CHAPTER VIII.
Man hath a weary pilgrimage, As through the world he wends; On every stage, from youth to age, Still discontent attends; With heaviness he casts his eye, Upon the road before, And still remembers with a sigh The days that are no more.
Southey.
It has now become necessary to advance the time three entire days, andto change the scene to Key West. As this latter place may not be knownto the world at large, it may be well to explain that it is a smallseaport, situate on one of the largest of the many low islands that dotthe Florida Reef, that has risen into notice, or indeed into existenceas a town, since the acquisition of the Floridas by the AmericanRepublic. For many years it was the resort of few besides wreckers, andthose who live by the business dependent on the rescuing and repairingof stranded vessels, not forgetting the salvages. When it is rememberedthat the greater portion of the vessels that enter the Gulf of Mexicostand close along this reef, before the trades, for a distance varyingfrom one to two hundred miles, and that nearly everything which quitsit, is obliged to beat down its rocky coast in the Gulf Stream for thesame distance, one is not to be surprised that the wrecks, which soconstantly occur, can supply the wants of a considerable population. Tolive at Key West is the next thing to being at sea. The place has seaair, no other water than such as is preserved in cisterns, and no soil,or so little as to render even a head of lettuce a rarity. Turtle isabundant, and the business of “turtling” forms an occupation additionalto that of wrecking. As might be expected, in such circumstances, apotato is a far more precious thing than a turtle’s egg, and a sack ofthe tubers would probably be deemed a sufficient remuneration for enoughof the materials of callipash and callipee to feed all the aldermenextant.
Of late years, the government of the United States has turned itsattention to the capabilities of the Florida Reef, as an advanced navalstation; a sort of Downs, or St. Helen’s Roads, for the West Indianseas. As yet little has been done beyond making the preliminary surveys,but the day is not probably very distant when fleets will lie at anchoramong the islets described in our earlier chapters, or garnish the finewaters of Key West. For a long time it was thought that even frigateswould have a difficulty in entering and quitting the port of the latter,but it is said that recent explorations have discovered channels capableof admitting anything that floats. Still Key West is a town yet in itschrysalis state, possessing the promise rather than the fruition of theprosperous days which are in reserve. It may be well to add, thatit lies a very little north of the 24th degree of latitude, and in alongitude quite five degrees west from Washington. Until the recentconquests in Mexico it was the most southern possession of the Americangovernment, on the eastern side of the continent; Cape St. Lucas, at theextremity of Lower California, however, being two degrees farther south.
It will give the foreign reader a more accurate notion of the characterof Key West, if we mention a fact of quite recent occurrence. A very fewweeks after the closing scenes of this tale, the town in question was,in a great measure, washed away! A hurricane brought in the sea uponall these islands and reefs, water running in swift currents over placesthat within the memory of man were never before submerged. The lowerpart of Key West was converted into a raging sea, and everything in thatquarter of the place disappeared. The foundation being of rock, however,when the ocean retired the island came into view again, and industry andenterprise set to work to repair the injuries.
The government has established a small hospital for seamen at Key West.Into one of the rooms of the building thus appropriated our narrativemust now conduct the reader. It contained but a single patient, and thatwas Spike. He was on his narrow bed, which was to be but the pucursorof a still narrower tenement, the grave. In the room with the dying manwere two females, in one of whom our readers will at once recognize theperson of Rose Budd, dressed in deep mourning for her aunt. At firstsight, it is probable that a casual spectator would mistake the secondfemale for one of the ordinary nurses of the place. Her attire was wellenough, though worn awkwardly, and as if its owner were not exactlyat ease in it. She had the air of one in her best attire, who wasunaccustomed to be dressed above the most common mode. What added to thesingularity of her appearance, was the fact, that while she wore no cap,her hair had been cut into short, gray bristles, instead of being long,and turned up, as is usual with females. To give a sort of climax tothis uncouth appearance, this strange-looking creature chewed tobacco.
The woman in question, equivocal as might be her exterior, was employedin one of the commonest avocations of her sex--that of sewing. She heldin her hand a coarse garment, one of Spike’s, in fact, which she seemedto be intently busy in mending; although the work was of a quality thatinvited the use of the palm and sail-needle, rather than that of thethimble and the smaller implement known to seamstresses, the womanappeared awkward in her business, as if her coarse-looking anddark hands refused to lend themselves to an occupation so feminine.Nevertheless, there were touches of a purely womanly character aboutthis extraordinary person, and touches that particularly attracted theattention, and awakened the sympathy of the gentle Rose, her companion.Tears occasionally struggled out from beneath her eyelids, crossed herdark, sun-burnt cheek, and fell on the coarse canvas garment that layin her lap. It was after one of these sudden and strong exhibitions offeeling that Rose approached her, laid her own little, fair hand, in afriendly way, though unheeded, on the other’s shoulder, and spoke to herin her kindest and softest tones.
“I do really think he is reviving, Jack,” said Rose, “and that you mayyet hope to have an intelligent conversation with him.”
“They all agree he _must_ die,” answered Jack Tier--for it was _he,_appearing in the garb of his proper sex, after a disguise that had nowlasted fully twenty years--“and he will never know who I am, and that Iforgive him. He must think of me in another world, though he is n’t ableto do it in this; but it would be a great relief to his soul to knowthat I forgive him.”
“To be sure, a man must like to take a kind leave of his own wife beforehe closes his eyes for ever; and I dare say it would be a great reliefto you to tell him that you have forgotten his desertion of you, andall the hardships it has brought upon you in searching for him, and inearning your own livelihood as a common sailor.”
“I shall not tell him I’ve _forgotten_ it, Miss Rose; that would beuntrue--and there shall be no more deception between us; but I shalltell him that I _forgive_ him, as I hope God will one day forgive me all_my_ sins.”
“It is, certainly, not a light offence to desert a wife in a foreignland, and then to seek to deceive another woman,” quietly observed Rose.
“He’s a willian!” muttered the wife--“but--but--”
“You forgive him, Jack--yes, I’m sure you do. You are too good aChristian to refuse to forgive him.”
“I’m a woman a’ter all, Miss Rose; and that, I believe, is the truth ofit. I suppose I ought to do as you say, for the reason you mention; butI’m his wife--and once he loved me, though that has long been over. WhenI first knew Stephen, I’d the sort of feelin’s you speak of, and was avery different creatur’ from what you see me to-day. Change comes overus all with years and sufferin’.”
