Newspaper Page Text
VOLUME 11. |
BY C, R. HANLEITER.
P©[ ETTKYa __
“ Much yet remains unsung.”
EARTH’S WANDERINGS.
‘* l AnJ the Dove found no rest for the sole of her foot.”
Child of pleosure ! always roving
Through the flowery fields of sin ;
Still this truth forever proving,
There's a canker worm within;
Let thy fond delusion cease.
Turn thee to the ark ofpeuce.
Man of cares ! thus daily heaping
Sordid treasures, glittering dust,
Sowing on, yet never leaping,
Ever fearing blight and rust;
Turn from Mammon’s tossing sea,
To the Ark of Peace for thee.
Thou, the phantom fame pursuing,
Tolling up Ambition’s height,
Pause, the semblance thou art wooing,
Leads through danger, crime auu night,
From the wave of human strife,
Turn thee, ere the storm is life.
Pilgrim ! worn with grief, and weary,
Mourning for the loved ones gone!
Is thv pathway sad and dreary t
Turn thee where the Ark rides on;
All thy wanderings now ure o’er,
Child of Sorrow, weep no more.
ajpaaeMsg—imwii-i—— p—
@EIL[E©TIEID) T^LESo
TIIE WRECKER.
Itr OUAIILE3 J. PETEKSON.
The storm was at its height. During the
whole day anil part of the preceding night it
had been blowing fiercely, increasing in fu
ry cvety hour, until it now raged with an in
tensity lately witnessed even on our inhos
pitable Atlantic coast. The wind whistled
shrilly over the flat bench, making the bare
elder bushes rattle like dry hones and almost
prostrating the solitary wayturei, who stood,
half sheltered by a low sand hill, gazing out
over the white and troubled ocean. W ho
over lie might be he had chosen a singular
hour for his watch. It waslong alter twi
light, and, in the shadowy obscurity the agi
tated ocean before him, with its dark bil
lows tipped with foam, stretching away be
fore the sight until lost in the gloom of the
wild seaboard, had something ghastly in its
aspect. A reck of leaden colored clouds
drove across the firmament, stooping low
down over the waters with a weird and
threatening aspect. ’1 he sea ran in moun
tains, and though the whole surface of the
deep was spotted with foam, there was a
while, continuous line that never disappear
ed, just beneath the visible horizon, betoken
ing the shoals oil the coast. Further in,
the waves broke again ; and a tew yards
from the watcher they were shivered for
the third time, hurling themselves on the
beach in ceaseless thunder. At first their
dark bosoms could he seen heaving sullenly
up against the black seaboard ; then, all at
once, a white line of foam, beginning at one
end of the toppling wave, would run swift
ly along the brow; the crest would curl over
for an instant ; and then the huge mass of
water would plunge headlong, in a cateract
of snowy spray, on the beach. For a space
the fragments of the wave would he seen
shooting up the sand, and then as rapidly
returning with the undertow. Another bil
low would now break with a concussion us
loud as before, again the shattered wave
would slide up the beach, and again the un
dertow would succeed.
Rut it was not to gaze on the sublimity
of this scene that the solitary individual had
taken post on that desolate beach, llis eye
ranged the horizon as if in search of some
expected object, and at length he stooped
forward, and shading his eyes with his hand
gazed intently across the white waste ot wa
ters, while a smile of savage, almost fiend
ish exultation caine across his face.
“ Ay! there she is,” he muttered, 11 1
knew she could not escape me, for I saw
rier in the oiling an hour ago, I was sure.—
1 have her now. There has been but a pom
trade this winter ; but this tall ship will
make up for the bad times.”
He rubbed his hands as he spoke end
looked around, as if already contemplating
the bales of rich silks which he expected
to realize from the wreck; for well lie knew
that nothing short of a miracle could save
the doomed ship, since she was already too
nigh to be able to claw oil the coast in the
teeth of the north-eastern. He then cast
his eye upward to a light fixed on a heavy
pole, on the summit ot the low sand lull.
“ Ah ! it’s a trick I never knew it to fail,”
said the wrecker, as if conversing with him
self. “ They, think it the light off tlio Hook,
and shape their course accordingly. Let
me see,” he continued, stopping a space to
•think, “ they will heat’ up a little, so that
ithey’ll come on a mile or two further down.
Well, well, one place is as good as another.
