Read Ebook: Harper's Young People July 12 1881 An Illustrated Weekly by Various

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"Ready," answered Tom and Harry.

"Then haul down the jib, Joe, just as quick as possible, and the minute it's down, hang on to the mast as tight as you can. Heave away that drag."

"As long as the cable holds, and the drag doesn't break up, we are as safe as if we were ashore," said he, gayly.

Taking in the now useless oar, and lashing the helm amidships, Charley crept into the cockpit, where his companions joined him. They got out a box of sardines, and with the remains of a loaf of bread, they made a comfortable supper. The spray occasionally flew over the bow, and slapped the canvas, but the cockpit remained perfectly dry.

"What do you think about the drag? Is it going to hold together?" asked Tom, when the supper had made him feel a little more comfortable, and the gale seemed to his imagination less terribly dangerous.

"It's well made, and the only danger about it is that the oar may break. Even if it does, the weight of the cannon will keep the gaff perpendicular, and there will be enough of the drag left to keep us head to the sea. The cable is strong, and I don't believe we are pulling hard enough on it to snap it. I think we can feel perfectly easy, and I'm going to turn in and have a good sleep. Tom, will you keep your head out of the cabin, and keep your eyes open for the next two hours, and then call Harry to relieve you? We must have somebody on the look-out."

"Don't we need a light too?" asked Tom.

"Of course we do. Will that lantern of yours burn in this wind, Harry?"

"It ought to. It's warranted to burn in any weather; at least that's what the advertisement says."

"Then light it, and hang it up alongside of the mast. You'll have to lash it to the mast, or it will swing round and smash against it. Call me if you see a ship's light anywhere, or if the weather gets worse, or anything happens. Come on, Joe; let's have four hours of good sleep, and we shall turn out in first-rate spirits."

So saying, the young Captain wrapped himself in his blanket, and was asleep long before Joe yielded to weariness, rather than sleepiness, and sank into an uneasy slumber.

He did not call Joe, when the latter's turn came to come on deck, for he was anxious to see the sun rise, and he knew that Joe needed sleep.

The sun rose just where he had supposed it would, and a short time afterward the wind perceptibly lessened its violence. At six o'clock he called the other boys, and told them the welcome news that the gale had broken, and that fair weather could not be far off.

"Where does all this water come from?" demanded Harry, as he awoke to find that he was lying in a pool of water. "Did we ship a sea last night after I went to sleep?"

"She may be leaking a little," replied Charley. "Pump her out, somebody, and we'll soon find out if she leaks."

"She's sprung a leak sure enough," said Harry.

"The pump throws the water out faster than it comes in," replied Charley, "and that kind of a leak will never sink her. She has strained a little in this sea, but I don't think she will leak any worse than she is leaking now."

But the leak was a more serious matter than the boys supposed that it was. It increased slowly but surely, and by ten o'clock it became necessary to pump the boat out every half-hour.

Still, the leak was not a pleasant thing, and Charley was not quite so careless about it as he seemed to be.

"Boys," said Charley, "I think we can venture to cut loose from the drag, and run down to that vessel under the jib. I think I can make out her jib-boom now, and if I'm not mistaken she's steering westerly. Very likely we can get her Captain to lend us a compass, or perhaps he can give us something that will do for a gaff."

"And have we got to abandon our own gaff, and the cannon, and the rubber blanket?" inquired Harry.

"There is too much sea for us to run the risk of trying to get them on board again," answered Charley. "I'm sorry to lose the cannon, for it did us good service in Hempstead Bay; but we shall never see it again. Run up the jib, Joe, and, Tom, you get hold of the cable and walk aft with it, so as to give the boat a sheer to port. We want to be quick about it, and Joe must have the hatchet ready to cut the cable the moment the jib fills."

"We've wasted our time," cried Tom. "She's worse off than we are."

"That may be," said Charley, "but I think we had better try to get on board of her. She isn't going to sink, for she must have had all the water in her that she will hold a long while ago. Let's board her anyhow, and see if we can get a compass."

His other occupations were decidedly significant. His most intimate friend at this time was William Gardiner, his preceptor's son; and the two boys were absolutely at one in their tastes and amusements. Both of them were full of mischief, and both were irrepressibly boisterous, playing all sorts of tricks at evening in the streets, firing off pistols, and in general causing a good deal of annoyance to the sober citizens of Boston. In this they were like any other healthy boys,--full of animal spirits and looking for "fun" without any especial sense of responsibility. Something else, however, is recorded of them which seems to have a real importance, as revealing in Prescott, at least, some of those mental characteristics which in his after life were to find expression in his serious work.

