)ox’vmnm. 189K. uv JAMms SI'LLIVAN.

M. 1018.

Published Every
Mo nth .

 

 

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‘ ’

 

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Auumm“

 

Em‘mmn AS Rncnxn CLASS MATTER AT '1‘ch NEW YORK, N. Y., POST OFFICE.

RI. .l IVI'IHS‘ A; (1).. I uhlishel 5,
‘JA MES SULLIVAN. Pnnrnm'mm,
379 Pearl Street. New York.

 

By PROFESSOR J. H. INfiRAflAM.

- , Dudley held her

Ten Gents a Copy.
$1.00 a Year.

THE HUNTED SLAVER;

WRECKED IN PORT.

Nnvu mum, 1398.

Vol. lXXIX.

 

 

 

 

2 7 THE oAMPJmIiErnRARY.

THE HUNTED SLAVER;

OR,
WRECKED IN PORT.
A TERRIBLE STORY OF CRIME AND ITS PUNISHMENT.

By I’aornssoa J. II. lNGRAlIAM.

-——o—.—o—-——-

CHAPTER I.
THE YoUNG SAILOR.

On: evening towards the close of the summer of the year
1830,11 small clipper-built pilot boat, sloop-rigged, Very taut
and rakish, ran into the upper harbor of Boston and dropped
anchor close in with the shore under Fort llill. There was
nothing very striking in the appearance of this craft save her
manifest clipper—like qualities, for she was rust and seaavorn,
her sails were brown and patched, and her whole air was alto-
gether opposite the usual natty and prim look of the pilot—boat
in service. Though she had the same broad, flat hack and
level bowsprit of the class of boats to which it belonged, and
'was about the same size and tonnage of these, yet it was plain
from her rough and unpainted aspect that she was now num-
bered among that swift fleet of beautiful boats that th-ry day
fly seaward to welcome the home bound ship and conduct. her
in safety t) port.

.At the mast-head fluttered a little signal about a yard in
length, a white ground with a red arrow in it,

The sun was already set when she dropped her anchor and
furled her main-sail and jib, which was done by a man and a
boy, who, with a third young man at the helm, were the only
persons visible on board.

Iler appearance did not attract particular attention, for there
were other small vessels lying at anchor or at the piers close
around her; though whenever an old seaman chanced to lift
his eyes from the deck of his Vessol near by to gaze upon her,
it was with an air of gratification and a word or two touching
her prohale sailing qualities; such as—

" That craft has wings when she is on blue water, and can
show anything that wants to overhaul her a clean pair of heels 1"

But generally the little vessel drew no attention to herself;
and the twilight falling fast around her snon veiled her from
particular obsrrvation in the gathering gloom ofnight. Attha
approach of night, the young man who stood at the helm when
she came in and who was now carelessly leaning over the main-
boom watching the lights as they approached here and there on
the shore, turned suddenly to the boy who was forward and
called to him :

" Kip, Come here."

“I am here, sir," answered the boy promptly, bounding aft
and standing before him, both bare footed and bare headed, a
freckled faced urchin of thirteen, with a mixture of roguery and
good sense in the expression of his face.

“Put the oars into the boat, for I want you to pull me
ashore.”

“ May I put on my new jacket and cap ‘1" he asked, eagerly.”

' 'No. You are not to go up town, but. to wait in the boat
till I come back again. Cahle !"

“Well, Mr. Cabat," answered a short, stout built seaman,
with a harsh and repulsive countenance, who was clearing up
the deck.

“I am now going up into the town for an hour or two; you
will keep the deck, and see that no idler boards us.”

“ Shall I keep all ready for a cut and run at any moment?"

“ There is little probability that. I shall get under weigh to-
night: but you may have all ready for weighing in case of
accident.”

“ Aye, aye, sir."

There was a small boat belonging to the sloop, which was
along side. Into this the lad Kip placed an our, and casting

 

 

oil“, waited under the gaugway for the youthtul master of the
pilot boat. The young man, after going into the littio cabin.
returned with a pea.jacket upon his arm, and springing into

' the yawl, was in two minutes landed at the steps of a ruinous

pier that extended a short distance out from the shore.

“ llere, Kip, you will wait for me."

“ Aye, aye, sirl How long afore you'll be bark P” he ven-
tured to ask, so that he might calculate how long it would be
safe for him to play the trnant from his post.

” in one hour~or two at the most," answered the youngsea-
man, walking up the Illt'l‘ to the street which interSl-cts it. It
was now dark, save the faint light of the stars, and here and
there the ray of a lamp, dimly illuminating the winding and
narrow street.

He turned to the right, and moved off with the air of one
who was perfectly familiar with the Street.

He had thrown on his pea-jacket as he left the boat, and
turned the collar up so as to conceal his features, which he
seemed studious to keep from being observed, for he also slouch-
ed down over his face his tarpauliu, which was broad of brim,
and completely shaded his face. Ile kept also the darkest. side
of the street.

At length he came all at once to a quarter inhabited chiefly
by seamen, and those who keep seamcn's inns and lodging-
honses. The buildings on both sides of the way were four or
five stories high, and once wn-re used as stores and store-houses;
but by some unaccountable change of destination had now be-
come converted into a vast bee-hive of population of the lowest
order:

Every room, from the dark and gloomy cellar to the attic,
was occupied by a family; and a tenement that was destined
originally to accommodate but a. dozen persons was crowded by
hundreds.

As the young sailor came into the neighborhood, he found
himself in the midst of a filthy and numerous throng, crowding
the walks, the entrances of the cellars, the doors, and even
grouping in the streets.

Tin-his streaming from the numerous Windows of the low
shops and from the lanterns upon the hucksters stands about
the cellars and doors, illuminated the scene. Women in slattern
apparel crowded the sidewalks, and drunken men thronged the
way, some using loud words of anger; some laughing, others
bargaining at. the stalls. Most of the doors had signs above
them, indicating the trade that went on within. Some bore a

foaming tankard ; some a foul anchor; others displayed a ship

in faded paint; and some exhibited the words, “The Sailor’s
Home “l” “A Safe Harbor ;" and one which represented 9.
jack—tar, in a blue jacket and white ducks, dancing with a
lassie in a blue Spencer. bore beneath, the inviting couplet:—

"Here the Jack-tar, if his cash ain't spent,
Will find his wants to his heart's content.”

Our young captain of the Red Arrow, passed on through this
pandemonium without taking notice of any one, and evidently
avoiding observation. At length he came to a sailor's home,
as the sign above the door, with the picture of a ship in a
storm, shmwd it to be. The door was open, and about it was
two or three seamen, smoking, and talking with tipsy earnest-
ness.

Our young sailor stopped for an instant in front, and casting
a glance into the taproom, surveyed it a. moment, and then
entered, though not before he had mutllcd his features, which
had attracted the attention of a female, who was selling apples
and beer at a cellar, by the side of the door step.

" That lad, Ban, don't care ’bout bein' seen," she said, with a.
coarse laugh. " I guess he‘s afraid o' the place.”
' answered the
man, who was Seated upon the upper steps of the cellar, very
busily eating an apple with his jack-knife.

“ If he is, don't peach and let 'cm see him,’

“ If he don't. want to see 'cm he don’t, and he‘s right."

“ So he is! I wishes as there never was sieh an animal as a
p'lieeman. They is al’ays pokin’ their heads where they ain’t
wanted. Nobody can get an honest liviu’ for ’em. I'd as soon
drown one, as I would a cat.”

“ Theyire troublesome, but they only does their duty. But,
s’pose I was a p‘licemsn, and had only my two dollars a day,
wouldn't I be round doin’ my duty. I guess you’d find me as

 

 

sharp as a bound. If I seed you cueutin’ or kiekm' up a row,
I'd have you up afore you'd know where you was: wouldn't I
tho'?“ 0

“ I’d like to see you tho'l Is this the way you'd do, you no.
grateful lien, when Igi'n you that apple out of friendship?”
demanded the female with angry grief.

" Friendship ain’t knowu to the p'liee. If you wos my own
mother, Bet, I'd not flinch, but have you up if I caught you
cheatiu', or doin as you oughtn‘t to do ?"

“ This is the last apple you get‘s at my stand, Muster Ben.
There's no trustin‘ human natur if you go ngen me i"

A part of this dialogue reached the ears of the young sailor,
who heeded it only by drawing his collar clOSer about. his face
and passing into the tap-room. Behind the greasy and smoky
bar ~tood a man about forty years of age, with stiff grey hair
standing up from his forehead, grey mixed whiskers, a pup; nose
covered with harnaeles, and a face of exceeding redness. He
was short, bloated, and altogether had a look of animal vice and
indulgence that was repulsive. He wore an old green haize
jacket, had a s ort pipe in his mouth, and as the sailor entered
was busy mixing a rum toddy for a man who stood in front of
the bar.

He looked up as the seaman entered, fixing his little light
grey eyes sharply upon him, as he passed along the length of
the room and took a seat by a table at the extremity and in the
shade, out. of the lamp.

“ ’I‘here, my man, said the tap-man, placing the. glass of rum
down before the, customer, “you will say when you drink that,
that Jake Saflord mixes the best toddy of any man in Boston.
Well, my lad," he called out, fixing his look upon the young
sailor at a distance, “
i " You may |ring me a glass of Port wine," he answered in
rather a low tone.

“ It shall be got. But as you are younger than I, you might
as Well come to the bar as I go there l”

“ I choose to drink it here,” he responded quietly.

The tap-man halt'fillcd a tumbler and approaching the table
placed it. upon it with a sort of angry vehemence, at the same
time holding out his hand and saying roughly,

“ The money i"

what do you want ‘3"

“ Do not be rude, Safford,” said the young sailor, putting
back his collar and looking up in his face. “I don't want your
wine, but you. Tell me where I can see you and talk with
you five minutes alone i”

The tapanun, upon seeing his features, started with surprise
and pleasure. He looked. nevertheless, as if he still doubted
the evidence of his senses. But when the other ended, his
doubts were removed, and said in an undertone:

“ You shall see me, now. Gointo that door, and up the stairs.
Enter the first room on the left and I will be there. Who
would have thought of seeing you here ?"

Sarord then left him with cautious glances cast toward the
thin, sallow man, who was sipping the toddy by the counter,
and who was a stranger to him.

In a few moments the seaman got up and passed through the
door and by the reflection of the light of a lamp from the alley
adjoining, he ascended the stairs and found the room. Ho did
not go in, as all was darkness, and stood waiting for the land-
lord of the house. He soon appeared with a light in his hand
and passedinto the room first, followed by the sailor. He
closed and fastened the door, and set; down the light, and then
turning to his guest: extended his hand and shook his heartily.

“ I am glad to see you, Dudley. You are the last person I
expected to see here in Boston ! Where have you come from,
and what are you doingr here ?” ‘

“ One question at the same time, Jaike,” replied the sailor,
who now removed his hat and put back his collar, showing the
sun~burut face of a young man of three-and-twenty, the features
good and bold, but wearing an air of reckless daring and
stamped with vice. “I have just. got'in, Jaike.”

“ How did you come? In what ship ‘2”

"In a craft of my own.”

“'Of your own 7”

“ Yes; you shall see her by and by. But first] want to
but how things have gone 0E since I left '3"

 

TEFLCAMP-FIRE LInnARY. 3

 

“ About the same. but you are not forgotten. Your Captain
lies in prison over here at Charleston now, with five of your
messniatcs. You had better kept away while you were Well
away."

“1 shall keep close and run the risk," he answered with a
reckless air.

" But you are not safe here a minute. Did you see that thin,
sallow faced chap in the long tailed shore-coatl gave the toddy
to ‘2”

“Yes ; a countryman."

“ Not he. It is my ’pinion he's a p'lice man, much as he looks
like a parson. You see I've kept the law to leeward ever since
you was here, but they know pretty Well what I'm at, though
they can't catch me while I’m wide awake. I know an
ordinary p'liceman as far as I can see him. So, it aint no use
for any one on 'em to be about here, for they cant do no good.
Last night a chap was in here [ didn't know, as told me in an
underhnnd way, that ifI wanted to be safe, to keep my eye on
long-tailed coats as well as bobs.”

“ And so you think the police are sending officers here dis-
guised as pursons, hey ‘{"

“ Not disguised as ’cm, but real parson lookin' chaps; coz
no policeman, who you knows is al'ays stout and fat, could put
on sich a tullow-livered look as the chap as called for the toddy.
But I'll keep my eye on ’em be sure. I only tell you to keep
your own eye to windward."

“ThatI shall do. I shunt be ashore long. I want. you to
give me your aid, Jailw."

“ In what way ?—and have you the music?"

“ It' you mean by music, mom-y, I have enough of that."

“ Then enough 1s said. \Vhat do you want me to do ‘3"

“ I will tell you. You know the time, nyear and a half ago,
I escaped from the prison before I could be brought to trial for
being concerned in that slayer ?"

“I remember it well. All the Jarvies was set a-search for you.
You would ha’ thought for three days afterwards there was
nothin’ but p'lico oflicers in the town. Every nook was dove
into, and mad enough they was when they found it was no use;
for the reward was a cool five hundred to whoever got you.—
That I dare say I could get to-morrow for you—even now,
Dudley; so you see I am your friend in not doing it."

“If you attempted it you would get the Worst ,ofit, Safford,"
answered the young sailor, with a determined air. “But I do
not fear you."

“ No, you needn’t, as I just said. Inever peach. Inever'd be-
tray a friend. You are as safe here with me, Dudley, as you’d
be with your own father. Yes, yes, Irecollect well the rumpus
as was made when it got about that one of the slavers had broke
out ofjail in the night. How did you manage that, Dud‘? You
had ’complices I am sure.”

“I had a good friend, Jaike.”

"I was glad enough when [ heard of it.—They felt pretty
sure you was here, and my house was regularly searched three
times.”

“ I’m sorry you had so much trouble on my account.”

" Not a bit. But. where did you go 7"

“ I was secreted in town for one day and night, and then trav-
elled in disguise to Portsmouth, and then shipped there for
the West Indies. But Iam not here to tell my own story. I
have come, as you see, where I am exposed to arrest, and I
would stay as little time as possible."

“ Well, what do you want me to do '2"

" I want to know first if you are ready to do what. I Wish ‘2"

"Yes, if you pay me well.”

" That I will do.”

j"l‘l1(:ii lain your man. You seem to have been fortunate,
hey ?"

“ Yes, tolerably so."

“ No more slaving, my lad ?"

“I shall ans wcr no questions. Here are ten guineas, Jaike.
These I place in your hands, promising, if you are true to up
and serve me well, that I will make them twenty before I go
away."

“ With this you could buy me body and soul," answered the
ma, weighing the leathcru wallet with its gold pieces in bi.

 

4 THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

 

4

hands, and than opening it and gazing upon them with looks d
delight.

“Now listen to me. There is in this city a young gentleman
'of wealth who is my greatest enemy. Why he is so I will per—
haps tell you hereafter, if it shall be necessary. I have it in
my power to ruin him in name and fame, and it is my purpose
to leave no stone unturned until I accomplish it.”

“Who is he?"

“ Arthur Grey."

“ What, the rich young Grey ‘2”

“Yes.”

“ How can you have any thing to do with him? Where
have you seen him ‘I"

“That matters not. I wish first to know of you if while I
stay in town you can keep me here 7"

“Yes, and be glad to do it."

“ You also have a spare secret chamber, I believe ?"

"That old chamber has been discovered by the Pollies. I
have, however, a secret closet." .

“ If it will hold one person it will answer."

“ It will do that. But what do you intend to do ?"

“ To get the person of this young Grey into my power. It
is for this I want your aid."

“Its a great risk, Dudley l”

“I know it. But I shall do it. at all risks. I have an end to
bring about by it, which it. is not necessary to make known to
you now. If I can get him into my bands, will you aid mo in
secreting him till I can sail ? It may not be for more than one
night, or for a few hours."

“There is great danger !"

” Then if you are timid,I will find some other person!"
answered the young sailor, vexed.

“ No, I will do what any other man will do! lam your
man, Dudley 1"

“Then listen to me.”

Here the young seaman went into a minute detail of a
plan which he wished him to adopt, and also explained parti-
cularly his own purposes. He then rose and left the room, and
being lighted down stairs by Safford, went out by a side door
into the alley, while the tap-keeper closing the door, roontered
she bar-room,

CHAPTER II.
was snavsa's sisrsa.

Want! the young sailor, Dudley Cabor, issued into the dark
avenue that ran along by the side of the tap-room kept by
Jaike Safford, ho muffled his face as before, and took up the al.
ley instead of turning into the street. The passage was narrow,
unpaved, and lined on one side by a high wall, and on the
other by a miserable abode.

As he walked on, or rather stumbled along this lune, itgrew
narrower and steeper, until it terminated in a steep flight of
slimy brick steps.

There, with some peril, ho ascended, and found himself in an
elevated street that led to the summit of the Fort Hill. He
turned to the right, and descending it rapile came to a sort of
square, at the bottom on um: side of which stood a tavern of
ancient and respectable aspect. Above the door, illmnined by
a lamp that hung beneath it, shone a faded gilt sun, to indicate
the name of the inn. IIo paused a moment opposite the house,
and looked as if he hesitated whether to enter or not. ' He
suddenly crossed the street, and come near' the door, and then
as abruptly changed his mind, and moved swiftly on hisway
up the street.

In a few minutes he came to the gate of a large and imposing
mansion, one of those noble edifices erected in the days of the
Royal Governors.

It stooda little back from the street, with a yard in front, in
which grew three or four stately trees. Upon each pillar of the
gateway was placed a gilded cannon ball as a crest. The trees

' cast a deep shadow over the front of the house, and through the
‘ foliage glimmorsd a light from one of the parlors.

 

*

The seamen stopped at the gate and seemed to be listening
and observing for a moment before opening it. He at length
lifted up the latch and softly entered. He moved stealthin up
the paved walk to the steps of the portico, but instead of first
knocking at the door, he endeavored, by reaching over the bal-
ustrade, to look into the window, the blind of which was partly
opened.

“ I can see no one. Peehaps the old gentleman is alone. If
so, so much the better," he said, in an undertone. “I will
now see if they leave the door unlutched as usual."

He noiselesst placed his hand upon the knob and turned it.
The door yielded and opened into a dark hall. Ilo closed it as
softly as he had opened it and then stopped and listened.

“All is quiet. Evorything is as calm about. the place as
ever. But I may raise a storm when they see me. I shall do
my best to keep things quiet.”

He then moved across the. hall floor in the dark, but with the
step of one familiar with the premises. He found the latch of
the parlor door at once, and raising it entered the room in
which he had seen the light.

He looked quickly around him, but saw on one in the apart-
ment. It was large, richly, but not showily, furnished in the
old style, with a curved cornice running around the ceiling,
deep wainscoating, and ornamented arched alcoves on either
side of the spacious nmntlc-piecc. Upon u polished oval table
supported by a tripod of three lion’s feet, burned two sperm
candles in silver stands, with a pair of silver snufl'ers shaped
like a lizard lying between them. Upon one side of the table
was a book lying open, upon the page of which rested a pair
of spectacles. Oppmite the book was a delicate little work
basket of a fanciful shape, in which lay a pivro of unfinished
lace, a. pair of minute scissors, a gold thimblo made to fita
slendvr and shapely finger, and also sundry other articles of
female industry.

The young senman gazed upon these things with an exprea.
sion sad and full of interest, and for a moment the features of
his otherwise dissolute face assumed upurer and more elevated
character. ‘

“Poor Charlotte l" he said, with a sigh that showed there
yet remained some generous emotion in his nature. " For her
sake I wish I were a better man. But the die is cast and I
must abide it."

As he spoke these words to himself, his eyes still resting up-
on the thimble, he heard a footstep in the passage between the
parlor and the breakfast room in the rear. IIe instantly with-
drew to a recess of one of the windows, and concealed his
person behind the long drapery. He had hardly placed him-
self there when the door on the right. of the mantle-piece
opened and a finedookiug elderly gentleman came into the
room.

He was about fifty-four or five years of age, tall and com-
mandng in his stature, with a head silver White and a dark eye
that had parted with none of its youthful fire. He wore a rich
green silk dressing gown, and a white vest, with deep flaps and
bright gilt buttons, that gave him a military look. He held in
his hand a newspaper, and was picking his teeth with a care-
less, casy air, He seated himself in the arm-chair by the table
with his back, or rather his shoulder, toward the young man,
who was standing concmled behind the curtain.

He was abrfht to resume the reading of the paper which he
had brought in with him from tho tea-table, when the young
seaman, throwing wide. the curtain, advanced so as to confront
him. '

The old genllmnan started with surprise, not unmixed with
alarm, and sprung to his feet.