Rose did not answer, but she stood looking intently at the speakermore than a minute. Change had, indeed, come over her, if she had everpossessed the power to please the fancy of any living man. Her featureshad always seemed diminutive and mean for her assumed sex, as hervoice was small and cracked; but, making every allowance for theprobabilities, Rose found it difficult to imagine that Jack Tier hadever possessed, even under the high advantages of youth and innocence,the attractions so common to her sex. Her skin had acquired the tanningof the sea; the expression of her face had become hard and worldly; andher habits contributed to render those natural consequences of exposureand toil even more than usually marked and decided. By saying “habits,” however, we do not mean that Jack had ever drunk to excess, as happenswith so many seamen, for this would hav
e been doing her injustice, butshe smoked and chewed--practices that intoxicate in another form, andlead nearly as many to the grave as excess in drinking. Thus all theaccessories about this singular being, partook of the character of herrecent life and duties. Her walk was between a waddle and a seaman’sroll, her hands were discoloured with tar, and had got to be full ofknuckles, and even her feet had degenerated into that flat, broad-toedform that, perhaps, sooner distinguishes caste, in connection withoutward appearances, than any one other physical peculiarity. Yet thisbeing _had_ once been young--had once been even _fair;_ and had oncepossessed that feminine air and lightness of form, that as often belongsto the youthful American of her sex, perhaps, as to the girl of anyother nation on earth. Rose continued to gaze at her companion for sometime, when she walked musingly to a window that looked out upon theport.
“I am not certain whether it would do him good or not to see thissight,” she said, addressing the wife kindly, doubtful of the effectof her words even on the latter. “But here are the sloop-of-war, andseveral other vessels.”
“Ay, she is _there;_ but never will his foot be put on board the Swashag’in. When he bought that brig I was still young, and agreeable to him;and he gave her my maiden name, which was Mary, or Molly Swash. But thatis all changed; I wonder he did not change the name with his change offeelin’s.”
“Then you did really sail in the brig in former times, and knew theseaman whose name you assumed?”
“Many years. Tier, with whose name I made free, on account of hissize, and some resemblance to me in form, died under my care; and hisprotection fell into my hands, which first put the notion into my headof hailing as his representative. Yes, I knew Tier in the brig, and wewere left ashore at the same time; I, intentionally, I make no question;he, because Stephen Spike was in a hurry, and did not choose to wait fora man. The poor fellow caught the yellow fever the very next day, anddid not live eight-and-forty hours. So the world goes; them that wish tolive, die; and them that wants to die, live!”
“You have had a hard time for one of your sex, poor Jack--quite twentyyears a sailor, did you not tell me?”
“Every day of it, Miss Rose--and bitter years have they been; for thewhole of that time have I been in chase of my husband, keeping my ownsecret, and slaving like a horse for a livelihood.”
“You could not have been old when he left--that is--when you parted.”
“Call it by its true name, and say at once, when he desarted me. I wasunder thirty by two or three years, and was still like my own sex tolook at. All _that_ is changed since; but I _was_ comely _then_.”
“_Why_ did Captain Spike abandon you, Jack; you have never told me_that_.”
“Because he fancied another. And ever since that time he has beenfancying others, instead of remembering me. Had he got _you,_ Miss Rose,I think he would have been content for the rest of his days.”
“Be certain, Jack, I should never have consented to marry CaptainSpike.”
“You’re well out of his hands,” answered Jack, sighing heavily, whichwas the most feminine thing she had done during the whole conversation,“well out of his hands--and God be praised it is so. He should havedied, before I would let him carry you off the island--husband or nohusband.”
“It might have exceeded your power to prevent it under othercircumstances, Jack.”
Rose now continued looking out of the window in silence. Her thoughtsreverted to her aunt and Biddy, and tears rolled down her cheeks asshe remembered the love of one, and the fidelity of the other. Theirhorrible fate had given her a shock that, at first, menaced her witha severe fit of illness; but her strong, good sense, and excellentconstitution, both sustained by her piety and Harry’s manly tenderness,had brought her through the danger, and left her, as the reader now seesher, struggling with her own griefs, in order to be of use to thestill more unhappy woman who had so singularly become her friend andcompanion.
The reader will readily have anticipated that Jack Tier had earlymade the females on board the Swash her confidants. Rose had knownthe outlines of her history from the first few days they were at seatogether, which is the explanation of the visible intimacy that hadcaused Mulford so much surprise. Jack’s motive in making his revelationsmight possibly have been tinctured with jealousy, but a desire to saveone as young and innocent as Rose was at its bottom. Few persons but awife would have supposed our heroine could have been in any danger froma lover like Spike; but Jack saw him with the eyes of her own youth, andof past recollections, rather than with those of truth. A movementof the wounded man first drew Rose from the window. Drying her eyeshastily, she turned toward him, fancying she might prove the betternurse of the two, notwithstanding Jack’s greater interest in thepatient.
“What place is this--and why am I here?” demanded Spike, with morestrength of voice than could have been expected, after all that hadpassed. “This is not a cabin--not the Swash--it looks like a hospital.”
“It is a hospital, Captain Spike,” said Rose, gently drawing near thebed; “you have been hurt, and have been brought to Key West, and placedin the hospital. I hope you feel better, and that you suffer no pain.”
“My head is n’t right--I do n’t know--everything seems turned roundwith me--perhaps it will all come out as it should. I begin toremember--where is my brig?”
“She is lost on the rocks. The seas have broken her into fragments.”
“That’s melancholy news, at any rate. Ah! Miss Rose! God bless you--I’vehad terrible dreams. Well, it’s pleasant to be among friends--whatcreature is that--where does _she_ come from?”
“That is Jack Tier,” answered Rose, steadily. “She turns out to be awoman, and has put on her proper dress, in order to attend on you duringyour illness. Jack has never left your bedside since we have been here.”
A long silence succeeded this revelation. Jack’s eyes twinkled, andshe hitched her body half aside, as if to conceal her features, whereemotions that were unusual were at work with the muscles. Rose thoughtit might be well to leave the man and wife alone--and she managed to getout of the room unobserved.
