Among the springs and mosses of Alston Moor, near the source of the South Tyne, are several little grass farms, on which are bred sheep and black cattle by the industrious farmers of Cumberland and Northumberland. In a most retired spot between the two counties, dwelt old farmer Ridley and his grandson Arthur. The farmer was one of those small landholders, who are called statesmen in the dialect of the northern counties; he had lost his wife, but she had left him two sons. Walter Ridley, the elder, was the father of Arthur, and captain of a merchant ship, that traded to the Baltic, from the port of Newcastle. He had married a tradesman's daughter from that place, who died when little Arthur was but two years old; and Walter, who knew not what to do with so young a child, begged his father to take the boy, and bring him up at the farm, till he was old enough to go to sea. About four years after, Hugh Ridley, the farmer's younger son, was killed in the command of a privateer, while he was endeavouring to take a French merchant ship. It was greatly against the wishes of old Mr. Ridley that both his sons followed so dangerous a profession: one of them, at least, he hoped would have remained at home to assist in cultivating the peaceful little farm which had descended from father to son for three centuries; but both the sons made light of the wishes of their father; and Hugh actually disobeyed his express commands, when he became captain of the privateer; a mode of life agreeing well enough with his rude rough habits, but which the good farmer abhorred and detested, justly considering such an occupation to be but one degree better than the pursuits of a pirate. This act of disobedience was soon punished; for Hugh Ridley fell in the first engagement, leaving a young widow and a little girl quite destitute. His death filled his father's heart with sorrow, and he lost no time in fetching his widowed daughter-in-law and her little Phoebe from Newcastle, and bringing them to his own quiet home, to the great joy of young Arthur, who promised to love aunt Rachel and cousin Phoebe better than his best pet lamb. Indeed, he said that little Phoebe was much prettier than his finest cosset; besides, she could answer all his questions, and ask him a thousand in return. They passed their happy summers together, keeping the sheep and cows on Alston Moor; in the winter, their good grandfather taught them to read the Bible; and in the long evenings, Phoebe spun by her mother's side, while Arthur learned to write and keep accounts. Arthur seldom saw his father, who only came to the farm for a few hours, when he was on shore, and then only laughed at his quiet habits and peaceful temper, slapped him rudely on the back, and asked him whether he were not ashamed of remaining lounging on shore like a coward and a milksop.

But Arthur was no coward. True, his very fair complexion and placid features gave him that gentle look which might well deceive careless observers into the belief that any insult might be offered to him with impunity; but there was a quiet, determined firmness in his character,—a spirit which silently says, on the appearance of any difficulty, "I will overcome it." On such minds success is a sure attendant: they follow the toilsome path which leads to glory and distinction with unwearied and steady steps, and often leave those of bold demeanour and boasting tongues at a hopeless distance.

Mr. Ridley's house was a very long way from the other farms; so when Arthur and Phoebe drove their cattle to any distance from home, on the moor, to seek fresh pasture, they were considered as strangers and intruders, by the boys who kept the flocks of the neighbouring farmers. Though somewhat older than Phoebe, Arthur was scarcely so tall as the blooming girl; and she looked better able to be his protector, than to receive assistance from him; but Phoebe knew well to whom to fly in any danger, as her cousin would beat off the most ferocious dog, or the biggest boy that strove to molest her. The farmers' sons in the neighbourhood, when once they had tried the force of Arthur's well-knit little arm, and felt the effects of his cool, determined courage, soon retracted the mean opinion they had formed of his prowess; and left off their favourite amusements of pelting his whitest lambs with mud, and running after Phoebe, to pull the long flaxen ringlets which floated from under her bonnet.

At fourteen, Arthur Ridley thought himself the happiest boy in the world; for his grandfather had a gold medal presented to him at an agricultural meeting in the county, as a prize for showing there six finer and fatter lambs than any one else could produce. Mr. Ridley told every one that it was by the care and attention of his grandson, that his flock throve so well; and the nobleman who held the meeting patted Arthur's head, and told him he would be an honour to Cumberland, and hoped that he should see him at the next sheep-shearing. Oh! how Arthur loved the dear little lambs that had obtained for him such an honour! And, all the way home, he secretly resolved never to be anything but a farmer.

We may suppose that Arthur anticipated the next June with great delight: but, alas! the succeeding summer, though it bloomed fairer than ever, brought no joy in its course to him; for it was in that lovely season that his young heart was to know the first taste of sorrow.

