“You owe nothing to me, Miss Wilmer; but it is
I who owe you every thing!”

Grace lifted her eyes upon him, not with surprise,
for since she attributed what he said to nothing but
politeness, she had heard too many fine speeches to
regard them as extraordinary; but she had too deep
a sense of the obligations she was under to the supposed
Captain Nix, to regard him as a common bandier
of compliments, and as she reflected on his possible
meaning, her fair face was gently suffused with
emotion.

“Yes,” continued the mariner, warming as he proceeded,
and not displeased that the charming girl
seemed sensible of his influence: “indeed, I owe to
you every thing that gives me pleasure in life; for
why should I hesitate to declare, that it was Miss
Wilmer that first taught me that I had a better nature
within me, and that self was not a worthy idol
of worship.”

Though it was impossible for Grace Wilmer to
misunderstand this declaration, yet it was couched
in such delicate expressions, and was withal so respectful,
and unpretending in the manner of its utterance,
that she could not be offended; for when is
a gentle being ever annoyed at the implication of a
sentiment which, though it shrink like the violet from
the day-beams, is revealed by its subtler qualities?
But her fine sense of propriety did not allow her to

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

recognise the avowal of affection; and her exquisite
tact came promptly, and immediately to her aid.

“It is certainly a great privilege,” said Grace, “in
being any way instrumental in making other people
happy, and one of the most enduring sources of enjoyment,
is the conferring of benefits. Our family
have afforded you repeated opportunities of making
yourself happier in that way, and we shall never
cease to be mindful of the obligation.”

And then desirous of giving a different turn to the
conversation, she added:

“But will Captain Nix be so obliging as to inform
me what destination his vessel has at present?”

He then repeated to her in substance, what he had
previously communicated to Seymour, and quieted
every apprehension, by assuring her of a safe and
speedy return home.

“I hope, however, that Miss Wilmer can be contented
on ship-board for a little while,” said Fitzvassal,
desirous of recurring to the original subject of
their discourse, “though there is nothing in the accommodation
of a vessel of war to be particularly
agreeable to a lady.”

“I trust that you will not find us troublesome guests,”
replied Grace: “for my part, I could put up with any
accommodations, after the terrible dangers I have so
recently encountered—but my poor cousin—”

“Have no anxiety on his account, Miss Wilmer,

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

he will be well enough to attend you,” said the mariner.

“Heaven grant it so;” sighed Grace.

There was a pause of a few seconds, which the
young lady felt to be awkward, and which this very
thought tended to protract. She was about to rise
with a view of retiring to her state-room, but Fitzvassal
detained her.

“Stay a moment, Miss Wilmer! I have that to
communicate which another opportunity may never
allow.”

Grace started involuntarily, but presently recovering
herself, she resumed her seat on the sofa.

“It is a source of consolation to me,” said Grace,
without raising her eyes toward the person she addressed,
“that I am under the protection of a gentleman
who is too chivalrous to offend by a thought.
Say on, Captain Nix; I am all attention.”

There was something like a mixture of real dignity,
and forced constraint, in this speech, that would
have confounded Fitzvassal, if he had not had a real
apology for detaining her; as it was, he did not seem
disturbed, but taking something from his pocket, he
extended it towards her, exclaiming:

“Does Miss Wilmer remember ever to have seen
this?”

Grace looked at it inquiringly for an instant;

Can it be possible?” she cried, “My ring?”

It was indeed the rich jewel that the infatuated

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

young man had abstracted from her finger, when she
had fainted at the cruel sufferings of her cousin.
True, she had at first suspected who took it from her,
but as the generous and self-devoted man had subsequently
become identified with the heroic mariner
who was instrumental in saving Seymour, she had
driven the idea from her mind as a rude and uncharitable
imagining, as unworthy of herself as it
was undeserved by that officer.

“May I ask,” inquired Grace Wilmer, “how Captain
Nix became possessed of this—I hope he will
excuse me for asking so rude a question, but it is
well intended; I would save him from the suspicion—

“Of theft,” said Fitzassal, supplying the word
which he knew was uppermost in her mind.

“Oh no, by no means,” exclaimed Grace; “such
a thought could not dwell with me, I assure you;—
but at first, the circumstance—the—”

“Miss Wilmer,” said the mariner, interrupting her,
“if I have been so fortunate as to win any kind feelings
from your family by my actions, may they be
permitted to atone for a deed which was prompted by
the delirium of a passion, which—”

“For pity's sake, Captain Nix, forbear!” cried
Grace Wilmer, with extreme agitation, “you know
not what you say; surely, you cannot mean—”

“That I love you!” exclaimed Fitzvassal, passionately,
“and may the heavens witness my devotion.”

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

“Captain Nix!” replied Grace, turning deadly
pale, “I am faint; give me air! Oh my mother!
my mother!”

And as the tones died away on her lips, she swooned
in his presence.

The buccaneer called hurriedly for her attendant,
and the faithful Celia stood at her side. By using
the ordinary appliances in such cases, Grace revived,
and shortly after withdrew with her maid to her
state-room, and as she laid herself exhausted in her
berth, she found that the ruby ring whose loss had
given her so much uneasiness, was once more glittering
on her finger.

CHAPTER XIV.

Cassio's kisses on her lips.

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

It were a large chapter, in the history of human
affection, which should contain a recital of all the
woes that spring from self-delusion. How common
a thing it is for men to fancy themselves preferred
by the women they adore, when there is no other
ground for such assurance than the flattery of their
own hearts! It is a small reason that women should
love us, merely because we happen to love them,—
the belief of many wise ones to the contrary notwithstanding;
for it is so far from being true that love
begets love, that the very contrary might fall into a
proverb. That which passes current in the world

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

as love, is, generally speaking, nothing more than a
temporary delirium, arising from gratified vanity,
which, as soon as the incense heaped by the imagination
on its altar is consumed, grows cold again, and
languid, and if it pines with any melancholy of passion,
it is only that of Narcissus, when the image of
his own attractions is no longer reflected from the
fountain.

Love, so far as it is merely natural, is as changeful
as a dream,—so far only as it is spiritual, is it enduring.
It is not only beauty of form and feature,
that engages our higher affections, nor is it because
the lover is “of imagination all compact,” that he
sees “Helen's beauty in the brow of Egypt.” Genuine
love is that of the spirit, which, if it be true,
must make the object beautiful though the outward
form and corporeal vestment are as rugged as the
gnarled oak. It is therefore honorable to women,
that the more exalted of the sex prefer a Socrates to
a mere Antinous, and leave a contrary choice to those
whose highest ambition it is to be admired, even
though the admiration is no purer than the emotion
of an animal.

Had Fitzvassal been more deeply read in the annals
of affection, he would not so readily have presumed
on a reciprocation of feeling from one whose
heart he must have known was already occupied.
It was his misfortune to love, “not wisely, but too
well;” and in the infatuation of his fancy, to mistake

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

the ordinary expressions of female courtesy, for manifestations
of a deeper sentiment. There is many a
man who rails at the inconstancy of the sex, who
never could have excited in their hearts the most
transitory interest, and many a one who would have
the world suppose he is going to die a bachelor from
choice, who sighs among his undarned hose, at his
dire and sad necessity.