Spike continued to gaze at the strange-looking female, who was now hissole companion. Gradually his recollection returned, and with it thefull consciousness of his situation. He might not have been fully awareof the absolute certainty of his approaching death, but he must haveknown that his wound was of a very grave character, and that the resultmight early prove fatal. Still that strange and unknown figure hauntedhim; a figure that was so different from any he had ever seen before,and which, in spite of its present dress, seemed to belong quite as muchto one sex as to the other. As for Jack, we call Molly, or Mary Swashby her masculine appellation, not only because it is more familiar, butbecause the other name seems really out of place, as applied to such aperson--as for Jack, then, she sat with her face half averted, thumbingthe canvas, and endeavouring to ply the needle, but perfectly mute. Shewas conscious that Spike’s eyes were on her; and a lingering feeling ofher sex told her how much time, exposure, and circumstances, hadchanged her person--and she would gladly have hidden the defects in herappearance.
Mary Swash was the daughter as well as the wife of a ship-master. In heryouth, as has been said before, she had even been pretty, and down tothe day when her husband deserted her, she would have been thoughta female of a comely appearance rather than the reverse. Her hair inparticular, though slightly coarse, perhaps, had been rich and abundant;and the change from the long, dark, shining, flowing locks which shestill possessed in her thirtieth year, to the short, grey bristles thatnow stood exposed without a cap, or covering of any sort, was one verylikely to destroy all identity of appearance. Then Jack had passed fromwhat might be called youth to the verge of old age, in the interval thatshe had been separated from her husband. Her shape had changed entirely;her complexion was utterly gone; and her features, always unmeaning,though feminine, and suitable to her sex, had become hard and slightlycoarse. Still there was something of her former self about Jack thatbewilde
red Spike; and his eyes continued fastened on her for quite aquarter of an hour in profound silence.
“Give me some water,” said the wounded man, “I wish some water todrink.”
Jack arose, filled a tumbler and brought it to the side of the bed.Spike took the glass and drank, but the whole time his eyes were rivetedon the strange nurse. When his thirst was appeased, he asked--
“Who are you? How came you here?”
“I am your nurse. It is common to place nurses at the bedsides of thesick.”
“Are you man or woman?”
“That is a question I hardly know how to answer. Sometimes I thinkmyself each; sometimes neither.”
“Did I ever see you before?”
“Often, and quite lately. I sailed with you in your last voyage.”
“You! That cannot be. If so, what is your name?”
“Jack Tier.”
A long pause succeeded this announcement, which induced Spike to museas intently as his condition would allow, though the truth did not yetflash on his understanding. At length the bewildered man again spoke.
“Are _you_ Jack Tier?” he said slowly, like one who doubted. “Yes--Inow see the resemblance, and it was _that_ which puzzled me. Are theyso rigid in this hospital that you have been obliged to put on woman’sclothes in order to lend me a helping hand?”
“I am dressed as you see, and for good reasons.”
“But Jack Tier run, like that rascal Mulford--ay, I remember now; youwere in the boat when I overhauled you all on the reef.”
“Very true; I was in the boat. But I never run, Stephen Spike. It was_you_ who abandoned _me,_ on the islet in the Gulf, and that makes thesecond time in your life that you left me ashore, when it was your dutyto carry me to sea.”
“The first time I was in a hurry, and could not wait for you; this lasttime you took sides with the women. But for your interference, I shouldhave got Rose, and married her, and all would now have been well withme.”
This was an awkward announcement for a man to make to his legal wife.But after all Jack had endured, and all Jack had seen during the latevoyage, she was not to be overcome by this avowal. Her self-commandextended so far as to prevent any open manifestation of emotion, howevermuch her feelings were excited.
“I took sides with the women, because I am a woman myself,” sheanswered, speaking at length with decision, as if determined to bringmatters to a head at once. “It is natural for us all to take sides withour kind.”
“You a woman, Jack! That is very remarkable. Since when have youhailed for a woman? You have shipped with me twice, and each time as aman--though I’ve never thought you able to do seaman’s duty.”
“Nevertheless, I am what you see; a woman born and edicated; one thatnever had on man’s dress until I knew you. _You_ supposed me to be aman, when I came off to you in the skiff to the eastward of Riker’sIsland, but I was then what you now see.”
“I begin to understand matters,” rejoined the invalid, musingly. “Ay,ay, it opens on me; and I now see how it was you made such fair weatherwith Madam Budd and pretty, pretty Rose. Rose _is_ pretty, Jack; you_must_ admit _that,_ though you be a woman.”
“Rose _is_ pretty--I do admit it; and what is better, Rose is _good.”_It required a heavy draft on Jack’s justice and magnanimity, however, tomake this concession.
“And you told Rose and Madam Budd about your sex; and that was thereason they took to you so on the v’y’ge?”
“I told them who I was, and why I went abroad as a man. They know mywhole story.”
“Did Rose approve of your sailing under false colours, Jack?”
“You must ask that of Rose herself. My story made her my friend; but shenever said anything for or against my disguise.”
“It was no great disguise a’ter all, Jack. Now you’re fitted out in yourown clothes, you’ve a sort of half-rigged look; one would be as likelyto set you down for a man under jury-canvas, as for a woman.”
Jack made no answer to this, but she sighed very heavily. As for Spikehimself, he was silent for some little time, not only from exhaustion,but because he suffered pain from his wound. The needle was diligentlybut awkwardly plied in this pause.
Spike’s ideas were still a little confused; but a silence and rest of aquarter of an hour cleared them materially. At the end of that time heagain asked for water. When he had drunk, and Jack was once more seated,with his side-face toward him, at work with the needle, the captaingazed long and intently at this strange woman. It happened that theprofile of Jack preserved more of the resemblance to her former self,than the full face; and it was this resemblance that now attractedSpike’s attention, though not the smallest suspicion of the truth yetgleamed upon him. He saw something that was familiar, though he couldnot even tell what that something was, much less to what or whom it boreany resemblance. At length he spoke.
“I was told that Jack Tier was dead,” he said; “that he took the fever,and was in his grave within eight-and-forty hours after we sailed. Thatwas what they told me of _him_.”
“And what did they tell you of your own wife, Stephen Spike. She thatyou left ashore at the time Jack was left?”
“They said she did not die for three years later. I heard of her deathat New Or_leens,_ three years later.”
“And how could you leave her ashore--she, your true and lawful wife?”
“It was a bad thing,” answered Spike, who, like all other mortals,regarded his own past career, now that he stood on the edge of thegrave, very differently from what he had regarded it in the hour of hishealth and strength. “Yes, it _was_ a very bad thing; and I wish it wasondone. But it is too late now. She died of the fever, too--that’ssome comfort; had she died of a broken heart, I could not have forgivenmyself. Molly was not without her faults--great faults, I consideredthem; but, on the whole, Molly was a good creatur’.”