The spring set in cold and stormy, and it was a very bad lambing-time for the ewes. Farmer Ridley was more anxious for their well-doing than usual, and, in taking care of some of the early new-fallen lambs, he caught a bad cold, attended with ague, which hung on him through the two succeeding months; and before May came with all her flowers, even the inexperienced eyes of his grandchildren read, in his sunken temples and hollow cheeks, that the mortal foe within would soon rob them of their venerable protector. Arthur's father had passed the winter in Hamburgh, and was now expected home every day. Mr. Ridley wished much to behold his son once more in this world; and he seemed to linger from hour to hour, in the hope of seeing him again; till, about eventide, on the 2nd of May, his last minutes drew to a close. "Arthur," he said, in a faint voice. Arthur started from the place where he was leaning his head against the casement, and approached the bed.

"Arthur," he said, "your father is away; but tell him from me to take care of your aunt Rachel and your cousin Phoebe: I have little to leave them; for the farm is entailed on my eldest son, and must descend to you. Tell him that my dying request is, that he will never suffer them to want a home. They will find, in my oaken box, eighty guineas in a yellow canvas bag, and my will, which directs the money to be divided between them. And now, Arthur, my dear boy, you have ever been a dutiful child to me; be the same to your father, whatever his commands may be, and make it your rule to do your duty in that state of life unto which it may please God to call you."

The rising sun beamed on the bed of death; the venerable Mr. Ridley was no more! And his sorrowing family were not to be consoled. The next Sunday, they followed his remains to the grave. It was in vain that the first day of early summer smiled on them, and that between every solemn response of the burial service the blackbird sang loud and joyously; their hearts no longer leaped to the sound once so full of delight.

"Oh, Arthur," said Phoebe, as her tears fell on her black sleeve, "we shall never see May-flowers again without mourning!"

Three melancholy days passed on, before Arthur could resume his former employments; but on the evening of the fourth, after he had folded his sheep, he returned home, expecting to see aunt Rachel busy in preparing the milk-porridge for their supper, and Phoebe watering the flowers, or gathering salad in the garden. Phoebe was not there. He lifted the latch of the door; his cousin was laying the cloth, and aunt Rachel was roasting a fowl for supper. In the chimney-corner, and in his grandfather's high-backed chair, sat his father. Walter Ridley's stern features were softened by an expression of grief; he looked more kindly on his son than he had ever done before; and Arthur thought that when time had whitened his thick black hair, and dimmed the fire of his dark eyes, he would resemble in person his lamented grandfather.

Captain Ridley was very kind to his sister-in-law and niece; and when Arthur told him the last request of his father, he patted Phoebe's curly head, and said:

"Never fear, pretty one, I'll take care of you and your mother; you shall never want for a shilling, whilst Wat Ridley has one, if it's only for the sake of poor brother Hugh. Your uncle Hugh was a brave fellow, Arthur! I wish I could see some of his manly spirit in you, boy!—So, sister Rachel, you shall live in the farm, and look after the kine and sheep, and live as comfortably as you can. If you have a shiner or two over and above at the end of the year for me, it's all very well; and if you have not, I shan't complain; so don't starve your little one here. And when Arthur and I come back, after roving the salt waters for five or six years, mayhap we may stay at home for good; that is, if Phoebe should like the lad for a husband, and he should fancy her."

Rachel thanked her brother-in-law for his kindness towards her and her child; but Arthur, though much pleased with his father's intentions in respect to his cousin, did not like what he said about the sea.

"Are you determined that I shall be a sailor?" he asked, in a disconsolate voice.

"Hark'e, boy," said Captain Ridley; "I am determined to make a man of you. So don't let's have any puling and muling, but pluck up a good heart: and if you be a coward, don't show it. I have bought a good tight ship at Hamburgh, and have laid out all my earnings for these twenty years, that I may be owner of the vessel I sail in; she is freighted with a valuable cargo, and will soon sail for Norway; and you are to have a berth in her: so say no more, for I have made up my mind on the matter."

Arthur submitted in silence; for he well remembered the last words of his grandfather, and made up his mind to obey his father, let his will be what it would; besides, he was very grateful for the kindness shown to his aunt and cousin. "I shall leave them in the bosom of our peaceful home," thought he; "so I must not displease my father, for he must have a good heart to be so kind to them."

In two days, Captain Ridley declared his intention of being off, as he called it. In vain Rachel and Phoebe pleaded for time to make Arthur some new shirts, and pack up different things that he would want during a sea-voyage.

"No, no," said Captain Ridley; "the boy has been made too much of a pet and cosset already. I shall fit him out with check-shirts and blue jackets at Newcastle. I'll make a brave fellow of him, I warrant you. There's been too many parsons and farmers among the Ridleys. Nobody would believe they came of the same bold fellows who used to ride the border some three hundred years ago. Who ever heard of a boy making a brave, manly character, who spent his time lounging at the tails of two or three kine or sheep? So, Arthur, my boy, your aunt and cousin will find you quite a different sort of a lad when you come home from your first voyage."

