-headed, and his legs and feet were
naked. In shape, he was a young Apollo;
and in his bearing and fearless eye
he showed the calm and fearless character
of the untamed child of the forest.

It was a noble spectacle to see the little
vessel go swooping onward from wave
to wave, half the time submerged, and at
others with the spray leaping over her
in cataracts of sparkling foam. All
around her the sea, where it was not inky
black, was white, like cream. The billows
rolled now on the right, now on the
left of her, higher than her straining
mast; and occasionally a gigantic wave
would give it a chase astern, and coming
up with it, swift as it blew, hang above it
for an appalling moment, and then leap
with a hissing roar upon its deck, plunging
the little vessel far beneath the surface.
But, buoyant as a water-fowl, the shallop
would rise to the surface, shake off the
volumes of water, and go again bounding
upon her mad way.

The helmsman of the shallop was William
Northrop, the father of May Fawn.
His crew were composed of a father and
son, poor neighbors, who lived near Cape
Small Point; and a young full-blooded
Indian of the Tarrantine tribe.

William Northrop kept his eyes fixed
resolutely upon the reef before him. He
was fully alive to the danger of his situation.
He would have laughed at the
storm, if he could have carried sail

enough to govern the course of his shallop
and keep her to her helm. But the
wind swept the sea so strongly that he
had to reef his mainsail down almost
close to the deck; for to display any
more canvass to such a hurricane would
have been to be driven bodily under the
surface. At this moment they saw the
beacon on the cliff, and also first caught
sight of the frigate after she had passed
the inner ledge. The beacon showed
Northrop that he was seen; but he could
not explain the appearance of the frigate.

`Saul,' he said to the old man; `I wonder
how that ship has got into the bay.
I find the current sweeps towards White
Pine Head faster than we can run towards
the entrance. Some one has lighted
a beacon fire, for us or the ship. It
will do us no good. The old Porpus
Ledge ahead of us is howling and foaming
like a pack of mad wolves!'

`I've made up my mind, Cap'n Northrop,'
answered the old man with a melancholy
shake of his long grey head.

`What do you mean?'

`I mean to say that this ere shallop
never 'll drop anchor again in the bay.
She'll never see Porpus Reef astern on
her. We are driving jist as fast as wind
and water can carry us right slap on to
the reef!'

`Not if I can help it, Saul,' answered
Northrop with resolutely clenched teeth
as he stooped and bent his keen eyes
ahead. `It will be a tight push, though!'
he added as his eyes fell on the long wall
of snowy spray! Hard up with the
helm!' he called to his assistant. `We
must try and weather this ledge on a
tack. If we run on this way, we are lost
to a certainty.'

`I know'd it, Cap'n,' responded the
old man, with another shake of the head.
`We shall be sure never to get in this
night. If you have any sins, as men say
you have, to repent of, I'd recommend
you to think of 'em! We can't get out
o' this. See! How the sea piles itself
up on the ledge in great waves. No,
no! Long as I've been on the coast,
man and boy, I never seed nothing like
this!'

`Hold on all!' shouted William Northrop,
as the shallop came round to the
wind under the influence of the helm.
The sheet-block of the main-sail was
wrenched from its bed by the force with
which the boom was jerked as the vessel
came to the wind,and the sail went swinging
overboard slatting wildly and furiously.
It swung three quarters round
the mast, clearing the deck in its dreadful
sweep. The old man was struck in
the head and knocked many feet into the
sea, in which he sunk shrieking.

14. CHAPTER XIV.
The Reef.

It was a fearful moment. The shallop
was at the mercy of the storm. The
end of the boom would have caught William
Northrop up also and hurled him
into the seething billows, but for his presence
of mind in throwing himself flat
upon the deck and clasping a ring-bolt
firmly with both hands. The shallop
rocked wildly from side to side totally
unmanageable. The mast at length yielded
to the terrible force of the unlashed
boom and was carried, sail and all, over
the side into the waves.

`Thank God, it's gone!' was the exclamation
of William Northrop on hearing
the crash. `If it had stood a minute
longer it would have dragged the shallop
under.'

He sprung to his feet and seized the
helm to lash it to the lee side, so as to
keep her head as much away from the
reef as possible. But this was of little
use, and he felt that it could help him
none. All was quiet on board save the
voice of the tempest which ceased not.—
He strained his eyes to see if he had any
one of his crew.

`Who is here?” he shouted as his
shallop rolled over the billows, each moment
approaching nearer the roaring
breakers upon the ledge.

`Me,—White Teeth;' answered the
Indian lad, suddenly appearing over the
side on deck, and shaking himself like a
water-dog.

`Where are the rest?'

`Knock 'em over in em sea;' answered
the lad. `Fish catch em!'

`Poor fellows. Old Saul seemed to
forebode this.'

`Nebber mind be sorry for dem; we
be sorry for ourself pretty soon.'

`I am afraid so. We shall have enough
to do to think of ourselves. My poor
little May! If I should perish here tonight
what would become of my little
Fawn of the cliffs! White Teeth?'

`Well, what Grey Eyes speak to
him?'

`If I am lost and you save yourself, I
wish you to give this case to my child.
I will place it around your neck. I have
worn it next my heart for years. If you
are lost and I am saved I can tell her
what I would. But if I am lost and this
reaches her hands I shall have done my
duty even to death!'

As he spoke he placed round the neck
of the young Indian a chain of steel, to
which was appended a circular, flat box,
made of tin, and about four times the
size of a Spanish dollar.

`If me swim shore me do as you say,'
answered the Indian.

`That is all I can ask. We have
neither of us much chance of escaping

our death to-night, White Teeth. You
see we are driven against a boiling sea,
that the winds are lashing into foam.—
Before us, not half a mile distant, is the
reef which will bring us up. Nothing
can check our course now. In ten
minutes we shall be tossed upon its breakers
like a feather! No two planks of
the shallop will hang together five minutes.
There is no alternative but to be
drowned or thrown upon the rocks to be
mangled. God have mercy upon me,
for I have been a wicked man! I never
looked forward to this hour as I see and
feel it now.'

The strong man covered his brow with
his hand for a moment. He seemed to
be casting himself in silent prayer upon
the mercy of his God. He felt now the
impotency of man's arm or human aid.
The majesty and power of the Creator
were around him invested with terror and
leading to the gates of death.

`White Teeth!'

`Well what you say to him?' asked
the youthful Indian who sat upon the deck
as composed and indifferent as if he
were crouched before his camp-fire.

`It is a dreadful thing to die.'

`Great Spirit take 'em up!' answered
the lad, pointing above to the storm-dark
skies. `Sun shine bright up top de
clouds.'

`Do you believe you will go up where
the sun shines when you drown?'

`Yes, me go up; Great Spirit give
White Teeth wings—him fly up like 'em
gull.'

`Then you don't fear to die?'

`No!'

`I envy you—I wish I could say,' and
the stout-hearted, wicked man groaned
with the terror of an infant. `Poor May!
I wish she was near to know my danger
and pray for me!'

Once more he looked around upon the
scene of terror; he could gather no hope,
—he knew well that no power could save
the shallop in her tendency towards the
reef; and that when she struck upon it
she would be dashed into atoms, and
death would be inevitable amid the battling
surges—for there was not a rock or
foot-hold above the breakers that the
sea-bird could rest the sole of its foot on;
all was chaos and horror to the eye—a
dreadful uproar of appalling sounds to
the ear.

William Northrop, after once more
looking round in despair, was about to
cast himself upon the deck and submit to
his fate, when his ear was arrested by
the report of a cannon to leeward, and at
the same moment the sky was lighted up
by a rocket, to which was attached a
blue light. Its appearance was singularly
wild and magnificent, circling along
amid the darkness of the storm, lighting
up land and sea in its progress. By its
light the cliff, and the group upon it, and
the dismasted frigate, were plainly seen
by him; while the illumination betrayed
the position of the shallop to the spectators
on board the ship. The surf-skiff
was no where visible to their eyes or to
those of George Hunnewell, who, taking
advantage of the sudden light arching
along the sky, rapidly sent his glances
over the fierce ocean in search of the
adventurous boat.

A second rocket went up, and in its
curving descent lighted up all the sea in
the vicinity of the reef with the momentary
brightness of noonday. By it Northrop
saw all the horrors of his situation,
but also beheld struggling with the waves
on his larboard quarter a small black
boat. He had to look a second time before
he could believe his eyes; for it
might have been a rock or a huge fish
turning up to the light his dark back.

`A boat!—me see 'em boat!' shouted
the Indian boy.

`Then I was not mistaken,' said Northrop,

as the darkness once more returned.
`It was in this direction?'

`Yes—me see 'em, and two people.'

`I could not see that much; God grant
there may be no persons abroad in like
peril with ourselves.'

This was the noblest sentiment ever
uttered by William Northrop; it showed
that the near approach of death had stirred
up the nobler elements of humanity
within him.

Another rocket went soaring up into
the sky; for the skiff was not yet visible
from the ship, on account of an intervening
spur of the ledge. By its light Northrop
caught another and distinct view of
the life-boat, about two hundred yards to
the northward and leeward, stretching
across in a course between the shallop
and the reef, on which the latter was
driving beam-end first, every sea making
a complete breach over her decks.

`It is the life-boat!—thank God!' he
cried, as he grasped the hand of the Indian
boy, in his grateful emotion. The
hope of life filled him with love for all
living creatures; and so the Indian lad,
to whom he had been a hard master,
came to be an object of kindness.

`Me see 'em—lightning show me woman
in 'em!'

`A woman! can it be that it is my
daughter who has come out in it?' he
cried, straining his eyes through the darkness
that hung upon the sea to look for
the boat.

