The Workingman's Advocate

TALES OF THE BORDERS.
THE MAN OF WAR'S MAN
BY JOHN HOWELL.
[CONCLUDED.]

When I rose to the surface, stunned and confused, the water was hissing in my ears,
and my mouth full of blood. I attempted to call out for help; but my efforts were
vain. My tongue was unfit for its office:
I only uttered unintelligible sounds, not to be distinguished amidst the noise of the
waves.

Still hope was strong in me, for I could hear the cries on deck, "A man overboard!" though I could distinguish no object in the darkness. The sounds became
faint and more faint. The vessel's way was so great, she shot from the spot like a bird:
and I could at intervals see the lights that they had hung out as I rose to the top of
the waves, which I buffeted with all my energies. The frigate had evidently laid to.
I strove to make for the lights I saw, far astern, a boat had been lowered, and hope
again braced my nerves. Could I have called out, I had been saved; for I heard
their voices shouting for me, and even the lash of their oars; but I was dumb. My
tongue had almost instantly swelled so as to fill my mouth; yet still I struggled amidst the waves to reach the source of the sounds.

At that moment they could not have been many yards distant from me, if I could have
judged from the distinctness with which I heard them call. At last they ceased for a
few minutes, as if in consultation. Moment of horrid agony! I was in the grasp
of inevitable death, and those who were anxious for my rescue were within hail, and
that hail I could not utter. The struggle for life is not easily terminated, and my exertions were almost superhuman. A flash, and the report of a gun now fell on my
ears, and it came as my doom; it was a signal for the boats to return. I felt as if
my arms had become powerless. My heart failed, and I was sinking, when again the
stroke of the oars revived me. Again I attempted to shout—vain effort! "Poor
Elder!" I heard uttered by my shipmates, amidst the sweltering of the waves that
were about to engulf me. The oar dips had gradually died away—and where was I?
Tired and exhausted, and almost suffocated by the water and blood that flowed
from my tongue, I turned upon my back, but sunk deep in the water from the weight
of my jacket and trousers, and thus floated at the will of the swell, that often almost
turned me over. I attempted to pray, but could not collect my thoughts. All I
could say was "Lord be merciful to me a sinner!" I almost felt as if already dead;
for all energy had fled, both mental and bodily; and the little I did to place me on
my back, when the surge turned me over, seemed the involuntary efforts of sinking
ature. In this state I was aroused from my stupor by coming in contact with a hard
body. I stretched forth one of my hands, which had been crossed upon my breast, and
grasped it with the energy of despair. It was a large hen-coop, which had been thrown
over in the hope that I might reach it until the boat arrived. New life began to revive
in my heart. I got upon it; and, taking my silk neckerchief from my neck, which
I fortunately had on when I fell, lashed myself to it. My thoughts now became, in
some degree, collected, and a slight beam cheered the gloom of that fearful night, as I
floated, a miserable speck of human nature, on that boundless, unfathomable waste of
troubled waters. I thought that I was not forgotten by my Creator, who had in his mercy
sent me this assurance in my last extremity, frail as it was, to be the means of my deliverance. It was now that my whole soul poured forth in prayer; and tears, not of
anguish, but of love and gratitude, flowed from my eyes, as I was drifted along before
the wind, and tossed by the waves. Through that long and dreadful night, nothing but
this pious feeling could have sustained me; for my limbs were benumbed and cramped;
my tongue still almost filled my mouth and pained me.