The next morning Arthur bade adieu, with a heavy heart, to the home he loved so much; and kissed his good aunt and the weeping Phoebe, with tears in his eyes; but he durst not cry, for fear of bringing on himself the rough taunts of his father. Captain Ridley had been to the village church-yard that morning, to visit the new-made grave of his father; he there remembered that he had not always been the most dutiful of sons to him who now slept beneath the green turf; and he felt half inclined to fulfil what he knew was his departed father's wish, and suffer Arthur to remain at home and look after the farm: but then he thought again, that when he grew old, and left off going to sea, and came to live at home, there would be no one to talk to him of seafaring matters: so he hardened his heart against the tears and entreaties of Phoebe and her mother, and took Arthur to Newcastle, where his ship, the Aurora, lay in harbour, ready to sail.

Arthur found this new mode of life even more disagreeable than he had imagined; however, he made a resolution to go through all that was required of him with uncomplaining patience, and to shrink from none of the hardships of his situation. Neither his father nor any of the crew were disposed to lighten his difficulties; all were on the watch to jeer at the mistakes of the young landsman; not but they were a little surprised to see him go through the first seasoning of a seafaring life with so much spirit. The sailors, naturally generous and frank, in a little time began to look on him with more favourable eyes, particularly an old friend of his father's, who sailed in the Aurora as mate.

"Well, Captain," said he one day, as he saw Arthur aloft, and going through his duties with great adroitness, "what do you think of our young seaman now? To my mind, he will turn out as brave a fellow as ever stepped between stem and stern."

"He is better than might be expected from his breeding," returned Captain Ridley: "but I doubt he will turn out a sad chicken-hearted thing in time of danger."

"We shall see," said the mate: "but if young Arthur don't show more spirit than many of those who talk big and bluster, never believe a word that old Jack Travers says to you again."

"Well, well, old shipmate, I wish it may be as you say; but, I own, I have not such good hopes of him."

Arthur soon found a good friend in Jack Travers, who was determined that he should not disgrace his predictions. During their voyage to Norway, he taught Arthur to keep the log-book, to take the sun's meridian altitude, to navigate the ship, and to perform the duties of a complete seaman.

Travers had spent the chief part of his life at sea, and had seen and suffered much. He had twice lost his all by shipwreck, and had once been taken prisoner by the French; he had of course seen a great deal of the world, and had made many intelligent observations on the countries where fortune had thrown him; and was intimately acquainted with the customs and manners of the people whose shores they were now approaching.

One summer night, when Arthur and Travers were on the watch together, Travers began to tell him of all he had suffered by storm and wreck, in the course of a long and disastrous life. "The last ship I sailed in," said he, "the unfortunate DÆdalus, was wrecked on one of the small islands that stud the coast of Norway, off Drontheim. Now, there was no very good understanding between the English and the subjects of the King of Denmark, because of the battle of Copenhagen, the carnage of which was so great as to occasion general mourning and sorrow throughout Denmark and Norway. However, the brave Norwegians did not look upon us in the light of enemies, but as suffering and shipwrecked men, and treated us most kindly during the time we remained with them; which was more than three of their winter months. A merchant of Drontheim gave me a berth in a ship of his, that was bound to Hamburgh; and there I met with your father, Arthur, who never was yet the man to see an old shipmate in distress without giving a helping hand. He offered to put me as mate in the Aurora, which he had just purchased. So here I am; but whether my bad fortune will pursue me still, I know not."

"I hope not," said Arthur; "for it is hard, at your time of life, to be without the means of obtaining those comforts you will soon greatly need: but did you not spend your time very miserably, to pass so many months in a strange country, the language of which was unknown to you?"

"As for that," returned Travers, "thank God! I am not given to be very miserable anywhere. A seaman, who knows his duty, bears cheerfully whatever hap Heaven may send him. But in fact, I never passed any time pleasanter than I did in Norway. We were quartered on the farmers and pilots who inhabited the coast where we were thrown. The good people, instead of murmuring at the burden of our maintenance, came down with their sledges, and contended whose home should afford shelter to the shipwrecked strangers. I was not willing to eat the bread of idleness, so I lent a helping hand to whatever work was going forward. As to language, I found the inhabitants of the sea-coast very familiar with the English tongue; and I knew a little German, by reason of trading to Hamburgh; so, between the two, we made out very well. The coast of Norway is tremendous to the sailor at the fall of the year, when the equinoctial winds begin to blow; as you will judge when I tell you the observations I have made during my acquaintance with it. The coast extending upwards of three hundred leagues, is beset with a multitude of small islands, affording habitations to fishermen and pilots, and pasture to a few cattle. They form an infinite number of narrow channels, and a natural barrier of rocks, which render Norway inaccessible to the naval power of its enemies. Attempts of this kind are the more dangerous, as the shore is generally bold, steep, and impending; so that, close to the rocks, the depth of the sea amounts to one hundred, two hundred, and even three hundred fathoms. You may easily judge of the fate of the unfortunate ship that is hurled by tempests against any of these frightful rocks: if she breaks, she instantly fills, and must go down into a dreadful depth of water; and it is only by the most signal mercy that any of the crew is ever saved. The perils of the North Sea are also increased by sudden streams, sunk rocks, violent currents, and dreadful whirlpools. The most remarkable vortex on the coast is called Moskoestrom, from the small island Moskoe, belonging to the district Lofoden. In time of flood, the stream runs up between Lofoden and Moskoe, with the most boisterous rapidity; but in its ebb to the sea it roars like a hundred cataracts, so as to be heard at the distance of many leagues. On the surface are many vortices; and if in one of those any ship be absorbed, it is whirled down to the bottom, and dashed in pieces against the rocks.