Fitzvassal had the madness to believe, that Grace
Wilmer loved him. He had never before seen such
beauty and gentleness in woman, and as he loved
her with enthusiastic devotion, he vainly imagined
that her heart beat responsive to his own. He now
brooded over his declaration of love, and dwelt with
fondness on her every look, and word, and action,
which he as surely misinterpreted, as he ascribed it
to an interest for himself.

Grace Wilmer regarded him as her family benefactor,
and so far, as a man deserving her gratitude
and regard; but her heart was already pre-occupied
by one who was in all respects worthy of her love;
and she could no more divide her affections, and
keep a part from Seymour, than portion out her animal
being to her worshippers. The declaration of
Fitzvassal was therefore equally unpleasant, and
startling. The first intimation she had received of
his love, was its frank avowal. In vain did she examine
her heart, and explore the recesses of her bosom,
to discover if haply she had given occasion for,

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

or encouragement to, his feelings; and though the
conduct of her new lover had been as deferential and
delicate as the most susceptible mind could have
wished, she could not control her apprehensions
when she reflected on being in his power, and the
possible dangers that might await her from one
whom she supposed to be chagrined and disappointed.
Had she rather known that fuel had been unconsciously
heaped on the fire she had kindled, her
heart would have been still less at ease, than it was
when she moistened her pillow with tears, weeping
in solitary anguish.

In the meantime, the commander of the Dolphin
paced his quarter-deck with feelings of mingled pleasure
and anxiety. On the one hand, golden visions
of requited love and worldly honor, flitted in lovely
forms before his imagination; on the other, the fear
of the detection of his one crime, rose up like a hideous
spectre to scare away his reason. He was in
the possession of wealth almost unbounded, and he
was little disturbed in conscience by the lawless
means through which it had been gained. It was
the dread of being found out, that alone disturbed
him; for he had learned to look upon the world with
delight, and to long for a share in its allurements.
In the banquet of life there seemed to him but one
obstacle to his perfect happiness—and that was the
skeleton at the table.

The development of Fitzvassal's character, was a

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

strong illustration of the truth, that a perfect harmony
of the will and of the understanding, is necessary
to a healthy state of mind, and to the practice of virtue.
The rational principle of man, which belongs
to the understanding, may, by the influx of heavenly
light, be elevated to the perception of causes, and
even to that of ends, which is the broadest reach of
created intelligence; but unless the affections which
belong to the will, become at the same time the recipients
of heavenly love, and are thus elevated in a
like degree, the intellectual principle is drawn down
to the plain of the voluntary, and partakes of its quality,
however sensual and debased it may be. There
must be heat as well as light, before the earth will
yield nourishment for her children.

We may here find an answer to the question, why
men of transcendent intellect so often prostitute their
powers, and throw a charm over the very rottenness
of sensuality. So long as they voluntarily cling to
vices which are contrary to the divine law, and therefore
inconsistent with the advancement of their being,
they do not love to elevate their affections above
the fascinations of the world; and since the understanding
cannot operate without the will, it brings
down the light it has borrowed from above, to be
changed to the phosphorescence of corruption.

While Fitzvassal was engaged as we have represented
him, in “chewing the cud of sweet and bitter
fancy,” it suddenly occurred to him, that he had

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

solemnly promised to send Grace and her cousin to
Boston that very morning, and as he had no motive
for detaining them on board, and as it was indispensable
to her comfort to return, the expedient immediately
suggested itself of transferring them to the
Revenue-Cutter.

Seymour having been first consulted as to the propriety
of the measure, the plan proposed was to place
them in Morgan's boat, and leave them there to be
taken up by the government vessel; but Seymour,
when he found that there was a sail-boat at his disposal,
eagerly embraced the opportunity of using it
as an immediate conveyance to the metropolis.

Every thing being made ready, by the vessel hauling
away from the wind, and the lowering of the
boat, and its preparation for sailing, after cordial
adieus on the part of Seymour and Fitzvassal, and the
most marked declarations of interest on that of the
latter to Grace Wilmer, whose down-cast eyes and
pervading expression of melancholy were of course
misconstrued by her inamorato, they descended into
the skiff, and in a minute after were rapidly on their
way to Boston.

The Dolphin now immediately wore round to the
wind, when her ropes strained like the sinews of a
racer, as she bounded forward in the course. Her
commander stood on the quarter-deck, his glass following
the boat with its precious merchandise. It
was now half way between the flying vessels. Why

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

is Fitzvassal disturbed as he gazes? Why does he
suddenly dash the glass on the deck, and descend in
agitation to his cabin? Leave the brandy untouched,
poor fool! It cannot obliterate the remembrance of
that reciprocal kiss. Its image shall haunt thee to thy
grave!

The boat having first been boarded by the Cutter,
was now seen shooting ahead toward Shirley-Point,
and was lost to the eye among the islands. Another
shot from the government-vessel indicated that the
ardor of pursuit had been stimulated, rather than
allayed, by the short interval that had happened.
The booming of the Cutter's gun immediately
roused Fitzvassal, who was now once more standing
with another spy-glass on his quarter-deck.

His first-officer was by his side in an instant.

“When we return that fire, Sir,” said the commander,
bitting his lip, that quivered with hardly-suppressed
emotion, while his eyes flamed with anger,
“it shall be to some purpose. When we have run
down out of hearing-distance from Boston, I mean to
show that fellow the hardest fight he ever dreamed
of. It is now eleven o'clock. By two hours after
noon, be ready to beat to quarters!”

The officer bowed and retired, and soon after, the
men were seen taking down their boarding-pikes from
the masts and booms, with which they were circled,
and their basket-handled swords, which were stuck
round the capstan and long-boat, and their short,

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

broad daggers, resembling the bowie-knife; and
these they proceeded to grind and polish, preparations
dismal enough for their end, but engaged in with
the more alacrity by the men, for the grog they had
just drunk.

Fitzvassal, while this was going on, passed frequently
before the sailors, with a view to observe their
faces, and discover the state of their dispositions.
The cheerfulness with which they went to work assured
him that he had nothing to fear from any dis-affection
among them. Shot of every description,
from chain to canister, was now brought on deck,
and piled up in pyramids by the guns which were
unlashed, carefully sponged and cleared, for immediate
use. New match was also got ready, and all the
various implements of naval warfare adjusted as
they should be, preparatory to an engagement.

In the mean time, the Revenue-Cutter, crowding
all her canvas, bore down hard upon the Dolphin,
with the determination of coming up with her, if
practicable. Sir Edmund Andros was sufficiently
aware of the posture of public affairs, to keep himself
ever vigilant for the interest of the Crown, and he
had received implicit orders, in dispatches by the
Rose frigate, to carefully examine every vessel that
came into Boston or New-York harbors, about which
the slightest suspicion could be surmised. Fitzvassal
was therefore wrong in his conjecture, that Classon
had betrayed him; for, however bound that

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

minion of power might have been to spy out the movements
of the people and report to his master, he was
too fond of money, and was too much dazzled by the
bright anticipations his step-son had awakened, to
throw away an opportunity of amassing wealth, that
only required his silence to secure it.

