Restored to Reason—Cora, the Rough Diamond—Saw a Ghost—A Temperance Lecture—Found, Two Grand-Fathers.

We left the hero of our tale lying unconscious in the cabin of the Reindeer, which is now far out to sea. Lieutenant Powers had passed a sleepless night. The history of Walter Wallace, as related by Captain Davis, convinced him that he was his nephew, the son of his long lost sister. He knew not how severely he was injured, but the fact that he was unconscious led him to believe that his injuries were serious, perhaps fatal. He wished to see him, if it was but for a moment, but the Captain had forbid, and his word was law.

But he will be well taken care of, he said to himself. The Captain’s wife and Cora will nurse him carefully. But I fear that Cora will talk and worry him. She is so giddy, self-willed and head strong, and will worry him unintentionally. Then I am afraid she will take a liking to this noble-looking young man. He is just her ideal of a man. I must see her, and inform her of the position she sustains toward him. I must tell her that she is his aunt. Then she will open all her guns on me, and as the gunners say, “go off half cocked.” But it must be done, and in this way I can learn his condition.

He pulled a cord that hung over the table, and the cabin boy appeared.

Hand this note to Miss Cora, placing a letter in the boy’s hand.

In a few moments Cora came rushing in, apparently much excited, exclaiming:—

Oh, Charley! I am so glad you sent for me.

Stop, Miss Cora. On ship-board you must address people by their titles. Say Lieutenant, not Charley.

Well, then Lord Lieutenant.

Cora—Cora, you are too rude. Leave the Lord out, and simply call me Lieutenant.

Well, then brother, I am glad you sent for me. I am sure that I should have busted if I hadn’t got away from there just as I did! Only to think of a woman holding her mouth for twelve hours!

Nonsense, Cora! Nonsense! Come to the point.

That is just where I am coming. I am coming to the point—to the point of explosion. As I said. I have held my mouth for twelve hours. Only think of that. And all that time, I have been generating—holding in—filling up. But now I will let off. Did you ever hear of a woman holding her tongue so long before?

Cora, you are really cruel. I sent for you to learn something about the stranger that is in the cabin.

That is just what I thought, and I will tell you all I know.

That is a good girl, Cora—I am dying to hear about him.

Yes, and I have been dying for twelve hours in his presence, and if you hadn’t sent for me just as you did, I am sure that I should have been dead gone.

But Cora, you are not telling me anything.

How can I? You talk all the while, and I can’t get a word in edgeways.

Ridiculous! Ridiculous! Oh, Cora, stop this ranting. Let the ridiculous go, and tell me what has taken place in the cabin.

Ranting! Well, that is pretty language to come from the first Lieutenant of the Reindeer. Well, may be I do rant. I have got a right to rant. I will rant! I must let off this superabundant amount of gas that has been generating in my brain for the last sixteen hours.

But I tell you it is ridiculous.

Well go on and tell me what is so ridiculous.

That is just what I have been trying to do for half an hour.

But I tell you it is ridiculous.

Well, go on.

I am going on if you will be still and give me a chance.

Then I will be still. I won’t speak again until you get through.

Then you will never speak again, for I never shall get through.

Charles remained silent.

Why don’t you speak? Why don’t you say something? There you sit as stubborn as a mule. I thought you had something to say to me and sent for me for that purpose.

Charles still remained silent.

Well, if it has come to this, that my brother can’t speak to me, I will go. But I tell you it is ridiculous.

Charles still remained silent.

No, I won’t go. I’ll make you speak if I have to stay all day.

Charles lighted a cigar, and resigned himself to a chair.

Well now if that isn’t cool—yes, almost insulting. That is the way you men have to give vent to your pent up feelings. And simply because your sister gives vent to her feelings, you become mulish. But really, Charles, it was the most ridiculous sight I ever saw. There lay the handsomest man I ever saw, (the Lieutenant was all ears,) and the Captain’s wife sat by his side and rubbed his face and cried. Yes, she really cried. The tears ran down her face like an avalanche from the Appenines. And if I stirred, she would point her finger and “Hist! Hist!” The canary bird had to be removed, for fear its breath would annoy the sleeper. But the most ridiculous thing was the kissing. Yes, when she thought I wasn’t looking, she kissed him. Thinks I to myself, if the Captain should catch you at that, there would be mutiny on board. But when the Captain came, she kissed him all the more, and then the Captain kissed her. Now wasn’t that ridiculous? He kissed her because she kissed another man.

But Cora, what is the doctor doing for him?

The most ridiculous thing in the world. He is turning his frame into an apothecary shop and his stomach into a chemical laboratory. Believe me brother, both sides of the cabin are lined with vials, bottles, plasters and rags. He is to take this kind every ten minutes, and that kind every thirty minutes, and so on with the different kinds until we get around, and then it is time to commence with the first again.

I suppose, Cora, that you rendered Mrs. Davis all the assistance you could?

Certainly I did. I held the bowl while the doctor bled him. The doctor said that in all cases of bruises and concussions, blood-letting was necessary. And he did the necessary up for him scientifically, for when he got through, I think he had drawn all the blood out of him.

That was kind in you Cora, and relieved Mrs. Davis from a very unpleasant duty.

Oh, I did more than that. I was time-keeper.

Time-keeper—what do you mean by that?

I mean that I advanced on his stomach by schedule time, and cried “time” like a referee in a prize fight, and Mrs. Davis advanced with the spoon.

Will he live, Cora?

Yes, as long as the medicine holds out. He hasn’t got any time to die now. His mouth is continually opening and shutting, and as long as that continues he is safe.

Does he move or speak?

Yes. Both. He continually moves his eyes, and their gaze is piercing. He looked at me as if he intended to look me through. Those large, beautiful orbs continually followed me, and once he raised his hand and said “Amy.” It was spoken soft and affectionately. I think he took me for some other person. Intelligence, not delirium beamed in his eye, and that eye followed me wherever I went. What does it mean, brother? Who is he? What is he? and where did he come from? What makes the Captain and his wife take such an interest in him?

Were you and Mrs. Davis alone with him all night?

Yes, excepting an old white cat. Oh, Charley, I wish I was a cat.

Oh, no, my sister, you don’t wish any such thing.