"When its fury has been heightened by a storm, no vessel ought to venture within a league of it. Whales are frequently absorbed within the vortex, and howl and bellow hideously during their fruitless endeavours to free themselves. A bear, in attempting to swim from Lofoden to Moskoe, was once hurried to this whirlpool, from which he struggled in vain for deliverance, roaring so loud as to be heard on shore; but, notwithstanding all his efforts, he was borne down and destroyed. Large trees, being drawn into the current, are sucked down, and rise again all shattered to splinters. There are three vortices of the same kind near the islands of Ferroe."

Before the vessel reached Christiania, the short northern summer had commenced in all its beauty. Arthur had expected to see an icy, desolate coast; he could not think that fair sunny days would smile so far northwards; and when the Aurora entered the bay of Christiana, he could scarcely believe it was the port to which they were bound.

Before them lay the town of Christiana, situated at the extremity of an extensive and fertile valley, forming a semicircular bend along the shore of the beautiful bay. The grounds, laid out in rich enclosures, gradually sloped to the sea. Behind, before, and around appeared the inland mountains of Norway, covered with dark forests of pines and fir, the inexhaustible riches of the North. The most distant summits were capped with perpetual snows. From the glow of the atmosphere, the warmth of the weather, the variety of the productions, and the mild beauties of the adjacent scenery, it was hardly possible to believe that they were nearly under the sixtieth degree of latitude.[8]

"Is it possible?" said Arthur, as he stood on deck by the side of Travers; "can this blooming land be one of the coldest and most barren regions of the North?"

"Ah," said Travers; "but you see it in the midst of its short, lovely summer; its aspect would be bleak and horrid, were you to visit it during the nine winter months. Were you to hear the roaring of the winds among the mountains, the fall of great heaps of snow, and oftentimes of huge masses of stone and rocks from their heights—sometimes choking up the course of rivers, and overwhelming the cottages of the peasants—you would then hardly believe that the return of the sun could produce so much beauty as you now see before you."

"I have heard," said Arthur, "that, farther to the North, the sun never sets in the height of summer, nor rises in the depth of winter."

"I have been at Tronsen,"[9] said Travers, "near the northern extremity of this country, where the sun is continually in view at midsummer; I have seen it circulate day and night round the North Pole, contracting its orbit, and then gradually enlarging it, until it leaves the horizon. In the depth of the winter, therefore, it is for some weeks invisible: and all the light perceived at noon is a faint glimmering, for about one hour and a half, which proceeds from the sun's rays being reflected from the highest mountains. But the inhabitants have other lights, by which they follow their work in the open air. The sky being very clear, the moonshine is remarkably bright: they are likewise much assisted by the Northern Lights,[10] which are very frequent in these parts of Europe."

"My grandfather showed me the Northern Lights once, in Cumberland," said Arthur; "and told me they signified that something very dreadful would soon happen to the country; for they were never seen but when famine, or plagues or rebellions were about to come to pass. What do you think about it, Travers? are such bad things very common in Norway?"

"Not that ever I heard," returned Travers. "Indeed, the poor people would be in a desperate way, if they were to have plagues and battles every time they saw the Northern Lights. Why, Arthur, they see them as often as we see the stars in England; and I have read, on a Sunday night, the psalm for the day out of my prayer-book, as plain in the open air, at ten o'clock, as ever I did by a candle. But that's the way with you landsmen: you sit at home and scare yourselves, and shake your wise heads, and prophesy evil, if a little glimmer reaches you of what is as common as the air you breathe in other countries."

Arthur did not greatly approve of hearing the opinion of his venerated grandfather treated with so much contempt: yet he plainly saw the folly of converting into an omen of ill a harmless and beautiful meteor; which is a blessing, as common as it is useful, in a country a few degrees farther to the north.