The truth was, the Dolphin first fell under the
suspicion of Sir Edmund after she had removed to
Nahant. While there, she had been reported by a
fisherman well affected to the Crown; and the mere
circumstance of her lying idly in a place that could
furnish no commercial advantage, might have been
regarded as sufficient warrant for an unfavorable
judgment respecting her. Besides, the Buccaneers
were then ravaging the seas in all directions, and as
some of the most reputable moneyed men of the day
were suspected of co-operating in a source of profit,
which at that time was, to say the least, considered
as respectable as a monopoly of the necessaries of life
is now, Sir Edmund Andros was apprehensive that
some of these adventurers might be enlisted in a
cause, which however improbable in its result, it
could not be disguised was likely to disturb his quiet.
Impelled by these views, the Revenue-Cutter was
dispatched in pursuit of the Dolphin, though the
Governor was wholly unconscious of the real enemy
he had to deal with. She was directed to board the
suspected schooner, and if, on an examination of her
papers, or from other appearances, sufficient ground

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

should be afforded for the act, to bring her into Boston
to be dealt with according to law.

Under these circumstances, when the schooner
was seen to weigh anchor and run away, no doubt
was left in the mind of the Cutter's officers, that there
had been just and probable cause to distrust her
friendship; and in accordance with this opinion, she
had been fired upon, as soon as she was supposed to
be within reach of the shot. On boarding the boat
which contained Horace Seymour and Grace, no
satisfaction whatever confirmatory of this belief could
be obtained, for as neither of them imagined that the
Dolphin was any other than a vessel employed by
the patriots, so the obligations they were under to
its commander, prevented them from giving any satisfactory
information to the government Cutter.

Both vessels had now run down about twenty
miles below Boston Light-House, and still kept the
same relative distance from each other; for whenever
Fitzvassal, who had relieved the pilot, found that he
was gaining too much on his adversary, he brought his
vessel nearer to the wind, and backed his topsails, to
give the Cutter an opportunity of coming up.

The superiority of the Buccaneer over the Revenue-Cutter,
determined the former to avail himself of
the advantage, and instead of coming immediately to
close quarters, to keep up a running fire on her at
long shot, and thus disable her, without affording an
opportunity for retaliation. With this end in view,

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

all hands were piped to quarters. Orders were given
to fire only the long gun, which, as the government-vessel
came within hitting distance, kept up an incessant
fire upon her.

The position of the Cutter was such, that only
her bow-chasers could be used without wearing
round, and to do this, materially diminished her
headway; in fact, she had already lost ground by
firing her bow-guns, but as these invariably fell short
of the schooner, she soon relinquished their use altogether.

Still, however, the chase continued with the greatest
assiduity on the part of the Cutter, which not
only crowded her studding-sails, and thrust out her
sweeps, but as long as she continued in moderate
soundings, sent her kedge ahead in the boats, whenever
the breeze died away enough to require it, and
was thus run on by the crew to some advantage.
But with every auxiliary which maritime ingenuity
could suggest, the Dolphin continued to keep out of
hitting distance from the Cutter, while her own longgun
was constantly annoying her pursuer's rigging.

This sort of warfare was exceedingly amusing to
the crew of the Buccaneer, which sent up three
cheers whenever one of their shot told on the other;
yet they frequently begged for permission to come to
yard-arm and yard-arm, a mode of fighting better
suited to their temper.

Their commander, nevertheless, kept their ferocious

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

disposition under, by assuring them that he had
carved out work enough for them to do at close quarters
in the future, but that his intention for the present
was only to riddle the Revenue-Cutter, and do
her business for her, without himself losing a spar or
a man.

Several shots had already passed through the fore-topsail
of the Cutter, that vainly exerted itself to get
within reach of the Dolphin, and one, as she had
turned to bring her other guns to bear, had struck
her on her weather-beam, doing considerable mischief.

They had now run full thirty-five miles from Boston,
when the Revenue-Cutter, having had her sails
materially damaged, without conveying a single shot
to her opponent, became satisfied that it was vain to
think of overtaking her and bringing her into action;
and accordingly she tacked about with the intention
of relinquishing the chase entirely.

As soon as Fitzvassal understood the intention of
his enemy, he put the schooner about, and amidst
the vociferous shouts of the crew, in his turn commenced
the chase. He was careful, however, not to
follow long in her wake; but bearing several points
away from her course, he continued to keep constantly
in such a relative position as to bring several
guns to bear on her at once, though his long gun
was the only one that did essential service.

Under the galling fire of her adversary, whose

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

superiority in every respect was too lately discovered,
the Revenue-Cutter found herself in the most painful
situation. On determining to abandon the chase,
she had not entertained the idea that the pursued
would become the pursuer; for she regarded the
schooner as little better than a pirate that stood in
apprehension of justice, and would be glad of a
chance of getting away from her; but when she perceived
the Dolphin put about, the officers could not
help feeling anxious for the result. Most willingly
would they have come within carronading distance,
or to close quarters, but they soon found that their
annoyer was resolved to do neither. All they could
do was to run away as fast as possible, or to bear
down on their adversary, for the chance of a close
fight.

The last part of the alternative was finally adopted,
and the sails were trimmed accordingly; but the
moment Fitzvassal discovered the design, he shaped
his course so as to thwart its accomplishment, and
the Dolphin flew away from her like a bird.

At this moment, a shot from the long twenty-four
told on the foremast of the Revenue-Cutter, and it
came with a crash to the deck. The crew of the
Buccaneer immediately gave nine cheers, and the
schooner wore round again on her adversary. The
government-vessel being half dismantled, was of
course perfectly unmanageable, and remained at the
mercy of her enemy. The Buccaneer pursued his

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

advantage, and running up under her stern, poured
a heavy broadside, raking her fore-and-aft with canister,
grape, and round-shot, that at the first discharge
brought down the mainmast, and deluged her deck
with blood.

This destructive task was the work of a minute, and
the Dolphin then filled away, and stood off to observe
the desolation she had accomplished. The screams
and groans of the dying were audible on the deck of
the Buccaneer, and though there remained no flag
for the vanquished to strike, it was evident enough
that there was a disposition on board to surrender.
Accordingly, a quarter-boat was lowered, and Wilson
was ordered, with twelve men, to go aboard and
take possession of the prize.

On coming along-side and ascending the gangway
ladder, it was found that not an officer or man,
of the small number on board the Revenue-Cutter,
had been left unharmed. Out of eighteen persons,
ten had been killed, two others mortally wounded,
and the remaining six hurt, either by splinters, by
the falling spars, or by shot: on making which discovery,
Wilson sent four men, with a petty-officer,
to report the result to his commander.

As soon as Fitzvassal understood the disastrous condition
of the Revenue-Cutter, he gave immediate orders
to bring the wounded men aboard his own vessel,
though it was with great difficulty he could provide
them with accommodations. The Cutter was then

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

stripped of every thing valuable and useful, her guns
brought aboard the Dolphin, with all the ammunition
she had in her magazine. She was then scuttled, and
left to go down at her leisure.

The humanity that the Buccaneer had shown to
the wounded men, met with little sympathy from his
crew. They almost to a man cursed what they
called his folly, in lumbering the vessel with the half-dead
carcases of an enemy, and would gladly have
heaved every one of them overboard, if they had had
their own way. They felt that they were pirates,
and though they were differently regarded in those
days than pirates are now, they were conscious of
having lost caste; and they were already prepared to
increase their crimes to any extent which any emergency
might demand. Some of them, indeed, had
been old offenders, whose hands were dyed in blood,
and the contamination of their reckless minds and
communications had spread widely among the crew
of the Dolphin. But the austere discipline of Fitzvassal
kept them constantly in check, and there was
only one of them who had the audacity to show his
resentment on this occasion.

