University of Virginia Library

24. CHAP. XXIV.
THE VOYAGE.

Mrs. Barton let no time elapse in merely forming
plans for Dolly. She took an opportunity to
found Thomas's sentiments concerning her, and found
the poor lad as deeply in love as ever; “And would you
be willing to marry her, Thomas, provided the mill was

repaired and she had a few acres of ground well stocked?”
Thomas replied in the affirmative, and Dolly being
found no ways unwilling to comply, a few weeks made
them man and wife; Barton desiring his Lady to spare
no expence necessary to make them quite comfortable,
and literally kept his promise of never seeing Dolly
again.

But though his resolves, in regard to future constancy
were seriously made, his heart was composed of such
inflammable matter, that he no sooner began to contemplate
the unassuming charms of Rebecca, which, from
being much at home, he had now sufficient leisure to do,
than he found himself puzzled to keep his good resolutions;
and being unaccustomed to combat his inclinations,
he found this first attempt at self-conquest too
painful to be persevered in: and Mrs. Barton, with anguish
of heart, saw he was again relapsing into indifference
and inconstancy.

Rebecca too saw, with evident displeasure, the many
opportunities he took of throwing himself in her way.
It was sometimes impossible to avoid listening to him on
a subject which filled her with disgust and sorrow. He
offered her several valuable trinkets, which she resolutely
refused to accept; but at length his behaviour became
so unequivocal, that Rebecca determined to quit her
amiable mistress, however unwilling to relinquish a situation
in which she had enjoyed so much tranquillity.

Mrs. Barton quickly discovered the motives of our
heroine's intention, and honoured her for them.

“You are a truly amiable girl, Rebecca,” said she,
“and I will not part with you till I can recommend
you to some person who will be sensible of your value.”

The next morning Mrs. Barton informed her that,
during a visit she had made the preceding afternoon, she
had heard of a situation which she thought might prove
highly advantageous to her. “But perhaps,” continued
she, “you would not like to leave England.”

“All places are alike to me,” said Rebecca; “I have
so very few friends who interest themselves at all in my
welfare, that provided my mother gives her assent, I can

have no objection to quitting a place where every tie is
broken that once rendered it most dear to me.”

“Well then,” said Mrs. Barton, “there is a young
lady who has been in England for her education; she is
now about sixteen years old, of an amiable temper, and
highly accomplished. Her father, who resides in America,
has sent for her home, and her governess has been
inquiring for a prudent well educated young person to
accompany her. The terms offered are fifty guineas,
and all expences paid, and should you not approve residing
there, on your arrival, they will pay your passage
back again.

“Colonel Abthorpe is a man of large fortune; he
has formerly served in the army, but at the conclusion
of the war resigned his commission, and retired to America,
his lady being a native of that place. Miss Abthorpe
goes out in about fix weeks, and if you should
like to accompany her, I have no doubt but you are the
kind of person that will suit her.”

Rebecca was pleased with the proposal; she waited
on the lady with whom Miss Abthorpe had been educated,
and was highly approved of, both by her and
the young lady herself. She then wrote to her mother,
and in a few posts received a letter dictated by her mother,
but wrote by her sister-in-law, and written in such
cold slighting terms that she easily saw they would be
glad to have her so far from them, that there might be
no danger of her coming home, in case of sickness or
other contingencies; she therefore took leave of the amiable
Mrs. Barton, who could not part from her without
tears, and who presented her with several valuable memorials
of her friendship.

The day after Rebecca entered Miss Abthorpe's service
she set off for London, where she was to join Mr. Seward's
family, who were to embark on board the same ship
with her, and under whose protection she was to proceed
to New-England. It was late in September when
they arrived in town, and a variety of incidents detained
them till the middle of October, so that they had
but an untoward prospect before them, when so late in

the season they embarked at Deal, on board a brig
bound for Boston. A fair wind presently took them
out of the channel, and they flattered themselves with
a prosperous voyage; but these flattering appearances
were soon reversed, for the wind suddenly changed,
rising almost to a hurricane, so that it was impossible to
pursue their intended course or return to port, and they
continued tossing about in the Atlantic till the latter
end of December, and then had not half made their
passage, though their provision was so exhausted that
they were obliged to live on a very small allowance of
bread; water and salt meat they had, and a few pease,
but of these they were extremely careful.