Captain Ridley soon became very busy in disposing of his cargo, and buying the different commodities that Norway produces, to reload his vessel with. He bought copper, and iron forged into bars, (the iron of Sweden and Norway is esteemed very good—much better than any England produces;) marble he used for ballasting the ship; he likewise bought goat-skins, and seal-skins, and some very valuable furs of the fox and marten, of which he expected to make a great deal of money in England. Another article of commerce, which is sold to great advantage in England, Captain Ridley made part of his cargo, viz. eider-down feathers.[11] He gave his son leave to purchase what pleased him most, to take home as presents for his aunt and cousin. Arthur accordingly bought a handsome fur cloak for aunt Rachel, and some curious baskets made of birch-bark, and beautifully wrought with coloured quills, for Phoebe. They passed about two months in Norway: by the expiration of which time Captain Ridley had completed his lading, and got everything ready for returning to England.

Arthur's heart bounded with joy as the sails were set for England; and he now looked forward with sensations of pleasure towards the continuance of the life which his father had chosen for him. He had gained experience and knowledge, and felt happy that he had obeyed his parent, however distasteful his commands were at first. Captain Ridley was very proud of his ship; her clever sailing and tight figure were the perpetual theme of his discourse and admiration: he was, besides, in excellent spirits on another account; for he felt confident that he had laid out his money to great advantage in the cargo, and expected a clear profit of several hundreds.

They ran before a favourable gale for some days, till, one clear lovely morning, as Captain Ridley was standing on deck talking over his expected gains with Arthur, Travers called from the main-top, "Look abaft, Captain; for I think we are chased?" Ridley flew to his cabin, and returning with his telescope, plainly saw a ship bearing down before the wind, in full pursuit of them. All hands instantly went to work, to raise every bit of canvas the Aurora could carry; and as she was a swift-sailing vessel, they had hopes that she would keep ahead of the enemy until night came on, when she might elude the pursuit under the shades of darkness. But, alas! the same gale which bore the Aurora so bravely along, brought her lightly-laden pursuer more swiftly after her. At length, after a hard chase, and a day of the most agonizing suspense to our poor countrymen, about sunset their fate seemed decided, when the adverse ship bore down upon them within hail, and fired a gun to bring them to. The crew of the Aurora still ventured to hope that, after all, she might be a neutral ship; but the experienced eye of Travers had from the first noted all her bearings, and felt convinced that she was a French privateer; which was soon confirmed by her hoisting the tri-coloured flag, and preparing to board. To resist was utterly useless, as a single broadside from the armed ship would have soon settled the fray: and Captain Ridley saw his favourite ship the prey of the most lawless and insolent crew that ever manned a privateer!

To a man of Ridley's violent passions, this stroke was worse than death; but his indignant expressions were only answered by laughter and mockery from the enemies into whose hands he had fallen, and who added insult and ill-usage to the calamities of war. It was at that period of the French Revolution when the war was carried on between the two nations with a fury scarcely known in modern times, and the animosity of the French towards our country knew no bounds.

There could scarcely be a more dreadful situation than that of the crew of this defenceless merchant ship, which had fallen into the hands of men whose bad passions were inflamed by national hatred. For many hours, the English expected every moment to be their last. Outrage succeeded outrage, and massacre seemed resolved on; but at last, after many blows and much reviling, the privateers contented themselves with thrusting their prisoners, strongly ironed, into the hold. These were horrors of which poor Arthur had never even dreamed; yet, in the terrors of that dreadful night, there was a satisfaction to his well-regulated mind in the consciousness that he was near his suffering parent, and could offer all the consolation that can be received from the affection of a dutiful child. And, truly, Captain Ridley had great need of it. Neglected by the ruffians who had conquered them, they were left without food; and, what was infinitely more needful, without water. This, joined to want of air, (the hatches being close shut down,) made their situation almost equal to that of the prisoners in the black hole at Calcutta.

Walter Ridley had hitherto been a fortunate man in life: where others had met with storms and capture, he had sailed securely and prosperously. This he did not fail to attribute to his own wisdom and merit, instead of ascribing it to the protecting hand of a bountiful Providence; therefore, when this reverse of fortune came, he received it with transports of rage, instead of patience and resignation. The violence of his emotions, and the confinement and ill usage he underwent, had such an effect on his frame, that, long before the morning, he was attacked by a dangerous illness. Poor Arthur sat by him, holding his burning hands, and offering his bosom as a pillow to his aching head; nor could the wild and frantic exclamations, uttered in the delirium of fever, affright the affectionate boy from the side of his suffering father.

The next day had nearly passed, before the captors thought fit to take any notice of their prisoners; they then resolved to divide the English crew; for as the captain of the French privateer determined to cruise in search of fresh prey, he did not choose to encumber himself with his prize.