Yes I do. I wish I could take that cat’s place.

Now Cora, don’t get visionary again.

There is nothing visionary about it. It was the most real thing that I ever saw. I saw that cat lying on his breast, clasped in his arms.

And for that reason you want to be a cat?

What better reason? I am a woman, and what woman could resist the temptation to be encircled within those manly arms, gaze into those dark, deep orbs, drink in the sweet nectar of love, feel his heart beat in unison with mine, and hear him pronounce those endearing words, “Mine is thine, and thine is mine. Such is love’s most holy sign.”

Why, Cora, you are really romantic.

There is nothing romantic about it. I tell you, I am going to fall in love. No, that don’t express it. I am going to jump in love with him.

What? before you know who or what he is? Perhaps he has been brought up among the Indians.

Oh, pshaw! What difference would that make? You judge others by yourself. You don’t know anything about a woman’s heart. When a woman loves, she loves intently, earnestly, devotedly, and seeks to unite herself to the object of her affection. Yes, I would rather marry an Indian than one of your lisping dudes whose brains compare well with the sap in his cane, and contains about as much sense, without pluck enough to fight a fly. A woman hates timidity, and despises a coward. They prefer a rough man to a timid fool. The rough man, when he kisses you, encircles you in his arms, pressing you to his bosom, and imprints a kiss on your mouth that electrifies the whole system. The dude stands off at arm’s length, and kisses you on the tip of the finger. There is no electricity about that. And when you come across one of those fellows, just make up your mind that that fellow is a fraud, hypocrite or fool—probably a compound of all three.

But Cora, there is a gulf between you and he—an abyss that cannot be bridged.

Then I will jump it. Don’t you know that when a woman loves, all obstacles can be overcome? that prison bars melt like ice in the meridian sun? that love will pick locks and remove prison bolts? that time and distance are annihilated, mountains become mole hills, and oceans mere streams?

But nature has placed an obstacle in the way, Cora, that can’t be removed.

And if it was in your power, you would not consent that it should be removed.

You are his own aunt!

I, that man’s aunt? Well, Lieutenant, that shows that you are visionary. Oh, you are a lunatic—insane—mad! I can’t trust myself here any longer with you. Good day!

Stay, Cora, and I will explain. Sit down by my side, and hear the story of your sister’s wrongs and the young man’s life.

I am all ears, Lieutenant.

The Lieutenant then related Walter’s history in full, not forgetting the fight on the wharf and the way he was injured.

Cora remained silent for a few moments, then said:

Lieutenant, can this be? If so, truth is stranger than fiction But how do you know that his statement is true!

By the best of proof, replied Powers. First, his appearance shows that he is the soul of honor. Secondly, Webb found him on the Callicoon. Thirdly, my agents reported that the families of Powers and Wallace had resided there, and lastly, we know that many years ago, before you were born, your sister married William Wallace, and your brother Thomas married Mary Powers; that each of them had a child. Thomas Powers’s child was named Amy, and William Wallace’s child was named Walter, after his grand-father, Walter Wallace. The cat you saw, and of which you were jealous, belongs to Walter. It was a present to him from Amy, and bears her name.

But where is Amy Powers? asked Cora.

It is supposed that she was drowned. But Walter thinks otherwise, and the object of this voyage was to discover her and his friends.

And discovered them before he got started, replied Cora.

No, you are in error there. He is ignorant of the fact that he has an uncle and aunt on this ship. Now return to the cabin, and as soon as I can get the Captain’s consent, I will be with you.

Cora left, and was soon at the side of her patient. Mrs. Davis motioned her away, saying:

He is much better now, and is nearly himself again.

Amy! said the sick man.

Be quiet, my son, said Mrs. Davis. You have been very sick.

Walter attempted to raise himself.

Where am I? he said. What has taken place?

You are in the cabin of the Reindeer, far out at sea. You got hurt while coming on board.

Then it was all a dream. All of my hopes have been dashed from me, he said.

Captain Davis had been notified that Walter was conscious, and arrived in time to hear his last remark.

Oh, that the dream could have lasted forever. I have been living my life over again. I have seen and conversed with my darling Amy. Again I went to the Callicoon, and again saw that mad stream. I saw the raft, with mother, child and dog rush madly on. I saw them land, and carry their lifeless forms to the shore. I saw the mother buried on the bank, and Amy strew her grave with flowers. I heard her say, “I did, I shall, I ever will love Walter Wallace.” I saw a young man there with a mark on his breast of an anchor and ship. (Captain Davis started.) I saw a great, good, wise Indian. They called him Cahoonshee. (Captain Davis turned pale.) I saw Amy in the hands of the Indians. I awoke. It was a dream, a dream only. I was conscious that I was on board the Reindeer, rolling and rocking on the ocean, and the Captain and his wife watching over me, when suddenly Amy appeared again. I am not asleep now. I am awake. I am conscious of all that passes before me. I know that I see Amy. I extend my hand and say “Amy,” she vanishes. She is gone. The rest of you remain. I see you, why don’t I see her?

It was a delusion, my boy.

No, mother, it was no delusion. It was no dream. She was here—either in body or spirit. She is here now. I feel her influence.

There is a lady on board, but not the Amy you speak of. It is a Miss Powers.

Miss Powers? exclaimed Walter. That is her, Amy Powers, my long lost Amy!

Cora stood in her state room door, and heard all that Walter had said. She recollected the proffered hand, and of his mentioning the name of Amy. She was satisfied that Walter had seen her and taken her for Amy, the love of his boyhood. Her position was embarrassing. Could it be possible that she and Amy looked so much alike that Walter had seen in her the exact counterpart of the image of his Amy? She beckoned the Captain to her and told him of her suspicions and her reasons.

Shall I make myself known to him at once and drive away this delusion? Shall I tell him that I am his aunt and not his Amy?

I think so, replied the Captain. He seems to be perfectly rational, and the sooner he is convinced of his mistake, the better.

I will arrange my toilet and meet him, replied Cora.

