the vexation of Bessy, who declared we only came on shore to be off again. I ought to observe that Bessy and I had become much more intimate since the explanation which had taken place; and although it had never entered my head that I should ever feel toward her more than as a brother to a sister, I was pleased and soothed with the touching proofs of kindness and commiseration which she took every opportunity of showing toward me. CHAP XLII....A heavy gale, a wreck and a rescue. We had run out in our galley as far as the Start, when the appearance of the weather became very threatening, It was just about the time of the equinoctial gales; and there was a consultation among us whether we should run into Torquay or return to Deal. Bramble observed, that as the gale coming on would, in all probability, blow for three days, he thought it was no use remaining all that time at Torquay, where we should be put to extra expense, and that we should be better on shore at our own homes. This remark decided the point; and about dusk we put the boat's head along shore for up channel. The wind was at that time about S. S. W., but occasionally shifting a point or two. The sky had become covered over with one black mass of clouds, which hung down so low that they appeared almost to rest on the water; and there was that peculiar fitful moaning which is ever the precursor of a violent gale of wind. At night-fall we reefed our lug sails; and, while one sat at the helm, the rest of us lounged against the gunnel, buttoned up in our pilot-jackets; some shutting their eyes as if to invite sleep, others watching the waves, which now rose fast, and danced and lopped at the weather broadside as if they would fain have entered into the boat. But of that we had little fear; our galley was one of the finest boats that ever swam, and we felt as secure as if we were on board of a three-decked ship. As the night advanced so did the wind increase and the sea rise; lightning darted through the clouds, and for a moment we could scan the horizou. Every thing was threatening; yet our boat, with the wind about two points free, rushed gallantly along, rising on the waves like a seabird, and sinking into the hollow of the waters as if she had no fear of any attempt on their part to overwhelm her. Thus did we continue to run on during the night, every hour the gale increasing; the billows mounting up until they broke in awful and majestic crests, and often so near to us that we presented our backs in a close file against the weather bulwarks to prevent any body of water from pouring in. "We shall have light soon." observed one of the men. "And we shall want it to beach the boat in such weather as this," replied another. 'We shall have it harder yet before day." 66 Depend upon it this will be a mischievous gale," observed Bramble, "and our coast will be strewed with wrecks. Any ships under canvass now, between the Channel shores, will stand but a poor chance against this heavy sea, which bears down with such force. I'd rather be in this boat now than in any vessel in mid Channel." "And I had rather be on shore than in either," rejoined I. "Well, Tom," said one of the pilots, "I do really believe you this time." we were near to the floating light, and in the roadstead not a vessel remained; all had weighed and preferred being under what canvass they could bear. At last we were within two cables length of the beach, and even at this distance from it we were surrounded with the breakers; the surf broke many feet high, and roared as it rushed up with a door of Bramble's cottage, which was forty or fifty yards velocity that was appalling, dashing the foam right to the higher than it generally gained to, even in very bad weather; we now lowered our sails, stowed them in the boat, and got our oars to pass, backing against the surf to prevent it forcing us on the beach until the proper time. It may not, perhaps, be known to many of my readers, that there is a sort of regularity even in the wild waves; that is, occasionally a master wave, as it is termed, from being of larger dimensions than its predecessors, pours its whole volume on the beach; after which, by watching your time, you will find that two waves will run into one another, and, as it were, neutralize each other, so that, for a few seconds, you have what they call a smooth; the safest plan of landing then is to watch these two chances, either run in on the master wave, or to wait till the arrival of the smooth. The latter is generally preferred, and with good reason, as unless a boat can be forced in as fast as the master wave runs in, you are worse off than if you had landed at any other time. The helm had been resigned to Bramble, who ordered me to go farward with the boat's painter, a long coil of rope, and stand ready either to leap out with it, or throw it to those on shore, as might be most advisable; the other men were sitting on the thwarts, their long oars in the rol locks, backing out as desired, and all ready to strain every nerve, when the order was given by Bramble to pull in. The danger which we were about to incur was fully evident to the crowds which were assembled on the beach; not only the pilots, who stood there ready to assist ussome with ropes with iron hooks at the end of them-others all