This fellow was a large mulatto, a practical instance
of that unnatural amalgamation which has so
many advocates among the deluded of our day. Of
all bad men, this race is the worst, and the annals of
crime would show that they are the most heartless,
stubborn, and depraved characters that are to be met

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

with on the purlieus of human society. The man
referred to passed among the sailors under the name
of Bloody Dick, for the atrocities of which he used
to boast, and for his known cruelty whenever he had
an opportunity of exercising it.

As this scoundrel passed by the wounded men who
were lying on the deck, he gave one of them, who
was even then almost dead, a violent kick on the
head, accompanied by the most digusting blasphemies,
swearing that he had better go to hell at once,
and be damned.

The miserable sufferer gave one groan, and expired.

This fiendish conduct, however, did not escape the
eye of the commander.

“Lash that fellow to the foremast!” exclaimed he;
and the order was immediately executed.

“Now give him thirty-nine lashes on his bare back
with the cat, and report to me when it is over!”

The fellow's screams and curses might have been
heard for miles, as the knotted, nine-thonged whip
scourged his tawny shoulders, without producing
any other effect upon him but pain, malice, and the
thirst of revenge.

This part of his punishment being executed, and
a report thereof made to the commander, he gave
orders that he should be keel-hauled.

“All hands a-hoy!” exclaimed the boatswain,

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

taking up the order that had been passed to him, “all
hands a-hoy, to keel-haul Bloody Dick!”

“Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” vociferated the
sailors in reply, who were rejoiced at the opportunity
of paying back to the man they detested, a part of
the debt of gratitude they owed him for his repeated
annoyance.

Bloody Dick was then brought a midships, stripped
to his skin, and his hands and feet bound closely
together. A long rope was next fastened under his
arms, and one end of it passed from larboard to starboard,
under the bottom of the schooner. A dozen
men were then ordered to take hold of each end of
the rope, while others were commanded to heave the
fellow overboard.

The relentless monster in vain struggled against
the further punishment that was about to be inflicted
on him;—in vain he begged, cursed, implored, blasphemed,
and entreated by turns;—he was instantly
hurled into the deep on the larboard side of the vessel,
when immediately those on the starboard commenced
the operation of keel-hauling. Hand-over-hand,
they drew the rope over the gunwale, till they
brought Bloody Dick to the surface of the water. As
soon as they perceived that he had taken a mouthful
of air, they all at once let go, when those on the larboard
side, in their turn, began to haul in. But the
moment the fellow had a breath of air, down he went
again, and was hauled up on the opposite side; this

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

operation was repeated, till he was ordered to be
taken aboard by the boatswain.

Exhausted, spiritless, and for the time subdued,
Bloody Dick lay for a short space panting on the
deck, disgorging the large draughts of salt water
which he had reluctantly swallowed in his journeyings
under the keel, till at length gaining strength,
he sprang upon his feet, and seizing a knife from the
belt of a sailor near him, rushed upon Fitzvassal like
a tiger leaping from a jungle. The suddenness of
the attack might have been fatal to the commander,
had it not been for the faithful Cato, who, as he saw
the movement, interposed by tripping up the sturdy
mulatto, who thundered down, Ajax like in his fall,
prostrate on the deck.

“To the yard-arm with that murderous scoundrel!
to the yard-arm with him, instantly!” exclaimed the
commander. “He has sent one innocent man to
eternity within an hour, and he would murder every
man aboard if he could;—away with him! hang
him up instantly to the yard-arm!”

The order was no sooner given than measures
were taken to put it in immediate execution. The
fellow was again seized, and securely pinioned. A
rope from the end of the fore-yard was then passed
down, and a noose made with a hangman's knot
thrown over the fellow's neck, and drawn so as not
to slip off. He was then ordered to stand on a

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

loaded cannon, while the funeral service was read to
him.

While this ceremony was going on, all his evil
passions seemed to be working simultaneously, and
instead of listening to the lecture that was intended
for his comfort, he burst out with repeated maledictions
on all that bore the human form, bitterly lamenting
that he could not live to wreak his vengeance
on Fitzvassal.

“Never mind!” he cried, casting a terrific look at
his commander; “Never mind! your turn comes
next, and I will torture you to my heart's content,
when we meet on common ground among the damned!”

As he spoke, the match was applied to the cannon,
which bellowing out its thunder, enveloped that part
of the schooner in smoke, which, as the wind drove
it away, discovered to the spectators of the scene the
last agonizing contortions of the dying malefactor.

CHAPTER XV.

A little, round, fat, oily man of God.
Castle of Indolence.

And who do you think they were?
The butcher, the baker,
The candle-stick-maker,
And all are gone to the Fair.
Mother Goose's Melodies.

—Then 't were well,
It were done quickly.
Macbeth.

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

Let us turn for a while to consider the progress
of events in the metropolis of New-England. Unawed
by the demonstrations of popular feeling which had
been so violently awakened, Sir Edmund Andros
continued to exercise the same despotic sway over
the people of Massachusetts, who had heretofore
submitted so meekly to the arbitrary exactions of
government, that the latter began to imagine it had
a right to stretch its prerogative without limits. Such
has ever been the history of the growth of power.
That which is yielded to from necessity, or

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

submitted to with patience, is afterwards claimed as a right,
and enforced by authority; so that, in the course of
moral transference, the oppressor and the oppressed
change their relative position of obligor and obligee,
and are driven, on the one hand, to despotic assumption,
and on the other, to that last resort for the
recovery of natural and civil rights, which terminates
in a violent and sudden revolution.

The well-established principle, that whenever the
balance of power is lost between the executive and
the legislative branches of government, there is a tendency
to a complete absorption of power in the
scale where it already preponderates, is as true, when
predicated of the people, under representative forms,
as when affirmed of the legislature: so that the experience
of the past, (other things being equal,) is a
sure guide for the future. But in our day, the difficulties
that present themselves to the political philosopher,
arise from the failure of the ceteris paribus,
a condition which is too often overlooked in their
predictions. So true is this, that the most superficial
observer might remark the almost utter want of parallel
tendencies, between apparently similar acts of
executive or popular outrage in our times and in
those of antiquity; and it fully accounts for the failure
of the Burkes and Pitts, to say nothing as to
other eminent men of still later times, in those reaches
of political understanding, which, based on the
maxims of the past, proposed as their object the

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

happiness of the human family. The great evil of our
day is well-intending ignorance, and till there be a
scheme of public instruction, studied out, developed,
and matured, by which a true and comprehensive
cyclopedia of morals and politics may be taught, let
not the most sanguine expectant of human progress
anticipate any thing better, or more solid, than the
adoption of crude theories and monstrous principles.

When it is thought to be Machiavelian to deny
that a mere moral principle, apart from all other circumstances
or considerations, should be and is a
sound political one;—when we see the most puerile
dogmas asserted and maintained, by authoritative
persons whose productions spread far and wide, and
are taken up by millions as indisputable truth; it is
time for others, who stand on the watch-towers of
Liberty, to be awake and to sound the alarm through
the nation. It is ignorance, and nothing but ignorance,
that ruins nations; and the worst of it is, that
this same ignorance, which is so pestilential and subversive
of human happiness, is found among those
very men who are regarded as the lights and examples
of the land. It is not so much the ignorance of
the people, as that of their leaders, which is to be deprecated.
The people are generally well-informed,
but they cannot be expected, all of them, to be philosophers.
They have other work to do than to analyze
knotty questions, and untangle abstruse speculations;—
but it is a crying shame that they should

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

have no better teachers, than those who are but the
mere exudations of bloated universities, and who believe
that a mass of unavailable Greek, Latin, and
Hebrew learning, is enough to qualify a man to
judge of the greatest questions of government.
There is a better knowledge, a wider and more
grasping attainment than these, and that is a thorough
and well-digested understanding of Human
Relations.