There were some things said by Walter that deeply interested the Captain and his wife. The mentioning of the anchor and ship on the breast of the young man he saw in company of the Indian Cahoonshee struck deep into his heart. This was a perfect description of his long lost child. The state room door opens, and in comes Cora dressed in the same attire she wore when she was addressed by Walter. She approached the bed. His eyes caught her. He sprang from the bed, threw his arms around her exclaiming:

Found at last! My long, lost love, Amy. Now I am rewarded for a life of toil and anxiety. Look into my eyes, Amy, and tell me that you never forgot your Walter. Tell me of the sweet hours we passed on the Callicoon. Tell me, oh tell me, can I yet call you mine?

Cora was embarrassed and did not know what to say. She was pleased with the way that Walter addressed his supposed Amy.

Why don’t you speak? Do not let pride, place or circumstances influence you. The time has been so great, perhaps destiny and circumstances have changed your course, but not your affections. I will swear by the Gods that you still love me.

Oh, said Cora, I wish I was your Amy. I wish these caresses were meant for me. I wish that I could honestly continue to be encircled within your manly arms. But no. It cannot be. This affection is meant for another—not for me. I am not Amy, I am your aunt, and here by your side stands your uncle, Lieutenant Charles Powers.

Walter fell back on his bed.

So near, yet so far, he exclaimed. Leave me alone to commune with my own thoughts.

The Lieutenant took his hand and said:

Don’t be cast down, my nephew; It is always the darkest before day. The light in your horizon has begun to appear. It will illuminate your whole soul. Such love cannot go unrewarded. You will yet find your Amy. In the morning you will be stronger, and will then learn the history of your family.

The next morning Walter was so much improved that he went on deck, and then to the room of Lieutenant Powers, where he learned the history of his family, of which the reader is already apprised.

Really Walter, continued the Lieutenant, I am ashamed to relate the cause that led to the estrangement between the Wallace and Powers families. It was very trivial—in fact no cause at all. Your father, William and my brother Thomas were two stripling boys, and each of them owned a game rooster, and each thought his rooster the smartest. A cock fight was agreed upon and the fathers of both sides invited to be present. The day arrives, the families meet to see the sport, and the cocks go at each other with vengeance and soon there is a dead cock in the pit. The owner of the dead cock kicks at the victorious rooster. Then the boys clinch, the old gentlemen get mad and interfere, and the result is eternal enmity between the families so far as the fathers were concerned. Each forbid their children to visit or hold any intercourse with each other. And to this day the two fathers hold to their resentment. Twenty-five years have passed, and during all that time they have not spoken together or allowed their children, so far as they could prevent it. Not so with the children of these mad parents. Your father and Thomas soon became friends again, and often met and played together. Long before this estrangement, your mother and father were friends, and in their juvenile days, pledged to each other their love with their parents’ consent. And the same was the case between my brother Thomas and Amelia Wallace. As they grew up, they refused to break their engagement, and were married. For this they were disinherited and driven from their parental roofs. A few friends assisted them and they embarked for America. You know the rest.

Then the object I had in visiting the old world is accomplished, said Walter. I have no desire to see those that drove their children from home for following the dictates of their conscience and the man or maid of their choice. Place me on board of the first returning ship we meet, and I will return to the scenes of my childhood.

There is no necessity of that. Continue with us. Perhaps you may be the means of a reconciliation between the families. Your grand-father Powers is an old man, firmly set in his own ways. But I trust that the son of his injured daughter, Amelia, may cause him to relent and forgive. He is subject to heart disease, and his death may be expected at any time.

Walter replied:—

I will go and see my two grand-fathers and then return to America.

A tap is heard on the door, and a midshipman enters.

The Captain wishes to see Mr. Wallace and Lieutenant Powers in the cabin.

Arriving there the Captain said:—

Lieutenant, we have a very important, yet disagreeable duty to perform. You must summon a court martial and try the mutineers. I should have ordered it before, had Mr. Wallace been able to give his testimony. He has now recovered, and we will proceed with the investigation at once.

The Lieutenant left the cabin.

Captain, said Walter, how many men have you to try?

Two. John Frost and Tom Jones. Poor fellows—I pity them.

How long have they been on the ship?

They have sailed with me for years. They entered the Navy when mere boys.

What has been their previous conduct, Captain?

They have always been good, steady men. Always punctual to obey. This is their first offence.

And if convicted, said Walter, what then?

Hang them to the yard-arm, replied the Captain. Mutiny at sea cannot be tolerated. An example must be made of them to deter others.

I admit, Captain, that example is a great educator, but is it not example—the force of the education they have received on board of the ship that got them into this trouble?

No sir! said the Captain excitedly. It was rum! Too much rum!

That is just the point, Captain—too much rum. But who set the example before them? Who educated them to drink rum? Who dealt out to them, twice a day, the deadly drug? And now follows the fearful consequences of example and education. And now you will hang them to the yard-arm for putting into practice the legitimate consequence of their education. You say these men have followed the sea all their days—that they entered the Navy when they were mere boys—that for long years they have served you and your country well—that this is their first offence, and for this offence they must die—must be suspended between the heavens and earth, as an example, to deter others. And now those who set them the example become their executioners.

Perhaps, said the Captain, I do not understand your real meaning, but if I do, you charge the consequences of this mutiny upon me, and through me, indirectly, upon the English Navy, their discipline and laws.

You have comprehended my meaning, Captain, these men are to be deprived of life through the discipline and laws of the English Navy. I mean that the education they have received, prepared—yes, propelled them to commit the crime for which they are to suffer death. You dealt out to them their rations of grog. You taught them to violate the laws of their nature. You created in them an insatiate desire for strong drink. This desire you could restrain while on ship-board, because there was a guard over the tap, and British bayonets held their passions and appetites in subjection. Not so when they were on shore. Then they were at liberty to measure their own grog. Then their educated appetites cried “Rum! More Rum!” Then British gold could furnish what English bayonets could not prevent. Then they became maddened—frenzied—unaccountable beings. Yes, Captain, it was rum! The demon, devil rum that was in them that did it. And now, men, claiming to be the image of the God they worship are to sit in judgement on their own work and strangle other images of the same God. For doing what? For working out the legitimate consequences of their education. Captain, can you take part in this great wrong? Will you deprive a soul of life? a wife of a husband? a child of a father? and society of a member? As for myself, I will not be a witness against these misguided men. Sooner, would I be cast overboard, and trust to providence to reach my native shore than imbrue my hands with their blood.