ready to dart into the surf to hold on the boat, or, if required, to link their arms together, so as to form a living chain which the undertow could not drag away with it; higher up, women and children, their clothes driven by the furious gale, with one hand holding on their caps, and with the other supporting themselves by the gunnels of the boats hauled up, the capsterns, or perhaps an anchor with its fluke buried in the shingle, were looking on with dismay and with beating hearts, awaiting the result of the ventur ous attempt, and I soon discovered the form of Bessy, who was in advance of all the others. After a careful watching for perhaps two minutes on the part of Bramble, he gave the word, and on dashed the gal ley toward the strand, keeping pace with the wild surges, and although buried in the foam, not shipping one drop of water. 66 "Now, my men, give way-for your lives give way," cried Bramble, as a cresting wave came towering on, as if in angry pursuit of us. The men obeyed, but, in their ex ertions, the stroke oar snapped in two, the man fell back, and prevented the one behind him from pulling; our fate was sealed; the surge poured over, and throwing us broadside to the beach, we were rolled over and over in the boiling serf. A cry was heard-a cry of terror and despair on the part of the women. I heard it as I was swept When it was broad daylight, the coast to leeward pre-away by the undertow, and the next wave poured over me; sented a wild and terrific scene, lashed as it was by the fu- but all was activity and energy on the part of the men who rious surf which dashed its spray half way up the towering were on the beach; the next wave that run in, they recov white cliffs, for it was within two hours of high-water, ered me and two more by linking their arms and allowing The waves were now really mountains high, and their the surf to break them. We were so much bruised that we broad surfaces were pitted into little waves by the force of could not stand; they dragged us up, and left us to the wothe wind, which covered the whole expanse of waters with men. Bramble and four others were still struggling for life; one continued foam. On our weatherbow a vessel with her again two were saved-but the men on the beach were exforemast gone was pitching heavily, and at times nearly hausted by their strenuous exertions. buried beneath the wild tumult. Her fate was sealed; to leeward were the cliffs of the South Foreland, and on our lesbow lay the shelving beach of Deal. "This will be awkward landing, shipmates," said Bramble; "and yet we must try it. I'll fill my pipe-hope it won't be the last." Although not said in a serious manner, there were few of us whose hearts did not flutter responsively to this surmise, for the danger became every instant more imminent, and we knew what a terrific surf there must be then running on the shingle beach. But we now rapidly approached the shore; I had just recovered myself so as to sit up, when I perceived that they were not acting in concert as before; indeed, in the last attempt, several of them had narrowly és caped with their own lives. Bessy was now down among them wildly gesticulating; Bramble still floated on the boiling surf; but no chain was again formed; the wave poured in, bearing him on its crest; it broke, and he was swept away again by the undertow, which dragged him back with a confused heap of shingles, clattering one over the other several feet in height was breaking over him-I felt that he as they descended. I saw him again, just as another wave was lost; when Bessy, with a hook rope in her hand, darted towards him right under the wave as it turned over, and as she clasped his body, they both disappeared under the mountain surge. Another shriek was raised by the women, while the men stood as if paralysed; In my excitement I had gained my legs, and I hastened to seize the part of the rope which remained on the beach. Others then came and helped; we hauled upon it; and found that there was weight at the end. Another sea poured in; we hastily gaL thered in the slack of the rope, and when the water retreated, we found both Bramb'e and Bessy clinging to the rope. In a moment the men rushed down and hauled up the bodies. Bramble had held of the rope by both hands -it was the clutch of death; Bessy had her arms round her father's neck; both were senseless. The boatmen carried them up to the cottage, and the usual methods of recovery were resorted to with success. Still we had to lament the death of two of our best pilots, whose loss their wives and children were loudly wailing, and whose bodies were not found for many days afterward. Alas! they were not the only ones who were lamented. Upwards of three hundred vessels were lost during that dreadful gale, and hardly a sea-port or fishing town but bewailed its many Whether it was that the women who attended Bessy were more active than the men, or that she was younger, and her circulation of blood was more rapid, or because she was a female, certain it is that Bessy first recovered her speech, and her first question was, "Where was her father?"Bramble did not speak, but fell into a sleep immediately after he was brought to life. I had changed my clothes, and was watching by him for an hour or more when he woke good dead. saved?" 