The Columbian fountain., 1846-03-03
WASHINGTON,
THE WATERWAYS ARMS.
A TALE OF DOVER.
BY WARD F. WELD.
Continued.

are sightless /" he cried; s'God see her safe
over the third sea and am father yet -
The dimmed eye of the old man was
fixed seaward, and in the agony Of his
thoughts he stood alone unseeing and un-
conscious Of every thing except the danger
of his boy. The last wave had shattered
the pier, and the light house had rocked
upon its foundation. Those that were about
him had retreated for safety, together with
the keeper of the light. Had they known
his situation they would have dragged him
with them. The brightness of the light
fully painted the horrors of scene beyond
description. Each sea had been but, pig
my compared with the one fast approach
ing-and still at his dangerous post stood
the master, issuing words of cheer lost in
the tempest, to the last.
The sea broke, and with its roar was
heard the cracking of timber. No light
shone upon its returning path--for light
house, pier head, and master were swept
away by its fury; and just then was heard
the faint boom of the signal gun at sea, as
if in requiem of him who had oft obeyed
its summons. "But his hour was not yet.''
The agents of the Humane Society who
had lighted the path of boatmen had not
left the pier. The dread tale was spread as
if by magic, and they were joined by others,
and the energies of all were directed to the
saving of life, as more than one was sup
posed to be in jeopardy. For some mo-
ments it babe fair to be fruitless search,
and when all were despondent shout of
Joy relieved all hearts. Next to dead, and
sadly bruised, the master was found entan-
ged in the drifting wreck ofthe light house,
his right hand still retaining the trumpet.
So powerful had been his grasp that the me-
tai had yielded to the clutch of his fingers.
Restoratives were resorted to with sue
cess, and in one short hour, he that left the
Waterman's Arms, and braved the stormias
though nerved with iron, was carried thith-
er d fitting type Of mortality and its weak
ness. The voice that Knocked the din of
the tempest breathed but q dying mans
whisper, its tone of stern command a babes
entreaty-whose only utterance was "my
boy my boy"
To those who assumed the task of watch
ers, the hours of that night passed but slow
ly away. The gale had subslded, and the
faint blast, with subdued moan, seemed to
steal through the air as if weared with its
past violence.
Stretched upon ield-bed before the fire
lay the body of the master, in feverish
s!umber, but the sudden start, convulsive
grasp, disturbed breathing, broken and faint
exclamation, spoke of the toll and agony of
mind that knew no rest. The hand
dropped, the lip was still, and the convul-
sive twitching Of the countenance ceased,
and as the pale light aickered over the pal
lid face, the anxious attendant knelt in aw-
| fully still anxiety, to ascertain whether the
master was breathing or dead. 1t was
sleep-the rest SO long denied, and so much
needed, was his. Oblivion again yielded to
busy imaginations, and happy thoughts and
| pleasing deusions portrayed themselves in
smiles on his face like those of infancy.
g God bless thee both," he muttered, "you
were ever my only child, my own dear
boy, will she be the old mans daughter
God bless her J" and the hands were clasp
ed, and the lips moved in prayer.
Nor did he pray alone. The hour, the
scene, the monotonous tick of the clock, the
faint sob of the heart broken wife in the
room adjoining, combined to awake feelings
in the heart of the rude sailor that PRAYER
alone could soothe, and prisons as devout
as sinful man may utter, arose from them
that knelt by his beside.
| The outward form of visible devotion
was at an end, yet their thoughts, of them
selves, were silent prayers, and grouped
around the sick mans couch, in supersti-
tious dread they regarded the hands of the
clock, which were fast drawing toward the
hour when the tide would be at it's lowest
ebb; an hour, as they supposed, which
would bring death or recovery to their
companion.
| Long as had seemed each moment, the
dread hour was past, and their fellow-la-
borer, friend, and leader slept soundly and
calmly. Nature herself was at rest, and
the moon forced her way through the
broken clouds, and her light stole through
the easement and decked the floor with
shadows. The expiring candle was re-
placed, the fire renewed, and hope again
reigned in the breasts of all. Poor Alice
what change for her Sleep was hers at
last sleep from pure exhaustion. Her
cheek rvalled the pillow whereon it lay in
whieness, hours bad been years, and each