`Me see woman—squaw, sure! Me
see 'em Tom—hump-back: rocket make
'em shine same as 'em sun. Me see 'em
—good!' reiterated the Indian.

`Then I have to fear for my child as
well as for myself! She can never reach
us—the course she takes will carry her
directly upon the reef, even before we
are dashed upon it. See! look sharply!
—can't you see the boat through the
gloom? I think I see it—the clouds
light up a little.'

`Me see em! Boat comin' fast!'

`My eyes do not deceive me. I can
discern it through the darkness. Let
us shout! Hilloh, ho—hilloah! The
life-boat, ahoy!'

`It is my father!' cried May, who was
tugging at two of the oars while Tom
pulled at the other two. Manfully,
brother! We are gaining every moment.
Let us not despair. God will
give us strength!'

`For you, I do it, May. I would rather
he should drown. He will beat me
and call me hump and damned monster.'

`No. He will always love you if you
save him. Hear him shout! Answer
him back with me! Mingle your voice
with mine, for the wind blows hard and
we have to shout against it.'

`Rescue! Aid at hand!' she shouted
back in a shrill, cheering cry, in which
the deep tones of the dwarf's voice were
mingled.

`It is my child! God who has sent
her to my aid will reward her filial love.
We shall not perish, White Teeth!'

`See 'em breakers. They roar to eat
us up. We nebber see de land more,'
said the Indian, quietly. `Surf-boat
come to see us drown!'

`You are right,' exclaimed the wretched
man, with a shriek of despair, looking
before them. While he had been directing
his attention to the skiff he had been
beedless of the shallop's rapid approach
to the ledge, and now he saw that it had
rapidly been driven towards a portion of
it nighest, and where the waves leaped
in mad revelry mast-head high and roared
with appalling loudness.

`There is no hope. She has come to
see us perish and to perish with us!' he
cried, looking towards the before hoped-for
succor and wringing his hands. `Oh,
God, I cannot die now and my child so

near! Help! Save us! One minute
more!'

The life-boat was now within fifty feet
of the shallop, which was tossed with the
most fearful rapidity along the huge upheaving
billows into the midst of a chaos
of howling waters. A few yards further
and she would be swallowed up and shattered
into fragments, the surges tossing
the bodies of the living men upon the
sharp rocks or engulphing them in their
depths. The soul of William Northrop
shrank within him! He stood with
stretched out arms, madly crying,

`Come! Save your father, May!
Oh, save me! Save me, or let me die
with thee!'

The voice of her father inspired the
maiden with almost supernatural energy.
Her words gave new vigor to the dwarf's
arms, and the life-boat came riding upon
the top of a wave astern of the shallop
and was within twice her length when
the shallop was lifted upon an enormous
sea and tossed into the foaming vortex
like a cockle-shell. It was heard crashing
upon the rocks of the ledge and the
wild waters went leaping and hissing
over the ruins they had made. Ere the
shallop was thus lifted up, and as he felt
it rising upon the breakers, Northrop
leaped into the surf as far as he could in
the direction of the skiff, which was
coming after the wreck. Tom had hesitated
as he saw the shallop leaping into
the air, and ceased pulling.

`For your life and mine now, Tom!'
she cried. `Onward, for it is death to
turn back! See! There is my father!
Save him! Grasp his arm as we drive
by!'

The dwarf caught sight of William
Northrop and seized him by the shoulder,
and, aided by the fearless May, drew him
on board while the boat was actually
driving into the midst of the wild surf.

`Now may God speed us!' she cried.
`There was another one! Look sharp!'

But there was no other person seen,
and the young girl having hastily fastened
her lifeless father by cords to the
boat so that the sea would not wash him
overboard, seized an oar and, aided by
Tom, began to pull for life against the
fearful death which now menaced them;
for the delay to rescue her father had
already involved them in the chaos of
waters that howled about the spurs of the
breakers.

15. CHAPTER XV.
The Passage of the Reefs.

The danger to which May was now exposed
was most imminent. While she
had been rescuing her father, the boat,
left to the waves, had been thrown
among the breakers, upon which it was
wildly tossed. Both of them now began
to row hard to escape being pushed upon
the rocks.

But they had become too far involved
in the vortex of the surf, and May saw
that their only hope lay in endeavoring
to steer the boat over the ledge upon the
summit of a wave; for there were huge
billows rolling on that, having struck the
rocks, overleaped them to the other side
in mighty cataracts.

She had no sooner conceived this way
of safety, a forlorn hope indeed it seemed,
than, bidding Tom to row with all his
strength, she sprang to the stern and
seized the fixed helm of the boat. All
this while the sea was at one moment
tossing the skiff almost into the air, and
at another moment burying it in deep
chasms; while the raging surf poured
over it in torrents. Nothing but the net-guard
which each had bound about their
bodies, and which firmly held them in the
boat, saved both of them from being
dashed into the sea a dozen times.

There was light enough upon the dan
ger before them from the white foaming
surges to enable her to feel that only a
special Providence could carry her safely
through the danger. Already the boat
was in a situation in which any other
would have been swamped; but her buoyancy
and capability to resist every power
that would operate to overset her, saved
it. Although it was filled with water, it
floated as lightly as a cork.

We have been some minutes describing
the situation of May; but the events
passed with far greater celerity than we
can record them. It was not fifty seconds
after she had taken her father on
board, before she was in the midst of the
driving, snow-white surf, and deafened
by the roar and almost blinded by the
spray that nearly overwhelmed them
with its force and density. She was, as
we have already intimated, a skilful boat-woman,
and had been more than once the
instrument of saving lives perilled in a
storm. She was also cool and feared not
death; for the good and brave never fear
death. Fear is the hand-maiden of a
guilty conscience. May was one of
those rare spirits that look only to duty;
and when they see it before them, they
take no thought of consequences. Therefore,
at this moment, which would have

shaken the stoutest heart, and which had
made a woman of William Northrop,
she was perfectly self-possessed. The
dwarf was always the echo of his sister.
He depended on her always, and so that
she was fearless, he was also.

May could see at a glance that her situation
was one of extreme peril. To retrace
the boat's course was impossible.
They must either be dashed to pieces on
the ledge, over which the sea was tumbling
with terrific fury, or go safely over
on the crest of some billow.

For this opportunity she watched. Encouraged
by her voice, Tom kept the
boat back from the surges for a minute,
when, seeing a billow rolling towards her,
she shouted to the dwarf to back water
to meet it. The wave caught up the
skiff upon its foaming crest and carried
it forward with resistless force towards
the wall of reefs. The dwarf saw at
once the danger and the safety, without
any direction from his sister. By strong
strokes he kept the boat backing upon
the top of the wave; to keep it from being
pitched over its range, while May
steered it with unerring accuracy, keeping
its bow directly forward in the course
the wave was moving. It was a terrible
moment. Life and death hung upon it.
The huge billow on which they rode
struck the ledge with a tremendous
shock, over-leaping it high in the air,
bearing the life-boat onward with lightning
speed, amid a blinding cloud of
spray.

If the strength of the up-bearing wave
had failed, or the rocks of the reef had
covered a broader space, the boat would
have dropped like an earthen vessel from
between the hands, and been shivered to
atoms upon the black, half-submerged
ledge beneath. But the strength and
power of the huge billows held it up,
and — breathless moment!—carried it
safely over the ledge, and cast it, shear
downwards, into the foaming eddies
leeward of the rocks.

The boot went deep beneath the surface,
and for an instant May believed
that it would never rise more. But its
buoyancy and peculiar construction, rendered
it superior to the ordinary accidents
of the sea, by which other boats
have been destroyed. It threw off the
superincumbent weight of water, and
once more sought the surface. As soon
as May could catch her breath, she instinctively
caught the helm to direct the
boat's head, knowing that it would be
submerged by the next blllow, unless
propelled to a distance from the ledge.—
The dwarf, who had minded the immersion
no more than a water-dog, at her
voice, plied the locked oars, and the escaped
skiff went bounding from the roaring
surges behind it, as if conscious of
its deliverance. In a few moments they
were in a smoother sea, for the surf
stretching across the mouth of the bay,
like a sea wall, broke the fury of the
waves.

May's first emotion was gratitude to
Heaven, for her wonderful escape through
dangers so appalling; her next thought
was of her father. He was no longer insensible
as he was when taken on board,
and placed under the net; for the life-boat
was provided with small nets to
throw over persons or goods, to save
them from being washed into the sea
again. The nets were provided with
hooks which were hoooked into rings on
the gunwales. Beneath this net William
Northrop remained perfectly secure.—
But the force of the billows which could
not carry him back into the sea, restored
him to consciousness, which he had lost
by being struck in the breast by a fragment
of his boat, just as the dwarf was
reaching down to grasp him:

He now sat up and said, though confusedly—

`May, my child! Are we safe? Are
you?'

`Past all danger, dear father,' she
cried, embracing him. `Are you hurt?'

`No. I am well again,' he answered.
`Unhook the cords! There will be no
more sea to pass.'

`No, sir. We are saved; you and I,
and Tom. For a few moments I gave
up all hope!'

`Let me thank you for my life, my
child,' he said, taking her hand as she
unloosed the net-guard. `But for you,
God knows where I should now have
been!'

`Think no more of the danger. God
sent me to rescue you.'

`I shall never forget this deed, May!'

`Tom, too!'

`Yes, and Tom, too. There, my boy,
take my hand and forgive me all. I have
treated you badly. I am sorry.'

Tom gratefully grasped his father's
hand, and kissed it passionately, his
heart dissolved at once by the first kind
tones he had ever heard from his lips;
for William Northrop had hated his child
from the first day of its birth, for its deformity.