66 "No," I replied; "Fisher and Harrison were both drowned." "Poor fellows! I wish they had been spared. Fisher has seven children and Harrison, he has a wife, I think." "Yes, and two children, father." "Poor woman! God's will be done! He giveth and he taketh away! Tom, I must get up and see Bessy." I assisted Bramble to dress, and as soon as he had put on his clothes he went to Bessy's room. I stayed at the door. "You may come in, Tom; she 's muffled up in her blankets, and fast asleep." "Quite fast," said Mrs. Maddox; "she has slept more than an hour. Dear heart, it will do her good." Bramble kissed Bessy's pale forehead, but it did not waken her. "Look, Tom," said Bramble, "look at that smooth, clear skin-those pretty features. Look at the delicate creature! and would you have thought that she would have dared what no man dared to do-that she would have defied those elements raging in their might, and have snatched their prey from their very grasp? Did I ever imagine, when I brought her as a helpless baby on shore, that she would ever have repaid the debt with such interest, or that such a weak instrument should have been chosen by the Lord to save one who otherwise must have perished? But His ways are not our ways, and he works as he thinks fit. Bless you, bless you, my Lessy,-and may your fond heart never be again put to such trial! Is she not beautiful, Tom? just like a piece of cold marble. Thank Heaven, she is not dead, but sleepeth!" I certainly never did look upon Bessy with so much interest; there was something so beautifully calm in her countenance as she lay there like an effigy on a tomb, hardly appearing to breathe ; and when I thought of the courage and devotion shown but a few hours before by the present almost inanimate form, I bent over her with admiration, and felt as if I could kneel before the beautiful shrine which contained such an energetic and noble spirit. While this was passing through my mind, Bramble had knelt by the bedside and was evidently in prayer; when he rose up he said, "Come away, Tom; she is a maiden, and may feel ashamed if she awaken and find us men standing by her bed-side. Let me know when she wakes up, Mrs. Maddox, and tell her I have been in to see her; and now, Tom, let's go down; I never felt the want of a pipe so much as I do now." CHAPTER XLIII....A Scene in the Hospital, and a strange Disco very. In a very few days Bramble and Bessy were sufficiently recovered to resume their usual avocations; but the former expressed no willingness to embark again, and Bessy's persuasions assisted to retain him at the cottage. With me it was different; I was still restless and anxious for change; my feelings toward Bessy were those of admiration and esteem, but not yet of love; yet I could not help recalling to mind the words of Bramble, "Observe how she performs those duties which fall to her lot; if she is a good daughter she will make a good wife." I felt that she would make a good wife; and I wished that I could have torn from my bosom the remembrance of Janet, and have substituted the form of Bessy in her place. We had been at the cottage nearly a week, when I received a letter from Anderson; he informed me that he had visited Old Nanny, who had made her will in due form, and confided it to him; and that he thought that she was more inclined to listen to him than she had before been; that my father, and mother, and sister, were well; and that Spicer had been obliged to go into the hospital, with an abscess in his knee, occasioned by running something into it; and that it was reported that he was very ill, and, in all probability, amputation must take place. I felt convinced that Spicer must have, in his hasty retreat, fallen over the iron railings which lay on the ground, and which had, as I mentioned, tripped me up; but with this difference, that, as the spikes of the railing were from me, and consequently I met with little injury, they must have been toward him, and had penetrated his knee; and thus it was that he had received the injury. Anderson also stated that they were very busy at the Hospital, receiving the men who had been maimed in the glorious battle of Trafalgar. Altogether, I made up my mind that I would take the first ship that was offered for pilotage up the river, that I might know more of what was going on; and, as we sat down to supper, I mentioned my intentions to Bramble. "All's right, Tom, you 're young, and ought to be moving; but, just now, I intend to take a spell on shore. I have promised Bessy, and how can I refuse her any thing, dear girl! I do n't mean to say that I shall never pilot a vessel again; but I do feel that I am not so young as I was, and this last affair has shaken me not a little, that's the truth of it. There's a time for all things; and when a man has enough he ought to be content, and not venture more. Besides, I can't bear to make Bessy unhappy; so, you see, I've half promised-only half Bessy, you know." "I think you would have done right if you had promised altogether," replied; "you have enough to live upon, and are now getting a little in years. Wy should you not stay on shore, and leave them to work who want the money?" Bessy's eyes beamed gratefully towards me, as I thus assisted her wishes. "You hear, father," said she, fondling