“ Who are you ‘2‘ ho demanded, seeing); before him the
milflicd sailor; for Dudley Cabot had slouchcd his but over his
eyes, and brought the collar of his coat close about his face as
he came out from the covert of the window recess. H What: do
you here ‘2"

“ I have a right. here, being your son.” answered the young
man with a tone of mingled assurance and recklessness; and,
as he spoke, he removed his cap, and laid back his cap.

“Dudley ‘1" exclaimed Colonel Cabot, between amazement
and anger.

“ Yes, air; it is Dudley. You do not seem to be glad to so.

 

THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. 5

 

 

me, sir. You neither offer to me your hand or a seat. Never-
theless I will take one.”

“I do not welcome you, for you have forfeited my affection,
Dudley," answered his father mildly but firmly. “ I am sorry
to see you here. - Do you know that you have a price set upon
you?" _

“ I know it very well, sir,” answered the sailor, with a smile
of indih ace to the danger which he had courted by coming
ashore.

“ Then why are you here? Do you wish to add to my grief
-—to the disgrace you have brought upon your family and name
by bringing yourself to the gallows? Why have you dared to
return to this country l”

Sorrow and anger were blended in the expression of his
father’s countenance as he spoke. Ila gazed upon his prodigal
child who had seated himsalf, not in his sister's vacant chair,
which he seemed to avoid with a sort of respect for her, as if
he felt unworthy to occupy it, but in one which he took from
the wall.

"Father," he said fixing his eyes upon those of the parent
whose grey head he had dishonored by his crimes, “I did not
come here to be censured or insulted. The least that you say
is the best for all of us. I have come to Boston on business
and other matters, and I could not go past the old homestead
without giving you a call ; besides, I wish to see my sister.”

“ You cannot soc her," answered Colonel Cabot firmly_
“ Your conduct has broken her heart. You shall not pollute
her with your presence. Your influence over her has been
broken by your guilt. She fears and detests you l"

“ I do not believe that she either fears or detests ma, father.
She would love me if I should lay my hand upon her throat and
tell her that she must die I I know my sister too well. A
father’s heart may be estranged and hate, but I will answer for
Charlotte. I have come to see her, and see her I will I"

“ Young man ; if you choose to forget that I am your father;
do you mean me to forget the relation.

“In my house I shall will and you shall obey. You need
not flash upon me a glance that would do credit to a buccaneer
You know me, and therefore know. that I neither fear you nor.
will yield to you. Ihave long since ceased to look upon you
as my son. Your crimes and recklessness of character-which
your present bearing shows me, is no whit changed save for the
worst—have alienated my heart from you. I know not whence
you come hither, nor wherefore you have intruded here to dis-
turb the tranquility of my house. I command you to gel G0
at once, or I wiil with my own mouth betray you to the
authorities. I will show you my detestation ofyour crimes by
giving you into the hands of the law you have outraged l”

As Colonel Cabot spoke these words he looked the indigna-
tion to which he gave expression. He rose and advanced a
step towards his son. who also sprung to his feet, and stood
before him with a flushed and enraged brow, and an eye flash-
ing with resentment. It seemed, for a moment as if he was
deliberating whether to assail his father or not; for his right
hand sought the hill. ofa knife that he carried in his bosom.
But suddenly changing his whole manner he smiled and said—

" Old man, I do not fear your threats. You know me as
well as I know you, and you know that threats never did me
any good. They will not now. I have come here to see my
sister, and I am resolved to see her before I quit the house."

“ What do you wish to say to her, Dudley?’ asked his father
after a moment‘s troubled reflection, as he saw the determined
resolution of his outlawed son—for Dudley had folded his arms
upon his breast, and thrown himself into an attitude firm and
immoveable.

“I wish to see her. She loves me, and I still love her. I
shall not leave Boston without seeing her. She is in the home.
You need not deny it, father. Thereis her thimble, her sewing,
her chair. They look as if she had been here not many minutes
before I came in. She is at the tea-table, from which you have

just come. I have not been to supper. I will go in and take a
cup of tea with her." ‘

“.No 2 not in my house. The son who has disgraced my *6!
shall never partake of its hospitality unless he returns a penitent.
Then my house and heart will be open to him. But you are
not penitent. I see in you the marks of a hardened criminal.

 

I should not be surprised if you were at this moment, and
had been ever since your escape from prison, nearly two years
ago, pugsuing some lawless occupation. I see that your character
is hardened and confirmed in vice. I have had hopes of you.
When I heard that you had escaped, and that pursuit had been
at fault, I cherished fondly the hope that in some distant had
you might reform and redeem your character before a new
people and before Heaven But I now behold you lost and
reprobate. You shall not see your sister l" ‘

" Old man, I came not. here to be lectured. You should have
formed my character better when I was younger. Lecturing
and advice then might have done me some good; but now I am.
too old for such things. Such as I am, I aml ButI must speak
with my sister. I know she is in the next room."

The maiden was, indeed, in the next apartment in the rent
of the parlor. It was a small, neat breakfast room, where she
and her father had been seated at a round tea-table when
Dudley entered the front door. The father was alternately
sipping his tea and reading a paragraph in the evening paper,
as was his custom.

He soon afterwards rose from his meal and retired to the
parlor. Charlotte remained at the table to assist the servant
lu removing the china and silver, for she was a notable house-
keeper; and as she was placing the spoons in a small tortoise-
shell tray to replace them in the side-board that stood behind
her chair, she was surprised and startled to hear loud voices in
the parlor.

“David,” she said to a respectable looking black man, who
acted as porter and coaclnnan and man servant of all work to
the family, ” do you not hear persons in the parlor?”

“ Iz, missy Sharlot, I doos, an one on ’em is berry sharp.”

“ Who could have come in while we were at tea ‘! I heard
no one I"

“ Nor me, missus,” answered David, shaking his head very
positively.

" Listen, David! They seem to be quarrelling l" she said,
rising and bending forward to hear, with her lips parted, her
large blue eyes expanded and earnest in their expression, and
her beautiful countenance flushed with alarm.

“They be, missus, or else they talk berry loud! I nebber
hear no knock l"

" Go in and see what it is. Take in this candle and place it
upon the stand. It will be an excuse.”

As she spoke she placed in the hand of the African 11 tall
silver candlestick, in which burned a wax candle, and be we:
approaching the door when the voices ceased.

“ Dey done talkin’ now, missus I"

"Yes. Perhaps it is some one of my father’s tenants, who
sometimes talk louder than they have need to. There, the
loud voice is again. Go, David. Take the candle in and come
out and tell me who it is.”

The footmau passed through the door, and was crossing the
little entry, when the sound of the voices came so distinctly,
that Charlotte Cabot not only heard a second time her own
name, but recognised her brother’s voice.

“ David,” she called, and trembling so that she had to sup,
port herself by the table, " David, come here; you need not g(
in. Did you know that voice ?” she asked, as pale as death.

“ It sounds ’mazing like young Master Dudley’s, missus l"

" It istudley’s,” she gasped “ I hear his words! It is my
poor brother'sl He has returned, and is demanding to see
me I"

“ I do b’lieve, ’pon my soul, missus, it be massa Dudley."

“ Then do not speak his name. Death surrounds him! He
has come home when he knows his presence here is most peril-
ous. Speak to no one! Remain here. ‘ I am going in. Be
cautious, David, that you do not speak to any in wit
Lock the door leading to it, that no one may enkqb n 3 ‘
is in safety. Oh, what madness could have hr. W . -. v.
Much as I love him, I would rather never
voice again, than he should have trusted hig

With a countenance expressing the mos

 

 

 

6 THE  LIvBRARY.

She listened there a moment, and if she had any doubts as
to the prbscncc of her brother, they were now removed.

She ovrrhvard his fierce words to his father; sht- hoard his fiery
demand to sow llt‘l', and she sighed at the conviction that he
had returned unchanged in heart, not like the prodigal, pcnitent
and reformed.

“ Alas, poor Dudley !" shc sight-(l, as she placed her trembling
hand upon the latch of the door; “ alas, that he should have re-
turned again, and I‘t'illl‘llt'tl us he is.”

As Dudley ccnscd spcaking, he advanced to the door, between
which himself and his fathur stood.
man who would accomplish his intention oven with violence.

“ You shall see her, boy,” cried Cabot, “ only in my pre-
sence."

Ilis manncr was that of a

“ I will see her alone, sir l" he responded.
father!
tempting me to by your obstinacy.”

“ Stand nside,
I am a bad mail, and may do what you may regret
“ You shall not owe llL‘f‘ at all. I am not. to hemenaced, boy.
You are no fit. pi-rson to hold conversation with one so pure
and good as your sister. IIt-r soul would shrink from your
dark spirit. Lost. and abandoned young man, leave my house."

“ Stand back! I am not in a mood to handy words, old man,"
cried the sailor, or rather slavcr, for such he was, laying his
hand upon his father’s breast to push him aside, when the door
opened, and his sister stood before him. Instantly on beholdng
her a great change came over the face of the young man, as
remarkable as it was sudden. A smile of joy chased away the
black clouds of passion from his brow, and the deepest pleasure
was manifested upon his features. He sprung forWard and
clasping her hands togc-ther in his, howcd his face upon them,
and kissing them with passionate delight, he sunk upon his
knees.

“ Dearest sister l" he said, in tones ofjoy so deep and intense
that they seemed to come from the very fountains of his heart.

His father stood by with amazement. He could not recog-
nize in that kneeling, and affectionate young man, bowing his
head upon his sister’s hands, the same person who had the

moment before menaced him with violence. Charlotte for an
Instant bent down over him, as if tenderly embracing him, her

golden hair mingling with his darker and wilder locks, and
whispered—

" Welcome, dcar brother; but it makes me sad to see you."

"And why should you be sad, sister?" he asked, rising and
[till holding her hands in his, and gazing fondly and admirineg
into her lovely, tearful face. “ Whyshould you be sad to see on.
who loves you better than any object else on earth, not even
excepting one !"

Upon this last. word he placed an emphasis, and some associa—
tion which the allusion called up, brought a quick, angry shadow
to his brow, which as quickly Went away, leaving only the
full and complete expression of fondness and love as he gazed
upon his sister's face.

“There is at least something good left in the boy, thank
heaven," his father ejaculated within himself as he witnessed
this evidence of attachment. to his sister. But the young man
scum-d from the first moment of beholding her to have
forgotten his father. He seemed to think he was alone in her
presence.

“I am glad that you love me, Dudley,” she said; “ but I
should believe you more if Iconld see that for my sakayou had
become a better man i"

“ And how do you know thatI am not ‘2" he asked with a smile,
still keeping his eyes kindly up n her as if it was a great
pleasure to gazo upon her sweet face, where shone that truth
and innocence which he no longer poswssed. He also saw
there what he saw in no other human countenance, the reflec-
tion of love for him. His hcart therefore clung to her; for so
long as the heart is human, it must hang upon something dear
and cherished; and the stronger the castaway feels its air
worthiness and loneliness the deeper and more earnest will it
lovc where it feels that it is loved with all its guilt.

'f If you were better, Dudley, better than when you went
aivay, you would not have spoken to father as I have heard
you I Yonwere even about. to lay hands upon him, brother, at
‘ Icame in! I love you, but such conduct grieves me for you,
and piibrces my heart l”

l

l

 

-mi, , , , _ , , '7—— 7L,“
“Forgive me, sister l It was to see you—it was my love for
you that caused me to forget. what was due to my father: for
your sakel would havo shoved him aside, no, more; I——”

7

“Do not say more, Dudlcy,‘ she said firmly and sorrowfully.
“ You should have asked my father's forgiveness, not mine i"
“I and my father are two personal We arc as if no rela-
IIo Cordially dospiscs me, and I

I shall not ask his forgiveness.

tion subsistcth litht'CIl us.
have little love for him! I ask
only yours !"

“ Charlotte, you shall not hold speech longer with this
wretched young man. Idid for a lli()lllt‘lltjust now, when I
saw his affection for you, hog-in to hope that ho had something
good in him ; but I see now that he is utterly roprobatc. Sir,
leave my house l"

“Not till I have said to my sister what Iwish to say l" he
answered, fixing a dcfying glance upon his father. and then
turning and smiling fondly upon his sister. and pressing a kiss
affoctionatuly upon her hand.

“Ch .rlotte, ifyou speak any longer with this outlaw," cried
her father, “you will incur my displeasure. He is my enemy;
and as such, should meet no favor from you 1”

CHAPTER III.

THE STRANGER IN BLACK.

Tn young girl stood hesitating and embarrassed between
love for her wicked brother and respect for her father. She
seemed unable to decide how to act, when her brother said,
quickly and imperatively. '

“I shall speak with my sister, and you have no power to
prevent me, Colonel Cabot l"

" Dudley, I certainly will refuse to hold any intercourse with
you ifyou thus forget all reVerence for your father as well as
mine." she said with decision.

“ I see it would take but little, Charlotte, to set you against.
me," answered her brother, bitterly.

“No, Dudley, I shall always be your friend, though I cannot
approve of your conduct, still I can love you and pray for
you as I have done."

“ Don’t talk to me of prayers, Charlly. I have other matters
to think and speak about. I mth talk with you alone. Come
with me to the door."

“ Not. with my permission, Charlotte," said Colonel Cabot. " If
you had proper respect for yourself", and love for me, you would
refuse to have any thing to say to him. So long as you treat
him with favor, so long he does not think he has done any thing
cvil. How do we know but his hands are again stained with
blood ? We know nothing of his career since he has been last
in the country. He may have sailed under the notorious Bon-
FIELD, or be W'inwood himself, so far as we know, and be at this
moment one of his men! Go, young man, but seek not to draw
from her fatlwr’s thrt-shhold yonrinnoccnt sister. She loves you,
but she respects herself l"

“What shall I do?" cried Charlotte, “ Father, let me hear
what my brother has to say. Perhaps I may do him good,"

“ I fear it it is your continued attachmentto him that keeps
him the hardened wrctch ho is. He thinks that if one so good
and true can love him still, that he is not the bad man the
world says he is."

“ I have no time to spare. Cliarlly,” he snid with a smile of
affection. “ Come with me a little while, and hear what I have
to say.”

“ Father, dear father, forgive me. I do not wish to disobey
you, but. I wish to oblige Dudley. It may be the last time we
shall ever mret."

" Would to God it might be. Would to God it might he I"
he said, fervently. “ Go, and be not long; move not away from
the steps,” '

“ Father, good night" said 'the young man, in a cool, cavalier
wgy, as he took his sister by the hand, and led her from the.
room; “ I hope when we meet again I shall find you in butter
humor, If you like not my ways of life now, you may thank

 

.———_

u  LIBRARY. '7

 

yourself for letting me have my own way when it was in your
power to have controlled me. Good night, old man."

"Dudley, you must not address your father thus ! You make

'me shuddn-r 1” she said, shrinking and trembling as she passed
into the hall.

“ Then for your sake, sweet, when I see him again I will be
more civil."

He now closed the door. and, passing his arm about his sister
he led her to the front door, and openng it, stood upon the
thrcshhold, and as the wind blew the tressos over her forehead,
he put them gently back from the temples and kissed her once
or twice with the tenderest affection.

“ Dudley—why, oh i. why are you not always thus l" she

said with emotion. “You seem to possess two characters. In
my father's presence your words, and the expression of your
countenance, make me shudder. With me, and when you
look or speak to me, you are all gentleness and love. You,
make me both love and fear you.

“ But, oh i if you do not wish me to despise and scorn you,
cease to speak and treat my father and your father as you have
but now done."

“Say not a word of him, Charlly. He is my greatest enemy.
my deepest detestation l"

'“Dudley l"

"‘It is true. He was the first to give me up to the laws.
Nay, he threatenml to-night to do it. But for llli sternness
when I was arrested, I should never have been sent to the
State's Prison.

“'One Word from him, and for his sake I should have had
a milder sentence. But no! He bade the court to do its duty.
It was his duty, he said, to prosecute, and he would perform it.
As an oflicer of State he forgot that he was a father. No,
Charlly, I will never forgive him. Besides, had he done his
.duty to me, I should have been another man than I am."

“How has he failed in his duty to you ‘?——We are both
‘children of the same father, and towards us both he has but. one
heart and one feeling."

“ 1 will not talk of him now. I have other matters to speak

/ of. All you could say, sister, dearly as I love you, could never
make me forgive my father l"

“ I cannot hear you speak thus. You displease me, Dudley,"
she said firmly.

“Thenl will not speak of him. Come and walk in these
pleasant paths around the house while you listen to me f"

As he spoke he drew her from the door with his arm about
her, and together they passed slowly along a gravelled walk that
wound around the mansion, and lost itself in the garden in the
rear. For some seconds both were silent. At length he spoke:

"Charlly, I should be very glad to know that I can trust
you i" ‘

“ Trust me. brother ?" she repeated, with surprise. “How
can you doubt me ?"_

“I do not doubt you; but you seem to have been more
severe with me to—uight than usual."

“ I have spoken for my father’s sake."

“ Are you. then, the same true, faithful, and fearless girl I once
knew you l"

“ I am the same as ever, brother."

" I wish I could truly believe the same true and bold heart
beat in your bosom now that did two years ago, when you
aided me to escape. But then you were only sixteen, and full
of impulse and romantic devotion, but two years has brought a
change with it—brought gravity and reflection. You would
not do for poor Dudley now what you did then at the risk of
your life, and bravely achieved, too,”

“ Indeed I would, brother. I am now what I was then. I
love you the same, although I see more clearly than then the
greatness of your guilt. But " v

“ Then you think me, I dare to say, quite a rcprobate,
Charlly',".he said, with a sneer which she did not perceive;' for
though the moun‘ was brightly shining, they were walking at
the moment beneath the dense branches of a linden that grew
at the entrance of the garden.

" I do not wish to speak of what you are, brother," she said
oadly. “ I wish that] could have found you a changed man
after two years absence, and the promises you made to me of

 

fl
reformation. You have laid upon my heart every moment. 1
have daily prayed for you.”

" Charlly,” he said, interrupting her, “you are too Sensible a
girl to talk such nonsense as this. I am in no mood for it. I
wish to tell you what I want with you i”

“First tell me where you have been, brother, and why you
have done so imprudent a thing as to venture again into
Boston ‘2”

” Where I have been is not so easily answered as it is asked,"
he replied in a careless way, and with a. light laugh. " I have
been on the sea and over the sea, and had many adventures and
escapes."

“I fear you have not followed an honest pursuit, Dudley.
If you had you would have been more subdued in your charac-
ter than I lind you. An inmost calling in the last two years
would have madoyou quieter and steadier both in tone and air.
Butjudging from what you now appear, I fear you have been
pursuing a lawless course." ’

“You speak your fears plainly, Charlly. But I am not pre»
pared to contradict you. I will answer your second inquiry,
‘Why am I here?’ Do you suppose I have yet forgotten
Isabel ‘3"

She started, and stopping full in the walk, said, “ Is it possi»
ble, Dudley, you dare to think of her now?’

“ Dear sister, why should I not dare ‘2 " he answered almost
fiercely.

“ But your crimes !" she said, with hesitation, at the first word
of the reply, but ending it firmly.

“ Well, what of them? I love you for all thatI have done,
and why may I not love Bella Gray? I tell you, Charlly, aheia
dearer to me, next to yourself, than any being on earth. I love
her to madness."

“ It is madness in you to love her or even to think of her,
Dudley. Do you forget that you have taken a man‘s life I”

“Mad or sane. I love her, and I swear that ifI marry her
not, no other man shall call her his bride."

“You talk wildly, Dudley. You were once used to exercise
sound judgment with all your errors of conduct. You know

that Isabel Grey can now: be yours. You know that you have

placed yourself out of society. Do you think thal- Bllfi Will (10-
grade herself to share your lot. How can you fora moment
think of her ‘2"

“ Because she is always in my thoughts. I have never ceased
to think of her. I never shall. Listen to me, Charlotte. You
have just now professed yourself as true and faithful as ever."

“Audi repeat it,Dudley," answered the young girl reso-
lately.

“Then you must now serve me. I love Belle Grey, and I
shall not leave Boston until I have had_an interview with her.”
" An interview with her ‘I"

“ Yes. You seem amazed."

" Indeed I am. Do you forget, Dudley, that you are an out—
law. At this moment a large 'reward is hanging over your
head, for it has never been annulled, and at any moment you
may be recognized and arrested."

Here the young sailor drew his cap more over his eyes, and
raised his collar with the instinctive habit of one who was
accustomed to conceal his face from the eyes of others.

“ I well know all this, Charlly,” he responded, “ but I shall
take care not to be the means of putting five hundred dollars
into a policeman’s pocket. I am not so much their friend as to
desire to do any of them a favor. You must get me an inter-
view with Belle i It must be private as it can be. But see her
I will, and you must aid me in it."

" I, Dudley ‘2"

“Yes, you. Are you going to flinch now ?"