Seven of Captain Ridley's crew were carried on board the privateer; and himself, Travers, and Arthur, were left below, with two sailors, in the hold. The French captain put his mate and a few seamen on board the Aurora, just sufficient to navigate her into Dunkirk, and proceeded on his cruise. The situation of the prisoners was now a little improved: for the mate, to whose charge they were committed, took off the fetters from Captain Ridley and Travers, and allowed them better berths; and when Arthur, by signs, made him understand how ill his father was, he gave him some wine, and suffered him to occupy the cabin that had formerly been his own. For some days, Arthur thought it impossible for his father to live, as his illness was violent, and he had no medical assistance; yet the strength of his constitution was such, that in a few days he passed the crisis of the fever favourably, and got a little better, though he remained as weak and feeble as an infant. Travers kept up his own and Arthur's spirits with the hope that they might fall in with some British cruiser and be retaken; but, however probable such a circumstance was, yet day passed after day, and they still remained captives, until it was reckoned that another or two would bring them into a French port. Arthur's mild manners and affectionate attention to his sick father induced the French mate to permit him to come when he pleased on deck; and one morning, after he had watched by his father till he fell asleep, he asked Travers to supply his place while he went on deck to take a little fresh air. He sat down on a chest, after he had paced to and fro in a very melancholy mood, and began to muse sorrowfully on the case they were in. "Here," thought he, "my poor father will be dragged to a French prison, and there he must die; for, in his weak state, the hardships he will have to go through will certainly kill him; and, perhaps, I shall never see England, nor my home, nor my cousin Phoebe again! Is there no remedy to be found for all this?"

He kept lifting up the lid of the chest he sat on, without noticing what he was about, till he pinched his finger pretty sharply, which drew his attention to it; and he saw it was a chest of arms belonging to the Frenchmen, and filled with sabres and muskets. At the first glance of these weapons, a thought darted through Arthur's brain, which he instantly ran down to communicate with Travers. He mentioned the arms to him, and said: "What hinders our retaking the ship? Surely it might be done with a little prudence and courage."

"And dare you venture on a scheme so full of peril? Can you look death stoutly in the face? For I tell you plainly, if we should fail, death, without mercy, would be our portion. Think on it, boy, and search your own mind; for an undertaking of this kind requires a cool head and an undaunted heart!"

"I dare," said Arthur firmly, laying his hand on his breast; "I will freely venture my life to regain the ship and our liberty. Think of a plan, and I will do my part as far as my strength will go."

"I have thought much of it already," answered Travers; "but your years were so tender, that I mistrusted your prudence, though not your courage. If we attempt it, we must proceed by art, rather than by force. We must take the opportunity of mastering the French, when one part of the crew are asleep and the other off their guard."

"In the night, I suppose?" said Arthur.

"Yes," said Travers. "It will be a sanguinary business; but the provocation was theirs. Surely a man may strive even unto death for his liberty."

"Ah!" said Arthur; "but it is a frightful thing to murder so many sleeping men—to send so many to their great account, without a moment's warning. I have thought that it is possible to take them prisoners without hurting them."

"Well!" said Travers; "let us hear your plan. I should be glad of anything that would save me the horrid work of despatching sleeping men."

"If I had a large gimblet and a dozen strong nails," said Arthur, "I would engage to secure all the Frenchmen but two, without hurting a hair of their heads."

"Yours seems a notable plan!" said Travers; "and if it is only the want of such tools that stops you, here is a great gimblet that the Frenchmen lent me, instead of a corkscrew, and you will find two or three hundred large nails in that cupboard. But tell me how such a little fellow as you can think of mastering six stout men?"

"You know," replied Arthur, "that if a hole were bored in the panels of our sleeping berths, and a nail slipped in when they are shut, it would be impossible to slide them back, to open them. I go about the ship without being suspected, and could take the opportunity, when the men are all on deck, of boring a hole, and fitting a strong nail in each berth, ready to be put in when I choose; and when the Frenchmen are all safe asleep in their berths, I may put in the nails, and they will be as safe as if they were caught in so many traps."

"It is an ingenious scheme," said Travers; "and I allow that it has every prospect of success. To-night, therefore, we will make the attempt; for every hour brings us nearer to Dunkirk. But hark'e, Arthur; don't let your father know our plan till it has either succeeded or failed; for he is so impatient, and still so weak, that the suspense would probably kill him."

"It will be much the best," said Arthur; "but I must go, for the Frenchmen are all on deck,—so now or never."

So saying, he left the cabin. Hour passed after hour, and Travers saw no more of him. Captain Ridley awoke; and Travers gave him some gruel, which he had boiled for his dinner. The sick man found great fault with it, and inquired very peevishly for Arthur. Travers made him some vague answer, and Captain Ridley complained much of his absence, assured Travers that he was the worst nurse in the world, and that it was a shame for that boy to leave him, and at last grumbled himself to sleep again.