By morning”—
.. The crew will he all dead,” said a harsh
voice behind him, so unexpectedly that he
started and looked around like one halt ex
pecting to see a spirit. .
* The wrecker’s fear, however, vanished,
when, holding the lantern to the intruder, he
beheld a woman’s face. Rut it seemed
with exposure and age, and made more re
pulsive by the grizzled hair which hung,
like a Medusa’s snakes, about it. She woi e
a man’s hat and pea-jacket. t)
•* It’s only U 7 Master Bowen, said she,
R iFamUg ilctosiiaper : DrbotcO to agriculture, duration, iForctflu .iwo Domestic fcuteUifleuce, Kt.
•‘you needn’t he afeerd. The devil, no
doubt, will have you some day, but not yet,
not yet. You haven’t murdered enough
folk yet by hiring ’em on here. But your
time’s coming.”
A dark scowl settled on the man’s brow
at these words, while the veins of his fore
head swelled like whip-cord with suppress
ed passion.
“ What calls you here, old beldame 1” he
said sharply, “I told you to stay up at the
hut,” and noticing a certain leer in her eyes,
he continued, abruptly changing his tone,
“ well— what have you seen to pay you for
your walk ?”
Nothing, master, nothing I haven’t long
suspected. But enough,” she added, smil
ing maliciously, “to make your neck not
worth a farthing if I choose to speak out.”
The man regarded her, for an instant,
with a scowling brow, and perhaps might
he meditating whether he should not mur
der her; but the temptation passed away,
or he thought proper to change his tactics.
“ Come, come, old Kate,” he said, at
length, “ this won’t do. You and 1 have
been together too long to fall out now.—
lou’ve seen me do only what a dozen oth
ers along the coast have done, and what
you’d do yourself if a good chance offered.
Hei e, on the beach, all that comes ashore
is ours, and, if the winter’s unlucky, we
must lake to our wits to make it more for
tunate.”
“ Ha! ba! old master,” said the creature
changing her malicious laugh to one of
seemingly unearthly jocularity, “ there
you’re right. 1 was only trying your nerves.
M hat ! old Kate tell on you. Not for all
the fiends below. Resides,” she added, and
her voice lost some harshness, as if a better
feeling was struggling to break through her
icy heart, “ its all for Margy—all we get —
all that falls to your lot, all that 1 pick up.
Sweet child, 1 wish she would come hack—
when, did you say, she was to leave Charles
ton
“ She was to have come home this win
ter, but 1 sent word for her to stay till sum
mer. Ry that time I shall have left here,
and I thought it best on further consideia
tion, that she shouldn’t return to this neigh
borhood again.”
“Oh ! ay ! I see it now. You will go
to l’iiiiadcljdiia or York, as you’ve told me,
and set up for a meichant or gentleman.—
Well its best. 1 can’t go ; but I'll come
sometime and see Margy. fcdie’s more like
my own child than a stranger. It’s best she
shouldn’t know the folk down here. But
ha ! look out yonder—the ship will soon be
on.”
The man turned his look hastily seaward,
and saw the tall and gallant shin which he
had last beheld but faintly in the offing, now
clearly defined against the murky sky, and
evidently much closer in than when he be
fore observed her. She had an enormous
pressor canvass spread, as if too late sensi
ble of her danger; and, with her head to
the south-east, was endeavoring to claw off
the shore ; hut, as she rose and fell heavily
with tlie seas, now plunging headlong into
the tough of the wave, and now shoving her
bowsprit up and rising with difficulty after
it, her drift to leeward was apparent. The
practiced gaze of the man and his confeder
ate saw that her doom was sealed, and their
eyes met in savage exultation. The wreck
er rubbed his hands.
“ She’s a noble craft and deeply laden ;
and has the look of an Indiamau, don’t you
think so, Kate ? 1 said this should he my
last winter if I had luck, and I’ll keep my
word. I’ve worked hard here to have some
thing to leave Margy, and we’ll now enjoy
it. Ah! old woman, shan’t that be the
way 1”
“ What if Margy should be on that ship?”
said the old woman.
The man started, and his sun-burnt com
plexion seemed to become white as ashes
for an instant.
‘‘ I hope to God she is not,” he said fer
vently. “ No—pshaw !” lie added impa
tiently, as if ashamed of his momentary
weakness. “You frightened me. What
devil possesses you to-night.”