The leading men of Boston had for a long time
comprehended the exact relation which the people
bore to the Sovereign and his deputy in Massachusetts;
they were fully conscious of having yielded
too readily in the outset, and of having continued to
yield too tamely to the unjust demands of power,
and to the insolence of office, and their brows burnt
with shame and indignation when they contrasted
their present condition with that it had been a few
years before, when they enjoyed untarnished, from
their fathers, the highest liberty of which a people
could boast. But they were men of moderation and
prudence, and though they knew well enough that
a revolution was inevitable, should the Sovereign see
fit to withhold that protection which his colonial subjects
demanded, they cherished the fond anticipation
that he would yet be brought to terms, and thus end
all difficulties which existed between them.

The last act of tyranny on the part of the government,
in attempting to impress the free citizens of

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

Boston, put a final stop to all forbearance among the
people. When the spirit of licentiousness is once
let loose, there is no prescribing limits to its progress.
The mob that wreaked its vengeance on Classon, it
is true, seemed satisfied for the time, but its indignation
on that memorable occasion, was but the smoke
of the volcano, preparatory to a dreadful eruption.
Frequent meetings were held, and public demonstrations
made, that indicated a determination, on the
part of the people, to put down, once and forever, the
high-handed usurpations of the government.

Resolutions were passed denouncing Sir Edmund
Andros and his coadjutors, as enemies to the country,
and as conspirators against the public peace; and the
effigy of the Governor was burnt on the Common
amidst the hisses and execrations of the multitude.
The effigy of the Pope was also fixed on a staging,
in company with a figure of the devil, horned and
tailed according to book, and after being dragged
round the town, was with his companion consigned
to the devouring element. Placards were pasted
up against the walls, threatening all persons with popular
resentment who gave any assistance to the
Governor in the execution of his illegal acts, and
warning certain individuals who were obnoxious to
the charge of being informers, to look out for their
personal safety.

Notwithstanding these portentous appearances, Sir
Edmund Andros, secure in the possession of a

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

well-armed troop, issued his edicts the same as ever, and
within a week after the affair of the Press-gang, ordered
a freeman to be publicly whipt for not paying,
as he declared, sufficient respect to his authority.
But the man was rescued from the ignominious punishment,
and that night the Governor had his windows
broken by the mob.

Nor were matters in a more tranquil condition in
the neighboring country-towns. The same spirit was
abroad in Braintree, Dedham, Roxbury, Dorchester,
Watertown, and generally throughout the colony;
but more particularly in those villages more immediately
bordering on Boston. Watertown was one of
the foremost places of patriotic opposition, and was
noted in those days for the semi-annual Fair which
was held in its precincts. On such occasions, the
country people from the surrounding towns, and
large numbers from Boston, and even Salem, assembled,
as well as many friendly Indians, where produce
of all sorts was exposed for sale or barter, cattle
offered for market, and such manufactured articles
as brooms, buckets, and farming utensils, were exhibited
for purchase. Nor was the better part of creation
behind-hand in contributing their quota of
hose, quilts, and baby-linen, to make up a complete
assortment of goods for the Fair.

Though the Committee of Safety, of which Mr.
Temple was the chairman, were contented to await
the natural course of events which they observed in

[figure description] Page 107.[end figure description]

the way of development; trusting, in some degree, to
the awakened justice of the Sovereign, but by all means
confiding in the overruling hand of Providence,
which they knew would not leave them utterly, but in
its own good time bring them out of their Egyptian
bondage,—there were some more turbulent and restless
spirits, among whom were Randal and Bagnal,
who being cramped by the jealous watchfulness of
the Governor and his minions, and restricted in the
full swing of their resentment at the nefarious measures
of his administration, looked forward to the Fair
at Watertown, as a fitting opportunity for raising the
standard of rebellion, or at least for concerting measures
toward its accomplishment: for revels of all sorts
were indulged in at the Fair, which, within the last
eight years, had even become somewhat licentious;
and amidst the diversions and entertainments of one
kind and another, they expected to find a convenient
subterfuge for their schemes, and to rally around the
pine-tree banner a sufficient number of good men
and true, to wrest the sceptre from the hands of tyranny,
and trample its ensign in the dust.

The people in the country towns were quite as
restless under the galling sway of Sir Edmund Andros,
as those of Boston, though they did not feel all
its effects so immediately; but their sufferings were
positive and intolerable, and the exaggerated accounts
of what the metropolitans endured, excited their
warmest sympathy, and prepared them to co-operate

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

in any measure which they could set on foot, to bring
about a more desirable state of affairs. Hardly any
thing else was talked of but the latest news from Boston,
and public expectation was on tiptoe, whenever
a new-comer appeared from the metropolis, to learn
whether any fresh intelligence had been brought from
the mother country, or what new views were entertained
by the people of Boston.

The ferry to Lechmere Point was crowded with
passengers, who from the early dawn, were thronging
to go to Watertown, and join in the hilarities of
the Fair. A motley crowd had collected in one of
the boats which had just pushed off from the wharf,
at the west end of Boston, and were now crossing
Charles River on their way to Cambridge. Among
the passengers were Randal the anchor-smith, and
Bagnal the caulk-and-graver, besides four Catholic
priests, who never failed to be present where there
was a prospect of a gathering together, as their especial
commission was to spy out the disposition of the
people, and insinuate the principles of the monarch,
with all the zeal of Papal missionaries.

One of this same brotherhood, “a little, round, fat,
oily man,” as Thompson has it, “who had a roguish
twinkle in his eye,” particularly engaged the attention
of the anchor-smith, who, with his companion,
generally preserved a profound silence during the
passage, except to make some common-place remark
about the agreeable weather which they were so

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

fortunate to have for the Fair, or touching the pleasant
scenery which opened on all sides, as the boat receding
from the shores of the metropolis, made her
rapid course toward the opposite ones of Cambridge.

Father John, for this appeared to be the name of
the personage alluded to, was a man evidently about
forty years of age. He was rather short in stature,
but did not seem to be suffering at all under mortifications
of the flesh. His countenance was fresh and
ruddy, indications of health which would have been
unaccountable on any known principles of total abstinence.
The other priests were good-looking, intelligent
men, like himself; having every stamp
about them of well-informed citizens of the world.
They were all dressed alike, having on a close, black
scull-cap, a long, black frock of broad-cloth, and a
rosary, terminating with a cross suspended over the
neck.

“That's a goodly looking college enough, Father
John,” remarked one of the priests to the more conspicuous
man he addressed, “but its a pity that holy
mother church has n't the managing of it.”

“A thousand pities, truly;” replied Father John,
“but thanks to the blessed Virgin,” he continued,
crossing himself, “there is a fair prospect of its
being purged from its iniquities, before long.”

As they spoke, their eyes were turned in the direction
of Old Harvard, which even then made a
most respectable appearance at a distance.

[figure description] Page 110.[end figure description]

“I pity the poor boys,” resumed Father John,
“who are obliged to submit to the fooleries of that
puritanical toy-shop. When the teachers are asses,
what can you expect of the taught?”