Young man, said the Captain, where did you learn this fine spun morality?

In the wilderness of America, he replied. Your government send their missionaries there to christianize and civilize the Indians, with a bible in one hand and a whiskey bottle in the other. They deal out to them this liquid hell fire, obscure their reason, excite their passions, and make of them devils incarnate. The Indians retaliate, and kill and burn all within their reach. And then English guns, pointed with English bayonets, enforce English laws, with the intention of exterminating the Indians. With those Indians, Captain, is your lost boy.

How do you know that? excitedly exclaimed Davis.

I saw him in my dream. I saw the anchor and ship on his breast. I saw his protector, Cahoonshee place him in your arms.

But Mr. Wallace, what connection has this with the punishment of the mutineers?

That sailor, replied Walter, is a man, a father. His wife and child are waiting, hoping, praying for his return. Both you and your child are waiting, hoping, praying that you may meet again. As you may do by this man and his child, may God do by you and your child.

This struck Captain Davis to the heart, and if it had been in his power, he would have released the men at once. But duty, stern duty, forbid. Some good excuse must be found, or the trial proceed.

Mr. Wallace, said the Captain, I admit the force of your reasoning as to the cause that produced this difficulty, yet I see no escape. The law is imperative, and these men must stand trial, and if convicted, they must be executed. Show me an honorable way, and I will save them.

There is a way, Captain, a legal way to save the lives of these men.

How? exclaimed the Captain excitedly. I did not know that you were versed in marine law.

Because you have no power to try and execute these men.

What! No power to punish for mutiny at sea?

I do not deny that power, but there has been no mutiny at sea. It was a riot on land. Have you jurisdiction over crimes committed on land?

Really, my boy, that is an idea I had not thought of.

I had, replied Walter. And even if the difficulty had taken place on board of the ship, I don’t think that you could legally try and execute these men. Vattel says that it is only in extreme cases that this summary proceeding can be resorted to. Where you have proof of a deep laid conspiracy to murder the officers and take the ship, you may resort to this summary trial. Unless this danger exists, you must turn the men over to be tried by the laws of the land.

I will consult my officers, replied the Captain.

With your consent, I would like to visit these men, said Walter.

You have my consent, replied the Captain.

The Captain and his First Lieutenant had a long conversation in relation to the court he had ordered convened, and came to the conclusion to defer it for the present.

Walter and Lieutenant Powers went to see the prisoners, and found them at the bottom of the ship, where there was no light or air fit to breathe. A horrid stench pervaded, and the odor of bilge water made the place almost unbearable. They had groped their way through total darkness, aided only by a tallow candle.

These are the men we are in search of, said Powers to Walter.

Yes, here we are, replied Frost. But gentlemen, if you value your lives, leave this place at once. Don’t inhale this poison vapor.

Powers was holding the candle, which gave but an imperfect light and made the men before him look ghastly.

Wallace was dumb with horror, when suddenly a figure in white appeared.

What have we got here? exclaimed Powers.

An angel, said Tom Jones, feeding two of the King’s subjects with the crumbs that fell from the master’s table.

Silence, man! Raising the light toward the figure before him. Speak! Be you man, devil or angel! Speak!

The figure advanced.

I am neither man or angel, but the charge of devil may apply.

What? what are you doing here? said Powers.

Feeding these unfortunate men, and preparing them for the ordeal they have got to go through.

Cora, are you not aware that this is beneath the dignity of your station, and a violation of the laws of the ship?

Lieutenant, are the laws of the ship above the laws of humanity? and God’s laws? that command us to visit those who are in prison, the sick and afflicted? Shame, brother, shame, that anything in the form of a man, or in the image of God should be treated thus—ironed to the floor, and stifled with bad air.

Cora, you must leave here. Mr. Wallace, will you escort her on deck? This interview must close.

When is our trial to come off? asked Tom Jones.

That I can’t say, replied the Lieutenant. But it is improper to talk about it here. When the time comes, you will be notified.

As for me, said Jones, I am ready to be tried, and if convicted, to die. I am alone in the world—without wife, child or chick. There is no one to mourn my loss or suffer by my disgrace. But it is different with my ship-mate, Frost. He has a wife and children that love him dearly, I wish he could be spared. If it is necessary that the law should be vindicated, and an example set to deter others, let them make an example of me, and hang me to the yard-arm, in view of the whole ship’s company. If any one is to blame, I am. This man is innocent. He took no part in the affray. He was shoved to the front by the crowd behind. As for me, I was a leader, an unconscious leader. I was crazed with rum. I came on this ship when a small boy. It was here I took my first drink. It was here I acquired the appetite for strong drink. It was here that I was educated, that to be manly, I must take my rations. On the ship, I kept sober and performed my duty. Here I could get but a limited quantity. On the ship I learned and believed that Friday was an unlucky day, and the ship that left port on that day would meet with bad luck. Never before had the Captain ordered us to sail on that day. Being frenzied with rum at the tavern, where we could get all we wanted, a few of us resolved that we would not go to sea that day. You know the rest better than I do. It was not Tom Jones that revolted, it was the rum that was in him. It was rum in and Tom Jones out. It was the act of a mad man—a demon—a devil, crazed by rum.

Mr. Wallace, let us go. It is sickening here, exclaimed the Lieutenant.

What, said Cora, is sickening? these men or the air you compel them to breathe? This, brother, is murder without the benefit of the clergy. Perhaps you have the right to take these men’s lives, according to law, but you have no right to be inhuman and deprive them of life in this foul and poisonous air.

What would you have me do, Cora? said the Lieutenant.

Take off these irons, take them on deck, and then hang them. For doing what? For obeying the instincts of their nature. For doing what they could not help. And then in order that the job be done scientifically and religiously, you and Captain Davis should be their executioners. You began the work—you learned these men to drink—on you rests the responsibility of their acts. And it is but fitting that you finish the work you began. Turn hangman, Lieutenant, turn hangman.

Cora, exclaimed Powers excitedly, you must stop this ranting. If a man had so far forgot himself as to address an officer as you have done, he would swing at the yard-arm before sun-down.