“ I too hope she isn’t,” said the woman,
appealing not to notice his question. “But
the thought came into my head. Wouldn’t
it ho an awful thing, Master Bowen, if
she was aboard, and should die with the rest?
It would he, if the Bible’s right—and I
used to think so whon I was young, though
1 haven’t seen or thought ofit before for years
—it would be, 1 say, a just punishment to us
for bringing o many innocent folk on this
coast. You remember the mother frozen
to death with the baby at her breast, who
came on here last winter ? It was from the
brig you misled with that same lantern.”
The face of the father had again become
livid, and he gazed with a haggard look on
the speaker for a full minute after she ceas
ed. The very suggestion that his child
might be on board— impossible as it was
that such could he the case—appeared to
unnerve his whole frame. He shook with
weakness, and was forced to lean against
the sand-hank. Once or twice he attempt
ed to speak, but could not, for his tongue
clove to the roof of his month. The wo
man, meantime, stood regarding him, not in
exultation, but pity. Indeed her demeanor
showed that what she had said was spoken
with no malignant feelings, but as if under
some irresistible impulse. She now ap
proached him and laid her hand on his arm.
“ Don’t take on so, sir,” she said, with a
MADISON, MORGAN COUNTY, GEORGIA, SATURDAY MORNING, JULY 22, 1813.
If the character of this distinguished Hin
doo or Indian Bramin, as to the develop
ment of his mind and to his change of reli
gious opinions, is not entirely unique, it is
so uncommon that it deserves to be gener
ally known to the Christian world.
Ramniohun Hoy was a native of Bengal ;
and was early taught ti.e Persian and Arab
ic languages. lie studied the works of
Euclid, and Aristotle, and thus became ac
quainted with mathematics and logic. He
then went to Calcutta to leant Sanscrit, the
language of the Hindoo sacied scriptures,
the knowledge of which was necessary to
his caste and profession as a Bramin. On
the death of his father and elder brother, he
became possessed of a large estate, at the
age of twenty-five years : and he soon after
fixed his residence where his ancestors had
lived. About this time lie wrote against
“ the idolatry of all religions.” The publi
cation gave great oftence to the Hindoos and
Mohommodaris where he then resided, Slid
lie leturned to Calcutta, in 1814. About
this period, he studied the English language
and soon after the Latin, Greek, and He
brew.
It is evident from his first work that he
regarded with great disapprobation and dis
gust, the monstrous and debasing system of
idolatry, embraced by his countrymen. A
careful study of the sacred writings of the
Hindoos, convinced him that the prevailing
notions of a multiplicity of deities, and the
superstitious devotion to the licentious and
inhuman customs connected with them,
were founded in utter ignorance or gross
perversion of their religion. The original
records appeared to him to inculcate a sys
tem of pure Theism, which taught the be
ing atone God ; and that required of its pro
fessors a mental rather than an outward
worship, with strict personal virtue. Willi
these views of Hindoo theology and nioralsf
he was anxious to reform the creed and
practice of his countrymen, and devoted his
time and fottune to this benevolent object.
Kamrnohnn Boy thus appears as a great
and rare light, to his ignorant and supersti
tious countrymen, who were in gross moral
darkness and error. In the ancient w ritings
which he studied, (of three thousand years
before,) lie found traces of the patriarchal
religion, which was the belief of Abraham,
Job, and others of their day, who iiad re
ceived instruction fiom their ancestors, ex
tending back to Shorn, and even Noah.
With this information, end in the state of
mind which it produced, perceiving the er
rors and absurdities both of idolatry and
polytheism, and satisfied that the early sages
of India taught a mote just and rational re
ligion, lie read the Christian scriptures with
attention, llis object was moral and reli
gious truth; and lie says •* he found the
Christian doctrines more conducive to moral
principles, and belter adapted for the use of
reasonable beings than any other w hich had
touch of almost kindness, certainly of sym
pathy in her harsh tones. “ I don't know
whut made me speak as 1 did ; but sure 1
never thought Margy was aboard—it would
drive me mad if she was.”
‘‘And me, too, by G—said the man,
with startling energy. “ What have I not
done to win riches lbr thut child)” lie said
wildly, and as if unconscious that any one
heard him, “ periled perhaps, uiy salvation
—made myself on outcast on eaitli if my
deeds are discovered—and now to think, if
shu was in that ship. Oh ! God it is too
much.”
