University of Virginia Library

1. CHAPTER I.

The tide was at flood, and the rising
winds heaped the waves and dashed them
against the crazy pier, till it shook again.
The sea poured in torrents beneath the dark
corridors under the wharves, and then reflowing,
moaned and roared, chafed and
foamed, like furious beasts battling together.
It was a wild, black night on the land and
on the sea.

Before the day closed, the threatening
skies had given token of the storm, and
white-winged craft flying to port for safety,
soon filled the crowded anchorage: while
the storm-loving gall stretched his pinions
seaward, to revel in the coming hurricane.

Vessels that seemed securely anchored
sent out a second anchor to strengthen the
first; and all light spars were sent donw
from aloft. The hay-maker on the meadows
that bordered the water, hurried to load
his team, and hasten homeward ere the
clouds, so rapidly darkening the heavens,
should pour upon him its magazines of wind
and rain.

In the city, the careful house-wife looked
to her shutters that they were secure; and
the tradesman took in his flapping awnings;
and the milliner housed her fluttering show
goods. The horseman upon the road spurred
and rode at top speed to reach the city, and
even the stage coachman quickened the pace
of his four-in-hand, by words of encouragement
and warning.

At length the storm came down hastening
the approach of night, and a thousand candles
lighted up the sudden gloom of the streets.
Ere the sun went down it had become dark;
and wilder roared the winds, and heavier
fell the fierce rain.

At length after two hours' raging, the
rain ceased, but the winds howled the louder
from the silence of the falling torrents.
The waves of the harbor were lashed to
foam, and surged and fumed and loudly
bellowed among the cedar piles of the docks,
as if they would lift and toss them into the
air, while the piers of an ancient wharf that
was fully exposed to its power, bent and
swayed, as if the storm would uproot and
overwhelm it.

This wharf was situated in the oldest part
of Boston, in the quarter now know as the
North End. It projected from the end of a
narrow and crooked lane that led to the
harbor-side, and was properly the continuation
of the lane upon piers. Its length was
about two hundred feet; and one half of it
was lined with a row of dilapidated habitations,
most of them of very old date.

The wharf was therefore in part a street,
one side opened to the dock. On both sides
of the wharf, with a narrow slip only to
separate them, were other piers almost as
ancient in appearance as the one we describe,
but less burdened with houses, there
being but a long store-house on one, and
but a mere shed for storing the boats and
sails of fishermen on the other. In the slips
lay a few small craft, and numerous skiffs,
wherries, dug-outs and yawls, either secured

to wooden pins in the piles, or drawn up on
the muddy shore at the head of the docks.

When the storm and night came on, the
wind whistled and howled, and swept with
irresistible violence over these desolate piers,
and the waves tossed the small boats like
feathers, dashing many of them in pieces,
and sinking them at their moorings; and so
strong was the hurricane that even a yawl
that was up-turned on the wharf, was righted
and blown into the dock, and the boat-shed
unroofed.

Nevertheless, there was one human being
to be seen amid the wild desolation, standing
partly sheltered by the side of the last house
on the old pier which we have described.

He was wrapped in an old pea-jacket,
tied by the sleeves about his throat; and a
glazed seaman's hat protected his head from
the storm. He could only be seen by the
occasional flashes of lightning which for a
moment revealed his face and form. He
was evidently young, and of good figure;
and his attention seemed to be fixed wholly
down the harbor, as if he were there expecting
some one to arrive.

The house against which he stood for protection
against the strength of the blasts
that swept the end of the wharf, was the last
of a row of seven irregularly constructed
buildings that extended quite up to the end
of the lane, and joined the south row of
houses upon it. Some of these houses were
two stories high, with gables and dormer
windows which betrayed the style of the last
century, and others were but one story, with
the roof shelving five or six feet over the
windows and doors, so that a person could
walk beneath, sheltered from sun and rain.

The last house of this line of ancient and
worn out file of habitations, was two stories
in height, with a high, hipped roof, and between
the first and second story was a roof-like
projection that sheltered the entrance
and the windows from rain, an architectural
appendage, called, in the language of the
old time when it was built, an eaves-dropper.