“I don't know what to say to your singular request."

“You do not? 1 see two years have changed you. You
didn't once hesitate and reflect. You were then all generous
impulse. Nothing was impossible to your bold spirit. Your
love for me when I would escape from prison saw no obstacle
and would see none. I see that I am mistaken in you. Lik°
all the rest, you have turned against me 7” ,

’I‘his was spoken with hitter anguish of spirit. as if I“
believed what he said, and was agouiaed at the thought of hot
utrangomnt.

u

 

9 THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

.—

“ Indeed, indeed, you wrong me, Dudley; indeed you do. I
would this moment lay down my life if it would make you a
happier and better man. But I know not what you ask of me 7"

“I will tell you. I love lsabel Grey. You know she once
loved me also. Perhaps now she hates me l”

" No, no. She does not hate you, Dudley l"

“ How know you this? Does she speak of me '2" he asked,
with deep interest.

" Yes, but not lately.”

“I never cease to think of her. I have come to this city
again almost wholly for the purpose of seeing her, and ascer-

taining whether she still loves me. I know, as well as you can
tell me, sister, that. my career has cut me off from her society,
and that it would do her no credit to he seen in conversation
with me. Still, I must see her, if only for a moment. Imust
see her, and from her own lips learn my fate. The last time we
parted it was the parting of lovers.

“ Dudley,\I do not know how to refuse you, yet I feel that I
do wrong in obeying you. I will go and see isabel. But you
will only be disappointed. You will find that she has forgotten
you. But shall I tell her who wishes to see her ‘2”

“ By no means do it, for then she would not come forth. Go
by the stile at the foot of the garden, pass into that of Judge
Grey, and so to the house, for I suppose one way is open, as in
old times ?"

“ Yes. But—”

“ But the no buts. Charlotte l" he cried impatiently.

“ My father will miss me."

" That is true, and he may get into a rage and send off and
inform against me. I have-it, sister ! (so back into the house,
excuse yourself, and return to your room, and then locking it
on the outside, steal down by the rear gallery and garden
stairs. I will be here. It will not occupy ten minutes. The
colonel will then suppose you in the chamber, and you can re-
main without suspicion.”

“ I will do this, Dudley ; but I am sorry that you insist up—
on it !"

" I do insist. Go, and return quickly

He followed her a few steps till he saw her pass around the
house, and then began to pace up andtdown in the overshadowed
alley, waiting her return.

As Charlotte Cabot passed around the corner of the house,
near the front yard, she thought she heard a rustling in the
foliage of a hedge of lilacs, that grew close against the street
fence. Glancing quickly, and with slight alarm at the dark
ahadoWs at the base, she thought, or rather felt, that some one
was crouching there. Though a bold and courageous girl, the
meeting with her abandoned brother had made her nervous,
and instead of fearlessly examining to see if her apprehensions
were well founded, she bounded forward into the door, and was
caught in her parent's arms; for he had put on his hat to see
what had become of them.

" You are safe, then, my child l I am satisfied. Has the
boy gone? How you tremble 1"

“Father, let me go to my room l I will by and by talk with
you!" she cried, and springing away from him, fled up the
broad llnll stairs, her way lighted only by the moon-beams,
which shone through a window that was upon the first landing.

“ My child seems greatly agitated," he said, as he followed
her retiring and indistinct form. “ I pray that this may be the
last time this outlaw and disgrace to my gray hairs will come
near this house, which he has dishonored. I will have him arrest-
ed by the servants and bound hand and foot, ifhe comes hither
again, and sent to the keeper ol‘tho prison. it was my duty to
have done it when he first made his appearance. In letting
him go without sending for the police, 1 hnvu connived at his
villaiuies. Son l He is no son of mine! Would that his sister
could forget, as well, that he is her brother. Poor girl ! she is
distressed. I know not what will become ofthis visit, or what
it is for? Something more than more bravado must have
brought him here. I shall bear to-morrow that he is arrested.
and then all the old acres of my dishonor will be laid open for
the public tongue to lap l ’

Thus spoke with mingledgrief and bitterness, the unhappy
father of the young outlaw, as he closed the door, bolted it,
md slowly returned into the parlor. Here he sat down and

 

—=-.

began painfully to reflect upon toe interview he had just had
with his son, and to condemn himself for being so irresolute as
to suffer him to depart, perhaps to plunge into deeper guilt.
He felt that it was his duty to have arrested him, and restored
him to the custody of the law, from which he had broken.
“He has been in my power,” said he, rising and walking the
room, and I ought to have seized upon his person. 1 have
weakly let him depart, and henceforwnrd whatever crime he

'may commit, I shall feel that I am in some degree also guilty ‘1”

Charlotte Cabot had not been deceived in fancyng some
oerson was concealed in the shrubbery. No sooner had she
disappeared into the house, than a man rose up from the dark
shadows of the lilacs and crept stooping along the wall; in the
direction of the garden. Ile moved rapidly on until he came
to the garden—gate. when he stood upright and stole noiselessly
forward, looking carefully and sharply to the right and left.
Suddenly he came upon Dudley, who at the same instant dis-
covered him close upon him. Upon seeing him, the young sailor
stepped back and laid his hand upon the hilt. of the dagger
which he always wore in his breast.

“ Who goes there 7" he demanded sternly, seeing the intruder
stop and remain immoveably regarding him. It was too oark
there, in the covert of the garden trees, for him clearly to
discover his face, but he saw that it was not his father, whom.
at the first glance, he supposed it to be.

“ You are my man," cried the stranger, in atone of oxultation,
and at the same instant bounded forward, and with a short
loaded stick, aimed a blow at his head.

The young seaman caught the fatally aimed weapon upon his
hand, though the effort turned him violently round upon his
feet, and nearly hurled him to the earth. He still firmly grasped
the cudgel, and with his right hand drew his dagger. His
assailant immediately released his hold upon the stick, and
springing back beyond the reach of a blow from the dirk which
he saw gleaming in the moonbeams, drew a pistol and leveled it
at his breast. ' I

" Drop your weapons, or you are a dead man I"

By this time Dudley believed he recognized in his antagonist,
the tall, slender, sallow-faced man in black, he had seen in the
tap-room kept by Safi'ord. Ile felt sure that he was the same
man, and the words of Jake recurred to him, that the person
was a policeman in disguise. Dudley, therefore, saw all his
danger. He knew that he was known, and that the man was
resolved to arrest him even at the risk of his life. He there-
fore determined to act with coolness and discretion; for not
only his own safety depended upon his self-possession, but the
destruction of the man whose knowledge of his person would be
fatal to him if he was allowed to leave the garden alive.
Dudley Cabot was as brave as ho was reckless. The pistol of
the stranger covering his heart did not intimidate him. He
gazed upon him a second or two steadily, and said in a quiet
tone:

“ Whom do you take me for, that you come upon me in this
fashion ‘2’

“For Winwood, the slaver responded the man, firmly. I

CHAPTER IV.

'rnn coarser iron LIFE.

Ar hearing the answer of the stranger, Dudley started with:
surprise, and exclaimed between anger and amazement:

“ Who are you, then, that you give me this name '3” As he
made the demand he gazed keenly upon him.

" I am one whom you will better know are we part,” answered. ~
the stranger, firmly; and as he spoke, he advanced upon him,
still presenting his pistol. " Lay down your weapons and
surrender, or I will pull the trigger. and put a ball through
your heart."

“I should know that voice," cried Dudley, without manifest»
ing any fear of his pistol, and speaking as if both confoundedi
and alarmed at a recognition that seemed by no manna.

 

THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. 9

 

pleasant, to him. " Are you the man I saw in the tap-room
kept by Sniford 7"

" I am."

" So I thought at first," he answered, as if relieved. “ You
are not, then the person I first begun to suspect you to be, from

the Hound of your Voice. Now tell me what you want with me'

and how you came to call me. Winwood 't"

“I shall hold no parley with you! I have sought you to take
your life! Ihave sworn to do it, Captain Winwood, and my
time as well as thy own has come. But below I slay yon, I
will tell you you are not deceived. I am the man you believed
me to be just now. I am Roger IIartshorn l"

“ You 7" cried Dudley, with consternation,J and grasping his
dagger coiivnlsively, while he placed himself in an attitude to
spring upon him.”

“Yes, I! You thought me dead, no doubt I"

“No. I have heard that you were alive. Some one saw you
and told me of it. I could not believe it at first, but wnsas-
sured by him you had t‘st'tlped the death I designed for you.
Now I am convinced that you did, for I am no believer in
ghosts, But if you are Roger Hai'tslnn'ii, how is it with his
voice. Iiind your (wmplexion dark insteadof fair, and your
hair black instead of sandy !" '

“Revenge dictated this disguise. It was that I might find
you unsuspected. I have done so. Now prepare to die. You
need not think to escape me. I am reckless of He. Your death
is as certain by my hand within the next moment as that you
now live and tremble before'me I”

“ Tremble! No, no. But we will see. who dies i" cried Dudley,
clenching his dagger and springing forward upon the man like
a greyhound. At the same instant. there was a flash that
illuminated the shaded spot where they were, and the report of
the pistol rang through the gardens.

The man, as he fired, sprung back, both to escape the blow
ofthe Weapon which Dudley aimed at him, to see the effect of
his shot, and to draw a second pistol and cock it. ‘

Instead of seeing his enemy fall, for he had deliberately aimed
at his breast, he found him upon him, and seemingly unharmed
and driving the dagger toward his bosom.

With a muscular arm, and muttering a deep oath of dis-
appointment, he grappled the hand which held the steel, and
arrested the blow.

With the other he. presented a pistol against the breast of the
young man and fired.

Dudley staggered back, and the man released his hold of his

weapon-arm, expecting to see him roll headlong upon the
ground.

1

But Dudley, after staggering for a step or two, recovered him-
self, bounded forward like a panther upon his assailant, and
struck the dagger deep into his shoulder, and so firmly that he
could not withdraw it with two strong efforts, and left it in the
wound.

“May the fiend have thee I" cried the man, in rage and
pain, and in accents of the deepest disappointment. “ You
either bear a charmed life, as men say, or the devil has drawn
the balls from my pistols. But here is one more for you, and
in the name of truth and justice, an! holy revenge, Igivc you
its contents I” ’

While he was speaking he was supporting himself by leaning
against a tree, for he was evidently bleeding profusely and
sinking from weakness.

He, however, had strength to draw a third pistol from his
breast, and present it at the head of the young man, who, after
relinquishing the dagger, had stepped back and stood befora
him, armed only with the short club belongingto his antagonist.

He was expecting to see him drop to the ground dead, and
shrunk from giving a finishing blow to one whom he deemed
incapable of defence.

But when he saw him making an effort to cook the pistol,
which from weakness he could hardly succeed in doing, he
stooped so as to get beneath the level of its range, and so run-
ning under his arm, as it were, caught him about the waist in a
strong grasp, and flung him to the earth.

In the fall, the pistol was discharged, and the ball took a
direction through the brim of his lint, splitting it. up, and then

 

__ .k _. __, ,, In“ ___J
glancing upward from his forehead, which it slightly bruised,
passed out at the top of the crown.

“ Now. Roger llartshorn, your life is once more in my hands!"
said Dudley, as he placed his knee upon the breast of the man,
“I how no wish to kill you. When I heard of your having
escaped the, death I designed for you, I was rather glwd than
sorry; for I had one less crime upon my hand I You may not
he mortally wounded. If you will swear not to reveal my
presence in town, and never aim at my life again, I will not
take yourlife. Already I hear voices at a distance, and lanterns
are coming this way from various quarters. You will find aid,
and may recover. Swear to me."

“I will not swear, Captain Winwood," answered the man,

faintly but firmly. “ So long as I have breath, so long
will I seek your life. To live and not be permitted to avenge
my wrongs on you would be. worse than death I"

“Then die i" cried Dudley; and then with both hands draw-
ing the dagger from his shoulder, he raised it to thrust it. deep
into his breast, when the voice and hand of his sister arrested
him.

“ Dudley l" she almost shricked, ” what crime is this you
would do? Is there not blood enough upon your hand
already ‘2"

“The man dogged me here and would have assassinated me i
He has fired three pistols at me, and if he lives my life will be
in dain peril at his hand ! He shall die I"

“ No! no! You shall not thus defy I‘l'OViLIOIICO' brother I”
she cried ; and before he was aware of her intention, she
snatched the dagger from his hand, and flung it far from her
into the trees.

“Charlotte 1” he exclaimed with rage, springing to his feet.
“ Do you mean to make mo your foe ‘2"

“ No. I am your friend ! Whoever this man is, he can harm
you no farther. Fly and save yourself! The reports of the
pistols have alarmed the neighborhood. I heard them as I was
coming into the garden, and hastened hither and heard and saw
the. last of your contest. Fly ! In a minute more and you will
find escape impossible. Hear them I"

_ Dudley listened and heard footsteps and voices close at hand,
and above all rose the voice of his father.

“ I see it won't do for me to delay I" he said. “I will ee-
cape into Judge Gray’s garden.

“ You will find me under the linden-tree if you will come
there after all is quiet. Say nothing about this, but let them
suppose you were drawn here by the report of the pistols. My
man, I see, is insensible, so he can tell no tales at present. You
had best not let them find you here, but go round by’the
summer house, and come back by the garden gate as if you
had just come from your chamber. \ Let them find out how
the affair happened as they can. Good-bye for an hour. Ro-
member the linden tree, Charlly."

With these words he darted away beneath the shrubbery,
and had just disappeared as Colonel Cabot, followed by the
servants, including David, carrying a lantern. came up to the
entrance. of the walk where the man lay. Charlotte at the
same instant retired and escaped from view, as her brother had ,-
suggcsted, and as her own discretion had dictated. ,

The party advanced slowly, for they searched and called
every few steps as they advanced.

There were also persons coming into the garden from the
yards about, by climbing the fence. -

Voices were heard here and there. The crackling of branches
and the rustling of foliage reached the car from all sides. In-
deed the rcport of the three pistols in the garden at that hour,
seemed to have startled the Whole vicinity.

“ Let. us look in this walk while others go down that one I"
cried Colonel Cabot, who was without his hat and carried in
his han i an old sword. I'Iis air was bold and fearless, and his
step firm. “ Look under the trees, we may find some persons
wounded or dead, for their pistols were not fired for nothing:
and l have seen to-uight things suspicious enough to lead me
to believe that blood has been sited.”

,He had heard the three pistols one after the other, as he was
walking in his room, and his thoughts at once reverting to his
son, he believed that he had been recognised as he lurked about

 

10 THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

 

VIII seen to be just peeping over the rim of the hatch, and
Odd head being surmounted by an oil-cloth cap that belonged
to her brother, who at that moment was engaged below with
Mr. Frost in an interesting game of cribbage at three cents a
comer.
‘ Seeing that the captain paid no attention to her request, the
antiquated female elevated her voice, and cried—

“Mister captain, can’t you hear me? I can’t stand this
lhaking. I shall go all to pieces, if you won’t stop it."

“ We’ll save the pieces, ma'am," cried Tyrone.

“I wish you’d hold your tongue, sir. I was not dressing
myself to you, and I don't want any inflammation from you."

“ Inflammation! is it? Sure anY you don’t need that from
anybody.”

The old maid cast a look of scorn at him, but disdained any
further reply. She again shouted to the captain——

“ Will you listen to me or not, mister captain? Oh, you
jist wait till I git on shore, I’ll make the papers ring with
your barborious treatment of a young and an unpertected
lady." ’

“Not maniri' yerself, at all-at-all, ma’am; for ye are as ould
as the hills, and yer ugliness 'ud pertcot ye from the divil
himself," cried Tyrone.

“ Beast !—you horrid Irish hannibal l” now shrieked the old
maid. “ Oh if I could get at you, I‘d scratch your eyes out."

“I thought ye was related to the Cold Scratch,” said
Tyrone, with a most comical leer.

“ You did, did you! I’ll show you then i” and she ventured
the whole of her lengthy body upon deck, and holding on by
the railings, attempted to get to the tafl'rail where Tyrone
was standing.

“ You'd better go below, madam; you’ll get wet up here
with the spray,” said Capt. Lonsdaie.

“Then why can’t. you pertect me from the insults of that
horrid wulgarian I” cried the old maid. “Oh you wile
villain 1" she continued, shaking herclenched hand at Tyrone,
Ind still endeavoring to get to him.

It was unfortunate that she left the protection of the

hatchway, for just as she got. out upon the deck, a short swash
sea struck the weather bulwarks of the ship, and the top of
it came in-board and deposited about a hogshead of water
directly in the face and over the Sp:er form of Miss Priscilla.

She fell with a shock and screamed with a half—choked

voice.

“Help, help i I’m overboard! Save me! save me i" and
'tbn as she lay upon deck, half-covered with water, she struck
out with arms and legs as if she had already taken lessons in
swimming.

Tyrone and the captain both sprung to her aid and lifted
lbgr to her feet, and a sorry face did she present to them.

The curls—the three cherished curls were straight as a
candle, the rouge and powder on her cheeks lay in blotches,
'(u' was running off in rivulets.

“Help me below, oh do help me below or I shall flint!”
she said, not looking quite so fiercely upon Mr. Tyrone now
as die had a moment before, for the gentleman had his arm
around her waist and was supporting her very kindly.

“ It you think there’s any danger o' faintin, ma’am, hadn't
you better stay up here where wather is so plinty ‘2” said
Tyrone, who could not refrain from a joke.

“ Oh, no, no i I know I shall die, but do take me down
stairs, and put me to bed, and let me die decently.”

“ Sartinly, ma’am, if it is your wish to die dacent, I‘ve no
objections to helpin’ ye," said Tyrone, and raising the slim
pattern of mortality in his arms, as he would have done a
stufi'ad doll, he carried her below. I

In a moment he returned to the deck, and walking up to
Lonsdale, asked,

“ Which do you think is the most dangerous, captain—a
mad bull or a mad woman ?”

“ I'm sure I can’t say," said the captain, with a laugh.
“ You who have so much to do with bulls ought to know best.”

“ Sure, then, I think that a mad woman is the worst haste
of the two—axin your pardon, ma’am, for I didn’t know a lady
was so near me." - ,

This last part of Tyrone’s remark ’was caused by observing

\

I _ ,, ._.,_*.. .____5
Mrs. Frost, who at that moment came upon deck alone and

walked aft as steadily as an old seaman.

She simply bowed in acknowledgment to Tyrone‘s apology.
and he continued,

“ 'l‘hat ould maid, ma’am, has put me out o' sorts, or I'd
never have caught myself makin such an ungallant remark,
but she’s as sour as butthermilk that's nine days old, and that's
as sour as an unpaid creditor’s temper. Will you take my
arm, ma'am ? the ship rowls worse than e’er an ould tax cart.
Sure she’s in the cradle 0’ the say i”

The lady smiled—one of those sad, haughty smiles we have
noticed before, but politely declined taking his arm, and pea-
sed aft to the tafl‘rail. where she paused and turned her large
black eyes toward the southern horizon.

TWilight was deepening, but she could see the rising storm,
and instead of looking terrified or anxious her eyes flashed
with a wilder, gladder light than when she came upon deck.

“ We shall have a storm 1" she said, turning to the captain.

“ Yes, lady, I fear we shall i" he replied.

“ Fear 1’" she replied, in a tone of surprise. “ Fear ! you a
a sailor, and fear it ?"

“ For the sake of my passengers, lady, of course I dislike a
storm, yet I am prepared for it, and anticipate nothing more
than the discomfort usual in a storm,” he replied.

“ I care not for the discomfort," she replied, while her dark
eyes flashed wilder than ever. “ I love a storm—a glorious
storm—my very soul is in it. Oh, if I could be a spirit, to
ride on the very fronts of the clouds and sweep over the world
and see cowardly mortals shuddering under my frown, I would
be content. Fear a storm !—1 love it, as a miser loves his
gold—as a warrior loves the battle l”

“ Excuse me, lady, but I think ifyou were to see many the‘
romance would soon wenr away,” said the captain, smiling at
her wild enthusiasm.

“ What i when I can see a sight so grand as that ? Never,”
replied the lady, pointing to the mass of clouds rising to the
southward, which at that moment were lighted up by a long,
vivid flash of lightning.

“ My dear deary i" cried a cracked voice from the cabin
hutchway, “ do come down ; you’ll catch cold there."

Mrs. Frost did not even deign to look toward her husband,
who now endeavored to come upon the deck, but was rather
timid about trusting himself on such slippery footing.

" Deary l" he again cried ; “ Elementa, my love, come here,
I want you."

The wife still paid no attention to him, and the old gentle-
man, concluding that the storm made so much noise she could
not hear, attempted to go to her.

She saw this ; and turning to him, in a tone'of careless scorn.
she said,

“ You had better stay below, sir; this is no place for you.
You may catch cold up here."