The surf-skiff was still moving swiftly
up the bay before the gale, Tom's oars
being now no longer necessary. May
sat in the stern steering, holding her father's
hand in her's; and refusing to
let him steer, though he assured her
that he was now `as good a man as ever.'

Many expressions of gratitude to his
child escaped his lips as he sat by
her; and every little while he would look
at Tom as he crouched in the bottom of the
boat to escape the wind, which chilled
him through his wet clothes, and say
kindly,

`Poor Tom! I have done thee wrong
in thy day. I will atone for it after this.'

`Yes, dear father, Tom has saved
your life, not I!' she said warmly. `If
he had refused to come, I could have
done nothing.'

`Tom is a good son. And did you
know that it was the shallop? Could
you see me from the cliff?'

`Yes; by the lightning which lighted
up all the sea like noon-day. Tom said
it was you. My fears told me it was
you, dear father; but, at all events, there
was a fellow-being in danger; and I
could not stand on shore in security and
see him perish with the means to save.'

`And so through your filial love and
humanity you have saved your father's
life, dear child!'

`I am rewarded, sir!' she answered,
with deep joyful emotion. `How is it
you have been so long away, dear father?'

`I was detained,' he answered, in a
tone that showed he had rather the enquiry
had not been made; `I hoped to
have got into the bay before the storm
reached us, or I should have run in behind
White Island, as I ought to have
done. But when I saw the little cloud in
the west, I was not more than nine miles
distant, and believed I should make the
bay; but I never saw a tornado walk so
fast as this did.'

`It came on with terrible power; I had
a misgiving that you were in it.'

`It is my luck to loose vessels—here
is the second I have lost in three months;
and in losing the shallop I have been a
greater loser than you suppose. But not
now can I tell you how. The wind
seems to be abating now—it has done its
work on me and mine. Didn't I see a
large ship dismasted running into the
bay?'

`Yes, sir—there it is,' she answered,
pointing to the place where the frigate
was anchored, about half a mile to windward
of them.

`I can see her; she looks very large,
so far as I can make her out.'

`She is an English frigate, I believe,
sir.'

`An English frigate!' repeated Northrop
quickly, and starting with evident
amazement. `She must have had a pilot;
who could have run her in? I know
of no fisherman who would do that service
for an enemy's ship; and I don't
think the frigate carries a pilot for every
bay she may be driven into in a storm.
It must be the Cœur de Lion, for I had
intelligence she was on the coast hereabouts,'
he added, in a half-musing tone.

`I do not know whether it is or not,
sir,' responded May; who did not care to
make known to her father, after the free
expression of his opinions, the agency of
her lover in saving the ship. For an instant
a painful thought passed across
her mind, that George might have incurred
a heavy responsibility by piloting the
ship in, and that he might suffer. But
she dismissed the thought, conscious that
humanity and Heaven would defend him
against all the malevolent aspersions of
his fellows.

For the rest of the passage across.
May was silent, giving her attention to
the guiding of the boat over the caressing
waters, which now served to carry it
forward rather than to menace it, as heretofore,
with destruction.

`We will not pass too near the frigate,
child,' said Northrop, as he touched the
helm and kept away a little. `We may
be ordered on board: and my fair daughter
is too sacred in my eyes to be made
the gazing stock of the rude young officers.
Keep away a little, May.'

The boat passed some distance to the
westward of the frigate and in full sight;
for the dark clouds had been driving onward
towards the north, bringing lighter
and more broken ones, till objects could
be seen indirectly, and even the dark
line of the cliffs made out from the frigate's
deck without the aid of the flashes
of lightning. These grew less and less
frequent, and the thunder rolled distinctly
in the east, as if the storm had spent
its power in that region, and was carrying
devastation and death to other scenes.

The wind also moderated, though still
blowing with resistlesa power. Gradually
as the life-boat neared the beach the
storm lulled, and here and there a solitary
star was visible in a breach in a thick
mass of clouds. William Northrop and
his daughter landed together while the
dwarf remained to empty the water out
of the boat, and carry it back whence he
had taken it. The return of the boat in
all its progress had been watched from
the cliff by George and the English crew,
and no sooner had May touched the
beach than she was in his arms. She
blushingly disengaged herself, though as
overjoyed to see that he was safe as he
was to find her so. George covered his
warmth of meeting with May by a hearty
and warm welcome of her father, though
he did not fold the old man to his heart,
or glue his lips to his.

A few words between the lovers exylained
the position and situation each
had been in. Northrop did not look very
kindly on the seven English sailors, and
being told they were wrecked, he ordered
Tom to take them on board their vessel
in the life-boat.

16. CHAPTER XVI.
The Old Man and the Youthful Pilot.

The old gsherman, Northrop, seemed
relieved as soon as the men embarked;
and George had noticed that he kept his
features concealed by turning his head
from them, and that he hastened up the
path as rapidly as he could.

`Your father is rather inhospitable towards
the English sailors,' said George.

`Yes. He does not much like the
English ever; and especially in war.'

`He seemed to avoid them in a very
marked manner, as if he feared to be
recognised. Did you observe this!'

`Yes. But don't let us speak of this,
George. We have ourselves to talk
about; and we have God to thank for
the safety of this night!'

`We have every thing to be grateful
for, dearest May. As we walk up I
will tell you how things went on board
the frigato.

When he had ended his narrative,
which took him, slow as they walked
arm in arm, till they got quite to the top
of the cliff, he demanded of her an account
of her dangerous enterprize; and
when she described her danger amid the
surf, he shuddered and caught her to his
heart.

`You seem to have been brought to
life from the dead, dearest May. But
you are safe, and I am happy. You
have no idea of the anguish I have suffered
the last three hours, pacing up and
down this cliff-top in the storm, which I
felt not, watching the sea for you. I
knew you were battling with the elements,
and felt my own impotency without
a boat to go and share with you the
dangers you voluntarily encountered.
I can hardly realise that I once more see
you in safety—fold you to my heart in
hope and joy!'

`I trembled for you, George, when I
saw you going towards the frigate, and
the storm so close upon you. I more
than once repented of my wish to have
you go, and when I fancied, as I did for
a little time, that you had been caught by
the tornado and had perished, I felt that
I should always look upon myself as your
murderer.'

`In your cause, for your sake, dearest
May, I would willingly have met death.
And how did you know that I escaped?'

`By watching the frigate's movements
in the midst of the hurricane. I watched
her until she came near Porpus Ledge,
and saw her tack and stand westward;
and then I knew that you were guiding
her destiny.'

`Sweet May, the consciousness of your
thoughts and prayers being with me; the
anticipation of your love when I should
return to you successful, gave me courage,
coolness, and skill even superiar to
myself. Your spirit seemed to stand by
my side, and bid me be calm and strong,
and fear not.'

`I was by you, George. My heart
was more in the ship with you than in
my own bosom. It was while lingering
over you at the helm, in your pathway
through the storm, that I beheld the shallop
contending with the winds and waves
in the offing. You know the result.'

`Brave and generous May,' he said,
pressing her hands in his. `Now, as
humanity makes no more demands upon
you to-night, for the hurricane has subsided
into a smart gale only, you had
best seek your pillow. You need repose.'

`Not more than you, George?'

`I will throw myself down on the floor
in your father's room; for he will doubtless
need sleep after the extraordinary
fatigues of the night. To-morrow, love,
we will again see each other, I will
dream of you and of my happiness.'

They were now at the door of the cottage.
William Northrop was already inside,
removing his wet jacket for a drier.
May said a few words of affection to her
faer, and then, at his reiterated desire,
sought her couch; but she did not retire
so secretly that George did not meet her
in the entry and steal from her lips a
sweet good night. How pure and innocent
was that love.

He then entered the room where William
Northrop sat, smoking a pipe which
he had just lighted. He was thinking of
his escape, of his daughter's courage and
affection; and trying to lift his heart to
God for his goodness in permitting him
to live. He knew not how to pray, that
man of a wicked life. He could only
sit and smoke, and try to make his heart
move with thankfulness. But May knew
the path of prayer often trod by the feet
of her pure spirit. She had no sooner
closed the door than she knelt, dripping
as her garments were with the salt-sea
spray, by her little bed, and raising her
seraphic countenance to Heaven, with
eyes beaming faith and love, thanked
God her Father for his great mercies to
herself, to her father, and to George.

William Northrop's gratitude went up
in smoke and was as substantial and
abiding; but hers was written down by
the golden pen of the recording angel.

George, too happy to talk, threw himself
upon the floor, simply saying:—
`Good night, master William.' He
wished to lay and think of May, so long
hopelessly loved, now fairly won and his
own for ever. Oh, what joy to the good
to be loved by the pure and beautiful.

`Who was the pilot of that ship,
George?' asked Northrop, as the lover
lay dreaming, awake, of May. `She had
a pilot I am sure, or she would not have
been where she is now.'

As William Northrop said this, he
knocked the ashes from his pipe, and
replaced it in his lips.

`It was I, sir,' answered George.

`You? Do you mean to say that you
piloted that ship in?' cried Northrop,
in a loud, angry tone of surprise.

`Yes, sir,' answered George, firmly.

`I have been thinking who on the coast
was traitor enough to have done it. And
so you are he?' thundered the fisherman,
rising up. `Stand on your feet,
and let me look at you.'

George was already upon his feet,
surprised at the violent manner of the
old man. He was also struck by his expression
of `traitor.' He turned pale,
and a strange feeling passed over him.

`What harm was there, sir, in tacking
the ship in?' he said calmly. `She was
in peril; and her signals guns were firing
an hour before I started.'

`Let them fire. She was an enemy.
It would have been a service to have let
her be wrecked.'