him, "Tom agrees with me." ; but we "Ah!" replied Bramble, with a sigh, "if cannot have all we wish in this world." Bessy and I both felt what he would have referred to, and we were silent. She cast down her eyes, and appeared busy with her fork, although she was eating nothing. I no longer felt the repugnance that I had a short time before; and I was in deep reverie, watching the changes of her beautiful countenance, when she looked up. Our eyes met; she must have read my thoughts in mine, for from that moment each hour increased our intimacy and confidence. We were no longer afraid of each other. A day or two after this conversation an opportunity was given to me of going up the river, which I did not neglect; and having delivered up charge of the ship, I hastened down to Greenwich. I found every thing in statu quo at my mother's house, and Virginia much pleased at their being no lodgers. Anderson I met walking with Ben the Whaler and my father. He told me that Spicer had refused to have his leg amputated, when the surgeon had pointed out the necessity of the operation; and that it was now said that it was too late to have the operation performed; and that there was little or no chance of his recovery. They asked me many questions relative to the narrow escape of Bramble, and the behaviour of Bessy. As soon as I could get away, I set off to the Hospital to ee Spicer; for, as the reader must be aware, I had many reasons for having communication with him ;-not that I expected that at first he would acknowledge any thing; I knew that his heart was hardened, and that he had no idea of his danger; but I had his secrets, he was indeed in my power; and I hoped, by terrifying him, to obtain the infor mation which I wished. I found him in bed, in the corner of the Hospital ward, to the left. He was looking very pale, and apparently was in great pain. "Spicer," said I, "I have come to see you; I am sorry to hear of your accident. How is your leg? is it better? "No, not much," replied he, writhing, "I am in great pain; another mau would scream out with the agony; but I'm like the wolf-I'll die without complaint." "But you do n't think that you 're going to die, Spicer ?" 'No, Jack, I do n't think that, I never have thought that, when I have been worse than now. I'll never believe that I'm dead until I find myself so. It must come some time or another, but I'm hale and Hearty in constitution as yet, and my time is not yet come." "It was the iron railings which you fell over, was it not? I fell over them myself the same night when I landed, on the Monday, going up to Old Nanny's." "Who told you it was those cursed spikes? Well, well, so it was; but not on the Monday, Jack, it was on the Wednesday." "Nay, that cannot be; for, ex the Tuesday, as I went down to the beach, I saw them all fixed up in the stonework, and soldered in. It must have been on the Monday --the night on which Old Nanny was nearly smothered by some one who went in to rob her. I came there just in time to save her life-indeed, if you recollect, you were lame the next day, when I met you in the Hospital.” "Well, Jack, you may think what you please; but I tell you it was on the Wednesday." "Then you must have fallen over something else." Perhaps I did." 66 Well, it's of no consequence. I'm glad to find that you 're so much better; for I was told that the doctor had said- 39 "What did the doctor say?" interrupted Spicer. "Why, it's better to tell the truth; he said it was im possible for you to get over it-that the inflammation was too great to allow of amputation now, and that it must end in mortification." "He said that!" said Spicer, wildly, raising himself on his elbow. Yes, he did; and it's known all over the Hospital." "Well," replied Spicer, "he may have said so; but II think I ought to know best how I feel. He'll be here in half an hour or so, and then I'll put the question to him. I'm a little tired, Jack, so don't speak to me any more just now." "Shall I go away, Spicer?" "No, no, stay here. There's a book or two; read them till I feel a little stronger." That my communication had had an effect upon Spicer was evident. He was startled at the idea of the near approach of death, which he had not contemplated. Alas! who is not? He shut his eyes, and I watched him; the perspiration trickled down his forehead. I took up the book he had pointed out to me; it was the History of the Buccaneers, with plates; and I thought then that it was a parallel of Spicer's own career. I looked at the plates, for I was not much inclined to read. In a few minutes Spicer opened his eyes. "I am better now, Jack, the faintness has passed away. What book is that?