“ But do come down, my dear ; do come down !” urged the
old man. “ We’ll make up a game of whist below ; Mr. Ty~
rone'll come in, won’t you P"

“ I shall not go down !" said the lady, in a decided tone.

“ Then ‘I'll come up ad stay with you, my dear I" said the
old man, and he attempted to reach the side of his wife.

It was but an attempt, however, for just as he got his feet
upon the deck, a gust of wind came which not only deprived
him of his wig and hat, but also of his footing, and in a mo-
ment he was sprawling upon the wet and slippery deck.

“ Shan‘t I take him bt-lOW, mu’am ?" asked Mr. Tyrone.

“ You will oblige me if you do i" replied the young wife.

Tyrone quietly raised up the poor old fellow, and tucking
him under his arm as he would an umbrella, walked below
with him.

It was now growing dark, and with the darkness both the
wind and the sea rose higher and higher. Yet the young wife
stayed upon the deck, regardless of the spray which began to
dash over her, and of the repeated messages sent her by her
husband.

“ Beautiful I glorious 1" she would exclaim, as the red light-
ning lighted up the black and ragged masses of clouds which
came sweeping along with the howling gale.

“ The divil take her taste I” muttered Tyrone tohimulf, u

 

THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

11

 

he heard her remarks. “Sure, if she calls that beautiful,
wouldn't she call that a delightful death ‘2"

He did not intend that the lady should hear his remark, but
she heard the latter part, and said,

“ It would be delightful, compared with a wretched life, sir.”

" I belave yer more than half right, ma’am, “ said Tyrone, a
little abashed when he found himself overheard ; “ but your
life cannot be so wretched, sure—one so young and so beauti-
ful l—” _

“ Did you ever see a. flower buried beneath a snow drift ?"
said she, quickly interrupting him.

“ A could berth it ’ud have, ma'am," said Tyrone.

“Such as I have in life! Why should I love life ?” said the
lovely woman, haughtily; then without waiting a reply, she
turned and walked to another part of the vessel.

“ She's s strange crater! Be my sowl ! I pity her though i”
said Tyrone, “ to be tied up as she is to that ould lump 0' dried
bones."

CHAPTER VII.
A MYSTERY.

WHEN Mrs. Frost left the side of Tyrone, she passed along to
where the main-rigging of the vessel was fastened to the chain
plates, and there paused, and sustaining herself against the
heavy rigging, again looked out upon the storm.

"Oh how grand l" she murmured, as she saw the storm
Ireshening up every moment.

" Yes, lady, it is indeed so i" said the deep voice of one who
had stood there, ere she came, without hot being aware of it.
She recognised the_voice.

" Is it you, my lord ‘2” she asked.

“ It is. lady I” replied Lord Wimsett, for this was he.

“ And you think this scene beautiful '2”

“ It is grand, very grand 1”

“Then, my lord, you are the only man of soul that I have
met yet. I do not say it for a compliment—but all the rest
regard this scene as a fearful one.”

“ It is fearful to those who love life over-much.”

“And do not you love life, my lord 7”

" I'am sorry to say, lady, that I care but little for it."

“ Are you not young, and wealthy, and, most of all,free .9”

“ I am all these; lady, but I am not happy ?”

“ I know it, my lord. and because I, too, am unhappy, and
feel, in your sadness, the sympathy of self-suffering, I have
dared to speak to you as I have."

“ I am sorry, lady', to know that you, too, are unhappy--but
is not this damp spray unpleasant to you ‘2 Had you not better
go below ?”

“ No, my lord ; Iprefer remaining here. If below, I should
be exposed to endearinents from one I hate—from the dotard
to whom I am bound.”

" Have you been married long?” asked the young lord.

“ Too, too long l” she replied bitterly.

“ You are very young ‘l” said he.

" Yes, and even younger than I look. Troubles like mine
make one grow old very quick.”

“ Lady, I dare not ask you of those troubles, yet I can deeply
sympathise with you."

“ Yes, I need sympathy 1 You will not ask but I will tell
you,—-I am a slave l I was bought—bought by the man who
calls me his wife. I married him for gold—for gold to save
my‘father's honor and life. I could not tell you all now—It
is a long and a. strange story, but it is a. wild one. Were you
to hear it you would not wonderthat I hate the man whocalls
Ine wile—that I am so careless of life."

“ Is your father living 7" asked the young lord.

“No,” replied the lady, with a shudder. " No, I blasted
myself to save him, but it was too late. I was deceived and
betrayed. Iam only living now for revenge. I shall soon
be the mistress of millions, for the old dotard will die and
leave me all his wealth, and then I shall go and seek rooms,
“on revenge as a Sponishwoman on Word to live for."

 

 

“You must have been deeply wronged, indeed i" said ho,
" to feel so bitterly l”

“ Aye, I was wronged, a noble father was ruined and then
foully slain, and all because I was beautiful and would not
listen to a villain's love i" said the lady bitterly.
in “ Does the wretch yet live ‘2” asked the young man.

“ Yes, and is high in rank and power, but wo be unto him,
when again we meet.”

i “Your history must be one of strangeness and romance 1”
said the young lord.

“ It is, and perchance you shall hear it ere long—yours, too,
must be strange.”

“It is, lady, but I cannot reveal it—there are others too
closely involved in it for me to betray their secrets !"

“ Then you have loved!"

“Never—never l” replied the young lord. "Except my
mother, I do not know that I have a tie on the wide earth.”

“ Then let us befi'iends,” said the lady. “ I can be no more
to you—would that I were your sister !”

“Sister!” echoed the young man, in a tone of deep feeling.
“ I wish I had a sister.’,’

“ Then feel that I am one," said the young lady.

" Thank you, lady," said he. “I had a sister once, but we
were separated in very early childhood, and I can scarce re-
member her. But I must not speak of her now.”

“ Why not P There is some strange mystery in your life,
and I, with woman’s curiosity, would pierce it !”

“ You may not, lady. Were it only mine, I would share
the secret with you,—liut I cannot l"

“ I will not ask it ; but I thank you for your kindness and
sympathy to me. Of all aboard, you alone are a kindred
spirit—were you not here I should indeed be aloha." Z

Warm words, very warm words, for a married woman to
use toward a handsome young man, the reader will say, but
there is far less harm in words than deeds.

The storm had now broken upon the vessel. The dark V
clouds envclOpel her like u shroud, and the hoarse gale scream-
ed wildly through her rigging.

Her sails had all been furled, the wind was fair, and she
kept on her course, with her huge wheels turning rapidly in
the foaming water. ’

The sea hogan to grow rougher all the time, and every little
while it would bent over the vessel, deluging the decks and
drenching those who were exposed to it.

" I pray you go down," said the young lord tohis beautiful
companion.

5,, “And leave you here ?” she asked.

“ No—I will go down, too."

“ And read to me? I cannot sleep when the elements are
awake. I feel as if I was a sister spirit with them to-night."

“I will read to you if you desire ; but as you spoke of the
elements, a curiosity arose in my mind. Why were you called
Elemental? It is a singular name."

“ It is, and was given to me by my father, who was a sin-
gular man, but a very noble one. Why he gave it to me I do
not know.”

The two now left the upper deck, and upon going below,
found that all of the passengers were still up and in the main
cabin. "

Mr. Frost was sitting close to a. stanchion, clasping it very
tightly to keep himself from falling, and watching the comp
panion way with anxious eyes.

As he saw his wife come down, leaning on the arm of the
young lord, his little eyes flashed angrily, and he said in .
petulant tone to his wife,— _

“I’ve been waiting for you, my dear. It was very wrong
for you to stay up there in the cold and wet.”

“ Some people like being out in the dark with other peoplg

. I guess i” said the old maid, spitefully.

Mrs. Frost, or Donna Elements, as we prefer to call her.
made no reply to her husband, nor did she notice the remark
of the spiteful old maid, but bowing her thanks to the young
lord, pas-led directly to her state room.

The ,old man quickly followed after her, and at the same
time the young lord passed to his room. -

, It soon appeared. however, that they only mind to Ms" .

 

 

12 THE CVAIYIP-FIBELLIBRVARY.

-

 

“What will become of you, sirrah 2" at length thundered
out his incensed father.

" I shall silly at home and enjoy myself till I am of age, and
then I hope you will leave me a very handsome fortune that I

may trqu abroad and live like a noble."

This was spoken hy the young man of eighteen \\ iih the most
impvrturlmhlc coolness as he \\':lll\'vtl >lowly up and down the
c mind. before his father, his hands thrust into the pockets of his

very fashionable lrowsvrs.

“ You have crushed all my hopes," responded the father, bit-
terly. “ Why, oh why, will you throw yourself away ! where
in the devil did you get all this love mischiefin you, you are as
immoral as a Turk, and seem to have no more regard for a good
name than a pirate l

“ I could turn you out of the house this morning. For God's
sake, Dudley my boy, have pity on your poor father! Do not
disgrace inc thus! I can hardly lift up my head for :«haxne on
your account. I seem to read in all men's eyes the. knowledge
of my son's dishonor. Promise me that you will try and act
uprightly and give up these champagne suppers; and these
dashing drives at midnight the, lord kuo‘w3 where, or with whom;
this billiale playing: this idle, dissolute, smoking, debauched
life, and hen man. You are yet young. You can yet redeem
your character, and the past will go to the account of youthful
indiscrelions. I will send you to some community in the South
where you are not known, and where you can establish a char
acter. Only promise me, my dear Dudley l"

“I shall promise nothing. WhntI am I am, and can't be any-
body else. I have aIWuys had my own way and I will have it
now. I have made up my mind never to cross the threshhold of
Another college I" This was spoken with decision.

“Then what do you intend to do ‘2” grouned his father, look-
Ing upon him with blank despair.

" l have told you. I shall remain at home and enjoy myself
till I am of age, and then go abroad. I have education enough
for a gentleman of leisure. No more Greek and mathematics
for me. Not I. l intend to be a gentleman about town. I shall
live at home with you, and have my friends her: . I shall ex—
pect a ci-rtnin amount from you quarterly—what that sum will
be I can tell better at the end of the first three months. I Shall
turn the south front. chamber into a parlor and furnish it hand-
somely, and give suppers and dinners there when Iplcase. In
fact, Colonel, I intend to live I"

" It would seem so,” responded Mr. Cabot, with painful
emotion. But he knew that it was in vain for him to protest or
urge his wishes further. Dudley had from boyhood been in.
dulged in every wish, and now he was to be denied the fullest
gratification of his desires. He on his part knew that his
father had wealth, and was able to supply all his demands upon
his purse, and he was resolved that his enjoyment of life should
be limited only by the limits of his father's purse. “ Isuppose,"

added his father snrcastically, “ that you will want horses, and

perhaps a footninn !"

“ I shall want horses by all means. I think I can do without
a footmnn, and I shall also do my own driving. All I want is
to live in style becoming your son I"

" How do you expect. Dudley, to command good society
when you have been degraded from two Universities for im-
morality and insubordinution ‘2 I do not see that you will be
countenanced "

“I shall find society enough, father. Do not fear. I can
give a dinner to forty young gentlemen to-morrow that would
make you envy your son's position in society. I’shuw l I have
only been dissipated at college and expelled. This is an every
day affair! It never hurts a young man. People look upon him
as a young gentleman of spirit. \Vhy, I could show you some
milk and water fellows in co legc who would give a right eye
if they conhl only get up steam enough to have a great spree
and get expelled. Don’t fear me, Colonel l I shall not disgrace
you. Why, there is not a young lady in the city that will cut
me because I have been expelled. Not a smile or a bright cye
less will fall upon me.", I

“You seem to view your disgrace full lightly. Every grave
person will view it as I (lo—a mark of infamy—a badge of dis-
honor. I am at a loss to conceive how you should have turned
out so evil, Dudley, and grievod my spirit as you have. when

 

all your life I have own ducal-4:, J0!“ happiness. I. have in.
dulged your every wish. I have anticipated every want. I have
surronmled you with comforts and luxuries. And this is the
return l getl You are indeed most ungrateful l Look at your
Sister.

" She hashad but atithe of my care and littvulion; she has
been scarcely indulged, and indeed held hut a light place in my
affections. compared “ith yourself. Yet she never has ofli-ndt'd
me. She is submissive, gentle, l'(‘>1)0('lilll. She pursues her
studies with diligence, and her teachers speak to me _of her with
pleasure and pride, which I begin to share wlth them."

"You cannot, father, nor can any one speak too highly of
sister Charlly. She is the noblest girl that ever lireuihcd.
She does right naturally, without possibility of doing wrong.
Young as she is, scarcely thirteen, she possesses a character
already that commands even my respect. I love to hear her
spoken of, for she is very dear to me."

“ I wish you were more like her, Dudley."

“I might have been if you had brought me up with the same
strict severity; though she owes her goodliness to nature more
than to her mode of being educated at home. Still, if you had
loved me wi~ely, I should have been a different man from what
I am likely to make. You have cultivated by indulgence all
these attributes of my nature which should have been subdued
and tempered by healthy restraint, so that the had and passion-
ate are uppermost and new rule. So do not blame me, Colopel.”

His father sighed heavily, and his conscience painfully ac-
knowledged the cutting truth of his words. He rose, left the
room, and sought his chamber to hide his secret grief.

What an hour and time was this for the christian man to
exercise itself! But the lawyer was not nchristan man. He
never looked upward either in prosperity to think, or in adversi-
ty to eonfide. He was ignorant of the path of penCe and
serenity. It was now that he needed to tread in it with feet of
faith and the hand of prayer. But he knew not the wayl
Earthly, his solncca came from earth. His hopes were earthly.
When they were crushed, he was bowed down to the earth in
despair and misery. He knew not how to lift the eye of tho
spirit to a world where the hopes that die here shall bloom
forever and cvermore.

Never had the voice of prayer, never had the hands of sup-
plication been raised above the head of his child by that earth.
ly father! From infancy to his verging manhood he had never
been blessed with the sweet dews of a father's prnyem How
then shouldthd wretched parent now pray for him. He could
not. He walked his chamber with an undefined feeling-that he
needed help for his boy more than human. Ho had seen him
insensible to his entrcaties, his tears, his threats, his command.
“The law can alone restrain the boy," he at length exclaimed
in his wretched despair. “ No power but this can reform him.‘

Alas, for the earthly man who is ignorant of the power of an
influence that can change crimson to snowy white; that can
make evil become good, and out of darkness bring forth light.
Alas, for the father that knows not the power of a father's prayer
to the great Father of all. Destituts and wretched must he be,
calling for the deepest sympathy of our natures. We will leave
the distressed parent to his unillumined grief. upon which no
light of hope could ever fall, unless it came from the skies.

Dudley Cabot pursued to the letter his proposed career! He
entertained the gayest youths of the town; he gave suppers;
he gave dinners; he played billiards ; he visited the theatre,
where he kept his private box; he set fashions in dress, and
even his peculiarities of walk and tone of voice were copied by
his worshipping associates. He was enjoying himself to his

.heart's content. His father feared to refuse him money. for he
kncw the young man would not hesitate to take any steps to
obtain it from him, even using personal violence. The name of
this guy youth was in every mouth. The graver citizens prophe:
sied his downfall, and some of them, who were his father’s
friends, remonsirnted with Cabot upon his son’s course. -

“What can I do ‘2" was the reply of the unhappy father. " I
cannot restrain him. I have no influence over him] He does
what he will I"

Although Dudley Cabot conceived himself to be perrocfly
happy in the mode of life which he pursued, and rejoiced in the
homage and deference of the weak young men by whom he wu

 

 

surrounded and flattered, yet his reputation was at. a discount
in the community. One after another those acquaintances who
valued their characters refused to recognize him in the street;
and the respectable females. companions of his sister, on whose
fancied approbation he prided himself, no longer looked up and
smiled and bowed as they passed him. He saw this change,
but, instead of reforming and making himself worthy of tluir
regards, he fortified himself with haughty pride, and despised
all who became cold in their manner toward him.

But there was one exception to the uniVersal censure passed
by society upon his conduct and character. There was one
young and beautiful girl who was blind to all his faults, though
aware of his immorality of character. This was Isabel Gray,
the daughter of an eminent gentleman, whose residence was on
a street parallel with that upon which Dudley lived, and sepa-
rated in the rear only by the two gardens attached to the respec-
tive mansions. Isabel Gray was a fine, true-hearted girl, of
warm feelings and great inteligcnce, combined with the most
charming modesty.

She was two years older than Charlotte Cabot, yet the two
young girls were the most intimate companions. From child-
hood they had been at the same school and pursued the same
studies. Their attachment was as strong and pure as ever
existed between twin sisters. Isabel had an only brother,
Arthur Gray, who was just the age of Dudley Cabot, and the
two lads were as firmly bound in friendship as the two maidens

Next to his sister, Dudley Cabot loved the dark-eyed Isabel,
and their youthful atllctiou grew with their growth. When
she heard that Dudley was expelled from the University, she
excused him as well as prudence would suffer her to do, though
it grieved her that one she loved should incur the censure of
any persons. Shetwished that he should be honored and as
teamed by all.

When a second time he was degraded and returned home,
she wept bitter tears; but when he came to‘her, and in his own
way told the tale. givix g it. his own coloring, and throwing the
blame upon others, she saw in him rather an injured person
than a guilty one, and her affection became unchanged.

During- his latter career of guilt and dissipation. which we
'huve been describing. she still continued her fittachment to him
with unwavering affection; for, young as she was, her heart
was bound up in him with a woman’s truthful and enduring
love. She heard tales ofhis excesses; and, when he could not
defend himself, he laughed away her fears and reprool‘s.

But, as he progressed in his career, the truth that he was
degraded in the eyes of the reflecting portion of the community
could not but force it elf upon her. She heard her young
friends reprove her for being seen walking in the street with
him, for they plainly told her it was casting a shade upon her
fair chiracter to be known .to countenance him. Isabel, on
luch occasions, would warmly defend him ; but when she found
that those whose opinions she most respected censured her, she
could only hide herself in her chamber and give way to her
tears. It was hard for the young. generous and poor girl to be-
.lieve that he whom she had known and loved from childhood
was unWUrthy ofher. She could not see guilt in one she loved,
for she felt, in the instinctive innocence of her heart, that she
could never love one who was so evil as Dudley Was represented.

One morning she was in her room and in tears. Her heart
had received a shock that nearly overwhelmed her. She had
heard, only a few minutes before, that in a sudden broil the night
before, Dudley had stabbed a young gentleman and fled. The
intelligence was conw-yed to her shrinking cars by one of the
servants, who had been to the post-office.

She at first resolutely denied it, saying that: it was a fabrica-
tion of his enemies; for so artfully had Dudley always defended
himself to her, though somewhat wild and gay, as more sinned
against than sinning. One word from him would silver our the
most disgraceful rumor against his good name. 'Love easily
believes what it wishes to believe. The sister and the maiden
believed his Words, and thus sustained him, without being
aware of the fatal consequence, in his lawless acts.

The servant, however, now reiterated so positively the fact
which he had reported that poor Isabel could not but believe
him. She felt that Dudley was capable of such a deed, for she
had witnessed more than on exhibition of his fiery and im-

 

THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. 13

 

.A .. -7 -J

hous nature‘ vet love veiled all, and for-wave and hoot-1H
pP.l v _ ‘ it

Once she had seen him go into the house for a pi-lol; and com.
ing out Shot. dead a noble Newfoundland (loQ‘ lit-eause he could
not find and bring; to the surface of the pond a ].t-l,l,1,. I“. Lad
cast into it. This fierce and cruel not made a dw p and puiuft.l
impression upon her mind, nor did she foreiu- him until he
had in the most humble and penitent manner sought her pardon,

Before going to her room to hide her tears she sent the ser-
vant who had brought the news of Dudley 's crime, to ask Char-
lotte to come and sue her. While She was waiting- for her, and
almost distracted with her horror at the crime, and her rams
for and sympathies with the flying Dudley, the door opened and
her brother stood before her. lie was then in his last collegiate
year, and the most promising young man in the University, “a
was tall and finely fDrmcd, with a fair complexion ; a clear,
sparkling blue eye; brown hair, shading an expressive and in.
tellectually shaped forehead, and a smiling benevolent counte-
nance, stamped nevertheless with decision.

He had from childhood been the companion and friend of
Dudley, even as their sisters had been to each other But as
Dudley grew up and began to manifest a spirit of insubordina-
tion and destitution of moral feeling, young Arthur Grey
gradually withdrew from his intimate companionship, though
he was outwardly friendly and kind. In college he did not
associate with him, and one or two attempts on his part to in-
fluence him to pursue a More honorable career, being received
by Dudley with angry disdain, he had from that time ceased all
further intimacy with him. W'hen they met it was with a cold
bow of recognition ; for none become such cool acquaintances as
those who have once been warm friends. c

This was the subject of their daily thoughts and conversation,
whenever they met, after there could no longer be thrown any
disguise, even by the hand of love, over the evil character of
the young man. They Wept together over his growing degra-
dation. and planned together ways more romantic than wise
for reforming him.