Then you will have an execution before dark, replied Walter, for I endorse every word she has said.

Mr. Wallace, said the Lieutenant, this thing must stop. You and Cora must leave, and I will see that justice is done these men.

All parties left, and soon after met in the cabin. Captain Davis was walking the floor, and seemed to be absorbed in deep thought. Mrs. Davis met Walter with a smile, and motioned him to take a chair by her side. A moment after, Cora came in, followed by Lieutenant Powers.

Have you seen Frost and Jones? asked Mrs. Davis.

We have, replied Walter.

And what is your wish toward them? asked the Captain.

To give them their liberty, and set them to work. My word for it Captain, there isn’t two more loyal men in the British Navy than Tom Jones and Jack Frost, and they have been sufficiently punished for all the wrong they have done.

Mr. Wallace, there is force in your reasoning. Yet, as Commander of this ship, I must make a full report, and account for the men we left on shore.

That is the key to the whole matter, Captain. Report the case just as it is—that the leaders of the mutiny were killed on the spot, and Jones and Frost were punished by being placed in irons and confined between decks for twenty days and then set to work. This, I think, would be satisfactory, both to the men and the government.

I will lay the matter before my officers, replied the Captain, and be governed in the matter by their judgment.

A council of the ship’s officers was called, and Walter was invited to be present, the result of which was, that Jones and Frost were restored to liberty.

It was soon known on board of the ship that Walter had been instrumental in procuring the release of the men, and for that reason, he became the idol of the crew, and a friendship grew up between them that lasted for life.

During the remainder of the voyage Walter spent most of his time with these men, and from them learned the whole routine of the sailors’ duty in working and sailing a ship.

Walter was an apt scholar, and by time England was reached he was a first-class sailor.

On the evening of the day on which Jones and Frost were released, Walter and Lieutenant Powers had a long conversation in relation to their future action.

In a few days we shall arrive in port, and then you will have an opportunity to see your two grand-fathers. How they will receive you, or whether they will receive you at all is uncertain. They are now both very old men. Your grand-father Wallace, I think, will receive and acknowledge you as his grand-son. He has never effaced from his memory the love he had for your mother, and never neglects an opportunity of inquiring if any intelligence has been received from your father’s family. But your grand-father Powers is very uncertain. I fear that he will refuse to see you, and perhaps insult you, should you appear before him. But Cora and I will do the best we can to effect a reconciliation.

Uncle, said Walter, the object I had in view in visiting the old world is accomplished. I have found the friends of mine and Amy’s family. The causes that drove my parents from their native shore still exists. Parents that could exile their own child would have no conscientious scruples, and would disown and drive from their door the grand-child of their own offspring. I have met an uncle and an aunt. Let that suffice. I have no desire to meet those that think or speak unkindly of my parents. My mother is dead and cannot speak in her own defense. That now becomes my duty—a duty that I will neither court nor shrink from. But woe unto the man that slanders my dead mother. Perhaps I had better not see either of my grand-parents—at least not until they make the request. I hope that our stay in port will be short, as I am anxious to prosecute my search in America for my lost friend.

The voyage is nearly completed. The distant shores of the old world are in view. The Reindeer is proudly entering the mouth of the Thames, and sixty miles more will bring us to our destination.

Walter stood leaning against the taffrail, near the stern, gazing land-ward. While his eyes were taking in objects along shore, his mind was employed in a different direction. His thoughts led him back to the scenes of his childhood. The little farm on the Callicoon—the mad waters of the Beaver Dam—the screeching panther—the motherly bear—the swiftly gliding raft with its human freight—the last agonizing look of Amy.

I am now three thousand miles from home, he said to himself, and for what purpose? To see my old and hard hearted grand-fathers. To be spurned and scorned by them, simply because I am of their blood. They will tell me that I have come there a beggar on their bounty—that I am a son of their disgraced children. No! By heavens they shall not have the opportunity to insult me or the memory of my dead parents. At their request, and at their request only, will I appear before them.

Don’t be too positive of that, exclaimed a voice behind him. Your uncle and aunt have some rights to assert in this matter. You are too despondent. Cast off those gloomy feelings and look forward to sunshine and happiness. Although you have lived in obscurity, you are of noble blood. The grand-son of a Lord on one hand, and of an Admiral on the other, and I shall be proud to introduce you to the best families in England.

Yes—to be reviled and insulted, because I am the son of an out-cast, replied Walter.

No, my boy. To be received, and loved, and owned by all. To take your proper position in society, and your grand-father’s name and position.

Ah, Cora, you don’t know me. You know not that I care not for Lords or Admirals. I care nothing for wealth or titles. I would not exchange one inch of American soil for all Briton, nor my blue eyed Amy for the fairest woman in London.

You think so now, but wait until you have entered society. Wait until you have embarked on the stream of fashion. Wait until the eyes of some London beauty looks long and deep into your dark orbs and say in language that is as silent as the grave, yet as powerful as the thunder that shook Sinai. Wait until you hear one say “Walter, I love you.” Wait until you know yourself, and know that you have your likes and dislikes, and are subjected to the same temptations as other men. Wait until you meet with the woman whose heart beats in unison with your own, who seems to be a part of yourself as she looks in your eyes. One that will cause your soul to silently exclaim: “Mine is thine and thine is mine.”

Stop, Cora! Proceed no further. You have reached the pinnacle of love. You have described my ideal of woman. The eyes you spoke of are beaming on me now. The heart you spoke of presses on my own. They beat together. They beat in unison. They are twain—one flesh. I feel her breath on my brow. I hear her sweet voice whispering in my ear: “Mine is thine, and thine is mine.” By an invisible magnetic influence, we keep up a sweet correspondence. The woman you spoke of is my guardian angel, and as the lofty spires come in view, as the panorama of wealth, beauty and temptation are unfolding, I feel as if I was encircled within her arms and hear her say: “Walter, remember our infantile love, the seed of which was planted on the banks of the Callicoon. Here it grew. Here it germinated. Here the rose unfolded and expanded. Here it was clothed in the garb of immortality, never ending, never dying love.”