-oh, the Buccaneers. That and Dampier's Voyages were the only two books of my father's library that I ever thought worth reading. Have you ever read it?" "No," replied I, "I never have. Will you lend it to me?" "Yes; I'll give it to you, Jack, if you like." "Thank you. Was your father a sailor, Spicer, as we as you?" "Yes, Jack, a sailor every inch of him." "Did you ever sail with him?” "No, he died about the time that I was born." "Why, yes, sir: it has been very painful, indeed, all night." The Hospital mates unbandaged Spicer's leg, and took off the poultices; and I was horrified when I saw the state which his leg was in-one mass of ulceration from the middle of the thigh down to half way below his knee, and his ankle and foot swelled twice their size; a similar inflammation extending up to his hip. The doctor compressed his lips, and looked very grave. He removed some pieces of flesh, it was then cleaned and fresh poultices put on. "Doctor," said Spicer, who had watched his countenance, they say in the Hospital that you have stated that I cannot live. Now, I should wish to know your opinion myself on this subject, as I believe I am the most interested party.” "Why, my man," said the doctor, "you certainly are in great danger; and if you have any affairs to settle, perhaps it will be prudent so to do." "That's a quiet way of saying there is no hope for me; is it not, doctor?" replied Spicer. "I fear, my good man, there is very little." "Tell me plainly, sir, if you please,-' replied Spicer; "is there any?” "I am afraid that there is not, my good man; it's unpleasant to say so; but perhaps it is kindness to tell the truth." "Well sir, that is honest. May I ask you how long I may expect to live?" 66 That will depend upon when the mortification takes place-about three days; after that, my poor fellow, you will probably be no more. Would you like the chaplain to come and see you?" "Thank you, sir; when I do I'll send for him." The doctor and the attendants went away to the other pa tients. I was silent. At last Spicer spoke. "Well, Jack, you were right; so it is all over with me. Somehow or another, although I bore up against it, I had an inkling of it myself, the pain has been so dreadful. Well, we can die but once, and I shall die game." "Spicer," said I, "that you will die without fear I know very well; but, still, you know that you should not die with out feeling sorry for the sins you have committed, and praying for pardon. We have all of us, the very best of us, to make our peace with Heaven; so, had I not better tell the chaplain to come and talk with you?" "No, Jack, no; I want no parsons praying by my side. Whet 's done is done, and can't be undone. Go now, Jack, wish to get a little sleep." "Shall I come and see you to-morrow, Spicer ?" "Yes, come when you will; I like to have some one to talk to; it keeps me from thinking." I wished him good day, and went away with the book in my hand. Before I went home I sought out old Anderson, and told him what had passed. "He will not see the chaplain, Anderson, but, perhaps, he will see you; and, by degrees, you can bring him to the subject. It is dreadful that a man should die in that way." "Alas for the pride of us wretched worms!" ejaculated Anderson; "he talks of dying game-that is to say, he defies his Maker. Yes, Jack, I will go and see him; and happy I am that he has a few days to live. I will see him to-night; but will not say much to him, or he might refuse my coming again." I went home. I was not in a very gay humor, for the sight of Spicer's leg, and the announcement of his situation, had made a deep impression upon me. I sat down to read the book which Spicer had made me a present of. I was interrupted by my mother requesting me to go a message for her, and during my absence Virginia had taken up the book. "Who lent you this book, Tom?" said she, when I returned. "Spicer-the man whom they call Black Sam, who is now dying in the Hospital." "Well, that's not the name on the title-page-it is Walter James, Tynemouth." "Walter James, did you say, dear? Let me look! Even and that Spicer had said that his father was a sailor, and that he had died at the time that he was born, which agreed with the narrative of Old Nanny. The conclusions which I came to in a moment made me shudder. "Well, my dear, I was surprised, if not frightened; but you don't know why, nor can I tell you; for it is not my E. secret. Let me look at the book again?" Here my father came in, and the conversation took a different turn, which I was not sorry for. I wished, however, to be left to my own reflections; so I soon afterward took up my candle, and retired to my room. I turned the subject over in my mind in a hundred ways, but could not come to any conclusion as to the best method of proceeding. At last I thought I would see Peter Anderson the next day, and take his advice. I was out immediately after breakfast; but I could not find Anderson, so I walked to the Hospital to see Spicer. I found Anderson sitting by his bed-side, but they were not then conversing. **After a short time Anderson rose, and giving a slight shake of the head, as if to inform me that he had no success, he by walked away "He has ben trying to convert me," said Spicer, with a grim smile. "He has been trying, Spicer, to bring you to a sense of your condition; and is he not kind? he can have no interest but your own good. Do you think no one knows the sins you have committed except yourself?