Side by side with these amusements there was another which curiously supplemented it. As Prescott and his friend went through the streets on their way to school, they made a practice of inventing impromptu stories, which they told each other in alternation. If the story was unfinished when they arrived at school, it would be resumed on their way home and continued until it reached its end. It was here that Prescott's miscellaneous reading stood him in good stead. His mind was full of the romances and histories that he had read; and his quick invention and lively imagination enabled him to piece together the romantic bits which he remembered, and to give them some sort of consistency and form. Ticknor attaches little importance either to Prescott's interest in the details of warfare or to this fondness of his for improvised narration. Yet it is difficult not to see in both of them a definite bias; and we may fairly hold that the boy's taste for battles, coupled with his love of picturesque description, foreshadowed, even in these early years, the qualities which were to bring him lasting fame.

All these boyish amusements, however, came to an end when, in August, 1811, Prescott presented himself as a candidate for admission to Harvard. Harvard was then under the presidency of the Rev. Dr. John Thornton Kirkland, who had been installed in office the year before Prescott entered college. President Kirkland was the first of Harvard's really eminent presidents. Under his rule there definitely began that slow but steady evolution, which was, in the end, to transform the small provincial college into a great and splendid university. Kirkland was an earlier Eliot, and some of his views seemed as radical to his colleagues as did those of Eliot in 1869. Lowell has said of him, somewhat unjustly: "He was a man of genius, but of genius that evaded utilisation." It is fairer to suppose that, if he did not accomplish all that he desired and attempted, this was because the time was not yet ripe for radical innovations. He did secure large benefactions to the University, the creation of new professorships on endowed foundations, and the establishment of three professional schools. President Kirkland, in reality, stood between the old order and the new, with his face set toward the future, but retaining still some of the best traditions of the small college of the past. It is told of him that he knew every student by name, and took a very genuine interest in all of them, helping them in many quiet, tactful ways, so that more than one distinguished man in later life declared that, but for the thoughtful and unsolicited kindness of Dr. Kirkland, he would have been forced to abandon his college life in debt and in despair. Kirkland was a man of striking personal presence, and could assume a bearing of such impressive dignity as to verge on the majestic, as when he officially received Lafayette in front of University Hall and presented the assembled students to the nation's guest. The faculty over which he presided contained at that time no teacher of enduring reputation, so that whatever personal influence was exerted upon Prescott by his instructors must have come chiefly from such intercourse as he had with Dr. Kirkland.

QUEEN ELIZABETH'S YOUTH.

Edward went up to London and became King at nine years of age. Elizabeth fell into bad health, grew pale and thin, and for many months seemed scarcely to hope for life. She wrote sometimes to Edward, and their fondness for each other still continued. She grew up tall, fair, her eyes blue, her hair red or auburn, her nose prominent, her manners pleasant and attractive. She played on the viol, danced, sang, read Greek, spoke Latin easily, and was fond of literature; she made translations from the Italian, and was one of the most intelligent persons of the time. At this period she dressed very plainly, and lived a studious life. In 1553 Edward died, at sixteen. Mary, his elder sister, became Queen, and at one moment wished to put Elizabeth to death. She was carried to the Tower, passed through the Traitor's Gate, and was a prisoner for many months. At last Mary relented, and set her free. Mary died in 1558, and Elizabeth became Queen of England.

Her life can scarcely be called a happy one, for she was in constant danger of assassination, and her enemies on all sides threatened to deprive her of her crown. Her chief rival and foe was her second cousin, Mary Queen of Scots. Mary was Queen of Scotland, and claimed to be Queen of England. She said Elizabeth had no right to the throne. Mary was suspected of murdering her husband Darnley, was driven from Scotland by the people, and became Elizabeth's prisoner for nineteen years. She was always plotting against her cousin; sometimes she planned the assassination of the Queen with the discontented English, and sometimes she called upon the Kings of France and Spain to invade England, and place her on its throne. Mary's long captivity and various misfortunes have made her an object of lasting interest. Like all the Tudors, she was very intelligent and very cruel. Elizabeth kept her for nineteen years a state prisoner in different castles. At last, when some new plot was discovered, it was thought necessary to put her to death. Elizabeth signed the order for her cousin's execution with tears and hesitation. She had, no doubt, some humanity.

AUNT RUTH'S TEMPTATION.

BY MRS. JOHN LILLIE.