The windows in this house were of very
small dimensions, and set with panes of
glass not bigger than a child's primmer, and
those in the gable end had each a bull's eye
in the centre. This house wore the aspect
of great age, but betrayed evidences of having,
in a former day of prosperity, been a
mansion of some consideration. There was
an elaborate cornice, carved with great skill
and care, running all around beneath the
eaves, and the tops of the windows were
arched, and ornamented with a wolf's head
set in the centre of the arc; while the door
was surmounted by a sculptured oaken urn.

But these relics of former dignity and respectability,
were now blackened with age,
and were scarcely visible from the dust that
had filled up all the sculptured and carved
depressions, while a dark green mould covered
all alike.

The hour of the night on which we open
our story is early; the nine o'clock town
bell not having get warned all peaceful
citizens that it was time to think of repose.
Here and there the young man could see, as
he turned his eyes town-ward, there glimmered
a light from some upper window; but
generally the streets were dark, for the closely
fastened shutters hid the candles that burned
within.

In the row of houses on the old pier, there
was not visible a single ray either shining
from the windows, or escaping from the
chinks of the clap-boards, save in the house
situated last upon the wharf. Although the
door was fast and the shutters closed, a faint
stream of light escaped through a crevice,
showing that the house, dilapidated as it was,
was tenanted, and that the inmates had not
retired like their poorer neighbors, who were
too indigent to sit up and burn candles, or
else too weary after their day's toil.

The beam of light that escaped from the
crevice in the broken shutters, fell upon the
side of the young man's face as he changed
his position, and gleaming upon his sight,
caused him to turn towards it; but its brightness

small and fine as the pencilled ray,
vividly contrasting with the darkness, blinded
him and he stepped aside from it, saying
impatiently in a half tone,

`Will they never put out their light, and go
to bed? It must be near nine o'clock.
Hark! there is the bell now. How loud it
rings, as if the winds that bear it along had
lent it voice. It rattles and clatters with the
storm, as if it were as mad as it. This is
the signal for quiet in the whole town, and
I hope the good folks here will heed it and
get to bed. But this wild night after all may
keep Ogilvie from reaching here. It does
not look as if a boat could live on the water.
But I will maintain my post till midnight,
and if he does not come by that time, I shall
give him up as lost in this gale, or as having
kept out to sea. It is a confounded hard
night to be on the water in. It is though
enough to stand watch here.'

Thus speaking, he folded his arms together
upon his chest, and began to pace quickly
up and down the wharf, beneath the protection
of the eaves-dropper already described.
Sometimes he would stop and listen at the
door and window, as if he heard voices within;
and then stand and watch the harbor,
availing himself of the flashes of lightning
that from time to time illumined the horizon,
to penetrate the dim distance. But all that
he could discern were the caps of the white
waves, here and there a vessel chafing and
plunging at its anchor, and in the remote
space, the faint outlines of the islands.

At length the deep mouthed bell ceased
its clamor, and only the angry splashing of
the water against the slimy piles of the wharf,
the shrieking of the wind about the roofs of
the old tenements, and the steady foot-fall
of the lonely night watcher was heard.

`It is a fearful night abroad, father,' spoke
a young girl within the old house we have
described, as a sudden blast shook it till the
plastering fell, and the candle at which she
was sewing flared till it nearly went out. `I
pity the poor seamen.'

She had scarcely spoken, when a second
strong sweep of the wind made the crazy old
building reel, while the sound of boards and
shingles torn violently off, and the creaking
of the timbers with the sensible swaying motion
of the piles on which the wharf stood,
caused her to drop her work, and rise to her
feet, pale and terrified, and to grasp, as if
for safety, the hands of an infirm old man,
who sat in a leathern arm-chair near the pine
table at which she had been seated.

`The house will certainly be blown over
into the water.'

`It is a fearful storm, child; but the old
place has stood many as heavy in its life time.
Do not fear, Jennette.'

These words were spoken with a kind and
courageous tone, as if he loved his daughter,
and would remove her fears, which were by
no means groundless; for the tottering fabric,
based as it was upon such an insecure
foundation, seemed to reel at the breath of
the blast, as if it would momently fall about
their heads, burying them in its fragments.