Day at length dawned; but it did not bring with it renewed hope. I had prayed
and longed for it, in the expectation that I might be seen and picked up by some vessel; but my heart did not rise in my bosom as the beams of the sun shot over the waters around me. No sight met my eyes but the sky, bounded at a short distance
around by my low position in the water. The breeze had considerably abated, the sea
was much smoother, and the fears of a lingering death by hunger and thirst began to
assail me. As the morning advanced, my faith in my deliverance began to fail, and terrible thoughts crowded upon my mind. I tremble yet when I revert to them. It
seemed as if the great tempter of mankind had been with me in this hour of trial, and
whispered in my ears thoughts foreign to my nature. I even began to doubt the mercy and goodness of God; despair was again busy with me, and my clasp-knife suggested a short and ready remedy for my misery. I clutched it in my hand, and
opened it; but my hand was stayed; my feelings had again undergone a revolution.
I dropped the instrument, and wept. I now thought I heard a rushing sound in the air, and looked up. An immense albatross, with his huge extended wings, was
suspended over me, attracted by the strange sight I exhibited. In any other situation,
would I have been alarmed at the sight of a bird? Now, my heart sunk when I saw
the creature circling high above my head. I thought he was examining the object previous to his pouncing upon it. I thought he might strike my head, and my woes
would be ended; he might alight and tear me piece by piece with his strong-beaked
bill. The terror of the waters was merged in that of my new enemy; and such is man,
that, though I had reconciled myself to the one, I felt my courage and resolution rise
within me when I saw a visible and tangible enemy to grapple with. His circles round me became more and more narrow, and, as he descended, I seized my open
knife. This precaution was, doubtless, unnecessary. The bird probably only wanted
to ascertain what strange inhabitant of the waters now appeared to it. Still, however,
it kept up its surveillance, receding now by large circles, and again approaching me,
only again to betake itself to a greater distance, and again to renew its approach. I
cannot tell how long this continued; but a full hour, at least, must have passed—during all which time I remained under the unaccountable apprehension that I would, unless I defended myself, fall a victim to this gigantic bird of prey. At length he took a
long sweep, and I saw him sailing away on his solitary journey, as if he despised the
poor object he had left alone on the waste of waters.

From the scorching rays upon the exposed part of my body, I began to suffer much.
and my thirst became excessive; my strength gradually declined, and by the time the sun
reached his meridian. I had again made up my mind to my fate, commending my soul
to its Maker, through my Redeemer. I closed my eyes, as I thought, for ever upon
earthly things. I had lain thus only a short time, when, raising myself up as far as I could upon my raft, and gazing around upon what I thought was to be my tomb, an
involuntary cry of joy burst from me. There was a vessel in sight; my weakness and misery were forgot. I saw them lower a boat: and from that moment my mind became a tumult of thoughts and sensations, which I have often since attempted in vain
to analyse. The horrors of my late situation were still upon me, and I could with
difficulty persuade myself that my delivery was real.

So exquisitely soothing was the feeling that now possessed me, that I feared to
open my eyes or move, lest I should break the spell that was upon me, and awaken
in the misery I had so lately endured. But I even tired of enjoyment, for my position
became irksome. I attempted to turn but the effort was so painful, that a groan escaped me. A gentle hand wiped the perspiration from my brow, and inquired if I
wished to be turned. The sound of that voice was like a beam of light upon my bewildered mind. I opened my eyes, and saw a young female in widow's weeds standing by the side of my cot.

"Generous being," I said, "is it to you that I owe my deliverance?"

A sad smile passed over her face as she gazed at me, and said, "I am happy to see
you restored to recollection; but you must not speak." And she gently withdrew
from the side of the cot.

I wished much to make inquiries; but felt so weak that I did not persist, but sunk
again into the same dreamy state. It is of no use detailing the events of the few days
that were passed in this helpless state. By the kind nursing of the female and the
kindness of the captain, I slowly recovered, and learned that, by the merest accident, I
had been discovered by them as I floated upon the waves; and that, had I not been
seen to move when I had raised myself up, they would have passed me; and that I
was now on board the Betsy and Ann of Leith, bound from Quebec to that port.

My heart overflowed with love and gratitude to that merciful God who had delivered me; for what the kind captain called accident, I felt in my heart was loving-kindness; now I firmly believe there is no such thing as what men call chance or accident. We are taught by Scripture that all things are ordered and directed by the Creator of the universe, from the fall of a sparrow to the fall of an empire; and, in the eye of Omnipotence, nothing is great or small, all being directed to one great end.