In a tninate, howevet, he was calm. The
come to his knowledge.” But he was not
content with studying the doctrines of the
gospel in the creeds and systems in popular
use. This personal and candid inquiry con
vinced him, not only that the Christian re
ligion whs more rational and excellent than
any other, but that it was of divine origin.
He satisfied himself also, that some of the
popular tenets of the teachers of Christiani
ty, especially those confessedly of a specu
lative or mysterious character, were not sup
ported by the gospels; but tliut the writings
both of the Old and New Testaments clear
ly taught tl.e doctrine of the Divine Unity,
and that Jesus of Nazareth was bis inspired
messenger to mankind.
Having become a convert to Christianity,
lie wished to present it to his countrymen,
for theii examination and acceptance ; and
this he did in a pamphlet, with the title,
“ The instructions and precepts of Jesus,
the guide to peace and happiness.” But
neither this appeal, nor oiliei publications
of Rammoliun Roy, on the same most im
portant subject, have, as yet, had any great
effect with the idolaters and polytheists of
Hindustan. If they are read in the spirit
they ought to be, and in which they were
written, we have reason to hope that some
impressions will he made on the minds of
heathens and pagans every where.
Rammoliun Roy is a phenomenon in the
pagan world, iti modern times. His inde
pendence, liis impartiality, his love of moral
truth, and his zealous inquiries to find it, to
gether with the consideration of his person
al sacrifices and dangers by his honesty of
purpose, justly claim for him the praise and
admiration of all lovers of moral and reli
gious truth. We trust his example will not
be lost upon mankind and the world.
Rammoliun Roy visited England about
ten years ago, charged with some public
business to the government of that country;
nnd with a view, probably, to a further
knowledge of the characters, opinions and
customs of the first nation in Chiisteudom.
There he died during the year 183 J.
It is not strange that the ignorant and in
terested supporters ol heathen worship, en
deavored to defend it, by imputations on the
c haracter of this reformer. They charged
him w ith “ rashness, self-conceit, arrogance
and impiety.” Even his mother bitterly
condemned him. She was a woman of
strong mind, hut was wedded to the idola
try and polytheism of her country, and was
also under the influence of the superstitious
and selfish priests. A short time, however,
before her denth, or separation from him,
she said, “ You are right, but I am a weak
woman, mid atu ton old to give up these an
cient observances, which are a comfort to
me.” This is he language and sentiment
of nature : and it accounts for the reluctance
with which all persons (heathens or even
Christians) give up their early faith and hab
its.
dark fear passed from him, he stared around
vacantly an instant, and then, with his old,
grim, exulting smile, said,
*• Pshaw ! you made a fool of me, you
beldame. Margy is safe in Charleston :
and this night’s work will add a few thou
sand to her fortune, won’t it, old Kate 1—
But come let, us move up the beech toward
the hut. You left the men there 1”
Our readers, by this time, fully under
stand the characters we have introduced to
them. Even within the last few years the
existence on our coast, and within a few
miles of u great sea-port, of a gang of
wreckers, or lunJ pirates as they are called
in the popular vocabulary, has been estab
lished by irrefragihle proof; but, at the pe
riod of which we write, these wretches exis
isted in larger numbers, and carried on their
nefarious practices with far greater impuni
ty than now. Wealthy men were, at that
day, as now, implicated in these transactions,
some as receivers of goods from the wrecks,
and others as more prominent actors.—
Among the latter was the man we have
chosen to call Bowen. He had been a sea
captair. in his youth, and had commanded a
privateer, not of the nioc-t unexceptionable
character, in the i evolutionary war. Re
turning to tho land, at the close of the con
flict, he had married and settled on the
main, directly in the rear of a wild island
beech, separated from the continent, like
scores of those scattered along the coast, by
a shallow hay interspersed with islets of
salt marsh and thoroughfares navigable only
for boats of a few tons burden. It was not
long before Bowen purchased the beach
and erected on it a house, ostensibly for the
residence of a man to take care of the oys
ter beds he planted in the hay. But the
number of shipwrecks which occurred on
this beach, together with the rapid increase
in the owner’s wealth led eventually to dark
suspicions. It was said that, on stormy
nights, false beacons might be seen on Bow
en’s beach, and that more than once vessels
had thus been lured ashore. But those ru
mors never spicad beyond his immediate
neighborhood, or reached the ears ofjustice.