Travers now began to be exceedingly alarmed; thinking that Arthur had been taken in the attempt, and perhaps murdered. He looked at the sun, (for his captors had spared him the trouble of keeping a watch,) and thought it might be about four o'clock, when Arthur appeared at the cabin-door, and with a pale cheek, but a look of determined courage, beckoned Travers, without uttering a word. He left the cabin, and followed Arthur with a noiseless step. While they were ascending the companion-ladder, Arthur turned round, and said in a low voice: "Every man in the ship is secured excepting two; one of whom is at the helm, and the other in the shrouds: master them, and the ship is ours!"

There was no time for questions; or Travers would have asked how all this came to pass: but Arthur hurried him on deck; and, going to the arm-chest, gave Travers a sabre, and armed himself with a musket. Travers stepped to the steerage, and took the helmsman unawares; who uttered a cry of astonishment at seeing a man standing near him in a threatening attitude, with a drawn sabre in his hand, and began, with a loud voice, to implore for mercy. This supplication reached the ears of his companion in the shrouds, who, putting a stop to the Marseillaise Hymn, with which he was entertaining himself, began to descend with great expedition. But Arthur stopped his progress by levelling his musket at him; and by his menaces made him understand, that if he did not remain where he was, he would receive the whole contents in his body. Now the French sailor did not know, nor did Arthur at the time remember, that there was no charge in the musket. However, it had the effect of intimidating the man, who made signs that he would obey, and supplicated with his hands for his life.

Travers and Arthur had proceeded thus far with success; but they were at this moment in a most awkward predicament, for each held his man in check, yet it was necessary to do something more. The steersman was a strong muscular fellow, and notwithstanding that, had at first been frightened by the suddenness of the occurrence; yet Arthur saw, by the expression of watchfulness that lurked in the turn of his eye, that he only waited till Travers was off his guard, to spring upon him.

There was a coil of strong rope, which lay about twelve paces from Arthur on the deck; of this he longed to make himself master: but he was afraid of taking his attention from his prisoner above; for he knew how soon a sailor could swing himself from rope to rope, and stand on deck in a moment. At last he lost all patience, and determined to trust to the man's fears: so with one spring he seized the cord and gave it to Travers, and resumed his guard with the musket, whilst Travers pinioned his prisoner, and bound him so strongly that escape was impossible. They then beckoned the man above to descend, and soon bound him safely. "Now," said Arthur, "you must take the helm, my friend; whilst I go below, and set at liberty our two shipmates, who are confined between decks."

He soon returned with the two English sailors, who could scarcely believe that they were at liberty, and the ship in their possession. Travers's first care was to shift the sails and alter their course. They then went down to tell Captain Ridley what had happened. As soon as they came below, they heard a most violent uproar among the Frenchmen, who were shouting and calling, and accusing each other of shutting up the berths. Travers thought it quite necessary to dispose of them, for fear, when they grew desperate, they should split the panels. He therefore called down the stoutest of his men, opened the berths, one by one, and put the irons they had formerly occupied, on their astonished prisoners; who by many gestures and exclamations, expressed their surprise at such a proceeding.

They then took them to the hold; and, after securely confining them, they went to Captain Ridley.

When Arthur came into the cabin, his father was sitting up in his berth, with a very discontented air; and, after making a sour face or two, began to complain of being neglected. He told Arthur that he could have sat up a few hours, if he had been there to dress and assist him. "I have just been wakened," said he, "by those detestable Frenchmen making the most hateful noise I ever heard: I thought they were certainly murdering you all."

"Come, come, Walter!" said Travers; "don't look so sulky at the most noble boy that ever a father was blessed with: but take Arthur in your arms, and thank him for the recovery of your ship and of your liberty."

"What!" said Captain Ridley; "have we met with one of our cruisers? And are we retaken? Well, Travers, if you are in your right wits, and know what you are talking of, this is the news that will presently make me well again."

"Did I say that we had fallen in with any of our ships?" answered Travers. "But I tell you now, in plain English, that by the prudence and courage of your brave boy, your ship is your own again: we are all free; the Frenchmen are in irons; and we have tacked about for Old England, instead of being carried into Dunkirk."

"And Arthur, you say, has done all this; but how?—You are not given to tell lies, Jack Travers,—and yet I can hardly believe it."

"I don't wonder that you can't," returned Travers, "for I can scarcely trust my own senses that it is so. But this is the short of the matter: Arthur, this morning, contrived a scheme for fastening the Frenchmen in their berths when they were asleep. He went away to prepare matters for it. The attempt was not to have been made till night. But, to my surprise, he came to me, an hour ago, and told me he had all our enemies secure, except two. Those we easily managed; and, after getting the assistance of our two men, we as easily mastered the others. How Arthur contrived to execute his plan so soon, he can best tell you, for I have not yet heard."