Walter, you are really romantic, and your imagination is floating about in space, surrounded by ethereal glory. But where is this object of your affections? Where is this Amy? Does she exist outside of your imagination? Will you ever see her again? And if you do, will she yet cherish the feelings toward you that you have pictured in your imagination?

Cora, before I answer that question, I must ask you one. Have you ever loved?

What a curious question—and what has that to do with your blue eyed Amy on the Callicoon.

Simply this. If you have experienced the pangs or pleasures of love, your heart will answer the question. If you have not, then you are incapable of understanding the reasons why I believe that I shall meet the object of my affections again.

Really, Walter, I don’t think that I ever loved in the sense your words imply. Yet I must confess that I have a longing desire for a companion. Should my ideal of a man seek my hand and heart, and woo me as you do your imaginary Amy, I would love him with my whole heart, and go with him to the end of the world. But such men are scarce. They are not often to be found in high life. Marriage with many is a matter of convenience. With others it is purely mercenary. Society is wrong side up, and in order to carry out the whims of society, women must act the part of hypocrites. To-day I am Cora. I can talk and dress natural. Yes, here there is no impropriety in talking sensible, but to-morrow it will be different. I shall be in London. Then I am no longer Cora. Then I am Miss Powers. Miss Lady Powers. Tied, body and soul by fashion, and expected to smile on every hypocrite and fool that presents himself. Like you, I love America, and my ideal of a man is to be found in the forest. And if ever I do love, it will be a wild man of the forest. When you return, I will return with you. Wherever you go in search of your lost Amy, I will follow, and something seems to tell me that when you find your Amy, I will find my hero.

That night they all met in the cabin, and a spirited conversation was carried on as to their future movements.

To-morrow, said Mrs. Davis, we will receive our friends. To-morrow night we will have a reception ball on board of the ship, and the next day we will be at liberty to go on shore. I anticipate much pleasure in presenting Mr. Wallace to his family and friends, and have some curiosity to see how he will steer his way through the swarm of English butterflies that will be buzzing in his ears when they learn that he is the grand-son of Lord Wallace. I fear that he will feel and appear awkward. Cora and I must give him some lessons.

I will save you that trouble, replied Walter. I have different arrangements, and shall not be here to be laughed at for my awkwardness. I shall spend to-morrow among friends that can appreciate the friendship of a wild man from the woods. I go on shore with Tom Jones and Jack Frost. I prefer them before all others to introduce me to the mysteries and miseries of London life.

Why Walter, that would be unpardonable. Certainly you will not appear on shore in company with common sailors?

Certainly I shall go on shore with the men I have named. You call them common sailors. I call them nature’s noblemen.

Walter, said Mrs. Davis, they will both be drunk before they have been on shore an hour. And then what a sight.

That compels me to give the reason why I go with them. It is to prevent what you fear that causes me to accompany them. And I shall go with them dressed in sailor clothes.

That is ridiculous! exclaimed Mrs. Davis. Captain, you must stop this thing.

Mr. Wallace has my consent and approval of the course he is about to take. If he can go on shore with two old man-of-war’s-men and keep them sober, he is a genius that has never been found before in the English Navy. He has another reason why he does not wish to remain on board to-morrow, for which we must excuse him. Lord Wallace, family and friends will be here, and it will be better that the existence of his grand-son should be pronounced prior to the meeting, for Walter has firmly resolved that he will see neither of his grand-fathers except on their special request. Therefore, let us retire and prepare for the morrow.

During the night the ship sailed within two miles of London and cast anchor, and before the sun had risen, every sail was secured and the ship dressed in gally style. The docks were lined with people, many of whom had been attracted there by idle curiosity. Others expected to meet friends or hear from relatives in America. Others had husbands, sons or lovers on board, and were straining their eyes to see their long absent loved ones.

Walter and his two friends appeared on deck, dressed in full sailor uniform. They were about to get into the yawl to go on shore, when Cora took Walter aside and said:

Will you come on board to-night?

Yes, he replied, if you request it.

I do request it. Be in the Lieutenant’s room at eleven o’clock. Now good bye for the present.

At this instant the ship’s surgeon requested an interview with Cora.

Why, doctor, what is the matter? You look as if you had lost your best friend.

I have lost nothing but a patient. The cat Amy is dead. I feared to break the news to him, and called on you for advice.

Don’t, for the world, tell him now. Take it to a taxidermist and have it stuffed, and I will explain it to him in due time.

The trio entered the boat, and in a few moments were safely landed on the wharf.

A rush is made to reach the sailors, and Tom and Jack are soon in the hands of their friends.

Frost’s wife and daughter nearly smothered him with kisses, and Tom’s friends received him kindly, and immediately invited him to go to a tavern and take something to drink.

Never! replied Tom. I have drunk my last glass of grog. I thank you for your friendship, but if you are true friends, don’t tempt me to drink rum.

Clear the way! Clear the way for Lord Wallace! exclaimed an officer. Make room for Lord Wallace.

Walter heard this name pronounced, and looking up, saw an old gentleman approaching, followed by a long list of friends and servants.

This, he thought to himself, is my grand-father Wallace.

On a nearer view, he saw that he was a man of about eighty years, but hale and hearty.

A boat was in readiness to convey his Lordship on board of the Reindeer. A plank was laid from the dock to the boat, and his Lordship started to walk on board.

He had nearly reached the boat, when the plank slipped from the wharf, and he was precipitated into the river. It was a strong ebb tide, and a few feet would carry him under the vessel. Walter caught the end of a rope and dove. For a moment he disappeared, and Tom and Frost feared that their friend was drowned. The next instant he appeared at the surface holding Lord Wallace by the hair.

Tom and Frost pulled in the rope, and grand-father and grand-son were safely landed. The elder Wallace was apparently dead.

Stand back, men! Stand back! cried Tom at the top of his voice. Roll him on the barrel, Jack.

There men, gently. Roll him gently, said Walter.

The rolling had the desired effect, and in a few moments he was relieved of the water he had taken in, and showed signs of returning consciousness. In a few moments he was able to speak.

To whom am I indebted for my deliverance from a watery grave? he asked.

To this young man, replied Tom pointing to Walter.

Are you one of the crew of the Reindeer?

I have the honor to serve in that capacity to-day my Lord.