Bowen had grown rich and therefore pow
erful before they arose, and even then, cir
culating among a people whose morality on
this subject was lax, they did him little harm.
Besides, most of the fishermen, who could
have told anything on the subject, were, in
one wayor another, dependent on bis favor,
and so, for many years, he had gone on un
checked in his career.
It may he asked what induced a man of
some education and not wholly penniless to
embark in these illegal practices. We can
only point to the affection he entertained for
his (laughter pa r adoxical as it may appear
at first, to elucidate this otherwise incom
prehenisible trait. Ilis wife died when hex
child was but three years old ; and the love
the heiieved husband soon came to enter
tain for his motherless offspring, would have
seemed incredible, to a superficial observer
when his stern character is taken into con
sideration. But the feelings, choked up in
every other outlet, found vent, with tenfold
force, in affection for his child. He loved
her with a self-sacrificing passion, which
made him disregard every law, human or
divine, in order to advance what he thought
her inteiests. He resolved that she should
be rich, and accordingly embarked secretly
iri the practices we have described. At first
he only received the goods others obtained;
then lie engaged personally in the business;
and finally,hardening with custom, lie adopt
ed means to lure vessels to his net. But he
studiously concealed from his daughter his
participation in these foul acts. But as he
was lie did not care that she should know
liis true character, and accordingly when
she npprodtdied the age at which it would
be impossible to keep uneasy suspicion from
her, lie sent her to Charleston, ostensibly foi
the purpose of education, but in reality to
remove her from a neighborhood where she
might hear, by some untowered accident, of
her father’s pursuits. His determination
was, as lie himself said in his conversation
on the beach, to remove from his present
vicinity into one where his former course of
life should be unknown, before recalling his
daughter to his household.
We left Bowen and the old woman who
attended him, on their way to the hut. The
gale blew with such intensity, sometimes
almost prostrating them, that it was with
difficulty they made any headway, and a full
half hour had elapsed ere they leached I lie
cabin in whicli their confederates were. By
that time the ill-fated ship had drifted in
within half a mile of the beach. She was
still seen staggering along under a press of
sail in the vain attempt to claw off the shore.
Even through the gloom of the night, they
could behold her white sails lifting and fall
ing against the sky, and matk the flashing
foam that went crackling aft from hei bows
as she thumped against the seas.
“Give us the Nantes.” said old Kate, as
she pushed open the cabin door, and roused
three men who sat smoking and drinking
over a scanty tire, “ the fish is almost caught
—in five minutes she’ll strike.”
“Ah !” aid one of the men, as they all
started to tlicir feet on recognizing their em
ployer, “ we hadn’t thought she was so
close in. Tho jug, Mr. Bowen. A flue
prize I hope she may be.”
“ With all my heart; and may there be
none to tell tale)*,” he added significantly.
“ It’s easier to bury the dead,” .said the
man with a coarse laugh, “ than to take care
of the living. The night’s pretty chilly, so
I think we need have no fears on that point.
But liark ! there go her guns.”
As he spoke, the report of a cannon, fired
close at hand, boomed sullenly by ; and at
the interval of half a minute, another report
broke on the silence, which the party of
wreckers had meantime maintained. A sa
vage g' eam of exultation might be seen on
every face, by the light of the now waning
fire, giving them tho appearance of fiends
rather than of human beings.
The silence continued for the space of
nearly five minutes, during which the inces
sant boom of the signal cannon met their
\ NUMBER 17.
WM. T. THOMPSON, EDITOR.
ears at intervals of thirty seconds ; but at
length the regular period having elapsed
without a repetition of the sound, Bowen,
who stood nearest the door, laid his hand
on the latch, and threw open the entrance,
exclaiming, with sudden energy.
“ They have struck. Hark 1”
As he spoke he rushed out on the beach,
followed by the party of wreckers. The
wind whirled into the room and put out the
fire, then, eddying back, slammed to tha
door, and could he heard shrieking across
the bench, drowning, for the instant, even
the noise of the surf. But suddenly a more
awful somid was heard rising shrill and
high, in the wild accents of despair, over
even the howling of the hurricane. It was
that cry to which Bowen had called their at
tention. All held their breath while it swel
led up for an instant on the gale, and then,
as it passed off to leeward, a silence ensued;
for even those hardened listeners were, for
the moment, awe-struck by the agonizing
shriek of a hundred human beings in des
pair.