`I did not think of her being an enemy
so much as I—' Here he stopped full.
He was about to continue `as I thought

of May's wishes.' But he recollected in
good time that her father never liked his
visits to her; and had better be kept in
ignorance in his present mood of her influence
over him. Besides, he feared if
he mentioned her name he might visit
her with that anger which he saw gathering
against himself. He therefore terminated
his answer with—`as I thought
of the duties of humanity!'

`Humanity!' repeated William Northrop,
with a sneer. `You have done
work this night, young man, that you
ought to swing for!'

`I have saved the lives of five hundred
human beings, Master William,' answered
George, firmly. `I do not think I
can be censured for this.'

`We shall see!' responded the old
man with significant emphasis. `We
shall see! How came that boat wrecked
with the English sailors I found on
the beach?' he demanded, moodily.

`In bringing me off!'

`What became of your own boat?'

`It was swamped along side when I
went on board!'

`Did you take any one with you?'

`Buttermilk!'

`Humph! Two of you! very well.
What did the English Captain pay you?'

`He offered me money but I refused
all recompense!'

`You did!' repeated Northrop, looking
him in the face with surprise.

`Yes; I believe the black took something.'

`And so you piloted this English ship
of war into the bay for love!' he said,
sarcastically.

`Yes, sir, for love,' responded George,
with peculiar emphasis, and a slight
smile upon his fine face.

`It was your duty to have wrecked
her on the Porpus!'

`And lost my own life, Master William!'

`You had better have been drowned
than hanged, as you are liked to be!'

`Hanged, Captain Northrop?' exclaimed
George, starting at the word with indignation
not unmixed with alarm; for
he was young and ignorant of the laws
of the land; and did not know but that
his having piloted the ship in would
would bring his head into peril.

`Yes, young man. The ship is, you
say, an English frigate! You knew it
to be such when you heard her signals.
You went knowingly on board of her;
and you piloted her, an enemy's ship,
safely into the bay; when without your
aid she would have been lost!'

`There is little doubt of that, sir. I
feel sure she would have been wrecked.
If I have done wrong, I still have the
satisfaction of knowing that I have saved
the lives of half a thousand men!'

`Here are your countrymen killing
Englishmen every day wherever they
can meet them, and you are risking your
own life to save an English ship containing
five hundred of them; and preserving
her and them to do us an injury!'

`I am sorry, sir,' answered George,
`that I have done wrong. But I cannot
undo what is done!' His conscience
now showed him plainly that the old
man's words were based on truth. He
had, as the reader will remember, opposed
going on board in the outset, advancing
precisely similar arguments to
May. But love had over-ruled his patriotic
prejudices. He now felt that he was
guilty of the very thing which Northrop
charged him with; and was not entirely
free from apprehensions of the result.

`But if I suffer, it will be sweet to
know it was for May's sake!' he said,
cheerfully.

`You can undo what you have done,
young man!' said William Northrop,
coming close up to him as he stood leaning
against the wainscoating by the door,

and speaking in an under tone and in a
very impressive manner.

`How?' cried George Hunnewell,
with eagerness.

`The ship is dismasted in port. It
will take her two or three days, or more,
to refit. She will then want a pilot out!'

`Yes, sir!'

`Don't you understand me?'

`I do not know that you mean anything
more than I hear, Master William.'

`You are very dull, or see fit to be so.
The frigate, I say, will want a pilot out!'

`I would not pilot her. I was asked
and refused to do it!'

`You must do it! You must go on
board and offer to do it!'

`You but now have accused me, as
also my conscience almost has done, of
being a traitor by piloting the frigate in!'

`Your only course is now to pilot her
out and redeem your folly in bringing
her in, by wrecking her on the Porpus
ledge!'

`Wreck her, sir!'

`Yes. It is your only course to avoid
the consequences that will otherwise follow
you!'

`I will not be a party to such a crime,
sir,' answered George, with a kindling
eye. `I am ashamed to have any man
believe that I could do such a deed. It
is not in me, Master William Northrop.
I am not the man!'

`You are not. Very well. You will
have to take the consequences!'

`I am willing to abide the result of
what I have done,' he answered, firmly.
As the storm seems to be passing off,
and the sky is clear in the west, I will
try and reach home across the hills.
Good night, Master Northrop!'

`Good night. To-morrow I hope you
will think better of my suggestion.'

`I can give you no other answer than
that I have already made,' answered the
young man, as he left the room and passed
out of doors.

The wind still blew high but the clouds
had been driven eastward, and lay piled
up near the horizon in vast black masses,
from which the far-off lightning gleamed,
and the low muttering thunder came.
Over-head all was star-bright; and the
moon two hours high was struggling
through a squadron of white clouds, the
rear-guard of the storm.

17. CHAPTER XVII.
The Indian Messenger.

During the succeeding three days the
weather had been bright and clear, and
the English frigate had succeeded in
setting a mizzen-mast complete, with all
her top-hamper, and in rigging a jury-main-mast.
She could obtain no spar,
and had none on board large enough for
a new mast. By going on shore, and cutting
down a white pine, which the Captain
at first thought of doing, he might
have completely refitted his vessel; but
this would consume too much time, and
he was anxious to get away with such
repairs as he could make before the rumor
of his situation should be conveyed
o Boston, where he knew an American
frigate and gun-brig lay. That such information
would be at once conveyed the
morning after the storm, he had no doubt
whatever; and he was anxious to be at
sea again, on his way to Halifax, to complete
his refit.

He was not out in his conjectures. By
the early dawn of the morning after the
storm a messenger was on his way to
Boston Bay, in a canoe rigged with a sail.
The messenger was an Indian, the uncle
of young White Teeth.

William Northrop had early sought
his hut, about a mile in the depths of the
forest, by the side of a fresh-water lake.
The old chief, for chief he had been in
the day when his tribe was numerous and
strong, and he still looked the old warrior,
was on the alert at the door of his
camp, clearing his rifle preparatory to
the day's hunt.

`Hooh! Who goes?' he called as he
caught a glimpse, through the dusk of
the morning, of Northrop's figure in the
narrow woodland path; and the brought
his rifle to his shoulder, though it was
evidently unloaded.

`It is me, William.'

`Good. Come to camp. How you
do? Yo bin go way moosh times!'

`Yes. I got back last night,' answered
Northrop, seating himself on a log to
rest, for the walk had been long, and his
combat with the waves the night before
had weakened him, so that he was not yet
half the strong man he was when himself.

`Where, boy?' asked the chief, winding
a piece of dried grass about the screw
of his ram-rod and thrusting it into the
muzzle of his gun.

`Boy turn up by and by. I come to
see you, Natanah, not about your boy,
but on great business.'

`Great business. Good! Boy be
home by'm by.'

`Yes, and by,' answered Northrop,
who did care to introduce the unpleasant
information of his loss, lest he should not
get him to attend so promptly to the service
he had in view for him. `There is
a King's ship in the bay.'

`In you' bay, Will'm?' asked the Indian,
amazed.

`Yes—a big war-ship. She was driven
in last night by the storm. She will remain
two or three days to repair dam
ages.'

`Me sell 'em some game. Me get
much bukash—much monies.'

`I will give you more money than you
can ever get by selling them game, if
you do as I wish. Besides, it will be a
crime to sell to the enemy.'

`What Will'm say to Natanah?'

`He wants you to take your canoe
and start at once, this hour, this moment,
and strike across the Casco Bay, and so
up the harbor to Portland. You will
reach there before night. You will at
once go to the officer in commrnd of the
forces there, and give him this tobacco-box.'

As he spoke, he placed in the Indian's
hand an old oval japanned box that was
fastened by a clasp.

`This box contains a letter to him,
telling him the English ship is here, and
telling him to despatch an express to
Boston to the commander of the frigate
there.'

`Good. Now what bukkeesh you
give Indian if he go?' asked the wiley
and money-loving savage.

`I will give you twenty silver dollars
and two jugs of rum when you come
back.'

The Indian's eyes sparkled with pleasure.

`Give Natanah five doller before, and
he go.'

`Done. Now hasten to your boat
and be as secret as the wind in a calm
day.'

`Natanah true man good,' responded
the Indian impressively, placing his hand
on his heart.

`I can trust you. Where is your canoe?'

`At the rock.'

`Go, then, at once. I will walk with
you to your canoe, and see you start.'

The Indian returned into his hut, and
bringing forth a blanket and jug, and a
bunch of squirrels and a few birds, with
which he had an eye to a market in the
city, he flung his rifle across his arm,
and shutting the lodge, walked away to
the left by a path just discernible. Northrop
followed him steadily for about a
mile, when they came to the sea-shore,
where a narrow inlet made up into the
land. The sun was rising as they descended
to the beach, and flinging far
and wide his golden splendor over ocean,
isle and main.

`The sea rolls high yet, Natanah!' he
said, looking over the scene, now magnificently
contrasting the stormy night.

`Yiss, Will'm. Indian canoe not mind
him. Plenty bukeesh come by'm by.'

`There is not any more wind than
would fan a lady. Keep well out to
avoid the surf there on Gull Point Reef;
it rolls and tumbles there as if it would
keep it up for twenty-four hours more.'

The Indian was now busily launching
his birch canoe, which was concealed in
a larch thicket, above the highest flow of
the sea. It was so light, that he carried
it on his shoulder and placed it in the
water. He now put in his jug, his blanket,
and rifle, and then delayed to grasp
Northrop by the hand in token of faithfulness,
and to ask him for the boy.

`The boy will be safe enough till you
come back. Think only of what you
have to do.

`When you reach the city, make no
stop—touch no whiskey—speak to no
man; but hasten to the General in command,
and place the box in his hand.'