“You liked her, then, Stephen Spike?”
“I can truly say that when I married Molly, and old Captain Swash puthis da’ghter’s hand into mine, that the woman was n’t living who wasbetter in my judgment, or handsomer in my eyes.”
“Ay, ay--when you _married_ her; but how was it a’terwards?--when youwas tired of her, and saw another that was fairer in your eyes?”
“I desarted her; and God has punished me for the sin! Do you know, Jack,that luck has never been with me since that day. Often and often have Ibethought me of it; and sartain as you sit there, no great luck has everbeen with me, or my craft, since I went off, leaving my wife ashore.What was made in one v’y’ge, was lost in the next. Up and down, up anddown the whole time, for so many, many long years, that grey hairs setin, and old age was beginning to get close aboard--and I as poor asever. It has been rub and go with me ever since; and I have had as muchas I could do to keep the brig in motion, as the only means that wasleft to make the two ends meet.”
“And did not all this make you think of your poor wife--she whom you hadso wronged?”
“I thought of little else, until I heard of her death at NewOr_leens_--and then I gave it up as useless. Could I have fallen in withMolly at any time a’ter the first six months of my desartion, she andI would have come together again, and everything would have beenforgotten. I knowed her very nature, which was all forgiveness to me atthe bottom, though seemingly so spiteful and hard.”
“Yet you wanted to have this Rose Budd, who is only too young, andhandsome, and good for you.”
“I was tired of being a widower, Jack; and Rose _is_ wonderful pretty.She has money, too, and might make the evening of my days comfortable.The brig was old, as you must know, and has long been off of all theInsurance Offices’ books; and she could n’t hold together much longer.But for this sloop-of-war, I should have put her off on the Mexicans;and they would have lost her to our people in a month.”
“And was it an honest thing to sell an old and worn-out craft to anyone, Stephen Spike?”
Spike had a conscience that had become hard as iron by means of trade.He who tr
affics much, most especially if his dealings be on so smalla scale as to render constant investigations of the minor qualitiesof things necessary, must be a very fortunate man, if he preservehis conscience in any better condition. When Jack made this allusion,therefore, the dying man--for death was much nearer to Spike that evenbe supposed, though he no longer hoped for his own recovery--when Jackmade this allusion, then, the dying man was a good deal at a loss tocomprehend it. He saw no particular harm in making the best bargain hecould; nor was it easy for him to understand why he might not dispose ofanything he possessed for the highest price that was to be had. Still heanswered in an apologetic sort of way.
“The brig was old, I acknowledge,” he said, “but she was strong, and_might_ have run a long time. I only spoke of her capture as a thinglikely to take place soon, if the Mexicans got her; so that herqualities were of no great account, unless it might be her speed--andthat you know was excellent, Jack.”
“And you regret that brig, Stephen Spike, lying as you do on yourdeath-bed, more than anything else.”
“Not as much as I do pretty Rose Budd, Jack; Rosy is so delightful tolook at!”
The muscles of Jack’s face twitched a little, and she looked deeplymortified; for, to own the truth, she hoped that the conversation hadso far turned her delinquent husband’s thoughts to the past, as to haverevived in him some of his former interest in herself. It is true, hestill believed her dead; but this was a circumstance Jack overlooked--sohard is it to hear the praises of a rival, and be just. She felt thenecessity of being more explicit, and determined at once to come to thepoint.
“Stephen Spike,” she said, steadily, drawing near to the bed-side, “youshould be told the truth, when you are heard thus extolling the goodlooks of Rose Budd, with less than eight-and-forty hours of liferemaining. Mary Swash did not die, as you have supposed, three yearsa’ter you desarted her, but is living at this moment. Had you read theletter I gave you in the boat, just before you made me jump into thesea, _that_ would have told you where she is to be found.”
Spike stared at the speaker intently; and when her cracked voice ceased,his look was that of a man who was terrified as well as bewildered. Thisdid not arise still from any gleamings of the real state of the case,but from the soreness with which his conscience pricked him, when heheard that his much-wronged wife was alive. He fancied, with a vivid andrapid glance at the probabilities, all that a woman abandoned would belikely to endure in the course of so many long and suffering years.
“Are you sure of what you say, Jack? You would n’t take advantage of mysituation to tell me an untruth?”
“As certain of it as of my own existence. I have seen her quitelately--talked with her of _you_--in short, she is now at Key West,knows your state, and has a wife’s feelin’s to come to your bed-side.”
Notwithstanding all this, and the many gleamings he had had of the factsduring their late intercourse on board the brig, Spike did not guess atthe truth. He appeared astounded, and his terror seemed to increase.
“I have another thing to tell you,” continued Jack, pausing but a momentto collect her own thoughts. “Jack Tier--the real Jack Tier--he whosailed with you of old, and whom you left ashore at the same timeyou desarted your wife, _did_ die of the fever, as you was told, ineight-and-forty hours a’ter the brig went to sea.”
“Then who, in the name of Heaven, are you? How came you to hail byanother’s name as well as by another sex?”
“What could a woman do, whose husband had desarted her in a strangeland?”
“That is remarkable! So _you_‘ve been married? I should not have thought_that_ possible; and your husband desarted you, too. Well, such things_do_ happen.”
Jack now felt a severe pang. She could not but see that her ungainly--wehad almost said her unearthly appearance--prevented the captain fromeven yet suspecting the truth; and the meaning of his language was noteasily to be mistaken. That any one should have married _her,_ seemed toher husband as improbable as it was probable he would run away from heras soon as it was in his power after the ceremony.
“Stephen Spike,” resumed Jack, solemnly, “_I_ am Mary Swash--_I_ am yourwife!”
Spike started in his bed; then he buried his face in the coverlet--andhe actually groaned. In bitterness of spirit the woman turned away andwept. Her feelings had been blunted by misfortune and the collisionsof a selfish world; but enough of former self remained to make this thehardest of all the blows she had ever received. Her husband, dying ashe was, as he must and did know himself to be, shrunk from one of herappearance, unsexed as she had become by habits, and changed by yearsand suffering.
CHAPTER IX.
The trusting heart’s repose, the paradise Of home, with all its loves, doth fate allow The crown of glory unto woman’s brow.
Mrs. Hemans.
It has again become necessary to advance the time; and we shall take theoccasion thus offered to make a few explanations touching certain eventswhich have been passed over without notice.
