The Portland daily press., 1865-06-08
Thursday Morning, June 8, 1865.
David Matsoanl. al.'
BY JOHN 9. WHITTIER.


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Who of my young friends have read the
sorrowiul story OF "Enoeh Arden,7 SO sweetly
told by the great English poet ? It Is the sto
ry OF young man who went to sea, leaving
behind sweet young wife ahd little daughter
He was cast away on desert island, where he
remained several years, when he was discover
ed and taken OF by passing vessel. Coming
back to his native town, he found his vile
married to an old piaymate--a good man,
rich and honored, with whom she was living
happily. The poor man, unwilling to cause
her pain, resolevd not to make himself known
to her, and lived and died alone. The poem,
mas reminded me Of a very similar story Of
my own New England neighborhood. which l
have often heard, and which viii try to tel
not in poetry, like Alfred Tennyson's, but in
my own poor prose-. / can ASSURE my reader
that in its main particulars tits true tale.
One bright summer morning more than
three score years ago, David Matson, with his
young wife and his two healthy, barefo0ted
boys stoop on the bank of the river, near their
dwelling. They waited there for Pelatiai-
Curtis TO come round the point with his Wher-
ry, and take the husband and the iather to the
port, a lew miles below. The Lively Turtle
was about TO sail on voyage 70 Spain, and
David was to go in her as mate. They stood
there in the lovely morning sunshine, talking
cheerfully, but had you been near enough you
could have seen tears in Anna Matson's blue
eyes, for she loved her husband, and she
knew there was always danger on the sea-
Aud David's bluff, CHEEKY voice trembled
little now and then, for the sailor loved his
snug home on the Merrimac, with the dear
wife and her pretty boys. But presently the
wherry came alongside, and David was just
stepping into it when he turned back to kiss
his'wife and children once more.
sIn with you, man. said Pelatiah Curtis;
there is no time for kissing and such fooler
les when the tide serves.
And so they parted. Anna and the boys
went back to their home, and David to the
port whence he sailed off in the Lively Turtle.
And months passed, autumn followed the sum
mer, and winter the antufnn, and then spring
came, and anon it was summer on The river
side, and he did not come back. And another
year passed, and then the old sailors and fish
ermen said that the Lively Turtle was l1si
ship, and would never come back to port: and
poor Anna had her bombazne gown dyed
black, and her straw bonnet trimmedin mourn
ing ribbons, and henceforth she was known
only as the Widow Matson.
Now you must know the Mohammedan peo
pie of Algiers and Tripoli, and Mogadore and
Sallgee, on the Barbary coast, had for long
time been in the habit of fitting out galleys
and armed boats to sieze upon the merchant
of their crews and passengers, just as men
calling themselves Christians in America were
sending vessels to Africa to catch black
slaves for their plantations. The Lively Tur-
tie fell into the hands of one of these rovine
sea robbers, and the crew were taken to Al
giers, and sold in the market place as slaves,
poor David Matson among the rest.fa
When boy he had learned the trade oI
ship carpenter with shis father on the Merri-
mac. and now he was set to work in the dock
yards. His master, who was naturally kind,
man. did not overWork him. He daily had
his three loaves of bread, and when his cloth
ing was worn out its place was supplied BY
the coarse wool and camels hair worn by the
Bermer women. Three hours before sunset
he was released from work, and Friday, which
was the Mohamedan Sabbath, was a day o.
entire rest. Once year, at the season called
Ramadan, he was left at leisure for whole
week.
So time went on-days, weeks, months and
years. His hair became grey. He still dream
ed Of his good Anna and the boys. He won
dered if they still lived, whether they thought
of him, and what they were doing, The hope
OF seeing them again grew fainter i'd fainter,
and at last nearly died out; and he resigned
himself to his fate as slave for life.
But one day a handsome, middle-aged gen
tlemau, in the dress of one of his own coun-
trymen, attended by a great officer of the
Bey, entered the ehip-yard. and called up be-
fore him the American captives. The stran
ger was none other than Joel Barlow, Com
missioner Of the United States to procure the
liberation of the slaves belonging to that Gov
ernment He took the men by the hand as
they came up, and told them they we're free.
AS you mightexpect,th the poor fellows we're very
grateful; some laughed, some wept for joy,
some shouted and sang, and threw up their
caps, while others, with David Matson among
them, knelt down on the chips, and thanked
God for the great deliverance.
This is very affecting scene,' said the
Commissioner, wiping his eyes, I must keep
the impression Of 1t for my Columbiad," and,
drawing out his tablet, proceeded to write an
apostrophe to Freedom, which afterwards
found place in his great epic
David Matson had saved little money dur
ing his captivity, by odd Jobs and work holi-
days. He got a passage to Masala, where he
bought nice shawl for his wife and a watch
for each of bis boys. He then went to the
quay, where an American ship was lying Just
ready to sail for Boston.
Almost the first man he saw on board was
Pelatiah Curtis, who had rowed him down to
the port seven years before. He found that
his old neighbor did not know him, so chang.
ed was he with his long beard and Moorish
dress, whereupop, without telling his name be
began to put questions about his old home
andnnally askeu niih IL Hc AhcW y mrs. mat
son.
i rather think do,' said Pelatiah; she's my
wife,
your wifep cried the other. She is mine
before God and man. am David Matson
and she is the mother of my children
'And mine, tool said Pelatiah. Il left hel
with baby in her arms. II you are Davit
Matson, your right to her is outlawed, at any
rate she is mine, and l am not the man to give
her up
4, God is great said poor David Matson, un
consciously repeating the words OF Moslen
submission. His will be done! loved her
but shall never see her again. Give these
with my blessings, to the good woman aud th'
boys, and he handed over with sigh, the lit
tie bundle containing the gifts for his wife and
children.
He shock hands with his rival. sPelatiah,
he said, looking back as he left the ship, sbt
kind to Anna aud my boys.'
fAy, ay, sir 7 responded the sailor in care
less tone. He watched the poor man passing
slowly up the narrow street until out OF sight
Its bard case for old DAVID he said, help
ing himself to fresh cud of tobacco: but
am glad I've seen the last of him. afaA
When Pelatiah Curtis reached home. hetoli
Anna the story OF her husband, and laid bill
gifts in her lap She did not faint nor shrek
for she was a healthy woman, with strong
nerves; but she stole away and Wept bitterly
She lived many years after, bnt could never
be persuaded to wear the pretty shawl Whicl
the husband of her youth had sent as hisfare
well gift. There is, however, a tradition that
in accordance with her dying wish, II wai
wrapped about her poor old shoulders In the
oof41in and huriad with her