By the aid of Charlotte, Dudley often saw Isabel at his own
residence, and many were the secret meetings and walks the
lovers had in the gardens that lay between the two mansions.
At l -n :th Arthur begin to suspect that his sister secretly
met the young man, and trembling for llcrsafety and happiness.
he resolved to remain at home one gvening, instead of return-
ing, as he had put-posed, to Cambridge. Concealing himself, be
closely watched his sister, and by and by followed her into the
garden. He saw Dudley pass through the stile that separated
the gardens and join her. Burning with rage and grief, Arthur
at once advanced upon them, and laying his hand gently upon
his sister's arm, said firmly:

"Isabel, go into the house I”

Surprised and confused, she was about to obey, filled with
alarm, when Dudley sprang forward, and caught. her by the
hand, and detaining her, confronted Arthur,

"' She shall not go, sir i" he cried fiercoly, "and dare to lay
I finger rudely upon her, Arthur Grey, and you shall answer
it to me. 1 have utter contempt for a man who will play the
spy."

“ Your contempt or esteem, Mr. Cabot, are alike indifi‘erentto
me. Leave these premises, sir I"

“ [_will not quarrel before this trembling and terrified girl,"
said Dudley. “ Another time we may meet, when circumstances
will be more favorable to our interview. Good night, Isabel l"

He was about to press a kiss upon her check with the coolest
impudence, and that contempt of her brother’s presence, which
his words expressed, when quicker than lightning, the indig-
uant brother struck him a blow in the face, and felled him to
the ground. Isabel shrieked, and threw herSelf upon the insen-
sible form 'of her lover, whom she so blindly loved, and while
she poured forth words of tenderness and grief for him, she
mingled with them bitter words against her brother. IIer con-
duct deepened his resentment, both against her and Dudley,
and raising her up as he saw the young man begin to revive,.lie
rapidly bore her to the house—locked her in the librar , wluch
opened into the garden. He then hastened back to the spot
where he left Dudley. He found him just getting upon his feet,
and muttering the deepest curses against him.

“ I Ml! glad to see that 1 have not killed you, Mr. Cabot, for

 

 

14 ‘ THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

BR. -_.

 

watherl Sure it’s them that'll have the heavy hearts, if we
never get over to ’em, for they’re lookin’ for me back with the
bit 0' money] ha’ wi’ me, which was to kape us from iver
partin’ agin l” p

“ Well we’ll hope and try for the best, Tyrone," said the
young captain. “ But we must prepare for the worst, there.
fore I shall have to put all hands upon short allowance 1"

" Ould Prime ’ll grumble at that—it is the only way you
could ofi‘end him 1" said Tyrone, brushing away a tear from
his cheek, “ but I’ll do all loan to help ye, cap’nl Let my
heart be ever so heavy, I’ll keep a light tongue and do all I
can to aid ye.”

" Thank you, my noble friendl Your aid will be useful.
Tht re’s nothing like a good laugh to keep the devil out of a
ship’s company. If I had my way, I'd? always have a ship’s
jester hired and kept about .”

CHAPTER IX.
A YANKEE sKIPPEn.»--

IT was even as Tyrone had prophesied. When the captain
acquainted the crew and passengers that, in consequence of
their situation, he felt it his duty to put them on short allow-
ance of drink and provisions, Mr. Prime was the only man to
grumble.

“ I've paid my fare,” he cried, “ and it included provisions
and wine, and I mean to have it.”

“ You shall fare precisely as the rest do, sir,” said the
captain.

“ But I won't,sir! I'm a large man, sir, a fat man, sir I”
cried Mr. Prime.

“ Then why don’t ye do as the fat bears do P” said Tyrone,
with a laugh—" they suck their paws."

“ This is no laughing matter, sir,” cried Prime, “ you may
be funny on other subjects, but there‘s no fun in this to me.
I’ve got my own private stores at any rate, there’s a good lot
of them!"

“ I'm glad to hear it, sir l" said the captain.

“ You are, are you ! I reckon you think you‘ll go snacks
with me, but you won't l” said Mr Prime, his face growing
redder than ever.

“I don’t think much about it, sir,” replied Captain L. " You
will have to put your uterus into the general lot, and receive
only your share, and that a small one.

“I won't stand it. I dare you to touch my private stores.
I’ll knock the first man down that looks inside of my state
room l" shouted the enraged Englishman ; “ I’ll have you up
for this, if there's law or Gospel in England l"

“Well, well, sir; wait till we get there before you talk of
law. Just now we have no law except that of necessity."

"I don’t see any necessity—we've got three months’ provi~
sions on board."

“ Yes, sir, and it may be six months before we can get out

- of this ice—if we ever can. We are very‘fur north now and
drifting farther every hour." '

Mr. Prime was about to make some reply, when a very
strange looking figure was seen to enter the cabin.

What his form was one could hardly say, for it was closely
enveloped in a large white bear skin, but the black wool but
over his head, which was tied down with a red woollen tippet,
did not look quite so savage. A very red face, fronted by a
blue nose, could be seen under this hat, and two small grey
eyes peered out from under heavy white eye-brows.

“ How do dew !” said this strange individual, and then tak-
ing a pair of woollen mittens from his hands, be advanced to
the stove and warming his hands, added,—

“ I rayther guess you didn’t spect to find nobody here.”

“Why who are you—where are you from i’ you did not sail
with us," said the captain, in surprise.

“No, I reckon not. I’ve been friz up in this ere blasted ice-
field nigh onto tow months in my smack, the Jerusha Ann.
fills lays jest obeout three rails of—but I send you state you

 

got inter the ice, and as soon as I seed you was safe, I thought
I’d come over and be neighborly like.”

“ Then you have a vessel in the ice ?"

“ Yes, my sloop’s fruz up. I got blowed 03 the Banks, and
had to let the sloop take her own way, and them she isl I don’t
keer tho,’ for I’ve an ideer if we keep a driftin’ much longer,
we‘ll get up to Symmes’ Hole, and I hev a nation ideer of get-
ting in there, jist to see where I would come out i"

“ How large is your vessel, and how many your crew ?"
asked the captain.

" Why, we’re four, all told. There’s me and Jethro, my
first mate: he‘s my brother, and does the cookin’ too; and.
there‘s Aaron the second mate, but he ain’t much use in cold
weather, and there’s Zebedee, the boy, he's a nation good band
in his bunk."

“ So you’ve only one foremost hand ?”

“ Oh, we all live in the cabin—we’re all democratic repub-
licans—you‘re a Britisher, I calc’late P”

“ Yes, sir ;this is an English steamer—her majesty's ship

11 .—
-———-

" Then Ireckon her majesty’s ship is pooty snugly moored
for the winter."

“ Have you any idea how large this field of ice is ?” inquired
the captain.

“ No, not prezectly. I’ve been out a huntin’ and I've walk-
ed nigh on tew twenty mile north, and hain’t seen no clear
water."

“ You’ve been successful in hunting, I presume ‘1”

“ Yes, kinder lucky. I killed tew of these creeturs,” replied
the Yankee captain, shaking the skin which he were over his '
shoulders, “ and tew seals besides.”

“ Did’nt the bears give you trouble ?” a

“I guess they did. I killed this ere chap close alongside
of the sloop. He was comin aboard without leave, and so I
put tew bullets, into him and he didn’t die then till I took the
cook’s axs and went and chopped his darned head off."

“What were you doing when you got blown of?”

“Oh, I was coming up to the nor'nrd to trade. I heern tell
that the Injins up along the coost was mighty slack at a
bargain, so I thought I might make suthin handsome out
on ’em.”

“ What’s your cargo ?”

“Tew or three barril of old iron. sich as nails and horse
shoes, 9. lot of brass buttons, a whole box full of beads, some
red flannel that my folks made tew hum, and looking glasses
fixed tew paper boxes painted like all natur, and a hull lot of
paint fixins and red and yaller ribbons l”

“ Pretty good assortment l” said Tyrone, with a laugh.

" You may well say that—l’m an old hand at trudin, and
know jest what kind of truck the Ingins like".

“ Have you got plenty of provisions ?” asked Mr. Prime,
dolefully.

" Why, as to that," reply the Yankee, “ we’re pooty well
ofl'. Got nigh unto a cord of codfish, tew barrel of pork, four
jugs of ’lasses and ten or tw’lve bushels of beans, not countin'
in about three sacks of dried pumpkins that our Lucinder
put up to serve .us when we got out of biscuit.”

“ Do you know what our latitude is?" asked Lonsdale.

“Well, I reckon, yes. I took the sun with my pig-yoke at
dinner-time, and cordin to it we’re away up most tow My I ”

“ Yes, you are near right,” returned Lonsdale.

“And we’re driltin on like mad all the hull time,” con-
tinued the Yankee. “ We’ll not be long a-gittin to the
North Pole at this rate." I

“We’ll be longer getting back" again, I’m afraid,” said Ty.
rone, sadly. '

“ If we only had provisions plenty I would not care,” groan-
ed Prime.

" There’s a smart chance of bears scattered round ; and the
bear meat's fine," said the Yankee.

" Is it ?” and the Englishman’s eyes brightened up.-

‘Yes,l tried mine and I’ve got some of it fruz up fresh
new. It tastes first rate fried: but I’ve had to be mighty
keerful of fire lately—I’m most out 0' wood l”

._ "Had you not better bring your crew on heard u u; ‘

 

can afford room, and one fire will keep us all warm,” said
captain Lonsdale.

“ Thankee—thankee kindly ; but I'd rayther not l” replied
the Yankee. “There's nuthin I like so well as bein' in-
dependent. As long as my sloop sticks together, I mean tew
stick tew her ; but that won't hinder me from bein’ neighborly.
I’ll come over to see you once in a while, seein I live so close
by ?”

" Won’t you take something to drink, sir?" asked Prime,
who seemed to wish tocultivate the friendship of the skipper.

“Not if you mean spa-Mal” replied the other; “I never
drinks nothin stronger ’ an cider or switchell. When you
come to see me. I‘ll make you some capital switchell."

“ What is that ‘2” asked Prime

“Why, ’lasses and water, with a drop of winegar in it to
make it taste sarcy l” replied the skipper. “ Did’ntyou never
drink none, mister?"

"Probably not,” said the captain; “ but I don’t think a
glass of brandy could do you any hurt.”

“Don’t know as twonld ,” said the skipper, “and don't
know as twould'nt, so I guess I‘ll not tech it. Our ould

deacon, Squire Grant, used to say it was pison, and I took a

dislike to it ever since "

“ Well, sir, just as you like; but where does your vessel
lay P"

“Why she’s wedged in, atop of the ice, just to the west’ard
of here about three mile, I reckon.

“ Golly ! its a’most sun-down. I must be slidin' home aforo
dark, or some of these bars may be a huntin’ me."

“ Well, sir, you will come and visit us again P”

“ Yes, aater you’ve been to see me. When I’m to burn I
don't stand on ceremony, but in foreign parts I can stick up
for etekett as well’s anybody.”

Wu must now leave these new neighbors and old friends fol
8 “me. dear reader, and go to the lodge of the Ice-King.

CHAPTER X.
was ATTACK.

‘Uron leaving the palace of the Waikallah, Ossiniwa hastened
badr to his camp, to prepare for removing his band and their
little property to the island.

As is usual with the Indians, a brief council was held, in
which the old men were consulted; for the uncivih'zed savages
always pay deep respect to the wisdom and experience of the
aged. thereby differing much from the civilized whites of the
«present generation.

The band, proud of the honor of being allied with the rich
'white man, and of receiving arms that they could use with
terrible efl’cct, all agreed to the proposition, and hurried to
strike their skin lodges and prepare for the change.

Until the council was over, Ossiniwa did not approach his
lodge.

When he did, he saw his young wife. the beautiful Lula,
standing by the entrance, regarding him with a mournful
gaze. As he approached she opened the who of fur which
covered her bosom and showed him his child as it slept on
her bosom.

He, however, did not appear to notice it, but passed haughtin
by, and entering his lodge, seated himself upon his couch of
rich furs. .

Lula quickly hastened to bring him food. He partook of
.it silently, and with a moody frown on his brow.

“ Is the heart of the War Eagle in a cloud ‘2" murmured the
woman. “ It Is night where his heart walks P"

The warrior did not reply, but ate on, scarce seeming to
heed that she was present. I

Having finished his “hasty” meal, the warrior arose, and
taking down a sea-shell which hung in a basket on one of
his lodge poles. and which contained vermillion and black
paint, he preceded deliberately to adorn, or rather, to horrify
ah'u face, byulrawing alternate streaks of each color om it.

1

THE CAMPfIi'IRE LIBRARY. 15

 

 

 

 

“ The War Eagle will dig up the hatchet of blood !" mar.
mured the youngr wife, sadly. “His band is small—with
whom will he go to war ‘2"

" With Co-atchee the Snakel Ossiniwa will strike him to
the heart I” replied the warrior, proudly. Then gathering up
his rifle and ammunition, and loosening his knife in his girdle;
he stepped to the front of his lodge and yelled the war-cry
of his tribe.

It was echoed from the rest of the warriors in a moment,
and soon the proud chieftain saw his small but now well-
armed hand standing before him, painted and dressed for the
battle.

Gathering around the large council fire they commenced the
war dance,while under the instructions of the old men, the
women and children hurriedly struck their lodges and loaded
them and their scanty stores of provisions and furs upon
sledges, to which they harnesseddogs, of which a large num~
her were in the encampment

The very old people and the smallest children were piled in
upon the sledges, like bales of furs, for they were almost
smothered in the wrappings which they were now swathed in.

It does not take long to break up an Indian encampment—
especially a poor one—therefore the party of Ossiniwa were
soon ready for a start.

One of the old men now set up a sad and singular chant,
and the train started from the grove at a slow and steady
pace, taking the trail to the island.

They were followed by the war party, who ever and anon
made the air resound with their shrill and piercing yells.

Suddenly, however, these ceased, as in the far distance they
saw the white plain spotted with dark objects, and Ossiniws.
at once conjectured that others were on the war path besides
himself.

He was right.
Co-atchee, maddened with his reception by the Walkallah.

had hastened back to his encampment, and with a large force,
was already coming forth to avenge the afi‘ront.

His first intent was to crush the feeble band of Ossiniwa, to
destroy his encampment utterly, and thus cut off those who
had always acted as hunters for the Walkallah, that he might
shorten the provisions of the latter, for he was not aware of
the immense stores of food, arms and ammunition possessed
by the white man.

As soon as Ossiniwa discovered the war party of the Snake,
he bade his train dash rapidly on to the cover of the Walkal-
lah’s palace, while he, with his scanty hand of braves, slowly
and steadily retreated, covering.the flight of their women and
old men.

‘5 Co-atchee soon saw the party, and knowing their destina-
tion, as also their scanty numbers, rushed on with his large
band, purposing to force them to battle long ere they could
gain the Walkallah's island.

0n, like a maddened drove of wild bufi‘aloes, or like the
dark clouds which front the storm, rushed he and his painted
warriors. They were very many—at least two hundred.

Yet Ossiniwa shouted with a warrior’s joy as he saw them
come, for his men were armed with the terrible rifle, and he
knew that he could slay many of the foe, and that if con-
quered, he would die well avenged. '

The ground was now a dead level. They had passed all the
hills. There was not a rock, or bush, or tree between them
and the Walkallah‘s island to shelter them from the foe, who
Were gaining rapidly upon them; for their laden train and
old men could not move so fast as the eager warriors ad-
vanced. Still he continued to retreat.

But an old man quickly told him that if this was done.
while the others were engaged with the war party, some of
Co-atcliee’s band would pass on and capture the train.

“ The wise man speaks true 1” replied Ossiniwa; “ we must
fight here."

He then halted his train, and forming his sledges into a
hasty breastwork, ensconced his women and children in the
rear, making them lay down upon the ground, and then
ranged his warriors along behind the cover of their packs
and sledges.

h This was quite a piece of goneralship, and it was very not.

 

18 THE CAMP-FIRE DaBRARY.

ho gasped, with the cowardly fears of guilt, as death stared
him in the face.

“ Release Llit: dagger, then I"

“I will, I will! there, take it! Now let me up! I shall——
Conic, let me up; I cannot hang here a moment longer 1"

CHAPTER VII.
mu STRANGICR AND THE cum.

ARTHUR released his grasp upon the throat of the young man
5nd let him recover his footing upon the bridge. He then
restored to him the dagger he had taken from him, saying:

“ When next. you would use this weapon, Dudley Cabot,
make use of it against your own bosom, and thus rid the world
of one whose Ctll'L‘QI‘ bids fair to disgrace it. I givo you your
life, you will henceforth let mine alone."

With these words, Arthur, bidding him good night, proceeded
on his wny across the bridge, at the same step he had been
moving before the attack upon him, and with as much indiffer-
ence as if nothing had occurred to interrupt his progress-across
the bridge.

" A second time foilcdl" cried Dudley, trembling through
fear at his own recent danger and rage at the escape of his
victim. “ He seems to think no more of choking a man than if
he were u dog; and he walks off as coolly as if I had been a
feather that lune] blown into his face, as he passed, and not an
enemy seeking his life. He is a brave follow, I will say that
for him, and has the chief element of courage to perfection, and
that is, coolness. And he has given “10 my life ! 1 could obt-y
him and destroy it as his gift, so cordially do I hate him 2 I
will never forgive that man so long; as I breathe. le-ry time
I meet. him he makes me feel my inferiority. He shall yet full
by my hand. 1 will never forgive the contemptuous manner in
which he returned me my dagger, as if I were 11 person by no
means dangerous, and he despisvd any further attempt I might.
make upon his life. dint, Arthur Grey, your day will come 1"

With this menace, uttered in a slow, deliberate tone of voice,
he turned back and retraced his steps towards the toll-house.
He passed the keeper without stopping longer Him; to cast his
toll into his hand, and hurried on.

“ Stay—stop, sir,‘ cried the keeper, runnng afterhim, “this
Is not a cent, but a gold piece."

Dudley, upon hearing him cnll, thought, for guilt is all we
picion, that he knew of his assault. upon Grey, and recognising
him, wished to detain him. He, therefore, started forward and
run so swiftly that the keeper was seen left behind. Dudley
felt he would rather lose the gold eagle than risk detection.

1

“That man is either mud or has come by his monev dishon.
estly,’
shouldn’t be surprised if I heard of a. robbery between this and
Cambridge by tomorrow morning."

Dudley felt relieved when he found himself safely in the
heart of the town. Passing one of the billiard rooms where he
was accustomed to meet his companions, he heard the click of
the ivory balls as they wore hit by the cues of the players, and
he at once ascended to tlfe saloon.

-

murmured the keeper as he turnedlback to his gate. “ I

Ills presence was hailed by a large number of young- men
with joy almost. uproarious; for four or five of them had no
other means than what they got out of the young spendthift.
He was their purse and banker!

“ Where have you been, Dudley I"

"How are you", Cabot ‘2”

“ Here comes the very head and front; of all our joys I” cried
n third. ‘ ‘ '

" You look fnqged, Dud,” sympathized a fourth. Shall I
order a punch ?"

“ Yes."

“Brandy or gin ’2" asked a fifth, who wore a velvet vest,
crossed by a gold chain.

“ Brandy,’ was the response of this young man in the midst
of his sycophants.

By and by Dudley took up a one and proceeded to play agamc

 

\———=———-——_==
at billiards, in which he excelled. There were present two
young gentlemen, strangers, who were also admirable players.
One of these was Dudley's antagonist, and he constantly hem.
him. As billiards was a game upon which he prided himself,
to beat him was to make an enemy ; and to conquer him at such
atimc. when his passions were stirred up by the result of his
attack upon Arthur Grey, was to rouse his fiercest resentment.

After showing for some moments a good donl of irritability
at the superior hits of his antagonist, he missed his point, furi-
ously snapped his cue into pieces, and cast them upon the
table.

“ Take them off. sir," calmly said the gentleman with whom
he wns playing.

“ You had best say nothing, he is :1 lion when roused; none
of us dare thwnrt him or bent him I" whispered one of the
toadies to the stranger, who felt himself insulted by this act
of his cnrnged opponent.

“ Stand buck, if you please," said the stranger. “ I will take
care of myself. Do you mean to clear the board of those
pieces, and go on with the game?" he again demanded of
Dudley.

The latter fixed upon him a keen look and saw that he was
as resolute a man as himself. Opposition nnd decision always
roused in his bosom the same qunlities. He firmly replied with
a look of defiance, V

“ No, sir ! I shall not remove them I If you want: the table
cleared, take them off yourself. - I believe you chentcd at the
game, or you would not have beaten me.”