The keen eyes of the old man was bent on the youth before him, and something there reminded him of days long passed. He saw in the young man a duplicate of a picture that hung in his gallery. Memory flashed the fact home that more than twenty years before he had driven from his home the exact counterpart of the young man who had so nobly saved his life.

Young man, he said, you have done me one favor. Will you now promise to do me another?

Certainly, my Lord, if it is consistent, replied Walter.

Then accompany me to my house, to the end that we may become better acquainted.

Yes, on one condition—that my mess-mates can accompany me.

Certainly, the whole ship’s crew if you desire.

A conveyance was procured, and in a few moments Walter and his friends were being driven through the streets of London.

This was both new and novel for Walter. He had read something of London fog, London life and London women; but on London noise and London cold he was not posted, especially as to the latter. Both himself and grand-father were wet to the skin in consequence of their late immersion in the Thames, and long before they reached the residence of Lord Wallace they both chattered with the cold. At length the residence is reached and the parties alighted.

Take these gentlemen into the green room, and furnish them with dry clothes and a good fire, said Lord Wallace to his servants.

The servants beckoned them to follow, which they did.

After ascending several winding stairs and traversing intricate halls and gloomy recesses, they were ushered into the green room, where a blazing fire was burning. As soon as the servant retired, Frost approached Walter and said:

Never tell me again that Friday is an unlucky day. I tell you friend Walt, that Friday is your lucky day. It is on Friday that your star is on the meridian.

How so? asked Walter.

It was on Friday we sailed. On Friday we cast anchor on our native shore. On Friday you saved the life of Lord Wallace, and my word for it, it is a lucky day for you. The old man has taken a liking to you, and he will do something handsome for you. He is rich as a jew, without a wife, child or chicken.

Have you ever seen him before?

Yes, many a time. I remember when he drove his son from home because he married Amelia Powers. And when I return from a cruise he asks me what I have seen or heard in America. I believe he never heard from his son.

Did you hear the son’s name?

Oh, yes. His name was William. He and his cousin, Thomas Powers had a quarrel about a cock fight. The old folks interfered and made fools of themselves, and in the end disinherited their children for following the dictates of their own consciences and the man and maid of their choice.

How long Frost would have continued the history it is hard to tell. But at this point a servant announced that Lord Wallace desired their company in the dining room.

The trio followed the servant to the dining room where they found Lord Wallace waiting.

Sit down, gentlemen. A little brandy will do you good. It will drive away coughs, colds and rheumatism which will follow the cold bath we took this morning. Brandy. Pure brandy. Here, Stupid, (addressing the servant,) fill up these glasses with the pure cognac. Now my men, lay to and help yourselves. Don’t feel timid because you are in the house of a Lord. Eat, drink and be merry, for this, my son, was dead, but now is alive. He was lost, but now is found. Hic—hic—Come, Stupid, fill up the glasses—hic—hic.

It was evident that his Lordship had freely imbibed of his beverage, brandy, before he sent for his friends, and it was with difficulty that he could maintain an erect position in his chair.

He commenced again:—

Come, hearties—heave to and get yourselves on the outside of that bottle of brandy. Hic—hic—It’s the pure juice—hic. Here’s to Cap-Cap-Captain Davis and the Reindeer. Why in the devil don’t you drink?

My Lord, you must excuse us, said Walter. We don’t drink. We have pledged ourselves not to touch, taste or handle strong drink. We think the soul more merry and the body more active without it.

Who the devil are you? what the devil are you? where did you come from? Hic—hic. This is a day of surprises. The arrival of the Reindeer was a surprise—my baptism was a surprise—but the climax of all surprises is to find three man-of-war’s men—three Englishmen that refuse brandy. Impossible! Increditable! Unnatural. Come boys, lay to, take a swig with the old man, and suiting the action to the word, downed another glass of brandy.

I say, Stupid, why don’t you make these old tars d-r-i-n-k. Yes-d-r-i-n-k-hic-hic.

The old man dropped his glass and fell back in his chair in a drunken slumber. Walter viewed him intently for a few moments, then said:

Rather a bad example for a grand-father to set before his son.

His son? exclaimed Frost. What do you mean by that? and what did he mean when he said “the dead are alive, the lost is found?”

It means, replied Walter, that I am his grand-son.

What? the son of William Wallace? the one that was driven from home for marrying Amelia Powers?

Exactly so, my friend Frost. But let that remain a secret for the present.

Would you know your father’s picture if you should see it? asked Tom.

Yes, as well as I would my own.

Then you shall see it. Here, Stupid! Where are you?

Stupid stepped into the room.

Show us to your Master’s gallery, said Tom.

In a few minutes the trio stood in the art gallery of the Wallace mansion. One side of the room was filled with statuary, rusty swords and worn out helmets. The other side contained the pictures of the Wallace family for several generations. Walter’s eye fell on that of his father and of his aunt Mary, the mother of Amy. His gaze was long and earnest. In Mary, he saw the form and figure of his long lost Amy.

How could he! How could he! he exclaimed, drive away two such lovely beings from his home? How could he be so unnatural as to violate the laws of his own nature and turn from his home his own flesh and blood? I should think that these walls would have cried out “Father, save mother, save me from this great and unnatural wrong.” Let us go, Frost, let us leave this memorial of the past. Let us visit your happy home, and see the contrast between the poor—happy and contented on the one hand, and the lordly, wealthy and miserable on the other.

Lord Wallace slept and snored and snored and slept, until the fumes of the brandy had passed off. He then was, in a measure himself again. He opened his eyes and looked around, seemingly with the expectation of seeing the three sailors, but he looked in vain. They were gone.

Stupid! he cried. Stupid, you blockhead! Where are the sailors that were here a few moments ago?

They are gone, my Lord.

Gone where? (bringing his cane down on the table with such violence as to set the tumblers dancing.) How dare you suffer them to depart without informing me? Go and get them and bring them back immediately, or I will break every bone in your body.

My Lord, I neither know where they live or where they have gone. After you went to sleep, they went to the gallery. There the young sailor that fished you out became interested in the portrait of your absent son William. I heard him say “father,” and the one by his side he called “aunt Mary.” I heard him say “How could he be so unnatural as to drive two such lovely beings from his home?”

What further did he say?