But Arthur could not just then speak. He had thrown himself into his father's extended arms, and given ease to the fulness of his heart in a burst of tears. It was some moments before he raised his head from his father's bosom, who thanked and blessed him, and declared that were everything in the world taken from him and his gallant boy spared, he should still consider himself the happiest and richest of men.

When Arthur had recovered from the agitation that had deprived him of his voice, Travers again pressed him to tell by what means he had secured the Frenchmen.

"You know," said Arthur, "I left you with the intention of fitting the nails into the panels. I got safely into the cabin, where they slept, and soon bored all the holes; but when I came to fit in my nails, I found they might be pushed out with a violent shake; and, you know, they could not be knocked in tight without a great noise. For some minutes I thought our scheme was at an end; but at last I remembered there was a paper of large screws in the locker. These I soon found, and made holes in the top and bottom of each panel, and then greased the screws; so that I could put them all in with a screw-driver without the least noise. I likewise greased the slides of the panels, that they might slip easily. Well, while I was at work, I recollected that the Frenchmen were in the habit of sleeping for an hour or two in the middle of the day, leaving only two men on deck. This, therefore, appeared the best time for the execution of our plan; for it was likely we might blunder in the dark, and they were off their guard and in such security in the middle of the day, that I was determined to try. About three o'clock, they all came down and tumbled into their berths. I waited more than half an hour, and then stole into the cabin, hoping they were asleep. Some of the panels were open; my hands trembled as I closed them; but fortunately I made no noise. After I had put in the screws, I tried every panel, and found that all were well secured. I then went to you: and, by the blessing of Heaven, everything has thus far gone prosperously!"

"And all we have now to do," said Travers, "is to keep what we have gained; that, Arthur, is not the least part of the work: but there shall be no exertion wanting on my part to bring the good ship safe into an English port."

Travers faithfully kept his word: for he paced the deck of the Aurora, with pistols in his hands, almost night and day; and when he was compelled to take a little rest, Arthur kept watch with equal vigilance. Two desperate attempts were made by the French crew to regain their liberty: the last time, Captain Ridley (who was now able to walk about and come on deck) was greatly inclined to send a volley of musket-balls among them; but Arthur and Travers both implored him to shed no blood, if it were possible to avoid it. After a few days of incessant toil and anxiety, a favourable gale carried them into the Thames; and, a few hours after their arrival at Sheerness, they had the pleasure of seeing the privateer which had captured them brought in as a prize, at the stern of a British frigate. She had been taken whilst cruising in the Channel: and thus the whole of the crew of the Aurora were delivered from their anticipated sufferings in a French prison. Captain Ridley lost no time in disposing of the Aurora and her cargo. He said he would tempt the sea no longer, but remain peacefully in the quiet home he was so fortunate as to possess. "And, Travers, my friend," said he, "I need hardly tell you, that whilst I have a guinea, you shall share it; and whilst I have a home, it shall shelter you." Half of the money which the cargo produced, Captain Ridley settled on Travers: he rewarded the two men who had assisted in bringing home the Aurora, and made a present to all his sailors who had been retaken in the privateer.

During their stay in London, their story was the news of the day; and much admiration was excited by the conduct of Travers and Arthur; and Captain Ridley was given to understand, from high authority, that if his son chose to enter the navy, he should be peculiarly marked for promotion.

Walter Ridley no longer wished to control his son. He respected his courage and high principles; and left it to his choice, whether he would return and cultivate the farm, or accept the offer that had been made him.

"Father," said Arthur, "I am very young, and have a life before me that I am now convinced may be more usefully employed than in a state of inactive ease. I will serve my country with alacrity; and I pray God I may be able to do something for her service."

I will not stay to describe their arrival at Alston Moor, nor the joyful meeting between Arthur and his aunt and cousin. Many years have rolled on since Arthur went through his service as midshipman, and passed as lieutenant with the greatest credit: he is now a gallant and distinguished officer,—the pride of his father, the delight of his old friend Travers, an honour to his country, and the husband of his pretty cousin Phoebe.

The picture I have drawn is not exaggerated. Arthur is no creature of my imagination; it was drawn from life, and may be realized by any youth who takes for his rule of life the maxim of our Church: "Do thy duty in that state of life unto which it shall please God to call thee."

This tale is founded on facts: and the recapture of the ship, extraordinary as it may seem, is a simple relation of occurrences that really happened, in the beginning of the American war, when the Lark merchant-ship was taken by a French privateer, and retaken by her captain, having no English on board, but a boy, and an English merchant, one of the Society of Friends. This gentleman refused to stain his hands with blood: but assisted in this peaceable recapture with great firmness and resolution. The underwriters presented the captain with £100, as a small reward for his intrepidity.