The reason why Captain Mull did not chase the yawl of the brig in thePoughkeepsie herself, was the necessity of waiting for his own boatsthat were endeavouring to regain the sloop-of-war. It would not havedone to abandon them, inasmuch as the men were so much exhausted by thepull to windward, that when they reached the vessel all were relievedfrom duty for the rest of the day. As soon, however, as the other boatswere hoisted in, or run up, the ship filled away, stood out ofthe passage and ran down to join the cutter of Wallace, which wasendeavouring to keep its position, as much as possible, by making shorttacks under close-reefed luggs.
Spike had been received on board the sloop-of-war, sent into her sickbay, and put under the care of the surgeon and his assistants. From thefirst, these gentlemen pronounced the hurt mortal. The wounded man wasinsensible most of the time, until the ship had beat up and gone intoKey West, where he was transferred to the regular hospital, as hasalready been mentioned.
The wreckers went out the moment the news of the calamity of the Swashreached their ears. Some went in quest of the doubloons of the schooner,and others to pick up anything valuable that might be discovered in theneighbourhood of the stranded brig. It may be mentioned here, that notmuch was ever obtained from the brigantine, with the exception of a fewspars, the sails, and a little rigging; but, in the end, the schoonerwas raised, by means of the chain Spike had placed around her, the cabinwas ransacked, and the doubloons were recovered. As there was no one toclaim the money, it was quietly divided among the conscientious citizenspresent at its re-visiting “the glimpses of the moon,” making goldplenty.
The doubloons in the yawl would have been lost but for the sagacity ofMulford. He too well knew the character of Spike to believe he wouldquit the brig without taking the doubloons with him. Acquainted with theboat, he examined the little locker in the stern-sheets, and foundthe two bags, one of which was probably the lawful property of CaptainSpike, while the other, in truth, belonged to the Mexican government.The last contained the most gold, but the first amounted to a sumthat our young mate knew to be very considerable. Rose had made himacquainted with the sex of Jack Tier since their own marriage; and he atonce saw that the claims of this uncouth wife, who was so soon to bea widow, to the gold in question, might prove to be as good in law, asthey unquestionably were in morals. On representing the facts of thecase to Captain Mull and the legal functionaries at Key West, it wasdetermined to relinquish this money to the heirs of Spike, as, indeed,they must have done under process, there being no other claimant. Thesedoubloons, however, did not amount to the full price of the flourand powder that composed the cargo of the Swash. The cargo had beenpurchased with Mexican funds; and all that Spike or his heirs couldclaim, was the high freight for which he had undertaken the delicateoffice of transporting those forbidden articles, contraband of war, tothe Dry Tortugas.
Mulford by this time was high in the confidence and esteem of all onboard the Poughkeepsie. He had frankly explained his whole connexionwith Spike, not even
attempting to conceal the reluctance he had feltto betray the brig after he had fully ascertained the fact of hiscommander’s treason. The manly gentlemen with whom he was now brought incontact entered into his feelings, and admitted that it was an officeno one could desire, to turn against the craft in which he sailed. It istrue, they could not and would not be traitors, but Mulford had stoppedfar short of this; and the distinction between such a character and thatof an informer was wide enough to satisfy all their scruples.
Then Rose had the greatest success with the gentlemen of thePoughkeepsie. Her youth, beauty, and modesty, told largely in herfavour; and the simple, womanly affection she unconsciously betrayedin behalf of Harry, touched the heart of every observer. When theintelligence of her aunt’s fate reached her, the sorrow she manifestedwas so profound and natural, that every one sympathized with her grief.Nor would she be satisfied unless Mulford would consent to go in searchof the bodies. The latter knew the hopelessness of such an excursion,but he could not refuse to comply. He was absent on that melancholyduty, therefore, at the moment of the scene related in our last chapter,and did not return until after that which we are now about to lay beforethe reader. Mrs. Budd, Biddy, and all of those who perished after theyawl got clear of the reef, were drowned in deep water, and no more wasever seen of any of them; or, if wreckers did pass them, they did notstop to bury the dead. It was different, however, with those, who werefirst sacrificed to Spike’s selfishness. They were drowned on the reef,and Harry did actually recover the bodies of the Señor Montefalderon,and of Josh, the steward. They had washed upon a rock that is bare atlow water. He took them both to the Dry Tortugas, and had them interredalong with the other dead at that place. Don Juan was placed sideby side with his unfortunate countryman, the master of his equallyunfortunate schooner.
While Harry was absent and thus employed, Rose wept much and prayedmore. She would have felt herself almost alone in the world, but for theyouth to whom she had so recently, less than a week before, plighted herfaith in wedlock. That new tie, it is true, was of sufficient importanceto counteract many of the ordinary feelings of her situation; and shenow turned to it as the one which absorbed most of the future dutiesof her life. Still she missed the kindness, the solicitude, even theweaknesses of her aunt; and the terrible manner in which Mrs. Budd hadperished, made her shudder with horror whenever she thought of it.Poor Biddy, too, came in for her share of the regrets. This faithfulcreature, who had been in the relict’s service ever since Rose’sinfancy, had become endeared to her, in spite of her uncouth manners andconfused ideas, by the warmth of her heart, and the singular truth ofher feelings. Biddy, of all her family, had come to America, leavingbehind her not only brothers and sisters, but parents living. Eachyear did she remit to the last a moiety of her earnings, and many ahalf-dollar that had come from Rose’s pretty little hand, had beenconverted into gold, and forwarded on the same pious errand to the greenisland of her nativity. Ireland, unhappy country! at this moment whatare not the dire necessities of thy poor! Here, from the midst ofabundance, in a land that God has blessed in its productions far beyondthe limits of human wants, a land in which famine was never known, do weat this moment hear thy groans, and listen to tales of suffering thatto us seem almost incredible. In the midst of these chilling narratives,our eyes fall on an appeal to the English nation, that appears in whatit is the fashion of some to term the first journal of Europe (!)in behalf of thy suffering people. A worthy appeal to the charity ofEngland seldom fails; but it seems to us that one sentiment of thismight have been altered, if not spared. The English are asked to be“_forgetful_ of the past,” and to come forward to the relief of theirsuffering fellow-subjects. We should have written “_mindful_ of thepast,” in its stead. We say this in charity, as well as in truth. Wecome of English blood, and if we claim to share in all the ancientrenown of that warlike and enlightened people, we are equally bound toshare in the reproaches that original misgovernment has inflicted onthee. In this latter sense, then, thou hast a right to our sympathies,and they are not withheld.