He said “Let us go,” and they departed.

The old man bent his head on the table, and for some moments remained silent. At last he said to himself:

What does this mean? What is it about this young man that impresses me so? What interest can he have in the pictures in the gallery? What can he know of my son or the causes that sent him to America? This must have a deep meaning. Captain Davis must be able to explain it. I will go to him immediately. Stupid, tell Gehu that I am ready to go on board of the Reindeer.

A gentleman is waiting for you in the library, said Stupid.

Who is he? and what does he want? impatiently asked Wallace.

He is a stranger, my Lord, but here is his card.

The old gentleman took the card and read: “Lieutenant Powers, of the ship Reindeer.”

What! exclaimed Wallace. Charles Powers, the son of my most inveterate enemy—he wishes to see me? Not one of that family has darkened my doors for over twenty years. But I will see him.

Wallace proceeded to the library, trying to revolve in his mind what had brought the Lieutenant to his house. Entering, he found the Lieutenant pacing the floor. Turning, they met, face to face. Each seemed to be at a loss as to who should speak first.

My Lord, said the Lieutenant, you will pardon this intrusion. I have been informed, that by the carelessness of one of our men, you met with a serious accident. I called to inquire about your health.

Yes, Lieutenant, by someone’s carelessness, I was plunged into the river. But by the cool bravery of another of your men I was saved. Not one man in a hundred would have attempted my rescue, and not one man in thousand would have succeeded. But here I am. That is proof that I am not drowned. But the young sailor that so fearlessly risked his life to save me has slipped through my fingers.

I do not comprehend your meaning, my Lord, replied the Lieutenant.

I am not surprised at that, for I do not comprehend it myself. This much I know however. Three of your men accompanied me home. By the time we arrived here, I was chilled through, and in order to start the circulation, I drank brandy freely, and offered them some, but they refused. In order to encourage them, I took an overdose, and soon forgot whether I was in or out of the Thames. When I awoke, they were gone, and I was just starting to board the Reindeer to learn who the young man was. But as he is one of your men, I presume that you can give me the desired information.

Pardon me my Lord, but I am not at liberty to speak for the young man you allude to. All I can say is, that he was a passenger on board of the Reindeer—a guest of Captain Davis and wife. But, my Lord, why so much solicitation about this young man? He simply did his duty as a man and sailor. He exercised the common instincts of humanity, that is all. And now, my Lord, when may Captain Davis expect you on board of the Reindeer?

Immediately, he replied. I was on the point of going when I received your card.

Then my Lord, I will bid you good day, and I trust that you will reach the deck in safety.

Do you return to the ship?

Not at present. I have not seen my father yet. I shall spend the afternoon with him and return on board of the Reindeer in the evening.

The word “father” fell on the ear of the old man with more than ordinary significance. He was a father, yet he had no child. Other homes were made bright and happy. The voices of children and grand-children were to be heard, the infirmities of old age were softened and soothed by the lisping and prattling of the little ones.

But my house is dark, doleful and deserted. Servants and servants only meet and greet me. Oh, my God! he exclaimed audibly, what have I done to be deprived of the comforts that others enjoy? Yes, what have I done—or rather what have I not done? Lieutenant, I am a monster—a demon—an unnatural father. I will smother it no longer. The fair form and figure of that young sailor has caused the scales to fall from my eyes. I wronged my children, but I wronged myself more. They have gone. They are beyond reproach. They have not remorse nor the sting of a guilty conscience. They have gone to a world of bliss, a world of peace and joy. I remain. I remain alone. Not one drop of my blood circulates in the veins of any mortal. Lieutenant, excuse this weakness. Go and administer to the wants of your father. Tell him I forgive him for all real or imaginary wrongs. Yes, tell him I ask his forgiveness, and wish to be forgiven before the dark veil of the future is withdrawn. Tell him that I am a miserable, lonely, unhappy man. Tell him that this day I have seen the ghost of his and my child, dressed in the garb of a common sailor.

Lieutenant Powers had been an interested listener, and was more than half convinced that Lord Wallace would become reconciled to own and receive his grand-son. He saw that his memory had been awakened and his suspicions aroused by the young man who had saved his life.

I must bid you good day, my Lord, and hurry to my father, realizing that I shall meet you on board of the Reindeer this evening.

Lord Wallace rose from his chair and attempted to extend his hand, but his emotions overcame him. After faltering for several moments, he gave vent to his thoughts.

Lieutenant, excuse me for asking one more question.

Certainly, my Lord.

In your rambles in America, have you learned the truth as to the death of those that your father and myself so wrongfully drove to that wilderness world?

I have heard, my Lord, that they are dead. I had the whole country searched at the time, and the result convinced me that all four perished by drowning.

But they each had a child. Did they perish also?

The Lieutenant was now brought to a point that there was no evading. It had been his intention of breaking the news to his father before acquainting Lord Wallace with the fact that the simple sailor that saved his life was none other than his own grand-son. But to deny or evade the truth, he could not. He replied:

My Lord, we have some reason for believing that their children are alive.

Have you seen them? he asked, while the tears trickled down his cheeks.

Yes, replied the Lieutenant.

When?

This morning. Walter Wallace, your grand-son, left the ship with two other sailors, and the first act that he performed after reaching the shore, was to save his grand-father’s life. It was he that rescued you from a watery grave. It was he that refused your brandy. It was the son of your long lost William.

Thank heaven! the old man replied. I shall have the opportunity in part to atone for my past errors. I discarded my child then. Now I will own, cherish and protect his offspring. But you say nothing of the other child. Where is she? Where is the child of Mary Powers?

My Lord, you must excuse me for not answering that question. When you see your grand-son he will inform you of all.

And when will I see him?

On board of the Reindeer to-night. Until that time you must excuse me. Good day. I go to see my father.

Lord Wallace was alone, and for a long time communed with his own thoughts.

What fools, he thought to himself, we have been. And all over a cock fight. The children exercised more judgement than their parents. They forgave each other, while the Admiral and I have kept alive the old animosity, and made ourselves miserable. But thank God sunlight begins to filter through the dark clouds that so long have separated me from my child. I will take them home to live with me, and hereafter I will have sunlight in my house and joy in my heart.