Natunah promised to do this, and
sprung into his boat, and raised its little
gossimer like sail. He turned its bow
from the shore, and seating himself in
the centre with his paddle, glided rapidly
away from the land, the sail filling and
stretching out far ahead of him. The
waves yet rolled heavily, but the light
bark danced over them with a swift and
joyous motion, and each moment lessened

to the eye of the old fisherman. It
steered for a passage between two islands
which lay to the west, and after passing
these, was to wind its way among the
numerous isles of the great Bay of Casco,
till it should reach its destination twenty
four miles distant.

Northrop now turned away, satisfied
that the message was safely on its way,
and began to follow a path over the
height of land which soon brought him
in full sight of the frigate at anchor in
his bay; for the inlet from which the
Indian had set sail was westward farther,
and separated from it by the promontory
that formed the western arm of Northrop's
Bay.

The deck of the frigate was already
in bustle. Shears were being rigged,
and every thing preparing to refit. She
was a noble looking ship, with her dark,
warlike hull, and battlements of cannon.
There was no flag at her fore-top, to designate
her nation; and Northrop attributed
the absence of it, to a desire to be
as little auspicious as possible.

He stood some minutes watching the
ship, and then made his way towards his
cottage. Near it he was met by May,
who on seeing him ran to embrace him.

`Dear father, how thankful I ought to
be, that I have been the instrument of
your safety. I could scarcely realise,
when I awaked this morning, that all
was not a dream.

`How fares it with you, child, after
the fatigues of the night?' he ask in a
kindly tone.

`Well, sir. I do not feel them at all.
I am so glad you have spoken pleasantly
to Tom. He is the happiest of the happy!'

`Poor witless wretch!'

`No, father—he is not a wretch. He
is not witless. He has a large heart,
and feels every kindness, as well as any
act of hostility. A word makes him an
enemy—a word makes him a friend!—
I hope, father, you will never speak
harshly to him again.'

`I will not. He has done me good
service. But I never supposed that the
dwarf had any feeling,' answered Northrop
coarsely.

`He is as sensitive as a child. He is
all feeling, father. I can tell him a
child's tale and make him weep; and I
can relate to him a deed of cruelty, and
he is roused into ferocity of indignation.
He would be faithful to you and useful,
if you would have confidence in him.'

`I will see what I can make of him.
I have something to say to you touching
another than Tom.'

`Who is it, sir?' she asked, blushing
as if she half guessed who he meant.

`It is George Hunnewell,' he answered,
in a tone as if he did not like the
person, whose name he uttered.

May started and turned pale. She
began to fear at once that her father had
heard that George had piloted the ship
in, and that he was angry at it; because
she knew his deep hatred for the English,
even before the war.

`What of him, sir?'

`He is a traitor! What was he doing
here last night talking apart with you.—
I noticed it: for I never let you escape
me when I am with you. I see and
hear all. He acted like a lover. You
treated him as if he were one, and one
well liked too! How is this that the
wind has changed so, since I went away
from home ten days ago?'

`He, that is sir—I—I mean to say
that George has —'

`I see how it is. Your embarrassment
is more eloquent than any confession
of your love. But, you shall not
see him again. If I opposed his tender
visits to you once, I will do it now, for
I will have no traitor to be a son-in-law
of mine!'

`He is not a traitor, sir!' she answered
warmly.

`He piloted the English frigate into
the harbour.'

`And therefore he deserves the appellation
of the friend of humanity.'

`So! The tide flows this way, does
it?' he said, in a deep voice of displeasure.
`You love this young man, then,
and approve too of his treachery.'

`Father, if there is treason, I alone
am to blame!' she answered earnestly.

`You?'

`Yes, dear father. It was at my request—my
earnest entreaty, that he
went out to the aid of the frigate. Voluntarily
he would not have gone; for he
believed that it would be a wrong for
which he could be punished by his country.
This he said to me. But I assured
him that it would rather be regarded as
an act of humanity. I urged him to go.
I removed his objections and he embarked.
If he has incurred the censure of
men, I alone am to blame, father.'

`You shall never take the blame on
yourself, child. I am amazed at this!
The young man has done an act that
will hang him.'

`It cannot. It was a noble act. He
would have deserved death had he stood
on the cliff, and permitted the frigate to
go to pieces! He has done no wrong,
sir; nor have I, in urging him to do
what he did!'

`May never speak again to a human
being of your part and agency, if you
love me or heed my commands.'

`I obey you, sir, only so long as my
silence does not cause any evil to befall
George!'

`I command you to be silent without
any condition. George Hunnewell must
take care of himself.'

`Father, I cannot be silent and George
come to harm! If he is to be blamed I
must also speak.'

`He shall not come to harm. Let the
matter rest between us,' he said, suddenly
changing his manner to one of
kindness. `Speak of it to no one else.
I will maybe pass it by.'

`I trust so,' she answered, with a sad
smile, as if still feeling that some evil to
her lover might yet come out of it. Her
father now left her and went down to the
beach, while she re-entered the cottage
to prepare breakfast.

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
The Pilot.

The third afternoon after the storm
found the British frigate ready for sea, at
least so far as it was possible to refit her
in the bay. Her commander had been
three or four times on shore during the
interval, and had visited the cottage of
William Northrop; but this man always
kept out of the way, carefully avoiding
being seen by him. May offered to the
English officer, with a grace and courtesy
which charmed every one, the hospitalities
of her humble home; and when the
officers spoke of George, the young pilot,
and asked about him, and praised him,
and told how he had refused money for
his services, her maidenly cheek was enriched
with the sweet blushes of pleasure.
Indeed, so apparent was her interest in
the young fisherman, that Captain Howard
Morpeth felt satisfied she was his betrothed.

On the afternoon on which the ship
prepared to go to sea, the captain was
again on shore. He went to the house
alone, and seeing May in the door, the
parrot perched upon her wrist, he lifted
his cap in homage to her beauty, and
said,

`I have called, fair maid, to bid you
good by, and to beg you will accept this
little gift, in testimony of your hospitality.'

`I thank you, sir, but I can take nothing
from you. I have done only what
my heart has prompted. You owe me
nothing, sir.'

`Very well; if you will not accept the
bracelet, Poll, your favorite, shall.'

With this he fastened upon the emerald
enamelled neck of the Parrot the
rich bracelet which he had displayed to
her eyes.

May smiled at the act and the manner
in which he did it, but said nothing either
in assent or dissent.

`There,' said the captain to the bird,
`wear that for your fair mistress, unti
she shall one day relent and rob you of
it.'

`How's the wind! Sail ho!' chattered
the Parrot, in a shrill, self-confident
tone, that made both the captain and
May laugh.

`Ah, you here, black?' said the captain,
as Buttermilk came forward.
`Where is young master?'

`Massa Jorge?'

`Yes. I want him to pilot me out.'

`He nebber do dat, massa. 'Sides
massa Jorge aint at home. He been
gone, gone away ebber since yesterday
aternoon.'

`George gone?' exclaimed May with
surprise, and turning pale. `Where?'

`Don't know, Missus. 'Spect he only
keep out ob de way till de frigate gone.'

`Then you must pilot me out, my
man,' said the captain looking dissatisfied,
for he had come on shore hoping to prevail
on his young pilot to take the frigate
to sea.

`What massa captain pay?' asked the
subtle African.

`I will give you twenty guineas to take
the frigate a league beyond the head
lands of the bay.'

`Done, massa,' responded Buttermilk.
`I take my skiff along too, to come back
in.'

`Yes. Will you go on board now?'

`D'rectly,' answered Buttermilk, and
he went round to the rear of the cottage,
and entering a boat-shed, removed a flat
stone, beneath which he had deposited
his gold. He looked at it minutely to
see if it was all there undisturbed, and
then replaced the stone.'

`Dat ere gold safe. It a big nice nest
egg for massa Jorge some day when he
get poor man. He nebber know it now;
but it do him some good sometime.' He
had no sooner dropped the stone than he
saw Tom approaching.

`Ah, Tom dear, I hope is better?'

`I am well, Milk. The hard row that
night of the storm had like to have killed
Tom.'

`You speaks as you hab a berry heabby
cold now. I hope it aint de 'fluenza.'

`Are you going to pilot the frigate
out?'

Yes. Me niggah citizen. Me no
American. Same to Buttermilk English
or American. White men al like to Buttermilk.
Captain pay me yeller gold.'

`If I acted as pilot of that frigate I
would beach her on the Porpus.'

`Dat would be wicked. I nebber do
such ting as dat. I get her out safe, if I
say so, Tom. Dat work ony fit for de
debble heself.'

`You shall not pilot her. Father says
I may.'

`I see you hab mischief in your eye.
No, no, Tom; me pilot her safe.'

`You must wreck her if you go on
board,' said the dwarf, firmly.

`No, nebber do dat. Can't be wicked:
bad like dat. Nebber, nebber,' answered
the negro, shaking his head.

`Very well. Stay here a moment.'

Tom left him, and passing into the
house, called in a low tone to his father,
who was concealed in the surf-boat, so
that he could see and hear all that passed
beneath him, The English captains
words had not missed his ear, at any
time he had been at the house. Secure
in his covert, he watched all that transpired.
The officer had shaken hands
with May with friendly politeness, and
departed, asking her to send the negro
down to the beach.

William Northrop on seeing Tom enter,
rose and met him on the ladder which
led to the loft.

`He refuses to wreck her, father,'
said Tom.

`Then you must go on board in his
place.'

`Will you give your consent then?'

`Yes; if you do it handsomely on the
part of the reef I told you.'