As has been already said, we now advance the time eight-and-forty hours,and again transfer the scene to that room in the hospital which wasoccupied by Spike. The approaches of death, during the interval justnamed, had been slow but certain. The surgeons had announced that thewounded man could not possibly survive the coming night; and he himselfhad been made sensible that his end was near. It is scarcely necessaryto add that Stephen Spike, conscious of his vigour and strength, incommand of his brig, and bent on the pursuits of worldly gains, or ofpersonal gratification, was a very different person from him who now laystretched on his pallet in the hospital of Key West, a dying man. Bythe side of his bed still sat his strange nurse, less peculiar inappearance, however, than when last seen by the reader.
Rose Budd had been ministering to the ungainly externals of Jack Tier.She now wore a cap, thus concealing the short, grey bristles of hair,and lending to her countenance a little of that softness which is arequisite of female character. Some attention had also been paid tothe rest of her attire; and Jack was, altogether, less repulsive in herexterior than when, unaided, she had attempted to resume the proper garbof her sex. Use and association, too, had contributed a little to reviveher woman’s nature, if we may so express it, and she had begun, inparticular, to feel the sort of interest in her patient which we allcome in time to entertain toward any object of our especial care. Wedo not mean that Jack had absolutely ever ceased to love her husband;strange as it may seem, such had not literally been the case; on thecontrary, her interest in him and in his welfare had never ceased, evenwhile she saw his vices and detested his crimes; but all we wish to sayhere is, that she was getting, in addition to the long-enduring feelingsof a wife, some of the interest of a nurse.
During the whole time which had elapsed between Jack’s revealing hertrue character, and the moment of which we are now writing, Spike hadnot once spoken to his wife. Often had she caught his eyes intentlyriveted on her, when he would turn them away, as she feared, indistaste; and once or twice he groaned deeply, more like a man whosuffered mental than bodily pain. Still the patient did not speakonce in all the time mentioned. We should be representing poor Jackas possessing more philosophy, or less feeling, than the truth wouldwarrant, were we to say that she was not hurt at this conduct in herhusband.
On the contrary, she felt it deeply; and more than once it had so farsubdued her pride, as to cause her bitterly to weep. This shedding oftears, however, was of service to Jack in one sense, for it had theeffect of renewing old impressions, and in a certain way, of revivingthe nature of her sex within her--a nature which had been sadly weakenedby her past life.
But the hour had at length come when this long and painful silence wasto be broken. Jack and Rose were alone with the patient, when the lastagain spoke to his wife.
“Molly--poor Molly!” said the dying man, his voice continuing full anddeep to the last, “what a sad time you must have had of it after I didyou that wrong!”
“It is hard upon a woman, Stephen, to turn her out, helpless, on a coldand selfish world,” answered Jack, simply, much too honest to affect areserve she did not feel.
“It was hard, indeed; may God forgive me for it, as I hope ye do,Molly.”
No answer was made to this appeal; and the invalid looked anxiously athis wife. The last sat at her work, which had now got to be less awkwardto her, with her eyes bent on her needle,--her countenance rigid, and,so far as the eye could discern, her feelings unmoved.
“Your husband speaks to you, Jack Tier,” said Rose, pointedly.
“May _yours_ never have occasion to speak to you, Rose Budd, in the sameway,” was the solemn answer. “I do not flatter myself that I ever was ascomely as you, or that yonder poor dying wretch was a Harry Mulford inhis youth; but we were young and happy, and respected once, and lovedeach other, yet you see what it’s all come to!”
Rose was silenced, though she had too much tenderness in behalf of herown youthful and manly b
ridegroom to dread a fate similar to that whichhad overtaken poor Jack. Spike now seemed disposed to say something, andshe went to the side of his bed, followed by her companion, who kept alittle in the back-ground, as if unwilling to let the emotion she reallyfelt be seen, and, perhaps, conscious that her ungainly appearance didnot aid her in recovering the lost affections of her husband.
“I have been a very wicked man, I fear,” said Spike, earnestly.
“There are none without sin,” answered Rose. “Place your reliance on themediation of the Son of God, and sins even far deeper than yours may bepardoned.”
The captain stared at the beautiful speaker, but self-indulgence, theincessant pursuit of worldly and selfish objects for forty years,and the habits of a life into which the thought of God and the dreadhereafter never entered, had encased his spiritual being in a sortof brazen armour, through which no ordinary blow of conscience couldpenetrate. Still he had fearful glimpses of recent events, and his soul,hanging as it was over the abyss of eternity, was troubled.
“What has become of your aunt?” half whispered Spike--“my old captain’swidow. She ought to be here; and Don Wan Montezuma--where is he?”
Rose turned aside to conceal her tears--but no one answered thequestions of the dying man. Then a gleaming of childhood shot into therecollection of Spike, and, clasping his hands, he tried to pray. But,like others who have lived without any communication with their Creatorthrough long lives of apathy to his existence and laws, thinking only ofthe present time, and daily, hourly sacrificing principles and duty tothe narrow interests of the moment, he now found how hard it is to renewcommunications with a being who has been so long neglected. The faultlay in himself, however, for a gracious ear was open, even over thedeath-bed of Stephen Spike, could that rude spirit only bring itselfto ask for mercy in earnestness and truth. As his companions saw hisstruggles, they left him for a few minutes to his own thoughts.
“Molly,” Spike at length uttered, in a faint tone, the voice of oneconscious of being very near his end, “I hope you will forgive me,Molly. I know you must have a hard, hard time of it.”
“It is hard for a woman to unsex herself, Stephen; to throw off her verynatur’, as it might be, and to turn man.”
“It has changed you sadly--even your speech is altered. Once your voicewas soft and womanish--more like that of Rose Budd’s than it is now.”
“I speak as them speak among whom I’ve been forced to live. Theforecastle and steward’s pantry, Stephen Spike, are poor schools to sendwomen to l’arn language in.”
“Try and forget it all, poor Molly! Say to me, so that I can hear you,‘I forget and forgive, Stephen.’ I am afraid God will not pardon mysins, which begin to seem dreadful to me, if my own wife refuse toforget and forgive, on my dying bed.”