And the reverend gentleman chuckled till his dewlap
quivered with the convulsion.

“Did you ever attend one of their exhibitions?”
he further inquired, addressing himself to each of his
pious brethren, by turns.

But they all declared that they never had enjoyed
that extraordinary pleasure; whereupon their interrogater
proceeded.

“It would be worth your while to attend one of
them, then; for you never heard such a whining set
of puppies in your life. Why, their cant oratory is
proverbial throughout the land. You can point out
a graduate of that College as far as you can hear his
voice, to say the least of it. Jesu! what eloquence!
And then the Professor that presides over that department—
you ought to him read!—ha! ha! ha!”

And the jolly confessor commenced discoursing in
imitation of the man he ridiculed, till his companions
burst out into immoderate laughter at the exhibition.

Randal, though he had never had the disadvantage
of a college education, with the vain imagination
too often resulting therefrom, that he was all the
better for it, felt nevertheless extremely nettled, as
most Bostonians do, when any sarcasm is hurled

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

against the venerable University of their neighbor
Cambridge; and he accordingly buckled on his armor
in her defence.

“It may be very amusing to you,” said he, addressing
himself to the reverend brotherhood, “to be running
a tilt against Harvard College; but I fancy that
a little of her learning, after all, would n't do either
of you any harm.”

At this rebuke, Father John drew down the corners
of his mouth, suppressing the relaxation of his
muscles as well as he could, and replied:

“No doubt, friend, your Alma Mater, (for I suppose
you are a fair specimen of her nurslings,) has learning
enough cased up in the brick and mortar yonder;
but I must be permitted to say, that she has a
very strange way of showing it.”

As an endorsement of this sally, the brethren were
contented to laugh only with their eyes, while Randal's
wrath began to wax hot in the encounter. Bagnal,
however, who saw the storm brewing, took his friend
aside, and entreated him to have a care how he precipitated
a quarrel with those men on the very day
when it was most expedient to lull their suspicions
to sleep, and he succeeded at last in accomplishing
his object; Randal declaring, that by all that was
true and holy, he would punish the rascal yet for his
impertinence.

The boat at length arrived at the landing place in
Cambridge, and the passengers disembarking,

[figure description] Page 112.[end figure description]

proceeded on their way to Watertown. Hundreds of
others on foot and in carts, were on the road travelling
to the same place of destination. After passing
Harvard College, the road to Watertown was found
to be thickly speckled with itinerants of both sexes,
and of all ages; among whom were a number of students
in their square caps, who having a holiday on
the occasion, were according to custom, preparing to
make the most of it in the promised revels of Watertown.

“A fine day this, for the Fair!” exclaimed Randal,
addressing himself to a student who was walking
alone, with an air of deep abstraction, apparently
unconscious of the bustling scene around him.

“Very!” was the laconic reply of the young man,
who paid no further attention to the salutation than
to lift his eyes for a moment on the speaker.

“You are going to the Fair, I suppose!” persevered
Randal, who was not wholly destitute of the characteristic
curiosity of his countrymen, and who was
particularly desirous of making some interest among
the students of Cambridge, for reasons best known to
himself.

“Yes!” returned the youth, with a sigh, as if he
were reluctantly forced into a colloquy, which he
would willingly have avoided; “Yes! I am going
to the Fair, as you rightly conjecture;—one might
as well follow the multitude—though not to do evil.”

“There is more danger of evil,” replied Randal,

[figure description] Page 113.[end figure description]

whose political feelings were ever uppermost, “from
the few, than the many, in these troublesome times.”

The student looked at him earnestly for a few seconds,
and then casting his eyes on the earth, continued
to walk on in silence.

The anchor-smith, unwilling to obtrude himself too
much on the young man, made a few passing remarks
to his friend Bagnal, who was walking beside him,
and at the same time narrowly observed the stranger
who had engaged his attention.

He was a young man about twenty years old,
judging from appearance, remarkably tall and handsome,
like the finest specimen of the South Carolina
gentlemen. His eyes and hair were very black,
his nose was straight and beautifully moulded, his
mouth finely cut and filled with strong, regular, and
brilliantly white teeth. There was an expression of
deep thoughtfulness in his countenance, and there
were, young as he seemed to be, lines of marked
character clearly imprinted there.

After walking a minute or two in silence, only interrupted
by an occasional observation on the individuals
of the living panorama, Randal ventured to
resume the conversation.

“You will pardon me, I hope,” said he, “but like
every son of New England, I feel a deep interest in
the welfare of old Harvard College; have you heard
any tidings lately of the President?”

“You mean of the Rector,” replied the student.

[figure description] Page 114.[end figure description]

“True; I had forgotten, the apellation President
did not sound agreeably in the ears of the Jesnits;
so they substituted Rector. Have you received any
intelligence from your Rector lately?”

The student gave a glance, at once penetrating
and inquiring, towards the anchor-smith, and then replied:

“From a remark you made, Sir, a few moments
since, I should take you for a patriot; and to do you
justice, your face and tone of voice confirm my judgment;
but there are so many false men abroad, that
it becomes us to be careful how we place too much
confidence in strangers. Will you do me the favor
to tell me your name?—and you yours, Sir, if you
please!” said he, turning his eyes on Bagnal; “my
name is Harding, and I am a tutor in the college.”

“My name is Randal, the anchor-smith of Boston.”

“And mine is Bagnal, the caulk-and-graver, of the
same place.”

“I know you both,” resumed Harding, “you are
alike dear to the people and odious to the government.
Your servant, gentlemen, I am glad to meet you!”
and so saying, he gave them both a cordial shake of
the hand.

“And now,” said he, turning to Randal; “I can
answer your question freely and fully, without fear
of being entrapped by spies. We had a letter from
the Rector yesterday, by the way of New-York.”

[figure description] Page 115.[end figure description]

“What news did it communicate from England?”

“The most melancholy, and yet the most cheering.”

“I can't conjecture,” said Bagnal, “how that can
be.”

“But I can,” joined Randal, who had a deeper insight
into the state of public affairs than his patriotic
friend. “The upshot of it is,—I'll lay my life on its
correctness,—the King has refused to restore the charter
to Massachusetts, and the people of England are
in rebellion.”

“You are right,” replied Harding, “you are almost
perfectly right in what you imagine to be the condition
of things. Dr. Mather writes, that the King has peremptorily
and finally refused to restore the charter,
which was so wrongfully taken from the people.
He says that there is not the shadow of a hope that
the petition, with which he was commissioned, will
ever be listened to while James the second is sitting
on the throne of England; but—”

“There is a hope,” interrupted Randal, whose
eagerness to hear the report of the Massachusetts
agent, made him anticipate its recital; “there is a
hope that William of Orange will dispossess the bigotted
Jesuit of his throne.”

“Ay;” resumed Harding, “not only a hope, but a
moral certainty of it. Dr. Mather tells us that nearly
all the nobility are for William of Orange, and

[figure description] Page 116.[end figure description]

that the prince will, before long, most inevitably
make a descent on England, and liberate the people
from the degrading bondage that now enslaves
them.”

“God grant it may be consummated, and that
quickly!” replied Randal.

“Amen!” ejaculated the caulk-and-graver, “amen,
with all my heart!”

“In the meantime, Mr. Harding,” said Randal,
“there is work to be done in old Massachusetts.”