Poor Rebecca heartily wished herself on shore again,
but sensible those wishes were unavailing, she confined
them to her own bosom, and exerted herself to support
the spirits of Miss Abthorpe, who, naturally delicate
and unaccustomed to fatigue, was nearly exhausted with
terror, consinement and hunger. In a few weeks they
were reduced almost to extremities; they had not even
a candle to light the binnacle, which contains the compass,
and the whole of their allowance now amounted to
one biscuit and half a pint of water per day each person.
Mr. Seward had on board the ship with him, besides
two fine boys, the one fourteen the other twelve
years old, a charming little girl scarcely seven. Mrs.
Seward had been dead some years, and the child was
accompanied by her nurse. The chief anguish this faithful
servant felt was in contemplating her little charge,
and thinking how she was to be preserved; indeed, to
such a height did her affection rise, that she voluntarily
deprived herself of part of the very small portion of
bread allotted her, that she might lay it by against a
time of more eminent necessity for this darling of her
heart.

It was a clear cold day, the wind blowing strongly
against them, when the master of the vessel entered the
cabin with a smile. A smile at that particular time
was received by all as a good omen, for seldom had such
a thing been seen in their melancholy party.

“There is a ship bearing down towards us,” said he.
“I have made a signal of distress, and no doubt we
shall be relieved.”

Hope, sweet solace of the wretched, played round
the hearts of his auditors as he pronounced these
words; and all who were able crawled upon the deck
to watch, with eager eyes, the near approaches of the
expected relief. The vessel drew nigh, and the master
enquired what was the matter.

“We are in the utmost distress,” said Mr. Seward,
who took upon him to answer. “We have been ten
weeks at sea, our provisious are exhausted, and we are
in danger of starving.”

“I am sorry for it,” replied the master of the other
vessel; “but though we have a good wind now, we do
not know how soon it may change, and we may want
our provisions ourselves.”

It was in vain to attempt a reply; the vessel was again
put before the wind, and in a few moments the intervening
billows, which rose to a tremendous height, hid her
from their view.

Silent and sad the disheartened mariners and passengers
left the deck. Mr. Seward took his little girl in his
arms, his two boys hung on each side of him; he endeavored
at a look of fortitude, but the gushing tears
betrayed the anguish of the paternal heart. Rebecca
seated herself on her bed, Miss Abthorpe looked up in
her face for comfort, but she had none to offer; she
sighed and rested her head on Rebecca's shoulder.

“What shall we do,” said she, mournfully.

“Trust in God,” replied Rebecca, faintly, pressing
her hand.

Miss Abthorpe returned the pressure, and they joined
in servently committing themselves to the protecting
care of him who could save to the uttermost.

Ten days more passed on in this dreadful manner,
when another vessel was discovered, but, alas! Hope
refused to cheer their bosoms with the faintest ray.

“We must make an attempt to move their compassion,
however,” said the master. Mr. Seward assented

to the proposal, and they mounted the deck together;
but Rebecca and her young lady sat pensive and silent;
they hardly dared to hope, and the sweet comforts of
religion forbade them to despair.

The noise on the deck prevented their hearing what
was said, or whether any answer was returned to their
entreaties. In a few moments the noise increased almost
to tumult, a confused shout broke forth, which
the poor listening females mistook for a murmur of horror
and disappointment.

“They have refused us,” cried Miss Abthorpe, endeavouring
to rise from her bed.

“I am afraid they have indeed,” said Rebecca; but
“do not you attempt to go on deck—stay here and I
will go and enquire.” With tremulous and unequal
steps after repeated attempts, Rebecca reached the
gangway. She was just trying to mount the steps,
when her intent was frustrated by a sudden motion of
the ship, and she fell down. “Heaven preserve me!”
said she, as she slowly arose.

“Heaven has preserved us all,” said Mr. Seward,
as he descended the steps,” for look, my good girl,
what a dinner its bounty has sent us.”

At that moment a strange sailor came down with a
large wooden bowl, in which was a fine piece of boiled
beef, some potatoes, and a pease pudding.

“God bless your pretty hearts,” said the sailor, looking
round at Rebecca, Miss Abthorpe, and the young
Sewards, “come fall too and lay in a good cargo for
according to the log your are light enough now.”,

“You have robbed yourselves, I fear,” said Rebecca;
“this was intended for your dinners.”

“That is neither here nor there,” said he, putting
a large quid of tobacco in his mouth; and split
my topsails if I would not rather rob myself any time
than see a brother sailor want a dinner. D — e
we soon emptied the copper when we heard how close
hauled you were, and set old stoke gally to work to
cook more; we brought enough for all, and they have
fallen too above board like a parcel of hungry sharks.”