`You promise, without any change of
mind, that if I wreck the frigate, father,
you will not complain against brave
George.'

`It is your only way to save him from
being strung up.'

`And you promise that he shall marry
May, too.'

`I promise both,' answered Northrop
with a resolute tone, `and I assure you
that if you fail or falter you shall die by
my hand.'

`Then I will do it. The officer has
gone down to the beach. Buttermilk is
in the boat-shed.'

`I will have him secure in a moment.
He will find it better for him to have
done as we wished. Go at once after
the captain, and tell him that you are to
take the black's place. Tell him the negro
could not be trusted; as in truth he
cannot by us.'

The dwarf hastened through the entry
to go on his mission of crime, while William
Northrop went to the shed. Here
he could find nothing of the negro; and
after searching around some time, returned
to the house; but cautiously, for
fear that he might be seen by some of
the English officers, whom he every moment
carefully kept hid from.

`Where are you going, Tom?' asked
May, seeing him come out; for she had
been to the verge of the cliff to look for
a sail, which she had heard several voices
say was in sight. She had discovered it
in the western board close under the
island called Nettle Rock, and about
twelve miles distant.

`I am going to pilot the frigate out,'
answered Tom.

`I thought Buttermilk was going to do
this.'

`No; he wont wreck her.'

`Won't what?'

`Wont wreck her on the Porpus.'

`And do you mean to do this?'

`To be sure I do.'

`What do you mean, brother? Who
has set you up to this black deed?' she
cried with horror.

`Who? Love for you, May, and for
George, who loves you?' he answered
bluntly.

`Love for me! How can this be?'
she asked, perplexed.

`Why you know Geerge 'll be hanged
for getting her in safe!' answered Tom,
very positively.

`I do not know any such thing.'

`Well, if you don't, I do. The old
man was so mad he swore up and down
he would have him complained of, if only
to prevent his having you for his wife.'

`When did my father say this?'

`To-day, and yesterday, and day before.
Now he says that if I will pilot the
ship and wreck her on the Porpuses, he
'll let George marry you, and wont complain
to the government.'

`Did he speak so?'

`Yes; and he says it's the only way
to save George's neck for me to wreck
the frigate.'

`And you resolve to do it?'

`Yes; because I know you love
George and that George loves you. I'd
wreck fifty frigates so you might be mar
ried to him and to keep him from coming
to harm! Don't stop me. The boats
are ready to go on board.'

May was in a painful position. She
feared to detain her brother, lest she
should anger her father, whose vengeance
she feared. She trembled to let
him go on his message of death. She
knew not what to do. That George had
placed himself in a critical situation by
bringing in the frigate, she had already
began to be convinced; but the idea of
saving him from the consequences, and
of securing her father's consent to her
union with him, by permitting such a
wholesale murder as her father contemplated,
was not to be entertained for an
instant. The thought of it froze her
blood with horror.

`Tom, where is my father?'

`Here!' responded William Northrop,
coming forward from behind a group of
trees from which he had satisfied himself
that the officers and crew were all on the
beach below, and would not be likely to
ascend again. `Here, May! and I am
here to forbid you to detain your brother.
He has my orders!'

`He shall not go and do this iniquitous
thing, dear father!' she said firmly, but
with a cheek as colourless as marble.

`Then the consequences be upon you,
and if George Hunnewell swings for
what he has done, thank yourself. You
urged him to do what he did and now that
you can save him, you hesitate. Out
upon such love as your's for him!'

`Father, I am yet to learn that George
is in peril.'

`That you may be sure of. I have
this day seen an officer from Bath who
has come hither on purpose to arrest him.'

`At whose information?' she asked
with grief and indignation.

`Not at mine! The rumor went on
the winds, bearing intelligence of the
reasonable aid rendered by the young

man to every ear. That very frigate has
for weeks shut the mouth of the Kennebec
and ruined the commerce of its towns.
That very frigate has captured no less
than twenty-seven vessels, and impressed
half their crews, making prisoners of the
residue. That very frigate, saved from
wreck and turned loose again upon the
ocean to plunder the defenceless seamen,
would have landed troops at Wiscasset
and fired and laid waste the town and
country, but for the gathering of force to
defend the place. This dangerous vessel
your lover, George Hunnewell, has
involuntarily rescued from shipwreck that
was inevitable. It is not as if he had
been taken from a fishing-boat at sea
and compelled to pilot her in. This
would have been a different affair altogether.
But he left the land and rowed
out to her of his own free will. What
more could an English fisherman have
done? What more could the foullest
traitor have done!'

`Poor George!'

`Already the land has branded him
with the appellation of traitor. Already
his name is ringing from tongue to
tongue, from Maine to the central capital
of the country. You may well cover
your face, girl, and groan `poor George!'

`Father, oh is this so?'

`Is it so? I tell you what is truth.'

`What can save him? Oh, tell me,
for I am alone to blame!'

`Silence, and never say that of yourself
again. It will do no good to him,
and only commit yourself, and perhaps
bring mischief upon you. I offered him
safety, but he refused it.'

`How? In what way?'

`That he should pilot the frigate out
again and undo what he had so foolishly
done.'

`By wilfully wrecking her?'

`Yes.'

`And he refused safety on these terms?'

`He did.'

`Noble George! Had he accepted it,
sir, I should have spurned him.'

`Very well. If heroism is better than
life, let him have his choice.'

`And you would now send Tom—my
poor brother, to do this deed?'

`Yes. See! While I talk with you
here, he is already on the beach. Stay!
You cannot prevent him. It is too late.
The boat is already off with him. If you
call and tell them not to trust him, they
will kill him for his treachery!'

`What can I do?' she cried, clasping
her hands in agony. `God protect the
ship from the evil meditated. Oh, father,
this desire to destroy the ship is not for
love of George!'

`No. It is a deadly hatred of the
English. I would have offered myself
as pilot, but that I feared my face might
be known on her deck by some one. But
Tom will do as well. He believes he
serves you and George by it; and this
notion in his head, you could get him to
blow up the globe itself.'

19. CHAPTER XIX.
The Strange Sail.

The maiden stood amazed with grief
and anger. She felt that there was no
safety now for the ship, but in the interposing
providence of God.

`You have no right, sir, to take advantage
of my brother's love for me, to
make him do this great crime.'

`I will answer you in your own words.
Did you not take advantage of George
Hunnewell's love for you, to make him
pilot that ship in?'

`Father, you speak of George,' she
said, suddenly. `Where is he? I heard
the negro say that he had not been at
home since last evening. He said that
he had hid to escape going pilot in the
frigate.'

`I don't know what has become of
him,' answered William Northrop, without
looking her in the face. `Doubtless
he is hid at some of the Indian camps.'

`If he did not wish to pilot the ship,
there was no body to compel him. It
can't be for this he has absented himself.
—I fear that some evil has happened to
him!'

`There goes the frigate's gun, the signal
for sailing,' exclaimed her father, as
if not wishing to reply to her question.—
`See how the convass unfolds itself like
great white wings, and spreads its volumes
upon the air. The wind is a strong
eight knotter, and will give her a firm
headway for Tom's purpose.'

`Oh, horrible. Father, save them.'

`It is too late were I so inclined. But
I would never stretch out a hand to save
all the English in England from perishing.
Ha! there is a sail in the west.—
Square-rigged and large. Now this is
my man for a hundred.'

`What man?'

`An American frigate. Three days
ago I dispatched Natanah to Portland to
give immediate information of the situation
of the ship in the bay here; and
letting the authorities know what an easy
prize she would be. That vessel is the
ready response.'

The strange sail had also been discovered
from the ship, and the preparations
for getting under weigh were hastened.
In a few minutes the frigate
moved slowly from her anchorage, and
with the sun shining brightly upon her
blood-red flag, moved down the bay.

`That is an American frigate,' said the
fisherman. `I can't be mistaken now.
She comes on at a slapping pace. I begin
to feel sorry that I ordered Tom to
wreck her. I should like to have seen
an action between them. But the American
will only come up to find her enemy
going to pieces on the rocks.'

`Oh, horrible!' cried May, with deep
emotion.

`See! The English vessel hauls the
wind. What is this manœuvre. She is
tacking and running back to her moorings.
What can this mean? I see now.
She is satisfied that she cannot help coming
to action if she runs out, (for by this
time they can make out with their glass
what the stranger is,) and so seeks shelter
in the bay, trusting to its difficult entrance.
She would rather be blockaded
than risk a fight with her imperfect repairs.
That is it, depend on it.'

`Then I am rejoiced. Tom cannot
have an opportunity of wrecking her.'

`No; but the American, if he has a
pilot, will come closely in and attack
her, whenever she can lay her aboard.—
See how gallantly the Yankee frigate
marches on.'

The interest of the scene was naturally
increasing. The American frigate
was about four miles off, when she displayed
her colours, and fired a gun to
leeward. The Englishman took no notice
of it, but running up the bay came
to anchor with springs on her cables,
farther in shore than she had been anchored
before, and close under the cliff,
leaving a shoal between her position and
any direct approach abeam. Here, full
in sight of Northrop, May and the Indian,
who had joined them, they prepared for
action and desperate resistance. The
American came abreast of the harbour,
and signalized, as Northrop supposed,
for a pilot.

`I will answer that,' cried Northrop.

`Stay, father. There goes another
signal, and a gun is fired. It may not
be for a pilot, for she is again standing
in!'

`You are right. It was a challenge
for the Englishman to come out. John
Bull remains doggedly silent. Now, my
girl, we shall look down upon the first
fight ever our eyes beheld.'

`Not mine. I could not bear to see
men slay each other. Oh, that peace
would reign here this day, instead of
war!'