“The people have all suffered extremely,” added
Harding, “and you in Boston, more than others. Do
you apprehend any violent measures from them?”

“All I fear,” replied Randal, “is that we shall be
too late. There must be a revolution, and that immediately.”

“I know,” said Harding, “that the present state of
things cannot possibly last long; but when William
of Orange comes to the throne, if such a merciful
event ever happens, your charter will be surely restored,
and all your rights re-established on a more
permanent basis then they were before their invasion.”

“I have,” returned Randal, “as much confidence
in the Stadtholder, as most men—but I know as
well as others that he is only a man after all, and that
the temptations of power are not to be trusted. The
people of Massachusetts must anticipate his coronation,
and take the adjusting of their affairs into their

[figure description] Page 117.[end figure description]

own hands. You may rely on it, this is the only
course that can be adopted, which can afford any
substantial hope of regaining our liberties. Let us
revolutionize the government ourselves, and then,
when William of Orange comes to the throne, he
will have nothing to do but to confirm what we
have done. He will not dare, while he has so many
conflicting interests to reconcile, as he must have for
a long time, I say he will not dare to undo what
the people of Massachusetts shall have achieved.
At all events, this is my view of the case, and, God
willing, I will do all in my power to see the thing
accomplished.”

“I agree with you fully,” added Bagnal, “we have
temporized long enough,—it is now time to be up
and doing.”

“But how can you bring it about?” inquired
Harding, who, though he in reality favored the design
of his new friends, exercised extraordinary circumspection
more from habit than premeditation.

“That was the very object of our visit to Watertown
this day,” replied Bagnal, “and it would seem
as if Providence had thrown you in our way, on purpose
to assist us by your counsel; for I cannot be
mistaken in believing that you are not only an uncompromising
friend of liberty, but that you would
readily and heartily lend your assistance in accomplishing
one of the noblest achievements that ever

[figure description] Page 118.[end figure description]

presented themselves to the enthusiatic martyrs of
freedom.”

“I should be too happy,” rejoined Harding, “to
see a peaceful change in the aspect of public affairs.”

“And you would lend a helping hand, would you
not, in a quiet sort of revolution?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Enough!” said Randal, “there is a cavern in the
neigborhood of the lake—”.

“I know it very well.”

“Meet us there at one o'clock, and if you can bring
with you two or three others on whom you can depend—
so much the better. We are now approaching
the encampment, and as we cannot converse with
freedom any longer, perhaps we would better separate.”

“Very well,” replied the tutor, and making a passing
salutation, he turned to leave his travelling companion,
to jog on by themselves.

“Remember, at one precisely;” said Randal.

“Never doubt me,” returned the tutor—“farewell!”

So saying, the man of letters left his new acquaintances,
and was soon lost to their sight in the crowd.

“That's a noble-hearted fellow,” said Randal to
his friend, as Harding vanished from their observation;
“or else I am no judge of character.”

“He certainly seems to be all that,” replied

[figure description] Page 119.[end figure description]

Bagnal, “and I for one don't like him any the less for
his cautiousness. I think we shall find in the
college tutor a firm friend and a true patriot.
I incline to believe that all the professors, as well
as students, are favorable to the great cause. Men
of letters are generally on the popular side, when
things go wrong among governments.”

“Ay;” added the other, “universities and colleges
are the nurseries of republicans; or rather the students
of those institutions are naturally freemen. I rather
think that college-governments have a tendency to
despotism.”

“And that is the very reason,” replied Bagnal,
“that those under their care manifest the republican
character. Hence, we so often see rebellion among
the students. Tyranny is odious in any form—and
extremes have a perpetual tendency to meet.
Wherever you find a thorough despotism, you may
be sure to discover the finest spirit of democracy;
even though it may be buried under the guise of submission.”

“There is no doubt of the truth of all that,” said
Randal; “I should like to see,” he continued, “a
university conducted on a plan honorable both to
the teachers and the taught; one where there might
be full confidence between the government and the
students; for when there is so little of it as at the
present day, it is impossible to breed men in these institutions.
What can be more degrading, for

[figure description] Page 120.[end figure description]

instance, than for a college-government to have a
trained company of spies, who take advantage of
the frankness of the students to betray them to
their masters? I was assured by a gentleman,
who had been a tutor in Harvard College, that
if I only knew the number of spies employed, and
the ways they set about entrapping the scholars, I
should be absolutely astonished. Even the poor beneficiary
students are forced into this mean service,
and earn their pitiful education at the expense of
their honor and manhood. Now this is all wrong,
very wrong, and as much as I venerate the old walls
of Harvard, I cannot think of it without loathing. I
would not have a child of mine so contaminated for
all the Greek and Latin in the world. It is bad
enough for a young man to encounter the temptations
of profligacy and licentiousness;—yet there is
some hope for the most abandoned sensualist. But
once break down a young man's honor and self-respect,
and it's all over with him. The elastic principle
is then crushed out of him, and there is no rebound
to virtue.

“There is another lamentable abuse in college-governments,”
added Bagnal, “and I have seen
the bad effects of it in several instances. Boys of
sixteen or seventeen are too apt to be regarded by the
college as men whose moral and intellectual characters
are already formed, and who are therefore answerable,
to the full extent of the term, for every

[figure description] Page 121.[end figure description]

delinquency and mal-practice of which they are guilty.
Now few men have any fixed principles before they
are five-and-twenty, and those characters which are
intended to expand the most largely, and endure the
longest, are the very ones which are the most backward
in their development. Professors in colleges
never think of discriminating among the varieties of
character beneath their charge. A good memory
and a due share of the spirit of dissimulation, will
carry off the honors any day against all the genius
and sincerity that can be arrayed in opposition to
them. I pity the young man, who for some early
indiscretion has been subjected to the tender mercies
of these tyrants. There is little hope for him. Perhaps
he has been grossly and maliciously slandered
by some evil-minded person, who has a grudge
against him, and then he is ground to the very dust,
perhaps turned out of college, or recommended `to
take up his connexion with it,' which amounts to an
expulsion;—and then by an agreement among all
the colleges, he is shut out forever from the privilege
of learning at any of these institutions. Is not
this tyranny of the worst kind?”

“It is, indeed,” replied Randal, “and I am very
sorry to add that it is, or was a very few years ago,
the truth told of old Harvard. I know an instance of
persecution within those walls, which is precisely
analogous to the one you suppose to be true. A
young man became hateful to one of the Professors,

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for telling him the truth with too much boldness,
when positively required to do so. Without intending
any disrespect, the student had an air of impudence,
and he gained the deadly hatred of the Professor,
who told him, that if his class repeated the indignities
they had offered to him as Professor, (for the
man was odious to the class, and had met with repeated
indignity from them when assembled,) he,
the student, should suffer for it. The class repeated
their insults, but though that student was known to
be innocent, he was made the scape-goat of the whole,
and sent away.”

“That Professor,” exclaimed Bagnal, “must have
had the heart of a rattle-snake. He committed a
crime against the human soul, and cannot be forgiven.
Let the galled jade wince! His retribution
has not come yet; but it will come.”

The two friends had become so absorbed in the
topic that occupied their attention, that before they
were aware of it, they found themselves in the midst
of the preparations for the Fair. The spot selected
for the occasion was the rising ground on the border
of the beautiful lake, which is the brightest ornament
of Watertown, where, in more modern times,
Cambridge students were seduced away from their
books to enjoy the glories of nature, and the abominations
of milk-punch, amidst the water-lilies and the
fruit trees, and the thousand beautiful et-ceteras of
that romantic region.