—there is one eye which sees all." "Come, Jack, no preaching.” "Spicer, yon are here under a false name, and you think no knows any thing about you; but every thing has been discovered by me; and I cannot help thinking that it has been made known providentially, and for your good." "Ah!" replied Spicer, "and pray what do you know? Perhaps you can tell me all the sins I have committed." "No, Spicer, but perhaps I can tell you of the sins which you yourself are not aware of; but first answer me-you know that you cannot live long, Spicer; will you acknowledge that what I state is correct, should it really be so?" "I give you my word, that if you tell me any thing about me which is true, that I will acknowledge it; so now, Mr. Fortuneteller, here's my hand-it may be useful, you know, in helping your discovery." difficulty restored to consciousness, that poor woman, Spicer, is your own mother !” "God of Heaven!" exclaimed he, covering his face. "Yes, Spicer, your fond, indulgent mother, who thinks that you suffered the penalty of the law many years ago; and whose energies have been crushed by the supposed unhappy fate of her still loved and lamented son. Spicer, this is all true, and have you now nothing to repent of?" "I thought her dead. God, I thank thee that I did not the deed; and, Jack, I am really grateful to you for having prevented it. Poor old woman!—yes, she did love me, and how cruelly I treated her!—And she is then still alive, and thinks that I was hanged-yes, I recollect now, she must think so. Oh! my brain, my brain!" "Spicer, I must leave you now.' وو "Do n't leave me, Jack-yes do, come to-morrow morn ing." "Spicer, will you do me a favor?" "Yes." "Will you see Aederson, and talk with him?" "Yes, if you wish it; but not now;-this evening I will, if he 'll come." left Spicer, well satisfied with what had passed, and hastened to Anderson, to communicate it to him. "A strange and providential discovery, Tom, indeed," said he, "and good use it appears to me you have made of it: his heart is softened, that is evident; I will certainly go to him this evening." CHAPTER XLIV....Spicer discloses strange matters. The next day, when I called to see Spicer, I found him in great pain. Anderson had been with him, but he had been in such agony that he found it almost impossible to converse with him. Spicer did not like that I should leave him, although he could not talk, and I therefore remained by his bedside, occasionally assisting him to move from one position to another, or to take the drink that was by his bedside. Toward the evening he became more easy, and went to sleep: I left him, therefore, till the next day. As I supposed, the mortification had commenced, for the doctor told him so the next morning, when he visited him, and the chaplain pointed out to him that all hopes of living were Is now over. Spicer heard the communication unmoved. He asked tse doctor how long he might live, and his reply was, it was possibly four or five days, and that he would feel no more pain. He was now able to listen to Anderson, and he did so. I shall not trouble the reader with repeating what Anderson imparted to me, as I can give him an idea of Spicer's feelings by what passed between us. "I do not want your hand, Spicer;-now hear me. not your name James?—and were you not born at Tyne mouth?" Spicer started. "How did you find that out? Well, Tom, it is so, and what then?" “As you told me yourself, although I knew it before, your father was lost at sea, about the time that you were born. Spicer, I know how you left your mother, and how you returned from you know where-how you robbed her of every farthing, and left her again destitute and in misery. Is there nothing to repent of in that, Spicer?" "Who the devil- "" "Nay, Spicer, the devil has had nothing to do with the discovery." it is true." Strange, strange indeed," muttered Spicer; "but still, "Spicer, you know best how your life was passed from that time until you came into the Hospital; but it was to be hoped, that when laid up to rest in this haven, after such a stormy life, that you would have amended your life; but what have you done?" "And what have I done?" "What would have brought you to the gallows, if I had not held my tongue. You attempted to murder the old woman to obtain her money, and in escaping, you received the wound which soon will bring you to your grave." "What proofs ?" "Every proof, your stump struck me in the face when you rushed out-the button was off your coat the next morning when I met you-I had every proof, and had I chosen, would have sworn on the Bible, to your having been the party." "Well, I'll not deny it-why should I, when I cannot be taken out of this bed to be tried, even if you wished? Have you more to say?" "Tom," said he, "I have led a very wicked life, so wicked that I hate to think of it, and I hate myself. I believe all that Anderson and the chaplain tell me, and I find that I may hope and do hope for mercy; but I can't cry or wail or tear my hair. The fact is, Tom, I can't feel afraid: if I am pardoned, and I do scarcely expect it, I shall be all gratitude, as well I may. Should I be condemned, I shall have deserved all; but I cannot feel fear: I believe I ought; acknowledge my punishment just, and not complain, for I but it is not in my nature, I suppose." "But you do not feel any thing like defiance, Spicer?" "No, God forbid! no, nothing like that, but my spirit cannot quail." He was very anxions for the chaplain, the two last days of his life, and I really believe was sincere in his repentance; but before I wind up his history, I will narrate to the reader those portions of his life which are unknown, and which are necessary to the explanation of other mat ters. He told me that when