`That American ship has a pilot, May,
and one who knows the channel as well
as he does the way to his mouth. See
how he hugs the bold rock, and now luffs
to pass the little Egg shoal, which has
not a buoy to mark it, and can only be
known by the best pilots. Look at that
sudden keeping away as she turns the
head-land. The channel there is hardly
broader than the frigate's beam, and she
keeps it as if it was fenced out for her.
I would lay you a wager that the man
who is at that helm, was born and raised
about this bay. I know of but one person
who could take a ship in so, as this
one is walking in.'

`And he—'

`Is old Hunnewell, the uncle of young
George. But he is blind now, and good
for nothing. Now watch her double the
Porpus ledge. That was done just as I
should have done it!'

`In the same way George brought the
English frigate in!'

`It was a bad way for him as he will
find ere he grows older. If I did not
know better I should say he was in that
Yankee frigate, with his hand upon her
helm. But it can't be?'

`Can't be? You speak as if you knew
where George is?'

`I don't know.'

`Then why may it not be he? We
know not where he is.'

`He couldn't very well have gone to
Boston and now come down in her since
yesterday afternoon, when they say, he
was at home. He did not know the ship
was coming to hunt up the Englishman.
I did not trust him with the secret, lest
he should blab!'

`He should never have breathed it,
sir. This is a difficult matter, father.—
George would sacredly have kept the
secret. To have betrayed the knowledge
of it to the English captain and given him
an opportunity te escape, that would have
been treason. George is incapable of
any such treachery. To save, an enemy's
ship from wreck in a storm is one
thing, and to warn her of an enemy's approach
is another. You wronged him,
sir. I helieve if George had known that
this frigate was coming, he would have
gladly gone on to Boston, and came
down in her to pilot her in.'

`Nay, sir, he would not have hesitated,
after he had got the English ship
into port in safety, and so done his duty
in that point, to have been the messenger
to bring the American ship down upon
her to capture her.'

`If he had done so, he might have
saved himself from the fate that is likely
to be his.'

`Sir, you know something of him.
You speak mysteriously. What meaning
lies beneath that dreadful look?'

`I know nothing about him; at least,
I can't talk now. I am too busy watching
these ships. We shall have a fair
fight of it. See how the English make
ready on their deck! They mean to
make a desperate resistance. The American
is her equal in guns and men. See
how gallantly she comes into the bay,
with royals aloft and topsails on the caps.
She is taking in sail, and means to take
the matter coolly. There goes up her
fighting flag; and see the flash! She fires
a gun to leeward in defiance. Hark!
the shot has struck the cliff directly above
the frigate's stern. There will be warm
work soon down there, Natanah!'

`Hoogh! Yes. White man make
blood plenty now. Big fight by'm bye.
Me bring dat ship.'

`Oh, what a dreadful stillness! it is
awful to see that noble ship come on so
charged with death,' said May. `I cannot
look longer.'

`Courage, girl,' said William Northrop,
his face beaming with warlike animation.
`I would give all I am worth
to be in the melee. Look on and see
now. They will soon come to the muzzle.
But I would like to know who is at
the helm of that ship!'

The American was now within half a
mile of the English frigate, and as she
was advancing she was clewing up and
getting ready for action. She stood on
past the Englishman's beam, and then
tacked just where she should to avoid
and pass inside of the shoal, beyond
which the Cœur de Lion had anchored.

`Now the man that is at the helm of
that frigate is either George Hunnewelt
or the devil in his shape.'

`It is George! I know him even at
this distance!' almost shrieked May
Fawn.

`I do believe it is he and no one else,'
answered Northrop with a look of amazement,
which, as his opinion became confirmed
by a closer survey, changed into
displeasure. `They have deceived me,
the villains!' he uttered. `Here, when I
supposed he was safe in the Bath jail, I
find him piloting the American frigate
in and bringing her up in line of battle
with the very English frigate for saving
which I had hoped to have had him
hanged.'

May waved her hand and her scarf to
the frigate, and saw with tears of joy that
her signal was seen and answered by
George.

It was indeed her lover, and by his
side was also recognised the Indian lad,
`White Teeth.'

We will now show the reader, as in
duty bound, how they both came there.

William Northrop's hostility to him
has already been seen. He had never
spoken kindly to him since he first saw
that he came to the cottage to visit his
daughter. He opposed his suit for her
hand and treated him rudely. He forbade
him to visit the bay or speak to May in
any place.

The maiden had always liked George,
and felt pleased whenever he came to
see her. But still she did not return his
passion with that warmth which he looked
for. Indeed, she disguised her real
feelings, which were kindly, under an
air of pretty coquettry. She did not wish
to be too proud and too happy all at once.

But the storm and the danger of the

English frigate, as we have seen, created
a revolution in her feelings; and the price
of her love became the safety of the endangered
ship.

When Northrop, after his rescue, saw
how rapidly affairs had ripened, his bitterness
against the young man was increased.
It made but little difference with
William Northrop whether George Hunnewell
had piloted an English or a Dutch
ship into the bay and saved her, though
he would gladly the Englishman should
have perished. But he saw that by taking
advantage of this act of the young
man's, he could have him arrested as a
traitor, and so for ever removed from the
presence of May.

There was no particular reason why
he should dislike George more than any
others of the smart young fishermen who
had set their caps for May; only that he
was the most successful one, The truth
was, William Northrop was so jealous of
his daughter's love, that he feared to
have her affections turned upon any one
save himself. She was all he loved on
earth; and he was resolved that he should
be all that she loved.

This was the secret of his hatred to
George.

The day after the escape of the frigate
in so masterly a manner, William Northrop
walked over to the cabin where
George lived. He found him reposing
after the great fatigues he had passed
through. He had a short interview with
him, in which he urged him to pilot the
frigate out again and wreck her; and by
this means undo what he had done. The
wily old sherman, in this, hoped that
either George's life would be lost in the
wreck, or that he would be shot by the
English Captain as soon as the ship
struck. But George refused, fearing to
be a party to such a base proceeding
and William Northrop left him in a great
rage and with many menaces.

From the cabin he went secretly to
Bath, a few miles distant, and laid before
the authorities the facts of the assistance
afforded the English ship. The authorities
at once saw in the young man an
enemy to his country and a friend to the
English; and by Northrop's advice measures
were secretly taken for his arrest.

The next afternoon William Northrop
called again on George and asked him if
he had repented.

`No, sir,' answered George firmly.

`I have come to say I will consent to
your union with May if you will consent
to wreck this frigate in piloting her out.'

`It is an inducement that nothing but
a crime would suffer me to pass by unimproved,
sir. Much as I love May, I
will not make myself unworthy of her by
such a deed of murder. No, sir, I cannot
do it. She would not ask me to do it:
she would scorn me if I did so base a
thing for her pure love.'

`Well, then, let the matter drop now.
Come, walk with me homeward, and let
us see and talk with May.'

Unsuspicious of treachery, George accompanied
him; but he had gone with
him but a quarter of a mile from the door
when, as they were passing a thicket,
three men sprung upon the young pilot
and secured him as a prisoner `in,' as
they said, `the name of the State.'

20. CHAPTER XX.
The Tin-case.

The young man was borne rudely off
bound; and although William Northrop
pretended to protest against it, George
saw clearly enough that he was party to
the attack upon him. His captors took
him along a rocky path by the shore until
they come to a road in a deep pine forest,
when they placed him upon a horse
and walked by his side through the
gloomy wood.

He was cheerful and by no means intimidated
by his situation; and questioning
his captors found he was arrested for
having voluntarily piloted the English
frigate into the bay, He did not feel
that this was any crime, and so went on
with them without fear of evil. He had
not gone three miles in this way when
the men came to a road by a river,
where stood a waggon. To this they
tackled the horse which George had
rode, and all four getting into the waggon
they rode on rapidly. In a short
time a boat was seen coming down the
river, padding near the shore. As it
passed George, to his surprise, saw that
it contained White Teeth. The Indian
called to him, for he knew him well and
was much attached to him, and asked
where he was being taken.

`To goal,' responded George, `for
helping a British frigate get into the bay.'

`Yiss. Me hear bout dat. Me in de
same storm.

`I thought you were drowned.'

`Noh! Me swim! Me dive! Me
get over de reef, nobody know how, and
by'm bye me get shore good way down
de coast! Who dem wid you?'

`Officers!'

`Hough! Berry good!' and the young
Indian paddled on his way.

But he had not gone far before he
struck into the shore, and, landing quickly,
drew up his boat, and then followed
rapidly on the track of the prisoner. He
had made up his mind to try and rescue
him, for George had done him many
kindnesses. Perhaps the reader is quite
as much surprised to see him alive as
George was. Being an excellent swimmer
he had dove deep when the shallop
struck and so escaped the fragments, one
of which had made Northrop insensible.
When he rose he found himself on the
crest of a wave upon which he was carried
quite over the ledge into the smoother
water beyond. After struggling for
two hours in the surf and nearly drowned,
he reached the shore far to the east-ward;
and finding a dry nook under a
shelf in the rocks he laid down in it and
slept till noon the next day. He awoke
perfectly refreshed, and his first thought

was of the medal about his neck. To
his imagination it contained vast riches;
and being largely gifted with acquisitiveness
he resolved to keep it and see
William Northrop no more. For this purpose
he struck across the forest to a
camp of his tribe, six miles distant on the
river Kennebec; and there consulted an
intelligent half-breed, and very handsome,
Indian girl, whom he intended one
day to make his wife, which she was
nothing loth to be, as to its value. She
could read well and was as intelligent as
she was beautiful. She opened the case
and found it contained papers instead of
gold and Bank notes. At sight of these
White Teeth looked blank; but in quarter
of an hour after she had read them all
to him, his face brightened up and he
said, emphatically,

`Good!'