The eyes of the stranger sparkled with electric light. 110
caught up the two l'rugnr-nts of the cue, and flingingr one at
Dudley’s head, lenpcd over the tnble and aimed a blow at his
head with the other, at the same time leaping to the floor by
his side. '

Dudley stooped and avoided the flying fragment, which
dashed in pieces a chandelier in its range, but the blow aimed
at. him-{Ooh effect upon his breast, and nearly sent him back.
wards over the chairs.

“ This is your play, is it l” cried the infuriated young man,
drawing the dagger which Arthur had scornfully returned ta
him, as if he despised both him and his weapons; "then you
shall take a lesson of Dudley Cabot, that shall Inst you a life-
time l"

With this menace he sprung forwnrd, and struck the dagger
deep into the bosom of the stranger, before he could ward off
the stroke, or the by-standcrs could arrest his arm. With a
cry of pain the wounded mun fell over, and struck heavily upon
the floor with his forehead, though his friend attempted to
catch him in his arms, and break his fall. A qroun of horror
escaped from all present. The floor was in a moment deluged
with blood, a horrible sight to witness. Ilis pierced bosom
seemed to be a crimson fountain, pumping rapidly forth the
current of life.

All was confusion and dismay. Some obeying the instinct
of self-presu-vution, fled from the room to avoid being discov-
ered there by the officers of justice. Some called upon Dudley
to fly. One deadly pale youn,«,r man, whom the sight of blood
seemed to drive to phrenzy, opened a window and shouted fire
and murder in the wildest outcry that ever broke upon the ear
of night.

The wounded man lay motionless, save A convulsive heaving
of the chest, and in painful distortion of the brow. His friend,
after bending over him, and seeing that there was no hope for
his life, sprang to his feet, and looked round for the mur-
derer.

But Dudley had flown. For an instant he had lingered and
gnzetl down upon the bleeding victim of his ungovernuble pasv
sions, and then obeying the impulse of self-preservatiwi, be
hurriei from the saloon. He was the last of his companions
that. had left it. The young stranger upon looking up had found
himselfalone with his friend. Not. an individual of the large
company who were present one minute before, was now to be
seen. The hall of rcvrlry was deserted.

The candles of the shattered chandelier lay upon the floor
half extinguished, nnd casting- a fitful light upon the objem
around.

The loneliness and silence were but brief, howev‘fi. The cry

 

THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. . 1'1

 

or murder sent from the windows was resp0nded to by the night
Watchman in a dozan directions, and from all sides rose upon
the air the shrill alarm of the rattle's call. The tramp of feet
echoed along the streets approaching nearer and louder. Be-
low stairs, for the saloon was upon an upper floor, all was ter-
ror and confusion. The proprietor taking the alarm from the
flight of his guests down the stair way, and out at the various
doors, front and rear, anticipating the rush of 'he people from
without, barred the entrance, and began to un‘hwi, in: money and
Valuables. The watchman demanded fldllllimucu but once, and
burst open the doors. -.

When entering the saloon they were met by the survivor of
the two strangers, who briefly acquainted them with what
had happened, but was unable to give the name of the assasin,
for neither he nor his friend had ever seen Dudley before this
evening,

Upon examining the wounded man, life was found in him. and
a surgeon was sent for; but before he reached the spot the
victim of Dudley Cabot's uncontrollable passion had expired.

The description given by the young stranger of the assassin
fastened suspicion upon Dudley; whom the proprietor acknow—
ledged to have been in the saloon, though he himself was
ignorant who perpetated the murder. A warrant was issued
not only for his arrest, but for that of others, whose names,
with Dudley's, were given by the proprietor, as having been in
the saloon. ’l‘hr'ee of the young men were caught by the
watchmen, as they fled along the streets, and Carried to the
police office. Diligent search was made for others who were
known to have been in the hall; but not particularly for Dud-
ley, as it was not known that he was guilty until one of the
young men who had been stopped in the street, one of his
“ lriends,’ betrayed him. Indeed, all the young men who had
been arrested, soon became eager to acquit themselves, by
denouncing the true criminal; and thus there was remaining
no doubt as to the act' a! perperlrator of the deed.

No one was surprile wlu-n they heard it. It was what all
expected of Dudley Cabot. It seemed to cause no amazement
1n the mind of any one. His character had prepared the pub-
iic mun. to mu m c\'ll of him. Purity of life is a wall of de-
fence arouud a man when suspicion would fix an evil deed upon
him. Men look at his life, and say it is not at all probable
that he did it. But when a man has departed from the path
of uprightness, and integrity, then when rumor trumpets his
name with evil, he is readily believed to be guilty.

This is a principle acknowledged in law; and a man ar-
rainged at the bar of his Country, may have brought in as ev-
idence for or against h'm, his life or his actions. It was easy,
we say, therefore, for the world to believe Dudley Cabot guilty
without question or hesitation. The act seemed to the public
mind the natural result ofhis previous course.

The rumor of the assassination flow like wildfire. It reached
Cambridge, and Arthur Grey at once returned to the city,
oppressed with an undefined gense of danger to his sister. He
knew not what such a desperate person might do. He knew
that he had flown, and he feared that he might have persuadcl
his unfortunate sister to share his destinies. ’I‘hese fears,
vague and u idetined, tortured him till he reached the house,
where, to his first rapid inquiry of the footman, he learned that
Isabel was in her chamber. 'I‘hither he at once proceeded,
having been first informed by the servant, as a piece of thrill-
ing news, that Dudley Cabot had killed a man in the billiard-
room.

“ I know it, John. Has Isabel heard of it?"

“Oh, yes, sir; she feel very bad for poor Miss Charlotte."

“I fear she feels more herself,”. he said, mentally ; for the
evening previous, before starting to return over the bridge to
Cambridge, he had a conversation with her which revived all
his suspicions and fears, touching her attachment to Dudley
Cabot. She‘did not confess, indeed, that she had met him;
but he saw from her manner and strange embarrassment, that

she was still attached to him, and that the least wind might '

turn the vane of her affections towards him.

He now approached her room, and lightly tapping upon the
door, raised the latch and entered and stood before her. as we
have, a chapter or two back, already related. He found her

 

bathed in tears, which, upon Ieeing him, she strove tobrllh
away undetected.

" You look as if my presence was unwelcome to you, sister,"
he said, taking her hand and leading her to the chair, from
which, in her surprise at seeing him, she had risen. He sat
down by her, and after gazing a moment or two steadily into
her face, he said in a low and searching tone:

“ What are these tears for, Isabel 7”

“Have you not heard the terrible nfliiclion that has befallen
Charlotte ?"

" I hear her brother has slain a young gentleman from South
Carolina.”

“Slain him? Is be dead l John said only that he had been
stabbed l" she cried, horror struck.

“The young man died at midnight last night, soon after
receiving the Wound. But why this agony ! What. is the
meaning of this wild anguish ‘2" he cried with auinzvmont, as he:
beheld her cover her face with her hands, spring from him and
rush across the room, shrieking. He followed and caung her
in his arms, and spoke soothineg to her, for he feared that In r
reason would leave her. llc saw that she still loved the
unworthy young man, and that the reflection that he was a
murderer ovvrwhvlmed her with horor.

" Be cal.n, lnle'l. Do not give way to your feelings thus."

" A murderer! The life of n full()\\'-l)rlng‘ upon his hand and
heart! in, uhy did I not, ere it was too late—a1 your first
warning, brother, tear his image from my heartl But now all
isruinl All is despair! I have loved him to madness, and
now my heart is broken. Now do I realize that he was unworthy
of me. Ileavcnl that I should have loved one so unworthy l"

" Be not so severe a. judge upon yourself, Isabel. I forgive-
you, and you will soon recover from your error, now that you
have this final evidence of his guilt and depravity. It is indeed
a pity that you should have let this passion get so strong a
power over you. But the worst is past. Your good sense and
your pride of character too will enable you soon to forget him.
From this time you will be happy.

"No, no 1 neverl I can never forget him I"

" Is it possible I hear you aright ?" he exclaimed, almost
angrily. ’

“ I can never forget him, brother, but I shall never love him

v any more,” she answered with the most touching pathos. “Oh,

Dudley, have I loved and found thee unworthy? Have I found
that all the world knows thee better than 1? 0h,
thou deceived niel But I will not reproach.
cast. You need sympathy.

how hast
You are an out-
Ipity you because you are so
heavily guilty. Brother, leave me. By-and-bye I shall be
more composed."

"I knew not that you loved this worthless young man so

profoundly. If possible, he sinks deeper than ever in my es-

timation for casting aside so true and pure a heart. If he had
truly loved you, Isabel, he would never have committed crimes.

He would never-have done a deed that would call a tear in

your eyes or a blush to your check. Your love would have

made him pure and been the shield of his manly honor. You.
will, I trust, try and think no more of him."

" I will try,” she answered saaly.

He tenderly embraced her and left the room to ascertain
more particularly the facts in relation to the murder and the
flight of the unhappy young man, who, scarcely in his twen-
tieth year, had run so rapid a career of folly and guilt. He
had no sooner departed than Isabel cast herself upon her bed.
and burying her face in the pillow wept tears of grief, mingled
with the bitterness of repentance. ' She now saw all her impru-
(lence, all her errors. The kindness of her brother touched
her keenly, when she felt she deserved his severest rrproaches.

“ Oh, if he knew all 1" she sobbed. “ If he knew that I have
thrice met him since I promised him that I would never see
him again 1 on, poor, guilty me I Forgive me, Arthur! I
dareinot tell thee this 1 Thou wouldst have wept for me and I
should never have dared to look you in the face again 1 The
dream is broke !" she cried, starting up and flinging her shining
dark hair back from her brow. “The dream is forever past 1‘
I have loved unworthily. Oh, how haveI struggled against
this suspicion which is now conviction! How have I looked
upon those as enemies who spoke against him I But they were:

t.

 

18

all wiser than Il
hood, as a sister loves a brother, till a deeper love took pos-

THEFAMP

 

Ithought because I loved him from child-

session of my being, that he would he always worthy. But all
my sweet hopes have now fled forever. The dream, and a
I will draw a veil thick as the
I will
lie is unworthy.

i will try—l will

sweet one it has been, is past.
night of memory’s pall between this hour and the past.
live only from the present into the future.
I will forget him. I will try and hate him,
——I will—I will try to "

Here she sank insensiblc to the floor and lay like one who had
suddenly fallen dead.
entered the room, her face bearing evidence of the deepest
When upon glancing around her she be-
held the apparently lifeless form of her young friend lyingnear
the window, she sprang forward and caught her in her arms.

She found that her heart was beating and that she had only
fainted.

“Poor Isabel! This has been too great a shock for you,"
she exclaimed, scarcely able to suppress her own tears.

Her voice revived her just as she was about to ring for assis-
She looked about. her at first wildly and then her eyes
resting upon Charlotte’s features, she faintly smiled and pressed
her hand. p

“ Poor Dudley 1" she whispered in accents of the most painful
grief.

" My poor brother l" repeated Charlotte, sadly. " What has
happened to cause you to faint, dearest Isabel ?"

“ Sorrow l I have been severely tried, Charlotte.
He is then all that we have heard. But let me not speak of
him. I must forget him if I would live or regain my peace."

"I sympathise with you, dearest Isabel. He is indeed no
longer deserving your love.”

" And do you—can you love him still, Charlotte T"

" Ila is my brother?” she answered firmly and affectionately.
“Whatever he may do, he is still my brother. This I can
never forget."

" Oh tho-n let me love him also. If you can love him. I can.
If you will cling to him, so will I. Is not my love as strong
as thine? If he is still worthy of your love he is of mine 1”

"Noble Isabel. But do not hope! Forget Dudleyl only

in forgetting him can yeti" be happy. He is not worthy of your
love I No."

“ But you love him i"

" For his ullWOl'tllillesfl, I pity him i I would die for himl I
cannot cease to love him. He is my brother, Isabel l But
he is not thine! He can never be to thee but sorrow and
.shamc !"

“ 0h, why has he thus plunged into sin and guilt. If he had
known the value of the priceless hearts which you and I have
laid at his fact, he would not have trampled upon them as he
haal Where is he, Charlotte? How happened this dreadful
thing i”

” Dudley was playing billiards, as I learn, and becoming vexed
at being beaten. in his anger broke the cue, a sort of staff they
play with, in pieces, and cast them upon the billiard board, in
the face of his antagonist, who was a ybung gentleman from
Charleston, who. with his cousin, had recently arrived in the
city. The southerner ordered Dudley to remove the fragments,
which my brother firmly refused to do.

" Hereupon the young man struck him with one ofthe pieces,
when Dudley stabbed him to the heart with a dagger which he
carried "

" 0h, rash and impetuous Dudley l" sighed the maiden, with
agony. "And the young man is dead ‘2”

“ He died, alas? soon after he received the fatal blow l"

" And so he is a murderer? Oh, my poor heart] how it has
been led astray. to fix its attentions upon one so worthless l"

“ Nay, do not call him worthless. Isabel—he has yet much in
him that is good. Had he been differently educated, he would
have been as noble a person as Arthur." ,

“Arthur is indeed noble, Charlotte I Do you know that he
also esteems you and thinks you one of the best of persons.

He always holds you up to me as an example, and wishes,
with a sigh. I were as good as you are l"

“' You M's hotter Luau l, lsauel, tar better,’

in a few moments afterwards Charlotte

anxiety and grief.

tance.

Dudley l

' answered Char.

-FIRE LIBRAny.

 

 

lotto, blushing with a secret pleasure that she could not well
conceal at this praise, from one whom she esteemed above all
young men whom she had evt-r seen.

“You love Dudley, then, with all his faults l" suddenly in-
terrogated Charlotte, fixing her eyes full upon the face of her
friend, as if she would read her heart in it.

“ Yes, Isabel, love softened with pity for him."

“ 'l‘hen such be my love, also. Until you desert him, Char—
lotte, neither will i l’

CHAPTE‘R VIII.
ms: sacasr RECESS.

WE now follow the fortunes of the young man whose conduct
pierced so many young bosoms with anguish, and cast over
society the gloom which always folloWs a sudden and tragical
event, like that we have just recorded,

Upon seeing the young man fall, bathed in blood, he stood a

, moment gazing down upon him with an expression of mute

horror. It was the first time he had seen blood flow by the
act of his own hand. However recklessly a man may have
looked forward to slaying any one whom he feels has injured
him,when, at length, he sees his victim dead at his feet, he
begins then to feel what a fearful thing it is for one man to take
the life of his fellow-man. All at once he seems as if, by the
flat of the Almighty, cut off from his species, from Heaven,
from the universe. He seems isolated, as it were, walled in by
darkness from all about him. His first emotion is of horror at
the sight of the dead at his feet, and then follows fear. Like
Cain, he fears every one who meets him may kill him. So he
flies; but yet not so much from the fear of others as to esoupo
from himself.

Dudley’s paramount idea, as he gazed on the body, was flightl
But his limbs at first refused to obey his purports. But the
voices and entreaties of those around him aroused him from the
momentary stupor which had fallen upon him, and with a
deeply uttered curse upon himself, and with trembling at the
consequences of his deed, he fled after his companions.

He got out of the door he scarcely knew how, and fled like a
deer fleetly along the streets. Which way he was going he did
not regard; his only feeling was to get as far from the spot
where his crime had been done as possible.

At lengh he found himself in the very centre of the Common.
He was alone. Darkness and silence were about him. He
could hear the beating of his own heart. He felt himself
trembling all over like a leaf. He tried to recollect himself.
He could not recall his flight through the streets.

He did not remember entering the gate into the Mall, and
crossing the Common. Instinct seemed to have served him
for sight as he ran. The horror of the crime he had commith
had blinded him, or rather his‘ eyes, as he fled, were mixed
in the horror of memory upon the bleeding young man he had
left dying upon the floor of the saloon. This object was con-
stantly upon his vision, as if impressed there as a living
judgment upon the murderer.

He stood and wiped the cold perspiration from his forehead.
He leaned against a tree for support to his shaking limbs.
Every sound startled him, and made his heart leap to his
throat. He looked around furtively, and his senses seemed to
be all eye and ear. The rustle of a leaf made him afraid. The
crook ofa frog in the water near by, made the blood run coldin
his Veins. He looked as if he feared to move. He by chance
casted his eyes upward, and saw a star shining down upon
him, through an aperture in the dark clouds that were drifting
across the face of the sky. He groaned heavily, and covered
his eyes with his hands, as if he felt that it reproachcd him
for his deed of blood. He felt that it shone for all in the world
but himself, and that darkness henceforward would be only
congenial to his fallen spirit. Suddenly he removed his hands
from his face, and contracting his brows and setting his teeth,
as if in the madness of despair, he clenched his fists and shook
them inwards Hflnvpn. I

""51 1 am cul- uowu from all hope of you bright Hon“.

 

 

and lost and sold to hell for this night's work, then hell be It.
I shall find among its hordes congenial spirits enough. lt is
no use in lamentng my fate. The deed is done, and can't be
undone. I am a murderer, and honor-forward lake rank with
devils, here and hereafter. How my ‘coward nerves shake,
and my coward heart bounds and flutters.

“I will still them. I will shake with fear of man no more. I
see the breadth and depth of my crime, and must. meet the con-
sequences to my soul when I am judged. Now let me take
care of my body, and see that it is not imprisoned for this act.
I will first seek my rooms, and getmoney to aid me in escaping
from theoflicers ofjustiee. Then I will place half the globe, if
need be, between me and this place.’

Thus resolved and hardenid into a recklesss purpose of en-
during,r his guilt as boldly as he could, he took his way stealth-
ily across the Common towards the head of the nighest street.
lie was not without apprehensions that he might at any
moment he laid hold of by a watchman or oflieer, for he well
knew the noise of the deed he had done had spread throughout
the town, and doubtless made them alertto make every person
passing give an account of himself. To reach his own house
secretly seemed almost impossible, yet he resolved to make the
attempt. For this purpose he glided along into alleys, and kept
in the dark shadows of the lane, now climbng a fence at the
sight ofa watchman, and letting liimselfdown into a yard; now
traversing the roofs ofsheds, and now gliding swiftly down the
walks of some garden.

At length. after the greatest caution, and not without near
fall ng into the hands of two officers who passed near him, and
who, he ascertained by their conversation, were searching for
those who had been in the saloon, he reached the rear of his
father's house. He raised a window by which he had often en-
tered before and stole up to his chamber. As he opened the
door the clock struck twelve. The sudden noise made per-
spiration stand in great drops upon his temples and upon the
back of his hands, and his knees shook with fear. But he
strove to overcome the emotions, laughing at his nervous ap-

prehensions. But there is no coward so faint-hearted as the
murderer. God and man he fuels are his enemies. and he c-m-

.atnntly fears the punishment of heaven as Well as the justice of
men.

There was a light hurnirg for him in his room. He picked
up the wick with a steady hand and felt a secret pleasure at
seeing that it did not shake.

“ I am getting used to it,” he said with a fearful laugh. “ I
shall by and by think no more of killing a man than I would
a dog. ButI would, nevertheless, give my right hand had it
not done the deed. But it is too late to lament. I must take
care of myself. The officers may be here. They may have
been told who did it, and this is no place for me."

He took the lamp in his hand, and going to his wardrobe,
selected a suit of clothes and an overcoat and cap. These he
put on, and also made up a small bundle of linen. He next
rupened a desk and took out about ninety dollars in bills and
gold, and placed it in his pocket.

"This is not enough. I must add robbery to murder. It is
no time to stand upon ceremony. Father has money in his
secretary, and I must have it. It is better he should lose it
than have his son hanged."

Softly he stole down the hall stairs and entered the library.
The secretary he found locked. It was but the act of a few
moments to break it open. He found in the private drawer
bills and gold to the amount of nearly two thousand dollars.
This he took, transferring every (loll' " of it to his purse and
pockets. .

“This will do—l don't mean to be left destitute. With this
,[ can reach Europe or the West Indies. ButI will leave the
.desk shut, for if my father should chance to have heard me,
and come in and see it broken open before I get off, he will be
likely to apprehend me, for of late he has shown himself some-
thing SeVere in his manner toward me.

He then closed the secretary and quietly returned to his
chamber. Here he armed himself with a pair of silver mounted
case pistols, and with a gold-hiltedvdirk. articles of luxury and
show. which he had purchased among other costly extravagance;

"These Ishall now find of good service,” he laid in aresoluts

v, THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

 

 

 

 

19

way, as he, drew the sash in which he had stuck them together
about the waist beneath his overcoat. " I shall sell my life. It i
will be dangerous for any man now to attempt to arrest me.
Now, Dudley Cabot, you are. upon the. world," he said, as he
Went out of his chamber. “ But i will not go without seeing
and bidding Charlotte good—Lye. Poor girl ! It will break her
heart when she Comes to hear of all i I will tell her rrveelf,
and thus soften it to her, as she will surely learn to—morrow, and
harshly too, that her brother Dudley is a murderer.”