Jack was much mollified by this appeal. Her interest in her offendinghusband had never been entirely extinguished. She had remembered him,and often with woman’s kindness, in all her wanderings and sufferings,as the preceding parts of our narrative must show; and though resentmenthad been mingled with the grief and mortification she felt at findinghow much he still submitted to Rose’s superior charms, in a breast asreally generous and humane as that of Jack Tier’s, such a feeling wasnot likely to endure in the midst of a scene like that she was nowcalled to witness. The muscles of her countenance twitched, thehard-looking, tanned face began to lose its sternness, and every way sheappeared like one profoundly disturbed.
“Turn to Him whose goodness and marcy may sarve you, Stephen,” she said,in a milder and more feminine tone than she had used now for years,making her more like herself than either her husband or Rose had seenher since the commencement of the late voyage; “my sayin’ that I forgetand forgive cannot help a man on his death-bed.”
“It will settle my mind, Molly, and leave me freer to turn my thoughtsto God.”
Jack was much affected, more by the countenance and manner of thesufferer, perhaps, than by his words. She drew nearer to the side of herhusband’s pallet, knelt, took his hands, and said solemnly,
“Stephen Spike, from the bottom of my heart, I _do_ forgive you; andI shall pray to God that he will pardon your sins as freely and moremarcifully than I now pardon all, and try to forget all that you havedone to me.”
Spike clasped his hands, and again he tried to pray; but the habits ofa whole life are not to be thrown off at will; and he who endeavours toregain, in his extremity, the moments that have been lost, will find, inbitter reality, that he has been heaping mountains on his own soul, bythe mere practice of sin, which were never laid there by the originalfall of his race. Jack, however, had disburthened her spirit of a loadthat had long oppressed it, and, burying her face in the rug, she wept.
“I wish, Molly,” said the dying man, several minutes later, “I wish Ihad never seen the brig. Until I got that craft, no thought of wronginghuman being ever crossed my mind.”
“It was the Father of Lies that tempts all to do evil, Stephen, and notthe brig which caused the sins.”
“I wish I could live a year longer--_only_ one year; that is not much toask for a man who is not yet sixty.”
“It is hopeless, poor Stephen. The surgeons say you cannot live oneday.”
Spike groaned--for the past, blended fearfully with the future, gleamedon his conscience with a brightness that appalled him. And what is thatfuture, which is to make us happy or miserable through an endlessvista of time? Is it not composed of an existence, in which conscience,released from the delusions and weaknesses of the body, sees all in itstrue colours, appreciates all, and punishes all? Such an existence wouldmake every man the keeper of the record of his own transgressions,even to the most minute exactness. It would of itself mete out perfectjustice, since the sin would be seen amid its accompanying facts, everyaggravating or extenuating circumstance. Each man would be strictlypunished according to his talents. As no one is without sin, it makesthe necessity of an atonement indispensable, and, in its most rigidinterpretation, it exhibits the truth of the scheme of salvation in theclearest colours. The soul, or conscience, that can admit the necessarydegree of faith in that atonement, and in admitting, _feels_ itsefficacy, throws the burthen of its own transgressions away, andremains for ever in the condition of its original existence, pure, andconsequently happy.
We do not presume to lay down a creed on this mighty and mysteriousmatter, in which all have so deep an interest, and concerning which sovery small a portion of the human race think much, or think with anyclearness when it does become the subject of their passing thoughts atall We too well know our own ignorance to venture on dogmas which it hasprobably been intended that the mind of man should not yet grapple withand comprehend. To return to our subject.
Stephen Spike was now made to feel the incubus-load, which perseverancein sin heaps on the breast of the reckless offender. What was the mostgrievous of all, his power to shake off this dead weight was diminishedin precisely the same proportion as the burthen was increased, the moralforce of every man lessening in a very just ratio to the magnitude ofhis delinquencies. Bitterly did this deep offender struggle with hisconscience, and little did his half-unsexed wife know how to consoleor aid him. Jack had been superficially instructed in the dogmas of herfaith, in childhood and youth, as most persons are instructed in whatare termed Christian communities--had been made to learn the Catechism,the Lord’s Prayer, and the Creed--and had been left to set up forherself on this small capital, in the great concern of human existence,on her marriage and entrance on the active business of life. When themanner in which she had passed the last twenty years is remembered, noone can be surprised to learn that Jack was of little assistance to herhusband in his extremity. Rose made an effort to administer hope andconsolation, but the terrible nature of the struggle she witnessed,induced her to send for the chaplain of the Poughkeepsie. This divineprayed with the dying man; but even he, in the last moments of thesufferer, was little more than a passive but shocked witness of remorse,suspended over the abyss
of eternity in hopeless dread. We shall notenter into the details of the revolting scene, but simply add thatcurses, blasphemy, tremulous cries for mercy, agonized entreaties to beadvised, and sullen defiance, were all strangely and fearfully blended.In the midst of one of these revolting paroxysms, Spike breathed hislast. A few hours later, his body was interred in the sands of theshore. It may be well to say in this place, that the hurricane of 1846,which is known to have occurred only a few months later, swept off thefrail covering, and that the body was washed away to leave its bonesamong the wrecks and relics of the Florida Reef.
Mulford did not return from his fruitless expedition in quest of theremains of Mrs. Budd, until after the death and interment of Spike. Asnothing remained to be done at Key West, he and Rose accompanied by JackTier, took passage for Charleston in the first convenient vessel thatoffered. Two days before they sailed, the Poughkeepsie went out tocruise in the Gulf, agreeably to her general orders. The eveningpreviously Captain Mull, Wallace, and the chaplain, passed with thebridegroom and bride, when the matter of the doubloons found in the boatwas discussed. It was agreed that Jack Tier should have them; andinto her hands the bag was now placed. On this occasion, to oblige theofficers, Jack went into a narrative of all she had seen and suffered,from the moment when abandoned by her late husband down to that whenshe found him again. It was a strange account, and one filled withsurprising adventures. In most of the vessels in which she had served,Jack had acted in the steward’s department, though she had frequentlydone duty as a fore-mast hand. In strength and skill she admitted thatshe had often failed; but in courage, never. Having been given reasonto think her husband was reduced to serving in a vessel of war, she hadshipped on board a frigate bound to the Mediterranean, and had actuallymade a whole cruise as a ward-room boy on that station. While thusemployed, she had met with two of the gentlemen present; Captain Mulland Mr. Wallace. The former was then first-lieutenant of the frigate,and the latter a passed-midshipman; and in these capacities both hadbeen well known to her. As the name she then bore was the same as thatunder which she now “hailed,” these officers were soon made to recollecther, though Jack was no longer the light, trim-built lad he had thenappeared to be. Neither of the gentlemen named had made the whole cruisein the ship, but each had been promoted and transferred to anothercraft, after being Jack’s shipmate rather more than a year. Thisinformation greatly facilitated the affair of the doubloons.