I was now able to leave my cot for a short time, but not the cabin. The young
widow was ever by my side, to minister to my wants. I felt much for her sorrows.
which she bore with pious resignation; but I had no power to minister to her comforts
as my gratitude prompted me, when I observed her, as I lay in my cot, weeping in
silence, when she thought me asleep. It was the third day after I was picked up, as I
sat in the cabin, and felt myself much recovered, that I gave her an account of my
leaving home, and my adventures since. She sat and listened with interest, and
seemed much affected by my account of my friend, James Walden. She sighed heavily
as I proceeded, and her tears fell fast. When I mentioned his untimely death, she
uttered a piercing cry, and fell insensible upon the floor. I cried loudly for help;
and her servant and the captain, who were on deck, came quickly to my aid. After
some time she recovered, but was so ill that she was forced to be put to bed by her
maid. Her mind seemed quite unsettled by what I had said of my friend's death
for she spoke strangely and incoherently, unconscious of what she uttered; often repeating, "James, I shall never see you more. How could I hope I wished, but
dared not hope, humbled as I was—yet frown not on me so; I am more to be pitied
than hated." Thus she continued during the greater part of the day.

Towards evening, she became more composed, but was so ill that she could not
leave the state-room without the support of her servant, which she did contrary to the
remonstrances of the captain; only replying "What is life now to me but a dreary
blank? O that I were at rest under these rolling waves? O Mr. Elder! have you
strength to tell me all you know of James before my heart bursts? I could myself
have wept: but her eyes were dry, yet heavy and languid; her face pale as marble,
with a ghastly composure upon it, more heart-moving than clamorous grief. Again
I went over every circumstance, and concluded by regretting the prayer-book, as
the only article I valued, left on board. She heard me the second time without altering
a muscle of her face. When I finished, she said—

"I was Matilda Everard; these fingers wrote the name upon the prayer-book, which
I gave to James Everard, my cousin. Walden was the name of his mother; he
was an orphan, the ward of my father; I am an only daughter. We were brought
up together. I was my father's only child—an heiress; he had little more than his
own abilities to depend upon. I was a spoiled child, thoughtless and volatile. I
loved him then as a brother. He was some years older than I; he loved me as never
man loved woman. I sported with his misery; for I knew not love. My father
discovered his passion, and banished him from the house. I regretted him as a brother—no, not as a brother—as a playmate. His feelings of honor were so high, he took no
covert means to meet me again; but I saw him often at church, and elsewhere. I used
to kiss my hand to him; but we never exchanged words. Urged by my father, I
married a rich merchant. He was much older than I. The cold, haughty, and
money-making habits of my husband first turned my thoughts to James. I contrasted
the joy that used to beam in his eyes, when I smiled upon him, with the indifference of my husband; and my love, once that of a sister, became all that James could
have desired, had I been still a maid. Upon my marriage, James disappeared. Neither
my father nor any one else knew where he had gone. It is now three years—long,
long years since then. Circumstances called my husband to Quebec, that, if not
looked after, might involve him in ruin. Jealous and morose, he took me with him.
Months of misery I dragged on there. My husband sickened and died. I am now on
my way to my father; but I feel we shall never meet. My heart, I feel, is broken,
and life ebbs fast. Farewell! and may you be blessed for your kindness to James. Bury
me in the waves; I long to sleep by his side."

Having taken farewell of the captain, she retired, and we never saw her again in life.
Some time after, agreeable to her request, she slept with James under the waves of
the Atlantic. For some days I was much affected by the melancholy event; but my
spirits, with my health, gradually returned. A few weeks more would bring me to my
father's house, and I resolved never again to trust to any political prognosticator, even
of my own father, for I had never known him so much deceived before. I had been
eighteen months away, and the war so far from being over, was, if possible, fiercer
than ever; and the democrats of France were carrying murder and desolation wherever their armies went.