Iowa capitol reporter. [volume] (Iowa City, Iowa) 1841-1855, 1852-09-08

once thou highest have been my
boy; once l gazed with parents
pride upon your features; and once l
called thee son! But--O heavens! is
this dream! My boy a pirate!
Father still urged the pirate, fol-
lowing with a slow step the old mans
backward movement, own me as tiny
son and thou shalt
No! away thou blood thirsty man!
know thee not. o God! and is it
thus find my boy?'
Listen to me one moment, my
father exclaimed the pirate chief, in
a tone and manner little in keeping
with his vocation These hands are
mot stained with a drop of bIood; and
save where the flag OF proud England
has waved, have not till the present
time intruded upon any other deck
than my own. But now, tho have
gold in my lockers, am in want OF
bread; yet will leave thee and go in
peace. You shall receive no further
trouble from me-
The old man covered his face with
his hands and the deepest agony
dwelt in his bosom; and while he
thus stood, the pirate captain order
ed his men to return to their own
vessel. The gentle youth, who had
followed his chief on board the brig
at this moment approached the spot
where Adam Writ stood, and clasp.
ing both the old mans hands il his
own he said:
90, kind sir, if you are the mans
father speak to him one kind word
Smile upon him, and own him as your
son. One word from you may re-
claim him from all his errors
Boy uttered the old man, as. he
gazed upon the pure and heavenly
features that were turned so earnest
~ toward him, you know not what
you ask. ! have left my home in
search for my son, but such as | find
him | will never own him. Back
again will go, and alone will | travel
! my weary way through life
%, sir, think once more! urged the
youth, seeming to hang every hope
upon the result Of his plea. 'One
fond greeting from his fa,hermay yet
reclaim him. Speak it, O speak itr
Never, ncver!' uttered Adam Writ,
as he pushed the suppliant from
him.
Then the duty must still rest with
me- sadly murmured the youth, as he
turned away from the spot. The
father may cast him of, but can
not
Frank at this moment exclaimed
the pirate captain, come here. The
grapplings are already cast off, and
we must away. Not a thing here
have molestcd and | shall leave
with a light heart. Come
As the pirate chieftain spoke, the
youth followed him quickly on board
the schooner, and in few moments
afterwards, the brig was again on her
way, unmolested.
Old Adam Writ returned to his
home in Boston, but that home was
darker and more gloomy than ever.
He had left in search OF his son-he
had found that son; but he had left
him the chief in command beneath a
rovers flag. But gradually, like some
dim spirit arising from the cloudy
mists of conscience, arose the earnest
appeals Of that son and also the pray
ers Of that gentle youth who had
urged a fathers pardon for him. As
mans mind, he could not but feel
that he might have saved his boy
The continued memory of the scene
on the deck of that brig soltcned his
heart, but the feeling only made him
more miserable.
The morning of the twenty eighth
of August, 1912, dawned upon the
city of DoSton, and ere the sun went
down on that day, ten thousand
hearts were filled with joy animation
.ional pride. On that memorable
lay the United States fi'igate Con-
stltutlOn; under the command OF the
brave Hull, entered the harbor of
Boston, after her glorious victory over
he bullying trigate Guerrero. The
Nharves and adjacent streets were
crowded with the enthusiastic people,
and as the battle SCARED heroes walk
ed up from the landing, they were
everywhere hailed with the loudest
of thanks and joy.
Not far from the landing, to which
he first boat from the victorious fri
gate was hauled up, stood old Adam
Writ. He had heard of the ships ar
ival, and with his American heart
'verrunning with patriotic impulses,
he had dragged his feeble steps down
20 bestow his need of praise upon
ais countrys heroes. One after an.