From Charleston the travellers came north by rail-road. Harry madeseveral stops by the way, in order to divert the thoughts of hisbeautiful young bride from dwelling too much on the fate of her aunt.He knew that home would revive all these recollections painfully, andwished to put off the hour of their return, until time had a littleweakened Rose’s regrets. For this reason, he passed a whole week inWashington, though it was a season of the year that the place is not inmuch request. Still, Washington is scarce a town, at any season. It ismuch the fashion to deride the American capital, and to treat it asa place of very humble performance with very sounding pretensions.Certainly, Washington has very few of the peculiarities of a greatEuropean capital, but few as these are, they are more than belong toany other place in this country. We now allude to the _distinctive_characteristics of a capital, and not to a mere concentration of housesand shops within a given space. In this last respect, Washington is muchbehind fifty other American towns, even while it is the only place inthe whole republic which possesses specimens of architecture, on a scaleapproaching that of the higher classes of the edifices of the old world.It is totally deficient in churches, and theatres, and markets; or thoseit does possess are, in an architectural sense, not at all above thelevel of village or countrytown pretensions, but one or two of itsnational edifices do approach the magnificence and grandeur of the oldworld. The new Treasury Buildings are unquestionably, on the scoreof size, embellishments and finish, _the_ American edifice that comesnearest to first class architecture on the other side of the Atlantic.The Capitol comes next, though it can scarce be ranked, relatively,as high. As for the White House, it is every way sufficient for itspurposes and the institutions; and now that its grounds are finished,and the shrubbery and trees begin to tell, one sees about it somethingthat is not unworthy of its high uses and origin. Those grounds, whichso long lay a reproach to the national taste and liberality, are nowfast becoming beautiful, are already exceedingly pretty, and give toa structure that is destined to become historical, having alreadyassociated with it the names of Jefferson, Madison, Jackson, andQuincy Adams, together with the _ci polloi_ of the later Presidents, an_entourage_ that is suitable to its past recollections and its presentpurposes. They are not quite on a level with the parks of London, it istrue; or even with the Tuileries, or Luxembourg, or the Boboli, or theVilla Reale, or fifty more grounds and gardens, of a similar nature,that might be mentioned; but, seen in the spring and early summer, theyadorn the building they surround, and lend to the whole neighbourhood acharacter of high civilization, that no other place in America can show,in precisely the same form, or to the same extent.
This much have we said on the subject of the White House and itsprecincts, because we took occasion, in a former work, to berate thenarrow-minded parsimony which left the grounds of the White House in acondition that was discreditable to the republic. How far our philippicmay have hastened the improvements which have been made, is more thanwe shall pretend to say; but having made the former strictures, weare happy to have an occasion to say (though nearly twenty years haveintervened between the expressions of the two opinions) that they are nolonger merited.
And here we will add another word, and that on a subject that is notsufficiently pressed on the attention of a people, who, by position,are unavoidably provincial. We invite those whose gorges rise at anystricture on anything American, and who fancy it is enough to belong tothe great republic to be great in itself, to place themselves infront of the State Department, as it now stands, and to examine itsdimensions, material and form with critical eyes, then to look along theadjacent Treasury Buildings, to fancy them completed, by a junctionwith new edifices of a similar construction to contain the departmentof state; next to fancy similar works completed for the two oppositedepartments; after which, to compare the past and present with thefuture as thus finished, and remember how recent has been the partialimprovement which even now exists. If this examination and comparison donot show, directly to the sense of sight, how much there was and is tocriticise, as put in contrast with other countries, we shall give up theindividuals in question, as too deeply dyed in the provincial wool everto be whitened. The present Trinity church, New York, certainly notmore than a third class European church, if as much, compared with itsvillage-like predecessor, may supply a practical homily of the samedegree of usefulness. There may be those among us, however, who fancy itpatriotism to maintain that the old Treasury Buildings were quite equalto the new, and of these intense Americans we cry their mercy!
Rose felt keenly on reaching her late aunt’s very neat dwelling inFourteenth Street, New York. But the manly tenderness of Mulford wasa great support to her, and a little time brought her to think of thatweak-minded, but well-meaning and affectionate relative, with gentleregret, rather than with grief. Among the connexions of her younghusband, she found several females of a class in life certainly equal toher own, and somewhat superior to the latter in education and habits.As for Harry, he very gladly passed the season with his beautiful bride,though a fine ship was laid down for him, by means of Rose’s fortune,now much increased by her aunt’s death, and he was absent in Europe whenhis son was born; an event that occurred only two months since.
The Swash, and the shipment of gunpowder, were thought of no more in thegood town of Manhattan. This great emporium--we beg pardon, thisgreat _commercial_ emporium--has a trick of forgetting, condensingall interests into those of the present moment. It is much addicted tobelieving that which never had an existence, and of overlooking thatwhich is occurring directly under its nose. So marked is this ten
dencyto forgetfulness, we should not be surprised to hear some of theManhattanese pretend that our legend is nothing but a fiction, and denythe existence of the Molly, Captain Spike, and even of Biddy Noon. Butwe know them too well to mind what they say, and shall go on andfinish our narrative in our own way, just as if there were no suchraven-throated commentators at all.
Jack Tier, still known by that name, lives in the family of CaptainMulford. She is fast losing the tan on her face and hands, and every dayis improving in appearance. She now habitually wears her proper attire,
and is dropping gradually into the feelings and habits of her sex. Shenever can become what she once was, any more than the blackamoor canbecome white, or the leopard change his spots; but she is no longerrevolting. She has left off chewing and smoking, having found a refugein snuff. Her hair is permitted to grow, and is already turned up witha comb, though constantly concealed beneath a cap. The heart of Jack,alone, seems unaltered. The strange, tiger-like affection that shebore for Spike, during twenty years of abandonment, has disappeared inregrets for his end. It is succeeded by a most sincere attachment forRose, in which the little boy, since his appearance on the scene, isbecoming a large participator. This child Jack is beginning to loveintensely; and the doubloons, well invested, placing her above thefeeling of dependence, she is likely to end her life, once so errant anddisturbed, in tranquillity and a home-like happiness.
THE END.
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