The next day he got a canoe to go
down the river, and so round outside on
a special mission to May Fawn, with the
precious case about his neck. It was
when on his way for the purpose he now
fell in with George in custody of the
officers.

He now followed on their track stealthily
for two miles, when the road left the
river and wound over the hills. At this
place on the left was the Indian encampment
concealed from the road by the
trees. White teeth was soon among his
friends, and in five minutes, with four
stout Indians, was making a circuit to
cut off the wagon. They waited for it
in a dark part of the forest, and after a
bloodless struggle of two minutes the
prisoner was rescued and the three officers
left bound to the waggon.

The whole affair took place so suddenly
that George found himself free before
he realized his new situation, They
bore him between them, the four strong
Indians, to their camp and, by White
Teeth's order, tossed him bodily into a
canoe. White Teeth took the paddle
and darting away from the shore, told
the Indians where they would find the
canoe he had left down the shore.

`You should not have rescued me in
this manner, White Teeth!' said George,
as soon as he could get time to object.

`Nebber you say noting, Shorsge,'
answered White Teeth, as the canoe
shot rapidly down the dusky river. `De
prison no catsh you. You good moosh.
White Teeth love him.'

`Well, so long as I am free I thank
you.'

`Yish. You glad—me glad.'

`Where are you going?'

`To de bay—see squaw May.'

`No. Her father would be angry if
he knew you rescued me. You must go
to my house first. What is that on your
nech?'

`Mukeesh!'

`What is mukeesh?'

`Hab good in him for somebody!'

`A charm, hey!'

`Great fight by'm bye, Shorsge,' abruptly
said the Indian, as if wishing to
change the subject. And on still flew
the light canoe.

`Who are to fight?'

`Big ship 'Merican, fight em big ship
Yenlgeesh!'

`Is there another frigate in the bay?'
asked George, with surprise.

`No. But big John, you know big
John Indian!'

`Yes.'

`He tell me. He out fishin'. He
meet uncle Natahnah in him canoe.
Natahnah tell him he go tell big Captain
down Boston how big ship broke her
mast, and cotsh up tight in de bay; and
tell big gun ship bring down make fight
him!'

`Is it possible!'

`Yish!'

`Who could have sent him?'

`Captn' Will'm!'

`This is good news, if I could only
reach that ship before she gets in,' mused
George.

He soon resolved what to do; for he
was anxious to redeem his patriotism.
He made known the purpose he had
rapidly conceived in his mind to the
young Indian, who at once entered fully
into his plans.

The object of the young fisherman
will already have been divined. It was
to endeavour to fall in with the American
frigate as she should approach from
Boston.

To this end they proceeded down the
river to a little cove near the sea-shore,
where there was a camp of eight or ten
Indian families, whose occupation was
fishing. Here White Teeth obtained
fish, and meat, and fresh water to last
for three days, and from this place they
embarked. After rounding the point at
the river's mouth, they kept on parallel
with the coast until they had passed the
inlet in which George lived, and opened
Northrop's bay. They kept well out to
sea for fear of being seen by the English
frigate, which they could see about five
miles distant refitting.

White Teeth several times remarked,
as they sailed slowly by, for the canoe
was rigged with a small brown sail, that
he wished he could go on shore, and first
see `the pretty squaw.' At length George
smiling asked if he had fallen in love
with May.

`No, massa, me no love, Me hab
Nesha to love. You hab pretty white
squaw. Indian by—by hab nesha. Me
wish to see white squaw very mosh.'

`Will you tell me why, white Teeth?
you seem to have news?'

`Shorshe know readee?'

`Yes.'

`Den look 'em in dis case. Read em
moosh good for white squaw. Nesha
read for me, make me very glad for
white squaw.'

As the Indian spoke he took from his
neck the case which Northrop, when he
supposed death was inevitable, or that if
either escaped, it would be more likely
to be the Indian, had placed around his
neck. This circumstance the Indian explained
to George, who, opening the
case, took out the papers. There were
three in number.

When George had finished perusing
them there was an expression of joy and
pride upon his fine face. He looked perfectly
happy, but rather, as it seemed,
for May than for himself.

`Is it possible! it is incredible! How
extraordinary! This, then, is the secret
of all the mystery about William Northrop!
of his deep hatred to the English;
of his fear to be seen by them on shore;
of his fear that one so low-born as George
Hunnewell should marry his nobly-born
daughter.'

`Moosh berry good for pretty white
squaw,' ejaculated White Teeth, as he
watched the expression of George's face.

`Very much, indeed. This is very
extraordinary. There seems a special
Providence in it all. That storm which
brought William Northrop to fear instant
death, was a blessing to his child.'

But we will not linger over the joy
and surprise, and mingled hopes and fears
of the lover. He trembled, yet hoped.
His discovery had placed him and May
in new and different positions. But strong
in the faith of her love he resolved to rejoice
instead of despairing.

The canoe kept on her way, and steered
south-west, till the coast of Maine disappeared
beneath the bending arc of the
globe. They were directly in a line with
the course of a ship from Boston to Northrop
Bay; and the next morning a ship
was visible, bearing down upon them. It
soon proved to be the expected American

frigate. George was taken on board,—
told the captain all that had passed, made
known the size and strength of the Englishman,
and offered to pilot the American
in atonement for his having saved the
Englisher. His offer was gladly accepted,
and as the ship came off the bay he
took the helm. William Northrop was
was therefore right when he said that he
saw George Hunnewell upon her deck,
and the Indian, White Teeth, at his side.

We shall not enter into a detailed account
of the enjoyment; for mortal combats
have often been described, and all
have a strong resemblance in their details.
The American frigate, after coming
abeam of her, furled her topsails, and
opened her broad sides. The Englisher
answered with equal bravery; but after
thirty-five minutes, the English flag came
down, and a boat from the Yankee frigate,
preceded, however, by a swift Indian
canoe, took possession of the conquered
ship, and George Hunnewell with
his own hand hoisted the stars and stripes,
over her bloody decks.

May saw this act, for she had hid her
eyes from the scene and closed her ears
to the roar of the battle, though she lingered
on the cliff too anxious for the fate
of her lover to tear herself away. But
when she saw him leap first of all on the
enemy's deck from the canoe, and perform
this gallant act, she felt her heart
bound with joy, and pride, and gratitude
for his safety.

The sun was just setting when the frigate
struck. The prisoners were transferred
to the Yankee frigate the same
night. Among them were the English
captain, and the young officer with the
star upon his breast, the latter being
wounded severely in the side by a musket
ball.

George remained on board the American
frigate that night, for he had an important
interview to hold with the cap
tain touching the papers he had discovered;
for he needed the advice of some
intelligent person; and the captain having
shown himself to be his friend, he
laid the whole matter before him in the
cabin.

When the American had read the papers,
he sent for the English captain to
come into the cabin.

`Do you know, sir, any thing of the
family of the Earl of Northford in England?'

`It is one of the oldest peerages of the
realm.'

`Do you know any thing peculiar in
the history of this family!'

`The last earl was convicted of being
treasonably in league with Napoleon;
and it was proved against him that he
had offered facilities on the coast of his
own estates, for a landing of the French
Invader. This is notorious.'

`And he lost his title and estates, and
was exiled?'

`Yes; but he had a daughter to whom
the attaint did not extend by the intercession
of the Queen. But when this
daughter sent for to be placed under
the guardianship of the crown, she was
no where to be found; and there is no
question but what he took his child with
him.'

`He did. That child and her father
are within half a mile of us. Read those
papers.'

They were confirmatory documents
sufficiently clear and undisputable to establish
May Fawn's claim to the title of
Countess of Northford.

William Northrop and his daughter
were sent for and brought on board, he,
after making a fierce resistance. When
he saw White Teeth in the cabin, and his
tin case and papers laying before the
captain he understood all that had transpired.
The English captain also recognised
him at once as the tratorous Earl

of Northford. He confessed the fact,
and said that his love for his child led
him to take her with him, and keep the
secret of her birth from her; but he had
drawn up writings and placed them in
the tin case securely, so that, at his death,
she might come into the possession of
her rights. The beauty and grace of the
maiden charmed all present. George
Hunnewell looked most unhappy. She
saw it, and understood the cause.

`If I am to sacrifice my heart's affections
to a coronet,' she said firmly, and
smiling as she took his hand, `I prefer
remaining May Northrop!'

William Northrop, after all had been
said, looked rather gratified at the result.
A heavy load seemed to be removed
from his mind. He took his daughter's
hand and placing it in George's, said,

`Be happy, my child, if this will make
you so. I suppose you will now go to
England and forget your exiled father.
Be it so!'

`No, sir. If I am such as it appears I
am, I shall cast myself at the foot of the
throne to solicit your pardon!'

Our story is now ended. George
Hunnewell and May were married that
very evening (for May would have it so,
lest some power should prevent it) in the
cabin of the frigate.

William Northrop returned to his cabin,
while May, with her happy husband,
sailed for Boston, and thence embarked
for England, where her claim was acknowledged.
She succeed in obtaining
her father's pardon, on condition he
should never leave her estate. George,
as a patriotic American felt some compunctions
in being an English earl (by
courtesy); but after the peace, he became
more reconciled, for his beautiful
wife's sake, to this brilliant change in his
life.

Tom, who was an illegitimate son of
William of Northford, shared his sister's
happiness, and seemed to be conscious of
the grandeur of her new position, and to
feel proud of her. Buttermilk accompanied
George to England as butler,
fared sumptuously every day, and walked
no more than became a partly black gentleman
who had the keys to the wine-vaults.