he first went to sea, he had joined a vessel employed in the slave trade, that he had left it at Cambia, and shipped on board of a vessel which was about to cruise on the Spanish main. He was some time in her, and had been appointed second officer, when he resolved to fit out a vessel and cruise for himself. He had therefore quitted the vessel at Surinam, and worked his passage home in a sugar ship. It was on his return home at this time, that, as Old Nanny had told me, he had taken to gaming, and eventually had robbed his mother. With the 20001. in his pocket, he repaired to Liverpool; where he fell in with Fitzgerald, a young man who had served as first mate in the vessel in which they had cruised on the Spanish main, and to him he had proposed to join him as first officer, in the vessel which he was about to fit out. It appeared that this young man had but a few days returned from Ireland, where he had married a young woman, to whom he had been some time attached, and that his disinclination to leave his young wife made him at first refuse the offer made by Spicer. Spicer, however, who was aware of his value, would not lose sight of him, and contrived, when Fitzgerald had taken too much wine, to win of him by unfair means about 1500l. Spicer then offered Fitzgerald a release from the debt provided he would sail with him; and he exacted as a farther condition that he should not return, and take a farewell of his wife. To these harsh terms, Fitzgerald being without means of liquidating the debt, consented, and they sailed accordingly. "And now, Jack, I will tell you why I was so serious about that spy-glass. I knew it the moment that I saw it in your hands that it was one that belonged to Fitzgerald, when we were on our first cruise together. It was the best glass I ever met with. When we left Liverpool this time, I asked him for the spy-glass, and he told me that expecting to return to his wife before he sailed, he had left it at home. How it came into the lady's hands I can't tell." "I never said that Lady Hercules gave it to me, replied I, although I did not undeceive you when you thought so. The fact is, it was given me by a very pretty young Irish widow." "Then, Jack, I should not wonder if she was not the wife of Fitzgerald, whom I have been talking about; but that I leave to you. Let me finish my story. When we arrived on the Spanish coast I had as fine a crew with me as ever were on board of a vessel; but I had long made up my mind that I would hoist the black flag. Yes, Jack, it is but too true. But when I proposed it, Fitzgerald declared that the first act of piracy that was committed he would leave the vessel. I tried all I could to persuade him, but in vain. However, we did take an English vessel, and plundered her. Upon this Fitzgerald protested, and half the crew, at least, joined him. I threatened the men to shoot them through the head; but they were resolute; and, being rather the stronger party, I dared not make any attempt. They insisted upon leaving the vessel; and I, not being able to help it, landed them all in the Bay of Honduras, where I thought it very possible they would be taken by the Spaniards, and imprisoned, if not hanged. They were imprisoned; but, after some time, they were released. The desertion of Fitzgerald and the other men left me with my vessel half manned; and I vowed vengeance against him if ever I had an opportunity. I now cruised as a pirate, ahd was very successful, and my name was a terror to those seas. A high reward was offered for me, dead or alive, which pleased me much, and I became more murderous than ever. Jack, all this rises up in judgement against me now; and I recollect every single life taken away by me, or by my orders, as well as if I had noted them down in a book. May God forgive me!" continued Spicer, covering his eyes up for a time. After a pause he continued, "I had ordered a vessel with a valuable cargo to be taken on a rendezvous we had in the Caicos; but it was recaptured and taden into Port Royal, Jamaica. As the proofs of the piracy were well established, the men on board were thrown into prison to take their trial. I heard of this, for I was often on shore in disguise in one island or another, and a scheme entered my head which I thought would benefit myself and wreak my vengeance upon Fitzgerald. But I must leave off now. Here comes the chaplain; he promised to talk with me this evening, and you see that I have changed my opinion on that point, praised be God for it. Good night, Jack, come to-morrow." THE GAME AT CHESS. BY LAMAN BLANCHARD, ESQ. Love with a Lady-would you know Imprinted in the hyacinth fair- Most innocent, and calm, and high The mind which in that Lady's face In a clear brook's green dwelling-place; Angels, on heaven's own azure hill, Watched the sweet Pair who played at Chess. But see, a smile succeeds to doubt In her fair eyes-they see "the move;" Joy in her soul; and thus with Love Is dear to her as health or fame! And were Love dead, she 'd feel no shame And, beaten, seems but half awake; Quivers with some convulsive ache- It touched Love's lightly, once-no more! Delight, despair, beyond disguise, Yet knew she not that Love had gazed; She plays at random-one so crazed And she know no emotion less, No Bishop, but a curate plain. |