“It is over,” at lengtht said Bowen, draw
ing a long breaih, despite his efforts to con
ceal it, “ and now- the game’s our own.”
” Look sharp,” said one of the men, af
ter a pause. “ Isn’t that a spar, or some
thing white floating out here. Just in a
line with that elder bush—nee—the ship, l
take it, is that Mack mass of shadow, occa
sionally lost in foam, hereaway, east by so*-
east from where I stand—now the object I
see is a point or two south of that.”
” I see it,” said Bowen, “ it's unlucky it
it should be one of the crew\ A passen
ger we don’t ao much mind,” and he mov
ed toward the surf, followed by the men.
“No violence,” said Kate, striding up
and laying her hand on Bowen’s arm,
“ mind—l don’t feel like it to uight—and
that awful shout hasn’t yet left my ears.”
Bowen shook her off with an oath, hut
recollecting himself, he said,
“Pshaw! you needn’t fear It. But tee,**
and he quickened his pure to a run, “ it is a
man, and he lias touched the staud—but ahl
the undertow carries him off—no! lie ve
appeara—he is swept under again—curse
him, there he is again, the fellow has the fife
of a dog.”
The man, who had been wildly buffeting
tho surf, now hurled forward toward the
beach, end now sucked back into the vor
tex of the breakers, gained a film footing
with Bowen’s words, and after staggering
an instant ran swiftly up the beach and stood
in safety beyond the reach of the undertow.
Here he paused, looking hack on the boiling
stir r. and then on the shadowy wreck in the
wild vortex beyond. As he did so he
clasped his hands and raised his eyes hurri
edly above as if breathing a thank-giving.
Otic of the wreckers looked at Bowen
meaningly and glanced at the man, hut the
leader shook his head.
“ No—l’ll have none of that,” he said,
“ let us call up the man, and learn from him
what sort of a prize we’ve got. We can
then pretend to him that he is exhausted,
g : ve him some brandy, and lock him in the
hut as an invalid whether he will or not.”—
With tho words Bowen advanced from be
hind the sand-bank, where with his party,
he had stood concealed. Tho man turned
at the sound of the footsteps, and tottered
towards them.
“ Thank God !” he said, “ 1 have fallen
among Christians. I am almost exhaust
ed,” and then, as if a sudden pang Croat
him, he said, “oh ! my poor wife and child.
Have none of voti, good sirs, any means to
reach the wreck ? ‘They may yet he sav
ed. My darling wife and only child are
there. Why did I desert them t” and he
turned wildly from one to another of tbn
group.
*• Nonsense, man,” said Bowen, ** they
are gone, and there’s an end of it. Nothing
can save them.”
No—no. They cancor have perished,**
said the man eagerly. “ Sir, I am rich,’*
and he grasped Bowen’s arm, as the latter
was turning away, ’* and 1 will give you all
lam worth if you will save them. You
must have a boat nigh—launch her into the
surf. The ship ‘ Queen’ is a stout craft and
will hold together these two hours. My
wife it in the cabin, for I left her there when
I went on deck and was swept ovei board.
There’s a young woman never
mind her unless you can save both.”
Bowen wheeled aharp around on the
man at these words, and said with a quirk,
agitated voice,’
“ What is that ! Is yonder ship * The
Queen’ of Charleston.”
Ti e man nodded vacantly and again
clasped his hands imploringly, as if about to
renew his prayer for aid.
“ Then in God’s name,” said Bowen
fiercely, continuing his sentence, and he
seized the man’s shoulder with such sudden
energy as to turn him completely around,
*• who is the young lady aboard t”
The man, startled, for the moment, even
out of his anxiety for his wife, by the pas
sionate demeanor of Bowen, gazed in sur
prise on the speaker, and then stammered,
“ A Miss Bowen, I”—but his sentence
was cut short, for at that word,ihe unhappy
father uttered a groan, and, as if struck by
a thunderbolt, fell to the ground.
The delay in the answer had been bat a
few seconds, not three at the most, but in
that short space, what a world of agony and
remorse was crowded on the father’eheap!
The mention of the ship’* parae, and the