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The majestic trees that shaded the grounds on that
part of the borders of the lake, had been thinned away
to allow a prospect of the tranquil water through a
dozen little vistas, beyond which were seen, on the
other side of the broad, silvery sheet, “rich heaps of
foliage,” liveried in all the gorgeous robes of autumn,
that threw their deep, broad shadows over the intervening
waves.

A few rods from the lake, a large, commodious inn
had been many years erected, very nearly on the site
where the one now stands. It had several gables,
and on the side fronting the water, the roof, from a
high pitch, swept down in an angle of thirty degrees,
and was sustained by rough timbers of cedar, around
which the honey-suckle twined, and wooed the humming-bird
to hover in its golden plumage, and suck
delicious nectar from its flowers.

Beneath the rude piazza of the inn, and under the
shade of several large oaks and elms which sheltered
it, were settles and benches, on which a number of
persons of various character were sitting, and enjoying
the fine air of the season. The Indian-summer
had set in with all its gentle influences,—that sweet
brief season, when autumn borrows the worn out
garniture of his predecessor, with its tempered sun,
dim atmosphere, and gentle breezes, that he may enjoy
a few short hours of repose, before he yields the
sceptre to his hoary expectant.

Several of the tavern visiters were indulging

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themselves with Dutch pipes and flip, talking politics,
scandal, and the infinite deal of nothingness that affords
the ordinary motive power to the tongue. For
half a mile around were erected tents and booths, in
some of which different articles of traffic were exposed
for sale, and in many others, liquor of all sorts and
colors tempted the thirsty customers to warm their
stomachs and scorch their brains.

These places were crowded with people who were
talking loudly, laughing, or singing as their fancy
moved them; and though it was not yet noon by two
hours, many gave unequivocal tokens of having taken
more frequent potations than became sober men even
at a festival.

On the open plain between the tavern and the lake,
which in the abominable nomenclature of modern
times is desecrated by the name of Fresh Pond,—a
name that, instead of suggesting and being appropriate
to the glorious beauty of the little inland sea, can
be associated with nothing but mud-turtles and bull-frogs,—
were erected fandangos, as they termed them,
and swings, of different kinds, for both sexes to amuse
themselves with, by tossing through the air at the
imminent peril of their necks. Besides these, there
were two nine-pin alleys, and several smooth planks
for dancing.

This latter diversion was effected in the following
manner. An ordinary broad plank was placed on
the green, around which were collected a motley

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crowd of all who took pleasure in dancing, or in seeing
others join in the amusement. The fiddler
struck up a jig, when some one of the inexpressible
gender invited a favorite piece of muslin to dance
with him. If she accepted the offer, he led her to
one end of the plank, and immediately took his own
station at the opposite one. They now began to
shuffle at each other, and stamp their feet with all
their might, nearing and retreating alternately; and
by the shouts of applause on one side or the other, it
was decided which excelled in the poetry of motion.
The one who stamped the louder was generally admitted
to be the conqueror.

Randal, with his companion, was wandering
through the crowd, taking note of every thing he
saw, and conversing on the subject which so completely
had the ascendency in his thoughts, when
his attention was directed to a tent, where all the appointments
of intoxication were regularly prepared,
and several sorts of coarse viands arranged on temporary
shelves to tempt the passer-by to patronise
mine host within.

The persons inside seemed to be much excited by
drinking, and were, as indicated by the tones of their
voices, on the brink of a quarrel. As the newcomers
entered, Randal was surprised to recognise
Classon, who was engaged in a drunken debate with
Grummet, the man-o'-war's-man. They were both
highly excited, and it would have been difficult to

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determine which was the more drunk of the two:
yet there was this difference between them. The excitement
of Grummet seemed to have more rationality
in it than the other's, for there were about Classon
evident signs of insanity. His eyes were glazed, and
they constantly looking askance as if he suspected
every body about him. His limbs twitched, as did
the muscles of his face, and he constantly rubbed
his hands, and sometimes gazed on them in a sort of
momentary abstraction. His legs seemed feeble, and
from a partial paralysis he appeared to be unable to
direct the movements of his body. These symptoms
are not the concomitants of common drunkenness.
There was a crisis approaching that had been accelerated
by the terrible sufferings to which he had
been subjected by the populace.

“Shiver my timbers!” exclaimed Grummet, “if I
had'nt rather be a hog in a long-boat than the cabin-boy
of such a d—d lubberly rascal as Sir Edmund
what's-you-call him? I know all about both o' you—
you no need to be clapping your dirty rags on my
cables to keep 'em from chafing;—it's no go. I
should'nt like to have such a swim in the tar-kettle
as you had the other day—nor toss about either to
the tune you danced to in the feather-bed.”

Classon's face glowed with rage, and from appearances
he would have struck the sailor had not Randal
and the caulk-and-graver entered as they did.

“How now, Classon,” said the anchor-smith,

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addressing him, “what's all the fuss about now—hey,
man?”

Classon turned his fierce eyes upon him, and muttering
something unintelligible to those standing by,
stamped on the ground, and then threw himself on a
seat with his back turned to the one who had addressed
him.

The remains of the tar-and-feathering were still
visible about the man, who since that event had
wholly abandoned himself to drinking. Formerly,
he knew some sober moments, and was seldom drunk
before eleven o'clock. Now he made a business of
drinking. He kept the liquor at his bed-side, and
drank every half hour in the night. We said
that the remains of the tar-and-feathering were still
visible about him. His hair was in many places
knotted by the viscous substance, though it had been,
much of it, cut off; for wherever the tar touched the
hair, there it remained, in spite of all the detergents
that experience could suggest for its removal.

“Brandy!—bring me some brandy!” exclaimed
he, turning to the boy that dealt out the hot, manufactured
drink that passed under the name, “brandy,
I say; do you hear?”

The lad carried him a stiff glass of his favorite
drink, and handed it to him. Classon took it, with a
hand trembling like a withered bough in winter, and
turned away his head in silence and with loathing.
That which he believed to be necessary to his very

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existence, was hateful to him as a scorpion. He no
longer drank for the pleasure it gave him: there was
no more intoxication for him than that of numbness
or insensibility, and this he would have, though it
was like swallowing the most disgusting medicine
every time the stimulant even approached his lips.

“A lemon!” exclaimed the half-paralytic, “give
me a lemon, for God's sake!”

A lemon was brought to him as he desired.

Classon took the fruit and biting a piece from the
same, looked at his brandy for a moment,and then swallowed
it, as if it required a desperate purpose to do so.
He then partially sunk himself down, resting his hands
on his knees, gazing on the ground, and as it were waiting
for the feeling of nausea to pass away from him.
This same process he was obliged to go through every
day, till his stomach by repeated stimulants, about
noon became able to bear its poison without revolting.

“There! that's over!” exclaimed he, exultingly,
as if he had achieved a triumph; and as the alcohol
began again to stimulate, for a few brief minutes, his
prostrated system, he brightened up as a lamp will
do when the wick is nearly burnt out, and you shake
a little oil upon it.

“You'r are a putty fellow, aint you?” said Grummet,
looking upon him with unabated contempt,
“there's another nail in your coffin, I guess, no how.
If you had given the money to your wife—”

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