Oh ye sons and daughters of luxury whose tables are
covered with the most costly viands, and who turn
from them dissatisfied and unthankful, could you feel
for a moment the ecstasy that pervaded the hearts of the
poor weary famished mariners who now were partaking
the provision their charitable brethren had brought
them, you would henceforward justly conceive the happiness
of your own lot, and bow with gratitude to the
Divine dispenser of all blessings.

The freindly sailors now departed, having taken an
inventory of what was most requisite for the releif of
their brethern, and in about an hour and a half returned
with their captain, and a supply of bread, cheese, meat,
butter, and candles, also a small quantity of spirituous
liquors to refresh the sailors.

“We must give you a bill on the owners,” said Mr.
Seward, when he had taken an account of the stores
brought on board.

“No,” replied the generous captain, “I shall take
no bill. I expect no reward. I may one day be in the
same situation, and have only done as I would be done
by.”

[1] Exalted humanity, noble, disinterested sailor, may
you ever experience from your fellow creatures the same
benevolence that expands and elevates your own heart.
May your days be many and your prosperity equal to
your deserts.

Having taken a grateful leave of their benefactor,
they, with renovated spirits, pursued their voyage, and
the wind changing in the course of a few days, drove
them rapidly towards their desired haven, so that on
the twenty eighth of January, about two in the afternoon,
they heard the joyful sound of “Land a head.”

The port of Boston is situated in such a manner, that,
after having made land, six or seven hours good sailing
will take a vessel into safe harbour, so that our weary

voyagers began to think of landing that evening, however
late it might be when they arrived; but as the night
came on, the wind increased, accompanied by snow and
sleet; the cold at the same time being intense, it frose
as it fell, and in a very short period the ropes about the
ship were so incased with ice, that they became immoveable;
the darkness increased, and to add to their
distress, they lost sight of the light house at the entrance
of the harbour.

Their situation was now imminently dangerous: driving
before the wind, among a multitude of rocks and
breakers, without the least chance of avoiding them:
to be shipwrecked in the very sight of home, was a
painful trial indeed, yet this was what all expected, and
for which all endeavoured to prepare themselves with patient
resignation.

About ten o'clock all their fears were realized, and a
sudden shock convinced them they had struck on some
rocks. The ensuing scene from that time till seven the
next morning is better imagined than described, for till
that time they had no prospect of relief, but continued
beating on the rocks, the waves washing over them,
and expecting momentary dissolution. As the day-light
advanced they discovered the island from which the reef
ran, to be inhabited[2] . Several muskets were immediately
discharged, and signals hung out, and about eight
o'clock they discovered people coming to their assistance.
It was impossible to bring a boat near the vessel, but the
tide beginning to leave her, the men waded into the water,
and placed a ladder against her side, down which
the fear of immediate death gave Miss Abthrope and
Rebecca courage to descend; but what were the feelings
of Mr. Seward, when he found the impossibility of
his little daughter's going down, so dangerous was it
rendered by the ice that enveloped the steps of the ladder,
and from whence, if she fell, she must have been
dashed to pieces or lost among the rocks; nor did he
dare to venture to descend himself with her in his arms,

lest a false step or slip might destroy them both. But
there was no time for much deliberation, as it was absolutely
necessary to leave the ship before the tide returned.
At length an old sailor offered an expedient which was
thought feaseable; and the agitated parent fastened a
strong cord round the waist of his child, by which he
lowered her down the side of the vessel; the old sailor
caught her in his arms, and bore her exultingly to the
shore.

A new world now opened on Rebecca, who, when
she was a little recovered, beheld with astonishment how
every object was bound in the frigid chains of winter.
The harbour, which she could see from the house on the
island, was one continued sheet of ice. The face of the
country was entirely covered with snow, and from the
appearance of all around she could form no probable
hope of getting to Colonel Abthorpe's till the genial influence
of spring should unbind their fetters; but in this
she was agreeably mistaken, for the inhabitants of those
cold climates being accustomed to the weather, were
quick in expedients to facilitate their conveyance from
one place to another. The very next morning a boat
was procured, and men being placed at the head, to
break the ice as they proceeded. By two o'clock, on
the thirtieth of January, our heroine found herself once
more on terra firma, comfortably seated before a large
wood fire, in Colonel Abthorpe's parlour; for during
their voyage Miss Abthurpe had conceived such an
esteem for her, that she insisted on her being considered
as her friend and sister, and her parents had too high a
respect for their daughter, to wish to contradict so laudable
a desire.