But the poor sailors hung back-the sea was too wild. The second mate sprang to the side of the first, and the men, ashamed to leave both their officers alone, followed.

"Cut away the lashings," exclaimed the officer. The knife glanced round the ropes, the boat fell to the water, rose on a huge wave far over the deck, and drifted rapidly astern.

The brave mate stood erect, the helm in his hand, his flashing eye embracing the whole peril in a single glance, and his hand bringing the head of the gallant little boat on each high sea, that otherwise would have swamped her. I watched them till nearly two miles. astern, when they lay to, to look for the lost sailor.

Just then I turned my eyes to the southern horizon, and saw a squall, blacker and heavier than any we had before encountered, rushing down upon us. The captain also saw it, and was terribly excited.

He called for a flag, and, springing into the shrouds,3 waved it for their return. The gallant fellows obeyed the signal, and pulled for the ship.

But it was slow work, for the head of the boat had to be laid on to almost every wave. It was now growing dark, and if the squall should strike the boat before it reached the vessel, there was no hope for it; it would either go down at once, or drift away into the surrounding darkness, to struggle out the night as it could.

I shall never forget that scene. All along the southern horizon, between the black water and the blacker heavens, was a white streak of tossing foam. Nearer and clearer every moment it boiled and roared on its track.

I could not look steadily on that gallant little crew, now settling the question of life and death to themselves

and perhaps to us, who would be left almost unmanned in the middle of the Atlantic, and encompassed by a storm.

The sea was making fast, and yet that frail thing rode on it like a duck. Every time she sank away she carried my heart down with her; and when she remained a longer time than usual, I would think it was all over, and cover my eyes with horror. The next moment she would appear between us and the black rolling cloud, literally covered with foam and spray.

The captain knew that a few minutes more would decide the fate of his officers and crew. He called for his trumpet, and, springing up the ratlines, shouted out over the roar of the blast and waves, "Pull away, my brave boys; the squall is coming! Give way, my hearties!" And the bold fellows did "give way" with a will.

I could see their ashen oars quiver as they rose from the water, while the lifelike boat sprang to their strokes down the billows, like a panther on a leap. On she came, and on came the blast. It was the wildest struggle I ever gazed on, but the gallant little boat conquered.

Oh, how my heart leaped when she at length shot round the stern, and, rising on a wave far above our lee-quarter, shook the water from her drenched head, as if in delight to find her shelter again!

4

The chains were fastened, and I never pulled with such right good-will on a rope as on the one that brought that boat up the vessel's side. As the heads of the crew appeared over the bulwarks, I could have hugged the brave fellows in transport.

As they stepped on deck, not a question was asked, no report given; but "Forward, men!" broke from the captain's lips. The vessel was trimmed to meet the blast, and we were again bounding on our way.

If that squall had pursued the course of all former ones, we must have lost our crew; but when nearest the boat (and it seemed to me the foam was breaking not a hundred rods off), the wind suddenly veered, and held the cloud in check, so that it swung round close to our bows.

The

poor sailor was gone; he came not back again. It was his birthday (he was twenty-five years old), and, alas! it was his death-day.

1 From the last reef, from taking in the last "reef" or fold of the sails. 2 Quarter-deck, upper deck behind the mainmast.

3 Shrouds, a range of ropes in a ship.

4 Lee-quarter, the sheltered side of the ship.

THE WITCH'S DAUGHTER.

It was the pleasant harvest-time
When cellar-bins are closely stowed,
And garrets bend beneath their load,
And the old swallow-haunted barns-
Brown-gabled, long, and full of seams,
Through which the moted sunlight streams-
Are fill'd with summer's ripen'd stores,
Its odorous grass and barley sheaves,
From their low scaffolds to their eaves.

On Esek Harden's oaken floor,

With many an autumn threshing worn,
Lay the heap'd ears of unhusk'd corn.
And thither came young men and maids,
Beneath a moon that, large and low,
Lit that sweet eve of long ago.

They took their places; some by chance,
And others by a merry voice

Or sweet smile guided to their choice.

How pleasantly the rising moon,
Between the shadow of the mows,

Look'd on them through the great elm-boughs! On sturdy boyhood, sun-imbrown'd,

On girlhood with its solid curves

Of healthful strength and painless nerves!
And jests went round, and laughs that made
The house-dog answer with his howl,
And kept astir the barnyard fowl.

But still the sweetest voice was mute
That river-valley ever heard

From lip of maid or throat of bird;
For Mabel Martin sat apart,

And let the hay-mow's shadow fall
Upon the loveliest face of all.

She sat apart, as one forbid,

Who knew that Lone would condescend
To own the Witch-wife's child a friend.

The seasons scarce had gone their round,
Since curious thousands throng'd to see
Her mother on the gallows-tree.
And mock'd the palsied limbs of age,
That falter'd on the fatal stairs,
And wan lip trembling with its prayers!
Few question'd of the sorrowing child,
Or, when they saw the mother die,
Dream'd of the daughter's agony.

Poor Mabel from her mother's grave
Crept to her desolate hearthstone,
And wrestled with her fate alone.
Sore tried and pain'd, the poor girl kept
Her faith, and trusted that her way,
So dark, would somewhere meet the day.
And still her weary wheel went round,
Day after day, with no relief;

Small leisure have the poor for grief.

So in the shadow Mabel sits;

Untouch'd by mirth she sees and hears,

Her smile is sadder than her tears.

But cruel eyes have found her out,
And cruel lips repeat her name,

And taunt her with her mother's shame.

She answer'd not with railing words,
But drew her apron o'er her face,
And, sobbing, glided from the place.
And only pausing at the door,

Her sad eyes met the troubled gaze
Of one who, in her better days,
Had been her warm and steady friend,
Ere yet her mother's doom had made
Even Esek Harden half afraid.

He felt that mute appeal of tears, And, starting, with an angry frown Hush'd all the wicked murmurs down. "Good neighbours mine," he sternly said, "This passes harmless mirth or jest; I brook no insult to my guest.

"She is indeed her mother's child;
But God's sweet pity ministers
Unto no whiter soul than hers.
Let Goody Martin rest in peace ;
I never knew her harm a fly,
And witch or not, God knows-not I.
I know who swore her life away:

And, as God lives, I'd not condemn
An Indian dog on word of them."

The broadest lands in all the town,

The skill to guide, the power to awe, Were Harden's; and his word was law. None dared withstand him to his face.