The attitude of the young girl as she clung
to her father with mingled affection and terror,
was strikingly graceful; while the slight
expression of alarm which had paled her features,
had deepened their interest. She was
not more than eighteen, though full that, as
the womanly maturity of her person showed.
Her figure was tall, without too much height,
and her head finely set. There was a charm
in her face which arrested the eye, and at
once took captive the heart. It was not the
beauty of her features which were exquisitely
formed, nor the soft gazelle-like purity of
her eyes, nor the glorious abundance of her
dark brown hair, that gave to her a lovliness
above her sex, but a nameless fascination in
the expression of her countenance. Sweetness,
gentleness, purity and love, were written
there like the notes of music. Yet the
gentleness of her soul was not without courage,
nor her love without spirit and character;
for the existence of these stronger feelings
was betrayed in the sparkling brilliancy

of her glance, and in the firm compression of
the beautiful mouth, now closed with mingled
alarm and expectation.

She was clad in a simple gown of dark
calico, that fitted her rounded bust with the
most symmetrical neatness; and her dark,
rich hair was parted on her pure forehead,
and simply gathered back, braided and tied
with a ribbon of the same color. She wore
no ornaments, not even a ring upon her
small, white hand, upon which, however,
shone brightly a well-worn silver thimble, its
constant ornament.

(See Engraving.)

She stood for a moment in the beautiful
attitude of mingled fear and affection in which
we have rapidly sketched her, and then as
the winds seemed to increase and the house
to shake still more fearfully, she said,

`Father, we must escape. You will certainly
perish here should the house fall.'

`I am in hopes it will stand the storm,
child. I see you fear more for me than yourself:
so let your fears rest. And besides,
whither can I go? All whom we know live
in as poor tenements as mine, and are as
likely to be turned out of doors to-night as
we. Listen! The heavy blast has gone by,
and the old rafters stand. God will protect
you and I, child.'

`I know it, sir. I did wrong to fear and
doubt. But when I thought how helpless
you were, with a broken leg, and such poor
health, my heart leaped into my mouth as
the old house shook so. I am young, and
could fly in time, but not so with you, dear
father.'

`And you would not leave me, that I know,
my brave girl,' said her father, as he drew
her to his breast, and kissed her affectionately
upon the cheek. `The wind has gone
down. This last blow that terrified us so,
and made the rotten boards fly, was the last
effort. Have you got through your day's task?'

`Not yet, father; I shall complete it in a
little while,' answered the maiden, as she reseated
herself and took out her sewing.

Her father sat and gazed silently upon her,
his face resting upon his hand which clasped
a crutch staff. The light of the candle shone
upon his frank, open countenance, and revealed
the boldly marked features, frosted
head, of a man about fifty years of age. His
eye was yet bright, and expressive of kindness
and resolution; while the strong arched
nose and the upper lip, against which the under
one closely shut, indicated firmness and
endurance. His forehead was bald, smooth,
and finely shaped, and the expression of his
face was the subdued, resigned one often
shown by men of active habits of life who
have been cut down in the midst of their
career by long infirmity or clinging disease.
He looked patient and serene, as if affliction
had tempered and chastened the rough points
of his character, and wrought in him peace
and manly submission.

There was a certain air about him that
showed that he had once been accustomed to
a better state of things than now surrounded
him. His apparel was very old and much
patched, like the coat of a very poor man,
while the house in which he lived, as we
have seen, was menaced with a fall by every
storm of wind. But the apartment betrayed
more plainly and positively the poverty of its
occupants. Although there were several uninhabited
rooms in the house, the one in
which they were seated, with a small bed-room
adjacent, were all they tenanted, or
that were furnished; if, indeed, these two
could be said to be furnished. A pine table,
two straw chairs, patched with cloth and
leather, a low truckle bed meanly covered,
a few dishes and cooking utensils ranged in
a corner, and some half dozen books upon
the mantle, and a Bible, a candlestick and a
work-basket upon the table, were every article
visible in the room. We may add a plain
straw bonnet and shawl, hanging upon a peg,
and an old broad brimmed hat behind the
door.