He stolenoiselessly to her room which was on the opposite
side of the passage, not far from his own. He wusjust about to
tap upon it when she opened it from the inside, and so abruptly
that he started. Her face was pale and anxious, and as she wnl
not undressed she had probably not been in bed.

" Why, Charlotte, are you up.” he exclaimed with surprise.

“ Yes, Dudley. I have not been able to sleep to-nighl. I
have been strangely anxious about you. I don’t know what has
made me so nervous, but I could not go to bed. At every
sound I have started with a strange terror. It seemed to me
that you would be brought home dead !"

“Me dead l” he repeated with surprise.

“I know it was foolish. But now you have come in safe, I
will go to bed. 1 was just going to your room, for I heard you
coming up stairs."

“ Didn't you hear me before ‘2” he asked quickly.

” No; have you been in longl But how pale and strangely
you look."

“ Hush ! Let me any a word to you " he said, following her
into the room.

“ Then my fears have not beenygroundless.” she cried; “ some-
thing has happened evil. Your looks and manners show it.
And your dress, too, so unusual.”

“ I will tell you, Charlotte,” he said, closing the door. “ I am
in three minutes going to leave the house and town. It is no
longer safe for me to remain here."

“ What have you done 7" she asked with trembling alarm.

“I have been insulted to-night by a stranger, and we had a
quarrel, and he knocked me in the head with a cutlzn-l. when

happening to have a dirk with me, in self-defence Iatabbed hill
with it. Ilist ! do not cry out and alarm the house l"r

“ 0h, Dunley !"

“ Sile‘nce—l did it. in self-defence l”

’ Did you kill him 7”

“ I have no doubt of it—the blow went deep into his boson.
But he deserved it—I did it in self-defence. But the world
wuii‘t say so, and I may be arrested. My only way is to fly.
I have, therefore, hurried home, and taken my money, and arms,
and such clothes as may be wanted, and have only come to bid
you good-bye.”

“ Oh, my poor brother! How could you thus take the life of
another? You are lost forever!"

“ No reproaches—no tears! If you love me, you will any
I I“ right."

" I do love you; but it is such a shock i What can be done 1"
she cried, clasping her hands in agony. “I seem to hear the
officers of justice at the door. Oh, you will certainly be taken,
and——"

“Do not awake father 1 I must now go and trust to my 
fortune to escape. Good-bye. ' Never breathe to any one that
you have seen me. Good-bye, and give my last words of love
to Isabel. Defend me to her. Tell her that I did it in self-do.
fence. Say to her I shall never cease to love her! Good-
night, and——"

He was about to add ‘ and God bless you ;’ but his lips re-
fused to utter the sacred. words, and without speaking them he
released her from his embrace as she would still have clung to -
him, and hastened across the hall. She stood transfixed with
grief and terror. The brother whom she so fondly loved was
a murderer flying from justice. Pity for him was mingled
with the horror of his crime. She saw him leaving her per~
hops forever. She was about to rush towards him to remain
with him to the latest moment hashould be in the housa, when
she saw him turn back from the stairs with a pale and startled
look; and at the same time she heard what he had heard, tho
repetition of a loud knocking atthe door.

"Charlotte, you must bide me? It is the officers after me.

 

20 THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY.

 

If I had only got out of the house I should have been Info!
Do you know where I can be secreted 1”

“Yes,” she answered, with ready presence of mind, which
grew with her brother’s peril. “There is the false window
where our great uncle was concealed for three weeks, when the
British General was in search of him in the- times of the revo-
"ution."

“ Yes, it is perfectly safe. I should have never thought of
It,” be responded with joy, as he grasped thankfully her hand.
“ Come, let me get into it at once, they will break the door
down l"

She caught the light from his hand, and leading him along
the entry came to a door which led into a large bedroom in
the northwest corner of the house. There were two windows
on one side of the room, and two, to all appearance, on the
other towards the garden. But one of these latter was afalse
Window, though glazed precisely like the others.

Through the glass it seemed to be fastened by shutters on
the outside precisely like the others. But when raised, and
the shutters opened by a secret spring, did not let the eye look
out of doors, but into a dark recess about sixteen inches deep,
the thickness of the wall of the house. In this recess two or
three men could stand upright, with room to turn round and
sit down. ln this place had been secreted an American officer,
an ancestor of Dudley Cabot, who lmd been sent into Boston as
a spy by General Washington, and being suspected, would have
been taken and hung but for this secret place, which was in
one night constructed for him by filling up the aperture of the
window on the outside with brick perfectly to match the rest
of the wall; thus on the outside there was apparent but one
Window looking into the garden, while in the room there
seemed to be two, one with the shutters closed.

The alarmed young girl hurried her guilty but still loved
brother to his secret place, and throwing up the sash, touched.
the spring and opened the shutters into the darl; cavity behind

them.
I “ Now, quickly, Dudley. You have not a moment to lose l"

she cried, as the noise of the knocking grew louder and more
violent. "There’s father's voice calling to know what's the

matter. Oh, that they may not discover you! In, in l"

He did not require to be twice urged to save himself; for not
only the knocks were heard in front, but he could hear men
behind the house, which seemed to be invested by his enemies,
as if to prevent eVL-ry chance of his escape. He got into the
recess by means of a chair, and his sister at once re-closed the
shutters, through minute orifices in which, air was admitted.

“ You will keep calm and not let them suspect l" he whispered
to her from his covert. ‘

“ Yes, brother; I shall not forget that your life depends upon
my self-command.”

" Come to me as soon as the way is clear,” he added, as she
closed the window.

“There will he be snfel" she said with a sigh of mingled
joy and anguish. “ Would that I had died before hearing from
his own lips that he has become a murderer. But now let me be
calm and self-possessed. My father has opened the door and is
talking with them.

“Hark 1" she added, as she left the room and went softly
along the entry to the head of the stairs. “ They mention
Dudley’s name. I hear the words of ‘murder l’ ‘daggerl
‘billiard room l’” She trembled with agitation, and leaning
over the bannisters, looked dowu. She saw her father standing
in his night gown, with a light in his hand, his face pale and
full of alarm and horror, listening to two men, who were in loud
tones telling him that his son had committed a murder and
had been followed to the house and seen to enter it, and that he
must be given up. Athird man with a lantern in his hand,
and armed with apistol, Was eagerly searching about in the
closet, and under the stairs.

“ Father, what is the alarm l" she cried, going down to the
hall, feeling that she must boldly come forward, professing
ignorance.

“Oh, my ,dear child, here is ill news come to us, such as
seldom comés to a father," answered Colonel Cabot. “ Dudley
is charged by three men with a murder in a billiard-room,
half an hour ago, and has been seen to enter the house."

 

—-.

"Yes," answered one of the men, “ the watchman on
this boat saw him come horn not long ago, and using that In
skulked along, took him for a thief, but as he came near him he
saw that it was young Cabot. He did not know of the murder;
but when we came along and asked who had passed him on his
stand, he told us the very man that we were looking for. So
we at once posted a man at the back and side door, and applied
at the front. Have you seen him, miss ‘2"

“ My brother a murderer I It must have been done then in
self-defence l" ‘

“That will be as the jury says," answered one of the men.
“ If he is in the house we will have him out l”

“Yes; don’t let us stand here, but go to searching. Beg
pardon, Colonel, but it must be done 1”

“Do your duty, gentlemen,” answered Colonel Cabot, calmly;
but looking the very image of despair and grief. He stood
near them holding by the hand his daughter, who at the sight
of the officers had been overcome with tears of alarm. She
clung to her father, crying bitterly:

” My brother, my poor brother I” ,

“ My lost and miserable son! As he has sown, so must he
reap.‘ If he is guilty, officers, he must suffer the penalty
of the law. I will not lift a finger to aid him in escaping the
just punishment due to such a crimol If he is in the house, I
hope you will find him and take him nwnyl You are at liberty
to search where you will I”

These words, and the severe manner of her father, startled
Charlotte, and caused her to be agitated with the most anxious.
solicitude as to the result, as she saw the men disperse them-
selves over the house with lanterns and candles.

She feared that the indignant parent would show them the
secret window even, if they should not discover it at all, which
was not likely. She, therefore, summoned all her resolution
and courage to defeat any such fatal exposure.

" Dear father," said she, as the men went into the lower
rooms, and left them standing in the hall together, his arm
supporting her. Now~ thathis son had thus fallen, his daughter,
so much neglected in his affections, seem’ed drawn closer to him
and to he. dearer than evur to his heart.

“ Well, Charlotte," he answered sorrowfully. “ Oh, my
soull what judgment is this, with which thou has visited me '2"
he abruptly and passionately exclaimed, folding his hands to-
gether, and looking tearl’ully upward. “ My punishment is
greater than I can bear."

To witness his deep grief nearly overcame her. She mingled
her tears with his. But it was no time to weep. Action and
presence of mind were instantly called for, as in afsw moments
the officers and watchmen would be up stairs. She knew that
her father would, if Dudley Were not found, point out the re-
cess of the window, when her brother's fate would be irrevocably
sealed. Deceit and duplicity, her truthful and generous nature
ablmri'hd. But the life of her brother was at stake. Guilty
though he was, he washer brother. It was necessary that her
father should be deceived. She therefore repeated again her
preparatory word—-

“ Dear father l"

“ Well, my child, well i”

” is it right to screen Dudley, if he be in the house 7”

“ No. He is no longer anything to me. To hide him from
justice would be to become sharors in his guilt."

" He may have hidden in the secret window.”

" It is possible. It has occured to me that they will find him
there if he is in the house."

"Then let mo show the men the room and begin there first
up stairs. It will save going all over the house."

“ Is it possible you can feel so too I" he said, gazing upon her
with surprise. “ You who have so loved him. What afearful
deed then is murder, that it can so all at once change a fond
sister into an aid of the laws to deliver the criminal brother to
justice. These sentiments do you honor. Dudley has forfeited
our love and protection. It would do us no good, afi'ord us no
pleasure to secrete him. He had best be given up and left to
his fate. Go and conduct them to the room. If he is not there,
he is not in the house."

The young girl, with mingled hope and fear, left her indict.

 

7
THE CAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. 21

 

 

 

—:,

who walked constantly up and down the hall, looking like a
man over-tasked with grief. The blow had come upon him
suddenly and heavily, and it seemed to him that he should sink
under it.

Charlotte approached two of the men who were just cross-
ing the hall to ascend the stairs with their lights.

“Gentlemen, I will lead you in your search, so that you need
not take so much time. I feel confident you will not find my
brother in the house."

" That may be as it turns out, Miss,” answered one of the

' men bluntly.

“ Here, gentlemen, is the last room on this side 0 the entry.
As I said before, you will not find him 1”

How she wished the search was over. She trembled lest her
father might come in and thus ruin all l

The men examined this as they had done the etherehambers,
looking into closets and chests, peering up the fire-place and
turning over the bed and bed-clothes.

“ Well, he aim: here, that's certain," said one of them; words
which made her heart leap for joy.

“ He may have gone out 0‘ these windows,” said the other.
“ Let’s see how high it is for a jump." ‘,

Charlotte's heart was in her mouth. She, saw him advance
to the false window and make an effort to raise it. It was fast,
as well as the shutters, by a secret, spring. He left it and
went to the next, threw it up, and pushed open the shutters,
and hailed the man below, who answered, saying he had not
heard nor seenany one.

“ Well, we must try the other rooms," said the man, shutting
(he window and tollo wing his companion out into the hall.

CHAPTER IX.
'rur: SLAVEB.

Wan pen can describe the emotion of deep-,oy, With Which
Charlotte beheld the man turn away from the window, and then
leave the room with his comrade. She closed the door carefully
"chind her, as she went out last, and fervently prayed that
they might not again think of entering it.

They thoroughly examined the other parts of the mansion,
and finally returned again to the hall, convinced that the
fugitive was not in the house.

When the door closed upon them. and Colonel Cabot was left
alone, and reflection came to his aid, he then for the first time
properly began to realize the full extent of his misery. He
wept like a child over the defection and depravity of the boy
he had so idolized, and whose every wish he had indulged. IIe
bitterly charged him with ingrntitude, and now in anger, now
in tears, he walked the hall.

Charlotte was too much overjoyed to see the men depart, to
be able for some minutes to realize her brother’s escape from
the severe search over the house.

She seemed to dread each moment their return. She stood
anxiously listening between joy and hope, least they should
again come to renew their efforts; least they might meet with
some one who knew of the secret window, and should ask them
if they opened it, But. ten minutes passed, and all was quiet
without. “or father continued to w),‘:k up and down, now ln-
orienting, now reproaching, both himself and his child. Her
heart bled for him.

But she was too much occupied with thoughts of her brother's
continued safety, to feel all the weight of the blow which had
befallen her.

It was not till near the dawn of morning that she dared go to
the spy's chamber to speak with her brother, least her father
or the servants should her their attention drawn to her move-
ments. But at length she took a favorable opportunity and
hastened to the room.

"Dudley l" she whispered.

“ Well, sister Chm-Hy,” he answered in a deep whisper from
within. “ Where have you been? It seems an age since you
were herel

“ It is horrible to be shut up here alone in darkness with
'one’s own thoughts, especially when tlieyare none of the pleas-
mtest. Open and let me out. Ihnve had that yelling man I

 

killed in here with me all night. I never want to see any man's
face by noon-day plainer than I have seen his, and yet It is
pitch dark. Quick, let me outl Are you alone ?"

“Yes. But do not speak so loud. It is dangerous for you

n

to come out yet, she answered. speaking to him through the
window. You ('umc Verynearly being discovered."

“ I know it. l heard the fellows plainly; and when the man
came to raise up the sash I had one of my pistols cocked ready
to blow his brains out if he had discovered me.”

“ How dreadful you speak."

“One’s life is dear to him, sister. I have no intention of
swinging for what I've done. Where is father?"

“ Asleep upon the sofa.”

“-I must come out."- .

"No, not till l.()»lli'_:.'lllt..h[4l8t0ll to me. The officers will
doubtless be here again. 'VVait till after breakfast, and I will
go out and see what vessels are sailing to-day, and return
and let you know. I will at the same time purchase and convey
here a complete suit of seaman’s clothes and a wig. In this
disguise you can get on board some vessel and escape from the
country.”

Dudley at once assented to this arrangement. She then left
him once more to darkness and the horrible imagining of his
murdered victim. More than once he felt as if he would rather
break out and face his pursuers than remain there with that
bleeding vision gazing with stony eyes into his face. At eight
o'clock she secretly brought him his breakfast, and soon after-
wards went out on her mission.

She was successful in learning that a brig was that evening
to leave for St. Domingo. She then stopped at a slop shop and
purchased the disguisr, which she placed in a band box, and
carried home herself through the bye-streets.

She was dressed plainly, and Wore a Veil so that she might
easily have passed for a servant girl. With great tact she
managed to get into the house unpereeived with her band box,
and convey it to the chamber where Dudley was concealed.
She then let him out of his hiding place, and leaving the room,
locked the door, while he put on the dress and she could send
the servants out of the way. Her father had gone out to make
particular inquiries about the murder.

As soon as he Was habited and had concealed his arms and
money about his person. he knocked lightly on the door and
Informed her that he was ready to go down to the vessel. His,
disguise seemed to her to be complete. A blue jacket, dark
trowsers, a Spanish tarpaulin hat, long glossy ringlets of dark
hair on each cheek, and a man-o’-wnr swagger seemed to chal-
lenge the kecnest eye accustomed to penetrate disguises.

“ Do you think any one will know me 7" he asked, as he sur-
veyed himself in a tall mirror before him.

. " No, I do not think you could be suspected. But be cautious.
The vessel lies at the end of Long Wharf. You will have great
risk to run to reach it 3"

" Do not fear. I shall not forget for a minute that I am seek-
ing the safety of my own life. Now, my noble and faithful
Charlly, good-bye." ’

“ 0h, shall I never see you again!" she cried, as she flung
herself into his arms. “Would that this thing had never
happened l I cannot realize it] I seem to be in a dream, and
have scented so ever since you came in last night. Brother, if
we never meet again, pray God to forgive your crime so that
We mny not be severed forever l"

“ Churlly, do not talk to me about forgiveness ! I have done
what can’t be undone. All the tears I could shed. if my eyes
were fountains, Could not. wash out that man’s blood! Good
bye! Is the way clear?"

“Yes,” she scarcely articulated. “ You will find the door on
the side of the house open, and going out of it, keep through
the carriage yard, and so out of the gate. Keep your hat over
your eyes.

“ IIt'l‘C is my port mantrau. I will throw that upon my
shoulder and then Ishall pass without suspicion. I can stoop
low as l carry it, and I shall appear to be carrying it for my
captain.”

As he spoke he hoisted the valise upon his shoulder, and bar-
riedly pressing the hand of the weeping sister, he hastened
down the side stairs and out of the end door of the house. She

 

V

22 THE camrjianIBRARY:

followed him with her eyes through the window and until she

saw him'go out of sight far down the street. She then sunk
back overwhelmed with grief, now for the first time realizing
fully the deep wretcliedness of her heart.

At length, towards noon, she resolved for relief to her pain—
ful thoughts to Viril) Isabel and See how she bore the news of
Dudley’s crime, for she felt that it must have reached her.
She. found her, as we have already seen, lying almost lifeless
upon the floor where she had fallen in her despair after her
brother Arthur's departure from her.

Her revival, and the conversation that ensued, which resulted
in the generous resolution of Isabel, still to love the lost and
guilty young man, so long as his sister, Charlotte, clung to
him; reasoning that if he was worthy of a sister’s fond attach-
ment after his crime, so also, was he worthy her own. Both
maidens, too, extenuated his guilt. Dudley, it will be remem-
bered, gave her his version of the reiicontre, which cast all the
blame upon the young man, and placed himself only in the ex-
cusable attitude of a man who slays another in self-defence-
Both of them, therefore, after talking it over together, were in.
clincd through their affection, to regard Dudley as less guilty
than the world adjudged him to be.

The fugitive safely reached the vessel, and telling the cap.
min he wished to go to “m g in with him as a passenger, paid
his passage in the steerage in advance, and went down into the
berth, and laid down as if to sleep. Here he kept secret until
the brig hauled out from the pier into the stream and made
sail.

He then came on deck, and stood gazing upon the town,
which he was quitting, as he thought, forever, and leaving be-
hind him a name for evil, in every month. As his eyes fell
upon the pier, which the brig had left, he thought he saw some
one waving a handkerchief, He looked closely through the
twilight and saw a female standing on the verge of the wharf,
waving a white handkerchief with rapid and earnest gestures.
his heart had told him who it was, and he waved his hand back
again.

" Faithful girli" he said, as her hand faded from his sight
as the brig sailed down the harbor; “ you are indeed a. sister.
Would that l was more worthy of you and of Isabel. But
the die is cast and I must abide the issue. Farewell, Charlotte,
I shall never forget your kindness and love! For your sake,
if I could, I would be a better man 2 But the devil would laugh
at the attempted reformation of a man who has deliberately
murdered his fellow-man."

" You seem to have had a liissio ashore seeing you off, my lad,”
said the captain, who saw the interc iange ofadicux between the
female on shore, and his steerage passenger.

"Yes," answered Dudley, with some confusion; and turning
away to give his assistance to tho unite, who, seeing he n’as
dressed as a sailor, had called to him to help him to haul in the
fore-sheet.

The female on the pier was indeed Charlotte Cabot. Her
anxiety to ascertain whether her brother got away safely, in-
duced her to go down to the harbor, and see if he was on
board.

She arrived in time to wave her handkerchief and hid him a
distant adieu. She watched the brig until it passed the castle,
and faded in the gathering shades of night, and then, with a
heart both and and light, returned hoineward to communicate
the intelligence to Isabel, and relate to her all the events which
had followed the unhappy murder, and the part which she had
taken in protecting him, and assisting him in his escape.

We will now briefly pass over the subsequent. year of Dudley
Cabot’s life. He reached Cuba in safety, but not without hav-
ing betrayed to the captain, and all on board the brig, that
although he were a seainan's garb, he was not a seamen by
profession.

This discovery caused the officers to regard him with suspic-
ion, and although he voluntarily exerted himself to learn the
duties of a scaman that he might hill their suspicions, he did
not succeed. The day before the brig entered the Havana the
captain discovered by accident the name of Dudley Cabot upon
a. piece of paper that had fallen from his valise, and he resolv-
ed to ascertain if his passenger were not the young man who
had committed the murder which was creating so much excite-

 

 

, 7 , ,,._ . cm "W, .,_- ____:-
ment the day he, sailed. He therefore took an opportunity when
he was asleep to examine, his portinantenu, when he found that
i;borc the same name on the inside. He Communicated thb
discovery to no one, but when Dudley awoke he called him into
the cabin and charged him with being the assassin.