I suppose it was the excitement of the performance which, a little later, roused me to some enjoyment of the evening. We had a merry tea party in our costumes before the play began, and when it came my turn to appear, I found employment enough for all my senses. I must own to no small discomfiture when I found myself upon the stage. I had expected to make quite a success, but the crowd of faces, the lights, the consciousness of being listened to, perhaps the guilty burden on my heart and soul, confused me. I spoke and acted very badly, and tears of vexation were in my eyes when I left the stage.

"I can not believe she is naturally so selfish," the other voice said, and I recognized it as Mr. Ludlow's. "It is true, she never seems to consider any one but herself, but I think it is the fault of her education."

"But," persisted the other voice, which I now remembered was that of Mrs. Judson's sister--a lady who lived in New York, and was a great friend of Cousin Mary's--"but you don't know the life poor Winny leads, so shut up, hard-worked with those children, never given any sort of amusement, while Ruth grasps everything; and now I hear that Winifred is very ill...."

More was said, but I lost the words. The lady moved away; Mr. Ludlow remained standing by the table. I could hear the music in the distance, and the sounds of laughter and merry-making jarred upon me painfully. Finally I thrust back the curtains, and stood before Mr. Ludlow, the tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Oh, Mr. Ludlow," I exclaimed, brokenly, "it is all true; I am just that--a miserable, selfish girl." And flinging myself into a chair, I put my head down upon the table, giving way to a fresh burst of tears.

Mr. Ludlow did not speak for a moment; he let me weep silently. Then I felt his hand on my head.

"I am not sorry you overheard us, Ruthie," he said, in his kindest voice. "Perhaps, dear child, this was the lesson you needed."

I shook my head, and sobbed freshly. "Oh, but you don't know all!" I exclaimed. "I have been so bad! I am not only selfish, but a liar."

He started, but his hand on my head only moved slightly; then its gentle pressure was renewed, and he said, quietly, "Tell me all about it, Ruth. Stop; come up stairs to my own sitting-room. You can talk quietly there."

I followed him gladly enough. Mr. Ludlow's little den was a very sacred place to all of us. There we knew that he read and wrote and studied. I had only seen the room once from the doorway. I did not remember what I now noticed, with a start, that above the mantel hung an exquisite crayon of Hunt's "Light of the World." There were candles lighted on either side of it, and their gleam touched the Divine face tenderly. I never forgot just that moment. I needed so to feel His mercy, and here I seemed to read it, with love and compassion as well. Mr. Ludlow made me sit down, and I told my story, and then I wrung my hands, and asked, miserably, what was I to do. He was very grave and earnest and kind, and said words which I yet hold as counsels for daily life; but he took the case into his own hands kindly. Of course, he said, I must go home at once. He asked me if he might call Kate up stairs, and counsel with her. I assented gladly, and I think he told Kate all about it before she came into the room, for she had her advice all ready. She said that I could go home by an early morning train, and leave her to explain my sudden departure to the girls. "And another time, Ruthie," she said, "you will come and have a longer visit." She said very little of my fault; but late that night, after all the merry-making was over, she came and knelt beside me, and we prayed a little together. After all, that miserable day had held moments which were to be life-long influences. It was arranged that Mr. Ludlow should take me home, and after a few hours' sleep, Kate wakened me. I went down in the early morning to a little breakfast, and then started off with my kind friend. I never shall forget that journey. My heart beat with nervous apprehension as we neared home. Mr. Ludlow had telegraphed ahead, and the boy with papa's gig was waiting. In answer to my inquiries, he said Miss Winny was very ill, and at the house door papa's face confirmed my fears.

Shall I ever forget my feelings as I entered Winny's room, and saw her lying on her bed, so changed that she turned nearly sightless eyes upon me. Oh, how I hated myself for all the trouble I had given her! Days and nights passed as though in a dream, and through God's mercy Winny lived, but never to be very strong and well, never to entirely resume her old place at our head. Kate Ludlow came up and nursed her through those many weeks. She taught me many things to do, and contrived to place a great deal in my hands.

I think it was a year later, when Winny had gone off to the country with the Ludlows, that I received a package from Mr. Ludlow containing an engraving like the one in his room. With it were the following lines:

And so he had. A week later he and Winny arrived, and almost the first thing she did was to put her arms about me and tell me the news. She was engaged to be married to my kind friend.

Aunt Ruth paused in her story. Evening had come on while she finished it, and the room was too dark for us to see her face.

"And so she married him?" I asked.

"Yes, dear," said Aunt Ruth, "and you all know what happiness she has had. So you see my temptation ended in Winny's peace."

We were silent a moment, and then Aunt Ruth said: "My story ought to help all of you a little, girls, one way or another. Try, resolve, and you can all conquer."

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