“And suppose that I am, you have no power to detain me,"
answi-red Dudley, after he had overcome his first. surprise.

“That may be as I see fit to act,” answered the skipper,
who was not a remarkably overscrupulous man ; “I can give
you up to the Consul as soon as we get into port, which is in
night. But look you, fair sir, I don't. care. to put you in the way
of getting your neck stretched, and if you liavo a mind to give
a me cool five hundred, I will say nothing about the matter and
let you go ashore."

“How do you know I have money i"

“ I took the liberty to look over your valise. You will have
enough besides what you pay me. I ought to have a round
price to clear my conscience for giving passage to a murderer.
But the five hundred will make all straight."

“Very well, Captain llartshorn," answered Dudley, with a
dark brow; “ I am in your power. You shall have the money ‘
but remember that if we ever meet again 1 will have five liul.
dred dollars worth of revenge out of you."

“I do not. fear you, young man. If you are disposed to
threaten, I shall double my demand."

"It is quite right. enough. Shall I bring you the money
here into the cabin 1’"

“Yes, and with as little delay as possible, for I must be on
deck."

Dudley went into the steorago and counted out the amount,
and then upon the leaf of a small Bible which Charlotte had
thrust into his pocket, he wrote a receipt as follows:

“ Brie; Condor, ofl' Havana.

“Received this day of Dudley Cabot- five hundred dollars, on-
condition I let him leave the vessel or arriving in the port of
Havana, and do not. inform against him as the murderer of the
young man in the billiard room.

, “ Signed ~———-——."

“ There, air, is your money," said Dudley, placing the amount
in U. S. bills upon the table. “Count it and you will find it
correct.”

“ It is all right, sir,‘ answered the avaricious captain, who,
otherwise an honest man, could not resist the temptation to
make money out of the discovery he had made.

“Very well," said Dudley, laying his hand upon the notes
again and placing the paper before him with aearoless air, there
is a receipt, captain, which you will please sign."

“ Certainly," answered the skipper, glancing his eye over it,
“all right. I see you are a business man, Mr. Cabot."

He then, with a pen, signed his name to it, and the notes
were passed into his hands, while Dudley took the receipt, and
carefully folding it, placed it in his pocket book. The brig
shortly after dropped anchor in the port of Havana, and the
fugitive went on shore, glad to escape the confinement of the
vessel and to tread upon soil which was under a foreignjuris-
diction.

The next day the captain began to reflect that the receipt
which he had given might be used against him, and do him an
injury ; and blaming himself for his lolly in given him this evi-
deuce of his connivancc, he resolved to get it from or have him
arrested by the Consul. He met him in the square, and demair
(led the receipt again with a threat of arrest. Dudley defied
him and passed on his way. The captain followed hiui, resolved
to have it by force, and as Dudley turned into an obscure
street, leading to the water, to avoid him, not wishing to draw
attention to himself where the American Consul might demand
him of the authorities, the captain came up with him, and dran
ing a pistol, threatened to kill him on the spot. unleSs he surronr
dcred the receipt.

“ It is not in my possossion." answered Dudley, with‘ an
exulting smile. “ If you want it, ask the Consul before whom
you would accuse me."

“ it is false. You have not dared to show your face before
him. It is about your person, and I will have it at all risks.
I dare not go back to Boston without it. How do I know but
you may send it there by some vessel, and have me arrested at

i

 

 

TEECAMP-FIRE LIBRARY. 23

 

 

 

R n . A ~—

 

l iand. I have done a foolish thing in giving it to you, and now
I will redeem my folly, if I have to die for it.”

“ I tell you I have not got the paper, captain !"

“ We will see 1" cried the Skipper, advancing upon him with
his pistol.

Dudley, by a spring forward, got possession of it, and in~
stanlly discharged it in his face. The hall dashed the blood
from his cheek, and the skipper staggered and fell. The young
man muttered, “It was his own fault," and turned and fled.
He had gone but a. dozen steps when a tall, Spanislrlooking
man, who was standing in a. door near, and had seen the whole
affair, stepped out and laid his hand firmly upon his arm and
stopped him,

“Senor,” he said in a friendly tone, “ I see you want just
such a friend as Iam at this present moment. There is my

boat and men. Yonder is my VesHEl. I Weigh anchor to sail
across the sea within the hour. Will you take refuge on board
my schooner '1"

Dudley had no time to reflect or to hesitate. The cry of
blood was already raised against him up the street. and the call
for the Police of the Guard was heard from fifty months.

:

“I don't know who or what you are,’ answered Dudley,
“ but I have no choice—I go with you."

" Done," answered the Spaniard. “ We have no time to
lose. Once on board my boat and you are safe I”

In a few minutes Dudley was seated along side the Spanish
captain, and was borne rapidly towards a low, rakish, clipper-
built craft, that was about a cable’s length from tho‘landinz.
Her main-sail was hoisted, and her jib was just going up. She
showed a small red flag at the fore. Dudley saw also that she
had two guns on the side next to him, and at least a dozen men
in red and blue caps, and striped woolen shirts. The six oars.
men were also sifnilarly clad, and were men of dark com.
plexions and ferocious, wicked countenance.

He at once felt a conviction that he had committed his
fortunes to a Spanish pirate, who at that time, went in and out
of the Cuban ports without being niolested;'for they, as well
as shivers, paid a rich tribute to the government. But this
assurance slid not all incommode him. He felt as if he had
fallen among congenial spirits; and the reflection communicated
to his soul a sort of fierce pleasure. As he sprung on board
the clipper, he saw three of the Police Guard standing upon
the land at the foot of the street, and looking off as if disap-
pointed at his escape.

“We have foiled them, senor," said the Spaniard, laughing.
" They would get a boat and come off and demand you, ifyou
had taken refuge on board any other craft. But they know it
would not be safe to trouble any one that Gros de Cuerpo has
taken on board his vessel l"

Thus speaking, the Spanish captain gave orders to weigh
anchor, and taking the helm himself, he steered his schooner
through the shipping in the harbor, passing ships of war of all
nations that were anchored about him. He soon passed the
Moro Castle and spread his sails to the free winds of the open
8911.

As the towers of Havana receded in the distance, Dudley,
who had been engaged in watching the varied scenes they were
leaving, turned and said:

“You have not asked me, captain. who I am, nor have I
inquired the character of your vessel.”

“ Iknow that you are an Americano,” answered the Spaniard,
“ and I saw with my own eyes that you have a ready hand in
a quarrel. When I saw you shoot that man duWn, I marked
you at once for myself, for 1 saw you were made. of the stuff 1
want, and as after that you could not stay on shore safely,'you
had only to be invited to come with me. Are you not an
Americana?"

“ Yes, Senor 3" ~

" Do you think you killed your man '2"

“No, 1 saw that the ball entered his cheek, but I do not

 

think he was badly wounded, for as I looked been; on getting
into your boat, Isnw them raise him to his feet l"

“Ah! did you? So much the better. If he is not dead
you can go into Havana again with me, when our cruise is
done.”

“ And may I ask where you cruise

“Upon the coast of Africa. Would you like to see my
commission P Congo,” he called to a negro, who was nearer
the ourang outang in his physical aspect, than mankind, “go
and bring me a pair of irons l”

The black descended into the hold, and Dudley heard the
clanking of irons, as the negro disengaged one pair of hand-
cuffs from a pile of several hundreds, and brought them to his
master.

“ There, you see my commission said the captain, with a
smile, as he surrendered the helm to one of the men.

“ Are you a slaver ‘2" cried Dudley, at once perceiving what
this exhibition signified.

" You have guessed. 1 am bound to the coast of Africa, for
a. cargo of slaves. You see I have four guns, and men enough
to tight my schooner if we are attacked by any of the small,
cruisers. From the large ones we run away. If you choose
quietly to join me, I wdl make you my mate, for I want such
an officer, as mine is sick, and won’t live the passage out.
Will you take the berth ‘2”

“ I am not much of a seaman,but I will do what I can."

“ You will soon find what your duties are, and are quick to
learn, l’ll warrant. So, then, you are to be my mate, and Iam
to pay you one hundred dollars a mouth. ls it done ?"

’ answered Dudley, whose previous rapid
training in vico, had prepared him for such a profession, or

pr

“ Done, captain,’

any other one that was lawless.

The voyage was pursued, and the Schooner reachingthe
coast of Africa, took advantage of a. dark night *to avoid the
English cruisers, and run up into a river, fifty miles from the
mouth of which was the depot for slaves, a sort of storehouse,
where, when brought to the interior, they were deposited to
await the arrival of vessels to take them off.

The wind being fair, and the Spanish captain being well
acquainted with the river, by sun-rise the next morning the
schooner was in sight of the depot, which Dudley saw as
he came on deck, about two miles ofl‘, lying close to the banks
of the river, and consisting of an extensive range of low
buildivma, enclosed hv a high stone wall. In a few minutes
more the Slayer rounded to opposite the place, furled her sails

and dropped her anchor.

Soon as the sails were stowed, Dudley went on shore with the
captain. Here the got a cargo of blacks, but were overhauled
and seized by a United States cruiser, taken to Boston, tried
and convicted, and sentenced to prison for seven years. By
the aid of Sallord—who was also a prisoner, but for a. less
period—Dudley escaped from prison through the skill and
daring of his sister. He left Boston and. got on board a. brig.
The crew niutinied and gave Dudley, who had taken the name
of Winwood, the command. Once again he met with Harts-
horn, who attempted to kill him on his own vessel. Dudley
ordered him to be thrown overboard, but, unknown to Dudley,
the man swam and floated till he reached the land, from which
he afterwards proceeded to Boston, where he met Dudley in his
father’s garden, as already described.

Return we now to Dudley. He was left trying to get an in-
terview .. .n Isabel Grey. Charlotte had meanwhile gone to
lsabe‘ here they were joined by Arthur Grey. All was re-
vealed to him. Charlotte and Isabe. were now thoroughly
cured of any affection for the heartless reprobate. The garden
was searched by the police, but after all Dudley managed to
escape. He (led to Europe, where he was subsequently exe-
cuted for murder and arson. Arthur after a time was wedded
to Charlotte. Isabel remained single. Roger lIartshorn died
in the house of Colonel Cabot.

 

‘Each Number
k Complete.

 

 

 

 

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Buffalo Bill's Life Home; or,
Three. By Col. P. Ingraham.

Buffalo Bill's Relentless Trail.
Prentiss lngraham.

The Dread Shot Four; or, My Pnrds of the
Plums. By Col. \V. 1“. Cody.

Buffalo Bill's Invincibles: or, The Sable Shad.
ower’s Sublime Sacrifice. By L‘ol. P. Ingra—
ham.

Buffalo Bill's Blue Belt Brigade; or, Sun-
flower Sam of Shustu. By Col. P. Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill‘s Volunteer \‘lgllnntes; or, The
Mysterious Man in Blue.’ By ('01. P. Ingra-
ham.

Buffalo Bill nt Buy: or,
Doom. By Col. 1’. lngrnhum.

Buffalo Bill's Block Game; or, The Mounted
Miners of the Overland. By I'ul .P. ingra-
ham.

Buffalo Bill's Black Pnrd; or, The fluid
Boomers of the Big Horn.
ham.

Bufi'alo Bill's Bluff: or. Dusky
Sport. By Col. P. Ingrulmm.
Buffalo Bill's Quandary; or,
Vow. By t‘ol. Prentiss lngrnilum.

The Drmmmi

2y Colonel

Dick. the

Velvet Bill’s

Buffalo Bill and the Surgeon Scout; or, Go- 7

wan-go, the Redskin Rider. P. in-

graham.
Buffalo Bill's League; or. Red Butterlly.
Col. Prentiss lngrnhmn.

Buffalo Bill's Tungled ’i‘riiii; or,
Jack. the Man of Many Masks.
Ingruham.

Buffalo Bill's Rough Riders; or. Texas Jack's
Sharp-Shooters. By Col. Prentiss Ingruhum.
Buffalo Bill‘s Secret Ally; or, The Texzin's
Double. 5y Col. Prentiss lng‘rahuln.

Buffalo Bill's Life—Stake; or, The Pledged
Three. By Col. P. Ingrnluim.

The Three Bills; But’l‘nlo Bill. \Vild Bill and
Band-Box Bill; or, The Bravo in Broadcloth.
By Col. P. Ingrahum.

Buffalo Bill's
Queen's Last

By Col.

B y

By Col. 1’.

:uvlisltin llrzirwru
,ulill”. l.‘,.' l‘nl.

or,
P. Ingruiizim.

Buffalo Bill‘s Bond Agent i'lo-ind—Up; or. 'l‘lie‘

Mysterious Mnsltell Mun in Black.
P. lngruhmn.

Buffalo Bill's

By Col.

llezitli—tflinrni; or, The
With the By t‘ol. Prentiss lng'ruluim.
Buffalo Bill's Royal Flush; or, The Pony Ri-
der's Lentil-Run. By i‘ol. Prentiss ingra-
hum.

Buffalo Bill's Double Dilemma; or, The Great
Scout's Big Three. By ('nl. P. lngrzihnm.
Buffalo Bill's Redskin Ruse: or. Texas Jack's
Death Shot. By (.‘ul. Prentiss Initrnhnm.
The Ranch Kim: Dead-Shot; or, Texas Jack's
Proxy. By Buffalo Bill.

Buffalo Bill's Boys in Blue; or, The Brimstone
Band's Blot-out. By (‘01. P. Ingruham.
Buffalo Bill's Sir ‘p-Shooiers; or, The Surgeon
Scout to the Rescue. By Col. P. Ingraham.

 

 

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The Gold Seeker's‘

Gentlelnnn‘ ‘

The (‘nrd

‘l H21:
1820
‘ ‘41“
1812
i 07
;no"!

‘ 794

i737
1781

l 777

By ('01. P. lngm-l

l 773

Man "

.7710
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1601

682

 

. 667
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" Buffalo Bill's Dozen;

" Buffalo

Buffalo Bill's Best Bower; or, Mot‘elvello the
Gold King. By Col. Prentiss Ingrulinm.
White Beaver‘s Still Hunt; or, The Miner
Marnuder’s Death—Truck. By Buffalo Bill.
Buffalo Bill's Bed Trail; or, The Road-Rider
Renegzide's Run Down. By Col. P. Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill’s Death—Knoll; or, The Red Hand
Riders of the Rockies. By Col. P. Ingraham.
\Vilil Bill, the Wild “feat DUEIist; or, The Girl
Mascot of Moonlight Mine. lly Buffalo Bill.
VVlld Bill. the \Vlld “'est Duelist: or, The Girl
Grantle Ralph. the Cowboy Chief. By Buf-
falo Bill.
Buffalo Bill's Vi'inning Hand, or, The Masked
Woman of the Colorado Canyon. By Col. 1'.
Ingraham. _

Buffalo Bill's DcalShntzor. TheSkeleton Scout
of the Colorado. Dy Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
Buffaglo Bill's Brand; or, The Brimstone
Brotherhood. 3y (Jul. Prentiss Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill's Spy-Shadower: or. The Masked
Men at Grand Canyon. By Col. P. lngraham.
Buffalo Blll's Ban; or, Cody to the Rescue.
By Leon Lewis.

Buffnlo Bill‘s Sweepstalie; or, The “'lpe-out o

By (301. Prentiss Ingraham.
or, Silk Ribbon Sam.
By Col. Prontle Ingralutm.

Buffalo Bill’s Mascot; or. The Death Valley
Victim No. 13. By Col. Prentiss Ingrahum.
Buffalo Bill‘s Double; or, The Desperado De-
tective. By Col. Prentiss Ingruham.

Buffalo Bill's Big Four; or, Custer‘s Shadow.
By Col. Prentiss Ingrahnm.

Buffalo Bill's Flush Hand: or. Texas Jack‘s
Bravos. By Col. Prentiss Iugraham.
Buffalo Bill's Blind: or, The Masked Driver
of Death's Canyon. By Col. Prentiss ingra-
ham.

at Last Chalice.

Men; or, The
Prentiss Ingra-

Bill
Rubin l‘II)Uil. Rivals.
ham.

Buffalo Bill‘s Beagles; or.
By Col Prentiss Ingrahuni.
Buffnlo Bill’s Body lunrd; or, The Still Hunt
of the Hills. By Col. Prentiss Ingrahum.
Buil‘ulo Bill on the ‘Vur Path: or, fiilk Lasso
Sam, the \\'iil-o‘—the<\Visp. By (Yul. 1’. In—
graham.

Buffalo Bill's Smut Shuduu’ers: or, Emor~
:lld Ed of Devil's Acre. By Col. P. ingrahzim.
Buffalo Bill Bzifilvd; or, Thr- l')eserter Des-
pt-rzuio‘s Defiant-v. 'Zy Col. P. lngl'uhum.
Buffalo Bill's Buckskin lrotlierhmil; or,
Opening Up 2). Lost Trail. )y Col. P. In-
graham.

and His Merry
lly (Ml.

Silk L asso Sam.

Buffalo Bill's Blind Trail; or. The Daughter '

of the Regiment. By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill's Secret Service Trail. By Major
Dangerfield Burr.

Buffalo Bill’s Swoop', or, the King of the
Mines. ‘ By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.

The Cowboy Clan: or. The Tigress of Texas.
By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.

W

 

629

599

51
41

18
17
16

7
4

9
5

8

BE DIME LIBRARY is for sale by all Newsdealers,
ten cents per copy, or sent by mail, pre-paid, on re-
ceipt of price.

The Lasso King‘s League; or, The Tigers of
Texas. By Colonel Prentiss Ingraham.
Buck Taylor, the Saddle King. Buffalo Bill‘s
Chief of Scouts. By Col. P. Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill's Bonanza; or. The. Knights of
the Silver Circle. By Col. 1’. Ingruham.
The Goirl King; or. Montebello. the Magnifi-
cent. By Buffalo Bill.
Buffalo li'l’s Daring Role;
Dick, King of the Cowboys.
The Denrl Shot Nine: or,
Plains. liy Buffalo Bill.
Buffalo Bill's l'l‘lrst Trnll: or, “'lll Cody, the
Pony Express Rider. By Ned Buntiine.
Red Rennrll. the Indian Detective: or, The
Gold Buzzards of Colorado. By Buffalo Bill.
The Ono—Armed Pnrd; or. Red Retribution in
Borderland. By Buffalo Bill.
The “'lzard' Brothers: or,
Trail. By Buffalo Bill.
White Beaver, the Exile of the Platte; or,
fiuWronged Man's Red Trail. By Buffalo
1 .
Buffalo Bill‘s Grip: or, Oath-bound to Custer.
By Col. Prentiss Ingraham.
Buffalo Bill's Pledge: or, The League of
TDhree. By Col. P. Ingruham.
VVlld Bill. the “'hlrlwind of the West.
Buffalo Bill.
Texas .l'nek, the Prairie Rattler: or. The
Queen of the. ‘Vild Riders. By Buffalo Bill.
The Pilgrim Sharp; or, The Soldier's Sweet-
heurt. By Buffalo Bill, Government Scout
and Guide.
“'lld Bill‘s Gold Trail; or.
Dozen. By Col. 1’. Ingruhum.
Wild Bill's Trump Card: or. The Indian
Heiress. By Col. Prentiss Ingruham.
W'lld Bill, the Pistol Dead Shot: or, Dagger
Don’s Double. By Col. Prentiss Ingralmm.
Buffalo Bill, Chief of Srouts; or, The. Doomed
Dozen. By Dr. Frank Powell. ‘
Buffalo Bill's Stmmre Pm‘d: or,
Dandy. the Hotspur of the Hills.
1.). lurr.
Buffalo nu,
Amazon of the
Burr.
Gold Bullet Sport; or, The Knights of the
Overland. By Buffalo Bill.
Death Trailer, the Chief of Scouts: cr, Life
 Love in Frontier Fort. By Buffalo
1 .

NEAV ISSUES TO COME.
The Long-Haired Thirds; or. The Tartars of
the Plains. By Joseph E. Badger, Jr.
Iron \Vrist. the Swordmaster. By Col. Thos.
Hoyer Monstery.
Shadmch. the Sport Detective; or. The Secret
Seven. By John \V. Osbon.

Realty Mountain Rob, the California Outlaw.
By Albert \V. Aiken. v

or. Daredeath
By Leon Lewis.

My Penis of the

White Beaver' I

By

The Desperate

Dashing
lly Major

the But-itsltin King;, or, The
West. lly .Mzijor Dangerfield

(
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